FADE IN:
EXT. EARTH FROM SPACE – DAY
TITLES OVER: US MILITARY INSTALLATIONS
As globe spins, US flags AUDIBLY POP up over US military bases - Cuba, Puerto Rico, Panama, Hawaii, Guam, Samoa. Then, as the Pacific is crossed, they appear rapidly, surrounding Asia and Europe with a ring of red, white and blue.
EXT. WASHINGTON D.C. – DAY
AERIAL views establishing the nation’s capital.
EXT. TRACKING SHOT HUMVEE MOTORCADE
A black Humvee flanked by black armored SUVs muscles up the boulevard, the White House visible in the near distance.
ANGLE WHITE HOUSE SECURITY POST
The Humvee convoy is admitted to the White House grounds.
INT. WHITE HOUSE – VARIOUS – DAY
GENERAL RUPERT (RIPPER) JACKSON – 67, unyielding and cruel – strides purposefully through corridors, with two adjutants flanking him, one carrying a heavy black leather satchel.
INT. PRESIDENTIAL QUARTERS – DAY
The President, POTUS – 72, corpulent and grim – sits on the edge of his bed staring into space, wearing everything but his pants.
POTUS
It’s the strawberries where I got them.
Didn’t expect me to use logic, I'm
a shoot from the gut kinda guy.
It’s why people like me…
There’s an urgent KNOCKING and he looks up, perturbed.
POTUS
Great.
(loudly)
I’m busy right now.
INT. CORRIDOR
Ripper and his flanks stand at the President’s door.
RIPPER
Mr. President. General Jackson
JCOS. We have an urgent issue that
requires your attention, Sir.
POTUS – Annoyance gives way to recognition, which pleases him.
POTUS
Ripper?
RIPPER (O.S.)
Yes, Sir. I’m afraid we have a
situation.
POTUS
Then we need to go to the
situation room.
He stands, revealing that he wears an adult diaper.
INT. SITUATION ROOM
POTUS is seated at the end of the long conference table, the satchel before him, Ripper and his coterie surrounding him.
RIPPER
Mr. President, with this mutual
defense pact between Russia and
China, and Congress pulling out
the War Powers Act, our full spectrum
dominance is seriously compromised,
leaving us open to what amounts to
nuclear blackmail.
POTUS
Blackmale! That’s worse than white
male.
Ripper and his associates glance at each other dubiously.
RIPPER
Uh, yes Sir, it certainly is.
By many degrees of magnitude.
POTUS stares solemnly at Ripper.
POTUS
Then it’s a good thing I’m here
to see us through this.
RIPPER
Yes, Sir, it is.
POTUS
We should take the, uh, the…
RIPPER
Appropriate?
POTUS
Appropriate steps. Keep things
from getting out of control.
RIPPER
(deferential)
Yes, Sir! And if I may say, a bold
move on your part.
POTUS
I don’t fuck around. You know
that about me, Ripper, I'm a man
of few words and, uh, bold action.
I have the best actions.
Ripper opens the satchel, each of his adjutants assisting him in the ridiculously complex access protocol. Open, it is revealed to be the nuclear football, which allows the President and a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCOS) to launch a nuclear strike remotely.
RIPPER
Striking them now will catch them
before they can coordinate an
effective response.
POTUS
(examining case)
Looks complicated. What’s it do?
The military men avoid each other’s gaze, utterly mortified that someone so unqualified could become the President.
RIPPER
It’s the nuclear football, Sir.
POTUS examines it closer.
POTUS
Football, huh? I owned the New
Jersey Generals in ‘83, but the
USFL folded owing to…
RIPPER
(impatient)
This is a different kind of football, Sir.
POTUS looks up at him, cocksure.
POTUS
Oh, you can believe me, I know
what a football looks like. Played
when I was in the Academy.
(looks back at case)
So, what’s this one do?
Ripper suppresses a shudder and his featured extras shake their heads in dismay.
RIPPER
This is the remote launcher
for nuclear attack.
POTUS looks at him defensively.
POTUS
I know that. I know that. Seen
that guy carrying it around. Great
guy, never had a problem.
RIPPER
Yes, Sir.
POTUS
(figures it out)
So, why, uh, why we need it in
here? We can launch anything
we want from in here.
Ripper confides in him.
RIPPER
Mission integrity, Sir. The only
way to assure that we’re not
compromised by internal treachery.
POTUS
(nodding knowingly)
Ya know, you’re right, internal treachery
is a huge problem. I was just saying to
my daughter…you’ve met my daughter?
RIPPER
Yes, Sir. She’s a fine woman.
POTUS
I often said if I wasn’t her father,
I’d be dating her.
RIPPER
Yes, Sir. What I need is your retinal
scan and your Go code so we can
proceed with a defensive preventative
strike to maintain our dominance and
essential purity.
POTUS
Does this have one of those names,
like uh, Operation Something-something?
RIPPER
Would you like it to have one?
POTUS
Seems like it should. Maybe something
with my name in it…
RIPPER
Operational protocol is to exclude
personal names in order to maintain
plausible deniability.
POTUS
Good for reducing lawsuits too.
RIPPER
I would place that low on the list
of imminent concerns.
(laying it out on table)
POTUS
And the Joint Chiefs go along
with this, this…
RIPPER
(winging it)
Operation Goldilocks.
POTUS tries it out a few times in his head then verbalizes it.
POTUS
Operation Goldilocks.
(nodding)
Good ring to it. Love the gold.
RIPPER
Included it for you, Sir.
POTUS looks appreciatively at Ripper, one of the few around him that has his back, his enormous back, and nods.
POTUS
I take care of those who are
loyal to me.
(looking at the case)
So, uh, what do I do?
POTUS stands and bends over the case, revealing he still wears no pants. An attractive blonde, FAITH – 16, pretty yet hard – approaches the men carrying his pants.
FAITH
Excuse me Mr. President. Thought
you’d want these.
POTUS looks up and his rigid, confused demeanor softens.
POTUS
Ah, thought it was drafty in here.
Thank you, Faith.
FAITH
Of course, Sir.
POTUS
(eyeing her)
You remember what I told you,
don’t you?
FAITH
Uh, no Sir, I don’t.
