Greatest Zombie Movie Ever

by Jeff Strand

  “Are we all inspired now?” asked Justin.

  “I’m kind of hungry,” said Bobby.

  “Me too,” said Gabe.

  “Do you think your mom would make spaghetti?”

  “I’ll ask,” said Justin.

  They sat at the dinner table, eating spaghetti and meatballs. Justin noticed that one of his meatballs kind of looked like a brain, but he didn’t share this observation with anybody because he didn’t want to be asked to leave the table. Neither Mom nor Dad appreciated it when dinner was compared to internal organs.

  “How’s the script going?” Dad asked.

  Bobby said, “Good.” Gabe said, “Fine.” And Justin said, “Eh.”

  “Five thousand dollars. Wow. Your grandmother never gave me five thousand dollars. I thought that she was going to give you forty bucks. Maybe fifty. Five thousand dollars. That’s crazy.”

  Justin knew what was coming next. Three…two…one…

  “What you should do is put that money toward your college education,” said Mom.

  “She wants it back after the movie comes out,” Justin told her. “She’s an investor, not a donor.”

  Dad, who’d been about to shove a large bite of spaghetti into his mouth, set his fork back down on his plate. He’d suddenly gone pale. “It wasn’t a gift?”

  “No. I told you that.”

  “Oh. I assumed it was a gift.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. He reopened his eyes and looked at Justin. “You are going to finish the movie, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay. Good.” Dad shoved his plate away as if he’d lost his appetite. “Good.”

  After dinner they returned to Justin’s room. They weren’t anywhere close to finishing the script. Perhaps it had been too ambitious to think that they could write an entire feature film screenplay in one sleep-deprived day, especially a film that was supposed to redefine the genre for a whole new generation.

  Still, he didn’t have to wake up for school until 7:00 a.m. That left plenty of time if he didn’t squander any of it by being unconscious. They could do this.

  Clack clack clack clack, went Justin’s keyboard.

  Clack clack clack clack, went Gabe’s keyboard.

  Clack....................clack, went Bobby’s keyboard.

  “I think I need to get going,” said Gabe, closing his laptop.

  “All right,” said Justin. He sighed. “We’re off to a good start anyway. I mean, there’s cool stuff happening in literally every paragraph.”

  “I kind of went with more character development.”

  “That’s fine,” said Justin. “Character development can be cool too. So we’re still going to do this, right? All-nighters for everyone?”

  “Yeah,” said Gabe and Bobby, and they almost sounded like they kind of meant it.

  His friends left, and Justin sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen. He’d wanted to write thirty pages today. He’d written eight. Well, seven and three-quarters, rounded up. Not bad for a regular day’s work. But this was no regular day, and eight was not thirty. Twenty-two pages left to go. That seemed like a lot of pages.

  It was six o’clock. That left thirteen hours until the alarm went off. Thirteen whole hours! So he didn’t even have to write at the rate of two measly pages an hour to finish on schedule. Anybody could write two pages an hour. That was a full half hour per page. No problem at all. And if he wrote three pages an hour…or even four, he could get some sleep.

  By seven o’clock he’d written another page and a quarter.

  Not a big deal. He didn’t have to write two pages every single hour to finish on time. He just needed to average two pages an hour. He could make up for the previous hour’s shortfall by accelerating his pace throughout the upcoming hour, which would be really easy once he built up some momentum.

  Then Mom made him take out the garbage and recyclables, which messed up his momentum.

  Mom and Dad were watching a television show that looked highly entertaining, but Justin resisted the temptation to join them and returned to his room.

  By eight o’clock he hadn’t written much more. He wouldn’t count that against himself because of the distraction with the garbage, which wasn’t his fault. He’d get it done. He’d been in this position many times. He worked best under pressure.

  Did they really need to get the movie shot before Gabe left for the summer?

  Justin was appalled at himself for allowing that traitorous thought to creep into his mind. Of course he did. They were a team. He didn’t want to make the movie without him. They’d been best friends forever. And though Gabe’s job was to be the voice of reason, Justin knew that he’d be genuinely heartbroken if they finished the movie while he was gone.

  Making the movie without Gabe was not an option. The only options he needed to worry about right now were these: Coffee or Red Bull?

  Maybe both.

  The surgeon general would probably say, “Goodness, no, you shouldn’t have coffee and Red Bull at the same time!” but the surgeon general didn’t have a screenplay to write, so he could just keep his whiny opinions to himself.

  He wrote for another two caffeine-free hours, racking up four unspeakably awesome new pages. After Mom and Dad went to bed, he went into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee with the Keurig. Then he grabbed a Red Bull out of the refrigerator and returned to his room.

  He chugged the Red Bull in a few quick gulps, took a sip of coffee, and returned to work. He was sooooo tired, but artificial stimulants would take care of that problem. A couple of minutes later, he’d finished the cup of coffee too.

