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Guest
Guest
Firstly, if I screw up and post this some were that its not supposed to be, sorry. I have no idea how these things work. I'm not a very social person and I've never been in any of these 'forums' or whatever. Ok, here it goes...
ATTENTION: This is the first story or fan-fic er whatever I’ve ever written in the ‘Fallout genre’, actually it’s the first real official story I’ve stuck with and actually gotten into. Its probably crappy as hell and so full of plot holes, action holes, epic holes, drama holes, shallow holes, deep holes and whatever other holes you can think of, that by the time you finish my ‘piece’ you’ll be tearing at your eyes and screaming ‘kill it! Kill it!’. Well, at least that’s what I did. Any hoo, in conclusion read at your own risk to brain dumbening, brain cell killing boredom and horriblility (Is that a word?). So without further adew…
(NOTE-As some of you may realize with out actually reading this note, I’ve taken heavy influence from the Road Warrior, especially the following excerpt. So just to let you know I’m not trying to pass it as my own. Thank you, and enjoy.)
---------------------THE WANDERER---------------------
Years roll by, a vision fades. All I have left are memories. I remember a time, a time of great darkness, of death and destruction raining down upon my brothers and sisters. I remember the war that ended all wars, the screams of agony cried by mother earth. The great tribes of the west fought the tribes of the east. Great weapons of destruction were launched. Millions died, but these weapons did not slow on human blood. They slowed only when no one was left to fire them. Only then did the killing stop. And only then did life begin to start anew. And only then did life again begin to stir in the glowing ashes of civilization. The fertile land was turned to pulp, then to waste land. And it was there that I lived my life. In a village to the north, I lived with my tribe. It was here that few survived and nothing flourished. It was a place were only the warriors survived. The beings desperate enough to loot, brutal enough to pillage survived. The gangs took over the wastes, ready to wage war for food and guns. It was in this place that ordinary men, men like The Wanderer were crushed and swept away. In this maelstrom of decay, he lost every thing. His wife was lost to the roar of an automatic, and he himself was nearly crippled. The wanderer became a shell of a man, a burnt out desolate man. Doomed to wander the wasteland forever, driven forward by his own inner demons. And it was in this blighted place that he learned to live again . . .
The mists of sand swirled and played with each other, mixing, twirling. The great swirls of sand some times buried hole camps while the merchants were sleeping. Some times it brushed away feet of sand revealing pre-war stuff, worth fortunes. The desert swirled around the camp almost protectively. Out of the tent came a slightly large, older man. Short but muscular, he trotted out of the tent made of hodge podge materials he had found in his years of traveling and went to the winded and fading fire, were a coffee can had been precariously perched on a shoddy iron grate over the fire. It was covered in dust, but the man didn’t seem to mind. The sand got every were in the wasteland. He pored himself some coffee and put it back.
While the man stood there, looking out at the eastern desert that stretched for miles, a girl walked out of the tent. Blond and very young, she was in stark contrast to scarred and ugly men and woman of the wastes.
The man turned around and found her looking at him.
Man
Morning Lizzy, got coffee on the stove there.
LIZ
You know I don’t drink coffee Buz.
BUZ
Well I was hoping you’d start turning out normal for a change, and-
LIZ
Look.
She points to the eastern desert. Dusty black shapes are bearing down quickly upon the camp.
Buz looks at her.
BUZ
Stay here.
He trots back inside the tent. Its messy, with boxes of things every were. He shifts around some junk and finds an old hard wood case. He opens it and takes out a polished black revolver. He checks the rounds and shoves it in his belt, behind his back.
LIZ
Looks scared
Don’t…
BUZ reassuringly takes a hold of her elbow and squeezes.
Don’t worry, it’s just a precaution.
It takes minutes for the riders on the motorcycles to get to the camp. For Liz it feels like years.
The riders slow to a stop and turn off their engines. There are four of them, all wearing heavy metallic looking armor with distinctly punkish looks about them. Mohawks, chains, piercing’s, etc. The one that seemed to be the leader walks over to them.
They all stare at each other for several long seconds. Only the wind upon the desert land can be heard.
Four to two, not very good odds.
PUNK
With a very Clint Eastwood desolateness to his voice.
Old man, what do you got?
BUZ
What do I have for sale? Well, I’ve got-
All the punks laugh
PUNK
still smiling
No old man, what do have for me to take?
BUZ
loses his salesmen like smile and replaces it with a scared look. Another long silence takes place.
Suddenly he grabs for his gun.
But the Punks are younger, and faster. The main one produces a big pipe from his armor and knocks Buz square across the jaw. Buz grunts hard and falls to his knees. Three of the punks go to work on him. Buz still gropes for his gun, now lying in the dust. Liz is too terrified to do anything but scream.
BUZ
Lizzy!
LIZ
Buz! Don’t kill him you bastards!
She works up the confidence to slap the one guy holding her; he looks at her and laughs, then grabs her blouse and tries to rip it off. She struggles.
The three punks have gotten Buz to his knees.
MAIN PUNK
Say good bye to Liz. Ha ha.
LIZ
gives out a terrible scream
NO!!!
You bastards!!
She struggles terribly but can not get out of the grasp of the punk.
The main punk lowers a desert eagle to kill Buz.
BUZ
Lizzy! It’s ok! Stay cool!
Lizzy!
Liz is still vainly struggling. The punk has gotten off her blouse and is working on her skirt.
BUZ
Lizzy…
MAIN PUNK
Ha ha ha…
the laugh is long and drawn out, BUZ can’t tell weather his brain is playing it in slow motion, or he really is laughing slowly.
BUZ closes his eyes
The punk pulls back the hammer and pulls the trigger.
