Apocalypse Pacific Daylight Time by Mary Sprouse
The interior of a suburban master bedroom before dawn
Center stage is a bed
Behind the bed is a picture window framed by floor-length curtains,
that are drawn
On either side of the bed are nightstands with bedside lamps
The lamp stage right casts a dim yellow light
At stage left, a bathroom door stands open, a nightlight
shedding an eerie glow within. The interior of the bathroom is not
visible. At stage right is a wardrobe. A chest stands at the foot of
the bed.
Asleep in the bed are a married couple, BILL and DEBRA HARRISON. They
are in their mid- to late-forties. BILL is on the stage right side of
the bed.
As the scene opens, BILL is gently snoring. This continues for several
seconds before he abruptly stops and turns over. Gradually, in the
background, we hear distant airplanes. Over the course of the next
minute, this sound will grow louder until the planes seem to be
directly overhead
Meanwhile, there is an increased rumble of other airplanes heard at a distance
As the first airplanes reaches a peak of sound, BILL bolts upright.
BILL: What the….
The sound of other approaching airplanes is magnified as they come
closer. The roar has a distorted quality, as if filtered by the
atmosphere. It becomes increasingly ominous, with waves of airplanes
passing overhead, becoming louder, then receding in the distance. At
all times, there will be a low, distant rumble.
BILL: Debra! Do you hear that?
DEBRA mumbles incoherently.
BILL: I think we're at war.
DEBRA: Planes.
BILL: (Sitting up and swinging his legs to the floor.) That's not just
“planes.” Listen! It's war!
DEBRA: We're in the flight path.
BILL: I know we're in the flight path. I know what 737s landing every
three bloody minutes sound like.
DEBRA: White noise. Just tune it out, you always say.
BILL: I know what I always say. White noise is static, bath water
running, the TV in another room. This isn't “white noise.” This is our
daughter learning to play the violin, a dentist drilling into your
brain, Janet Leigh being stabbed in the shower.
DEBRA: Or a hysterical husband.
BILL: Could you say that a little louder. I can't hear you for the
impending doom overhead.
DEBRA: It's just a change in the atmosphere. Like the way we can hear
a train whistle downtown when the wind blows our way.
BILL: Those are fighter jets. Squadrons of fighter jets. I was in the
Air Force. I ought to know.
DEBRA: Maybe they're on maneuvers.
BILL: Exercises. They're called exercises.
DEBRA: If we weren't in the flight plan, we could have sold this
house.
BILL: You can't leave it alone, can you?
An almost deafening thunder of airplanes shakes the stage. BILL
springs up wildly. The noise recedes.
BILL: Get up! Get up! You're sleeping through the Apocalypse!
The sound has finally alarmed DEBRA. She is sitting, holding the
covers to her chest, listening.
DEBRA: It can't be. How can it be?
BILL: Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's not war. God, I hope it's not war.
That lamp. It's on. That's a good sign, right? If we were at war,
wouldn't the power be out?
The lamp and the bathroom light flicker and die. Another loud rumble
of planes roars overhead. BILL and DEBRA both scream. DEBRA awkwardly
scrambles across the bed and throws herself into BILL's arms. The
airplane sound effects recede.
BILL and DEBRA: We're at war! We're at war!
The lights come back on. BILL and DEBRA look around, then move apart,
sheepishly.
DEBRA: Oh, God. I have to call the kids.
DEBRA races around to her side of the bed and reaches under her
pillow.
BILL: Good. Call the kids. Jerry's with the government. He should
know something.
DEBRA: He's a fish biologist. He knows how many smallmouth bass there
are in Lake Erie.
BILL: It's still the government.
DEBRA turns on the other bedside lamp. She searches the bed clothes
with mounting manic intensity.
DEBRA: I can't find my phone.
BILL: I thought you always put it next to your pillow.
DEBRA: Under my pillow. It's not there.
BILL: Did you leave it on the charger?
DEBRA: No. Call my phone.
BILL: For Pete's sake.
BILL picks up his phone from the nightstand. A distant emergency
vehicle siren is heard.
DEBRA: Hurry!
BILL: What's your number?
DEBRA: My number? Look in your Contacts.
BILL: Under “Love of my life” or “Trouble and strife”?
DEBRA: Goodie. I get to die with the last stand-up comic.
BILL: (Making the call.) Put it on my epitaph.
DEBRA's phone rings. She scoops it up from beneath the bedspread on
the floor.
DEBRA:(Going through the call process.) What time is it in Buffalo?
