Nick De Moss

Wastrel Land

“Pilot”

Written by 

Nick De Moss

           August 20th, 2021

                   Cell Phone: 949-422-8835

                           Email:nicholasdemoss84@gmail.com

COLD OPEN

INT. RADIO STATION – NIGHT 

CLOSE ON MILO’S hand holding a cigarette over an ashtray with a crude drawing of the Earth in the center. In the background, a muted episode of the Twilight Zone plays. 

MILO (V.O.)

A blue marble of abundance in a cosmic wasteland. Vibrant trees that essentially drop fruit on our heads. Fish practically leaping out of streams into nets. Water. Water that you didn’t have to kill for. To top it off, more TV shows and drugs than one could consume in a lifetime. We had it all, didn’t we? 

INTERCUT MILO/ROBERT JOHNSON

EXT. DESERT CAMP – SAME

A radio plays this station as it sits on the ground. ROBERT JOHNSON [Middle-aged, grizzled, cowboy hat] is pouring a muddy water bottle into a pot over a campfire. There are two fresh corpses near his feet. A tied man sits across from him gagged. Robert Johnson pulls a knife from his boot. The tied man makes muffled protests and falls over in fear. 

MILO (V.O.) (CONT’D) 

(sighs bitterly)

It’s the uncertainty of it all that gnaws at us. What did it? What changed? Was it global warming? Economic collapse? Who broke the world? Was it the Russians? The Chinese? The Americans? Or was it you? 

Robert Johnson is opening a can of corn with his knife. Chuckling to himself, the tied man glowers at him. 

INTERCUT MILO/ROBERT JOHNSON

INT. RADIO STATION – SAME

CLOSE ON MILO’S hand putting out the cigarette on the Earth. As he violently stands up grabbing the microphone. His chair crashed into the wall behind him. CLOSE ON MILO [Teenager, beanie, bloodshot eyes]

MILO (CONT’D)

(shouting) 

That’s right Robert Johnson, I’m talking to you! We see you eating your fucking canned corn! We know what you did. Was it worth it?

INTERCUT MILO/ROBERT JOHNSON

EXT. DESERT CAMP – SAME

Robert spits out his corn and accidentally kicks over boiling water on his leg. He scrambles, unholstering his revolver and waving it around aimlessly at the underbrush around him. Twigs crack as he backs toward the tied man, ungagging him. Robert points the revolver at him.

ROBERT JOHNSON

The fuck is this? What is he talking about? Who’s 

following us?

The gagged man smiles unnervingly at him.

TIED MAN

They’re coming for you, Robert. They’re coming. You might be able to outrun them. If you’re fast. 

Robert eyes dart between fight and flight. Still hyperventilating, he uses the tied man as a human shield. Revolver under his chin.

ROBERT JOHNSON

(yelling)

I know you’re out there! You were too chicken shit to kill me when I didn’t know I was being watched, but what about now? Come out, come, and bleed out on the sand!

Another twig snaps in the surrounding underbrush. Something rattles the leaves. 

INTERCUT MILO/ROBERT JOHNSON

INT. RADIO STATION – SAME

A long uncomfortable silence fills the station. Milo breaks and starts to cackle. 

MILO (CONT’D)

Trust me, there’s someone out there having a full-on existential crisis. Holy shit. I’d give anything to see their face!

(Pilot To Be Continued…)