"Oh, shit." Darren knelt by his erstwhile leading lady's corpse, taking a quick check on her pulse to see if he might just be wrong. Nope, absolutely nothing. Mara was dead.
Darren waited for the rush of grief one was supposed feel at the death of someone…well, not close, but certainly someone he'd worked closely with for several weeks. He was dismayed to discover that amongst his mixed emotions, the strongest was overwhelming annoyance. A new, darker side of Darren reflected that on any other occasion Mara's death might even be a cause for celebration. But now Mara was once again holding up his film.
Darren sat back on his heels.
"Oh, you dumb bitch. How the hell am I going to shoot around you?"
Darren walked slowly back to set, leaving Mara's corpse to be disposed of after he'd figured out how to salvage the film. Body double, using close-ups from previously shot footage? Might just work, although it would be tricky.
Darren joined John, Phil and Melissa by the camera. Correctly reading his expression, Melissa asked, "Trouble?"
"What?" Phil frowned. "She won't come back to set? I'll handle it." Phil strode towards Mara's trailer, obviously confident his powers of persuasion were more than ample for the job at hand.
Darren stopped him with a hand on one shoulder. "She can't come back on set, Phil. She's dead. Mara OD'd."
All three stared at him blankly. Finally Phil shook his head. "Jesus. Fife just isn't going to be happy about this." His voice took on an accusatory tone as he continued, "She was a bit part of the deal! You know that, Darren!"
Darren's response was forestalled by the appearance of Derrick, their male lead. "Are we going to get going soon, Darren?" The actor wiped sweat from his stoically handsome forehead. "Goddamn lights are melting the makeup off my face and that always makes my skin break out."
Darren considered several replies, discarding each one before it made its way from his brain to his mouth. He supposed he'd have to tell people that Mara Dubray was no longer among the living, but—
"Oh, shit."
The actor stared at him. "It's okay, Darren. I'll just see my dermatologist. It shouldn't affect filming or anything."
But Darren wasn't paying attention to Derrick. He was too busy staring over his shoulder as Mara Dubray staggered and swayed her way towards them, an expression of intense longing stamped on her face. Her mouth was open slightly, an ululating moan of desire emerging from it, along with a copious stream of drool running down one side of her chin.
"I thought you said she was dead," Phil hissed in a stage whisper.
Darren noted the slightly bluish tint to Mara's skin. "She is dead." He didn't bother to lower his voice.
Everyone on set had stopped what he or she were doing and were now staring at Mara's awkward yet determined progress towards the small group of people by the camera.
As the implications of Darren's comment hit home, Melissa, Phil and John scattered. The clueless Derrick stayed where he was. Darren was too busy watching Mara in fascination to do more than step to one side, leaving the path wide open towards the actor. Mara's attention focused specifically on her screen lover and she lurched towards him with outstretched arms, fingers opening and closing spasmodically. Before anyone could react, she threw her arms around Derrick with passionate intensity and took a distinctly unlover-like bite out of his well-muscled shoulder.
Chaos ensued as several hefty grips pried a snarling Mara off the screaming actor. Darren turned to Phil, his face alight with enthusiasm.
"Shit! Did you see that?" he exclaimed. "That's the best acting she's done since we've started. Let's get that on film!"
Darren sat in the screening room watching dailies with Phil, a contented smile on his face. For the first time since filming began he was actually happy with the way Mara played a scene. Granted, some fancy editing would have to be done to replace the look of abject terror on Derrick's face with a look of tormented longing, but that could be done. Come to think of it, it was the expressive Derrick had ever been as well.
It had taken some doing to restore enough order on set to continue filming. Convincing Derrick to play the scenes had been the hardest part, but an appeal to the actor's vanity, the promise of more money, and the two big grips standing by to prevent a repeat of Mara's first attack had worked wonders. "Besides," Phil had pointed out, "It's not that big of a bite." And luckily one of the people who'd made it to the studio that day was the on-set medic.
