by Jeff Strand
“That’s fine. As long as it’s not a cult.”
“No, sir. Not a cult.”
“My sister joined a cult in college. They wouldn’t let her eat vegetables or write with her left hand. Everybody had to wear tinted glasses, even on cloudy days. And every other Wednesday they sacrificed a goat to the Dark One.”
“That’s pretty far from what this is. Do you want to be a zombie in our movie?”
“Nah, but I wish you luck.”
• • •
“Good morning, ma’am.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes, and I apologize.”
“What in the world do you want?”
“My name is Herman Flipperson,” said Justin, deciding on the spot that giving the woman his real name was not a good idea. “I’m director of the upcoming feature film… You know, I’m seeing a lot of rage in your eyes, and I think my partners and I have decided to quietly back away and leave you alone.”
The woman shut the door in his face.
“Has humanity really become so antisocial that you can’t even go door-to-door anymore without people getting mad at you?” Justin asked.
“She’s peeking through the window,” said Bobby. “And I saw a shotgun hanging on her wall.”
“Okay, let’s get out of here. But we’ll record the house from someplace safe in case she does open fire.”
• • •
“Good morning, ma’am. I see that your scary dog really doesn’t want us here, so we’ll move along. Thank you for your time.”
• • •
“Good morning. Is your mommy or daddy home?”
“Gah?”
“Your mommy? Your daddy?”
“Gah?”
“Do you like zombies? Zombies?” Justin held out his arms and made a face like a zombie.
The three-year-old began to cry.
“Run! Run!” said Justin, fleeing from the scene.
• • •
“Good morning, sir. My name is Justin Hollow, noted film director. My films include Mummy Pit, Werewolf Night, and Ghost Barn. Sadly I’ve met with an unfortunate accident that has cost me the use of my left arm. Pain shoots through it with every breath I take. But I’m not here for sympathy, and I’m not letting that stop me from making my first feature-length motion picture. That’s where you come in! The hour is early, but it’s never too early to play a zombie! I’m here to offer you and your loved ones the opportunity to portray a member of the living dead in a film that’s sure to get the critics raving!”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Do I have to pay for this?”
“Oh, goodness no, sir. And the best part is that you can keep all of the latex we stick to your face, absolutely free!”
“Yeah, all right. I’ll go put on some pants.”
• • •
“Good morning, sir and ma’am. You’re a lovely couple. My name is Bobby. My partner here, Justin, is making a movie. As you can see, he suffered a horrific on-set injury, so I’m doing the talking to ease his burden. Are you feeling okay, Justin?”
Justin nodded and coughed gently.
“Justin has but one dream—to make a movie. And he’s trying to fulfill that dream right now with the time he has left. To make that dream come true, he’s not asking for money—”
“Though he would not decline it,” said Gabe.
“What he needs are zombies. Lots of zombies. This is your chance to make a young boy’s final wish come true.”
“So you’re making a zombie movie?”
“With your help, we are.”
“Like 28 Days Later?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, they aren’t zombies in 28 Days Later. They’re the infected. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man shut the door in their faces.
Bobby rang the doorbell. The man opened the door again.
“We’re aware of the difference between the infected and true members of the living dead,” said Justin. “We just felt that it would be inappropriate to correct you when we’re asking for a favor. I completely understand where you’re coming from. But like it or not, our culture has decided that 28 Days Later is a legitimate zombie movie, and to get worked up about it is a bit pedantic.”
“So are you calling me pedantic because I care about the true definitions of zombies? If I don’t care, who will?”
“I didn’t say full-on pedantic. Just a bit pedantic.”
“Are you doing fast zombies or slow zombies?”
“Both.”
“What? That’s not how it works!”
“You haven’t even read the script. You’re prejudging something before you know anything about it. It’s like we knocked on the door of the Internet.”
“Look, there are advantages and disadvantages to both, but there is no realistic world in which slow zombies and fast zombies would coexist. You have to choose your side. When you watch the Super Bowl, you don’t get to root for both teams. You pick one, and you hope that the other one gets destroyed.”
“The fact that you’re so passionate about this leads me to believe that you’re a slow zombie guy,” said Gabe.
“Darn right.”
Gabe high-fived the man.
“We won’t have any fast zombies in your scene if you agree to be in our movie,” said Justin.
“Yeah, okay. Let me wake up the kids.”
• • •
“Good morning. Oh, hi, Alicia.”
“Hi.” Alicia stood there in a nightgown, looking confused. “Did I miss my call time?”
“No, no, we’re just doing some zombie recruitment. I didn’t know you lived here.”
“Yeah. It’s kind of early to be going door-to-door, don’t you think?”
“That’s what the people in this neighborhood keep telling me. Your eyebrow looks a lot better.”
“Thanks. It finally stopped leaking a couple of days ago.”
“That’s going to be a continuity issue,” said Gabe.
“Knock it off,” Justin told him. “What do you want her to do, infect it again on purpose?”