BUZ hears the punk scream, then some thing wet breaking, like bone. The gun shoots harmlessly into the ground. He risks opening his eyes again. The punk that was going to execute him is now kneeling, just like himself, and holding his broken, bleeding hand. A figure in black stands over him. Suddenly the figure swings back and hits the punk square in the chin. BUZ could hear the guys jaw and neck breaking. The three other punks are fiddling with their own respective weapons. One manages to take out his pistol. The strange phantom that seemed to come out of no were took the wedge end of his crow bar and hooked it on the punks ear chain. He pulls the man close to him and presses a magnum revolver into his chest. He pulls the trigger. The last two punks are starting to back away, no doubt to run. One puck turns around and sees the stranger, pointing his cannon at him, and decides running is pointless. He is shot through his armor. The other man is a little less brave, he runs through the tent and comes out the other end to get tangled up in BUZ’s horses, hooked up behind the tent. He slips in a pile of less mentionable goo and looks behind him, from the opposite side of the tent comes the man in black. He is now carrying a sawed off double-barreled shotgun.
PUNK
he starts to frantically run away.
Ohhh, ohh shit!
He is thrown far away from the camp by the shotgun’s blast, sliding a few feet in the dirt before coming to a rest, dead before he hit the ground.
BUZ is kneeling face down in the dirt. He looks up, breathless.
All that is heard is the wind blowing through the wasteland.
BUZ
Thank…thank you…
He is bleeding from his nose and lip.
He stares at a man, tall and lean, dressed in a black leather (double sleeve…for all you Road warrior fans out there, like me
) jacket, black leather pants, and an assortment of cowboyish looking belts containing tools, bullets, a holster with a double barreled shot gun, and another holster with a black revolver magnum in it.
He looked like a wanderer.
WANDERER
With no emotion in his voice
Save it. I’m just here… to trade.
BUZ
squints and points at a large box standing at the entrance of the tent.
Its all there. Take…take whatever you want.
The WANDERER goes over and opens the box. He sees a bag of eight or nine solid shot shotgun shells. He takes them. He also sees a box of .44’s. He takes them too. He tosses a bag of perhaps 300 bucks into the box and walks back over to Buz.
The Wanderer kneels.
WANDERER
Thanks.
He gets up and puts on a pair of shades, then walks off into the rapidly heating desert.
The girl and Buz just stare at him.
Buz gets up and limps over to Liz, who is trying to muster some dignity by covering her bare chest.
LIZ
gets up and takes a few steps in the strangers’ direction.
Thank you!
She yells, since the wanderer has drifted away from their camp.
The man in black does not turn around, only raises a hand and gives a barely audible salute.
BUZ
takes a wet towel and begins cleaning himself up.
Half dazed.
That was a weird one.
LIZ
Ready to cry
He saved your life…and mine.
NEXT: THOSE DAMN DIRTY MUTANTS!!!
BUZ
Riding on his horse, enters-Merchant town, a city of tents and merchant counters built on the ruins of some old city no one knew the name of. LIZ follows behind him, looking stately and innocent. They each ride in through the old high way entrance, the long dead skeleton of the road crunching under the horse’s poorly shoed feet.
People of all colors, shapes and sizes walk through the street.
It’s nighttime. Bars and associated ‘clubs’ grace the city’s presence here and there. They all look seedy, poor, and dangerous, very dangerous.
BUZ lets out a sigh and begins to move toward a bar called “The lone-star.” It seemed to be the least shoddy of all the bars, and few screams could be heard emanating from the upstairs rooms.
BUZ stops his horse in front of it and turns in his saddle to LIZ, looking cautious and rather scared.
We mine as well stop for a drink before we hit the last stretch, Lizzy.
LIZ
Looks at him as if he’s crazy, then gets off of her horse.
They walk in to the bar. It’s dim and smoky, strange shadows play along the walls, covered with old time posters of family values. They both slowly, cautiously navigate the tables, were gamblers are gambling, losers are losing, and few are winning. They sit down and look around. Girls in all sorts of states of dress and undress walk around serving drinks and…other… services, plainly apparent if one looked in the dark corners of the bar.
BUZ
He looks around one more time and decides to do something.
Liz, stay here, I’m gonna order us some drinks.
Before Liz can say anything he gets up and heads towards the bar.
LIZ
Tries to grab for him but fails.
She sinks down in her chair and tries not to be noticed.
A man in black enters the saloon. The Wanderer. He goes over to the bar and asks for a bottle of whiskey, finds a corner table and sits down. He unscrews the cap and pores himself a shot. He gulps it down like water.
Suddenly a man comes up behind him, and pulls a 10mm out of his belt. He then proceeds to circle the table and sit down opposite of the Wanderer.
STRANGER
So…we meet again. Or rather, you met my kin brother, in the desert. Do you recall?
THE WANDERER
Squints as if trying to remember something.
Oh, how long ago?
STRANGER
A few months, near Reno.
THE WANDERER
Smiles.
Oh, was that… Harold? He said you’d be looking for me. The one with the red Mohawk and the star tattooed on his arm, right?
STRANGER
As The Wanderer describes his brother, he sinks into memories and begins to rhythmically nod his head, bobbing the gun too. This guy is a few apples short of a fruit basket.
That was him. The mortician said they managed to find most of his body before the sands buried every thing, however, they didn’t find his torso…
He accentuates ‘most’ and begins to laugh.
THE WANDERER
That’s what happens during robberies. Maybe he shouldn’t have pulled a gun on me. It was a stupid thing to do.
As he is speaking he’s slowly un-holstering his sawed off shotgun under the table, undetected by the man across from him.
THE STRANGER
Cuts off his laughing.
