World War Zed

19. Confessions of a Hollywood Star

Confessions of a Hollywood Star

My dear friend Andrew Campbell suggested I do this, although I still have my doubts. He is a noble man and plays down his part not only in the defence of our country but also his part in what can only be described as the saving of my soul. He is a true British soldier and a true friend. He is also usually right.

This is not an interview, merely a collection of words that I hope may finish off a journey I started at the commencement of the Outbreak, a journey that lead me to the darkest place I have ever been. 

Before Zombies, I had made it. I was a Hollywood star, local lad made good, hard man of many an action movie, able to handle myself in any situation on the silver screen.

If only that had been true at the start of the outbreak.

Andrew and I had been friends for many years before the war, I married his cousin, and we hit it off at the various family events we went to, often going fishing together or seeing what odd ales we could find in some of the better London Inns. He, along with my wife and family, provided me with a modicum of sanity in an otherwise mental Hollywood life.

On the day everything kicked off, I'd just finished my latest film and had flown back to see my wife. I often used to hang around after a film and do a bit of networking, see what the wind brought me, or just hobnob with my fellow actors: the after-film parties were always a bit of fun. But I'd felt terribly homesick after the most recent one, and had wanted to get home as soon as I could. Vague rumours of a new virus had started circulating during the last few days of filming which had gotten me worried, and I wanted to get home and make sure everyone was okay, and then maybe sink a couple of decent beers in a quiet pub somewhere.

My mother had called as I landed and said she was at our house, so I'd had the vague inkling that perhaps I should be expecting a surprise party. They quite often did that when I finished a film and it was becoming less of a surprise and more of a tradition as time went on. I took a taxi, got him to drop me off at the nearby shops so I could grab a bunch of flowers - roses were her favourite - and walked the last few streets home, happy to be back.

As I turned into the street, my world descended into chaos and I got the most unwelcome surprise party in history. A small group of Zombies was ripping their way into various houses at the far end of the street. In hindsight, we suspect they may have all been members of a local drug gang who had had a recent drug carrier come back carrying something else entirely. The whole gang had gone Zed, together. As I stood frozen in horror, the door to my house opened and she stepped out into the street. She took one look at the blood-soaked and moaning horror that approached and turned quickly to go back inside. As she did she caught a glimpse of me standing there, my mouth open in shock, my little bunch of flowers in hand, and screamed at me to run. My mother joined her and screamed something at me too, desperately trying to drag my wife back inside. They were too late. The screaming attracted the Infected, and two Zeds were on them before I could move. It was only then as the two people most dear to me screamed again, this time in agony and shock that I started to run towards them. The moaning increased, more and more people being Infected, killed, and re-animated, as I desperately tried to cover the few hundred yards that separated us.

I never made it. I felt a hammer blow to my leg as a bullet ripped through my thigh and smashed me to the floor in debilitating agony, and then the whole street erupted in machine gun fire as the army arrived. Andrew had shot me to prevent me from getting closer. He then shot the two Zeds who had attacked my wife and my mother, then shot them too as they reanimated in front of him, their throats gaping in a bloodied death smile.

This is why we need people like Andrew, people who can make the right choice in the darkest of situations, even if it means making a choice like that.

After howling with rage and agony, and trying desperately to catch up with the man I perceived as my betrayer, I went catatonic with shock. He found me there a few minutes later, staring blankly at the roses as they lay untidily on the ground, their blooms crushed and the blood-red petals mingling with the gore that surrounded us. Once the area had been cleared, my dear friend came back and held me in his arms, trying to comfort me as I sat there, unmoving and unresponsive, while he mourned the loss of his cousin, my wife.