Zombie Fever: Outbreak

by Hodges, B. M.

  “We have to jump. I’ll go first and try to break your fall.” Jamie, always the brave one scaled, over the lip of the opening and holding on the rough stone began sliding down the wall as far as she could before she had to let go. She dropped down, her legs crouching and did a somersault to lessen the impact. I held my breath expecting her to scream out in pain from a broken ankle or hyper-extended knee but she was fine. She stood up, brushed off some clinging soil and motioned for me to come down. I followed her lead but wasn’t nearly as graceful. When I let go, I fell right on top of her. But we were up and running as soon as I hit the ground.

  We hit the trail back down the hillside behind the church where the two teams, Esther and Meng and Ted and Ahmed, were zigzagging down. We gained some ground as we were much more agile and quicker than the muscle heads and out-of-shape comedians.

  Cindy was waiting below, waving us all in. She took the camera from Meng who got there first, examined the picture slowly to build suspense, smiled and handed him a fresh envelope. She then did this for Ted and then, finally, for us. Everyone sweating and panting, the adrenaline and race down the hill making both of Jamie and me lightheaded and a bit giddy.

  Jamie tore open the envelope, took out the clue from inside along with what looked to be a key card. She handed me the envelope, careful to face the Cera logo into the camera and began to read the next clue out loud for Felix who joined us looking refreshed and relaxed, “Take this key and locate your car waiting for you at Frol De La Mar. Then get to Chinatown and find Jonker Street and the Eg-car section. Reach behind you and get dressed in your viral protection.”

  Frol De La Mar.

  “The ship!” We said together in unison.

  When we drove to A’Famosa earlier we’d driven by a large replica of a Portuguese ship that sank off the coast of Malacca on its way back to Portugal back in 1511. The ship, named ‘Frol De La Mar’ or ‘Flower of the Sea’ was just over the other side of the atoll we’d just descended. The two teams ahead of us were already running along the bottom of the hill in the direction of the maritime museum, hoping for an exit at the other end of the parking lot.

  Jamie looked up the hill. I knew what she was thinking. It would be shorter if we crested the hill and ran down the other side, possibly gaining the lead.

  A million dollars, million dollars …

  I sighed, not wanting to be filmed with Jamie trying to convince me to take the high road, so I said, “Okay, okay, let’s go,” before she could open her mouth.

  We sprinted back up the hill and after cresting the rise passed St. Paul’s cathedral yet again and saw that the zombie actors were taking a tea break, sitting around three picnic tables in their grey make-up and tattered clothing, sipping from mugs and comparing acting notes under the canopy of a large Wax Jambu shade tree.

  Felix was back to trailing us and we could hear him gasping for air as he tried to keep up while filming us running from behind.

  We could see the two teams below trying to scale a high chain-link fence bordering the parking lot that was blocking them from the cul-de-sac that housed Studthuys, formerly the official residence of Dutch governors, which was directly across from to the maritime replica ship. The Ang Moh team was nowhere to be seen. They had to be behind us, probably still back with Cindy. As we ran down the hill and around Queen Victoria’s fountain in Dutch Square, I could make out Derrik and Lydia across the street at the Eg-cars trying to find the right fit for their key card.

  “How did they pass us?” I blurted out as we ran around the fountain.

  “Rotten cheaters,” was all Jamie could say, hands on her knees as we paused for a second or two for Felix to catch up.

  We crossed Jalan Merdeka between two slow moving tour buses. Traffic out front of the Maritime Museum and Ship was at a crawl while the looky-loos strained to see what was being filmed by the large production crew out front of the Frol De La Mar. We could see Derrik and Lydia pulling into the snaking one-way traffic in a Cera Eg-car with their cameraman crammed inside a compartment meant for a few pieces of luggage, his body pressed across the back window.

  There were four remaining Eg-cars sitting in a row. Jamie got into the first car, slotted in the key card into the ignition slot and pushed the start button. Nothing happened. She ran to the second car and, again, nothing. Finally, the third car being the charm revved up into a 600cc whine to my cheers.

