KEN: This post-apocalyptic podcast contains some foul language, dark humor and depictions of well warranted violence. You have been warned. Proceed through the Vault Door at your own risk.

SCENE 1

 

FADE IN ON ATOMIC VIDEO CLIP AND AUDIO ABOUT SURVIVNG AS A COMMUNITY. END WITH SHOTGUN BLASTS.

MUSIC & INTRO SEQUENCE

 

TAPE PLAYING NOISE, SLOW FADE IN. PLEASANT NATURE SOUNDS. BIRDS SINGING, WATER FLOWING.

 

SIMON (vo):       I shot Chad in the face today. Beautiful weather. Outlook is…promising. (Singing) Country Roads…takeeee meee homeeee…gonna diiiiggg…a shallow grave…

 

SIMON:                Stop playback.

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

SIMON:                Resume recording.

TAPE REEL ENGAGES AND BEGINS TRANSCRIBING

 

SIMON:                But here…in this place the dead don’t stay dead, do they? I didn’t know it then but giving in and killing that son of a bitch was the start of a long line of ah…mistakes. Damn…internal bleeding…whatever he did to me, Stimpacks no longer work. But I’ll have the last laugh. I remember when…

LOUD KNOCK ON THE DOOR.

 

SIMON:                Shit.

SOUND OF GUN COCKING. CREAK OF CHAIR AS SIMON GETS UP AND WALKS TO THE DOOR.

 

SIMON:                Who’s there?

 

INSULT BOT:       Special delivery and an insult-o-gram. By the way your mother’s a whore.

 

SIMON:                That’s…real original tough guy. Who’s it from?

 

INSULT BOT:       Look buddy I just deliver the packages and sing the message. Don’t bust my balls.

 

SIMON:                I’m opening the door. Any funny business and I’ll turn you into a toaster.

 

INSULT BOT:       Oh that’s a good one. Did your Mom tell you that joke or did you find it on a Perk Card bubble gum wrapper?

SOUND OF DOOR BEING UNCHAINED

 

SIMON:                God I hate robots…what’s in the box?

 

INSULT BOT:       Insult-o-gram song engaged. Initiating playback.

(Harmonica sound) I heard that you were feeling blue

Bleeding and sad we’re almost through

Your Mom is dead and so’s your Dad

Here’s a box of dicks from your good friend Chad.

Insult-o-gram has been delivered. Have a miserable day.

 

SOUND OF ROBOT WALKING AWAY

 

SIMON:                Hey! You tell him we’re not done yet! You hear me?! You give him that message from me!

 

SOUND OF BOX BEING OPENED.

 

SIMON:                Aw…that’s…that disgusting. Where would you even find…(sigh) Just a few more hours and this will be all over. Keep it together Simon.

 

SOUND OF DOOR CLOSED. WALKS BACK AND SITS IN CHAIR.

 

SIMON:                Chad came back. But then you probably figured that out by now. I understand why we ALL come back now. But it wasn’t long before karma…or just bad luck made me learn that lesson the hair way.

 

SIMON:                Stop recording. Seek journal entry.

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

SIMON:                Seek Entry: Day 46.

KEY TYPING. TAPE REVERSES, STOPS AND THEN ENGAGES.

NATURE SOUNDS. GENTLE BREEZE. WATER FLOWEING.

 

SIMON:                Appalachia, Day 46: 68F, hazy. I slept…terribly. It was a nightmarish and restless sleep. I dreamt of people I do not know sleeping in my bed and posing for pictures. Strangers crouching over my sleeping form and tea bagging me while I floated in a void. I awoke this morning parched and miserable. The food situation is getting dire. Breakfast this morning consisted of sucking the last glucose covered Sugar Bomb flakes out of that t-shirt I found in a trash can in Grafton…I also found some bobby pins, a paper cup and a wrench. None of which were helpful. I stashed a few containers of Cram for safe keeping in the can before leaving the area. I MUST find a steady supply food. After repairing my blown out walls, I’ll set out this afternoon to try and find Chad’s camp to reclaim some of the supplies that started going missing soon after he arrived. On the way…I’ll pass his grave. Well…I say grave…anyway my bigger concern is an unexpected development. Glancing at my PipBoy this morning, I noticed that it has begun broadcasting my position region-wide. It appears that someone or something has placed a bounty on me. ME?! I attempted to gain access to the PipBoy, but this thing is practically impregnable. I can’t open the casing with any means I have to try and disable this broadcasting signal. I have heard tales of Vault-Tec’s “experimental” vaults, but who on Earth could’ve seen what I did? Who could’ve known? We were alone….weren’t we? Weren’t we?