  Veronica punches the zombie in the face, causing its eyeballs to pop out and dangle from their stalks. The eyeballs bounce against each other a couple of times before the zombie falls to the ground.

  A noise behind her! Veronica spins around and gasps in horror as a zombie in a lion tamer’s outfit reaches for her with both hands anddddddddddddddddddd

  Justin snapped awake. He needed another Red Bull.

  If Mom or Dad weren’t asleep, one or both of them would probably try to dissuade him from the decision to consume another energy drink. So he was glad that they were asleep. He needed wings.

  He went to the kitchen, got another Red Bull out of the refrigerator, and gulped it down. Oh yeah. He could feel the creativity flowing through his veins already. Every blood cell, both white and red, was electrified with pure energy. With this much power at his disposal, maybe he’d crank out two movie scripts tonight!

  Ha-ha. He was just joking with himself. He’d stick with the one script as planned.

  His right pinkie was twitching. Good. It could tap the keys faster.

  Ah, so that’s what a rapid heartbeat felt like! He’d always kind of wondered. This project was giving him the opportunity to enjoy all sorts of new experiences.

  …reaches for her with both hands and misses. Veronica slams her forehead into the zombie’s forehead. Her forehead is much more durable, and the zombie’s head shatterslikeglass.

  Space bar. He had to remember to use the space bar.

  Despite all of this awesome energy, Justin still felt exhausted like he’d been running for several miles but couldn’t stop because some guy with a machete was still chasing him. He couldn’t figure out if his body was awake and his brain was tired or vice versa.

  Now his left pinkie was twitching. That would help balance things out.

  …shatters like glass. The zombie falls to the ground. Veronica steps on what’s left of its head as she walks away.

  VERONICA

  I’m so very tired. Oh, to sleep!

  How wonderful it would be to sleep!

  Justin wondered how Gabe and Bobby were doing. Both of them should be awake, so texting them wouldn’t disturb them. But they might be in the zone.
It wasn’t cool to interrupt somebody who was in the zone. When he got into the zone later tonight, he wouldn’t want either of them breaking his concentration. The zone was crucial if they were going to finish this screenplay before school tomorrow.

  Before school today, technically.

  Those blankets on his bed sure looked enticing. They were the same blankets he’d had for the past three or four years, but they seemed different somehow. Warmer. Fluffier. Comfier.

  Had his blanket just moved?

  Justin swore the blanket had turned down a bit at the corner, inviting him underneath the covers.

  No! He had to resist!

  He’d been in this situation many times. “Oh, why didn’t I start studying for that test a week ago?” he’d often wail. “I could’ve studied for a mere fifteen minutes a day and my life would be wonderful! But now…oh, the misery of my existence!” But he always got the studying done. And this was for something that he liked a lot more than math. He’d fight through this. He’d get his third of the script done, no matter what.

  You don’t need to write that script tonight, his bed said in a low purr. We haven’t been spending enough time together. Don’t you love me anymore? Just slip between the sheets and close your eyes, and the script will be magically finished when you wake up.

  His bed was lying to him. Justin would not be fooled.

  I would never lie to you, his bed assured him. We’re the best of friends forever. You know you’re sleepy, and I’m as cozy as snuggling with a hundred kittens. Come on, Justin. I have your best interests at heart. Trust me.

  You can totally trust him, said the pillow. Just one hour of sleep. That’s all you need. Think how much more productive you’ll be if you get in that one short hour. I’m the softest, most wonderful pillow in the world. Why would you want to break my fluffy little heart?

  Justin was not going to let them win this battle of wills. He was going to write all night, and no inanimate object—a bed for example—was going to break him.

  “That’s enough out of you,” Justin said, but not out loud because otherwise he’d be speaking to a bed.

  You’ve just made a powerful enemy, his bed said with a snarl. You’ll regret your disloyalty! The next time you get in me, I’m going to bite you in half! Right in half with my sharp, glistening fangs! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! By the way, there’s a scary clown in your closet.

  At least his pinkies weren’t twitching anymore.

  No, wait. Maybe his eyeballs were twitching, and that just made his pinkies look normal.

  Veronica sees another horde of zombies coming toward her. But unlike the other zombies she’s killed today, these are running! Jeez, am I tired. How can I be so alert and yet so tired at the same time? I think I can actually feel my pancreas working. Does this stuff I’m typing right now count as official productivity? Probably not.

  So tired.

  So very tired.

  So........................

  7

  When Justin’s alarm went off, it startled him so badly that he almost fell out of his chair. He’d written thirty-three pages. His sense of accomplishment faded a bit as he scrolled through the script and discovered that most of them were the phrase want to sleep cannot sleep want to sleep cannot sleep want to sleep bed will eat my head typed over and over in various fonts. After he deleted the evidence of his madness, he was left with twelve pages.

  No big deal. When he added that to whatever Gabe and Bobby had written, they’d have a pretty big chunk of the script completed. It would at least be enough to prove to Alicia that he was serious.

