Participants:
| Scene Title | Happy Together |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Woods and his partner survey the Wasteland. |
| Date | July 4, 2017 |
A scorching hot and dry wind blows over a dune of orange-hued sand. Black trees choked in ash and caked in soot twist up from the ground like burned fingers, broken and twisted in a vice. The sky is a haze of orange and yellow, thick like fog but acrid and foul. The wildfires that ravaged the New Jersey Pine Barrens still rage, a roaring inferno that tracks itself across parched earth, scouring the topsoil away and leaving nothing but rock and dust in its wake. The burned out husk of a pickup truck lays crooked off of what was once a road, warped by heat. The truck's tires are melted to the asphalt, windshield and windows exploded by extreme temperature. A series of dusty bones wrapped in denim and threadbare cotton are not far from the body, a dusty gold watch melted to wrist bones mostly buried in sand.
Imagine me and you, I do
Music blares over the dunes, followed by the whining road of a small engine. The dune buggy that comes blasting over the hill kicks up a wake of sand, crashing back down with a squeak-screech of its suspension before puttering to a stop beside the burned out husk of the truck. Radio blaring a song by The Turtles, the buggy's lone driver presses a black boot into the grit, rising up from the vehicle and removing a pair of battered ski goggles from over his eyes. Squinting against the stinging smoke and hot breeze, James Woods surveys what was once the Egg Harbor township, lips pulled back into an open-mouthed grimace. "Fuck, this ain't much'f anything at all, is it Deputy?" Woods looks to the empty passenger seat, then lifts a pair of binoculars up from where they hang around his neck.
I think about you day and night, it's only right
Through the binoculars, Woods spots two plumes of dust rising up from the fire-baked ground, amid a field of blackened and still-smoldering trees: vehicles moving east to west. "Yep, looks like the Firsters are still sweepin' the area. You were right, Deputy," he pulls his eyes away from the binoculars and looks back into the empty seat, "two patrols, probably a shotgun gang." He looks back into the lenses, squinting again as he zooms in. "Looks like four, an' one big ugly fuckin' dog. They never 'ave cute dogs, just big mistreated mongrels that'll tear your throat out. Why's that, eh?"
To think about the girl you love and hold her tight
Woods glances at the empty seat again, rolling his shoulders. "Oh come the bloody fuck on, I know it's because it's for security, but don't y'think there's an underlyin' condition tha' traces itself back t'their upbringin'? They can't be seen as intimidating if they've got a Scottish terrier in their back seat, yeah?" One of Woods' brows raises slowly, then drops quicker. "Oh you're just no fun a'tall." Swinging one leg back into the buggy, Woods settles down inside and lets the binoculars hang around his neck again. "Let's check Linwood, maybe th' fire din'na burn out the coast much?"
So happy together
With a rev of the engine, Woods peels out and roars away from the burned truck, kicking up a plume of dust and ash in the wake of the buggy's tires as he does. The black trees whip by, one after another, even as the vehicle jostles with every rock and piece of deadfall it drives over or swerves to avoid. "So I was thinkin' when we get back t'the others, maybe you'n me could go for a little stroll?" Woods looks to the empty seat again. "Yeah? Take one long drive up the coast, go out t'Montauk, maybe do a picnic or somethin'?" He looks back at the terrain whipping past, carefully driving around another derelict vehicle destroyed by the fire.
If I should call you up, invest a dime
"I mean, I'm not particular t'Montauk. I just figure its the easiest coast t'get to." Woods notes casually to the air as he drives. "Fond memories of stoppin' by when tha' place was mothballed t'pick up files fer Miss Dalton. 'Course it figures tha' they'd go an' move in there full time after I…" Woods furrows his brows, shaking his head and looking to the passenger seat. "No, no. See, tha's the thing, in'it? Coney Island would make perfect sense, but it's kinda' a fuckin' mess now. I miss the Slusho machines," he adds with a frown, looking down to his lap and momentarily away from the road, "I miss a lot a'things, come t'think of it."
And you say you belong to me and ease my mind
Rumbling up from the dusty field of fire's passage, Woods gets back up on the fire-cracked asphalt and the ride is considerably smoother. "Wha's your favorite beach?" He asks of his invisible friend in the buggy. The non-answer has him nodding appreciatively, brows raised. "Y'know a'don' know if I'd have pegged you for tha'. I didn't think— " he hesitates, glancing at the empty seat then back to the road. "Oh. Oh, yeah, guess tha' makes sense don' it?"
