G
Guest
Guest
Well, I sure as hell hope you like it, you wouldn’t believe how much I agonized over this ‘piece’, because its pretty much all action and those tend to get dumbening and stupid after a few pages. I had to find a way to keep it fresh and appealing.This is probably Hopefully I can say, with a hint of Tom Cruise in my voice, ‘mission accomplished’, but aye, if I can’t well…Tom Cruise sucks any way!
…so…as they say in show biz, (actually...I have no idea what they say in show biz...) on with the show…
THE WANDERER<PART>2
The Wanderer awoke, slowly and painfully. His eyes wandered around the strange looking infirmary, its spacious, decorated walls seemed out of place from what little of the dusty old compound he’d seen before he had passed out.
He tried to get up, but an immense pain wracked his left side. He bit his lip and laid back down.
Suddenly Buz comes from the blurry darkness of the infirmary and tries to lend a hand.
BUZ
Moves to help The Wanderer
Wow, easy there cowboy. You took quite a bit of lead in the ol’ gimper and snatcher.
THE WANDERER
Squints into the man’s face, then grits his teeth as he tries to get up again. This time he is successful, although the pain takes the breath out of him.
While struggling…
What?
BUZ
Leans in close
You got shot in the leg and the arm. Lots of blood. The doc said it was only a flesh wound, but speakin’ from experience, they still hurt like a bitch, whichever way you shoot ‘em…
WANDERER
Nods in agreement. He slowly, painfully swings his left leg, then his right, off the bed. He sets them down gently on the ground. His vision clears for a second and he looks at himself. His leather jacket and shirt have been taken off, and his arm is wrapped in faded, blood-speckled bandages up to his shoulder, with a crude sling pinning the painfully numb arm to his chest. His leg does not fare well either, as his hip is tightly bandaged and quite numb to the touch. He coughs and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. When he touches his head he lets out a short groan. His head aches terribly.
BUZ
Helps him up.
Just take it easy now…
The Wanderer brushes away Buzzes helping hands.
THE WANDERER
Clears his throat.
Where are my guns?
BUZ
Produces his torn shirt and jacket from an ancient looking cardboard box.
The Wanderer puts them on lovingly.
Uh, we locked ‘em up in the weapons locker for safekeeping. You know, standard protocol and all.
THE WANDERER
Nods, accepting the answer. Then suddenly realizes were he is.
Were am I?
BUZ
Sits down on the bed beside The Wanderer, who grimaces as the vibrations from Buzzes rough landing rocks his side of the bed, awakening more pain inside his arm and leg. He looks to one end of the rectangular hallway, apparently leading outside. A thick green army blanket covers the exit. Thin slivers of sunlight peak through the blanket here and there.
Well, you’re in a little compound quaintly called Venice. It’s pretty much all that’s left of the town. The palm trees here ain’t half bad, a little mutated of course, but…what isn’t now a day’s?
He chuckles and gives The Wanderer a big, toothy grin.
THE WANDERER
Glares at Buz.
Growls,
Where?
BUZ
Shifts nervously on the bed.
Ahem, well, Venice. Its plenty south a’ San Fran, and just north of Los Angeles.
THE WANDERER
Gives Buz a surprised look.
What?
BUZ
It’s in between Los Angeles and San Francisco. We have around a hundred or so people in the compound. Good thing, cause we need all the help we can get to defend against the raiders…you know, the ones that shot you.
THE WANDERER
Nods and slowly gets up.
BUZ
He nervously stands up and tries to keep The Wanderer’s attention.
Uh, then we’ve got the Tanker- supposedly bigger then the one they got in San Fran…
The Wanderer gives him a look to shut up, the proceeds to the exit.
THE WANDERER
Moves away the curtain- Three guards sit on they’re own respective seats outside the infirmary, holding automatic rifles and looking bored. One sees The Wanderer and shoots up, lightning fast, and grabs his rifle. He brings it to bear at The Wanderer, who slowly puts up his hands and gets a questioning look on his face.
GUARD
Lilly! Get over here!
A female guard who sits on a crate, smoking a cigarette, hears the guard, then turns to The Wanderer. Her reaction is the same. She jumps up and covers The Wanderer with her assault rifle. The other guard does the same. The air suddenly becomes tense and hostile.
LILLY
Begins to make her way to The Wanderer.
Ok, nice and easy now…
She proceeds to his side.
Vice, cover me.
The guard that first noticed The Wanderer nods.
She puts her rifle away and takes out a large, military issue combat knife.
The Wanderer turns to Buz, who loses his friendly face, shrugs and avoids The Wanderer’s piercing eyes.
THE WANDERER
I don’t under stand.
The Female Guard holds the knife to his neck, then pushes him forward.
LILLY
Her icy stare becomes more desolate,
Move…
MALE GUARD
Nice and slow now…
The Wanderer begins to walk slowly out into the compound.
THE WANDERER
A look of mystery creeps across his face.
I don’t understand…what is this?
BUZ
Shrugs again
Sorry pal…we gotta do what we gotta do…
THE WANDERER
Begins to realize what’s happening.
He stops and turns around. He starts to get mad.
His words are growled,
Buz, we had a deal. Remember?
BUZ
Sorry buddy, no deals. You know what they say, ‘never trust any one in the wasteland’.
THE WANDERER
Buz! What the HELL is this!
The Wanderer starts towards Buz, who whimpers away with his tail between his legs.
The guards must fight The Wanderer to get him to go in the direction they want him too, since he is intent on getting to Buz.