POTUS
That’s too bad. I was hoping
you could tell me.
CLOSE ON POTUS as he looks into the football’s retinal scanner.
MATCH CUT TO
INT. SUBMARINE – NIGHT
CLOSE ON PERISCOPE EYEPIECE as COMMANDER BLINKY – 46, by the book – pulls away from the eyepiece as SCRAMBLE KLAXONS reverberate through the claustrophobic sub. LIEUTENANT DANFORTH – 29, serious and driven – addresses Blinky, concerned.
DANFORTH
Commander. The system
went live remotely.
BLINKY
(concerned)
Test?
He looks at the radio operator ENSIGN O’REILLY – 32, short, naive – who talks over him in response.
BLINKY
Any word from Diego Garcia?
O’REILLY
(overlapping)
No word from Diego Garcia, sir.
BLINKY
See if you can raise the…
O’REILLY
(overlapping)
I’ll see if I can raise the Enter…prise…
O’Reilly trails off, realizing he stepped all over Blinky’s dialogue, and returns to his station, contrite. A different KLAXON adds to the cacophony and Danforth looks up from his controls, troubled.
DANFORTH
Weapons systems activated, Commander.
BLINKY
We have an attack designation?
DANFORTH
Yes, Sir. Code Plan R, for Robot.
Blinky looks puzzled. O’Reilly steps back up to him.
O’REILLY
Sir. I cannot raise any regional assets.
The system is static.
DANFORTH
Sir, the missile launch doors are opening.
Blinky looks increasingly concerned and addresses the radar operator ENSIGN PALMER – 31, portly and nervous.
BLINKY
You got anything, Rosie?
PALMER
I got nothing, Commander.
(locked on screen)
Our weapons going operational will
trigger their defenses. It will look
very different pretty soon, I reckon.
EXT. PERSIAN GULF – NIGHT
From beneath the dark waters a series of missiles launch into the night sky toward their targets.
PULL BACK TO LOWER ATMOSPHERE where hundreds of missile trails from US/NATO bases surrounding Asia are met with thousands of missile trails from Russia and China. In response, a thousand more missile trails fly toward Asian targets.
ABOVE ASIA - The most prominent explosions are in Chinese and Russian population centers and military installations, shrouded in the dark of their final night. CAMERA FLIES OVER EUROPE, TURNING INTO DAY - as NATO bases and civilian hubs are vaporized, black clouds appearing over the burning cities below.
CAMERA FOLLOWS A SWARM OF MISSILES FROM ABOVE as it crosses the Atlantic toward the USA. As they break off to annihilate their respective targets, CAMERA FOLLOWS SEVERAL as they fly toward Washington DC. As they near their targets, CAMERA CONTINUES PAST following a military transport chopper into the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.
EXT. MOUNT WEATHER – DAY
The chopper flies toward a massive government facility ensconced in the Virginia mountains, landing before a slowly closing steel guillotine door, ten feet tall, twenty feet long, and five feet thick. As the chopper lands, another takes off, its nattily-clad passengers rushing into the facility.
It is clear that those debarking the incoming chopper will not make it in time. But INDIANA JONES goes for it, scooting under the door, losing his hat, reaching out for it. Not realizing the door’s mass, he is squashed, his fedora half under the edge.
INT. MOUNT WEATHER BUNKER – DAY
VARIOUS – ESTABLISHING SHOTS of the vast subterranean facility. Over a thousand people – senators, representatives, justices and judges, military brass, law enforcement and their families – have flooded into the center of America’s Continuity of Government and it is an unmitigated disaster. People are openly weeping, traumatized, while some dart about in a mad frenzy trying to overcome the despair and disbelief with activity.
Some gather in shocked relief at being united, while others stumble about, lost and alone, amid the terrorized throngs. Military officers attempt to direct the mad activity.
INT. PRESIDENTIAL MOUNT WEATHER OFFICE – DAY
POTUS and his family have gathered in his private bunker, their living quarters beyond. The space is nicely decked out but not in the manner POTUS has come to expect. He addresses COMMANDER QUIGLY – 54, stoic and long suffering.
POTUS
Ya know, I really don’t feel this
office is nearly as presidential as it
should be. It’s very small and look at
the veneer and the paneling. Would
it have killed you to have spent
some money on the nice stuff?
His son, namesake and frequent embarrassment, JUNIOR, pipes up.
JUNIOR
Walnut.
POTUS glowers at him while his other weirder son DERIK concurs, infuriating POTUS’s wife ANALIA, who shakes her head.
DERIK
Yeah, walnut.
POTUS
(rolls his eyes)
It’s not walnut, it’s god damned maple.
QUIGLY
Mr. President, I am presently unable to
make any improvements to your quarters.
We are in a nuclear war.
POTUS
(put out)
You think I don’t know that?
I know that. I’m the god damned
president of the god damned United
States! I know when we’re in a nuclear
war, believe me. I’ve seen nuclear
wars, they were nothing compared
to this one. Jokes. Nuclear jokes.
QUIGLY
I assure you, this is no joke.
Analia glowers at Quigly.
ANALIA
No, the joke is our suite.
(to POTUS)
Have you seen it? Where is my suite?
You think I sleep with you? Not now, not ever.
POTUS’s ne’er-do-well son-in-law, CUSHY, enters the bustling office and feigns a look of deep sadness as he tries to make eye contact with members of the family, in search of a conciliatory hug. After being ignored by the kids, he approaches Analia who levels him with a glower. Dropping his pose, he tries to capture POTUS’s attention.
CUSHY
I made it, Dad.
POTUS
(scowling)
Don’t call me that. Any word from
my daughter?
His other daughter, FABERGE, pipes up hopefully.
FABERGE
I’m right here, Daddy.
POTUS looks at her contemptuously and she shrinks back into the hubbub. Cushy jumps in.
CUSHY
Nothing, Sir. Communications
are down and they’re scrambling
to get them back up. It’s a
madhouse out there.
POTUS
This is unacceptable. I’m the
President of the god damned United
States. I want something done!
Quigly shakes his head and responds.
QUIGLY
Everything that can be done is
being done, Sir.
This doesn’t comfort him and he focuses on Cushy.
