Z’s closed on Hogan.
I couldn’t even see him any more as a hundred of them crowded him, covered him, defeated him, ate him.
It was just me and Tag now. Myself and the one guy I hated more than anyone else in the world. We were the last two humans on the planet.
Shit…
…Who would play the part of Hogan?
We were sat down in registration when Mrs. Taylor entered with a broad grin across her face. “Ok everybody, we have a very special guest today, a former student who’s come to talk to you about his experiences out there in the real world.”
Great – We were about to be lectured by some guy who doubtless could barely scrape together enough money to pay his credit card interest payments.
Mrs. Taylor motioned with her hand to the half open door as I looked over to Wendy who sat three desks to the side.
A short, unimpressive looking man with floppy golden hair strode to the center and smiled at us. He carried an air of self-assurance that reeked of I’m enjoying the ride.
“Guys, girls, good morning. I’m Matthew.” He said with a smirk, barely able to achieve a response from the kids. “I understand you’ll all shortly be graduating and so I thought I’d come down here today and offer any advice I can give.” He gestured with his hands, encompassing the entire room. “I’m sure a lot of you guys already know what it is you wanna do with your lives, which is great. But then there’ll also be those who have no idea what you wanna do. And that’s fine too. You’ve all still got plenty of time to figure things out.”
I’d already resigned myself to the fate of working on the railways, but only because my dad had asserted more than enough pressure on me the last few years. It wasn’t what I was born to do, but somebody had to do it and it paid well. The work was honest, even if the very idea of it bored me to death.
Matthew spoke as I daydreamed, picturing a scenario in my head where I beat to the ground Brett Dekker and several of his football teammates. Then Wendy fell into my arms as we headed out for pizza.
“The main thing is, that whatever it is you decide to do, that you apply yourself one hundred percent. No half assed attitudes will help you make it to the top. And it doesn’t matter what field you choose. It’s the same in all fields.”
“Perhaps you ought to tell everybody what it is you do, Matthew.” Mrs. Taylor suggested.
“Oh, Mrs. Taylor I really don’t wanna toot my own horn here, but I’ve just finished making this movie, and I’m kinda thinking it’s gonna do ok.” As he spoke, I noticed how everybody, without exception perked up, paid more respect to the guy and then began to hang on his every word. “I really can’t give much away about the movie at this stage, but what I really wanna do is go back to the point I was making before.”
What hurt the most as he spoke was the look on Wendy’s face. It was as if this unimpressive, average looking guy had pressed a magic button and not just Wendy, not just all the girls, but everybody, even Doug had become impressed by him. And nothing ever roused Doug – A consequence, I thought, of smoking too much weed. And all that magic button really was – was that he’d made a movie. It wasn’t as if Matthew was Bruce Willis or Sly Stallone. He was just some geeky looking kid who barely looked older than any of the kids here, yet it made all the difference in the minds of my peers. Even to the mind of Wendy.
“The movie business is tough. I’m sure that statement doesn’t surprise anybody in this room.” The kids laughed in a sycophantic way, like you do when you’re trying hard to get someone to like you. “And when me and my buddy couldn’t get our big break – Do you wanna know what we did?” He paused. “Let’s see a show of hands here.”
Doug raised his hand. “You quit?”
Matthew laughed and to my amazement, the whole class followed his cue and laughed in unison. “No we didn’t quit. I’ll tell you what we did – We went out there and we wrote our own goddamn movie. And after that, we did all we could to ensure that the thing got made. And then it did.” He paused for effect, surveying the now captivated classroom. Wendy appeared to be in some kind of a trance. “Which takes me back to my point – You have to apply yourself one hundred percent because nobody else will do it for you. You’ve got to grab the world by the balls and make something of yourselves.”
At the end of registration, Matthew took a seat, shook all our hands one by one and signed autographs. While I stood in line, I noticed how the girls at the front pushed out their chests, blinked more than usual and tried their damned hardest to be articulate as they spoke to the guy. Even Latasha who had a real bad stutter tried making her voice sound like Miss Moneypenny’s. Just who did she think she was fooling?
Arriving at the front, I held out my hand and he took mine and shook it. “Hey Matthew, movie stars get all the women don’t they?”
“No, no, no, man, you’ve completely missed my point.” As he spoke, I noticed a small crowd of girls had gathered by the door. Wendy was among them.
“But you do, don’t you.”
“Well, yes we do. But I hope that’s not all you’ve taken from today otherwise I’ve wasted my time.” He glanced up at me after signing his name and handed over the piece of paper. “Not everybody can be movie stars you know. Most of us have to get proper jobs. And that’s fine too. You need to know that, otherwise I’ve wasted my time here.”
I walked past the girls, Wendy in a daze, and exited the classroom.
At that moment, I knew I had to become a movie star. I would leave for Hollywood at the first opportunity and pursue this newly discovered dream. Heck, Matthew even said it himself. Apply yourself one hundred percent. And what better way of doing that than leaving for the movie capital of the world?
