Kicking out wildly at the decomposing hands scraping and scratching at her boots, Donna desperately clung to the rubble, sliding ever so slowly towards the hungry mouths of the skeletal horde in the flooded basement some six feet below her.

What was left of the decaying floorboards groaned ominously, tilting even more sharply. It looked like these would be her final minutes.

Bloodied fingers searched for purchase, sweat dripped rather provocatively from her chin, tracing its way down her grimy neck towards that magnificent cleavage.

Ripping noises as her combat trousers were shredded by reaching talons.

Beautiful teary eyes met those of the two young children she'd bravely tried to rescue.

"Look away my loves, please, whatever happens, remember Mommy loves you, I always will!"

She screamed as the floor gave way, dozens of foul shapes reaching to drag her down, devour her flesh.

She spat defiance as she managed to crush another skull with her heavy boot.

Her eyes flickered away from the horrible churning mass of the undead, glance caught by the three huge black plumes of smoke on the horizon.

She gasped through cracked but delicious lips, "Steve! What the...?"

"Cut!" Bellowed the director, "Reset folks – zombies, take five, guys!"

The stunt manager carefully unhooked the hidden wires holding the star to the incline, whilst his team helped the supporting cast out of the goo-filled tank that simulated the basement.

'Donna' however was still transfixed by the smoke, absent-mindedly brushing the fake blood and gore from her legs. "Steve, that looks bad, real bad."

The director frowned as he calculated the three columns of thick smoke were coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Santa Monica.

"Quake?"

"Don't think so, we'd have felt it, even on the island."

As they watched, several more oily black plumes reached into the Californian sky.

Steve began to worry that if there had been an earthquake, major wildfire, or even a large riot, he and the crew would be stuck on Catalina, adding to his already massively overstretched budget.

Squinting up into the smoky skies, he also worried that the fires, or whatever, would soon interfere with his light, further disrupting his shoot.

He silently cursed the property manager's idea to shoot on the island as more and more smoke drifted upwards.

"Jeez, it looks like the whole of L.A. is burning!"

Numerous cell phones, switched on when the take five had been called, buzzed into life, cast and crew began frantic conversations, worried looks filled the set.

Even the latex gore couldn't disguise the shock and fear as they discovered the extent of the real-life horror unfolding on the mainland.

A Game of Two HalveZ

Henry Letterbox sat in his trailer, drinking tea (proper Tesco's English tea, not that bleedin' foreign rubbish), eating crumpets and boring his p.a. Abigail to death with yet another rerun of the footy (bloody Yanks insisted on calling it soccer) match that simultaneously ended his career as a third division defender and launched his career as a third-rate Hollywood action hero.

"Watch me clobber their striker Abs, whack, wallop, like a sack of spuds!"

Abigail watched (again) in total but well-hidden disgust (again) as the shaven-headed, slightly podgy number three stuck out a clumsy boot and took both legs from under the young French superstar.

The crowd at the third-round tie of the F.A. Cup cheered as the hugely expensive Premier League Frenchman crumpled and fell.

They cheered even more as the giant slaying number three tripped over his own boot laces and landed with a sickening crunch on the Frenchman's legs.

"Red card, my backside!" Letterbox shouted at the screen. "Frog bloody diver!"

Henry threw a crumpet at the tv and hit pause, framing a rather agonised expression as his younger self trudged off the pitch.

"Papers loved it! Fans loved it! What did I get?"

"The 'bleeding sack?" Abigail knew the all the answers already and she'd only been an intern for a week, she sighed and thought of her degree in Cinematographic hospitality and service.

"Good job you Yanks latched on, know a bleedin' hero when you see one!"

Letterbox's well-rehearsed speech was interrupted, much to the relief of Abigail, who'd heard the story of his meteoric rise to 'stardom' a few hundred times already.

"Whot's all that racket ,Abs? Be a doll and go shut the bleedin' extras up, love?" He reached for the Lurpak as Abigail opened the door.

Loud hisses and groans, numerous noises, rather like a bunch of pirates with very sore throats, filled the trailer.

Henry reluctantly left the toaster and poked his head out of the door, "I am try in' to bleedin' watch the footy, you muppets!"

More reluctantly, Henry had to admire the SFX guys, they'd outdone themselves this time! Two dozen or so extras in full zombie makeup were outside the 'van. The slow-milling herd surrounded Abigail, making very realistic zombie-like noises and clawing at the intern.

"Nice one lads, now bugger off while I watch the second half ,will you!"

Henry gave them a gracious thumbs up and slammed the door.

More noise. Screams, too.

"Look lads, I appreciate a prank as much as the next....." was as far as Letterbox got before a rather startled looking Abigail appeared above the crowd.

Henry did a second take.

Registering that Abigail's head was above the crowd, whilst the rest of her was being devoured by a blood crazed herd of zombified extras, which probably, he reasoned, accounted for the startled look on her face!

Only stopping to eject the DVD and cram it into his combats, Henry rather clumsily leapt down the two steps and ran off towards the set, shouting about how out of bleedin' hand these bloody pranks were gettin'!

To be continued.

Freewayriding

05.03.18 Front Page

Back Issue Page