Photo of René Burri, 1992 New Mexico.
survive
The eyebot played yet another rerun of “The Adventures of Herbert Daring Dashwood.” How it managed to pick up that sludge so far from D.C. had always been a mystery to Jared. He suspected none of it was live, that the eyebot had just recorded a few hours of radio and kept looping it. At…
The eyebot played yet another rerun of “The Adventures of Herbert Daring Dashwood.” How it managed to pick up that sludge so far from D.C. had always been a mystery to Jared. He suspected none of it was live, that the eyebot had just recorded a few hours of radio and kept looping it. At least it wasn’t any bullshit propaganda, he thought. Jared had been on the road for a good week now, headed for Shady Sands, smack dab in the middle of the New California Republic, to his surprise, the journey so far had been incredibly uneventful. It didn’t bother him, he liked it boring. Jared and his trusty eyebot was currently somewhere in northern Nevada, he’d decided to stay far away from Vegas on account of the rather messy hubbub that’d gone down there lately, what with those crazy people who thought they were Romans being all over the place. In his distant-mindedness he almost stepped on a migrating radroach, who had also decided to stay far away from Vegas on account of the rather messy hubbub that’d gone down there lately.
The skies were getting dark and cloudy, whirling around like a fancy milkshake. A sandstorm probably. Well, it was about time to make camp anyways, so he unpacked his rather cozy tent and did just that.
The storm raged throughout the night like an angry five-year-old, the wind howling and tearing at his tent, but eventually the five-year-old fell asleep on the couch. As the dust settled, a group of characters moved quietly towards the tent. They were five strong, armed and all mildly inquisitive as to why someone had wandered into their territory. What Jared didn’t know was that he had made camp more or less on top of one of the few remaining Brotherhood of Steel bunkers in the area, one of but a handful the NCR hadn’t found and eradicated. The inhabitants of said bunker were now converging on Jareds tent. “Got visual, it’s a tent,” a muffled voice as if spoken into a tin can said, “Stay quiet, Lennox, take point.” An armored individual, presumably named Lennox, took point. He aimed his laser rifle at the tent as if it was about to leap at him and insult his mother.
The patrol inched forwards, when suddenly a blaring noise sounded over the immediate speck of wasteland, “YOU ARE LISTENING TO THE ADVENTURES OF ME, HERBERT DARING DASHWOOD, AND MY STALWART GHOUL MANSERVANT, ARGYLE!” Lennox fired his rifle and missed, a cactus about a mile away was now on fire, and a tribe of savage raiders had decided it was a sign from God. There was a great feast later that night. “Fuck me, can you be more loud!?” Jared rolled out of his tent, straightened up and rubbed the dust out of his eyes, “I swear, once we get to any kind of settlement, I’m trading you in for a Nuka Cola.” There was a slight shuffling around him, “Quiet! State your business!” a very assertive and muffled voice declared. Jared looked confused for a second, then finally opened his mouth, “So… Do I write you a note or…?” The Brotherhood looked at eachother, “Uh, what?” The one who presumably was their leader asked, “Well, if I’m to state my business while remaining quiet, I need a pen and paper. I don’t know any sign language and I’m not telepathic.” The one called Lennox pushed the barrel of his rifle into Jared’s mouth, “Listen here, funny guy, if you don’t stop with the jokes and tell us why you’re here I’m going to melt that hilarious tongue of yours into a fine paste.” In response, Jared carefully removed the rifle from his mouth, put his hands in the air and said “Look, I’m just travelling, okay? I’m headed to Shady Sands, and I wanted to avoid Vegas, so if you could just let me pack my things, I’ll be on my way.” Lennox backed off, “That sounds fairly reasonable to me, chief, “ he said. The leader of the bunch lowered his rifle and looked around, “Right, so this is what we’ll do. I’ll get HQ on the horn and we’ll get this sorted. In the meantime, detain him.” Jared was rather disturbed by the notion of being detained by these techno freaks, who knew what went on in those bunkers of theirs, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Surely you must be hungry? Let me make you some breakfast while we wait, hm?” None of them seemed to have a problem with that idea, and Jared went back inside his tent to find his bag. It contained food, a camping stove, a hunting rifle and a loaded revolver. Safety wasn’t Jareds strong point. Back outside, the Brotherhood patrol had relaxed a bit, one had even taken off his helmet, he seemed to quite enjoy the desert wind blowing through his hair.
At that point their leader wandered back to the main group, “Right, so, HQ wants us to take him back inside for questioning.” This Jared did not like the sound of, he had to think fast, and he did. He quickly pulled the revolver from his bag and fired. The low-caliber bullet bounced off the thick armor of one of the patrolmen, the others looked at each other, not quite sure what just happened. Before the Brotherhood fellas figured out what the hell was going on, Jared had already started running, and the eyebot was just catching up. “Damnit, what are you doing! Stop him! Lennox!” The esteemed leader shouted and pointed and Lennox aimed his rifle, pulled the trigger and hit another cactus, this one didn’t result in a grand feast.
