Night of the Zombie Chickens

by Julie Mata

  “How about cookies?” my mother asks. “Would you like me to make cookies for your friends?”

  “No,” I say, a little too quickly. “No, thanks.”

  Margaret and Doris arrive together. “I didn’t know you have chickens,” Doris says as soon as I open the door. I feel like asking her what school she goes to, or for that matter, what planet she lives on. But that’s just Doris. The entire world could be talking about chicken poop and she’d be too busy doing algebra problems to notice.

  “Hello, Kate. Hello, Mrs. Walden.” Margaret is all formal politeness. She actually shakes my mother’s hand. “This is a lovely house,” Margaret tells her. If it were anyone else, I’d say this was some serious sucking up, but Margaret actually seems to mean it. “I love farmhouses,” she goes on, “especially with gables, like yours. It reminds me of Anne of Green Gables.”

  I don’t even know what a gable is, but I can tell from my mother’s face that I’m going to hear an earful later about Margaret’s delightful manners. “And look at that!” she goes on, pointing to the hideous rooster border. “It’s adorable!”

  “Margaret!” I yelp, and shove the script in her face. “Here’s the script. Read it over. Doris, you should read it, too.” Doris is going to be one of my final zombies, along with Derek and his friend.

  “This is probably the toughest scene I’ve had to write,” I tell them, biting a nail. Having other people read my writing always makes me nervous. And this was a rush job—I stayed up late finishing it the night before. This is what I came up with:

  INT: MALLORY’S HOUSE—WINTER DAY

  Mallory runs into the house. She wears a winter coat and a ski mask so her face is HIDDEN.

  MALLORY

  (to herself)

  What am I going to do? I haven’t eaten in three days and there’s no food left in the cupboards. This is the only food I found.

  She pulls an egg from her pocket.

  MALLORY

  If I eat this egg, I’ll turn into a zombie. But I don’t care anymore. I’m so hungry I have to eat something. And this house is so cold I don’t even want to take off my ski mask.

  INT: KITCHEN—CONTINUOUS

  Mallory fills a pot with water, tosses the egg inside, and puts it on the stove.

  CUT TO:

  Mallory, still in coat and ski mask, peels the egg. She’s about to take a bite when sudden BANGING at the door makes her stop. She backs away from the door.

  MALLORY

  They’re back. They’re never going to leave me alone! I might as well just become one of them!

  She runs toward the basement door.

  INT: BASEMENT

  Mallory bolts the basement door, then slowly walks down the steps. The BANGING grows nearer—from the basement door. She backs into a corner and holds up the egg.

  MALLORY

  I’ve held out for so long, but now the only thing left is to eat this poisoned egg. Curse those zombie chickens! They took my family and friends, and now they’re going to take me.

  Mallory wipes away a tear and takes a bite. She makes a CHOKING noise and grabs her throat. The light flickers on and off. The house shakes like there’s an EARTHQUAKE. Mallory GROANS and collapses as the basement goes black.

  CUT TO:

  The light flickers back on. Mallory staggers to her feet. She slowly pulls off the face mask to reveal...A NEW FACE! Mallory is now a REDHEAD with FRECKLES! She feels her face.

  MALLORY

  I feel so strange...so different. What’s happened to me?

  She finds an old hand mirror in the basement, looks into it, and GASPS.

  MALLORY

  I look like a different person! But how can it be? How come I’m not a zombie?

  She SCREAMS at the sound of SPLINTERING wood. The zombies have busted down the door, and now three of them descend the basement stairs.

  MALLORY

  They found me! Now I’m going to be a meal for the zombies. Why does it have to end like this?

  The zombies lurch toward her, hands outstretched. Mallory SCREAMS and covers her face. The zombies stop and bow low.

  ZOMBIES

  All hail the Zombie Queen!

  Mallory peeks through her fingers.

  MALLORY

  Huh?

  HEAD ZOMBIE

  She has eaten an egg of the Zombie World and survived! She is the new Zombie Queen! All hail the Zombie Queen!

