SUPERIMPOSE: "One
need moves all."
SUPERIMPOSE: "Food."
FADE IN:
ext. city
streets - dusk
An empty street in a war-torn city. A breeze blows some
papers. The sound of tin cans CLANGING against the concrete.
Total silence sans the soft whispers of the wind. The orange
haze of sunset provides the only light.
In the distance, a small CLANKING of a tiny cart. A RAGGED HOBO makes his way down the abandoned street, searching for scraps.
He stops occasionally, turning over scraps on the ground,
ever searching.
His cart is full of odds and ends, most notably his few
small, cracked dishes. A scrap of meat, a wedge of moldy cheese, a dirty glass
of water.
The Hobo looks starved.
A loud CRASH. The SCURRY of footsteps.
Two RAIDERS dressed in tattered body armor of varying levels of effectiveness.
The have large shotguns and they begin SHOUTING at the Hobo.
Raider #1
(pointing his gun)
Hey! What's in the wagon, old man?
RAIDER #2
(pointing his gun)
Give us your scraps or I'll blow your fucking brains out!
The Hobo cringes and holds his fingers up to his lips,
begging the two to silence themselves.
Raider #1 is not interested in heading warnings.
RAIDER #1
Listen you scabby shit, I haven't eaten in days!
RAIDER #2
Me neither!
RAIDER #1
Gimme what you got, I ain't asking twice!
A ROAR rings out. Echoes bounce off brick walls.
The Raiders are startled.
RAIDER #1
(turning toward sound)
The fuck...?
RAGGED Hobo
(whispering)
This is not a good place. We are not alone here.
The three of them are wary now. The two Raiders whirl around,
pointing their guns at nothing in hopes of seeing the source of the sound.
RAIDER #2
If it's a small one, no worries. These are twelve gauges!
RAIDER #1
(trailing to a whisper, now scared)
What if it's a big one?
RAIDER #2
Ain't nothing bigger'n two barrels of hot buck lead.
RAGGED HOBO
(whisper)
You boys aren't from uptown. They get big here. You need to stop shouting. Now.
The two Raiders turn again toward the Hobo.
RAIDER #2
No, old man, you need to start giving me that meat. You're
starting to make me angry.
A low RUMBLE.
RAIDER #1
I'm half dead. We gave up everything to get these guns and
now they're finally paying off.
Suddenly, the Hobo's eyes widen to something behind them, but
they are not the wiser.
RAIDER #2
So what's it going to be, you tramp piece of shit? It's eat
or get eaten.
Behind them stands a towering, twenty foot tall Tyrannosaurus
Rex. It bends down, preparing to lay claim to its prey.
The Raiders are none the wiser when Raider #1 is scooped up
into the mighty jaws of the Rex, a RIP and TEAR of flesh as his upper half is
devoured in one mighty chomp.
The force of the Rex's bite into the three pushes the Hobo to
the ground. He scrambles into some nearby debris, underneath an overturned
green, industrial garbage bin. He can peer out from beneath to witness the
carnage before him.
His cart is thrown asunder, plates and things CLAMORING to
the ground.
Raider #2 immediately pulls his gun and begins laying fire
into the Rex. The BLAST of the shotgun rings, bathing the Raider in a glow of
muzzle-flash.
He catches some of the flesh on the Rex's face, but it does
not stop it.
The Rex shrugs off his attacker with nothing but a small
wound. It is too late. The Raider desperately and instinctively makes a grab
for another couple of shells to load into his empty shotgun.
As the Hobo watches from his hiding spot, the Rex devours the
second Raider. Something in front of him catches his eye, his small scrap of
meat.
He almost pushes himself out to grab it, but he thinks better
of it and remains hidden from the Rex.
He watches the scene with horror, wishing desperately to grab
his meat, but instead the disembodied arm of the Raider lands just in front of
it, soaking it with blood.
The Rex ROARS.