Justin loved that a girl of her stunning beauty was willing to answer the front door in an ugly tan nightgown. He loved that she was willing to discuss the grosser aspects of her eyebrow. In fact, now that the shock had worn off, he liked the feisty manner in which she’d overreacted to Bobby dropping the boom mic.
He feared rejection, but he’d been rejected by about fifty-three people this morning. And if he was going to make a movie without a safety net, why not start living his life that way too?
“Alicia, do you want to go to Monkey Burger with me sometime?”
“You mean to discuss the movie?”
Justin shook his head. “I mean as a date.”
“Oh.” Alicia suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I can’t date my director. I’m sorry. That wouldn’t be professional. You understand, right?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I completely understand. Yes.” Don’t bail on this, Justin told himself. Don’t wuss out, even though Gabe and Bobby are right here to witness the brutal sting of eternal humiliation. “What about after the movie is done?”
“You’ll always have been my director,” said Alicia. “So I don’t think it would work.”
“That makes sense. Sorry for waking you up.”
“You didn’t wake me up. I was watching King Kong.”
King Kong! Oh, how he loved her!
Justin felt like he’d been kicked in the face by Mr. Kong, but he tried not to let it show. “Well, I’ll see you on the set. Gotta go round up more zombies.”
“Good luck.”
Justin, Gabe, and Bobby left.
“Dude, that was harsh,” said Gabe.
; “It wasn’t harsh. She could have spat at me…or squirted her eyebrow at me.”
“I mean that Bobby and I were there to witness it.”
“Doesn’t bother me at all,” said Justin as King Kong continued stomping on his head. “Let’s go get the rest of our zombies.”
25
When they returned to the set, Uncle Clyde was hurriedly applying zombie makeup to the newly recruited cast. They had eight zombies, which was 492 fewer than Justin wanted. But the two that were done were very cool zombies, and quality was more important than quantity—at least that was what he told himself. Spork was walking around, taking video and interviewing the zombies about their motivation.
“Which one is the eyeball-munching zombie?” Justin asked Uncle Clyde. “I want to get that shot while you make up the rest of them.”
“You didn’t tell me you wanted the eyeball-munching zombie first.”
“Yes, I did. I taped a note to your windshield.” Justin pointed to a note taped to Uncle Clyde’s windshield that read, We need the eyeball-munching zombie first.
“Oh. I thought it was a citation. Ummm…” Uncle Clyde looked around at the available actors. “None of these will work. I’ll have to use Bobby.”
“Who?” asked Bobby.
“Sit down on the makeup chair, Bobby,” said Uncle Clyde, gesturing to the front hood of his car.
“Oh, no. I don’t like having things glued to my face.”
“Sit down, Bobby.”
“I can’t. I have to record sound.”
“I don’t think we can get usable sound anyway, unless that guy finishes mowing his lawn,” said Justin. “This will be your cameo.”
“My cameo was supposed to be the guy in yoga pants.”
“You can still play him. You won’t be recognizable as a zombie.”
“Are you going to pour blood on me?”
“A few drops.”
“I wrote this scene, Justin. I know how much blood there is.”
“A few pints then. Are you scared of a few pints of fake blood? It tastes fine. I had some on my cereal this morning.”
“Why not have Gabe play him?”
“Because Gabe is our cameraman. And like it or not, every group has a dynamic, and in our group you’ve fallen into the role of designated abuse taker. Now sit down and get zombified.”
Bobby sat down on the front hood. Uncle Clyde gestured to a wide variety of prosthetic wounds he’d created. “Which do you prefer?” Uncle Clyde asked. “Hole in chin? Bottom half of nose gone? Part of cheek hanging down like flap? Nail in face? Forehead burnt off? Chicken pox scars? Eyeball falling out?”
“It’s probably too much to have his eyeball falling out when he’s about to eat somebody’s eyeball,” said Justin.
“I disagree,” said Uncle Clyde.
“Let’s go with bottom half of nose gone.”
“Can’t I be somebody who just turned?” asked Bobby. “Not every zombie has to be unsightly.”
“Make him really rotted,” Justin told Uncle Clyde. “If I can eat a sandwich while I’m looking at him, I’m sending him back.”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n.”
Justin and Gabe set up the scene while Uncle Clyde went to work turning Bobby into a flesh-eater. Right on time, a very fancy car pulled up, and the actor playing Bobby’s victim got out.
“Mr. Pamm!” said Justin to his boss. “Thanks for doing this for me!”
Mr. Pamm looked suspiciously at the actors. “Is this a monster movie?”
“Did I not tell you that?”
“No.”
“Oh. My mistake. Thank you for wearing such a nice suit.”
“I thought I was playing a romantic lead.”
“You are. It’s just not a traditional romantic lead. In your character’s backstory, he’s a handsome, charming, dapper man who’s beloved by his entire community.”
“That sounds okay.”
“Now when we meet him in this movie, he’s getting his eyeball eaten by a zombie, but I don’t want you to think about that. I want you to think about how handsome you used to look.”
“Did you mislead me about this role?”