  The zombies make way for Mallory.

  MALLORY

  This is weird. I can suddenly understand them. So you’re not going to eat me?

  HEAD ZOMBIE

  No zombie will harm you. You are free to roam the world, and we will protect you!

  ZOMBIES

  All hail the Zombie Queen!

  MALLORY

  Wow. That’s so amazing. A new face and a new life!

  Mallory climbs the basement stairs.

  EXT: MALLORY’S HOUSE—DAY

  MALLORY

  Look, all the snow melted. It’s like summer suddenly. And now I’m free to roam the world and go wherever I want without ever worrying about zombies again! Thank you, zombie chickens!

  Mallory walks off down the country road, silhouetted by the FLAMING RED setting sun.

  THE END

  I’m a little nervous as Margaret reads it over. Will she think it’s silly? I feel like explaining that it’s not easy being a twelve-year-old director. I mean, how many directors have to do their math homework before they can work on their script? When Margaret finishes, her face looks solemn and I’m afraid she’s going to say she hates it or she’s morally opposed to eating zombie eggs.

  Instead, she says, “This is amazing.” She looks so serious I wonder if she’s pulling my leg. “You are a great writer, Kate. And the ski mask idea is genius. I was wondering how you were going to make the switch.”

  “It’s not bad,” I say modestly. “I could have done better if I had more time.”

  “No, it’s amazing,” she insists, and I decide it’s silly to argue. The more I think about it, the more jazzed I am about having such a quirky, offbeat ending.

  Then, almost as if she’s reading my mind, Margaret fixes her thick-rimmed gaze on me. “Tim Burton would love this ending. It’s completely Tim Burtonesque.”

  “You think so?” I feel absurdly pleased at the thought of Tim Burton reading my script. After weeks of being called Crapkate, it’s nice to hear my movie mentioned in the same breath as a famous Hollywood director. “It’s probably not gruesome enough.”

  “No, he would LOVE it,” Margaret says. “I’m totally serious. I can’t wait to see the rest of the movie.”

  I turn and fiddle with my camera so she won’t see my cheeks turning pink.

  “I don’t get it,” Doris says. “Why is she wearing a winter coat and ski mask since it’s not winter outside?”

  “It’s winter in my movie,” I explain. “I shot some scenes with Alyssa last January, and I have a shot of her running up to the door in one of our big coats and a ski mask. I’ll use that shot, then cut to a shot of Margaret coming inside with the same coat and mask on. The windows will blow out, so no one will see it isn’t really winter outside.”

  Doris stares dubiously at me. “You’re going to blow up your windows?”

  “Blow out,” I correct, “which means all you’ll see is light. You won’t see any details. So it could be winter or summer—you won’t know.”

  Doris scratches her nose. “Then why is it summer when she goes outside at the end?”

  “It’s symbolic,” Margaret answers. “The reign of the zombies is over. Like in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, the snow melts when the White Witch loses her power. Right?” she says, looking at me.

  “Exactly.” Actually, I made it summer because I don’t have
a huge snowmaking machine to make it look like winter, but I like Margaret’s answer better.

  Margaret gives a breathless laugh and then bites her lower lip. “I’m a little nervous.”

  “You’ll be fine.” I try to say it like I mean it, but I’m nervous, too. If Margaret is a horrible actress, then my movie will end on a big flat note. But part of a director’s job is to keep her actors happy, so I smile brightly and say, “Okay, let’s get started.”

  Derek walks in just then with his buddy, Trevor. They look bored, which means trouble.

  “Who are the zombies?” Doris asks.

  “You. And my brother, Derek, here and his friend.”

  Derek stares at Doris. “She looks like a zombie.”

  “Derek!” I have to sound really mad to keep myself from smiling, because it’s kind of true. With her sallow skin and stringy hair, Doris will need the least amount of makeup of any of my zombies.

