The next day, both the media and the general uproar in the city confirmed the fact that, like practically everyone else in the country, the dead had indeed migrated to the west coast. Traffic was abysmal; it took Darren two hours to drive from Culver City to the studio in Burbank. He wasn't sure, but he thought several of the scruffy street people he passed on the way looked...well...dead.

At the studio, for the first time Darren could remember, the large electronic iron gates were shut, a heavily armed security guard screening each new arrival very carefully before letting them in. Another guard, also packing what looked to be a heavy-caliber weapon, kept vigilant watch each time the gates opened and closed.

Melissa greeted Darren with the news that several crewmembers (two production assistants and a grip) were missing. They hadn't called in; they were just ... missing. "And we're short extras too," Melissa added. "Central Casting called and said a bunch of their people are afraid to drive anywhere."

John walked up, radio in hand. "I figure we'll have to do tighter shots to get the kind of crowd effect you want with the plague victims."

Darren set his mouth in a determined line. "Let's just do it."

He stalked towards the day's first set; the interior of a church where several hundred plague victims, both dead and dying, were gathered to seek salvation. About seventy-five extras, gruesomely made up to look like they were in the final throes of the Black Death, were sitting in the aisles and rough-hewn wooden pews, nervously discussing the more current plague of ravenous corpses. Crewmembers looked equally distracted. Very few were actually doing their jobs.

Darren thought they'd have to do some fast-talking to keep people on the film so he called a meeting with John and Phil.

"So what do you think?" he said after outlining his concerns.

"I just don't know, Darren," Phil replied. "I mean, you've got people scared to leave their homes. Businesses are shutting down. I mean, Starbucks was closed this morning." He stared at both Darren and John in turn. "Starbucks."

"Do what you can," Darren said, trying not to imagine a world without readily available coffee. "Offer bonus pay, whatever it takes."

"Bonus pay?" Phil sounded outraged. "Are you nuts? Do you know what Fife will say if I do that?"

"Don't tell him!" Darren slammed his hand against a chair in frustration. "Jesus, Phil, there's got to be something we can do!"

Phil was quiet; a sign that his mind was working furiously. After a moment of reflection he smiled broadly. "I've got it!" He lowered his voice. "We'll offer the bonus pay. But we don't have to actually pay them the extra money."

John nodded thoughtfully.

Darren, on the other hand, was horrified, both at the idea and John's calm reaction to it. "Jesus, Phil, that's totally unethical! These people are working their asses off!"

"Yeah, and we're paying them. There aren't any clauses in their contracts for a zombie plague."

"Look, Phil, they have every reason to demand more money if they're risking their lives to be here."

John nodded. "He's got a point, Phil. You know how much stuntmen get paid."

Phil brought his face close to Darren's. "Do you want to finish this film or not?"

John nodded again. "He's got a point, Darren."

Thousands of objections whirled around in Darren's mind, but all he could come up with was a feeble, "But we could get sued!"

Phil shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. But with all this other shit going down, who's gonna have time to deal with it?"

John shook his head doubtfully. "SAG isn't going to let a little thing like zombies stop them from fucking with the production if we screw their actors over, you know that. And the Teamsters..."

The three men shook their heads, differences momentarily forgotten as they contemplated the eternal enemy of the low-budget filmmaker: the Unions.

Taking advantage of the moment of camaraderie, Phil rested his hand on Darren's shoulder. "Let's get this film finished, buddy. This is what we worked for in film school, right? So we'll do whatever we have to do."

Darren felt a tiny piece of his soul die as he heard himself reply, "You got it."

The offer of hazard pay got about two-thirds of the cast and crew on set the next day. Darren had sympathetic for the absentees. The commute to the studio had been even worse than the previous day. He'd definitely seen people-both living and dead-with large chunks missing from various limbs, all staggering around the streets. The kind of stuff nightmares were made of.

On the other hand, it was a definite solution to the homeless problem.