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

SIMON:                He’s gone. He’s fucking gone. The grave…empty. It can’t be scavengers… I looked carefully and I couldn’t see any tracks in the area, none. That rules out any sort of wildlife dragged him off somewhere. He was dead. Chad was dead. I put 2 rounds into his head…he had no head left. Stone cold dead. It’s almost as if some unholy force resurrected him. But that…can’t…that doesn’t make any sense…can’t be…

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

SIMON:                Appalachia, Day 46 continued: I chugged a few bottles of beer. Calmer now. I’m buzzed, but I can think clearer. I made it to Grafton late this afternoon and the trash can I stashed my Cram in was completely empty. On the return trip…on a whim, I began searching for Chad’s camp. Spotting some light about a half mile from my camp I crouched and crept up…unsure if death would be awaiting me. There was no sign of anything having been disturbed. My supplies weren’t there, but I did find a single Stimpack, a few Canned Coffee’s and a paper bag with a scrawled note inside. It was a map and coordinates to a dinner nearby with a fully functioning food dispenser! Chad must’ve been planning on ransack it but didn’t get the chance. . I shall strike out this afternoon in search of much needed food. The sky is growing dark in the west…the sunset is a livid, blood red. It’s beautiful…but somehow ominous. The empty trash can. The empty grave…

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

SIMON:                Appalachia, Day 47, 62F, hungry.

 

SIMON:                It’s pie. A perfectly preserved piece of PIE. Not irradiated or spoiled…or found obscenely and impossibly in the folds of skin on a Molerat. A piece of delicate pie with flawless pink frosting. While the machine appears functional, it employs a Machiavellian tension arm. I am on my 8th hour attempting to retrieve this pie. But it’s just a matter of time…oh man I can practically taste that pie now. It reminds me of Mom…

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

SIMON:                Appalachia, Day 51.

 

SIMON:                It’s there. It’s right there. Pie. Why won’t you grab it? Are you broken? Are you taunting me?

 

SOUND OF MACHINE GUN FIRING AND RICOCHETING

 

SIMON:                I want the pie. Please. So hungry…ate some raw molerat meat. Radworm now. Fuck Chad.

 

SIMON:                Apielacha, Day…what day is Pie. Pie. Pee pie po pum. Please won’t you. Pie please. So tired…must keep pying. Health low.

FADE IN OF HEARTBEAT GETTING LOUDER.

 

SIMON:                I wonder, will I dream?

HEARTBEAT SLOWING. STOPPING

TAPE REEL STATIC. REVERSE CYMBAL SOUND. SOUND OF RECORD SKIP.

CHEERY 1950S MUSIC FADES IN.

 

JIM:                       Honey! I’m home!

SUSAN:                 I’m in the kitchen Jim!

JIM:                        Say…what’s an amazing aroma?

SUSAN:                 Why it’s my plump and delicious pie!

JIM:                        Gee whiz Susan that’s one moist looking pie! But what’s the occasion?

SUSAN:                 Well Jim, lately I’ve noticed you sneaking next door every time Ms. Robbins takes her pie out.

JIM:                       But Susan!

SUSAN:                 A man should eat pie in his OWN home, served up piping hot. Here, try this…

JIM:                        Heavenly days McGee look at all those plump and flaky layers…what’s your secret?

SUSAN:                 A lady never talks about her pie Jim…just try a bite.

JIM:                        What a mouthful! The taste is incredible!

SUSAN:                Just one juicy bite and even the neighbors won't stop eating my pie!

JIM:                        It’s just PERFECT. Wait till the fellas down at the office hear about this!

SUSAN:                 I have enough pie for all of them Jim, invite them over tomorrow evening. I’ll make sure you land that big promotion.