They slowly lead him to a small, cylindrical one-man cage lying horizontally in the dirt. It is rusted and medieval looking. A chain is fastened to one end of the cage and leads up to a crane like pole. It was obvious what it was originally meant for. The Female Guard motions for him to get in. With one last look of vengeance at Buz, he does so. He lies down and helps his arm in, then guides his bad leg into the most comfortable position he can find.
The female guard puts a heavy pad lock on the door to the cage, then nods to a burly, mustached man standing next to a large converted car engine. A series of gears and pulleys have been attached to it, along with many other jury-rigged gadgets. The man flips a lever and the motor begins to whir. It draws the chain in, as well as the cage. It is brought up to the top of the crane, forty feet in the air. It stops with a jolt, and suddenly the only sound is the wind.
The Wanderer holds onto the bars with a grip that turns his knuckles white. Though his mind is racing, he doesn’t let a word escape his lips.
A man in shabby black robes has come up and started to bless The Wanderer in the after life.
PREACHER
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
The guards take out they’re rifles and chamber they’re rounds.
A tall, black-haired man strides up to a good vantage point to order the executioners, looks up to the condemned man, who stares back with eyes as cold as death, then proceeds to que the guards, who have finished with they’re guns and now stand ready.
BLACK HAIRED MAN
Ready!
PREACHER
In the presence of thine enemies…
The guards raise they’re rifles.
THE WANDERER
Grits his teeth. Only the restless wind howling through the wasteland answers his silent plea.
He brakes his silence.
He growls,
Buz! I MADE a deal with YOU!
He spits out the last word, then gives the fumbling Buz a look that defies words.
BLACK HAIRED MAN
Aim!
PREACHER
I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever…
The Wanderer’s mind seems to slow, it seems like forever that he waits for the final word to be said.
He closes his eyes.
Suddenly a siren begins to blare.
BLACKED HAIRED MAN
Lets out an annoyed sigh.
Leave him be, we’ll finish him later…if he’s still alive.
He smiles at The Wanderer and runs to the wall.
GUARD
From one of the rickety shacks above the gate-
They’re back! Get to your posts! They’re back!
The whine of engines begin to emerge from the constant howling of the wasteland.
The Wanderer opens his eyes again and lets out a long sigh.
The cage swings high above the compound.
Venice is little more then what Buz said. The wasteland has been cruel to the once cheery sea side town. It mainly consists of a hodge podge of ancient buildings and old military tents that look like they have been there forever. Other buildings are around the compound and seem to be stapled together from old aluminum sidings and sheets of metal. If the building safety commission had survived, they wouldn’t have deemed this place livable. A large hanger sits unused, filled with broken crates and useless supplies. The infirmary, or whatever they had put The Wanderer in, was the most interesting and sturdy establishment in the compound. It was the rusted body of a passenger car for a train. Its windows had been long ago broken and covered with thick wooden planks. But then The Wanderer looks towards the ocean and sees a structure that dwarves all the others in the compound. A black, ancient tanker sits in the small refueling port, brooding. It is decades old, its hull pitted and rusting. It resides over the compound like some watery titan, ruling over the tents and ramshackle buildings within its dark shadow.
Just outside the walls lay dozens of skeletal husks of burnt out cars, jeeps, and other assorted vehicles. They are scattered every where, like broken toy’s around a kid.
The Wanderer’s peaceful observations are interrupted as the plague on wheels make they’re entrance. They race to the gate, located between the two large guard towers that house the main defenses. The actual gate consisted of a very old and hardly mobile Pepsi truck. The trailer was shoddy wood and metal, and on the side facing the compound a picture of a young girl enjoying a Pepsi is painted, quickly fading and barely audible. The engines roar ever closer, as the motorized rubbish get closer to the gate. The tall, barely standing guard towers block The Wanderer’s view. All he sees are the large plumes of dust thrown up by the automobiles. He hears several shots from a large gun located in the left tower and the buz of rent and shredding metal, then a crash. Then all hell brakes lose.
One second the truck was serene. Its worn, faded picture of a child enjoying a Pepsi almost pleasing in the way it captured innocent pre-war life, then suddenly it exploded into hundreds of fragments of wood and metal as a car shot through it like some sort of bullet from a barrel of a gun. The picture was completely destroyed. The car came to a rough landing inside the compound, skidded to a halt inside, and was quickly descended upon by the defenders’ automatic rifles and guns.
They exchange shots. One villager falls as two raiders are killed. But the problem grows still worse as more of the bikers arrive, some of them on motorcycles, others in cars and trucks. The villagers have made the fatal mistake of leaving the gate uncovered and turning all of they’re attentions towards the inner threat. There were almost a dozen of them. The compound quickly erupts in to a war zone. Bullets are pouring everywhere, apparently with no rhyme or reason to why they would possibly be shot in that direction.
THE WANDERER
One of the cars takes a round in the fuel tank and explodes, the force hits The Wanderer’s cage and makes his leg and arm throb with pain. He grunts and curses himself for being shot in the leg. A jump from this height would make him sit down for the rest of his life. He shields his eyes from the glare and the storm of dust being drawn up by falling feet and shot bullets. Raiders and villagers are running everywhere. The tall, black haired man, who The Wanderer has deduced to be the leader, runs by the cage and dives in to the sand, peppering a raider with rounds from his assault rifle.