After an hour of boldly fleeing from the Brotherhood, Jared finally dared to take a rest. He’d lost his tent, but other than that, had still managed to hold on to his other possessions, “You know, I really wish you were more useful,” he said to the eyebot in a tone that could freeze a polar bear. “All you do is repeat that god-awful radio drama,” the eyebot floated carelessly in the air and made a single beep. After a few minutes of catching his breath, Jared decided to continue, hoping to whatever gods there may be that the eyebot would remain silent, when suddenly, “YOU ARE LISTENING TO THE ADVENTURES OF ME! HERBERT DARING DASHWO-” And so the eyebot was promptly smashed by a rock, and Jared continue towards Shady Sands in peace.
Concept Design for Sci-Fi Shortfilm
A concept design I did as a preparation for my postapocalyptic science fiction short film “Project 17”. Check my blog at www.johnbritoblog.com to see behind-the-scenes material of my sci-fi short films!
We trod through the wide field, laughing. Like the apocalypse hadn’t even happened yet. The zombies are far out of sight, we have no worried at this moment.
“A hot pizza would be great right about now.” Travis, fifteen year old boy, drools a bit. He has short cut, brown hair. He’s plump, growing up, he didn’t miss a meal.
“No, more like a hot shower.” I laugh. I swing my dirty arms by my side roughly.
“Alicelee, I thought you’d be used to only having a monthly shower.” Searia, my best friend, jokingly bumps my other arm. Her dark skin is getting darker in the sun light. Her smile glows while her eyes light up my soul. She’s always been a little more than a best friend to me. Possibly a lover. She allows her curly black, shoulder length hair to bounce up and down as she walks along side of me.
“You got that wrong, it’s a weekly shower.” I joke back. The group laughs.
“I thought you were the only one.” Tyson looks to Travis. Tyson and Travis are brothers, only two years apart. Tyson is tall, strong. Before this cataclysm he must have gone to the gym quite often. He owns his eye length hair as if it were treasure.
Skylar and Skott, the twins, look a bit oddly to each other, following behind Searia and I. Their ginger hair is long, nearly can’t tell them apart. Their Irish, green eyes a gorgeous, and if they turn sideways they’d disappear. That’s how skinny they are.
“Guys, there is the house I was telling you about!” Naomi says a bit loudly, but no louder than our laughter. She’s short and smart, but quick. She’s already saved us countless times with her prepared brain. Her dark brown hair is tied into a messy bun, and her blue eye show me so much emotion and information. She knows what she’s doing.
We all run the long distance to the old house. It’s been abandoned a long time ago, years maybe. It’s begun to rot as the Boston Ivy climbs it’s sides, along with the trees beside it. The inside more than likely won’t be too pleasant either but it’s a safe place to sleep.
Tyson shoves the door open. A startled mouse runs across the floor then into a hole through a rotten plank, hiding itself from us.
“Ew! Rat!” Skylar yells then takes a large step back, “I’m not sleeping in a house with rats.”
“It’s that or sleep out there with blood thirsty freaks, it’s really your choice,” Naomi raises an eyebrow.
Skylar steps back towards the house in surrender.
“I think mice are the least of our problems right now.” Skott helps Skylar into the house over the broken front step.
I follow behind them, tossing my bag in before a leap. Tyson stands above, pulling my arms up to help.
“You’re turn Travis.” This time I stand above him. It takes me and Tyson to pull him up.
“You should lay off the chips, bro.” Tyson states bluntly. I give one more tug and he’s up. Tyson throws his arm around Travis’s neck for a semi- hug.
It’s not long before everyone is passed out, asleep on the hard floor. I set against the dark wooden wall. This house is so old it doesn’t even have a bathroom. There is an out house yards from the house. The closest thing for a stove is a fire place, the people that occupied this house before us left everything, even wood outside the home. The bed in this room is still made, plates in a cabinet. Old plates. Like the family left, expecting to return.
I convince myself to sleep, cuddling up to Tyson’s back for warmth. The night passes with ease. No dreaming, no nightmares, pure sleep.
(Author’s note: If you enjoy reading this, please reblog, and share with your friends, if not, inbox me on how I could improve. Please and thank you. And as you should know, this is owned my M&M Productions. I am co-owner of it.)
You know what I love? I love that “post apocalyptic rollerskating movie” isn’t a description of a movie, but instead of an entire genre. Granted it’s a genre created almost entirely by a single man, but when the man is dedicated and prolific enough,…