I’ve come a long way to meet you. Now, I will have my revenge…
A mutant comes out from no were and grabs The Wanderer by the shoulder. He’s big and green, wearing just plain brown pants, stretched out and barely fitting. He growls behind the Wanderer.
THE WANDERER
With a bit of Clint Eastwood in his voice,
I reckon so, but remember,
He pulls the trigger on his shotgun, blowing the man to bloody rags.
Revenge doesn’t pay.
He takes his magnum and puts it between the mutant’s eyes.
Take your paws off of me you damn dirty mutant.
He pulls the trigger. Once, twice, three times. The mutant just stands there, his head a bloody mess. Then like a mountain he groans and falls over.
THE WANDERER
And that’s the end of that.
He gets up, takes the bottle of whiskey and throws some money on the counter.
Sorry about the mess.
And begins to walk out.
Suddenly a man comes from no were and leaps onto The Wanderer’s back.
The Wanderer grits his teeth and bursts the bottle over the guys head, which dazes him and send s him sprawling. Suddenly the whole bar erupts into a giant brawl. Every body is punching some body. Shots ring out, bottles brake. Nothing but chaos. Liz screams and sinks under the table, which a man is promptly thrown on and punched to the point of oblivion.
BUZ is trading punches with random strangers. A fire starts at the bar as a stray bullet ignites broken whiskey bottles along the bar.
Jesus…
Suddenly a man in black grabs him and upper cuts him. He is sent against the bar, but holding to the guy’s jacket sends him with Buz.
He looks at the man who punched him. It’s the Wanderer.
The fire spreads its way down the bar to where the two are trading blows.
The Wanderer is surprised also.
THE WANDERER
You again…?
BUZ punches him back and holds up his hands.
Hey, you really did well back there in the desert!
He and The Wanderer both jump up at the last second before the fire reaches them.
The Wanderer takes him and throws him out of the bar.
THE WANDERER
Thanks.
BUZ punches him again
Say, would you like to travel with us? Your food and bed would be for free and we need protection. What do you say?
THE WANDERER
Sure
He punches BUZ, throwing him into the street.
BUZ
(out of breath)
Ok, it’s a deal.
He gets up and dusts himself off.
The names BUZ.
Liz screams and runs out of the bar, now falling apart (literally) and in flames.
She’s hysterical.
That there’s Liz. She’s a tough one, hardened to the outs and the ins of the wastes.
Lizzy, over here!
He yells to her and waves his arms around, since she’s taken cover behind the wall of the saloon. Suddenly A man bursts through the window and lands in the street with a hail of broken glass. She screams again and runs over to Buz, who tries to calm her down. She’s just a mess of tears and screams.
She’s so hysterical she nearly collapses in Buzzes arms.
BUZ
Has to yell to be heard over the roar of the flames and shots.
Well then, lets get a move on!
Silence.
NEXT: OUT OF THE FRYING PAN AND INTO…VENICE?
BUZ led the horses, containing food, supplies, his tent, his wares, and one quickly fading Liz to the ancient gas station. It looked empty and abandoned as far as the Wanderer could tell, since no light came from the dirtied and broken windows. But when Buz tied up the horses and told The Wanderer to follow him, it was obvious some thing of importance was in there.
They walked into the garage. Pitch black. BUZ disappears into the vast emptiness. The Wanderer hears a crash and curse, then blinding light floods the whole garage.
A man is illuminated in the corner, holding a hunting rifle and looking nervous. He breathes deeply then puts the rifle down.
STRANGER
Ah, Buz, why didn’t you say it was you?
BUZ
Jesus Hummer, why you have to turn off the lights?
HUMMER
Lots of strange people come pokin’ around these parts this time o’ night. Say, where’s little Lizzy at?
BUZ
Uh, she’s sleeping, had a rough night at the Bar.
He smiles.
HUMMER
Who’s this tough hombre?
He indicates toward the Wanderer who nods back to him.
BUZ
Oh, that’s uh…that’s…uh…say, what is your name?
WANDERER
I’d better go check on Liz.
He promptly exits the garage.
HUMMER
One day all those sick weirdo’s you make friends with in the wastes are going to kill ya.
BUZ
Ah, he’s alright. If he was gonna kill us he would have done it all ready, and trust me, he could have. Hey, how is she?
He looks at the form of a truck, buried under sea covers.
HUMMER
Great condition as always. Didn’t really drive her ‘round much, just make sure she was runnin’ all right. There’s a full tank a gas in ‘er.
BUZ
Whips off the covers, revealing a Marlboro red Chevy pick up truck. Battered, scarred, but still functional.
He gets into the driver’s seat and finds the keys on the dashboard. He thrusts the keys into the ignition and starts her up. An immense amount of dust and sand falls out of the engine and tires as they stir to life, But other wise, the truck seems to be the way he had left her. Buz always left his truck with Hummer for safe keeping when he went on one of his long trading routes, which he had been returning from.
All right, Hummer.
HUMMER
Busies himself with cleaning up the tools Buz spilled over when looking for the light switch.
BUZ
Hey Hummer, I’ll leave the horses and 1000 bucks, like always. Ok? Gimme some more fuel and I’ll see ya next time.
Outside the Wanderer balances Liz in the saddle. She slowly tips from one side to the other, nearly falling off. He finally gets her balanced and the garage opens up. Buz rides out, in the Chevy. He now wears a cow boy hat.
BUZ
Hey, quite fooling around with the girl and get her and the stuff off the horses! We’re riding first class now!
And he slaps the roof of the truck with his palm.
The Wanderer sighs and proceeds to do what Buz tells him.
The dreary afternoon sun glared down upon the lone truck, the only pin prick of civilization in the vast, endless desert. The truck left a mile long dust trail behind it as it kicked up the loose sand and dirt from the parched and arid wasteland.