Darren's main concern was the number of armed soldiers and national guardsmen now patrolling the city. Certain broadcasts on radio and TV said the government was planning to impose a twenty-four hour curfew on the streets. That would make it impossible to get to and from the studio. Darren had brought an overnight bag just in case and had called to tell Phil and Melissa to do the same.

Melissa had been charged with the duty of calling as many other crew and cast members as she could reach and suggest they plan on staying over too. "People aren't going to want to leave their families," Melissa had pointed out when asked to make the call.

"They can bring their families with them," Darren had immediately replied.

Darren was gratified to see some people actually did bring their families (and pets) with them to the studio. When Phil pointed out this would compensate for the shortage of extras, Darren agreed, thinking it would keep their minds off the horrors outside of the studio walls.

Today was a key scene. Lady Genevieve accidentally reveals her love for the handsome priest in front of the townspeople when she seeks him out in the church so he can read the Last Rites over her dying father.

The scene was shot several times before lunch, Mara doing an abysmal job of conveying any real emotion. Whether she was trying to show fear, love, hate or indifference, Mara just looked as though she had a bad case of gas.

"I can't concentrate!" she wailed when Darren didn't bother to hide his impatience wither lack of talent. "There are dead people outside!"

"Well, they're not inside," Darren shot back coldly. "And they aren't paying your salary." He turned away, dismissing her before he said something he really regretted. "Now people, we're going to break for lunch and then try this again. The caterer did show up, didn't he?"

When Mara didn't return to set after lunch, Darren assumed she was throwing a tantrum because he hadn't treated her with the respect she didn't deserve. Everyone else was in place, waiting for the camera to roll. Derrick, playing the handsome young priest stood patiently at the pulpit, muttering lines that would all come out sounding heroically wooden.

Patience worn paper-thin, Darren stalked towards Mara's trailer, determined to drag her out by her hair if need be.

"Damn it, I hate actors," he muttered, rapping sharply on the trailer door with a closed fist. When no response was forthcoming Darren threw manners to the wind and flung the door open hard enough to send it smacking into the inside wall.

"Mara, get your ass out here! I swear, I'm going to make sure you never work in this town again if you don't stop this shit!" Aware that he'd just made an empty threat, Darren took the stairs in one long stride and stuck his head around the corner. "Mara, I mean it. I-"

Darren stopped short, confronted by the sight of Mara's prone body, still in 14th century garb, lying on the trailer floor, one hand clutching a hypodermic, the other splayed lifelessly to one side.

"Oh, shit." Darren knelt by his erstwhile leading lady's corpse, taking a quick check on her pulse to see if he might just be wrong. Nope, absolutely nothing. Mara was dead.

Darren waited for the rush of grief one was supposed feel at the death of someone...well, not close, but certainly someone he'd worked closely with for several weeks. He was dismayed to discover that amongst his mixed emotions, the strongest was overwhelming annoyance. A new, darker side of Darren reflected that on any other occasion Mara's death might even be a cause for celebration. But now Mara was once again holding up his film.

Darren sat back on his heels.

"Oh, you dumb bitch. How the hell am I going to shoot around you?"

Darren walked slowly back to set, leaving Mara's corpse to be disposed of after he'd figured out how to salvage the film. Body double, using close-ups from previously shot footage? Might just work, although it would be tricky.

Darren joined John, Phil and Melissa by the camera. Correctly reading his expression, Melissa asked, "Trouble?"

"What?" Phil frowned. "She won't come back to set? I'll handle it." Phil strode towards Mara's trailer, obviously confident his powers of persuasion were more than ample for the job at hand.

Darren stopped him with a hand on one shoulder. "She can't come back on set, Phil. She's dead. Mara OD'd."

All three stared at him blankly. Finally Phil shook his head. "Jesus. Fife just isn't going to be happy about this." His voice took on an accusatory tone as he continued, "She was a bit part of the deal! You know that, Darren!"