Looking down at the guy’s signature, I had a hard time making out what it said so I screwed it into a ball and chucked it in the trash. Pretty soon it’d be me signing autographs. And if this Matthew guy was who he said he was then I’d be sure our paths would cross again in the future. But when they did, I’d be famous.
7
A New Co-Star
Spielberg and Lee were not happy following Hogan’s deviation from the script. The movie was supposed to be a celebration of zombie superiority over the human race, only Hogan had demonstrated that wasn’t necessarily the case. He had proven their superiority was only due to their numerical advantage. One on one, the human would win nearly every time.
I never once stopped to consider anything with regards to zombie digestive enzymes. It turns out they don’t have any. As for Hogan himself, I kept finding bits of him all over the set, completely undigested, parts of his pink bonnet and yellow bandana mixed with internal organ. Would this prove an opportunity for the z’s to solve their food problem? Would the z’s, if forced, eat over and over again their passed through humans? If so, this was bad news because it would mean they could quite possibly live on indefinitely. I would have to keep my eyes peeled for evidence of their eating, or more to the point - devouring habits. Since arriving on set, I’d noticed how the dung heap over by the former children’s playground had grown larger and larger. I wondered if I’d be able to reconstruct an entire human body from the undigested parts that mounted up against the wall in front of the swings. I would keep this information to myself, as I didn’t want to give them any ideas.
When I thought hard about things, all Hogan had really done was mess the scene up. As a consequence, they’d murdered him. They ate him despite the fact he was one of only three people left alive on earth and was essential to the shooting of the movie. I was now on edge and feared for my own safety. I mean, how little would it take for them to do the exact same thing to me? Would it only take a few messed up lines for them to lose patience?
Because of my new found insecurities I decided it would be a good idea to go over the script again. Then, as if by magic, Warren from There’s Something About Mary limped over to me a new version of the script. He still wore his red ear muffs. The script was covered in some sort of brown stick
y goo which made reading vast swathes of the thing nearly impossible. How was I supposed to work under such conditions?
What I could ascertain though was that they’d added in the Pulp Fiction Basement Scene. I had never seen the movie myself and so I had no idea what that referred to and I wished Spielberg could have actually given us proper scripts with dialogue and subtext instead of simply writing ‘Pulp Fiction Basement Scene’ and expecting everybody to know what it was about. According to the script, I’d be acting with ‘Zed.’ I assumed that was a typo and what they really meant was ‘Z.’ Anyway, that would be the final scene of the entire movie.
Then I noticed another change. This was a big change and one that I guessed had been forced on Spielberg due to the new developments, namely Hulk Hogan. My assumptions were that Tag would win the part of Hogan following his passing – God rest his soul, but to my complete surprise, Spielberg had cast someone else entirely. He had gone with an actor, who unlike Hogan, would be completely unwilling and even unable to fight back against them. An actor who, like me and Tag, would bend over and take all that was dished out without doing so much as raising his voice in protest. Doubtless Spielberg could not risk being shown up again, like Hogan had done not just to him and Pitt, but as a consequence to all z’s. If he was who I thought he was, his name partly obscured beneath a thick crust of brown residue, I wondered just where they’d brought him from, where they’d been keeping him and just what his story was. Could this be real? Were Tag and myself about to meet a new actor, a new human actor, to be in this appalling movie along with us?
Warren still hung about, looking at me like a fat trucker would a steak.
“Where’s the new guy?” I asked it. “Are they filming right now?”
He opened his mouth and for a moment I thought he’d do me the courtesy of replying. Instead he made a deep hacking sound, retching as he did, as a lump formed in his neck. It looked to me like he was pushing something out from his wind pipe. Then a rib was choked up, which he pulled from his mouth with a hand. The rib was partly covered in meat which Warren gazed at almost with a twinkle in his dead eye. He then swallowed the thing for a second time.
“Never mind.” I took a wide arc around Warren and explored the area. My curiosity overwhelmed me and I needed to know if this was real or some sick joke perpetrated by my z tormentors. The thought of being alone with only Tag filled me with dread and even though I was probably the most anti-social and loathed individual I’d ever known, at least before the apocalypse hit, in this moment, I would still take that little extra human companionship – Not least because it would make me feel just that little bit safer if there was an extra human for the z’s to be drooling over.
Then I found what I was looking for. Several cameras, sound crew, lighting, effects and extras all huddled around a central focus. Spielberg and Lee sat side by side on director’s chairs. They filmed a white car on the street. The vehicle sprung up and down on its rear axle. What movie was this from?
I approached the scene and watched with interest from a spot as far away from any z as I could get, while still being able see what was happening. The car windows steamed up real bad, so I was unable to see who or what was in the vehicle.
A z in a police officer costume tapped on the car window. “Leave car now!” He sputtered.
The rear passenger side door flung open and out stepped a hideous she z in red mini skirt, red heels, red bra and bright red lipstick. Although this was not from any movie, I had a terrible sense that something familiar was going down. Then, a man I recognized stepped out from the vehicle, fastening his breeches as he did.
Fuck.
It was Grant.
“Not touching your meatloaf son?” Dad asked as he faced me across the table.
“I’m not really that hungry tonight Dad.” I always liked his meatloaf, but tonight I just couldn’t stomach it.