The dust seemed to take on a life of its own as it swirled behind the ancient truck.
BUZ and the girl sat in the cab, while The Wanderer sits in the flat bed on top of Buz’s box of wares. He keeps a look out for any thing on the horizon.
BUZ
They must yell over the roar of the engine.
Hey, you see anything!?!
WANDERER
No,
He pauses
Should I?
BUZ
No…no…
He trails away.
Suddenly they clear a rock formation and see, very distantly, a compound of some sort, as well as blue green brown ocean, a stark contrast to the desert. It was beautiful, even with the assorted junk floating around in it.
The Wanderer can’t help but stare at it. Suddenly he senses some thing and turns around.
A swirl, from the tires of a car comes from the horizon. Soon more joins it, some smaller, some larger. From motorcycles and heavier stuff, like trucks and Humvees. They seem to come out of the desert, like ants from the woodwork.
They all swerve and werve like a motorized plague of locusts. They quickly gain on the much slower truck, which promptly shifts gear and goes faster. Not fast enough.
THE WANDERER
He slaps the roof of the truck to get Buzzes attention.
Hey, are these friends of yours?
BUZ
looks back and suddenly bursts into panic mode.
Oh shit…
Hey protector, lay low and stay alive, would’ya please?
THE WANDERER
Nods, and takes out his magnum. He checks the rounds then breathes deeply.
He lies down in the bed.
The plague of locusts envelops the truck.
A motorcycler races up to the truck looks in, and shoots a wrist-mounted arrow into the bed, blindly. It shoots between The Wanderer’s legs. He looks at it, gets up and blows the guy away with his magnum. The motorcycle flips over and over, riderless. It lands on the hood of a very old and trashy looking mustang, driven by some other punk, he swerves and hits an embankment. It seems to float in mid air for awhile before crashing to the ground and exploding.
The Wanderer hears BUZ laughing with Glee. The army of bikes, trucks, cars, and other assorted motorized rubbish seems to be growing larger by the minute. He wonders were the hell these guys are coming from, not to mention why they’re so damn intent on killing him and his company. The compound doesn’t seem to be getting any closer either. He shoots out the front tire of a motorcycle just as the rider is about to shoot The Wanderer. It flips over, long ways, and is sent into the air about eight feet.
A car swerves along side the truck. The passenger leans out the window and throws a home made grenade into the bed, which The Wanderer promptly picks up and throws on to the car’s hood. It of course explodes, igniting the fuel and causing a massive fireball that takes out at least three other bikes.
BUZ
Hell yeah!!
THE WANDERER
Gives BUZ a triumphant look, then ducks as the bed is peppered with 10mm rounds from a sub machine gun.
THE WANDERER
As a whole is put in his leather jacket, missing his arm by centimeters (like…- - that much for all you not so technical readers)
Shit.
He rolls over and tries to get to the other side of the cab, but a bullet that goes through the bed wall and forms a hole right next to his head makes him decide otherwise.
Damn.
He decides to end this little game. He gets up and aims his sawed off shotgun. He plugs the driver through the windshield, the massive discharge crunching through flesh and bone. Driverless, it heads off in a different direction and spins out.
The compound is only a few hundred feet away now, the smell of death getting less and less noticeable. The Wanderer is momentarily distracted by the fleeting glance of a strange floating… thing in the Sea, behind the compound.
Suddenly a truck comes up. In the bed is a man behind an ancient pre-war heavy machine gun. He forces the heavy bolt back, chambering the first round, then lets off a few rounds into the truck. The truck is Swiss cheesed by the large caliber bullets the thing spits out.
BUZ
Yeehawaaa!
He grabs his hat off his head and whips it around.
He looks back in his excitement and sees The Wanderer, holding his bleeding left arm and his bleeding left leg.
Ah, shit!
Just then they drive into the compound. The giant gate closes behind them, and two guard sentries, armed with stationary mini gun and flame-thrower hose down the fleeing Raiders.
BUZ slams on the brakes in the middle of the compound. People in white leather armor run up to the truck.
An older woman opens the driver’s side door.
WOMAN
Buz!
BUZ
Lesley!
They kiss and hug each other.
Others run up. Some greet Liz, some greet Buz. A crowd forms around the truck. One girl, a female guard looks in the bed. She brings her assault rifle to bear and asks-
GUARD
Buz!
Who the hell is this?
BUZ
Distracted from his reacquainting with his wife.
Oh, don’t shoot don’t shoot!
He runs over and pushes down her rifle.
He’s a good guy. He’s hurt. I need some medic’s over here.
The Wanderer pulls himself off the bed of the truck, now smeared with his blood, and jumps out. At first he thinks he can make it, but his own weakness makes him collapse when he lands. No body helps him. He pulls himself up on to the corner of the truck. All the people just stare at him. Some point weapons at him, as if he might attack at any moment. A man with a Red Cross on his back runs up to him.
A child of about 10 jumps up on the trucks roof and looks at the strange man.
The Wanderers vision balloons and morphs, like some messed up drug induced trip.
MEDIC
His voice is different, some how mutated in The Wanderers ears. It’s much lower, and goes slower then it really does.
How you doing buddy?
The medic puts a flashlight in his eyes. He squints and starts walking in some distant direction. He stumbles, weaves and bobs. They all just stand there and watch him. The guard is arguing with Buz about letting a stranger into the compound. The Wanderer collapses on to the ground. He stares up at the sky, bleeding.
BUZ
I assure you he is no danger whatsoever…
WOMAN GUARD
Well…
She looks at his collapsed form.
In his fading consciousness The Wanderer hears the last words-
That’s for sure…welcome to Venice, California stranger.
He fades out.
NEXT: EXCITING STUFF!!! (THE PLOT THICKENS!!!)