JIM:                        Oh Susan…

SUSAN:                 Yes Jim…

JIM:                        Your pie is Perfect

SUSAN:                 Yes I know…

 

ROMANTIC MUSIC OUTRO

 

SUSAN:                 …and ladies, between you and me the secret is all in the box. Ask your grocer for new Perfectly Preserved Pie mix from WhamCo!

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES. NATURE SOUNDS. GENTLE BREEZE. WATER FLOWING.

 

SIMON:                (coughing)…ah…where? How in the hell did I get here? Still recording…Appalachia, Day 53: So. Not dead…I guess. I feel…revitalized. I’m sitting on the concrete right outside Vault 76, 82 miles away from where I slipped into unconsciousness. I felt myself go…no light. No tunnel…just darkness. Now…I’m alive again. No really…what the fuck??

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

SIMON:                Appalachia, Day 55: After 2 days of walking and filled with unanswered questions, I returned to the diner where I gasped my last breath. In the spot where I my life ebbed away was a simple paper lunch bag. The Pie…was gone. Opening the paper bag, I found (impossibly) over 200 pounds of scrap metal. I kept pulling it out…and pulling it out. It is a perverse and impossible distortion of all known laws of physics. Since Reclamation Day I have seen floating heads, former Vault Dwellers gliding across the ground as if riding an invisible bicycle, levitating trashcans, I heard dogs barking in my ears, babies crying and potato chips being eaten…noises from an undetermined source. But this? This is the equivalent of a dumpster bin of junk STUFFED into a 6x10 inch paper lunch bag. My head hurts.

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

SIMON:                Appalachia, Day 58: 71F, clear & bright. Back at camp (finally). A bounty still on my head. It’s been weeks now and there has been no sign of Jake or Amata. Frustratingly, I have seen other members of the Vault scattered throughout the state. My attempts at contacting them have been wrought with irritation. It’s unclear if exposure to residual radiation has destroyed their vocal cords, but a friendly gesture such as gifting life essentials at their feet in a paper bag is met with their hands forming a heart and they simply jump up and down at unusual heights before running off at a 45 degree angle shooting at the sky. My attempts to form both family and community for ensured mutual survival continue.

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

SIMON:                Appalachia, Day 59: 68F, rainy. I have planted a few items, but the land is unforgiving. I constructed a much improved, yet meager shack out of scrap wood to provide shelter from the elements. Inexplicably, I can’t attach one wall to another and for some reason the building will explode randomly before quietly putting itself back together. I am concerned the ongoing case of rad worms is causing visual hallucinations. I think that…hey! Oh hey! No, no…I’m just recording a journal. Grab a seat by the fire…I’m just heating up some dog food. Let me shut this off.

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

 

SIMON:                Back at The God Damned Vault, Day 60: A visitor had stopped by my camp yesterday evening. For a brief moment, I felt that this isolation would finally end. However, after sharing a meal, he proceeded to punch me in the face and groin violently and repeatedly until I lost consciousness. I am back outside 76. Again. I left a bag of my stool at the entrance and will spend the next 2 days walking back to camp. I am, however, bounty-free. (Sigh). Way back on July 16, 1945, one of the fathers of the Atomic Age Robert J. Oppenheimer watched in wonder as the first Atomic test lit up the sky and changed the world. He is said to have whispered something that was always a favorite quote of mine, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” I intend to find tactical nuclear devices as soon as possible and turn this place to glass.

 

TAPE REEL DISENGAGES.

OUTRO MUSIC RISES.

Ken:                       This is Kenneth Vigue, before we close this episode, I want to give you a number: 5,000. Over 5,000 people listened to the first podcast about a struggling hero named Simon and his dogged archrival Chad. I have never done a podcast before or an audio production of any kind, so the response has been amazing. The cost of production is 100% out of pocket and with some urging I have setup a Patreon page for those of you who would like to help out a little. 2 amazing people have done so so far: Amy Quintard and Ian Prickett. A humble thank you. By the time you hear this, Episode 3 will be in production and I am going ahead with a full season of stories. I As long as you’re listening…I’ll keep spinning tales. Follow us on Facebook and please show your love with likes, shares and comments. I’ll see you in the Wasteland…