  In the shower he could feel each individual droplet of water pound into him with the force of a stampeding rhinoceros. He couldn’t believe how terrible he felt. It was almost as if the human body required sleep to function properly.

  He looked in the mirror. Ugh. There was a reason he worked behind the camera.

  “You look tired,” Mom said as he sat at the dining room table and poured himself a bowl of Extreme Sugar Flakes.

  Justin said, “Yeah,” or something approximating that.

  “Didn’t sleep well?”

  Justin shrugged. Or at least he thought he shrugged. His body made some sort of twitching movement at any rate.

  He only lived four blocks from school, so every day he walked instead of taking the bus. Normally this was a good thing since buses were often filled with students who liked to flick Cheetos and/or boogers at you, but today he would have appreciated the ride. Or even better, he would love for someone to just carry him to school on a stretcher.

  Gabe, who lived only two blocks farther from school, was waiting outside when Justin left the house. He looked absolutely exhausted but didn’t look crazed, so he must have gotten some actual sleep.

  “How’d it go?” Justin asked.

  “At three in the morning, I had to crash,” Gabe admitted. “I ended up with fifteen pages. Half of what I was supposed to write. I’m sorry.”

  “I only did twelve.”

  “Slacker.”

  “What do you think the odds are that Bobby wrote sixty-five pages?”

  “Not great.”

  “What do you think the odds are that Bobby wrote thirty pages?”

  “Not great.”

  “What do you think—”

  “We both know he went home and went straight to bed,” said Gabe.

  “Yeah,” said Justin. “He’s so lucky.”

  Bobby, who took the bus and often had Cheetos stains on the back of his shirt, was hanging out by the Squid Hand Tree, which was so named because Gabe thought it looked like a squid and Bobby thought it looked like a hand. (Justin thought it looked like a fork, but that observation had not been incorporated into the tree’s name.)

  “Hey, guys,” Bobby said. “You look tired.”

  “Yeah,” said Gabe, and Justin merely nodded because it required less effort.

  “Did you get your shares done?”

  “No,” said Gabe. Justin shook his head.

  “You didn’t?”

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah.” Bobby looked surprised. “That’s what we were supposed to do, right?” He unzipped his backpack and took out a stack of pages. “I even printed out three copies for us to review during lunch. Why did I bother staying up all night if you guys weren’t going to pull your own weight?”

  “Let me see that,” Justin said and took the pages from him. He quickly flipped through them. They were indeed the pages of a zombie screenplay. “How’d you do that?”

  “I told you. I just needed inspiration.”

  “Well, you got to write the last third, which has all of the coolest stuff,” said Justin.

  “What Justin means,” said Gabe, “is that we both apologize and that we’re glad at least one of us did what he was supposed to do.”

  “Yeah,” said Justin. “I’m sorry. I’m really tired, and last night I hallucinated that my bed threatened to eat me.”

  Bobby shrugged. “It’s okay. Sometimes beds are jerks.”

  “I’ll try to write a couple of pages during first period.”

  “During the test?” Gabe asked.

  Justin stared at Gabe for a very long time. “Test?”

  “The history test. Today. First period.”

  Justin suddenly wished there was a nearby bunker where he could hide away for a few minutes and scream. “I completely forgot to study for that! Why didn’t you remind me?”

  “I studied last week.”

  “Studying last week doesn’t count! People only remember stuff if they look at it the night before!” Justin wanted to weep, but again there was no bunker.

  “I guess I just assumed that you wouldn’t spend all day yesterday working on the script if you didn’t feel prepared for the test.”

  “Oh, really? You didn’t th
ink I’d make a poor decision? You know me better than that! We’ve been friends for a hundred and fifty years!” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I guess I’ll try to work on the script during second period.”

  • • •

  Mr. Dzeda handed the tests to the first person in each row for them to pass back. Justin’s stomach felt like it was filled with writhing slugs.

  “Remember,” said Mr. Dzeda, “this is an open-book test.”

  Open-book test! Open-book test! Justin was saved!

  Where was his book?

  • • •

  Justin didn’t think he’d performed very well on the test, but he’d stayed conscious the whole time, which was its own victory.

  In second period Ms. Spitler caught Justin passing a note to Bobby that contained a particularly awesome zombie demise. Her policy was that if you got caught passing a note, you had to read it in front of the class. That policy no longer applied to Justin because it had worked out poorly for Ms. Spitler in the past. Instead she just scowled at him.

  He’d hoped for a rare Alicia sighting, but he didn’t pass her in the hallway. She had the earlier lunch, so he didn’t see her there either. He sat down with Gabe and Bobby to discuss the script in progress.

  “Did you make your own lunch?” Bobby asked Justin.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You packed a box of baking soda.”

  “Yes, well, as I said, it wasn’t a restful night.”

  “Are you going to eat the baking soda?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll give you a buck if you do.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Bobby handed each of them a copy of the last third of the script. “Remember, this is a first draft. There may still be typos and continuity errors.”