ATTENTION: This is the first story or fan-fic er whatever I’ve ever written in the ‘Fallout genre’, actually it’s the first real official story I’ve stuck with and actually gotten into. Its probably crappy as hell and so full of plot holes, action holes, epic holes, drama holes, shallow holes, deep holes and whatever other holes you can think of, that by the time you finish my ‘piece’ you’ll be tearing at your eyes and screaming ‘kill it! Kill it!’. Well, at least that’s what I did. Any hoo, in conclusion read at your own risk to brain dumbening, brain cell killing boredom and horriblility (Is that a word?). So without further adew…
(NOTE-As some of you may realize with out actually reading this note, I’ve taken heavy influence from the Road Warrior, especially the following excerpt. So just to let you know I’m not trying to pass it as my own. Thank you, and enjoy.)
---------------------THE WANDERER---------------------
Years roll by, a vision fades. All I have left are memories. I remember a time, a time of great darkness, of death and destruction raining down upon my brothers and sisters. I remember the war that ended all wars, the screams of agony cried by mother earth. The great tribes of the west fought the tribes of the east. Great weapons of destruction were launched. Millions died, but these weapons did not slow on human blood. They slowed only when no one was left to fire them. Only then did the killing stop. And only then did life begin to start anew. And only then did life again begin to stir in the glowing ashes of civilization. The fertile land was turned to pulp, then to waste land. And it was there that I lived my life. In a village to the north, I lived with my tribe. It was here that few survived and nothing flourished. It was a place were only the warriors survived. The beings desperate enough to loot, brutal enough to pillage survived. The gangs took over the wastes, ready to wage war for food and guns. It was in this place that ordinary men, men like The Wanderer were crushed and swept away. In this maelstrom of decay, he lost every thing. His wife was lost to the roar of an automatic, and he himself was nearly crippled. The wanderer became a shell of a man, a burnt out desolate man. Doomed to wander the wasteland forever, driven forward by his own inner demons. And it was in this blighted place that he learned to live again . . .
The mists of sand swirled and played with each other, mixing, twirling. The great swirls of sand some times buried hole camps while the merchants were sleeping. Some times it brushed away feet of sand revealing pre-war stuff, worth fortunes. The desert swirled around the camp almost protectively. Out of the tent came a slightly large, older man. Short but muscular, he trotted out of the tent made of hodge podge materials he had found in his years of traveling and went to the winded and fading fire, were a coffee can had been precariously perched on a shoddy iron grate over the fire. It was covered in dust, but the man didn’t seem to mind. The sand got every were in the wasteland. He pored himself some coffee and put it back.
While the man stood there, looking out at the eastern desert that stretched for miles, a girl walked out of the tent. Blond and very young, she was in stark contrast to scarred and ugly men and woman of the wastes.
The man turned around and found her looking at him.
Man
Morning Lizzy, got coffee on the stove there.
LIZ
You know I don’t drink coffee Buz.
BUZ
Well I was hoping you’d start turning out normal for a change, and-
LIZ
Look.
She points to the eastern desert. Dusty black shapes are bearing down quickly upon the camp.
Buz looks at her.
BUZ
Stay here.
He trots back inside the tent. Its messy, with boxes of things every were. He shifts around some junk and finds an old hard wood case. He opens it and takes out a polished black revolver. He checks the rounds and shoves it in his belt, behind his back.
LIZ
Looks scared
Don’t…
BUZ reassuringly takes a hold of her elbow and squeezes.
Don’t worry, it’s just a precaution.
It takes minutes for the riders on the motorcycles to get to the camp. For Liz it feels like years.
The riders slow to a stop and turn off their engines. There are four of them, all wearing heavy metallic looking armor with distinctly punkish looks about them. Mohawks, chains, piercing’s, etc. The one that seemed to be the leader walks over to them.
They all stare at each other for several long seconds. Only the wind upon the desert land can be heard.
Four to two, not very good odds.
PUNK
With a very Clint Eastwood desolateness to his voice.
Old man, what do you got?
BUZ
What do I have for sale? Well, I’ve got-
All the punks laugh
PUNK
still smiling
No old man, what do have for me to take?
BUZ
loses his salesmen like smile and replaces it with a scared look. Another long silence takes place.
Suddenly he grabs for his gun.
But the Punks are younger, and faster. The main one produces a big pipe from his armor and knocks Buz square across the jaw. Buz grunts hard and falls to his knees. Three of the punks go to work on him. Buz still gropes for his gun, now lying in the dust. Liz is too terrified to do anything but scream.
BUZ
Lizzy!
LIZ
Buz! Don’t kill him you bastards!
She works up the confidence to slap the one guy holding her; he looks at her and laughs, then grabs her blouse and tries to rip it off. She struggles.
The three punks have gotten Buz to his knees.
MAIN PUNK
Say good bye to Liz. Ha ha.
LIZ
gives out a terrible scream
NO!!!
You bastards!!
She struggles terribly but can not get out of the grasp of the punk.
The main punk lowers a desert eagle to kill Buz.
BUZ
Lizzy! It’s ok! Stay cool!
Lizzy!
Liz is still vainly struggling. The punk has gotten off her blouse and is working on her skirt.
BUZ
Lizzy…
MAIN PUNK
Ha ha ha…
the laugh is long and drawn out, BUZ can’t tell weather his brain is playing it in slow motion, or he really is laughing slowly.
BUZ closes his eyes
The punk pulls back the hammer and pulls the trigger.
