Zombie Revolution

by K. Bartholomew

  I was curious – Did these z’s not have any recollection whatsoever of the human need for sustenance? Or had changing into these mutants obliterated all semblances of past care and empathy for their fellow former man. Either way, we needed food and we needed it soon.

  “Um, excuse me, Mr. Spielberg, but we actors perform better on full stomachs.” I couldn’t believe I was speaking even as I spoke the words.

  Spielberg’s jaw dropped, exposing the rotted brown teeth. Foam dribbled from somewhere in his mouth down his shirt, some landing on the table in front. He appeared too shocked to speak, even temporarily stunned. Scorsese peaked above the script he was shuffling through. Even Borgnine seemed to expect orders with regards to our disposal. Only Lee appeared to show the slightest hint of compassion. I regretted asking immediately. Then Lee rang a small bell which he pulled from a drawer.

  Spielberg opened his mouth to talk, yellow foam dripping over his papers as he did. “We actors?” He mimicked what I had said only seconds before. Personally I didn’t think the pitch was anywhere near high enough. “You not actor. You here because Rick Moranis die.” Well that really dug deep. I decided not to tell him about my Actors Guild membership. But at least it explained why I was here in the Hollywood Hills, alive and not passed out as zombie feces on a shopping mall car park.

  A squeaking sound emanating from down the long hallway gradually became louder and louder. Whoever was causing the distraction was having some trouble, struggling even and everybody paused for whoever it was to arrive. As the squeak grew louder, it was accompanied by the worst stench I’d ever experienced in my entire life. Then I saw what ordinarily would have been the last thing I expected to see. But on a day like today…

  …Kevin Spacey wheeled a dinner trolley in the room. He wore his Mr. Smiley’s outfit from American Beauty.

  He parked the trolley in the space between us and the three z directors. I had no idea if the stench was zombie Spacey or whatever the heck it was he’d cooked up for us. A small swarm of flies zipped through the air around the platter. But I had little care for such trivial matters, I was starving and could most likely eat anything regardless of stench, fly or present company. Then Spacey raised the lid from the huge platter. “Paparazzi.”

  I lost my appetite. It was a human head with the scalp cracked open, revealing the contents. Gray brain matter had been lavishly spread down the man’s face, like garnish on a sirloin. Four spoons lay to the side, neatly laid out. They had got to be joking.

  They weren’t.

  Borgnine and his z goons were licking their lips. Spacey was fighting himself to keep away from our bounty. Costner kept his head down. I wondered if he wouldn’t mind being our taster.

  “This scene one of movie. You eat now!” Spielberg demanded from his seated position.

  So let me get this straight here - We’d gone from reality TV stars, to movie stars in a matter of minutes. Oh, I couldn’t wait to see this script they’d written.

  “There’s no way you can make us eat that shit.” To my surprise, it was Tag who took one for the team.

  Spielberg looked to Borgnine and nodded.

  Borgnine marched over to Tag, grabbed him by the neck and dragged him toward the platter, holding his face close to the gray goo. “Spoon. Now.” Yelled Borgnine.

  Tag’s face screwed up like he was sucking a lime. Zombie Borgnine was freakishly strong.

  One of the z cameramen shuffled over for the close-up. They wanted maximum impact from this moment.

  Tag folded, as I expected. He grabbed hold of a spoon and plunged it inside the open head. It sounded like melon being scooped, though I doubted it would taste anything the same. His hand shook as he brought the disgusting mess toward his mouth. There was a small part of me, ok perhaps a large part that was actually enjoying this. He grimaced as the spoon entered his mouth, delivering the package. From the look of his jaw movements, I’d say it was more a chewy than crunchy texture.

  Spacey scrunched up his zombie face at witnessing brains wasted on a human. Even Borgnine struggled to carry out his orders.

  Shit - Why was Borgnine looking at me? No way was I touching that! That was one ugly looking paparazzi. I’d sooner jump out the window and end this fucking thing right now than resort to eating human brain. “You now!” Oh shit.

