Greatest Zombie Movie Ever (5 page)

“Maybe I should call her,” he said.

“If I were you, I'd go over there this afternoon. She's always in a good mood right after Sunday brunch, and her mood gets worse the longer it is since she's eaten Sunday brunch.”

“We will.” Today was supposed to be an all-writing extravaganza, but he'd happily adjust the schedule to accommodate potential investors.

“Tell Grandma it's a feel-good musical,” said Mom.

Grandma lived a half an hour away by bicycle in a nice gated community. Justin, Gabe, and Bobby sat on her couch, eating Grandma's special chocolate-chip cookies, which tasted delicious but had the texture of saltwater taffy. Her lemonade was so sour that it made your mouth twist into a vortex. Almost everything in her house was light blue, and Justin had purposely changed into a light-blue shirt to go better with the décor and perhaps make her more inclined to part with her cash.

Grandma sat across from them on her piano bench. She was a plump, gray-haired woman who'd moved to Florida after Grandpa died last year. She took a bite of cookie and chewed it slowly, thoughtfully.

“How much do you need?” she asked.

“Pretty much whatever you're willing to give us.”

“That's kind of vague. Don't Hollywood movies cost two hundred million dollars these days?”

Justin nodded. “That's why we're going the independent route.”

“How much would it cost me to get Daniel Day-Lewis in your movie?”

“Um, I'm not sure. A lot, I think.”

Grandma took another bite of her cookie and then flicked the rest at Justin, hitting him in the forehead. “Daniel Day-Lewis isn't going to be in your zombie movie. Don't be ridiculous. If you think that an acclaimed actor like him is going to show up and star in a movie made by a fifteen-year-old, then you don't understand the film business.”

“I didn't actually think that he was going to be in my movie,” said Justin. “I was just sort of…you know—”

“Humoring me?”

“Yeah.”

“Humoring an old lady. Making her think that she can meet Daniel Day-Lewis. You've gone Hollywood already, kid. You'll say anything to anybody, even your own grandmother, to get what you want.”

Justin glanced nervously at Gabe, who avoided his glance.

Grandma laughed. “Relax! I'm just kidding. Jeez, you're uptight. What has your dad been feeding you? Poodle food?” She took a long swig of her lemonade and licked her lips. “Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm. Tangy. So you have a completed script, right?”

“We're working on it today,” said Justin.

“How many other investors have you lined up?”

“None. Just you.”

“So that means I get final script approval, right?”

Justin stiffened, then forced himself to shrug. “Sure, I guess.”

Grandma laughed. “Chillax, Justin. Chillax! I'm not really seeking final script approval. You don't give up script approval to anybody who waves a couple of bucks in your face. I don't even want to read it. That zombie stuff gives me nightmares. As far as I'm concerned, when you die, you should stay dead. All of that rising from the grave and walking around and biting nice people on the arm…it's rude is what it is. Flat-out inconsiderate.”

“We should call our movie
Night of the Impolite Dead
,” said Bobby.

“Here's what I'm going to do,” said Grandma. “I believe in you, so I'm going to take out a second mortgage on my home, sell my wedding ring, and empty my savings.”

Justin's eyes widened. “What? No. Don't do that.”

Grandma's whole body shook as she cackled with laughter. “I was just seeing if you were the kind of grandson who would let his Grandma risk losing her home.”

“Did you think I
might
be?”

“Nah. I just liked seeing your face. It's a good face. Okay, enough fun and games. You're here for a business transaction, and I won't torture you any longer. I'm not a rich woman, but I've socked away a little over the years. And I'm prepared to give you five thousand dollars.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Grandma, that's…that's fantastic! We can buy hundreds of gallons of fake blood with that!” Justin couldn't believe it. Five thousand dollars! It wasn't enough to pay for the hummus budget on a big summer blockbuster, but he, Gabe, and Bobby could get an incredible amount of production value for that much money.