Darren managed to console his own outraged conscience with this last fact.
The rest of the cast and crew had responded with amazing equanimity, and Darren suspected part of that had to do with needing the work to keep their minds off of what might be happening outside the studio. This thought also made Darren feel better as he watched the dailies.
He made the mistake of mentioning it to Phil, who replied, "Whatever. Just so long as they keep working."
Darren stared at his erstwhile friend in disbelief. "How the hell can you be so callous?" He preferred to forget his own reaction to Mara's death and the subsequent improvement of her acting ability.
"Oh, get off your high horse," Phil retorted. "You've got the best fucking acting you've had since we started so don't get all moralistic on me. A filmmaker's gotta do what a filmmaker's gotta do. It's the art that matters." Phil gestured towards the screen. "I mean, just look at that. It's beautiful!"
Darren looked. It was beautiful, damn it. Except for that one moment when Mara's attention turned from Derrick to one of the extras who'd gotten a little too close… Darren winced at the memory.
He turned to Phil. "We'll have to remember to keep the other actors far enough away to keep Mara's focus on Derrick. It distracts from the intensity of her emotions. And we had a few close calls today that I don't want to repeat."
"Yeah," Phil agreed. "We can't afford to lose any more of our extras. Those crowd scenes look pretty sparse as it is."
"I know," Darren sighed. "But we're not likely to get anyone else from outside so we'll just have to make due with what we've got, add in CGI later."
Phil shook his head. "The only CGI we can afford on our budget will look like crap. Maybe…" He paused and suddenly his eyes brightened. "Oh, man," he said slowly. "Have I got an idea!"
At first Darren had been totally appalled by Phil's brainstorm, delivering an unequivocal "No!" in response. How could Phil even think of it? Didn't he understand the moral implications?
"What moral implications?" Phil was genuinely confused by the question. "These people are dead, Darren. They're not going to care. Most of them probably wanted to be actors anyway so you'd be doing them a favor. "
Darren's moral outrage sputtered a bit, then flared up again when he thought of new objections. "What about the danger? I mean, catching them in the first place. Who the hell is going to agree to do that?"
"Production assistants," Phil replied calmly. Tony'd do anything for this film. He'll probably think it's fun. Besides, with the equipment I've got in mind it shouldn't be a problem."
"But what about the danger to the cast and crew?" Darren demanded. "How the hell are we going to handle that?"
"Have the set design folks come up with something to keep 'em separate from the others during the scenes. We can use handcuffs, hide 'em under the costumes, and…"
As Phil proceeded to counter all of Darren's objections with arguments that at least sounded reasonable, Darren allowed himself to be persuaded it really would be a good idea to use some of the newly ambulatory dead to supplement the crowd scenes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice told him he was making a compromise even more Faustian than his deal with Gerald Fife. But the dailies in front of him and Phil's persuasiveness were better than a pair of earplugs. And once committed to the idea, Darren put his considerable energy into implementing it.
Even without the steady stream of media reports (and CNN was over the moon to have something this big to report on without the need to supplement it with brain candy filler), Darren had
only to look outside the studio gates to see the situation was definitely worsening. There were more walking dead roaming around the area, lots of cars driving frantically up and down the surface streets, general chaos. Only one of the security guards remained at his post, steadfastly ignoring his erstwhile partner who was now banging on the gates from the outside, a large chunk of flesh missing from the side of his neck.
Darren approached the remaining guard. "You still letting people in and out of here?"
The guard nodded. "As long as they show their badges."
"Great." Something else occurred to Darren. "Any more guns here?"
"We have a few in the Security office."
"Do you think—"
The guard shook his head. "No way. That's against the law."
Using his most persuasive tone, Darren said, "C'mon—" He looked at the guard's nametag. "C'mon, Arthur. I've got to send some people out on a run and they need protection."
"I don't know…"
Darren played his trump card. "Y'know, I could use you in this film, Arthur. I've lost a couple of my co-stars because of these damn zombies."