POTUS
What the hell was she doing out there?
CUSHY
She was laying a wreath at the Tomb
of the Unindicted Coconspirator.
POTUS
It’s a fine memorial.
QUIGLY
Yes, it is.
JUNIOR
Great no-host bar and buffet.
Ass kicking hot wings.
POTUS ignores that as Cushy continues.
CUSHY
This whole Armageddon thing
caught everyone off guard.
He leans toward POTUS looking like he wants a hug. POTUS ain’t having none of that.
CUSHY
I’m worried sick.
POTUS
Get outa here.
POTUS’S attorney, former New York mayor and media mad-boy NASH T MARACINO, storms in extremely animated and distraught.
NASH T
This is terrible. Just terrible.
(to POTUS)
Have you seen the rooms?
EXT. MOUNT WEATHER COMMAND – DAY
The vast subterranean facility is laid out as a panopticon with the Command Center atop a tower at its hub, 25 feet above the floor, against the steel ceiling, windows on all sides for total panopticonality.
The floor below is open, with wide tunnels running off into distance all along the surrounding walls. Over 1000 harried and overwrought survivors mill about, lost and desperate, while soldiers try to maintain calm.
INT. COMMAND CENTER
This is a bustling workspace, with open views to the traumatized throngs beyond. Most of the military personnel are ranking officers, because why give up space to noncoms? The facility commander GENERAL LEE TURGID – 58, husky and imposing – speaks into a microphone, broadcasting his VOICE throughout.
TURGID
Attention! This is General Lee
Turgid, Joint Chiefs of Staff and
facility Commander during hostilities.
Our communications network is
operational and we will keep you
apprised of information we deem
pertinent as we attain awareness of it.
We need everybody to remain calm and
professional through this monumental
transition. We have all lost people, we
are emotionally vulnerable, and there
are a million questions. As to the immediate,
the restrooms are located along the walls
between the tunnels, the hospital is at the
end of sector Bravo along the north face…
He points but his gesture is lost on them.
EXT. COMMAND CENTER
Among the throngs, soldiers direct those who ask and Turgid’s VOICE has calmed many who listen attentively.
TURGID (V.O.)
We have several fine dining options, including
Chilly’s on the promenade and Papa John’s for
pizza-like pizza.
Unaware of its spelling, many stand taller at mention of Chilly’s, bolstered, but visibly sag when he mentions Papa Johns, an audible MOAN rising from the assembly.
INT. COMMAND
GENERAL DIZ ARRAY – 52, bald and stocky – comments to no one in particular.
ARRAY
Glad we kept that Arby’s outa here.
Turgid shakes his head and presses on.
TURGID
We have teams assigning sleeping
quarters and we’re completing our head
count so we’ll have a better idea what
we’re faced with. Your forbearance makes
this process move more efficiently. Out.
Turgid sets down the microphone and stares out over the multitude, his expression resolute. MAJOR GASTRAL PAYNE – 48, thin, officious – speaks to Turgid.
PAYNE
Preliminary count looks like
four-hundred-fifty, five-hundred over
capacity.
TURGID
Preliminary?
PAYNE
Waiting on two tallies. Could be more.
Appears a lot of congressmen brought
their wives or, whoever.
COLONEL DEJOHN MUSTER – 46, portly and grim – interjects.
MUSTER
Got a bunch from Justice and over
four hundred who were working topside.
TURGID
We need to assemble Congress in the
main auditorium, get POTUS in there,
find out what happened. Then we’ll
address the entire assembly with an
estimate of the situation.
MUSTER
I’ll head to the auditorium and liaise with
the Congress.
TURGID
I need you to collect POTUS.
MUSTER
(reluctant)
Yes, Sir. Are you sure, Sir? I’d be of
better use with Congress owing to my
tenure as rotunda command. Payne gets
along famously with POTUS.
PAYNE
Not true. And besides, I had to bring them
in from the chopper so I’ve earned my
hazard pay.
TURGID
Stow that. I need you both to stay on
point and stop with this POTUS shuffling.
We all have to do our part, moving him
from place to place, keeping him in one
piece. Most of his SS didn’t make the cut
so it’s up to us to run interference.
MUSTER
(contrite)
Yes, Sir. What about his kids? And his wife.
Do I have to bring them too?
TURGID
Negative. Just POTUS and Congress.
PAYNE
What about the Supremes?
TURGID
How many we got?
PAYNE
At least seven. I know we lost one on
the flight over.
TURGID
Better bring them too.
As Payne and Muster debark the command, a radio operator, LIEUTENANT BAXTER – 37, wiry and receptive – addresses Turgid.
BAXTER
Commander. Our internal communications
network is functioning optimally but we
are still unable to make contact with any of
the FEMA relocation sites.
TURGID
PEOC?
BAXTER
(shaking head)
Negative, Sir. All I’m getting is static.
Listening in, General Array speaks up.
ARRAY
It’s probably those Russian EMPs. They
were parading them around with their
upgraded world killers. They appeared
pretty substantial.
Baxter looks thoughtful then interjects.
BAXTER
I saw them on Twitter. They’re mounted
on missiles.
TURGID
Could something like that take out the
FNARS?
BAXTER
If an electromagnetic pulse were strong
enough and set off close enough, it could
fry the electronics of radios, phone lines,
pretty much every electric or even hard-
wired device we use.
TURGID
So, we can send and receive…
ARRAY
But that doesn’t mean anybody else can.
BAXTER
Correct. We’ll continue to monitor the
spectrum and hopefully make contact.
ARRAY
(extrapolating)
One of those set off above…
TURGID
(to Baxter)
Continue to monitor the grid and keep me
apprised.
BAXTER
Yes, Sir.
Baxter returns to his radio and Turgid gives Array a sour look.
TURGID
We don’t need those kind of
hypotheticals, Diz. We’re in plenty deep
as it is.
COLONEL EARLY ARMIE – 52, flat-topped and no-nonsense – steps up to the Generals holding a smartphone.
ARMIE
Sirs. I got updated numbers. We’ve
got all but two of the Joint Chiefs,
Admiral Harrington and General Jackson.