“Now I'm looking at this as an investment. I'm going to see a return on my investment, right?”

“Oh yeah, sure, sure, absolutely.”

Grandma's eyes went cold, and she was no longer smiling. “I said…I'm going to see a return on my investment,
right
?”

Justin couldn't tell if she was kidding again.

“Well, yeah, I mean, these things are never guaranteed, but—”

“I've been joking around a lot during our meeting today,” said Grandma. “It's what I do. I like to be the jolly old grandmother. ‘Oh, she's a hoot!' people say. But I'm not being a hoot right now. Right now I am being deeply serious. If I give you this money, it is not a birthday gift. It is not money for you to go out for ice cream with your friends. When I write you this check for five thousand dollars, I expect you to write me a check for
more
than five thousand dollars after this movie is released. I expect at
least
a twelve percent return on my investment. Do you feel that you can deliver a twelve percent return on investment?”

She was kidding, right? She had to still be kidding. Any moment now she was going to laugh and throw another piece of cookie at his head.

“Yeah,” said Justin. “Twelve percent. I mean, that's a fair request, I think.”

There was no mirth in Grandma's eyes. “And you're willing to sign paperwork to that effect?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “I think we should discuss this first.”

Grandma nodded. “Very well. I'll go make more lemonade. You have five minutes.”

Grandma stood up and walked out of the room. Gabe checked to make sure she was truly gone and then lowered his voice. “I don't want to owe your grandmother anything if the project falls apart.”

“It's not going to fall apart.”

“Movies fall apart all the time! We had a movie fall apart two days ago! A third of five thousand dollars is one thousand, six hundred, sixty-six dollars, and sixty-seven cents. I can't pay that back.”

“Plus the twelve percent,” said Bobby.

“Right. Plus the twelve percent.”

“How much is that?”

“One thousand, eight hundred, sixty-six dollars, and sixty-seven cents.”

“How'd you do that in your head?”

Gabe ignored him. “Justin, I want to help you make the movie, and I'm willing to do what it takes to raise the money. But I don't want to be in debt to anybody. I don't think it's even legal for us to promise her a return on her investment, and I don't think it's legal of her to demand one, so it's not like it would hold up in a court of law, especially since we're minors and this is a grandson-grandmother agreement. But still, my parents will
shred
me if I do something like this.”

“I totally understand,” said Justin.

“We can still do a bake sale,” said Bobby.

“Oh, we will. But I'm going to accept the five thousand dollars, and I'll take the full responsibility for paying it back.”

“What if the movie doesn't get finished?” asked Gabe.

“It will.”

“Okay, but for the sake of argument, what if it doesn't?”

“That's not an option.”

“It's not an option after your grandmother hires goons to break your legs, but right now we
do
have options, so let's discuss them.”

“No safety net, remember? I'm making this movie. And it's going to be amazing. And if we can't earn back fifty-two hundred dollars, I deserve Grandma's wrath.”

“Fifty-six hundred dollars.”

“I thought you said your share would be one thousand, eight hundred, sixty-six dollars, and sixty-seven cents? That's two hundred dollars more than… Oh, right, it's times three. Fifty-six hundred dollars is right. I'm still taking the money.”

“Should I be knocking you unconscious and dragging you out of here for your own good?”

“Nah.”

Gabe turned to Bobby. “Any thoughts?”

“I wish my grandmother would give me five grand.”

“All right,” said Gabe. “I've expressed my objections. You've officially ignored them, and we can move forward.”

Grandma walked back into the living room with a fresh pitcher of lemonade. She refilled their glasses and then sat down on the piano bench. “So what did you boys decide?”

“We'd love to have you invest in our movie,” said Justin. “I really appreciate this. I can't tell you how much it means to us.”

“Oh, goody,” said Grandma. “This is going to be so much fun.” Again her eyes went ice-cold.

The eyes of a hardened killer.

The eyes of doom.