  Felix slid into the back compartment and I forced my seat back against his knees, locking it in place. Then I climbed in and Jamie pulled forward into the traffic. I could see Sheldon in a director’s chair next to a bulky panoramic camera on the bow of the ship. He was talking on a satellite phone but gave us a hearty thumbs up as we pulled away.

  “You’re going to have to circle around the outskirts of the town’s central district to get back to the bridge that crosses over into Chinatown. It’s a tricky bit of road and we can’t miss the turn or we’ll have to circle again and lose valuable time,” I told Jamie as I looked at the small Malacca tourist map that I found in the glove compartment.

  “Don’t give me options; just tell me when to turn.” She replied, focused on the creeping traffic that took up both sides of the road.

  We circled around the town as the map indicated.

  By the time we came to the bridge that we had to cross, I was sure the remaining three teams were already behind us on the long circular road and closing fast.

  I could see three police cars on the other side of the bridge and when we crossed the bridge, the Malacca cops allowed us through to Chinatown but turned everyone else away. Apparently, they were only allowing CARS teams and crew into the area. The rest of the traffic was redirected in a u-turn back across the bridge to the outrage of the locals.

  Kip was standing near the police under a large canopy to block the searing heat. He flagged us over to the side of the road, making a cutting motion to alert Felix that he should momentarily pause filming. After we pulled up, Kip opened the driver’s side door and squatted beside Jamie next to the car.

  “Howdy girls, isn’t this fun?” He was all smiles, the excitement of creating TV magic on his youthful face. “Listen, we have about a one hour window to film in this area without interference from the locals. In this sequence you need to act rushed and scared. After all, you’re in ‘zombie’ territory and you just came from a church and graveyard filled with ‘zombies’.” As Kip talked he did those little bunny ear hand motions whenever he said zombie, it was cute. “When you parallel park the Eg-car, the main thing to remember is that you mustn’t bump into any of the other cars. You will be disqualified if you do. Felix is sitting on a parcel that contains your two hazmat suits. When you finish parallel parking, I want you to change into the suits inside the car to show to the audience the roomy Eg-car interior. You can put the suits on over your clothes or strip down to your skivvies beforehand, it’s up to you. I’m not going to tell you that you’ll probably get more camera time the more skin you show or that we’re creating a blooper reel on the website where any accidental nudity will be prominently displayed, increasing your overall fame quotient with the eighteen to thirty-five year old male demographic,” He gave us an encouraging wink.

  “One more thing, you need to run your butts off in the scene following the hazmat suit-up. Do not stop for a breather. Run towards the destination on your clue as if you’re being chased and your lives depended on it.”

  He looked back and saw Ahmed and Ted’s rally car crossing the bridge and heading towards us.

  “Okay. We’re pacing out the teams in ten minute gaps so that each team has the opportunity to parallel park their Eg-car. We don’t want you bunching up and ruining the final day’s ‘zombie’ surprise. Don’t you screw this up or Sheldon may cut you out of the show completely,” he threatened, still smiling but his eyes were very serious. “Now, go. Make me proud.”

  We drove into the empty abandoned streets of Malacca’s Chinatown. Well, mostly abandoned if you were too dense to rec
ognize the cameramen hiding behind dumpsters and hedgerows. The streets were all one-way so we had to circle around a few blocks before we came to Jonker Street. Along the left side of the road there were Cera D’lugé luxury cars parked intermittently along the curb. Derrik and Lydia’s Eg-car was crammed in between the first two and they were nowhere to be seen. A crewman ran to the space where we were supposed to parallel park our tiny car, pointed down and then ran and hid behind a dragon statue.

  I let Felix out of the car and he got into position, then threw his arm down to show us he was ready.

  “Here goes nothin,” Jamie said. She brought the Eg-car’s front bumper in line with the parked D’lugé’s back seat, cranked the wheel and reversed slowly back into the space. But the space was too small. She tried again and again. Tears began to run down her face as she realized she was jeopardizing our chances at a million dollars. I held my breath and crossed my fingers. But it was no use. She couldn’t park the car in the space as instructed.

  “I have an idea,” I squeezed her knee and she gave me a hopeful smile.