Seventy-two Senators, two-thirds of the
House, seven Supremes. Because of the
SF workers and some family members not
excluded, we are 527 over optimum capacity.
TURGID
Five-hundred-twenty-seven.
ARMIE
Yes, Sir, and we have several foreign indignitaries,
including three presidents, and a Girl Scout troop
that was just too endearing to turn away.
ARRAY
(to Armie)
Did you meet Janet?
ARMIE
(munching a cookie)
They are all such little charmers.
Turgid looks disapprovingly until Armie produces his cookie box and offers it to him.
ARMIE
Cookie, Commander?
TURGID
(taking one)
Yes, thank you.
ARMIE
(to Array)
General.
ARRAY
(taking one)
Thank you, Colonel.
Armie stashes his cookies after taking out a new one for himself, then salutes and heads to other things off-camera.
ARMIE
Sirs.
Rolling his eyes, he stops and turns back toward them.
ARMIE
Sirs?
They turn toward him, cookies held in suspension before their gaping mouths.
ARMIE
Felt you should be aware that, uh, she
is here.
TURGID
She, Colonel?
ARRAY
(realizing)
She is?
TURGID
(realizing too)
Not…?
They look at him and he nods silently. Turgid narrows his eyes and shakes his head despondently.
TURGID
Shit.
ARRAY
(astonished)
You think you finally found a situation
where things can’t be worse.
ARMIE
Generals.
Armie salutes then turns and leaves them.
Array, crunching on his cookie, speaks in conspiratorial tones to Turgid, who appears resolute.
ARRAY
What happened, Lee?
Turgid turns to him, eyes thoughtful.
TURGID
I don’t know, Diz. But I suspect the
finding out won’t make us feel any better.
INT. MOUNT WEATHER – MOVING
CAMERA PASSES golf cart as Array and his driver make their way through the survivors toward the Great Hall. He talks on a walkie-talkie.
ARRAY
Well, try to keep them from killing each
other until I get there.
WALKIE VOICE (O.S.)
Why? You wanna watch?
ARRAY
Why not? The only show in town.
INT. GREAT HALL
This is a huge open auditorium with sufficient seats for the Congress, Supreme Court and White House, at about half-capacity. The usually adversarial politicians have come together in their despair and loss and many embrace, some clearly distraught.
SENATOR BRENNER – 47, slick and conservative – talks with SENATOR BILLINGSOWRTH – 68, disheveled and distracted.
BILLINGSWORTH
I’m just glad you made it, Jasper.
BRENNER
Waiting for the choppers was so tense,
especially with those damned klaxons
going off. And all the exceptions.
BILLINGSWORTH
Were you able to bring your wife?
BRENNER
Didn’t have room. Lucky I was able to
bring my girlfrien-, assistant.
REPRESENTATIVE DOUGLAS – 40, smarmy and cheap - consoles SENATOR KAMMI HARASS who consoles ALEXA OCARINA-CORTEO as REPRESENTATIVE CLARK – 55, large and dense – and new JUSTICE BEERINGTON watch.
DOUGLAS
We’re lucky to have made it out alive.
HARASS
It happened so fast. Like a flash, and everything
is gone. It’s all gone.
CORTEO
It’s horrible. Horrible.
DOUGLAS
We’ll have to start over. Forge a new
society from the survivors of the old
one. The best and brightest finally
able to work together in peace and
security to create the society we always
dreamed of.
Harass and Corteo look at him, suspiciously.
CLARK
It’s up to us to keep humans from
becoming extinct.
BEERINGTON
All of us.
DOUGLAS
(selling it)
For America.
Nearby, Senators ZED CROOD and BURT McTURTLE console each other.
McTURTLE
Well, I don’t know what happened but I
do know that someone’s got to answer
for it.
CROOD
Even if it’s the President.
McTURTLE
(shifting gears)
I don’t think it’s prudent to make any
snap judgments till all the facts are in.
CROOD
Probably our best bet.
(thinking it over)
You know, seen in the right light, this
could be a good thing.
A DEEP LOW RUMBLE as if the Earth itself were cracking apart accompanies the shifting of the massive metal structure; people are jolted violently, many losing their footing and toppling to the floor, distressed. As the RUMBLE becomes more ominous, the LIGHTS FLICKER, then go out.
CROOD (O.S.)
Probably not though.
EXT. WASHINGTON DC – DAY
The city has become hell incarnate: a flaming moonscape cratered and dispersed; clusters of scorched detritus burning; stone, marble, steel melting in the firestorm. And still the explosions come, as though simply wiping it from the face of the Earth could not suffice.
AERIAL - PULL BACK from the DC inferno toward the northwest, revealing everything between Washington and Mount Weather, an uncontrollable conflagration. The structures above the bunker complex are destroyed and utterly engulfed, the air blackened with roiling smoke. Explosions rock the consumed facility.
INT. CORRIDOR
Emergency lights flicker to life, revealing the crisis in the hole. Golf carts have crashed into people and there are many injuries among those splayed upon the floor. The TERRIFYING SOUND from before abates and robust survivors help people in distress as the main lights flicker back to operation.
Three people help flip a golf cart back onto its wheels, a fourth attending the grievously wounded person mashed under it. Many people tremble in mortal terror, openly weeping.
Through the pandemonium, two men walk in quiet conversation. So quiet, in fact, it doesn’t accord them any dialogue. As they pass through, they are revealed to be the officers who silently accompanied Ripper when they set it off.
A man, HARRISON – 33, fit and considerate – tremblingly helps a weeping woman to her feet.
HARRISON
I am utterly terrified.
INT. PRESIDENTIAL SUITE – POTUS argues with Analia.
ANALIA
I not stay in here with you.
POTUS
I don’t have time for this. I have to
meet with the Senate, Congress, those
guys. Just stay here till I get back. I’ll get
you your own goddamned room.
ANALIA
(petulant)
Suite.
(afterthought)
Something with windows. It’s so stuffy in here.
Rolling his eyes, POTUS storms from the room to be met by Colonel Muster, who is clearly impatient.
MUSTER
You ready, Sir?
POTUS
My god. You give them every-fucking-thing
and still…Windows. She wants fucking windows.