Suddenly Justin came up with the greatest movie idea ever. It would be a terrifying film about a grandmother who—

No, no. Focus. One project at a time.

Justin, Gabe, and Bobby sat in Justin's room, each typing away on their laptops.

Grandma's check was safely tucked away in Justin's wallet. For a split second, he'd thought that Grandma drew a skull underneath her signature, but it had just been his imagination.

Bobby snickered.

“Did you write a funny part?” asked Justin.

Bobby hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

“What was it?”

“It needs another draft or two before I'm ready to share it.”

Justin stood up and walked over so he could see Bobby's computer. Bobby switched screens, but he wasn't fast enough to stop Justin from seeing that he wasn't working on the script. And the screen he switched to wasn't the script either. Bobby realized this and flipped to a third screen that also wasn't the script before he flipped back to the script.

“We're supposed to be working.”

“I am working.”

“You were watching a giraffe video.”

“Research.”

“Research for what?”

“A giraffe scene.”

“C'mon, Bobby. We need to take this seriously.”

“I
am
taking it seriously. Look how much I've written already.”

“Two lines!” shouted Justin.

“Two
great
lines.”

“We can't afford a giraffe,” said Gabe.

“He wasn't writing a giraffe part. He was just watching a video.”

“Not everyone can just turn on their inspiration like a light switch,” said Bobby. “Some of us need to ease ourselves into creativity. Maybe you have your own little quirks. Do you hear me judging them? No. If I want to watch a giraffe steal a lady's jar of peanut butter to get in the mood to write, who are you to tell me it's wrong?”

“Does the giraffe really steal her peanut butter?” asked Gabe.

“Yeah. You want to watch?”

Three minutes and eighteen seconds later, Justin said, “Okay, yeah, that was a pretty funny video. But we're on a super-tight schedule, and we can't mess around.”

“I think that video was faked,” said Gabe. “Why would that lady be carrying around a whole jar of peanut butter at the zoo? Nobody does that.”

“No more videos,” said Justin. “No social media. Nothing but zombies, zombies, zombies until we're done.”

“Can we watch zombie videos for inspiration?” asked Bobby.

“No,” said Justin, but then he considered it. “Actually, maybe that's not a bad idea. We'll watch
part
of a movie just to get ourselves into the right mind-set.”

“I vote the original
Dawn of the Dead
,” said Gabe.

“I vote the remake,” said Bobby.

Four hours later their double feature was over. Justin had only planned to watch the first ten minutes of each, but you couldn't just pop in the original
Dawn of the Dead
and not watch the whole thing. It was a good idea in theory but didn't actually work in the real world. And once they'd finished the original, they had to respect Bobby's wishes and watch just the first ten minutes of the remake, which then became just the first twenty minutes, which then became just the first thirty minutes, which would have become just the first forty minutes except that they completely lost track of time until the movie was over.

“Are we all inspired now?” asked Justin.

“I'm kind of hungry,” said Bobby.

“Me too,” said Gabe.

“Do you think your mom would make spaghetti?”

“I'll ask,” said Justin.

They sat at the dinner table, eating spaghetti and meatballs. Justin noticed that one of his meatballs kind of looked like a brain, but he didn't share this observation with anybody because he didn't want to be asked to leave the table. Neither Mom nor Dad appreciated it when dinner was compared to internal organs.

“How's the script going?” Dad asked.

Bobby said, “Good.” Gabe said, “Fine.” And Justin said, “Eh.”

“Five thousand dollars. Wow. Your grandmother never gave
me
five thousand dollars. I thought that she was going to give you forty bucks. Maybe fifty. Five thousand dollars. That's crazy.”

Justin knew what was coming next. Three…two…one…

“What you should do is put that money toward your college education,” said Mom.

“She wants it back after the movie comes out,” Justin told her. “She's an investor, not a donor.”

Dad, who'd been about to shove a large bite of spaghetti into his mouth, set his fork back down on his plate. He'd suddenly gone pale. “It wasn't a gift?”