  Borgnine took a step toward me, he was big and I didn’t want to get hurt.

  “Ok, I’ll do it, just please don’t touch me.” I was utterly ashamed at my instant capitulation, but pain was the one thing I was allergic to.

  I took hold of the spoon and peered inside the skull. Couldn’t Spacey have at least shaved the head first? Bits of long, straggly hair had matted to the meat and I couldn’t recall eating anything similar since my vacation to Turkey. The flies didn’t mind it though, that much was obvious as several settled over the frontal lobe.

  But this was no way for me to make my mainstream TV debut. Who would want to watch such a thing anyway? Then I thought of Temptation Island, X-Factor, Half Pint Brawlers, Celebrity Love Island and God knows how many more. I realized that my eating human brain would most likely be a hit.

  As I brought the paparazzi brains toward my quivering mouth, I thought again about my father. He was right. Hollywood was poison. I could still picture his face, heartbroken as I slammed the door behind me, en route to Hollywood. I had been seduced by the modern disease of wanting to be famous. To have an easy life of thrills, money, drink, drugs and women. As a result, I joined the ranks of thousands of other hopeless, degraded moronic fools who would do anything for their five minutes of fame, perhaps even, eat human brains. God, how my father was right. I had often thought ill of him for working as a simple train conductor. It was boring to me. I thought him boring. But he was happy. And God dammit, it was honest. He would die if he saw what I’d become.

  I chewed on the damn brains. They tasted like liver. Well, I would be famous now. I got my wish. Thank God my father would not be around to see it.

  Borgnine pushed me back between Tag and Hogan as I hung my head in shame. As if a single spoonful of human brains would constitute enough nutrition to satisfy three days of hunger. No – This was merely an exercise in asserting their control, their will and their dominance over us. This was akin to the Ottoman Turks using defeated kings as footstools. This was to humiliate us and nothing more.

  Borgnine then looked toward Costner, it was his turn.

  Costner had other ideas. He headed straight for the open window and jumped. Several seconds later we heard the splat.

  4

  Script Meeting

  Our little meeting was adjourned while Spielberg and the rest of them were outside feasting on Costner.

  I had made fun of the man. But in the end he refused to stoop down to the level of the reality TV star, the level I myself had succumbed to, and he’d taken his own life. I actually greatly admired him for that. He showed me there was hope. He showed me that if we have the courage, we really don’t have to be prisoners, within our own minds, or physically at the hands of these z freaks. As for the z’s, they should probably be content that Costner wouldn’t get the chance to bring down yet another studio.

  They had escorted us back to our reception room, but not before handing us each a copy of their script, entitled ‘Zombie Takeover – A New Beginning: An SSL Production.’ The script itself was covered in a thick yellow grease, which none of us had the faintest idea as to what it was.

  We spent the last three hours going over the thing. We all agreed the dialogue left a lot to be desired. As for the story; it was pure propaganda. It was about how the z’s took over the world and a celebration of that fact. The z’s were the good guys obviously, and we humans had not a single redeeming feature between us.

  Now I was really beginning to understand why they’d spared us, to make this movie. We were to play the parts of ourselves. I could see where my name had been inserted in place of Rick Moranis’ who was blotted out with what looked like toothpaste - I guess
they no longer had any need for the stuff. Costner was to play the part of the main bad guy, Kevin Costner. We had yet to guess how Spielberg and his team of creative artists would work with the small hindrance that their primary antagonist was now digesting inside the intestines of the sound crew. Well, that was their problem. I decided not to get involved with the creative side of the movie. My job was simply to be humiliated, degraded, abused and to show the moral and mental weakness of humankind as a whole.

  I was surprised with Hogan, who’d been a little too quiet for comfort lately. Was my boyhood hero really planning on going along with this charade? I needed to know.

  “Hey man, what’s going through your mind? You really gonna do scene six? You really gonna dress in pink and let them whip you?” I prayed Hogan’s answer would give me some sort of confidence.