Darren's response was forestalled by the appearance of Derrick, their male lead. "Are we going to get going soon, Darren?" The actor wiped sweat from his stoically handsome forehead. "Goddamn lights are melting the makeup off my face and that always makes my skin break out."

Darren considered several replies, discarding each one before it made its way from his brain to his mouth. He supposed he'd have to tell people that Mara Dubray was no longer among the living, but- "Oh, shit."

The actor stared at him. "It's okay, Darren. I'll just see my dermatologist. It shouldn't affect filming or anything."

But Darren wasn't paying attention to Derrick. He was too busy staring over his shoulder as Mara Dubray staggered and swayed her way towards them, an expression of intense longing stamped on her face. Her mouth was open slightly, an ululating moan of desire emerging from it, along with a copious stream of drool running down one side of her chin.

"I thought you said she was dead," Phil hissed in a stage whisper.

Darren noted the slightly bluish tint to Mara's skin. "She is dead." He didn't bother to lower his voice.

Everyone on set had stopped what he or she were doing and were now staring at Mara's awkward yet determined progress towards the small group of people by the camera.

As the implications of Darren's comment hit home, Melissa, Phil and John scattered. The clueless Derrick stayed where he was. Darren was too busy watching Mara in fascination to do more than step to one side, leaving the path wide open towards the actor. Mara's attention focused specifically on her screen lover and she lurched towards him with outstretched arms, fingers opening and closing spasmodically. Before anyone could react, she threw her arms around Derrick with passionate intensity and took a distinctly unlover-like bite out of his well-muscled shoulder.

Chaos ensued as several hefty grips pried a snarling Mara off the screaming actor. Darren turned to Phil, his face alight with enthusiasm.

"Shit! Did you see that?" he exclaimed. "That's the best acting she's done since we've started. Let's get that on film!"

Darren sat in the screening room watching dailies with Phil, a contented smile on his face. For the first time since filming began he was actually happy with the way Mara played a scene. Granted, some fancy editing would have to be done to replace the look of abject terror on Derrick's face with a look of tormented longing, but that could be done. Come to think of it, it was the expressive Derrick had ever been as well.

It had taken some doing to restore enough order on set to continue filming. Convincing Derrick to play the scenes had been the hardest part, but an appeal to the actor's vanity, the promise of more money, and the two big grips standing by to prevent a repeat of Mara's first attack had worked wonders. "Besides," Phil had pointed out, "It's not that big of a bite." And luckily one of the people who'd made it to the studio that day was the on-set medic.

Darren managed to console his own outraged conscience with this last fact.

The rest of the cast and crew had responded with amazing equanimity, and Darren suspected part of that had to do with needing the work to keep their minds off of what might be happening outside the studio. This thought also made Darren feel better as he watched the dailies.

He made the mistake of mentioning it to Phil, who replied, "Whatever. Just so long as they keep working."

Darren stared at his erstwhile friend in disbelief. "How the hell can you be so callous?" He preferred to forget his own reaction to Mara's death and the subsequent improvement of her acting ability.

"Oh, get off your high horse," Phil retorted. "You've got the best fucking acting you've had since we started so don't get all moralistic on me. A filmmaker's gotta do what a filmmaker's gotta do. It's the art that matters." Phil gestured towards the screen. "I mean, just look at that. It's beautiful!"

Darren looked. It was beautiful, damn it. Except for that one moment when Mara's attention turned from Derrick to one of the extras who'd gotten a little too close... Darren winced at the memory.

He turned to Phil. "We'll have to remember to keep the other actors far enough away to keep Mara's focus on Derrick. It distracts from the intensity of her emotions. And we had a few close calls today that I don't want to repeat."

"Yeah," Phil agreed. "We can't afford to lose any more of our extras. Those crowd scenes look pretty sparse as it is."

"I know," Darren sighed. "But we're not likely to get anyone else from outside so we'll just have to make due with what we've got, add in CGI later."