Muster herds him toward the golf cart waiting in the corridor beyond. POTUS is clearly distracted and rambles disjointedly.
MUSTER
This way, Sir.
POTUS
Maybe I’ll put in a fish pond, one a
them Japanese goldfish ponds. Kale.
A Kale pond.
POTUS sits in the golf cart.
MUSTER
Here you go, Sir.
POTUS
(perplexed)
Kale?
MUSTER
Koi pond, Sir.
Muster gets behind the wheel and they drive off.
POTUS
(gets it)
Right. Koi. Get her a koi pond.
Muster knows better, but he can’t resist.
MUSTER
Who, Sir?
POTUS
The first lady.
(distracted)
Decorating. Always redecorating. A
woman thing I guess. Love to spend
the money.
MUSTER
Guess that won’t be much of a concern
down here. Nothing to spend it on.
POTUS
Don’t kid yourself. They can always find
something to spend money on. A god
damned kale pond.
INT. GREAT HALL
McTurtle addresses a clustering of pols from the raised dais as they demand accountability with increasing futile ferocity. ERNIE ANDERS, nearly apoplectic, watches him trembling.
McTURTLE
(bangs gavel)
Gentlemen. Ladies…
ANDERS
We need answers!
REP. DANGLE
No more dodging responsibility.
McTURTLE
Please. Can we, can we come to order?
REP. SLARVINS
This is unacceptable!
HARASS
Where is the President?
Array speaks up as he moves toward the front.
ARRAY
He is en route, ETA two minutes, thirty seconds.
McTURTLE
Can we have some order!
(to Array)
And you are?
ARRAY
General Diz Array, JCOS. We met at the
Space Force prayer breakfast.
McTURTLE
That’s right. You did that beautiful rendition
of Rocket Man.
ARRAY
Thank you.
McTURTLE
Really moving stuff.
(to the throng)
Can you please take your seats – the
President is on his way. We’ll get to
the bottom of this. We just need order.
The hubbub abates slightly as the promise of authority calms the recalcitrant and furious alike. As some grudgingly find their way to seats, others follow, the right and left wings gathering upon their respective sides, bitter invective in the air.
From the back of the huge room, Turgid and Muster flank POTUS as he waddles toward the dais and accountability. The congress-critters make way for POTUS to pass unmolested and are strangely silent watching him as they take their seats, his escort tellingly execution-like.
As they make the dais, McTurtle attempts to assert dominance.
McTURTLE
Mr. President, I have some questions to ask…
TURGID
(swings dick)
I will do the questioning, Senator.
McTURTLE
What gives you the authority?
TURGID
As commander of this facility, I am the authority.
McTURTLE
This is a civilian facility, Sir.
TURGID
General. General Lee Turgid. This is a
government facility. And in times of war,
the military defends government facilities.
I will handle the initial query, then we will
clarify any outstanding questions in an orderly
manner.
This shuts down McTurtle who stands back as Turgid looks at POTUS who has seated himself on a railing and mugs to members of the Congress he recognizes.
TURGID
Mr. President. We need to know what
happened.
POTUS
(utterly confused)
I’m with you guys. This is all out of left
field for me.
(to Turgid)
I was at lunch.
TURGID
According to our data, the first-strike
launch initiated from the PES in the
Situation Room.
POTUS
(curious)
PES?
MUSTER
Presidential Emergency Satchel.
POTUS
Presidential? I should have one of those.
TURGID
(rigid focus)
I need you to be clear. Who initiated this?
POTUS
Oh, there were others, believe you me,
and they will pay for this if it’s the last
thing they do.
TURGID
I need you to be precise. What others?
POTUS
(thoughtful)
Uh, Ripper. General Ripper.
TURGID
Jackson?
POTUS
Right. General Jackson Ripper.
Turgid cringes slightly as he explains to McTurtle.
TURGID
General Rupert, Ripper, Jackson, JCOS.
McTURTLE
Ripper?
POTUS
Right. That guy. Hardly know him myself.
This was all his idea. I was having lunch.
TURGID
Ripper Jackson likely perished when the
warheads took out DC. He was last seen
on the roof of the White House.
POTUS is becoming bored and sits all scrunched up with his arms crossed. He again mugs to the assembly, but they are not having it and he seems genuinely shocked that he isn’t receiving their sympathy and appreciation.
POTUS
Yeah? Well this was his idea. Not mine.
I was opposed from the start.
TURGID
If you were opposed, why did you do it?
POTUS
Ripper told me I had to.
(calculating)
Needed. Needed to. For the safety of
the nation.
This elicits howls of consternation among the assembly and McTurtle bangs the gavel to restore order.
McTURTLE
Gentlemen. Order. We need order in here.
After the astonished collective regains its composure, Turgid continues his interrogation of the bored and distracted POTUS.
TURGID
So, just the two of you?
POTUS
What? Yeah. No. There were two other guys.
TURGID
Two other guys. Did you get their names?
POTUS
What? No.
(sotto voce)
They didn’t have any dialogue.
TURGID
Do you know what they look like?
POTUS
I was, uh, focused on the football.
I didn’t really see those guys.
TURGID
Would you recognize them?
POTUS
Ah… Sure. Probably. Hard to say.
I was busy with the launch code.
Very complex.
TURGID
Were they in uniform?
POTUS
To the best I can recall I’d say they
were probably wearing uniforms.
The assembled cream of America’s political realm look at each other in distressed frustration.
TURGID
(struggling)
Were they black or white?
POTUS
Oh, you can believe me, they were white.
TURGID
Tall, short? Young, old?
POTUS
Definitely white.
TURGID
Is there anything else you can tell us?
POTUS
There was two of them.
Turgid looks around, his face resolute.
TURGID
That means they could be in here with us.
POTUS
Possibly even in this room.
From the back of the chamber a LOUD, SLOW HAND CLAP echoes through the growing discord, and the eyes of the room turn and are shocked to see former senator and POTUS’s arch nemesis, CELERY HINTON, approaching the dais, applauding ironically.
CELERY
I told ya. Didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you what
would happen?
She stops applauding and continues slowly toward the action.
CELERY
It’s not like you didn’t know, not a bit.
Every one of you, every god damned
one, has a name for him. A nickname,
some choice bit of vitriol that you
reserve for him.