BUZ hears the punk scream, then some thing wet breaking, like bone. The gun shoots harmlessly into the ground. He risks opening his eyes again. The punk that was going to execute him is now kneeling, just like himself, and holding his broken, bleeding hand. A figure in black stands over him. Suddenly the figure swings back and hits the punk square in the chin. BUZ could hear the guys jaw and neck breaking. The three other punks are fiddling with their own respective weapons. One manages to take out his pistol. The strange phantom that seemed to come out of no were took the wedge end of his crow bar and hooked it on the punks ear chain. He pulls the man close to him and presses a magnum revolver into his chest. He pulls the trigger. The last two punks are starting to back away, no doubt to run. One puck turns around and sees the stranger, pointing his cannon at him, and decides running is pointless. He is shot through his armor. The other man is a little less brave, he runs through the tent and comes out the other end to get tangled up in BUZ’s horses, hooked up behind the tent. He slips in a pile of less mentionable goo and looks behind him, from the opposite side of the tent comes the man in black. He is now carrying a sawed off double-barreled shotgun.
PUNK
he starts to frantically run away.
Ohhh, ohh shit!
He is thrown far away from the camp by the shotgun’s blast, sliding a few feet in the dirt before coming to a rest, dead before he hit the ground.
BUZ is kneeling face down in the dirt. He looks up, breathless.
All that is heard is the wind blowing through the wasteland.
BUZ
Thank…thank you…
He is bleeding from his nose and lip.
He stares at a man, tall and lean, dressed in a black leather (double sleeve…for all you Road warrior fans out there, like me
) jacket, black leather pants, and an assortment of cowboyish looking belts containing tools, bullets, a holster with a double barreled shot gun, and another holster with a black revolver magnum in it. He looked like a wanderer.
WANDERER
With no emotion in his voice
Save it. I’m just here… to trade.
BUZ
squints and points at a large box standing at the entrance of the tent.
Its all there. Take…take whatever you want.
The WANDERER goes over and opens the box. He sees a bag of eight or nine solid shot shotgun shells. He takes them. He also sees a box of .44’s. He takes them too. He tosses a bag of perhaps 300 bucks into the box and walks back over to Buz.
The Wanderer kneels.
WANDERER
Thanks.
He gets up and puts on a pair of shades, then walks off into the rapidly heating desert.
The girl and Buz just stare at him.
Buz gets up and limps over to Liz, who is trying to muster some dignity by covering her bare chest.
LIZ
gets up and takes a few steps in the strangers’ direction.
Thank you!
She yells, since the wanderer has drifted away from their camp.
The man in black does not turn around, only raises a hand and gives a barely audible salute.
BUZ
takes a wet towel and begins cleaning himself up.
Half dazed.
That was a weird one.
LIZ
Ready to cry
He saved your life…and mine.
NEXT: THOSE DAMN DIRTY MUTANTS!!!
BUZ
Riding on his horse, enters-Merchant town, a city of tents and merchant counters built on the ruins of some old city no one knew the name of. LIZ follows behind him, looking stately and innocent. They each ride in through the old high way entrance, the long dead skeleton of the road crunching under the horse’s poorly shoed feet.
People of all colors, shapes and sizes walk through the street.
It’s nighttime. Bars and associated ‘clubs’ grace the city’s presence here and there. They all look seedy, poor, and dangerous, very dangerous.
BUZ lets out a sigh and begins to move toward a bar called “The lone-star.” It seemed to be the least shoddy of all the bars, and few screams could be heard emanating from the upstairs rooms.
BUZ stops his horse in front of it and turns in his saddle to LIZ, looking cautious and rather scared.
We mine as well stop for a drink before we hit the last stretch, Lizzy.
LIZ
Looks at him as if he’s crazy, then gets off of her horse.
They walk in to the bar. It’s dim and smoky, strange shadows play along the walls, covered with old time posters of family values. They both slowly, cautiously navigate the tables, were gamblers are gambling, losers are losing, and few are winning. They sit down and look around. Girls in all sorts of states of dress and undress walk around serving drinks and…other… services, plainly apparent if one looked in the dark corners of the bar.
BUZ
He looks around one more time and decides to do something.
Liz, stay here, I’m gonna order us some drinks.
Before Liz can say anything he gets up and heads towards the bar.
LIZ
Tries to grab for him but fails.
She sinks down in her chair and tries not to be noticed.
A man in black enters the saloon. The Wanderer. He goes over to the bar and asks for a bottle of whiskey, finds a corner table and sits down. He unscrews the cap and pores himself a shot. He gulps it down like water.
Suddenly a man comes up behind him, and pulls a 10mm out of his belt. He then proceeds to circle the table and sit down opposite of the Wanderer.
STRANGER
So…we meet again. Or rather, you met my kin brother, in the desert. Do you recall?
THE WANDERER
Squints as if trying to remember something.
Oh, how long ago?
STRANGER
A few months, near Reno.
THE WANDERER
Smiles.
Oh, was that… Harold? He said you’d be looking for me. The one with the red Mohawk and the star tattooed on his arm, right?
STRANGER
As The Wanderer describes his brother, he sinks into memories and begins to rhythmically nod his head, bobbing the gun too. This guy is a few apples short of a fruit basket.
That was him. The mortician said they managed to find most of his body before the sands buried every thing, however, they didn’t find his torso…
He accentuates ‘most’ and begins to laugh.
THE WANDERER
That’s what happens during robberies. Maybe he shouldn’t have pulled a gun on me. It was a stupid thing to do.
As he is speaking he’s slowly un-holstering his sawed off shotgun under the table, undetected by the man across from him.
THE STRANGER
Cuts off his laughing.
I’ve come a long way to meet you. Now, I will have my revenge…
A mutant comes out from no were and grabs The Wanderer by the shoulder. He’s big and green, wearing just plain brown pants, stretched out and barely fitting. He growls behind the Wanderer.
THE WANDERER
With a bit of Clint Eastwood in his voice,
I reckon so, but remember,
He pulls the trigger on his shotgun, blowing the man to bloody rags.