Another villager, next to the hanger, is shot several times by a sub machine gun. The raider run’s out of bullets just as two guards take aim and fire off two rounds. Both impact into the man’s skull. The compound is quickly being torn apart. Dust and blood flies everywhere. No one is able to tell who has the upper hand. From somewhere some one yells,
SOME ONE
The gate! Some one cover the gate!
The Wanderer is stuck, like a billboard hanging for target practice. One villager runs by and looks up.
THE WANDERER
Hey, get me out of here!
He rattles the cage.
The villager nods his head in disapproval and runs off into the compound.
He tries in vain to grab at the man, or something, even though he’s at least thirty feet above any man’s head.
He punches the bar,
Son of a bitch.
Outside the gate, a lone vehicle speeds up. It comes to a stop just outside of the compound. It’s a large modified rig, with several tires removed and replaced with larger monster truck tires. On the bed where the cargo would normally be hooked up a very strange contraption lies. It is a rotating seat, but strapped to it are twin modified belt-fed Bozars. The Wanderer looks at the contraption as the dust momentarily clears.
His mouth falls open.
The driver jumps out of the cab, hops on to the back and sits in the seat. He fastens a dusty pair of flight goggles to his head and clips a large safety harness, like that of a plane, to his torso and places his fingers on the custom built triggers, one on both arm rests of the chair. He grins, laughs a fiendish laugh, and presses the triggers. The entire compound is Swiss cheesed by the massive amount of lead the gun lets fly from its liquid cooled barrels. He sweeps the gun from left to right, cackling madly. The hard walls of the compound are torn away and made to rubbish by the guns. The high caliber bullets meant to go through tank armor cut down several raiders and villagers. Some thing flammable explodes as it is hit, more raiders are cut down by their own guns, and one building nearly collapses as it is peppered by the bullets. One stray bullet grazes the leader’s leg as he is running for cover. He falls and loses his grip on his gun, which is thrown several feet in front of him. The Wanderer sees all this, and is sure he’ll be killed by the torrent of on coming lead. The gun sweeps towards the cage…
One bullet whistles through the cage, another pings off one of the bars. The Wanderer closes his eyes. The last bullet hits the chain just above the cage. The chain is rusted and very, very old. It brakes, letting the cage, and The Wanderer, fall to the ground. The Wanderer curses as the cage batters and bruises his body as it falls and tips over, becoming horizontal once again.
THE WANDERER
Opens his eyes, dazed but very much alive, and sees he is on the ground, not missing any body parts, and the best part of all, alive. His eyes go wide as bullets from an assault rifle whiz by. He breathes deeply and reaches down into his boot. He produces a small metal pick and unlocks the padded lock. He takes the lock off, swings open the door, and rolls out of the cage just as it is wrung through with 10mm rounds. He dives behind cover as more bullets blow by him. Just as he lands, another man seeking cover dives beside him. A raider. They both look at each other, not sure what to do. The Wanderer is the first to act. He punches the raider across the face, easily knocking him out, and grabs his pipe rifle. He triumphantly gets up and strides out of cover to try to find some sort of way out of this mess. He looks up to face a very large raider with a sub machine gun. He smiles. The Wanderer smiles back, points the gun at the raider and pulls the trigger. Empty. He dives back into cover just as the raider opens up with his gun, peppering the already bad cover and causing it to slowly collapse. It’s a stack of adobe bricks and moldy crates, but neither last long. Bullets speed past The Wanderer’s head as he frantically searches for a weapon, any weapon on the unconscious raider he knocked out earlier. Suddenly, he finds some thing.
The big raider laughs as the cover disintegrates under his fire, causing a large cloud of dust and debris to block his vision, but making the bit of cover no more. He stares into the cloud, unable to discern any thing from any body. Suddenly a gust of wind blows away the cloud revealing- The Wanderer holding a throwing knife in his capable and deadly hands. He smiles again, then flicks his wrist and the knife disappears from his hand, reappearing in the raider’s head. He drops to his knees, his eyes staring up at the metal sticking out of his head, then falls, dead. The Wanderer runs over and grabs his sub machine gun.
The leader looks up from the large mound of dirt he has fallen in to. He is covered in dirt and blood, most of which he can’t tell if it’s his own. He touches the wound in his hip and hisses. Suddenly he spies his assault rifle lying in the dirt a few yards away. Bullets speckle his surroundings. He slowly drags him self over to the rifle, painfully. Just as he puts his hand on it, a boot comes down over his fingers and a double-barreled shot gun is lowered to his head. The Leader looks up to see a short, goatee’d raider with a green Mohawk, smiling. Suddenly a black shape comes out of the misty veil of sand that has been thrown up by the battle. The Leader can’t tell who it was, since he can not brake his eyes from the raider. Suddenly the raider stops smiling. The Leader sees it before actually hearing it. Just a short, simple ‘smack’, crisp in the late after noon air, and the raider fell, blood oozing out of his open mouth. The Leader, amazed he is still alive, looks at his savior. The Wanderer lowers the large, awkward sub machine gun, a faint, half dazed, half thankful to be alive smile plays on his lips. In his black jacket he looks every lasting, a hero. He slightly wavers it the hot sun. The dust comes again, and The Wanderer disappears.