(pointing)
You called him an idiot.
(pointing elsewhere)
You said he was an awful person.
(pointing)
You call him an arrogant asshole. Right?
She stands addressing the dais, POTUS staring at her in disbelief, McTurtle confounded. She points at CROOD.
CELERY
You called him a moron.
While POTUS’s fury grows, Celery looks at McTurtle with a maniacal smirk. She cocks her head.
CELERY
A moron. You gave a man you all know
to be mentally deficient – a moron – the
control of the deadliest arsenal the world
has ever known.
(astonished)
And now you demand honest answers?
Accountability? Look at us! We’re in a
fucking hole in the ground. Forever.
She throws her hands in the air and storms back up the aisle utterly flustered. Some of the right-wing congressmen roll their eyes and shake their heads – hysterical Celery. POTUS finally finds his fire and no one cares.
POTUS
Yeah. Blah blah blah. Nobody cares.
Am I right? Leave it to a man. You don’t
have the balls to lead. You’re a loser.
As congress-critters shout invective at him, POTUS shifts to the defensive, his standard position.
POTUS
Yeah, like this wouldn’t have happened
under her. Believe me, it would be
worse, much worse.
VOICE ONE (O.S.)
Worse! How in God’s name could it be worse?!
POTUS
Celery could be the president. Much worse.
With me, we stand a chance.
VOICE TWO (O.S.)
With you, we’re in a hole.
VOICE THREE (O.S.)
You put us in a hole we’ll
never get out of.
POTUS
Listen, this is nothing. I’ve seen holes,
don’t get me started. I’ve gotta make a
kale pond, you don’t know the half of it…
HARASS
You blew up the world! You killed everyone
in the world!
POTUS
That’s not true. It was Ripper. And like Celery
said, it was you, you all made this by, by…
By now the chamber has erupted into near riot conditions, the inhabitants enraged at everybody else’s stupidity for letting it get out of hand to such a degree. Realizing their standard protocol is still in effect, Turgid and Muster hustle POTUS out the exit behind the dais and onto a waiting golf cart, where they move at moderate speed down the corridor toward the hub.
MOVING GOLF CART – Muster drives as Turgid outlines his plan. POTUS is detached from the events around him and mutters.
POTUS
Man, what’s the chance she’d end up in here?
TURGID
(to Muster)
With the present temperament prevailing,
he won’t be secure in his quarters, so
we’ll have to sequester him in a defensible
position, send security to protect his family,
and get anybody we have left to stop our
leaders from killing each other while we
sort this out.
Muster checks his watch.
MUSTER
And this is only the first hour.
Turgid and Muster glance knowingly at each other.
POTUS
So, anybody got any kale down here?
Their golf cart nearly collides with another golf cart coming diagonally from the left, driven by Senator Harass with Celery seated beside her. CAMERA FOLLOWS THEM FOR A WHILE.
Celery realizes who was in the other cart and flips them off.
CELERY
(to other cart)
Asshole.
HARASS
So how’d you wind up in here, big sister?
CELERY
Knock off the Sister Act, Senator. Our
village is a firepit. Every man for himself.
(looking around)
I was at the Capitol meeting with some
lobbyists from Admiral Dynamics.
HARASS
Their death-ray was generating a lot of heat.
Celery squints at her suspiciously.
CELERY
Doesn’t appear things have cooled down.
HARASS
Don’t look like they’ll ever.
CELERY
So, when the alarm went off, just got
caught up with the rest. Sure as hell
wasn’t going to stay there.
HARASS
Those klaxons are pretty convincing.
Celery looks around at the despairing survivors.
CELERY
Not sure I chose correctly.
HARASS
Did you ever think the motherfucker
would do this?
CELERY
(distaste)
Show some respect. He’s a white man.
HARASS
(appalled)
What?
CELERY
I wouldn’t put anything past the son
of a bitch.
(checks her out)
There should be laws that keep people
like that from running for office.
HARASS
Yeah?
(glances at her)
There should be laws that keep a lotta
people from running for office.
CELERY
(shakes her head)
It’s the irony that gets me.
HARASS
Irony?
CELERY
Buried in the same hole with the
son of a bitch.
Two additional golf carts approach diagonally from their right, the lead cart two cart lengths ahead of its tail. It is into that space Harass squeezes her golf cart, missing a crunchy collision by inches, nobody slowing in the least.
CAMERA NOW FOLLOWS LEAD GOLF CART returning to the Great Hall riot. The cart is driven by LIEUTENANT SEELY DAN – 27, fit and sharp – while beside her sits CAPTAIN TIN NEIL – 37, a strong and thoughtful soldier, his face resolute.
SEELY
What happened to us, Tin?
He struggles with this because he cannot face the truth that he works for the very people who unleashed this catastrophe.
TIN
We let our technology get ahead of us.
People who are still murdering each other
over divine favor shouldn’t be entrusted
with weapons of mass destruction.
SEELY
Hell, probably not even weapons of
minor destruction.
TIN
(shaking head)
We’re deployed to break up a fist fight in
Congress. Hopefully it’s like the Capital
and all the seats are affixed to the floor.
SEELY
So they don’t hit each other with them?
TIN
So they don’t hit us with them.
They pull up and park the golf cart in the crowded corridor before the Great Hall. Hopping off, they approach other officers who have cordoned off the hall. Tin addresses MAJOR BLAIN DAMAGE – 53, large and surly – as Seely flanks him.
TIN
Major.
DAMAGE
Captain.
(checks Seely out)
Lieutenant.
SEELY
Major.
TIN
Major…
Two soldiers from the following cart join them. Everybody looks each other over, then decide to forgo further introductions.
DAMAGE
Captain. We’ve set up a perimeter to
maximize containment. Need you and
your team to get in there and put this
down. We need to avoid a panic.
TIN
I find it hard to imagine better conditions
for one.
DAMAGE
The real concern, of course, is the panic
induced panic.
SEELY
When people see there’s a panic and panic?
DAMAGE
It’s no picnic.
One of the soldiers following them stashes what appears to be a picnic basket behind his back.
TIN
R-O-E?