  “Brother, if any of those pale freaks so much as touch me, I’ll wrap my 24 inch pythons around their throats.” He was as convincing as a former professional wrestler could be I supposed, and I guess I did feel a tiny bit reassured, but he’d already lied once about body slamming a z through the Swatch store window. I wondered just how much of Hogan’s mind was truly sane and whether he’d sustained one too many chair shots to the head over the years.

  Tag was also being quiet, not that I gave a shit. I was curious though if he’d been affected more by eating brains or by witnessing the suicide of Costner. One thing was certain and that was there were some tough upcoming scenes for Tag and I doubted he possessed the acting range or ability to pull them off.

  With my dinner tray, I sat down in the usual spot, next to Doug, with a clear view of Wendy at the far end of the lunch hall.

  Half a dozen friends crowded the girl, which partially obscured her from my line of sight. Her dinner lay untouched as she sat half slumped over the table. One friend’s arm lay around her, pulling her close in a gesture of comfort.

  “What’s up with Wendy?” I asked Doug as I shoveled fries in my mouth.

  “Dude – Haven’t you heard? She and Dekker broke up.”

  “What?” The word came out almost as a yelp as my heart rose into my mouth.

  “Don’t make it too obvious, dude.”

  “Make what obvious?”

  “Hey, like I don’t already know man.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I picked up my milk and took a long drag in the hope it would shield me from these wild, crazy accusations.

  “Whatever dude.”

  “Well, have you any idea why they split up?” To my amazement, this was the first I’d heard of this incredible news. It was late last night when I’d left the bushes outside Wendy’s house. I witnessed her dad returning home, but Dekker hadn’t been kicked out and his car was still parked outside when I began falling asleep on the chair. When she past by my house this morning at the usual time, she was alone and appeared fine. So by my deductions, the most likely scenario would be that she had split up with Brett Dicker within the three and a half hour window between the start of high school and lunch. Now it just so happened that the two of them didn’t have any shared lessons on Thursday mornings, so by all logic, they must have broken up during the five minute window between lessons. That’s it – It must have happened during changeover, which would have been ten thirty. However, I still did not have the why of their breaking up and I felt compelled to discover this information.

  “Something about him accusing her dad of filling his Corvette with earth and urinating all over the dashboard.” Doug shook his head in evident disgust. “I mean, dude, who the fuck would do that? Would have to be some pretty fucked up individual who’d even think about doing such a thing.”

  “Yeah, um sure, I agree yeah.” I picked up the milk, drawing out the fluid and taking my time.

  Dekker approached with his tray and took a seat immediately to my rear, between two of his football teammates. They cheered and patted him on the back.

  “Heard you two finally sealed the deal last night?” I overheard from behind, my hand involuntarily balling into a fist.

  “Yeah – Sure did. But I don’t think I’m welcome at hers no more.” Grunted Dekker.

  “We heard man. That’s some pretty fucked up shit.”

  “I’m not sure I wanna talk about it.”

  “Her dad really did what you accused him of?”

  “That’s the thing – I really don’t think he did. It just doesn’t make any sense. I always got on great with her dad. He’s not the kinda guy who’d just trash my car. He’s more the kinda guy who’d say it to my face, you know.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I took a wizz over his home cinema set. I just saw red man – Had to do something.”

  “That’s fucked up. So who do you think trashed your car?”

  “I have no idea, but when I catch him…”

  My only regret was that I hadn’t drunk more coffee that day. Anyway, I’d have to be careful the next few days till this thing blew over. It’d be sure to be the talk of the school for a while and if I ever wanted a chance with Wendy, it was important she had no idea I was the type of guy who hid in bushes outside her window with a pair of binoculars before taking a piss in her boyfriend’s Corvette.

  I sank the remainder of the milk, grabbed my backpack from below the table and prepared to leave.

  “So dude, you coming over for a few rounds on the Playstation tonight? I got some weed too.” Doug asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  “Can’t tonight man, I’m busy.”

