Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(19)

“Are you kidding?” I say. “That’s like the least genius thing I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard you say some really ungenius things before.”

“Actually.” Matt taps his lip. “It’s not so bad. I mean . . . at least it’s kind of fun.”

“Seriously?” I grimace. “I don’t know. Half-man, half-monkey vampire-zombies?”

“Zombie-vampires,” Coop corrects me.

“I think we can make it work,” Matt says. “With a little tweaking.”

“Really?” I sit up in the beanbag chair, feeling the fog of anger and frustration starting to lift a little. “All right. Maybe it could be okay. If we do it right. But shouldn’t we call it Chuman? I mean, the guy’s not making zonkeys. He’s making chimpanzee humans.”

“Or what about Humanzee?” Matt pipes in. “That sounds even better.”

“No.” Coop shakes his head. “Those sound made-up. Besides, the dude gets the idea because he’s making zonkeys. And a zonkey is a real thing. What’s so scary about this idea is that it’s something that could actually happen.”

“No, it isn’t,” Matt says.

Coop shrugs. “Let’s Wiki it.” He spins around and types something into the computer. “Aha. Right there in black and white on the most trusted source on the Internet.” He reads, “‘It’s hypothetically possible that chimps and humans could produce a living offspring.’”

“That’s good, that’s good,” I say, getting to my feet. “That just adds to the credibility.” All of a sudden, I’ve got an excited thrumming in my chest.

“Ha!” Matt bellows, pointing at the screen. “And what’s the title of the article? ‘Humanzee.’ So, see? I didn’t make it up.”

“Which just proves you’re not an original thinker,” Coop says. “Anyway, Zonkey! is a way better title. It’s more mysterious.”

“Okay, okay.” I start to pace. “But I’m starting to worry that this might get really complicated with special effects. Maybe instead of turning them into zombie-vampires, the virus kills the people but also makes them ghosts. You don’t ever have to show a ghost. They just moves things around the room. We could do that by attaching invisible thread to stuff.”

“Booooring!” Coop says. “Ghosts are so three years ago.”

“Oh, really?” Matt smirks. “And vampires are cutting-edge?”

“These aren’t vampires, dude.” Coop reaches under my desk and grabs a can of Mountain Dew from my minifridge. “These are zombie-vampire hybrids that also happen to be human chimpanzee half-breeds. That’s what makes them so cool and different. It’s the whole package. Zonkeys are interesting. Humanzees are freaky. And zombie-vampire humanzees are the freakiest of all. Besides, we won’t have to show that much of them. A hairy hand here. A close-up of a monkey mouth biting a neck. It’s totally doable, dawg. The less you show, the scarier it is.”

“All right.” I nod. “I’m down with it. I vote for Zonkey! What do we do next?”

“We put the plan into action. And as the producer and director of Zonkey!, it’s up to me to start delegating.” Coop wheels the desk chair over to my bookcase. He snaps up my copy of Leonard Maltin’s Movie Guide and tosses it to me. “Sean, you’re our screenwriter.”

“Wait a second.” I stare down at the book. “It’s my butt on the line here. I think maybe I should be the one to direct.”

“‘I think maybe’ ain’t gonna cut it when we’re out in the field trying to shoot this thing,” