Zombie Revolution

by K. Bartholomew

  We made eye contact from across the set and he came bounding on over. He looked well, just as I’d seen him in several romantic comedies. He’d survived the apocalypse as fit and healthy as Hogan had – But look what happened to him.

  As he neared, his floppy hair fell over his eyes, which he brushed aside with a carefree hand. “My dear fellow, it’s so good to see another living human.”

  I held out my hand but instead, he embraced me in a hug, driving out the air from me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Hugh. I’m Todd Baywater.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine my dear fellow. I’m sure we’ll have much to talk about – Just so long as these things allow us the chance.”

  “That’s unlikely to happen. They’ve completely forgotten how it was to be one of us. There’s nothing there anymore. Just nothing. We’re prisoners.”

  He stared back to the she z who simply stood still in a wide open space all alone. “Oh I don’t know about that, they’re not all that bad.”

  “So this was one of your scenes in the movie?”

  “What? Movie?” He scratched his head. “Oh yeah – Movie – Sure – Movie.” He never moved his eyes from the z hooker and I wondered just how sane this bumbling Englishman was. Indeed, every human I’d met since this whole thing went down had some sort of serious character flaw. But Hugh Grant, if he’d done what I was beginning to think he’d done, was truly the most flawed out of all of us – Even more so than myself, which was truly making a bold statement. Still – I suppose even in times such as these, a man had his needs.

  There was something about Grant that made me uneasy. I didn’t feel safe around the guy, which in my opinion was supposed to be the whole point of him being here. Usually I’d been interested in hearing his backstory, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask about it. I had the impression he’d sold his soul to the devil in order to be here and alive – Much in fact, like I had done back at the Hollywood Studio Bar & Grill. However, I would be fair to the man and give him a chance. What alternative did I have?

  “So what will I have seen you in? You know, before the shit hit the fan.” Grant enquired, genuinely hoping he was with some movie big shot he didn’t recognize.

  “Um, well, I was in the background in a cheese commercial once.”

  “I’m sorry? You were what?” His face dropped.

  “A cheese commercial. Several years ago.” I really wasn’t trying to impress this guy anyway. As far as I was concerned, this third rate movie star should be trying to impress me.

  “Well then, that must be where I recognized you from.”

  The next few days of shooting were intense and in many aspects, quite painful. They were as painful emotionally as they were physically. I was glad Tag seemed to get it as bad as I had and those were the moments I could sit back, watch and actually enjoy life.

  I felt lucky Tag had the Crying Game scene and not me. I laughed at the site of him throwing up after discovering the female zombie he was making out with was actually a dude. But he got his revenge when it was my turn for the zipping up pants scene from There’s Something About Mary. Spielberg had insisted on several retakes which annoyed me a great deal.

  Tag was drenched in blood for the Carrie prom scene. Then I had to wear a white dress and stand on a subway grate for the Seven Year Itch scene. Yep, it was degrading but it sure beat the hell out of trapping my Johnson in my zipper. It still hurt to pee.

  Tag was given the Silence of the Lambs liver eating scene. He received a severe beating from Borgnine after objecting that the movie never actually showed Anthony Hopkins eating a human liver.

  Then I had to perform in the Full Metal Jacket scene and was forced to walk round set all afternoon with my thumb in mouth and pants round my ankles.

  It was getting to the stage where neither of us wanted to be a part of this whole freaking experience any longer. You can only kick a dog so much until eventually, he’ll bite back. When would I bite back? Just how much more of this shit would I continue to take?

  I felt completely emasculated, like I was Spielberg’s bitch. This was no way for a man to exist. Was I a man? It sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

  Grant was also given his fair share of demeaning scenes to work with, which kind of came as a great relief. It proved to me that he wasn’t getting any kind of preferential treatment for whatever reason, that he was treated just the same as Tag and myself, that he was treated like a piece of shit too - Literally.

