Movieland

Chapter 32

We were back in the church. The women urgently carried wooden planks to the windows and door, securing them with one hammer blow per nail. They moved silent babies into a bunker under the crucifix. Rita poured us cups of hot tea in chipped ceramic mugs.

Standard winced at his bandaged hand. "I much prefer the smell of babies to blood."

Rita said, "I prefer to keep the two separated. Word out is they've created an army. The leaders don't want to leave. I'm afraid if we stay that no amount of holy water will work."

The movie continued to follow the plot despite our presence in the delimbing scene. Leadership wouldn't let the church evacuate. It was barricade or be eaten. All other options were forbidden. Unless you were Rita.

"Max, what's up? You haven't said a word." Applewhite took a refill of the tea.

I had words and thoughts. Too many, and most nonsensical. I felt like I had the right pieces to the wrong puzzle. And Mrs. X was watching me as I boggled over it.

"That trip was different," I said. "I had choices, like scrolling through a menu. I could take us anywhere in the movie. Frankie was specific: copy the montage exactly. I can take us right to that scene but I don't understand. Or I can try. I'm wired. I can't understand why. And if it matters. The dead are coming. We could skip around all day and never stop them. Might as well get to the good stuff."

"Sometimes we don't know why we do something until after it's done," Rita said.

"Spoken like a true sage," Standard said, toasting her.

"Qwin, you still haven't told me why you look so damn old."

I motioned for Applewhite and Mr. Stowe. We left Standard to sort out an excuse or the truth with Rita and sat on a cot across from one of the sleeping babies. Standard deserved more time with her, even if she wasn't the real Karen Allen.

I ran through the montage scene by scene.

"It's going to happen fast. We have Qwin and Standard together. The way I figure it, Standard has to reenact it all. It's not enough for us just to be there watching it. He has to sync up with the movie exactly. One being can't occupy the same space. Short circuit the whole shebang. Right?"

"And then what?" Applewhite said.

"I don't know."

"That man hasn't acted in over a decade," Mr. Stowe said. "Not to mention he wouldn't know a push up if it punched him in the face."

"He knows this role," Applewhite said. "Or he used to."

"It's coming back to him," I said. "We just need to give him a nudge."

"A montage before the montage?" Applewhite said.

"Something like that," I said.

An older woman with an emerald sash signaled for Rita. She touched Standard's shoulder. He sipped his tea and stared off. He didn't look confused anymore. Just unsure of his current surroundings. What a state of affairs when the familiar gets lost and then found.

"How long is this scene we're in now?" Mr. Stowe asked.

"They're deliberating," I said. "There seems to be a natural occurrence of time built into each scene. Maybe ten minutes. And then Quaid organizes his troops."

"We'll make it work," Applewhite said.

We stood in an offset line like a movie poster in front of Standard. A rapid synthesized bass played underscoring Mr. Stowe as he said, "Standard, it's time."

In my head our instructions were drowned out by a power ballad, something with heavy guitar riffs and raspy lyrics belted at high volume. I drew the scene-by-scene breakdown on a piece of paper, including boxes with stick figures and action lines. There was no dialogue, only action. Applewhite walked him through the push up and jump rope routine. There were several sets of exercises, including a high five and celebratory backflip. He practiced the high five and laughed at the backflip. Mr. Stowe made a show of training the dock workers to kill a corpse. The specific maneuvers were not complicated— stick to the head, kick to the legs, stick through the head. Standard struggled with the order at first. We didn't bother with the intercut scenes of the corpse army training. Quaid's army would execute at the highest efficiency. I reiterated the order of the scenes, punctuating and circling the final one. Standard poured sweat after five minutes of work.

I said a few words to Rita.

The music quieted.

"Are we ready?" I asked.

"I was born for this, right?" Standard said.

"Just like riding a bike," Applewhite said.

"Except don't crash," Mr. Stowe said.

"I'm not taking questions at this time," Standard said.

I concentrated on E.T. and the young Hank Smith, and the young Chloe Hunneman, and the magic portal. A guitar riff kicked in. Qwin powerlifted a steel drum. The vibration kicked in at my elbow and I nudged it through the rest of my body.

"Remember, you're not taking his place. You're mimicking him. Frame by frame. Copy him. Do exactly what he does. He is you and you are him."

I reached my hand out and Standard took it.

"We get out of this alive, I'll let you walk Foley," he said.

Standard grabbed Mr. Stowe's hand. He took Applewhite's. "Stay to the side," he said.

"Behind the scenes," she responded.

I welcomed the power as the pixilation took my hand. Rita watched us vanish. The rest of the women prepared for war.