“No. I told you that.”

“Oh. I assumed it was a gift.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. He reopened his eyes and looked at Justin. “You
are
going to finish the movie, right?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Good.” Dad shoved his plate away as if he'd lost his appetite. “Good.”

After dinner they returned to Justin's room. They weren't anywhere close to finishing the script. Perhaps it had been too ambitious to think that they could write an entire feature film screenplay in one sleep-deprived day, especially a film that was supposed to redefine the genre for a whole new generation.

Still, he didn't have to wake up for school until 7:00 a.m. That left plenty of time if he didn't squander any of it by being unconscious. They could do this.

Clack clack clack clack
, went Justin's keyboard.

Clack clack clack clack
, went Gabe's keyboard.

Clack....................clack
, went Bobby's keyboard.

“I think I need to get going,” said Gabe, closing his laptop.

“All right,” said Justin. He sighed. “We're off to a good start anyway. I mean, there's cool stuff happening in literally every paragraph.”

“I kind of went with more character development.”

“That's fine,” said Justin. “Character development can be cool too. So we're still going to do this, right? All-nighters for everyone?”

“Yeah,” said Gabe and Bobby, and they almost sounded like they kind of meant it.

His friends left, and Justin sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen. He'd wanted to write thirty pages today. He'd written eight. Well, seven and three-quarters, rounded up. Not bad for a regular day's work. But this was no regular day, and eight was not thirty. Twenty-two pages left to go. That seemed like a lot of pages.

It was six o'clock. That left thirteen hours until the alarm went off. Thirteen whole hours! So he didn't even have to write at the rate of two measly pages an hour to finish on schedule. Anybody could write two pages an hour. That was a full half hour per page. No problem at all. And if he wrote three pages an hour…or even four, he could get some sleep.

By seven o'clock he'd written another page and a quarter.

Not a big deal. He didn't have to write two pages every single hour to finish on time. He just needed to
average
two pages an hour. He could make up for the previous hour's shortfall by accelerating his pace throughout the upcoming hour, which would be really easy once he built up some momentum.

Then Mom made him take out the garbage and recyclables, which messed up his momentum.

Mom and Dad were watching a television show that looked highly entertaining, but Justin resisted the temptation to join them and returned to his room.

By eight o'clock he hadn't written much more. He wouldn't count that against himself because of the distraction with the garbage, which wasn't his fault. He'd get it done. He'd been in this position many times. He worked best under pressure.

Did they really need to get the movie shot before Gabe left for the summer?

Justin was appalled at himself for allowing that traitorous thought to creep into his mind. Of course he did. They were a team. He didn't want to make the movie without him. They'd been best friends forever. And though Gabe's job was to be the voice of reason, Justin knew that he'd be genuinely heartbroken if they finished the movie while he was gone.

Making the movie without Gabe was not an option. The only options he needed to worry about right now were these: Coffee or Red Bull?

Maybe both.

The surgeon general would probably say, “Goodness, no, you shouldn't have coffee and Red Bull at the same time!” but the surgeon general didn't have a screenplay to write, so he could just keep his whiny opinions to himself.

He wrote for another two caffeine-free hours, racking up four unspeakably awesome new pages. After Mom and Dad went to bed, he went into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee with the Keurig. Then he grabbed a Red Bull out of the refrigerator and returned to his room.

He chugged the Red Bull in a few quick gulps, took a sip of coffee, and returned to work. He was sooooo tired, but artificial stimulants would take care of that problem. A couple of minutes later, he'd finished the cup of coffee too.

Veronica punches the zombie in the face, causing its eyeballs to pop out and dangle from their stalks. The eyeballs bounce against each other a couple of times before the zombie falls to the ground.

A noise behind her! Veronica spins around and gasps in horror as a zombie in a lion tamer's outfit reaches for her with both hands anddddddddddddddddddd

Justin snapped awake. He needed another Red Bull.