He limps over to the gate, which is now heavily guarded. There goes his main escape route. Its tough to navigate the compound through the dust, he can hardly see anything in front of him. Suddenly he sees a shape in the distance. He raises the sub machine gun, ready. The object quickly comes in to view. A bike mounted raider races towards the gate. The Wanderer aims, then pulls the trigger, but before the bullet goes off he slightly loses his balance as his head spins. He misses. He aims again, shoots, and grazes the raider’s arm. That wasn’t good, since the raider’s attention, not to mention rage, is suddenly brought to The Wanderer. Behind his large beard, he smiles and takes a large wooden bat from a saddlebag on his bike. He laughs as he speeds up, aiming to knock The Wanderer’s head off his shoulders. The Wanderer gets a sly look to him, waits for it, then at the last second side steps, ending up on the other side of the bike. He very quickly brings up his good leg in a roundhouse, knocking the biker off his bike with a grunt and an unhealthy sounding crunch. The Wanderer curses and rubs his leg. The raider, still conscious, gets up and takes the bat from the ground. The raider is at least twice the width of The Wanderer, who is nearly crippled by his leg and arm. He goes over and swings the bat in a long arc. The Wanderer, even in his bent out of shape condition, easily ducks the bat and punches the man in the gut.
The two men fighting in the middle of the compound don’t know it, but the dust has settled in the compound and now all of the villagers watch the fight, unwilling to interfere on either of the cutthroats’ behalf.
The man curses and swings again. The Wanderer upper cuts him, braking his jaw. The raider, who is very large and bulky, staggers back, holding his chin. The Wanderer watches the large man, in case he wants some more. He does. A butterfly knife is taken out, swung, missed, and knocked out of his hand. The Wanderer picks it up and looks at it. The big man roars with pain and anger, then charges The Wanderer. All he has to do is stick the knife in the raider’s path, and he does so. It is inserted into the man’s chest. He staggers around, looking at it, puts his hands around it as if to pull it out, then falls, dying before he can do it.
Silence. All that is heard is the wind.
The Wanderer staggers about, dazed and very fatigued. He looks around. All eyes are on him. He sees Buz and staggers toward him. Buz doesn’t realize who’s coming until he turns around, in which case he begins to panic and look around for help. No one thinks to go over and help him. The Wanderer finally gets to him and raps his fingers around his throat. Buz tries to yell but in comes out as only a faint whisper. The guards unsling they’re rifles and point them at the two, ready to kill The Wanderer if he kills Buz. He grits his teeth in rage, as he tightens his grasp.
THE WANDERER
His face contorts into a grimace of rage.
We had…a deal…
Nothing but the wind upon the desolate land and the faint, rapidly depleting purr of engines.
It takes several long seconds, but The Wanderer finally eases his grip on the man’s throat. He turns around, facing the villagers, and looks at the compound, torn to pieces.
The wind howls its approval of the wicked man in black.
Then he sets his sights on the leader, who leans on some rusted, shot out barrels and nurses his wound. He stumbles over to him.
LEADER
How the hell did you get out?
The Wanderer looks at him. He blinks. He blinks again. Then suddenly he punches the Leader in the face. The Leader falls to the ground, his balance lost.
The Female Guard fires a round into the dust at The Wanderer’s feet.
LILLY
Back off…
Another guard runs over and helps the Leader back up.
VICE
Looks at Wanderer and whispers
You want me to do something…?
LEADER
No, no…I reckon I deserved that.
The Wanderer staggers under the evening sun and lowers his head.
LEADER
To the guard,
Put him up in the jail cell. Give him plenty of food, water, whatever he wants, till his wounds heal a little bit better, I doubt this little fiasco helped them.
GUARD
Turns around and frowns at The Wanderer
Come with me…
The Wanderer goes willingly, since he is so damn tired and sick of being shot at. He leaves the bloody, worn out crowd to their own devices.
As he enters the jailhouse the Leader suddenly limps in behind him. He taps The Wanderer on the shoulder, out of breath. The Wanderer turns around and waits.
LEADER
Gasping…
By the way, when you wake up in the morning…
THE WANDERER
Leans in close,
Yeah?
LEADER
We won’t try to kill you, promise.
He smiles.
THE WANDERER
Nods a few times then walk into the open jail cell.
Within minutes he was asleep. The Wanderer could not remember the last time he had slept so well.
Nighttime in the compound. Venice is buzzing with the sound of tools and voices. A strange concoction of gears, levers, pulley’s and every little device imaginable along with a strange swinging pendulum swings away in one corner of the compound. It is a generator, or at least that’s what the engineer said. No one could have possibly recognized the strange contraption as a generator, it more resembles a deranged, mutilated oil derrick.
They are trying to rebuild what little of the town they can. Every one works, soldering, welding, nailing, and stapling. Floodlights cast the place in a milky white dream like state. The female guard helps the Leader with his leg, rapping it in clean white bandages. She looks up into his eyes. He seems to be deep in thought.
Hear the ending damage accounts of Vice…
VICE
…Eight dead, five wounded, one missing. You know that girl that came in with Buz this after noon? Yeah, we can’t find her…
He leaves.
LILLY
To the Leader,
Vincent, we’re not going to kill him?
LEADER
Looks distracted
What? Our new friend? No, no…
FEMALE GUARD
Begins to wrap his leg again. Then once again stops. She looks up.
What are you thinking?
VINCENT
Shifts his weight as his good leg starts to fall asleep. He stares at the jail cell, dilapidated and falling apart, then to her.
The son of a bitch sure has a knack for survival… How do you think he managed to get out of that metal cage forty feet in the air with bullets flying every where in the middle of the largest raider attack we’ve had in years?
He looks inward again, thinking.