  He was forced at mouth point to do the soiled sheet scene from Trainspotting. When he put up token resistance, Borgnine administered a severe beating, leaving the Englishman bruised and battered. The makeup z was required and considering the circumstances, she did a pretty good job of making him look kind of ok. Unfortunately for Grant, he had to perform the scene in a state of semi-consciousness, which Spielberg therefore insisted on being repeated many times until it was right.

  There was a scene from She’s All That where Grant was forced to eat z pubes off a pizza. I later discovered the thick black hairs came from the z whose job it was to shovel the undigested human body parts into the dung heap.

  Grant, in a world of hurt, stumbled over to me and Tag during a short break between scenes. “Guys, I think we need to have a little chat. Somewhere private.” He pointed to an abandoned car not far away. “That should partially shield us. Any further and we’ll raise suspicions.”

  “I hope you’re not planning a break for it, Grant.” I said, already nervous the three of us had clustered. A group of z rigging technicians were hanging out by an old burger van that now served spleens and we’d attracted their attention. That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, for we always attracted attention from the z’s – After all, they wanted us – Badly.

  “Let’s keep it quiet boys.” Grant was less troubled than I was at the thought of attracting unwanted attention. Was this guy suicidal? Was it Costner all over again?

  “What’s this about Hugh?” Tag asked.

  “I’ve had enough. That’s what this is about.”

  “You’ve had enough? You’ve only just arrived here.” Tag said. “Try being in one of their reality productions.”

  “Well, Tag, at least you’ve not been beaten within an inch of your life.” It was true that Grant had taken one heck of a pounding at the hands of Borgnine. But within an inch of his life, I thought was somewhat exaggerating things.

  Borgnine now joined the rigging technicians along with several members of the visual effects department, though why they were needed in this movie I had no idea. Together they all queued for spleen, an act that looked almost too orderly for stereotypical z’s. Again, I wondered how things would change when they ran out of human body parts to consume. I also wondered just where Borgnine had come from. He’d died the year before the apocalypse and to the best of my knowledge, had been buried in a televised service. Had Spielberg ordered his raising from the ground or did Borgnine somehow manage to claw his own way out from six feet under? Either way, this z was ninety five years old, yet terrified the three of us combined. Thankfully he was, at least for the moment, preoccupied while heaping several human spleens down his throat.

  “Well yeah, man, I’m with you. You look like shit. But what the fuck are we supposed to do about it?” Tag asked of Grant.

  “Anything…anything has got to be better than this my friend. There’s got to be something we can do. They’re slow. It can’t be easy for them to catch us.”

  “Well they already did catch us.” I said, keeping one eye on the z’s. “And you didn’t see what they did to Hogan. Any descent and they won’t hesitate to – They will eat you Grant.”

  “Look – Todd, I know where I went wrong last time. Our human weakness is that we need to sleep and that’s how they’re able to catch up to us. But with three of us – All of us together stand a much better chance of escaping.”

  I shuffled away from the maniac. “You said it. You said that word.”

  Who did he think he was? T
his Grant guy had only been among us a short while and so I didn’t appreciate him trying to take command and leading us into danger. He would get us all killed. Besides, I was way too cowardly to take my chances out there in the big wide world along with my sworn enemy and a necrophiliac.

  “Todd, you can act like a frightened school girl if you want but,” Grant scanned the immediate area for z’s, “but I have the Basic Instinct leg crossing scene coming up – In like ten minutes. There’s no way I’m going through with that.”

  “Damn.” Said Tag, the color running from his face. “Hugh, I’m with you man. I’m coming with you.”

  “Then it’s on. All we need is you on board Todd, then we can take our chances out there in the big wide world.”

  “Todd? What do you say?” Tag asked, now standing next to Grant. The pair of them almost looked like twins.

  “No way.” I watched the anger rise in both their faces. “There’s no way – No way in hell I’m gonna risk my life on the road with you two. No way.” I turned to walk away and a hand grabbed my arm.