“That doesn’t sound like something I would do. Uncle Clyde, are you ready to take out Mr. Pamm’s eye?”
• • •
“Action!”
Mr. Pamm lay on his back on the street, thrashing around in terror as Zombie Bobby sat on top on him, snarling.
“Eat the eyeball!” shouted Justin. “Eat it!”
Bobby leaned down and bit down on Mr. Pamm’s phony dangling eyeball.
“I can’t do it!” Bobby said. “It tastes just like a real one!”
“Eat it!”
Bobby chomped down on the eyeball. “It burst in my mouth!”
“Stop talking! Our zombies don’t talk!”
Mr. Pamm screamed. “My eye! My dang eye!”
“Get ready with the blood!” Justin called to the zombie extras who’d been promoted to blood pourers. “Bobby, pretend that you’re enjoying the eyeball!”
Bobby chewed the eyeball, looking like he was trying not to gag.
“Don’t swallow it,” said Justin. “It’s not edible. Blood in three…two…one. Dump it!”
The extras poured three buckets of blood onto Bobby and Mr. Pamm.
“More blood!” Justin shouted. “Way more blood!”
The extras each picked up their second buckets of blood.
“Shouldn’t we be saving some of that blood for later?” asked Gabe.
“We’ll make more. More blood in three…two…”
“Dang it, get off me, you dang zombie!” shouted Mr. Pamm. He spat out some of the syrup with red food coloring in it. “My eye! I can only see half as well without that eye!”
“One! Dump the blood! Dump the blood!”
Three more buckets of blood splashed over Bobby and Mr. Pamm.
“You said it was only going to be three buckets!” Bobby wailed.
“Stop talking! Everybody get ready for the next blood round. Gabe, get a shot of it pouring down into the gutter.”
“Already done.”
The zombie extras each picked up another bucket.
“Who is this blood supposed to be coming out of?” asked Gabe.
“It doesn’t matter. Three…two…one. Drench them!”
Three more buckets of blood came down upon Bobby and Mr. Pamm.
“Cue the intestines!” said Justin.
“I don’t want to eat any intestines!” said Bobby. “Please!”
“Three…two…one. Yank them!”
Bobby dug his fingers into the fake stomach that Uncle Clyde had glued to Mr. Pamm. He grabbed a handful of intestine and began to pull it out.
“Keep pulling!”
“It’s too slippery! I can’t hold it!”
“Keep pulling!”
“My intestines! My dang intestines!”
“More blood!”
More blood rained down upon the ferocious zombie and his victim.
“Gnaw on it! Gnaw, Bobby! Gnaw!”
“I don’t want to gnaw!”
“Do it for America!”
Bobby shoved a segment of the intestines into his mouth and bit down.
“Pretend you like it! To you it’s delicious!”
“It’s horrible!”
“It’s fake! It’s just rubber!”
“Well, actually…” said Uncle Clyde.
“We’re almost done!” said Justin. “One last slurp!”
“I’m dead!” said Mr. Pamm. “I’m dang dead!”
“Cut!” said Justin. “Let’s get them cleaned up for a second take.”
“He’s just kidding,” said Gabe.
Bobby and Mr. Pamm stood up.
“That was a lot of fun,” said Mr. Pamm, grinning. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Anytime.”
“Uh-oh,” said Gabe, pointing to the approaching vehicle. “Looks like somebody called the cops.”
“What were we doing that would make somebody call the police?” Justin asked. “Get as many angles of the car as you can. Don’t stop unless they whack you with a nightstick.”
“Will do.”
The car parked behind Uncle Clyde’s car, and two stern-looking officers got out. Justin considered immediately telling them that it was not real blood covering the two people they were staring at, but he decided to let Gabe capture their reactions on video first.
“You kids making a movie?” asked the first officer.
“Yes, sir,” said Justin, walking over to him.
“We’ve had a noise complaint.”
“Right. Sorry. We were filming a scene where my boss got torn apart by a zombie, and we felt he would make some noise under those circumstances.”
The officer looked Justin directly in the eye. “Do you know what I hate?”
“What?”
“I hate whiny neighbors.” He reached down and picked up the intestines. “This is neat stuff. I loved to make movies when I was a kid. My brother and I made an alien invasion movie. You like aliens?”
“I sure do.”
“You should make an alien movie someday. Anyway, I’m going to have to ask you to try to keep the volume down a bit. Maybe just add the screams in postproduction. You’re not going to leave all of the blood and guts on the street, right?”
“Absolutely not. Bobby will be cleaning all of that up as soon as we’re done.”
The second officer gestured to the mess. “I do have to say that in my twenty-two years on the force, I’ve seen some grisly things. I hate to criticize all of your hard work, but unfortunately you got the details of this type of attack wrong. It’s not possible for this much blood to come out of a single human being.”
“Why are you nitpicking?” asked the first officer, still holding the intestines.
“You weren’t thinking the same thing?”
“No, it’s stylized. They’re probably using crazy camera angles and all that.”