DAMAGE
Christ. They’re Congressmen. Don’t shoot
anybody if you don’t have to.
TIN
I never do.
SEELY
What about…
TIN
(cuts her off)
Shhh.
DAMAGE
Good luck, Captain.
TIN
Major.
DAMAGE
Lieutenant.
SEELY
Major.
INT. GREAT HALL - The SOUND is CACOPHONOUS, a hundred ANGRY VOICES shouting at a hundred more, not a dry ear in the house. And as would be expected of privileged, mostly white, mostly old, mostly men, they are content to hurl invective and save the actual fighting to lesser men.
About six of them as it turns out. Actually fighting each other in the aisle, other congress-critters gathered around, shouting brutal encouragement. Though fueled by righteous anger, the suited congressmen are more pushy than punchy, all very shouty.
VOICE ONE
Bring it on, motherfucker!
VOICE TWO
Oh, I’m ready for your ass.
Ya son of a bitch.
VOICE THREE
If we’d built that stupid wall, none a this
would have even happened.
VOICE FOUR
Sure, blame the victims.
VOICE FIVE
God damned libtards!
VOICE TWO
Fucking retards!
Tin jumps right in, Seely and the others as well, imposing themselves upon the primary antagonists, marginally conservative SENATOR SNORY BOOGER and exceedingly conservative SENATOR LINDY SALTINE, who actually come to blows, Saltine trembling furiously as if he’ll cry, while Booger taunts him.
BOOGER
That’s right! Bitch! I’ll make you my
fucking bitch.
SALTINE
Never shoulda let your kind into the Congress…
TIN
Alright, alright, alright.
He stands between Booger and Saltine, his team flanking and blocking combatants who swing and flail about half-heartedly.
BOOGER
What? I’ll fuck your cracker ass,
muthafucka.
SALTINE
Try it, boy.
TIN
Senator. We are in the midst of a
national crisis and could really use
something more constructive than
calling Senator Saltine a cracker.
BOOGER
Racist motherfucker…
TIN
That isn’t helping.
SALTINE
You’re the racist, Booger. You and all
your Slack Lives Madder homeboys…
Booger lunges toward Saltine but Tin and Seely hold him back while the others flank Saltine, who sneers at him.
BOOGER
Son of a…
TIN
Stop it.
SALTINE
You have my permission to shoot him.
TIN
God damn it! Stop with it! Both of you.
SALTINE
I’m a United States senator. What, are you
like a sergeant? You have no authority here.
Tin sizes up the situation, passions high, an emotional tinderbox that any wrong move on his part could ignite. He turns and punches Saltine right on the nose, sending him reeling, crashing to the floor as the soldiers beside him allow him to drop. Booger is stunned by this and the room falls silent.
TIN
I am group Captain Tin Neil of the
157th Armored Attack Group out
of Arlington. This facility is under the
authority of the United States Central
Command. Owing to the nature of our
presence here, the integrity of this
facility is our primary consideration.
Any behaviors we deem as counter
to that mission will be dealt with
swiftly and with all force necessary to
maintain order.
(to flanking soldiers)
Get him out of here. Take him to the
infirmary.
They gather up the bleeding, stunned senator and muscle him up the aisle. Tin’s tough guy approach has the desired effect and the Congress is appropriately cowed. He milks it.
TIN
We face the very real probability
that we are among the last people of
this planet. You’re the Congress of
the United States of America. For
Christ’s sake, act like it.
INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PAPA JOHN’S
Turgid sits on the golf cart with POTUS who now wears a sombrero by way of utterly futile disguise.
POTUS
It’s pepperoni, right? He knows no sausage.
TURGID
Affirmative, Sir.
POTUS
I like that. Affirmative. Sounds, uh, commanding.
So, where’d you say we’re going?
Though there are many people on the peripheries, none are close enough to hear their conversation and Turgid is direct.
TURGID
Owing to the response of Congress,
we’re going to sequester you in a more
secure location until we get this sorted out.
POTUS
Some a those guys looked pretty dangerous
to me and you can believe me because
I know some dangerous guys, if you know
what I mean.
Muster steps out of the restaurant holding a pizza box, a bag and a liter of cola and carries them to the cart.
POTUS
Now you’re sure you got pepperoni?
INT. PRESIDENTIAL SUITE
His stupid kids are still hanging around, Junior and Derik annoying each other, while Analia scowls with contained rage.
JUNIOR
I know you are but what am I?
DERIK
I know you are but what am I?
JUNIOR
I just said that.
DERIK
I just said that.
Cushy slithers into the room with news, brushing off his knees.
CUSHY
I just spoke with General Zawd and
he said they’ve taken Dad to a secure
location.
ANALIA
We’re in hole in ground. What’s more
secure than this?
CUSHY
The General said there was some
negative reaction to Dad and the
whole nuclear Armageddon thing.
There could be attempts upon his life
so they’re hiding him.
JUNIOR
(incensed)
Even in here they won’t give him a
break. After all he did for them, all the
records he broke.
DERIK
And the laws.
ANALIA
Shut up, imbecile.
CUSHY
I’m going to try to see him, if General
Zawd can get me approved. Commander
Turgid has him on a tight leash.
ANALIA
Why you should see him but not me, his wife?
CUSHY
Based on succession. I’m the logical choice
because I’m already employed by the
government. Besides, you weren’t even born
here, so you can’t be POTUS.
ANALIA
I am citizen. I could be president. I
could be first lady president, not like
stupid Celery.
DERIK
Ha, first lady president.
(to Junior)
Get it?
JUNIOR
What?
DERIK
She’s the first lady. President.
JUNIOR
She’s not the president, Dork.
DERIK
Don’t call me that. Dad told you
not to call me that.
JUNIOR
Don’t be such a big baby, you big baby.
DERIK
Stop calling me that.
(to Analia)
Tell him to stop calling me that.
ANALIA
(fuming)
You know what your father said.
JUNIOR
He just pisses me off. You’re not the
president. He’s just stupid.
(thinks on it)
I could be the president.
This idea pleases him and he takes on a distant gaze. Derik knows what to do with that.
DERIK
You can’t be president, stupid. Dad
already is.
JUNIOR
(scowls)
I don’t mean now. I mean when he’s
done. I mean, I’m the logical choice.