  “You know Todd, we can’t do this on our own. If you don’t come, then none of us can leave. We’re most vulnerable when we sleep, so one of us will always need to act as lookout. Safety in numbers, yeah?”

  “You’re doing a real shit job of convincing me. I think I’ll take my chances here. Besides, if the two of you leave and I’m left here alone, I’m likely to end up on a spit roast. But if I snitch to Borgnine about the two of you, then it’ll be you two roasting on a spit, which would I assume spare my life.”

  It hit them.

  Grant and Tag were stars during the former world while I waited tables. It was true, that I was too shit scared to attempt an escape. But I was also way too bitter about my treatment in the former world to make any kind of pact with these two – These two who both had the kind of life that I dreamt of. Life had been cruel to me. Pretty much every mother fucker I ever came across in this stinking town was out for themselves. I saw no reason why that fact should change now, just because the apocalypse had arrived.

  I headed off in the direction of Borgnine.

  After storming out, my adrenaline was pumping like never before. But before heading for the station there was just one last thing I needed to do and now was the time to finally do it. It was either now or never.

  Ok, so I may have left things in a bad way with Dad, but I didn’t really mean it when I told him you’ll never hear from me again. I’d be back in Newton, Massachusetts just as soon as I could walk in with my head held high. I’d look Dad in the eye and say surprise! I made something of myself – I became a Hollywood star.

  It felt weird as I entered Wendy’s premises along the driveway instead of taking the usual detour round the tennis courts, over the golf course, through the woods and into the bushes at the back of her property. Bedroom lights upstairs were switched on and so I figured she’d be in. Perfect – But then again, I already knew she’d be home because she always was on Monday nights.

  Then, I stopped cold in my tracks. What the fuck?

  I recognized the red Corvette right in front of me. Dekker must have paid hundreds of dollars getting the interior looking as clean as it did after I’d spent an hour filling it with earth from the woods. But more to the point – What the fuck was he doing back at Wendy’s?

  Rage filled my body as I involuntarily clenched my fists. I threw down the backpack and leaped onto the trunk door. Let’s see how your flash car compares to me when I’m starring in Hollywood blockbusters Dekker. I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my zipper. Then I laughed hysterically to myself as the steaming stream of piss drenched the inside of the beautiful sports car, taking particular care in striking the steering wheel.

  “Baywater! What the fuck?”

  Whoops. As I looked up, Wendy and Dekker stood mere feet away, aghast at the site before them. For a second I imagined what they were probably thinking - Why on earth was some kid from school, that neither of them knew, standing on the trunk of his $50,000 sports car, pissing all over the interior?

  There was probably no getting away with it this time, so I simply finished up and tucked myself away. “This is what you get Dekker, for stealing my girl.”

  “Your girl? What the fuck are you talking about? You are so dead!” Dekker was a mix of fury and stupefied, a combination which thankfully glued his feet to the spot.

  “Todd? What are you doing here? What do you mean, I’m your girl?” Asked Wendy.

  She knew my name! She actually knew my name! Suddenly this wasn’t so funny anymore. I looked straight at her, the jerk to her side blurring out from my vision. “Wendy – The next time you see me, it’ll be on the big screen baby. Then maybe you’ll like me.” I blew her a kiss, jumped off from the car and made my exit. An exit, I thought, that was fit for Hollywood.

  Wendy and Dekker watched agog, speechless as the strange Todd Baywater picked up his backpack and strutted off down the driveway as though he had not a care in the world.

  “He liked me?” Wendy asked Dekker. “Then why didn’t he just say something? I always thought he was kinda cute!”

  9

  Surprise

  As I approached the disgusting mass of rotting flesh, otherwise known as Ernest Borgnine, I had no idea whether or not I could actually go through with it. Not that snitching on Tag or Grant was a problem, but I’d learned that you do not talk to the z’s unless you’re otherwise spoken to first by one of them. Or perhaps stuttered, stumbled, mumbled or stammered to, would be more the operative choice of word. The point was that if I approached Spielberg’s head of security for any reason, even something as grave as a potential mutiny, then I could only guess as to the consequences for me.