  I got out of the car went to the D’lugé behind our car and leaned my leg against the front bumper. That way, Jamie could ease the Eg-car back until my leg was squeezed between the two, giving her maximum room to negotiate the space. Maybe I was bending the rules a bit, but I didn’t think we’d be disqualified unless the Eg-car actually traded paint with the luxury sedan.

  “Okay go. But when I tell you to stop, you must stop,” Otherwise she’ll crush my leg, I thought.

  Jamie backed the car slowly into the space. The Eg-car’s bumper started to press into my leg. I gave it another second or two until it was agony and then I yelled, “Stop. Now pull forward a bit.”

  I wrenched my leg free as the car inched ahead into the space and I ran around to the front of the Eg-car and again inserted my leg between the rear bumper of the other parked D’lugé and the front bumper of our tiny egg-shaped car. Back and forth, three more times and Jamie finally had the car parked against the curb.

  I got back inside and took the package out of the rear compartment. I tore open the Mylar bag and pulled out two bright red hazmat suits complete with attached gloves, boots, and a hoody with a draw string to tighten it around your face. There was a box sitting beneath the package that held two retro-looking respiratory masks reminiscent of those WWI gas masks you see in black and white documentaries, with long, elephant trunk breathing snouts complete with a filtration cylinder dangling from the end. On the front and back of the suit ‘Cera’s Amazing Rally Showdown’ was prominently written in yellow block letters similar to the printing you’d see on a prisoner’s uniform.

  Sitting underneath the masks was another clue. This clue was attached to a lanyard and had a digital stopwatch embedded in the corner. The rather lengthy clue read, “Malacca’s Chinatown has become infected with IHS! Don your suits and get to Abdul’s Antiques, the antiquities dealer on Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock. Once inside, find yourselves some weapons and put down the shopkeeper zombie before he eats you! Don’t be the team with the slowest kill time. Make it quick or you will be ELIMINATED. The stopwatch will start when you exit your car. Keep the clue with you at all times. Turn in the clue to Gemma in the temple across from the shop and she will review the times to weed out the slowest team. Good Luck!”

  We could see our cameraman motioning towards his wrist, indicating that we were running out of time. Kip was going to let another team into the area to begin their parallel parking sequence in less than two minutes. We stripped down to our sports bras and spandex pants, not for the extra fame that Kip was touting, but because we knew that competing in the midday heat in a rubber hazmat suit would rapidly sap our strength. We stripped down as far as we dared, not wanting to show skin but wanting to lose any unnecessary clothing.

  Felix had the camera pressed up against the windshield trying to get the best shots of our bared midriffs and shoulders.

  Putting hazmat suits on in an eco-friendly car was difficult to say the least. I accidentally broke off one of the many knobs on the steering wheel with my foot as I pulled on the boots.

  “Masks too?” I asked Jamie.

  “What, you want to pick and choose how to play the game?” She replied, not in the mood for my timid ways.

  I put on the mask and looked at Jamie through plastic eyes, breathing through the respirator and sounding like an old blacksmith’s bellows, “Pooo, whaaaa, pooo, whaaaa.”

  “Let’s hit it.”

  We opened the doors and climbed out.

  The suits were the ‘one-size fits-all’ variety and we resembled deflated party balloons. Jamie had the clue in her hand and it started to beep when she exited the car as the stopwatch began to tick off the milliseconds. She put the clue around her neck, letting it hang just below her respirator.

  The retro-style gas masks were ridiculously cumbersome. As we ran towards Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock the respirator swung back and forth, jerking our masks to and fro unless we held onto the clunky cylinders hanging from the hoses, but when we tried that our gloved hands blocked the air flow so we just had to let them swing.

  We ran toward the corner of the intersecting street, which led to Abdul Antiques down on the next street. We ran as though our lives depended on it as Kip had instructed earlier. Felix kept up behind us, filming as if he were chasing us.

  It was easy enough to find the antique shop. There was a fluorescent sign above the doorway with Abdul’s Antiques flashing in English and Chinese and a huge arrow pointing to the entrance. We could see yet another zombie actor standing outside, leaning on a wood post and smoking an unfiltered cigarette. When he saw us, he tossed his cigarette into the drain and disappeared into the depths of the shop through a pair of plate-glass doors that had been theatrically broken and were hanging half off their hinges.