Strange…I can’t explain it, but I think this guy is the answer to our prayers…lets just hope he lives long enough to fulfill ‘em…
NEXT: START PRAYIN’!!!
well...thats it...
for now!! Muh ha ha ha ha!!!
…so…as they say in show biz, (actually...I have no idea what they say in show biz...) on with the show…
THE WANDERER<PART>2
The Wanderer awoke, slowly and painfully. His eyes wandered around the strange looking infirmary, its spacious, decorated walls seemed out of place from what little of the dusty old compound he’d seen before he had passed out.
He tried to get up, but an immense pain wracked his left side. He bit his lip and laid back down.
Suddenly Buz comes from the blurry darkness of the infirmary and tries to lend a hand.
BUZ
Moves to help The Wanderer
Wow, easy there cowboy. You took quite a bit of lead in the ol’ gimper and snatcher.
THE WANDERER
Squints into the man’s face, then grits his teeth as he tries to get up again. This time he is successful, although the pain takes the breath out of him.
While struggling…
What?
BUZ
Leans in close
You got shot in the leg and the arm. Lots of blood. The doc said it was only a flesh wound, but speakin’ from experience, they still hurt like a bitch, whichever way you shoot ‘em…
WANDERER
Nods in agreement. He slowly, painfully swings his left leg, then his right, off the bed. He sets them down gently on the ground. His vision clears for a second and he looks at himself. His leather jacket and shirt have been taken off, and his arm is wrapped in faded, blood-speckled bandages up to his shoulder, with a crude sling pinning the painfully numb arm to his chest. His leg does not fare well either, as his hip is tightly bandaged and quite numb to the touch. He coughs and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. When he touches his head he lets out a short groan. His head aches terribly.
BUZ
Helps him up.
Just take it easy now…
The Wanderer brushes away Buzzes helping hands.
THE WANDERER
Clears his throat.
Where are my guns?
BUZ
Produces his torn shirt and jacket from an ancient looking cardboard box.
The Wanderer puts them on lovingly.
Uh, we locked ‘em up in the weapons locker for safekeeping. You know, standard protocol and all.
THE WANDERER
Nods, accepting the answer. Then suddenly realizes were he is.
Were am I?
BUZ
Sits down on the bed beside The Wanderer, who grimaces as the vibrations from Buzzes rough landing rocks his side of the bed, awakening more pain inside his arm and leg. He looks to one end of the rectangular hallway, apparently leading outside. A thick green army blanket covers the exit. Thin slivers of sunlight peak through the blanket here and there.
Well, you’re in a little compound quaintly called Venice. It’s pretty much all that’s left of the town. The palm trees here ain’t half bad, a little mutated of course, but…what isn’t now a day’s?
He chuckles and gives The Wanderer a big, toothy grin.
THE WANDERER
Glares at Buz.
Growls,
Where?
BUZ
Shifts nervously on the bed.
Ahem, well, Venice. Its plenty south a’ San Fran, and just north of Los Angeles.
THE WANDERER
Gives Buz a surprised look.
What?
BUZ
It’s in between Los Angeles and San Francisco. We have around a hundred or so people in the compound. Good thing, cause we need all the help we can get to defend against the raiders…you know, the ones that shot you.
THE WANDERER
Nods and slowly gets up.
BUZ
He nervously stands up and tries to keep The Wanderer’s attention.
Uh, then we’ve got the Tanker- supposedly bigger then the one they got in San Fran…
The Wanderer gives him a look to shut up, the proceeds to the exit.
THE WANDERER
Moves away the curtain- Three guards sit on they’re own respective seats outside the infirmary, holding automatic rifles and looking bored. One sees The Wanderer and shoots up, lightning fast, and grabs his rifle. He brings it to bear at The Wanderer, who slowly puts up his hands and gets a questioning look on his face.
GUARD
Lilly! Get over here!
A female guard who sits on a crate, smoking a cigarette, hears the guard, then turns to The Wanderer. Her reaction is the same. She jumps up and covers The Wanderer with her assault rifle. The other guard does the same. The air suddenly becomes tense and hostile.
LILLY
Begins to make her way to The Wanderer.
Ok, nice and easy now…
She proceeds to his side.
Vice, cover me.
The guard that first noticed The Wanderer nods.
She puts her rifle away and takes out a large, military issue combat knife.
The Wanderer turns to Buz, who loses his friendly face, shrugs and avoids The Wanderer’s piercing eyes.
THE WANDERER
I don’t under stand.
The Female Guard holds the knife to his neck, then pushes him forward.
LILLY
Her icy stare becomes more desolate,
Move…
MALE GUARD
Nice and slow now…
The Wanderer begins to walk slowly out into the compound.
THE WANDERER
A look of mystery creeps across his face.
I don’t understand…what is this?
BUZ
Shrugs again
Sorry pal…we gotta do what we gotta do…
THE WANDERER
Begins to realize what’s happening.
He stops and turns around. He starts to get mad.
His words are growled,
Buz, we had a deal. Remember?
BUZ
Sorry buddy, no deals. You know what they say, ‘never trust any one in the wasteland’.
THE WANDERER
Buz! What the HELL is this!
The Wanderer starts towards Buz, who whimpers away with his tail between his legs.
The guards must fight The Wanderer to get him to go in the direction they want him too, since he is intent on getting to Buz.