Imagine how the world could be, so very fine
Shifting into a higher gear, Woods presses down the gas pedal and speeds up, finding the road almost entirely clear of debris save for small scraps of blackened wood that turn to ash when the tires hit them. "When I was a wee lad, my father'd take me for walks around the Thames. I haven't been back home in so long I forget jus' how bad tha' fuckin' river smelled in the summer. Jus' remember tha' it did. Nothing particularly good about it, or m'da, really. He was a right prick, but he'd buy me fish an' chips after a shitty night of yellin' an' hard drinkin', t'make up fer scarin' me an' mum." Woods tilts his head to the side, leaning closer to the empty seat. "Don't really regret leavin' home. Just regret doin' it the way I did."
So happy together
A burned-out husk of a gas station blows past, smoke still issuing up from the underground fuel tanks in twisting fingers of choking black smoke. "Well, tha's nice'f you t'say. But the past is the past, really. It ain't nothin' but stuff tha' makes me certain I never want t'have kids of my own t'fuck up." An awkward smile flits across Woods' face. "Well, tha' an' the bloody end of the fuckin' world." Up ahead, the blackened remains of a church is barely recognizable, its steeple toppled down into charcoal stick trees, clock parts scattered across the ground and a heat-warped bell partly buried by dust and ash.
I can't see me lovin' nobody but you
"Yeah, it ain't exactly sight-seein' territory here." Woods notes as he eyes the bell. "So," he looks back to the road, "what's the over-under, y'figure, on Eve havin' some bat-shit crazy assignment for us when we get back? M'worried she's lost her bloody mind, because there ain't much a sane woman does that involves rubber duckies an' gunpowder." Something that Woods imagines has him giggling fitfully, and looking to the empty seat. "Well, I suppose so, yeah? At least Pete's got his head mostly screwed on straight these days. Such as he can, anyway. S'good t'see him again, though the bloody look he gave me when I walked in tha' fuckin' door." A hoot of laughter slips from Woods' lips. "Priceless."
For all my life
Up ahead, the smoldering remains of a coastal town com into view as the buggy rumbles down a now car-lined road. Woods turns right, going off the asphalt and back into the loose ash and dust. "Yea', Pete's a good guy. But it ain't like he's gonna win leader of the year award either, y'know? I think he's run from more battles than…" Woods eases off of the gas, still trying to come up with an answer. "Than uh…" He looks to his right. "Who's cowardly— Oh! The Cowardly Lion!" That much has Woods bursting into another fit of laughter and slapping the steering wheel. "Oh, yeah, yeah, tha's a good one."
When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue
Down the hill, Woods' buggy rumbles through the remains of a once prosperous coastal town, where the fire has torched houses down to their cellars, turned forests into smoky kindling, and reduced any signs of habitation to molten slag. The wildfire was indiscriminate, and judging from the way boats are halfway sunken into the murky harbor beyond, the fire's heat tore partway out onto the river. Woods slows the buggy to a stop, then steps out of the vehicle again and lifts up the binoculars, scanning the horizon. "Nothin'…" he murmurs, "jus' a bunch'a sunk ships an'…" he hesitates, squinting against the murky, afternoon sunlight coming crimson through the smoke. "I think tha's— fuck!" Hopping hastily back into the buggy, Woods reaches into the back and grabs a shotgun, resting it across his lap before he slams on the accelerator. "Hold on!" He says to literally no one.
For all my life
Roaring down the hill, Woods plows down a narrow side street between smoking ruins of burned houses. Sharply jerking the wheel to the right, he cuts onto what is clearly East Mill Road, judging from the heat-warped sign. Revving the gas and pressing the pedal down harder, Woods keeps one hand on the wheel and lifts up the shotgun, bracing the barrel against the front frame of the buggy. Quickly coming into view through the thin haze of smoke are a trio of men in gas masks, brutally beating a young man with baseball bats. Woods presses the gas down to the floor. "That's exactly what m'gonna do."