“You’ll be needing your energy if you’re off to football practice tonight.” He considered me intently. “That’s a lot of hours you’ve been putting in on the field recently, Todd, let’s hope you make the team.”
I was too ashamed to look him in the eye. “Thanks Dad.”
“Hard work pays off son. It seems to me you spend every available minute on the training field, it’s bound to pay off. But I want you to know that whatever happens, I’m proud of you. And if you don’t make the cut this week, then there’s always the week or month after.”
“I know Dad.”
“Hard work and persistence.”
“That’s what they say Dad.”
My old man would be crushed if he discovered the truth. That while he thought I was practicing my tackles, my runs and my throws, I was actually concealed in the bushes outside Wendy’s house. Sometimes I truly loathed myself, but all that was about to change. Spying on Wendy had become some sort of an addiction. The need to know the truth about her, to feel like I knew her and to somehow be close to her was overwhelming.
But now I felt I new urge. The urge to make my name in Hollywood may have only been five minutes old, but it felt right. And besides, I knew it was the only way I could get Wendy to like me. I didn’t enjoy having to lie to my old man about how exactly I spent my evenings, but what was I supposed to tell him? It would kill him to discover that his only son was the town reject. I was all he had and if he knew I was such a loser, it would’ve hit him pretty darned hard. Sure, I wanted him to be proud of me, like any kid wanted their old man to be proud of them. But at the same time, I couldn’t go through with what he wanted for me. I couldn’t work on the railway because it just wasn’t me. And what I knew I was about to do scared me almost as much as the thought of talking to Wendy.
“How was work?” I asked, a slight crack in my voice.
“Work?” He patted the side of his mouth with a napkin. “Same old. You know how it is.” He took a sip from his glass. “Which reminds me son, the company has a few openings for apprentice positions. Now, I’ll have to pull a few strings, but with you graduating in a couple months, I’m thinking that maybe, just maybe, we can have you working under my supervision.” He beamed at me as my heart sank in my chest. “What do you think of that son?”
“That’s just it Dad – I don’t think that’s what I want to do with my life.”
The look on his face, as the wide smile slowly changed to sheer hurt almost broke my heart. “Son? What are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is – What I’m saying is that I don’t want to work with you on the railway. Not that I think it’s a bad idea, it’s just that I really don’t think it’s me. I don’t think it’ll make me happy.”
“Oh, ok. I see.” He took a prolonged sip of water before looking back at me. “Well then. What is it you had in mind? Maybe a career as a footballer?” He tried breaking the tension with a joke.
“Dad – I want to be a movie star.” I said it with all seriousness, with as straight a face as I could pull. He needed to know I meant this.
He laughed. “You’re not serious. There’s no way you can possibly be serious?”
“Dad – I am serious.”
He laughed again. “But you’ve never shown any interest in acting. You watch movies from time to time, but who doesn’t? Son, do you know how hard it is to make it to the top in that cutthroat bullshit industry?”
“Dad – I really want this.”
“Son, this is bullshit! Those vipers will eat you for breakfast.” He slammed a fist into the table. “So, what’s your big master plan then Todd? Are you really going to turn up in Hollywood next week and start demanding leading roles in movies? Because I’m not so sure that’s how it all works.”
“Dad – I’m leaving for Hollywood as soon as possible. If I’m going to do this then I’m going to do it right. I need to be where everything goes down.”
He laughed again. “Son, I was joking. You’re eighteen. You can’t just up and leave for a hellhole like that. What are you going to do for money? Where will you live? You’ve never
even been out of the state, and now you’re talking about leaving for Hollywood? What the fuck has gotten into you?”
I’d never heard my Dad swear before in all my life. I stood as my chair screeched across the floor. “May I be excused?”
“Excused? Of course. Why don’t you just excuse yourself from this family.” He shouted as I began my ascent up the stairs. “Just leave then Todd, see if I care. Why wait? Why put this shit off any longer? Why take a second to think about the rest of your life? You might as well just pack and leave tonight.”
Tears flooded from my eyes as I took my soil stained backpack and rammed in some spare clothes. I grabbed the piggy bank that my Dad bought me when I was six and threw it against the wall. It smashed open to reveal almost four hundred dollars which I stuffed in the backpack. I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed for the stairs.
My Dad waited for me by the door. “Son, I’m sorry I shouted. I just want you to take a few minutes to think about things. Let’s talk about this, please.”
“No Dad, I’m going. I’ll call you when I get to LA.”
He laughed again which really pissed me off. “You’re not leaving!” He said blocking my exit.
I grabbed him and we fell against the wall. He tried restraining me, so I put my hand under his chin and smashed his head against the banister. He fell to the floor, a look of anguish etched upon his face.
“You’ll never hear from me again.” I said as I opened the door and stepped outside.
As I grabbed the handle, about to close the door to my past, I took one last look at the old man, a look I’ll never forget. Words could not describe the hurt on his face.
I shut the door and walked away.
8
Crying Game
Hugh Grant - The very Hugh Grant.
Zombie Revolution Page 42
