Double Feature: Attack of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies/Bride of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies (The Russel Middlebrook Series Book 3) by Brent Hartinger
Authors: Brent Hartinger
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work with the real director and the stars."
I didn't really care what "first and second unit" meant, but I didn't want to end up in Kevin's group. I guess it's like what they say about alcoholics: if there's booze around, they'll drink it. Kevin was my alcohol, but I didn't want to drink him (okay, that came out really, really wrong).
Needless to say, Kevin and I ended up in the same group. I saw his eyes scanning for me like the sweep of a lighthouse.
I ignored him and hurried over to a production assistant.
"Um," I said to her, "would it be possible to switch units?"
"Sorry," she said. "We need exact numbers."
"How about if I switch with someone?" I pointed to Min, who had been chosen for the other group. "She's my friend. I'm sure she'll switch with me."
"Why do you want to switch?" the production assistant asked me.
I had to think fast. "I'm epileptic," I lied. "But it's okay because my other friend Gunnar knows how to administer my medicine. Thing is, he's in that group." I pointed to the Kevin-free group, the one I wanted to be in.
Her face immediately shifted to sympathy. "Sure, sure, that's fine."
Next I pulled Min aside. "Do you mind if we switch groups?" I asked.
"What?" she said. " Why ?" She looked put out, which confused me.
I leaned in closer. "I'm trying to avoid Kevin."
"I don't think that's okay with the producers," she said. "Switching, I mean."
"No, it's okay," I said. "I just asked."
"Bu t— " Min said.
"What?" I said.
She thought for a second—about what, I had no idea. What difference did it make what group she was in?
But finally, she said, "Well, then. Okay."
Tragedy averted, I thought—for a few hours at least.
* * *
Halfway through the morning, they gave us a break, and we all headed back to the hospitality suite. But I wanted to explore the school a bit (and I needed to use the restroom), so I veered off on my own.
It was an older school, churchlike, with echoing hallways and a polished stone floor. But it had been "updated" in the sixties, slathered with industrial green paint and given a horrible white cork ceiling, which was now yellow with water stains. It desperately needed the renovation that was taking place beyond the sheets of milky plastic that draped down over so many of the hallways.
It also needed more bathrooms. It took me forever to find one. But finally I did, a cavernous concrete chamber at the bottom of a small flight of steps (apparently in the previous century, disabled people didn't need restrooms). The wall to my left was nothing but a long row of white porcelain urinals—the tall kind that go all the way down to the floor, so that you can't miss, no matter how lousy your aim. There had to be thirty urinals in all. I couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever all been used at the same time.
As I stepped toward the urinals, I caught sight of someone over to my right, by the long row of porcelain sinks.
It was Declan McDonnell, the star of Attack of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies . He'd been washing his hands. My first thought was, What if I'd come in two minutes earlier? Would I have had to pee next to Declan McDonnell? At least with thirty urinals, I could have put a whole bunch of them between the two of us.
"Oh," he said, turning, surprised to see me. "Hello."
I started to say something, but then I remembered how they'd warned us not to talk to the stars. Could I talk to him now that he'd talked to me? The producer hadn't said anything about that.
"Uh," I said at last. "Hi."
"Something wrong?" Declan McDonnell said.
I grimaced. "It's just that they…"
"Ah, right. You're not supposed to talk to the stars. The first movie I did, I didn't know that they always tell the crew and the extras that. I just thought everyone was being stuck up." Declan McDonnell's voice rang in the soaring cathedral that was this particular men's room.
But right then, I noticed that Declan McDonnell had forgotten to zip his zipper. (It is not that I was
I didn't really care what "first and second unit" meant, but I didn't want to end up in Kevin's group. I guess it's like what they say about alcoholics: if there's booze around, they'll drink it. Kevin was my alcohol, but I didn't want to drink him (okay, that came out really, really wrong).
Needless to say, Kevin and I ended up in the same group. I saw his eyes scanning for me like the sweep of a lighthouse.
I ignored him and hurried over to a production assistant.
"Um," I said to her, "would it be possible to switch units?"
"Sorry," she said. "We need exact numbers."
"How about if I switch with someone?" I pointed to Min, who had been chosen for the other group. "She's my friend. I'm sure she'll switch with me."
"Why do you want to switch?" the production assistant asked me.
I had to think fast. "I'm epileptic," I lied. "But it's okay because my other friend Gunnar knows how to administer my medicine. Thing is, he's in that group." I pointed to the Kevin-free group, the one I wanted to be in.
Her face immediately shifted to sympathy. "Sure, sure, that's fine."
Next I pulled Min aside. "Do you mind if we switch groups?" I asked.
"What?" she said. " Why ?" She looked put out, which confused me.
I leaned in closer. "I'm trying to avoid Kevin."
"I don't think that's okay with the producers," she said. "Switching, I mean."
"No, it's okay," I said. "I just asked."
"Bu t— " Min said.
"What?" I said.
She thought for a second—about what, I had no idea. What difference did it make what group she was in?
But finally, she said, "Well, then. Okay."
Tragedy averted, I thought—for a few hours at least.
* * *
Halfway through the morning, they gave us a break, and we all headed back to the hospitality suite. But I wanted to explore the school a bit (and I needed to use the restroom), so I veered off on my own.
It was an older school, churchlike, with echoing hallways and a polished stone floor. But it had been "updated" in the sixties, slathered with industrial green paint and given a horrible white cork ceiling, which was now yellow with water stains. It desperately needed the renovation that was taking place beyond the sheets of milky plastic that draped down over so many of the hallways.
It also needed more bathrooms. It took me forever to find one. But finally I did, a cavernous concrete chamber at the bottom of a small flight of steps (apparently in the previous century, disabled people didn't need restrooms). The wall to my left was nothing but a long row of white porcelain urinals—the tall kind that go all the way down to the floor, so that you can't miss, no matter how lousy your aim. There had to be thirty urinals in all. I couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever all been used at the same time.
As I stepped toward the urinals, I caught sight of someone over to my right, by the long row of porcelain sinks.
It was Declan McDonnell, the star of Attack of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies . He'd been washing his hands. My first thought was, What if I'd come in two minutes earlier? Would I have had to pee next to Declan McDonnell? At least with thirty urinals, I could have put a whole bunch of them between the two of us.
"Oh," he said, turning, surprised to see me. "Hello."
I started to say something, but then I remembered how they'd warned us not to talk to the stars. Could I talk to him now that he'd talked to me? The producer hadn't said anything about that.
"Uh," I said at last. "Hi."
"Something wrong?" Declan McDonnell said.
I grimaced. "It's just that they…"
"Ah, right. You're not supposed to talk to the stars. The first movie I did, I didn't know that they always tell the crew and the extras that. I just thought everyone was being stuck up." Declan McDonnell's voice rang in the soaring cathedral that was this particular men's room.
But right then, I noticed that Declan McDonnell had forgotten to zip his zipper. (It is not that I was
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