  Doris shrugs. “That’s okay. Studies have shown that a lot of boys at this age are developmentally delayed, so their behavior patterns mimic younger children’s.”

  Derek stares at her with his mouth open. “Huh?”

  “She says you’re acting like a five-year-old, but don’t worry, it’s normal. Now go away,” I tell him. “I’ll call you when your scene is up.”

  “We’re bored,” he whines. “Let us help. We’ll do whatever you want.”

  I think about him watching my last shoot from the window, probably wishing he could be part of it. Life in the country isn’t always much fun for Derek, either.

  “Fine,” I say. “You can help with props. Go get Mom’s old winter coat, the big blue one, and I need a hard-boiled egg to put in the pocket. There are a few in the fridge.”

  Derek and Trevor run off, and it occurs to me that it’s not so bad having a crew to order around.

  Finally, we’re ready to shoot the first scene. My camera is set up in the laundry room, pointed at the door. In the huge down coat and ski mask, Margaret could easily pass for Alyssa.

  I give the cue, and Margaret runs inside and slams the door. She delivers her first lines perfectly. Usually, Alyssa flubs her lines the first few times. “This is the only food I found.” Margaret pulls the egg from her pocket, right on cue. “If I eat this egg, I’ll turn into a zombie. But I don’t care anymore.”

  Margaret isn’t a bad actress. She must really be feeling the moment and gripping the egg tightly because there’s a sudden loud crack as it explodes, and goopy yolk spurts everywhere.

  Derek and Trevor howl with laughter and run off. “You’re fired!” I shout after them. “You can forget about being zombies!”

  Just as Derek turns around to stick out his tongue, Margaret cocks her arm and flings the egg, a gloppy rocket that hits him square in the face. His mouth fills with raw yolk, and egg slime slides down his neck. Derek runs to the sink, screaming and gagging. Even though I’m the director, Margaret and Doris have to pick me up off the floor, I’m laughing so hard. We’re definitely off to a good start.

  “I should have known better than to let those two take care of props,” I mutter later to Margaret as I wipe egg off my camera. “Where did you learn how to throw like that?”

  Margaret shrugs modestly. “I have a little brother, too.”

  I grab a hard-boiled egg from the fridge, and the rest of the scene goes smoothly. When it’s time to move downstairs, our moldy, cobwebby basement doesn’t seem to faze Margaret and Doris at all. With them there, even the cistern doesn’t seem nearly so scary.

  I put Doris in charge of special effects, give her a glove, and stick her on a stepladder. She quickly screws and unscrews the overhead lightbulb so it looks like the lights are flickering after Mallory eats the zombie egg. Then, I shake the camera just enough to make it look like an earthquake. When Margaret slowly peels off the ski mask, a shiver runs down my spine and a lump rises in my throat. This is the climax of all my hard work. My zombie movie has risen out of the ashes.

  I’m forced to reinstate Derek and Trevor as zombies for lack of any other options. Once they’re in wardrobe and make a bunch of zombie noises at each other, they finally calm down and do a good job stomping down the stairs. Doris is the head zombie.

  “All hail the Zombie Queen,” she says in her flat monotone. The funny thing is, it fits the zombie character perfectly, and the scene goes way better than I expected. At the end, Margaret gets caught up in the moment and even ad-libs a little. She takes a step up the stairs, then solemnly says, “Finally, I go from darkness into light, the light of a new and better day.” Then she slowly climbs the stairs and disappears into the bright rectangle of the open doorway.

  It’s pure art.

  As Margaret hurries back down the basement stairs, we all start clapping, even Derek and Trevor.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, blushing. “It just kind of came out. We can do it again if you want.”

  “It was perfect,” I assure her. “I couldn’t have written it better myself.”

  We head upstairs, where the sun is already starting to set. We grab the last shot of Mallory walking into the sunset. Sure, it’s a little cliché, but it looks great. Another lump rises in my throat. My zombie movie is in the can, as the movie people say. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I get to shout the three sacred words of moviedom used by every director, big and small. The woods swell with birdsong, a cool breeze blows against my cheek, and Margaret’s hair looks like it’s caught fire in the late-afternoon light. I wonder if George Lucas felt this good when he finished Star Wars.