If Mom or Dad weren't asleep, one or both of them would probably try to dissuade him from the decision to consume another energy drink. So he was glad that they were asleep. He needed wings.

He went to the kitchen, got another Red Bull out of the refrigerator, and gulped it down. Oh yeah. He could feel the creativity flowing through his veins already. Every blood cell, both white and red, was electrified with pure energy. With this much power at his disposal, maybe he'd crank out
two
movie scripts tonight!

Ha-ha. He was just joking with himself. He'd stick with the one script as planned.

His right pinkie was twitching. Good. It could tap the keys faster.

Ah, so that's what a rapid heartbeat felt like! He'd always kind of wondered. This project was giving him the opportunity to enjoy all sorts of new experiences.

…reaches for her with both hands and misses. Veronica slams her forehead into the zombie's forehead. Her forehead is much more durable, and the zombie's head shatterslikeglass.

Space bar. He had to remember to use the space bar.

Despite all of this awesome energy, Justin still felt exhausted like he'd been running for several miles but couldn't stop because some guy with a machete was still chasing him. He couldn't figure out if his body was awake and his brain was tired or vice versa.

Now his left pinkie was twitching. That would help balance things out.

…shatters like glass. The zombie falls to the ground. Veronica steps on what's left of its head as she walks away.

VERONICA

I'm so very tired. Oh, to sleep!

How wonderful it would be to sleep!

Justin wondered how Gabe and Bobby were doing. Both of them should be awake, so texting them wouldn't disturb them. But they might be in the zone. It wasn't cool to interrupt somebody who was in the zone. When he got into the zone later tonight, he wouldn't want either of them breaking his concentration. The zone was crucial if they were going to finish this screenplay before school tomorrow.

Before school
today
, technically.

Those blankets on his bed sure looked enticing. They were the same blankets he'd had for the past three or four years, but they seemed different somehow. Warmer. Fluffier. Comfier.

Had his blanket just moved?

Justin swore the blanket had turned down a bit at the corner, inviting him underneath the covers.

No! He had to resist!

He'd been in this situation many times. “Oh, why didn't I start studying for that test a week ago?” he'd often wail. “I could've studied for a mere fifteen minutes a day and my life would be wonderful! But now…oh, the misery of my existence!” But he always got the studying done. And this was for something that he liked a lot more than math. He'd fight through this. He'd get his third of the script done, no matter what.

You don't need to write that script tonight
, his bed said in a low purr.
We haven't been spending enough time together. Don't you love me anymore? Just slip between the sheets and close your eyes, and the script will be magically finished when you wake up.

His bed was lying to him. Justin would not be fooled.

I would never lie to you,
his bed assured him.
We're the best of friends forever. You know you're sleepy, and I'm as cozy as snuggling with a hundred kittens. Come on, Justin. I have your best interests at heart. Trust me.

You can totally trust him,
said the pillow.
Just one hour of sleep. That's all you need. Think how much more productive you'll be if you get in that one short hour. I'm the softest, most wonderful pillow in the world. Why would you want to break my fluffy little heart?

Justin was not going to let them win this battle of wills. He was going to write all night, and no inanimate object—a bed for example—was going to break him.

“That's enough out of you,” Justin said, but not out loud because otherwise he'd be speaking to a bed.

You've just made a powerful enemy,
his bed said with a snarl.
You'll regret your disloyalty! The next time you get in me, I'm going to bite you in half! Right in half with my sharp, glistening fangs! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! By the way, there's a scary clown in your closet.

At least his pinkies weren't twitching anymore.

No, wait. Maybe his eyeballs were twitching, and that just made his pinkies look normal.

Veronica sees another horde of zombies coming toward her. But unlike the other zombies she's killed today, these are running! Jeez, am I tired. How can I be so alert and yet so tired at the same time? I think I can actually feel my pancreas working. Does this stuff I'm typing right now count as official productivity? Probably not.