  More zombie shenanigans.

  Sheldon and Kip had warned us that zombie situations would play more of a roll in today’s filming, but this was getting to be ridiculous. Wasn’t this supposed to be a ‘reality’ TV show? Some reality show, I thought, as we pretended to creep into the doors as though afraid and hesitant about what we may find inside. Artificial situations created with actors playing zombies.

  The interior of the shop was eerily quiet.

  Our masks were fogging over from our heavy panting from the run, so we paused in the doorway until our breathing slowed. As the fog cleared, our eyes adjusted to the dim light.

  The main floor of the shop was literally stuffed to the rafters with everything from tiny curios to large recycled bits of old buildings. There was even an old hand-pulled rickshaw sitting precariously on a medicine cabinet opposite the door. The hallways between all of the junk were narrow and maze-like. As we crept further inside, Jamie noticed an umbrella stand filled with cricket bats and tennis rackets conveniently located by the front door. I watched as she pulled out two hefty cricket bats. She handed one to me and, expecting the heft of heavy chunk of wood, I almost hit myself in the face-mask before realizing it was made of polystyrene and plastic. They were movie props, made to look solid and set there conveniently beside the door for us to arm ourselves with.

  I shook my head at the bat in disgust and could see Jamie rolling her eyes through her mask. There was no point in talking as the sound of the respirator would muffle our voices and besides Felix was standing right there with his camera poking into our business.

  There was a creaking noise towards the rear of the building and then the crash of broken glass, no doubt devised to attract our attention.

  I was getting tired of all the show business fakery and I think Jamie was too, but she still had the million dollars on her mind. She ran charging down one of the narrow aisles leading to the rear of the shop. I followed right behind her, trying to get into character with the bat held high over my head. We rounded the corner and there was the ‘zombie’ (bunny ear quotes) we saw smoking earlier. He was standing over the corpse of a woman, which was really just a d
ummy prop splashed strategically with dark red corn syrup, gnawing on her ankle. He looked up at the two of us and made a growling sound, dropping the woman’s leg onto the bloody wooden floor.

  Jamie let out a battle cry at the top of her lungs and began to beat the living hell out of that poor actor. It didn’t matter that the cricket bat was made of polystyrene and plastic, that man got the beating of his life.

  I stood back a bit stunned at the viciousness of her attack.

  He began yelling, “Stop, stop!” through a mouthful of tartar he’d stuffed in there right before we found him.

  But Jamie wouldn’t stop.

  I knew she was letting out all the day’s frustrations of battling other people for real, life-changing money and then having to play act with people who weren’t taking the situation seriously.

  It was enough to drive anyone batty.

  Finally, we heard Felix uncharacteristically say, “CUT!”

  Jamie snapped out of it and ceased her brutal assault.

  She ripped off her mask and threw it on the ground, “This is a bunch of b.s.! How are we supposed to compete against the others when nothing is real? We’re not in a competition, we’re in a situation comedy and the joke is on us!”

  “Jamie, the clue,” I said pointing to the flashing stopwatch.

  The stopwatch clicked over ten minutes, but she didn’t seem to care. She sat down on a glass box filled with plastic dentures and put her head in her hands, “I want to go home, Abi. Let’s go home.”

  I stood there feeling like such an idiot in my retro-looking mask, my elephant trunk hanging limply in the dim light. I was torn between giving in to her defeatism and trying to get through this event. I always supported Jamie and she knew it. If she wanted to go home, usually I’d automatically say, “Okay, let’s go,’ but there was a million dollar prize hanging in the balance.

  Over the last two days, I‘d been getting to know the other teams and I didn’t think any of them deserved to win the million dollar prize. I couldn’t imagine the Ang Mohs winning the prize money. Their worlds were already richer than ours with their globetrotting ways. Ted and Ahmed came from family money, they didn’t deserve it either. Those two muscle heads might need the cash, but I figured they’d be dead in a year or two from synthetic growth hormones. And my gosh, if Derrik and Lydia won the prize, there was no hope for humanity. They didn’t deserve to lick my feet. We deserved the money. I deserved to live with Jamie in a nice two bedroom condo in Holland Village, and maybe even adopt a cat.