Imagine if Battlestar Galactica and Lost had an illegitimate child and that child had unsupervised access to the Internet, hung out with Richard Dawkins and knew the names and functions of all its chakras. That's Nudetopia - the TV series that you read.
Atheist exiles flee a cataclysmic flood and find themselves in a strange land of nakedness where they are forced to survive alongside amoral nudes. Secular values are strained, building blocks of civilisation crumble and love triangles unfold into tetrahedrons as beliefs are stripped bare.
Down at sea level in Falleria, others weren’t so safe…
The tsunami warning alarm blared like drill sergeants with a chronic case of Short Man syndrome. A screaming flood of people spilled onto the streets and flowed uphill, given an extra push by the shrieking horns. Some trickled back down when they realised they’d never get high enough. Instead, they joined the huddles of bowed heads in the town centres, and drowned out the warning bells with prayer and denial.
Charles had tried to set off the alarm about 20 years earlier but the Fallerians thought he was just being an alarmist, which he of course was, hence the whole alarming them bit. Now those that were left behind were blaming him and the rest of the underfunded and politically castrated Ministry of Science for not doing anything about it. But ever by the Book, they reconciled the coming deluge with prophecy, a greater flood than the Great Flood to wash away the non-believers. Charles figured god must have rinsed his china with a fire hose and brushed his teeth with napalm.
Those left in prayer looked up to heaven and felt God shaking His fist or at the very least stubbing His toe, probably His big one.
The exiles on Messenger Mountain, braced for it…
Charles and most of the exiles knew it wasn’t god, let alone God; rather it was nature – objective, emotionless, fistless and no doubt toeless. But the crack that tore through the clouds did sound vengeful and the lightning that bolted down looked a lot like a middle finger.
Dr. Caroline Hawkings, 15 year-old Libby and six year-old Katie stood on each side of their husband and father. They clung tight, especially Katie who dug her nails deeper into his leg with every strike from above. As the cracks hit harder, Katie ripped her right hand from her father to puff on her inhaler – this altitude was stingy with its air.
Reverend Ted James, an old friend and sparring partner, stood behind Charles. Ted also stuck by God, in whom he still had faith. But with today’s weather, the line to heaven crackled like the clouds. And when the sky rumbled again Ted knew it wasn’t God returning the call. It scared the cheeks off little Ellie and Kim, twin five year-old girls, who wrapped themselves even tighter around their single-mother Jackie.
Then the cracking sky began to fall. Clouds shot down nails and needles – it wasn’t meant to be like this. Streaming faces pleaded with Charles for answers. He looked up and around, seeking the same. Heathen-seeking lightning (some started taking it personally) opened pockets of hell on the hillside. Too late for raincoats and no place for turncoats, the exiles took to shrieking and running around in circles, ellipses and other futile shapes. They clambered for a natural bomb shelter but one unlucky bastard took a direct hit and was cooked faster than the noodles in his ration pack. Those around him seemed to grow an extra leg after that – that’s evolution. Some managed to cower under a hanging rock as flashes went off all around them. One flash, and surely this must have been deliberate, lasered the rock and sent it onto those that it was meant to protect.