  “I’m getting so sick of this man, you’re never available anymore.”

  I stood. “I’m sorry. I got better things to do than play on the Playstation and get stoned all the time.”

  Doug looked at my backpack and laughed. “Where’ve you been with that thing? Is that what you’ve been doing? Looks like you’ve been trekking through a mud storm.” Doug said way too loud.

  I jumped back down into the seat. “Ok, man. Tonight! I’ve got a few hours spare to play Playstation with you.”

  “Awesome. I got this new game, Grand Theft Automobile or something, you’ll love it.”

  “Sounds ok, I guess.” I checked Dekker with the corner of my eye, who appeared not to be stirred by my loud mouthed friend.

  “So where were you last night dude? Must’ve been doing something pretty filthy? I mean, by the state of your bag…” I prayed he’d shut the fuck up.

  Dekker’s head swivelled over his shoulder in our direction.

  “…what is all that crap you got on there? Is it sand? You go to the beach last night Todd? Your bag wasn’t like that yesterday, man.” Doug said with a mouthful of fries.

  This guy needed punching out and fast. Why did he never shut the fuck up?

  I sensed Dekker eyeballing me from the side, taking an uncomfortable curiosity in my backpack. After a few seconds, he looked away and went back to his lunch. I exhaled, long and slow. Dekker hadn’t put two and two together, but I had to get out of there quick. “Grand Theft Automobile. Straight after dinner.”

  “Hey, what do you even wanna come over to my place for anyway man?” He said, almost with an accusatory tone.

  “But you’ve been begging me for…”

  “Look – She’s single now dude. Now’s your big chance.”

  “Huh…”

  “So you’d rather be spending time with a guy than with Wendy? Are you like, gay or something dude?”

  “Fuck – You’re right.” Never before in my life had I made any big moves for a girl I liked, but Wendy was like – Wendy. If I made a move, then there was a chance, a very small chance that it’d be me inside her bedroom and not some cheap stereotype from an endless number of Hollywood rip offs. I dreamt of being the guy in her room instead of the creep in the bushes with a telescope and a pack of Kleenex.

  After school today.

  I would ask her out after school today!

  5

  Shooting Begins

  We were en route to our
first shooting location. According to the script we’d be filming in Compton. Why? I didn’t know. I’d heard the stories about that place and so I always stayed away.

  The coach ride had been as intense and crazy as expected. The driver limped on after we were all seated. I made a double take when I realized it was Sandra Bullock in her outfit from Speed.

  It was a surreal journey. The z’s just stared straight ahead the whole time and never spoke to each other. It made me feel uncomfortable when I spoke to Hogan. Then Tag came and sat next to me. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Hey man, you know, I can’t see this ending well for either of us. I just thought it’d be nice if we buried the hatchet. You know, make friends.”

  “Fuck you, Tag.”

  “You know, you keep calling me by my character name in Friends. My name’s Eddie. Call me Eddie. Or Ed. Either, I don’t mind. But calling me Tag, my psychologist would’ve said that’s due to you still having animosity because I got the part of Tag and you didn’t.” Well he was half right.

  “No, Tag. It’s because you reneged on our deal. Do you remember our deal? You could’ve gotten me that part in CSI, but you didn’t.” I decided not to tell him I was also planning on reneging on the deal. I fully planned on leaving him high and dry in favor of my own self interests. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Sure, people would judge me harshly for my hypocrisy, but Hollywood was full of backstabbing vermin who’d suck up to you one minute, promise the earth and then deliver nothing. I would simply have been one more to add to that number. Yeah, I knew I was a jerk. Sue me.

  “Well the hand of friendship’s there man, if you want to take it.” He stood to leave but I pulled him back down.

  “You don’t get it do you. I needed to prove to my father and everybody else back home that I could make it. And you took that from me. I never did make it. I never got to return home having made something of myself. I never got to see my father or any of my old friends ever again.” Wow, was I really about to cry? I took a deep breath and finished what I really wanted to say. “I fucking hate you!”