BILL: Three hours later. Ha!
DEBRA: What?
BILL: If the world just ended in New York, it won't end here for
another three hours.
DEBRA: There's no answer.
BILL: We have another three hours.
DEBRA: Answer! Answer!
In the background, the phone goes to voice mail.
VOICE MAIL: No one is available to answer your call. Please leave a
message at the tone.
DEBRA: Jerry, it's your mother. Your father thinks we're at war.
BILL: I think?
DEBRA: Call me. Please. I have to talk to you before we die.
(Ending the call) Jerry always answers. He knows how crazy mothers
get.
Multiple sirens are heard screaming in the distance. BILL crosses to
the window, draws the curtains, and peers out.
BILL: The street lights are out across the street. The neighborhood's
dark.
A helicopter flies by overhead.
DEBRA: I can't call Amy.
(She holds up the phone.) I don't have any bars. I can't text her
either.
BILL: So I guess that War app is pretty much useless.
DEBRA: The radio! Emergencies are the only reason we still have a
radio.
BILL hurries over to the clock radio on the nightstand.
BILL: How could I forget?
(Mimicking.) “The following is a test of the Emergency Broadcast
System.” Do you remember when it was called Conalrad?
DEBRA: No.
BILL: That's right. I robbed the cradle.
DEBRA: (Heading into the bathroom.) Jerry will call back. I know he
will.
DEBRA enters the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. BILL switches on the
radio, and music plays. He turns the dial, searching for news. He will
continue to change stations as the scene progresses, bypassing music
and stopping at each talk show long enough to get the gist (or longer
if it grabs his attention).
RADIO STATION #1: (Music)
RADIO STATION #2: Have you been injured in an accident?
RADIO STATION #3: Don't touch that dial.
BILL raises his hands in mock obedience.
RADIO STATION #3: It's all coming up in the G.G.G.—the Good, the
Gab, and the Gossip.
BILL grabs for the dial in exasperation.
BILL: Come on, come on.
RADIO STATION #4: (Raucous laughter)
RADIO STATION #5: So she says to me, “You have a lot of back hair.”
RADIO STATION #6: (Music)
DEBRA: What are they saying?
BILL: Some guy has too much back hair.
DEBRA: What?
BILL: Nothing. There's absolutely nothing. It's the same idiotic
babble as always.
DEBRA pokes her head out of the bathroom door.
DEBRA: Have you tried AM?
BILL: No. They only report wars on FM.
DEBRA: Maybe if we had short-wave.
BILL: Or walkie-talkies. Or two tin cans tied together by string. Or a
direct line to the White House.
A cell phone rings in the bathroom.
DEBRA: That must be Jerry.
DEBRA disappears into the bathroom. Another set of jets drowns out the
radio for several seconds. When the noise passes, BILL goes back to
the radio dial.
RADIO STATION #7: (A woman's voice, hysterical.) All I want is the
truth!
BILL looks interested.
RADIO STATION #7: (A man's voice.) The truth is the cat got out, and I
spent five hours looking for it, and I forgot my cell phone.
BILL: Sure, bud.
BILL switches stations.
RADIO STATION #8: Stop the texts, stop the wrecks.
BILL shakes the radio in frustration.
RADIO STATION #9: We interrupt this program with breaking news…
BILL: Yes! Thank you, Lord.
RADIO STATION #9: Police confirm that a brown bag found yesterday
lying on the sidewalk near Gardner and Main contained two pickles and
a peanut butter sandwich.
BILL: The terrorists have won.
RADIO STATION #10: (Music)
DEBRA: It wasn't Jerry. It was a robocall. I'm going to try Amy
again.
RADIO STATION #11: This is KQYY. We're on the air talking about Most
Embarrassing Surgeries.
BILL is intrigued once again.
RADIO STATION #11:
RADIO HOST: Monica, you're live. What surgery do you want to tell us
about?
MONICA: My son had torsion testicle. They had to go in and untangle
the veins.
RADIO HOST: Ow, my nuts hurt. How old is he now?
MONICA: Eighteen.
RADIO HOST: And how is he?
MONICA: Just fine.
RADIO HOST: Do you ask him…?
MONICA: I inspect it once a week actually.
DEBRA comes out of the bathroom.
DEBRA: What are you listening to?
RADIO STATION #11:
RADIO HOST: Do you invite his friends?
BILL quickly turns off the radio.
BILL: If KQYY calls and asks you to share, hang up.
Distant moving red lights can be seen out the window
. DEBRA points in alarm
[end of extract]