The guard tossed Darren a key. "Just don't tell anyone where you got it. It'd be my ass."
Darren walked off to find the security office, thankful that everyone in this town really did want to be an actor."
Melissa listened carefully and jotted down notes as Darren gave her the list of items he wanted one of the production assistants to pick up on what might be their only run outside the studio. When he was finished, he had her read the list back to him. Phil stood to one side, nodding his head.
"Okay. Dry ice, lots of it. Any food he can find. The thickest sports padding available. Heavy-duty steel collars. Leather will do, but steel preferable. Chain leashes—" Melissa stopped and looked at both Darren and Phil. "Are you sure about this?"
Phil nodded. "Ought to be a piece of cake."
"Hmm," Melissa said doubtfully. "Okay. John's rifles plus ammo … we're gonna need his house key and directions." She jotted down another notation. "Okay, I think that's just about it."
The on-set medic strode up, her forehead creased with lines of worry. "Are you sending someone outside?"
Darren nodded.
"Good. I need some antibiotics as soon as possible. Derrick isn't looking too good. That bite is festering and it looks like the infection is spreading rapidly beyond the wound."
Melissa made another notation on her list.
A shriek from Mara's trailer drew their attention. Linda, the rather temperamental makeup girl, came running out of it clutching her hand. Her assistant, a mousy little thing whose name no one could ever remember, followed her closely.
"Darren!" Linda's voice was raised several notches above her usual petulant whine. "I absolutely cannot work under these conditions! I can only do so much with someone whose skin is naturally blue. And when I tried putting lipstick on her, she bit me!" Linda dramatically held up one hand to show a smallish bite mark. The medic looked at it worriedly.
"Add a mortician's makeup kit to that list," Phil said thoughtfully. "Hell, bring a mortician. Might make more sense and we won't have to pay Union scale."
Linda started to sputter in outrage and Phil snarled, "Listen, Linda. If you can't do your job, I'm going to get someone who can. Give me any shit and you'll be working Craft Services. And I'm not talking about behind the table."
"Maybe we could sew Mara's lips shut," the makeup assistant suggested with the air of one used to being ignored.
Darren considered the idea, grateful for even this token safety measure with which to salve his increasingly battered conscience. "Just might work!"
The makeup assistant looked absurdly gratified.
"Darren, it has to look like she's really talking," Phil protested. "How the hell are you going to loop in her dialogue realistically if her mouth doesn't move?"
Darren shot Phil a resentful glance, hating the fact that his producer was right.
"Okay," he amended. "Let's try sewing the corners so she can't get a good bite radius going." Phil nodded his approval and Darren continued, "Melissa, talk to wardrobe and see what they can do." Turning back to the mousy assistant he said, "Good thinking, honey. Do you think you can do something with Mara's makeup so we can get the next scene shot before we lose the light?"
The assistant nodded, eager to prove her worth. She scurried back to Mara's trailer as the protesting Linda was led off to be treated by the medic.
Darren resumed his conversation with Melissa and Phil. "We can sew the new extras' mouths completely shut. They don't have to talk. And make sure the PA – who are we using?"
Melissa checked her list. "Tony."
"Good. He's smart. Make sure he's got a decent gun."
"Got it." Melissa set off to make sure everything on her list was done with her usual efficiency. Then she stopped and turned back. "Darren, shouldn't we send someone to ride shotgun with Tony? They'd stand a better chance of getting back safely."
"Phil, can we spare the extra hand or—" Darren stopped abruptly. "Jesus, I don't believe I said that. Of course we can spare someone else. Whatever it takes to bring them back safely."
"And more quickly," Phil agreed. "It'd be hell to try and find more good production assistants."
Darren ignored that. "Okay, let's get moving."
"Yeah," Phil said. "We should get going on Derrick's death scene while he's still got some life in him."