  Would I have a severe beating administered to me, like had Grant? Or would I be thrown back down into the stinking pit from whence I came? Worse still – Would they simply eat me on the spot – My remains destined to end up in the dung heap mixed in with Costner, Hogan and a countless number of Compton meth heads.

  I was half way between where I’d left Tag and Grant by the abandoned vehicle and Borgnine, who was still enjoying his spleen. I was still unsure what to say or do when I reached him.

  There was a large group of z’s all gathered in front. They watched expressionless as I neared them. Then over to my right, I spotted something that blew me away. Could it really be what – Or who I thought it was?

  He was alone. Sitting on a wall of what used to be a house, munching on from what looked at this distance to be an arm.

  I swerved away from the path of Borgnine and headed toward the solitary creature on my flank. As I neared him, I realized it was exactly who I thought it was. Surely this was some sort of divine intervention.

  It was zombie Matt Damon.

  His wavy golden locks of the former world were no more and had been replaced by green matted strands, plastered to his forehead. But there was no mistaking that jaw, that youth his years seemed to contradict.

  I remembered back to when this guy had paid us a visit at school. An event, which had literally changed the course of my life. I had once thought to myself that the next time I saw Damon, I’d be the one who was famous and he’d be the one asking for my autograph. Things didn’t always work out the way we dreamed when we were young and naïve, not like they’d worked out for this guy anyway. The idea of leaving Newton, Massachusetts for Hollywood was first planted in my head by this guy, this z who sat before me right now.

  A million things raced through my head. As I looked around and saw Borgnine and his goons were far away, I had no idea what I wanted to say or do.

  “You once told me that I had to apply myself one hundred percent and to grab the world by the balls because nobody else would do it for you.” My voice quivered as I spoke. After all, I was speaking to a z as if he was some civilized human being, a prospect which was ridiculous. “I always remembered that little speech of yours.”

  He just sat there, on the wall, chowing on someone’s
appendage. He remained expressionless, like he knew I was there in front of him, yet he’d not the care in the world for me. At least not while he was preoccupied, bountying on some poor guy’s arm. I watched, pained, as he took another chunk from the tricep and pulled the meat away with brown stained teeth.

  “I never listened to your advice. It was good advice. Instead I did what you warned against. I just left for Hollywood and once I arrived here, I never even applied myself. In the process I destroyed my dad, the one person who cared for me the most. I fucking hate myself. I should have listened. I left it all behind. I placed all my chips on one number, but was too scared to commit myself fully to it. I was a fucking coward – Afraid of rejection. I never allowed myself to try because of that fear. Hey, at least the dream was still there, somewhere in the back of my mind. And as long as I never risked failure, that dream remained. But I guess I’ll never know how it could have been. If only I’d fucking tried. Are you hearing me man? Show me some fucking sign you have the slightest idea of what I’m talking about.”

  Nothing.

  There was nothing in Damon’s eyes that suggested, that hinted of any soul, of any recollection of a former world where people actually took notice, listened to and respected him. A large strand of meat hung between his two front teeth and bizarrely, I wondered if he’d eat it.

  “If I could go back and change anything – I’d have listened to you man. You were right. Not everybody can be movie stars. The world doesn’t need more fucking movie stars. Fuck, the world needs doctors, teachers, street cleaners, farmers, bus drivers, fucking train conductors. Anything but fucking actors.” Tears now streamed down my face, part in frustration that this guy who’d literally changed the course of my life showed not the slightest hint of reminiscence. “In fact, if I could go back I’d have skipped school that day. I’d now be working with my dad on the railway, earning good money and I’d be happy. I still remember his face when I walked out – It’s haunted me for fourteen years and all this time I was too fucking gutless to pick up the phone and say, hey dad, I’m sorry.”