They slowly lead him to a small, cylindrical one-man cage lying horizontally in the dirt. It is rusted and medieval looking. A chain is fastened to one end of the cage and leads up to a crane like pole. It was obvious what it was originally meant for. The Female Guard motions for him to get in. With one last look of vengeance at Buz, he does so. He lies down and helps his arm in, then guides his bad leg into the most comfortable position he can find.
The female guard puts a heavy pad lock on the door to the cage, then nods to a burly, mustached man standing next to a large converted car engine. A series of gears and pulleys have been attached to it, along with many other jury-rigged gadgets. The man flips a lever and the motor begins to whir. It draws the chain in, as well as the cage. It is brought up to the top of the crane, forty feet in the air. It stops with a jolt, and suddenly the only sound is the wind.
The Wanderer holds onto the bars with a grip that turns his knuckles white. Though his mind is racing, he doesn’t let a word escape his lips.
A man in shabby black robes has come up and started to bless The Wanderer in the after life.
PREACHER
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
The guards take out they’re rifles and chamber they’re rounds.
A tall, black-haired man strides up to a good vantage point to order the executioners, looks up to the condemned man, who stares back with eyes as cold as death, then proceeds to que the guards, who have finished with they’re guns and now stand ready.
BLACK HAIRED MAN
Ready!
PREACHER
In the presence of thine enemies…
The guards raise they’re rifles.
THE WANDERER
Grits his teeth. Only the restless wind howling through the wasteland answers his silent plea.
He brakes his silence.
He growls,
Buz! I MADE a deal with YOU!
He spits out the last word, then gives the fumbling Buz a look that defies words.
BLACK HAIRED MAN
Aim!
PREACHER
I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever…
The Wanderer’s mind seems to slow, it seems like forever that he waits for the final word to be said.
He closes his eyes.
Suddenly a siren begins to blare.
BLACKED HAIRED MAN
Lets out an annoyed sigh.
Leave him be, we’ll finish him later…if he’s still alive.
He smiles at The Wanderer and runs to the wall.
GUARD
From one of the rickety shacks above the gate-
They’re back! Get to your posts! They’re back!
The whine of engines begin to emerge from the constant howling of the wasteland.
The Wanderer opens his eyes again and lets out a long sigh.
The cage swings high above the compound.
Venice is little more then what Buz said. The wasteland has been cruel to the once cheery sea side town. It mainly consists of a hodge podge of ancient buildings and old military tents that look like they have been there forever. Other buildings are around the compound and seem to be stapled together from old aluminum sidings and sheets of metal. If the building safety commission had survived, they wouldn’t have deemed this place livable. A large hanger sits unused, filled with broken crates and useless supplies. The infirmary, or whatever they had put The Wanderer in, was the most interesting and sturdy establishment in the compound. It was the rusted body of a passenger car for a train. Its windows had been long ago broken and covered with thick wooden planks. But then The Wanderer looks towards the ocean and sees a structure that dwarves all the others in the compound. A black, ancient tanker sits in the small refueling port, brooding. It is decades old, its hull pitted and rusting. It resides over the compound like some watery titan, ruling over the tents and ramshackle buildings within its dark shadow.
Just outside the walls lay dozens of skeletal husks of burnt out cars, jeeps, and other assorted vehicles. They are scattered every where, like broken toy’s around a kid.
The Wanderer’s peaceful observations are interrupted as the plague on wheels make they’re entrance. They race to the gate, located between the two large guard towers that house the main defenses. The actual gate consisted of a very old and hardly mobile Pepsi truck. The trailer was shoddy wood and metal, and on the side facing the compound a picture of a young girl enjoying a Pepsi is painted, quickly fading and barely audible. The engines roar ever closer, as the motorized rubbish get closer to the gate. The tall, barely standing guard towers block The Wanderer’s view. All he sees are the large plumes of dust thrown up by the automobiles. He hears several shots from a large gun located in the left tower and the buz of rent and shredding metal, then a crash. Then all hell brakes lose.
One second the truck was serene. Its worn, faded picture of a child enjoying a Pepsi almost pleasing in the way it captured innocent pre-war life, then suddenly it exploded into hundreds of fragments of wood and metal as a car shot through it like some sort of bullet from a barrel of a gun. The picture was completely destroyed. The car came to a rough landing inside the compound, skidded to a halt inside, and was quickly descended upon by the defenders’ automatic rifles and guns.
They exchange shots. One villager falls as two raiders are killed. But the problem grows still worse as more of the bikers arrive, some of them on motorcycles, others in cars and trucks. The villagers have made the fatal mistake of leaving the gate uncovered and turning all of they’re attentions towards the inner threat. There were almost a dozen of them. The compound quickly erupts in to a war zone. Bullets are pouring everywhere, apparently with no rhyme or reason to why they would possibly be shot in that direction.
THE WANDERER
One of the cars takes a round in the fuel tank and explodes, the force hits The Wanderer’s cage and makes his leg and arm throb with pain. He grunts and curses himself for being shot in the leg. A jump from this height would make him sit down for the rest of his life. He shields his eyes from the glare and the storm of dust being drawn up by falling feet and shot bullets. Raiders and villagers are running everywhere. The tall, black haired man, who The Wanderer has deduced to be the leader, runs by the cage and dives in to the sand, peppering a raider with rounds from his assault rifle.
Another villager, next to the hanger, is shot several times by a sub machine gun. The raider run’s out of bullets just as two guards take aim and fire off two rounds. Both impact into the man’s skull. The compound is quickly being torn apart. Dust and blood flies everywhere. No one is able to tell who has the upper hand. From somewhere some one yells,
SOME ONE
The gate! Some one cover the gate!