Revenge doesn’t pay.
He takes his magnum and puts it between the mutant’s eyes.
Take your paws off of me you damn dirty mutant.
He pulls the trigger. Once, twice, three times. The mutant just stands there, his head a bloody mess. Then like a mountain he groans and falls over.
THE WANDERER
And that’s the end of that.
He gets up, takes the bottle of whiskey and throws some money on the counter.
Sorry about the mess.
And begins to walk out.
Suddenly a man comes from no were and leaps onto The Wanderer’s back.
The Wanderer grits his teeth and bursts the bottle over the guys head, which dazes him and send s him sprawling. Suddenly the whole bar erupts into a giant brawl. Every body is punching some body. Shots ring out, bottles brake. Nothing but chaos. Liz screams and sinks under the table, which a man is promptly thrown on and punched to the point of oblivion.
BUZ is trading punches with random strangers. A fire starts at the bar as a stray bullet ignites broken whiskey bottles along the bar.
Jesus…
Suddenly a man in black grabs him and upper cuts him. He is sent against the bar, but holding to the guy’s jacket sends him with Buz.
He looks at the man who punched him. It’s the Wanderer.
The fire spreads its way down the bar to where the two are trading blows.
The Wanderer is surprised also.
THE WANDERER
You again…?
BUZ punches him back and holds up his hands.
Hey, you really did well back there in the desert!
He and The Wanderer both jump up at the last second before the fire reaches them.
The Wanderer takes him and throws him out of the bar.
THE WANDERER
Thanks.
BUZ punches him again
Say, would you like to travel with us? Your food and bed would be for free and we need protection. What do you say?
THE WANDERER
Sure
He punches BUZ, throwing him into the street.
BUZ
(out of breath)
Ok, it’s a deal.
He gets up and dusts himself off.
The names BUZ.
Liz screams and runs out of the bar, now falling apart (literally) and in flames.
She’s hysterical.
That there’s Liz. She’s a tough one, hardened to the outs and the ins of the wastes.
Lizzy, over here!
He yells to her and waves his arms around, since she’s taken cover behind the wall of the saloon. Suddenly A man bursts through the window and lands in the street with a hail of broken glass. She screams again and runs over to Buz, who tries to calm her down. She’s just a mess of tears and screams.
She’s so hysterical she nearly collapses in Buzzes arms.
BUZ
Has to yell to be heard over the roar of the flames and shots.
Well then, lets get a move on!
Silence.
NEXT: OUT OF THE FRYING PAN AND INTO…VENICE?
BUZ led the horses, containing food, supplies, his tent, his wares, and one quickly fading Liz to the ancient gas station. It looked empty and abandoned as far as the Wanderer could tell, since no light came from the dirtied and broken windows. But when Buz tied up the horses and told The Wanderer to follow him, it was obvious some thing of importance was in there.
They walked into the garage. Pitch black. BUZ disappears into the vast emptiness. The Wanderer hears a crash and curse, then blinding light floods the whole garage.
A man is illuminated in the corner, holding a hunting rifle and looking nervous. He breathes deeply then puts the rifle down.
STRANGER
Ah, Buz, why didn’t you say it was you?
BUZ
Jesus Hummer, why you have to turn off the lights?
HUMMER
Lots of strange people come pokin’ around these parts this time o’ night. Say, where’s little Lizzy at?
BUZ
Uh, she’s sleeping, had a rough night at the Bar.
He smiles.
HUMMER
Who’s this tough hombre?
He indicates toward the Wanderer who nods back to him.
BUZ
Oh, that’s uh…that’s…uh…say, what is your name?
WANDERER
I’d better go check on Liz.
He promptly exits the garage.
HUMMER
One day all those sick weirdo’s you make friends with in the wastes are going to kill ya.
BUZ
Ah, he’s alright. If he was gonna kill us he would have done it all ready, and trust me, he could have. Hey, how is she?
He looks at the form of a truck, buried under sea covers.
HUMMER
Great condition as always. Didn’t really drive her ‘round much, just make sure she was runnin’ all right. There’s a full tank a gas in ‘er.
BUZ
Whips off the covers, revealing a Marlboro red Chevy pick up truck. Battered, scarred, but still functional.
He gets into the driver’s seat and finds the keys on the dashboard. He thrusts the keys into the ignition and starts her up. An immense amount of dust and sand falls out of the engine and tires as they stir to life, But other wise, the truck seems to be the way he had left her. Buz always left his truck with Hummer for safe keeping when he went on one of his long trading routes, which he had been returning from.
All right, Hummer.
HUMMER
Busies himself with cleaning up the tools Buz spilled over when looking for the light switch.
BUZ
Hey Hummer, I’ll leave the horses and 1000 bucks, like always. Ok? Gimme some more fuel and I’ll see ya next time.
Outside the Wanderer balances Liz in the saddle. She slowly tips from one side to the other, nearly falling off. He finally gets her balanced and the garage opens up. Buz rides out, in the Chevy. He now wears a cow boy hat.
BUZ
Hey, quite fooling around with the girl and get her and the stuff off the horses! We’re riding first class now!
And he slaps the roof of the truck with his palm.
The Wanderer sighs and proceeds to do what Buz tells him.
The dreary afternoon sun glared down upon the lone truck, the only pin prick of civilization in the vast, endless desert. The truck left a mile long dust trail behind it as it kicked up the loose sand and dirt from the parched and arid wasteland.
The dust seemed to take on a life of its own as it swirled behind the ancient truck.
BUZ and the girl sat in the cab, while The Wanderer sits in the flat bed on top of Buz’s box of wares. He keeps a look out for any thing on the horizon.
