“Cut!” I stopped moaning and pulled the arrow from my head. This was the sixth time I had been shot today and even with the mud and sweltering heat I loved it.
Perhaps I should explain. In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m a recurring zombie for The Walking Dead. Greatest job in the world. Don’t get me wrong, there are hours upon hours in the make-up chair involved and I’m constantly being battered around, but I wouldn’t trade my job for anything.
As I swatted away flies and wiped the mud from my eyes and mouth I gazed up at where the sun had just been blocked out above me. “Hey”, said Norman, as he extended his hand to help me up. We had been working together all day now and this was the first time he had spoken to me. I grabbed his hand and he pulled me up. A little too quick. I fell into his chest head first. Idiot. My cheeks flushed and I stepped back and let go of his hand. “Sorry ... thanks”, I managed to mumble in my embarrassment. “No worries, it’s the least I could do after killing you…again”, he laughed. I giggled at this. Too loudly. Too hard. I managed to stop but not before I squeaked. IDIOT. Norman looked a mixture of confused but amused and laughed again before a introducing himself, (although definitely not needed). “I’m Norman” he said, still not realising the effect he’d had on me. “I’m . . .” I started before he was pulled away by crew members saying our director wanted him.
* * *
I had been working on the set of The Walking Dead for a few weeks now and (as a zombie) I had died every way you could imagine. Beheaded, burnt, shot, de-limbed, strangled, head crushed in, shanked, you name it. However, today was the first time I had worked with Norman and had been shot with an arrow. Although fake the impact was still pretty intense and I was fairly sure I was going to end up with a bruise right in the centre of my head. Sexy right? And like nearly other girl on the planet, before getting the opportunity to work on TWD I was a huge fan of the show and an even bigger fan of Norman Reedus. Ok, so I was a fan girl. A BIG one. But can you really blame me? So meeting him for the first time as a rotting corpse (and probably smelling the part too) was really not all that flattering and I had been a loss for words.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t gawk and act like an idiot when meeting him and working with him, but so far I’d just head-butted him in the chest and giggled insanely. So … so far it’s worked out well, after all who could resist that kind of charm? He didn’t exactly make it easy for a girl to keep her cool however, he was very sweet and funny to everyone on set, even us zombies and so far had helped me out of the mud EVERY time after shooting me down which couldn’t help but make me blush every time and go all gooey over his chivalry. But in the end, even if I did get to work with him, I was a nobody and he was THE Norman Reedus, so I didn’t get my hopes up.
As that was my last take for the day, I decided to wander around the little camp we had set up on location and maybe scare some random visitors, you know give them their money’s worth for those VIP passes. That’s actually how I ended up here. I had moved to the US from Australia not quite a year ago and had drifted from job to job. About a month ago, I had bought a pass because I was dying to get in and see everything and refused to put it off any longer. Then I’d thought to myself, ‘well, if I’m going to do this, better go all out’, so dressed up as a zombie. I mean REALLY dressed up. I’d been an aspiring make-up artist for gore and horror in my school days and had learnt a few tricks and thought ‘hell, no better time like the present’ to apply them, so I did.
The cast loved it, thought it made a great photo-op that a fan had gone to so much trouble. The only person I didn’t get to meet was Norman as he wasn’t on set that day. Crushed. That aside, everything had gone great . . . until I lost the group I came in with. The cast had all disappeared and I didn’t know how to get out. I’d wandered around, kind of skulking, as I’d thought I might get in trouble, being somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be.