The Wanderer is stuck, like a billboard hanging for target practice. One villager runs by and looks up.
THE WANDERER
Hey, get me out of here!
He rattles the cage.
The villager nods his head in disapproval and runs off into the compound.
He tries in vain to grab at the man, or something, even though he’s at least thirty feet above any man’s head.
He punches the bar,
Son of a bitch.
Outside the gate, a lone vehicle speeds up. It comes to a stop just outside of the compound. It’s a large modified rig, with several tires removed and replaced with larger monster truck tires. On the bed where the cargo would normally be hooked up a very strange contraption lies. It is a rotating seat, but strapped to it are twin modified belt-fed Bozars. The Wanderer looks at the contraption as the dust momentarily clears.
His mouth falls open.
The driver jumps out of the cab, hops on to the back and sits in the seat. He fastens a dusty pair of flight goggles to his head and clips a large safety harness, like that of a plane, to his torso and places his fingers on the custom built triggers, one on both arm rests of the chair. He grins, laughs a fiendish laugh, and presses the triggers. The entire compound is Swiss cheesed by the massive amount of lead the gun lets fly from its liquid cooled barrels. He sweeps the gun from left to right, cackling madly. The hard walls of the compound are torn away and made to rubbish by the guns. The high caliber bullets meant to go through tank armor cut down several raiders and villagers. Some thing flammable explodes as it is hit, more raiders are cut down by their own guns, and one building nearly collapses as it is peppered by the bullets. One stray bullet grazes the leader’s leg as he is running for cover. He falls and loses his grip on his gun, which is thrown several feet in front of him. The Wanderer sees all this, and is sure he’ll be killed by the torrent of on coming lead. The gun sweeps towards the cage…
One bullet whistles through the cage, another pings off one of the bars. The Wanderer closes his eyes. The last bullet hits the chain just above the cage. The chain is rusted and very, very old. It brakes, letting the cage, and The Wanderer, fall to the ground. The Wanderer curses as the cage batters and bruises his body as it falls and tips over, becoming horizontal once again.
THE WANDERER
Opens his eyes, dazed but very much alive, and sees he is on the ground, not missing any body parts, and the best part of all, alive. His eyes go wide as bullets from an assault rifle whiz by. He breathes deeply and reaches down into his boot. He produces a small metal pick and unlocks the padded lock. He takes the lock off, swings open the door, and rolls out of the cage just as it is wrung through with 10mm rounds. He dives behind cover as more bullets blow by him. Just as he lands, another man seeking cover dives beside him. A raider. They both look at each other, not sure what to do. The Wanderer is the first to act. He punches the raider across the face, easily knocking him out, and grabs his pipe rifle. He triumphantly gets up and strides out of cover to try to find some sort of way out of this mess. He looks up to face a very large raider with a sub machine gun. He smiles. The Wanderer smiles back, points the gun at the raider and pulls the trigger. Empty. He dives back into cover just as the raider opens up with his gun, peppering the already bad cover and causing it to slowly collapse. It’s a stack of adobe bricks and moldy crates, but neither last long. Bullets speed past The Wanderer’s head as he frantically searches for a weapon, any weapon on the unconscious raider he knocked out earlier. Suddenly, he finds some thing.
The big raider laughs as the cover disintegrates under his fire, causing a large cloud of dust and debris to block his vision, but making the bit of cover no more. He stares into the cloud, unable to discern any thing from any body. Suddenly a gust of wind blows away the cloud revealing- The Wanderer holding a throwing knife in his capable and deadly hands. He smiles again, then flicks his wrist and the knife disappears from his hand, reappearing in the raider’s head. He drops to his knees, his eyes staring up at the metal sticking out of his head, then falls, dead. The Wanderer runs over and grabs his sub machine gun.
The leader looks up from the large mound of dirt he has fallen in to. He is covered in dirt and blood, most of which he can’t tell if it’s his own. He touches the wound in his hip and hisses. Suddenly he spies his assault rifle lying in the dirt a few yards away. Bullets speckle his surroundings. He slowly drags him self over to the rifle, painfully. Just as he puts his hand on it, a boot comes down over his fingers and a double-barreled shot gun is lowered to his head. The Leader looks up to see a short, goatee’d raider with a green Mohawk, smiling. Suddenly a black shape comes out of the misty veil of sand that has been thrown up by the battle. The Leader can’t tell who it was, since he can not brake his eyes from the raider. Suddenly the raider stops smiling. The Leader sees it before actually hearing it. Just a short, simple ‘smack’, crisp in the late after noon air, and the raider fell, blood oozing out of his open mouth. The Leader, amazed he is still alive, looks at his savior. The Wanderer lowers the large, awkward sub machine gun, a faint, half dazed, half thankful to be alive smile plays on his lips. In his black jacket he looks every lasting, a hero. He slightly wavers it the hot sun. The dust comes again, and The Wanderer disappears.