  I fill my lungs with air and shout: “IT’S A WRAP!”

  We mill around in the road for a while as I savor the wonderful feeling of finishing my movie. Then suddenly, I’m starving hungry. My mother makes a pizza and ­Margaret, Doris, and I sit on the back steps, laughing and talking. It feels good to be hanging out with friends. ­Margaret and Doris both seem excited about being in my film. It’s definitely a big change from my last shoot with Alyssa and Lydia.

  Margaret turns to me and says out of the blue: “I heard Paul Corbett got in big trouble a few days ago.”

  This doesn’t surprise me. He’s always in trouble. “What did he do this time?”

  “Stealing. He got caught at the Quik-Hop Pit-Stop stealing a CD.” Her big blue eyes turn on me. “Isn’t that stupid?”

  She seems to be waiting for a reply, so I nod. It feels like all the leaves around us have stopped moving, and my heart along with them. Is Margaret just making conversation, or is she making a point?

  “He probably thought it was no big deal,” Margaret says. I wish she would look away. I feel pinned under her bright blue gaze. “But now he has to go in front of a judge. And my mom says he’ll probably have to do community service work.”

  “It will do him good,” I mutter. I look away and fumble with my drink. Why does Margaret keep staring at me?

  She looks down but an accusing silence remains. She knows, she knows, she knows. The words drum in my head. I can feel myself starting to sweat. Finally, I can’t stand it any longer. “Just what are you trying to say?” I ask loudly.

  Margaret gazes at me. Her eyes are a little too wide open, a little too surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.” I feel like I’m choking on the words.

  She gives me the same innocent look. “What would I be trying to say?”

  “If you don’t know, then I don’t know, either,” I mutter.

  Doris is staring between us like we’re both crazy. “What are you talking about?”

  I feel like I’m suddenly in an old Donald Duck cartoon, with a tiny angel perched on one shoulder and a red devil on the other.

  It will be a relief to tell someone, the angel whispers. She already knows, anyway. It’s time to come clean.

  Don’t be stupid! the devil screams.
Keep it a secret! Cover your tracks!

  Yes, I need to keep it secret. It’s funny, though, how a secret can feel so heavy. After a while, you just want to put it down and rest. I close my eyes and listen to the leaves murmuring in the trees. It sounds like they’re saying shush, shush, shush. But I can’t.

  “I did it,” I whisper.

  Doris peers at me. “Did what?”

  Then, just like that, my desire to confess is gone, replaced by icy-cold fear. I can’t afford to lose the only two friends I have. I grab another piece of pizza. “Nothing,” I say through a mouthful of cheese. “Just kidding.”

  It’s the first time I’ve seen Doris look so confused. Margaret also takes a slice and nibbles on it. The way she’s not looking at me, I know it’s too late.

  I nod, even though she hasn’t asked.

  “The wig?” Her voice is so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

  I keep nodding. My cheeks are burning and I wish I could sink into the dirt.

  “The wig?” Doris echoes. “Are you talking about the red wig Alyssa took?”

  I’m hoping Margaret will jump in and explain everything, but she just looks at me.

  “I took it,” I mutter. “It wasn’t Alyssa.”

  “You?” Doris sounds surprised. “Why would you take it?”

  I thought I would feel better getting it off my chest, but I only feel ashamed. My face burns as I explain my plan and I can hardly get the words out. I even explain about film noir and how the bad guys always take the fall, and how Alyssa was the bad guy. As I say it out loud, it all sounds pretty lame.

  Margaret gazes down at her pizza when I get to the part about using her to get the note to Alyssa. “I wanted to teach her a valuable lesson,” I say quickly. “I wanted her to know what it’s like to get hurt by her friends, so she won’t do it again to someone else.”

  Doris nods like she gets it. “You wanted revenge.”