The scene went well. Derrick shivered with a real fever no amount of acting (at least on his part) could emulate. His skin was pasty, sweat poured off of him in rivulets, and he seemed to be suffering from as much pain as a plague victim in the last stages of bubonic plague would have felt. Darren was delighted with the results … on a purely artistic level, of course.
The medic stood at the sidelines throughout, wearing an expression that alternated between disapproval and downright horror. She had vehemently protested the decision to shoot a scene with the sick man but Derrick himself had insisted. He was a professional, by God, and he would act as long as he could breathe; a state lasting approximately ten minutes after they finished shooting his death scene. Darren immediately had someone from Wardrobe stitch the dead actor's lips partially shut, consoling himself with the thought that he'd given Derrick the chance to die with his acting boots on, so to speak.
"You are using buttonhole thread, aren't you?" he asked the woman pushing a needle in and out of Derrick's lips.
She looked up in annoyance. "Please. I do know my job."
Several hours later the production assistants returned from their run, loaded down with all the items on their list, including a dozen large coolers full of dry ice, several intimidating rifles, and a star-struck mortician. The mortician was sent off to see what he could do with Mara as the young assistant hadn't been able to make her look life-like.
The medic appropriated the medical supplies and immediately injected a shivering Linda with a hefty dose of antibiotics as she asked, "You're not allergic to Penicillin, are you?"
Linda shook her head and promptly passed out.
Darren, in the meantime, sent several coolers of dry ice over to Mara's trailer to try and slow down the natural rotting process. He figured three more good days ought to see the film finished. Then she could rot at will. He turned his attention back to Tony and the rest of the supplies. "You got the collars?"
Tony grinned and held up a handful of heavy steel collars. "I know a couple of dominatrices who didn't mind lending their gear. What are we using 'em for?"
By the time Tony and another P.A. rounded up a dozen extras from the outside and locked them in one of the steel-sheeted storage units, the mortician had finished his makeup job on Mara. He beamed proudly as the actress was led out on a leash by one of the heftier grips.
"One of my better jobs, if I do say so myself," the mortician bragged. "Doesn't she look peaceful?"
She did indeed.
Darren rolled his eyes. "That's ju
st great, but I don't need peaceful. She's supposed to be reacting to the death of her lover, not going for a drive in the country. Get my drift?"
The mortician sniffed. "I'll see what I can do."
"All right, people," Darren yelled. "Let's call it for the night. We'll pick this up tomorrow. Call time is six a.m.!"
A brief listen to the radio told Darren that things were not getting any better. The ratio of dead to living in Los Angeles was rapidly favoring the dead. Citizens were advised to make their way to rescue shelters set up around the city. Darren thought the walled confines of Plateau Pictures were about as good a protected shelter as anywhere else, and the other members of the production seemed to feel the same way; no one had left the studio when they'd wrapped for the day. Darren was happy that he could offer some safety to his cat and crew. He figured they deserved some compensation for the notoriously long hours that low budget productions demanded.
Tomorrow would be another sixteen-hour grind. Darren just hoped he'd be able to tell the live members of the production from the dead ones by the end of it.
The next day's shooting went relatively well although controlling the dead extras proved somewhat difficult. Several of the live extras were scratched and a production assistant bitten before all the ghouls had their mouths sewn shut. One of them ripped out the thread and managed to make a healthy lunch out of the makeup assistant. Phil took good look at her corpse and decided there was enough left to reanimate. "Someone put her in the extras pen."
Darren winced, but tried to look at it from the angle that it would save Tony from having to procure more bodies from the outside. He really didn't want to risk losing the kid to the extras en. Tony was the best P.A. Darren had ever worked with and he had that spark, the same sort of idealism that he, Darren, was rapidly losing. Darren wanted to see that spark (not to mention Tony's health) preserved.
All in all Darren was quite pleased with the acting jobs he was getting from his ghoulish thespians. They were easier to deal with than some of the crew, who were complaining about the smell. Wardrobe was especially vocal when it came to costuming the dead.
Darlings of Decay Page 18