Me and you and you and me
The buggy collides with one of the masked thugs, breaking both of his legs and sending him crashing over the roll bars, one arm getting tangled up in the cage and twisting with a meaty snap before going limp and rolling over the top and crashing down behind the speeding vehicle. Woods jerks the wheel to the right, kicking up a rooster-tail of dust and ash behind the spinning tires, them comes back around like a joust. One of the thugs breaks into a sprint, and Woods peels out, fishtailing in the dust as he pick up speed. Instead of running that one down, he drive up parallel and levels the shotgun out across his arm holding the wheel and fires.
No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be
The thug's shoulder explodes in a shower of gore and denim, sending him collapsing to the ground and rolling end over end through the ashes until his mangled arm is caked in yellow-gray clay staining a dark red. Woods hits the brakes, then rises up through the top of the buggy, standing on one of the seats as another thug goes running past. The shotgun fires again with a deafening road, and the last thug's legs give out as one knee is obliterated by the slug. He lands on the ground, screaming and rolling about.
The only one for me is you, and you for me
"Stay in the car," Woods says as he steps out, shotgun gripped tight in both hands. The engine idles behind him as he moves to the first man he'd shot in the shoulder, training the gun down on him. Squinting, Woods rolls him over with a boot, then notices the man they'd been bludgeoning is still alive, but rocking back and forth on the ground in agony. He points the shotgun down into the attacker's face, then pulls the trigger.
So happy together
Pulling shotgun shells out of his bandolier, Woods makes tracks across the back side of the buggy to the second man he'd shot, taking aim before he even has time to asses shis condition and fires another round into the man's back, racks another shell, and shoots him in the back of the head. "I said stay in the car!" Woods shouts at the buggy, then treads back toward the man he'd hit when this altercation started.
I can't see me lovin' nobody but you
Watching the young man crawl across the ash on broken legs, Woods comes up behind him and stomps on the back of one dislocated knee. The man's scream erupts into the air, followed by a keening gasp of agony as Woods does it a second time. "Th' fuck is wrong with you people?" Woods asks, kicking the man over onto his back. "Tha's a fuckin child," he motions to the young man squirming on the ground that they'd been beating, shotgun held down in the other hand in the attacker's face.
For all my life
"He killed my brother," the man on the ground at Woods' mercy chokes out, "hung him— from an overpass." Suddenly, Woods' expression shifts, and a dawning horror passes across his face. He looks back to the buggy, mouth agape, and then back to the twitching man with broken legs in front of him. "He's Humanis." Guilt stabs at Woods' heart, his breath is short, chest tight, face flushed with blood. He looks down at the mangled legs of the man he'd just been stomping, at his friend he'd shot to death in the street.
When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue
When Woods' eyes track back to the man in front of him, he aims the shotgun down at the man's head and mumbles, "Sorry, mate," and pulls the trigger.
For all my life
Boots crunch in coarse ash and dust, each footfall kicking up a little at Woods' heels. When he reaches the young man who'd been beaten about the head and neck with the baseball bats, he sees him rising to his hands and knees. "Man, y-you saved my life from those fuckin' assholes." He turns a swollen face up to Woods, smiling a pink smile with broken teeth. "It's good to see another human out here who ain't a fuckin Evo-lov— "
Me and you and you and me
A shotgun blast echoes across the ruined town.
No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be
Woods takes a while to come back to the buggy, shotgun held gingerly and eyes downcast to the ground. He gently sets the gun in the back, then climbs back into the driver's seat. He's quiet for a little while, hunched over the wheel, hands gripping it at ten and two, eyes wrenched shut and softly crying.
The only one for me is you, and you for me
"I fuckin' hate this fuckin' world," Woods whispers to himself, stating to sob. "I fuckin' hate it all." His shoulders rise and fall with each shuddering breath, with each exasperated sob, and the fit ends with two balled up fists slamming against the steering wheel. "S'not fair! Nothing was supposed t'be like this! This whole fuckin' world is a fuckin' nightmare!"
So happy together
Hunched over the wheel again, Woods is quiet for a time. His only company the sound of the whipping wind, and the lonely creak of fire-damaged wood. He sniffles back another sob, then looks over to the empty seat next to him. "The fuck'm I doing?" He asks the air, brows furrowed and eyes searching a vacant space for something it can't give him.
Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba
"The fuck're we doing?" He asks again, but the wind has no answer.
Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba
Just a sharp whisper, and a smoky cry.