He limps over to the gate, which is now heavily guarded. There goes his main escape route. Its tough to navigate the compound through the dust, he can hardly see anything in front of him. Suddenly he sees a shape in the distance. He raises the sub machine gun, ready. The object quickly comes in to view. A bike mounted raider races towards the gate. The Wanderer aims, then pulls the trigger, but before the bullet goes off he slightly loses his balance as his head spins. He misses. He aims again, shoots, and grazes the raider’s arm. That wasn’t good, since the raider’s attention, not to mention rage, is suddenly brought to The Wanderer. Behind his large beard, he smiles and takes a large wooden bat from a saddlebag on his bike. He laughs as he speeds up, aiming to knock The Wanderer’s head off his shoulders. The Wanderer gets a sly look to him, waits for it, then at the last second side steps, ending up on the other side of the bike. He very quickly brings up his good leg in a roundhouse, knocking the biker off his bike with a grunt and an unhealthy sounding crunch. The Wanderer curses and rubs his leg. The raider, still conscious, gets up and takes the bat from the ground. The raider is at least twice the width of The Wanderer, who is nearly crippled by his leg and arm. He goes over and swings the bat in a long arc. The Wanderer, even in his bent out of shape condition, easily ducks the bat and punches the man in the gut.
The two men fighting in the middle of the compound don’t know it, but the dust has settled in the compound and now all of the villagers watch the fight, unwilling to interfere on either of the cutthroats’ behalf.
The man curses and swings again. The Wanderer upper cuts him, braking his jaw. The raider, who is very large and bulky, staggers back, holding his chin. The Wanderer watches the large man, in case he wants some more. He does. A butterfly knife is taken out, swung, missed, and knocked out of his hand. The Wanderer picks it up and looks at it. The big man roars with pain and anger, then charges The Wanderer. All he has to do is stick the knife in the raider’s path, and he does so. It is inserted into the man’s chest. He staggers around, looking at it, puts his hands around it as if to pull it out, then falls, dying before he can do it.
Silence. All that is heard is the wind.
The Wanderer staggers about, dazed and very fatigued. He looks around. All eyes are on him. He sees Buz and staggers toward him. Buz doesn’t realize who’s coming until he turns around, in which case he begins to panic and look around for help. No one thinks to go over and help him. The Wanderer finally gets to him and raps his fingers around his throat. Buz tries to yell but in comes out as only a faint whisper. The guards unsling they’re rifles and point them at the two, ready to kill The Wanderer if he kills Buz. He grits his teeth in rage, as he tightens his grasp.
THE WANDERER
His face contorts into a grimace of rage.
We had…a deal…
Nothing but the wind upon the desolate land and the faint, rapidly depleting purr of engines.
It takes several long seconds, but The Wanderer finally eases his grip on the man’s throat. He turns around, facing the villagers, and looks at the compound, torn to pieces.
The wind howls its approval of the wicked man in black.
Then he sets his sights on the leader, who leans on some rusted, shot out barrels and nurses his wound. He stumbles over to him.
LEADER
How the hell did you get out?
The Wanderer looks at him. He blinks. He blinks again. Then suddenly he punches the Leader in the face. The Leader falls to the ground, his balance lost.
The Female Guard fires a round into the dust at The Wanderer’s feet.
LILLY
Back off…
Another guard runs over and helps the Leader back up.
VICE
Looks at Wanderer and whispers
You want me to do something…?
LEADER
No, no…I reckon I deserved that.
The Wanderer staggers under the evening sun and lowers his head.
LEADER
To the guard,
Put him up in the jail cell. Give him plenty of food, water, whatever he wants, till his wounds heal a little bit better, I doubt this little fiasco helped them.
GUARD
Turns around and frowns at The Wanderer
Come with me…
The Wanderer goes willingly, since he is so damn tired and sick of being shot at. He leaves the bloody, worn out crowd to their own devices.
As he enters the jailhouse the Leader suddenly limps in behind him. He taps The Wanderer on the shoulder, out of breath. The Wanderer turns around and waits.
LEADER
Gasping…
By the way, when you wake up in the morning…
THE WANDERER
Leans in close,
Yeah?
LEADER
We won’t try to kill you, promise.
He smiles.
THE WANDERER
Nods a few times then walk into the open jail cell.
Within minutes he was asleep. The Wanderer could not remember the last time he had slept so well.
Nighttime in the compound. Venice is buzzing with the sound of tools and voices. A strange concoction of gears, levers, pulley’s and every little device imaginable along with a strange swinging pendulum swings away in one corner of the compound. It is a generator, or at least that’s what the engineer said. No one could have possibly recognized the strange contraption as a generator, it more resembles a deranged, mutilated oil derrick.
They are trying to rebuild what little of the town they can. Every one works, soldering, welding, nailing, and stapling. Floodlights cast the place in a milky white dream like state. The female guard helps the Leader with his leg, rapping it in clean white bandages. She looks up into his eyes. He seems to be deep in thought.
Hear the ending damage accounts of Vice…
VICE
…Eight dead, five wounded, one missing. You know that girl that came in with Buz this after noon? Yeah, we can’t find her…
He leaves.
LILLY
To the Leader,
Vincent, we’re not going to kill him?
LEADER
Looks distracted
What? Our new friend? No, no…
FEMALE GUARD
Begins to wrap his leg again. Then once again stops. She looks up.
What are you thinking?
VINCENT
Shifts his weight as his good leg starts to fall asleep. He stares at the jail cell, dilapidated and falling apart, then to her.
The son of a bitch sure has a knack for survival… How do you think he managed to get out of that metal cage forty feet in the air with bullets flying every where in the middle of the largest raider attack we’ve had in years?
He looks inward again, thinking.
Strange…I can’t explain it, but I think this guy is the answer to our prayers…lets just hope he lives long enough to fulfill ‘em…
NEXT: START PRAYIN’!!!
well...thats it...
for now!! Muh ha ha ha ha!!!