Number one son. Smart, handsome,
humble. The three H’s.
DERIK
Hey, that’s pretty good. Three H’s.
ANALIA
(shaking her head)
That’s only two H’s.
DERIK
Oh yeah. What was the other one?
JUNIOR
Handsome, uh, humble and…
DERIK
Heart.
JUNIOR
That doesn’t make sense.
DERIK
But it rhymes.
JUNIOR
(rolling eyes)
It doesn’t rhyme.
DERIK
It does the three H thing.
JUNIOR
Yeah, but it wasn’t what I said.
DERIK
What did you say?
JUNIOR
That I should be president. Not Cushy.
DERIK
Then you should go to where Dad is,
not Cushy.
JUNIOR
That’s right. Hey!
Analia taps his shoulder and points to where Cushy had been.
ANALIA
He left five minutes ago.
MOVING – GOLF CART – Cushy rides as the imposing GENERAL NEIL B4 ZAWD – Terrance Stamp of approval – drives him down long corridors with hundreds of doors along the walls, grim metal containers with cots, and toilets. Outside, the survivors loom.
CUSHY
How much danger is the president in?
You will be able to protect him.
ZAWD
We will assign our resources appropriately,
as we always do.
CUSHY
How would you characterize the danger?
ZAWD
Locked in a steel underground container
with almost fifteen hundred people, most
who would tear him limb from limb,
without blinking, for relegating them to
die here? Considerably above moderate.
CUSHY
So they’re pretty upset?
Expressionless, Zawd turns very deliberately and looks at Cushy. Silently, he turns back to his driving where he dodges a pedestrian, and proceeds. Cushy looks forward as well.
CUSHY
Uh, yeah.
ZAWD
So, has there been any word on your wife?
CUSHY
(unmoved)
No, and we’re worried sick. Have you
had any communication with the outside?
ZAWD
We thought we detected a civilian
broadcast but it turned out to be
somebody’s iPod. Beyond that, nothing.
CUSHY
Do we even know what it’s like out there?
ZAWD
None of our cameras are operational but
thermals indicate a temperature around
nine-hundred degrees. Fahrenheit.
CUSHY
So, hot.
ZAWD
Exceedingly. Hell.
CUSHY
(looking around)
And it was so nice this morning.
INT. POTUS’S BACK-UP BUG-OUT BUNKER
POTUS sulks seated on a bunk as Turgid and Array talk to him.
TURGID
This is our best defensible option. It gives
us a shot at protecting you.
ARRAY
We’ve got two generals, a lieutenant-colonel
and three majors protecting your family.
POTUS looks up, confused.
POTUS
Why so many officers?
TURGID
You don’t think we’re letting any
noncoms in here, do you?
ARRAY
Officers get bunkers.
ARRAY/TURGID
Enlisted get bunk.
They do a little secret hand-jive, ending with a high-five.
TURGID
The important thing is that we are
safe. We’ve proven what we always
knew; nuclear war is survivable.
The entire facility shudders, an almost DEFEANING GROAN AND CREAK are followed by an OMINOUS DEEP RUMBLING and BLACKNESS.
TURGID (O.S.)
Of course, how long it’s survivable is
another question entirely.
As if moved by his newfound humility, the shaking and groaning stop and the lights come back on. They look at each other dubiously, POTUS perturbed.
POTUS
And this is the safe place?
TURGID
Actually Mr. President, your action with
General Jackson has pretty much assured
us that there won’t ever be a safe place again.
POTUS
What’s that supposed to mean,
that this is somehow my fault?
ARRAY
You provided the Go codes and
pushed the button. How would
you describe your contribution?
POTUS
A victim. Of the Deep State. I was
set up from the start, I was never
supposed to win. She had three million
more votes than me – how in the fuck
do you pull that off? She never even
challenged it.
TURGID
So she was in on it?
POTUS
How could she not be? If you had
three million more points than me,
would you just accept me as the
winner? I sure as fuck wouldn’t.
He levels with them.
POTUS
Hell, I was gonna challenge her even
with her three million. It didn’t matter.
TURGID
Are you saying you didn’t want to be president?
POTUS
Fuck no. Who’d want the fucking job?
Everybody up your ass about everything.
Never get any peace. The wife hates it.
(mocking voice)
“I not marry you to work. I marry you to
not work.”
TURGID
Jesus.
POTUS
So whadda we do, fellas?
TURGID
We’ll keep you buttoned up in here
until we have Congress in check.
Cushy gushes into the room but is met with utter emotional detachment from the group. POTUS rolls his eyes.
CUSHY
Da-, Mr. President. I am pleased to see
that you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you?
POTUS
Ducky. What do you want?
CUSHY
Just to make sure you’re, uh, okay.
TURGID
We’ll be outside.
Turgid and Array share a look and step out of the claustrophobic chamber, allowing Cushy to move in close to POTUS, who remains seated on his bunk.
POTUS
Thanks fellas.
Cushy notices the pizza box and wings and soda.
CUSHY
So they got you some food. That’s good.
POTUS doesn’t budge. He’s not sharing.
CUSHY
In all the excitement, forgot to eat. Didn’t
realize how hungry I was.
POTUS
Yeah, well those guys will show you
some nice places to eat.
(beat)
Are you gonna tell me what you want?
CUSHY
Just to…
POTUS scowls at him and Cushy cuts the bullshit.
CUSHY
I thought of something that I think you’ll like.
POTUS
Yeah? Guess there’s always a first time.
CUSHY
You know who is in charge of this entire
facility?
POTUS
Yeah, that General Turgid.
CUSHY
Really?
POTUS
Yep, he’s the man in charge.
CUSHY
He’s got a boss.
POTUS
Yeah? Who would that be?
CUSHY
The Commander-in-Chief.
Cushy nods at him and POTUS catches on. He’s in charge, anything he wants, total control. Cushy smiles slightly, rubs his hands and silently steps from the chamber.
HOLD on POTUS seated on the bunk of what looks to be a prison cell, staring into space. After a beat, he smiles, then grabs a chicken wing. The steel door to his chamber closes.
FIN
Copyright 2018 Arturo Hammer
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