BUZ
They must yell over the roar of the engine.
Hey, you see anything!?!
WANDERER
No,
He pauses
Should I?
BUZ
No…no…
He trails away.
Suddenly they clear a rock formation and see, very distantly, a compound of some sort, as well as blue green brown ocean, a stark contrast to the desert. It was beautiful, even with the assorted junk floating around in it.
The Wanderer can’t help but stare at it. Suddenly he senses some thing and turns around.
A swirl, from the tires of a car comes from the horizon. Soon more joins it, some smaller, some larger. From motorcycles and heavier stuff, like trucks and Humvees. They seem to come out of the desert, like ants from the woodwork.
They all swerve and werve like a motorized plague of locusts. They quickly gain on the much slower truck, which promptly shifts gear and goes faster. Not fast enough.
THE WANDERER
He slaps the roof of the truck to get Buzzes attention.
Hey, are these friends of yours?
BUZ
looks back and suddenly bursts into panic mode.
Oh shit…
Hey protector, lay low and stay alive, would’ya please?
THE WANDERER
Nods, and takes out his magnum. He checks the rounds then breathes deeply.
He lies down in the bed.
The plague of locusts envelops the truck.
A motorcycler races up to the truck looks in, and shoots a wrist-mounted arrow into the bed, blindly. It shoots between The Wanderer’s legs. He looks at it, gets up and blows the guy away with his magnum. The motorcycle flips over and over, riderless. It lands on the hood of a very old and trashy looking mustang, driven by some other punk, he swerves and hits an embankment. It seems to float in mid air for awhile before crashing to the ground and exploding.
The Wanderer hears BUZ laughing with Glee. The army of bikes, trucks, cars, and other assorted motorized rubbish seems to be growing larger by the minute. He wonders were the hell these guys are coming from, not to mention why they’re so damn intent on killing him and his company. The compound doesn’t seem to be getting any closer either. He shoots out the front tire of a motorcycle just as the rider is about to shoot The Wanderer. It flips over, long ways, and is sent into the air about eight feet.
A car swerves along side the truck. The passenger leans out the window and throws a home made grenade into the bed, which The Wanderer promptly picks up and throws on to the car’s hood. It of course explodes, igniting the fuel and causing a massive fireball that takes out at least three other bikes.
BUZ
Hell yeah!!
THE WANDERER
Gives BUZ a triumphant look, then ducks as the bed is peppered with 10mm rounds from a sub machine gun.
THE WANDERER
As a whole is put in his leather jacket, missing his arm by centimeters (like…- - that much for all you not so technical readers)
Shit.
He rolls over and tries to get to the other side of the cab, but a bullet that goes through the bed wall and forms a hole right next to his head makes him decide otherwise.
Damn.
He decides to end this little game. He gets up and aims his sawed off shotgun. He plugs the driver through the windshield, the massive discharge crunching through flesh and bone. Driverless, it heads off in a different direction and spins out.
The compound is only a few hundred feet away now, the smell of death getting less and less noticeable. The Wanderer is momentarily distracted by the fleeting glance of a strange floating… thing in the Sea, behind the compound.
Suddenly a truck comes up. In the bed is a man behind an ancient pre-war heavy machine gun. He forces the heavy bolt back, chambering the first round, then lets off a few rounds into the truck. The truck is Swiss cheesed by the large caliber bullets the thing spits out.
BUZ
Yeehawaaa!
He grabs his hat off his head and whips it around.
He looks back in his excitement and sees The Wanderer, holding his bleeding left arm and his bleeding left leg.
Ah, shit!
Just then they drive into the compound. The giant gate closes behind them, and two guard sentries, armed with stationary mini gun and flame-thrower hose down the fleeing Raiders.
BUZ slams on the brakes in the middle of the compound. People in white leather armor run up to the truck.
An older woman opens the driver’s side door.
WOMAN
Buz!
BUZ
Lesley!
They kiss and hug each other.
Others run up. Some greet Liz, some greet Buz. A crowd forms around the truck. One girl, a female guard looks in the bed. She brings her assault rifle to bear and asks-
GUARD
Buz!
Who the hell is this?
BUZ
Distracted from his reacquainting with his wife.
Oh, don’t shoot don’t shoot!
He runs over and pushes down her rifle.
He’s a good guy. He’s hurt. I need some medic’s over here.
The Wanderer pulls himself off the bed of the truck, now smeared with his blood, and jumps out. At first he thinks he can make it, but his own weakness makes him collapse when he lands. No body helps him. He pulls himself up on to the corner of the truck. All the people just stare at him. Some point weapons at him, as if he might attack at any moment. A man with a Red Cross on his back runs up to him.
A child of about 10 jumps up on the trucks roof and looks at the strange man.
The Wanderers vision balloons and morphs, like some messed up drug induced trip.
MEDIC
His voice is different, some how mutated in The Wanderers ears. It’s much lower, and goes slower then it really does.
How you doing buddy?
The medic puts a flashlight in his eyes. He squints and starts walking in some distant direction. He stumbles, weaves and bobs. They all just stand there and watch him. The guard is arguing with Buz about letting a stranger into the compound. The Wanderer collapses on to the ground. He stares up at the sky, bleeding.
BUZ
I assure you he is no danger whatsoever…
WOMAN GUARD
Well…
She looks at his collapsed form.
In his fading consciousness The Wanderer hears the last words-
That’s for sure…welcome to Venice, California stranger.
He fades out.
NEXT: EXCITING STUFF!!! (THE PLOT THICKENS!!!)
Good job, scriptwriter!! Must have mooooooorrrreeeeeee!!! Write! Oh, and Join the Illuminati before we hunt you down and drag you screaming into the pyramid. 
, it was a job-related distaction. Really!