Phil shook his head. "The only CGI we can afford on our budget will look like crap. Maybe..." He paused and suddenly his eyes brightened. "Oh, man," he said slowly. "Have I got an idea!"

At first Darren had been totally appalled by Phil's brainstorm, delivering an unequivocal "No!" in response. How could Phil even think of it? Didn't he understand the moral implications?

"What moral implications?" Phil was genuinely confused by the question. "These people are dead, Darren. They're not going to care. Most of them probably wanted to be actors anyway so you'd be doing them a favor. "

Darren's moral outrage sputtered a bit, then flared up again when he thought of new objections. "What about the danger? I mean, catching them in the first place. Who the hell is going to agree to do that?"

"Production assistants," Phil replied calmly. Tony'd do anything for this film. He'll probably think it's fun. Besides, with the equipment I've got in mind it shouldn't be a problem."

"But what about the danger to the cast and crew?" Darren demanded. "How the hell are we going to handle that?"

"Have the set design folks come up with something to keep 'em separate from the others during the scenes. We can use handcuffs, hide 'em under the costumes, and..."

As Phil proceeded to counter all of Darren's objections with arguments that at least sounded reasonable, Darren allowed himself to be persuaded it really would be a good idea to use some of the newly ambulatory dead to supplement the crowd scenes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice told him he was making a compromise even more Faustian than his deal with Gerald Fife. But the dailies in front of him and Phil's persuasiveness were better than a pair of earplugs. And once committed to the idea, Darren put his considerable energy into implementing it.

Even without the steady stream of media reports (and CNN was over the moon to have something this big to report on without the need to supplement it with brain candy filler), Darren had only to look outside the studio gates to see the situation was definitely worsening. There were more walking dead roaming around the area, lots of cars driving frantically up and down the surface streets, general chaos. Only one of the security guards remained at his post, steadfastly ignoring his erstwhile partner who was now banging on the gates from the outside, a large chunk of flesh missing from the side of his neck.

Darren approached the remaining guard. "You still letting people in and out of here?"

The guard nodded. "As long as they show their badges."

"Great." Something else occurred to Darren. "Any more guns here?"

"We have a few in the Security office."

"Do you think-"

The guard shook his head. "No way. That's against the law."

Using his most persuasive tone, Darren said, "C'mon-" He looked at the guard's nametag. "C'mon, Arthur. I've got to send some people out on a run and they need protection."

"I don't know..."

Darren played his trump card. "Y'know, I could use you in this film, Arthur. I've lost a couple of my co-stars because of these damn zombies."

The guard tossed Darren a key. "Just don't tell anyone where you got it. It'd be my ass."

Darren walked off to find the security office, thankful that everyone in this town really did want to be an actor."

Melissa listened carefully and jotted down notes as Darren gave her the list of items he wanted one of the production assistants to pick up on what might be their only run outside the studio. When he was finished, he had her read the list back to him. Phil stood to one side, nodding his head.

"Okay. Dry ice, lots of it. Any food he can find. The thickest sports padding available. Heavy-duty steel collars. Leather will do, but steel preferable. Chain leashes-" Melissa stopped and looked at both Darren and Phil. "Are you sure about this?"

Phil nodded. "Ought to be a piece of cake."

"Hmm," Melissa said doubtfully. "Okay. John's rifles plus ammo ... we're gonna need his house key and directions." She jotted down another notation. "Okay, I think that's just about it."

The on-set medic strode up, her forehead creased with lines of worry. "Are you sending someone outside?"

Darren nodded.

"Good. I need some antibiotics as soon as possible. Derrick isn't looking too good. That bite is festering and it looks like the infection is spreading rapidly beyond the wound."

Melissa made another notation on her list.

A shriek from Mara's trailer drew their attention. Linda, the rather temperamental makeup girl, came running out of it clutching her hand. Her assistant, a mousy little thing whose name no one could ever remember, followed her closely.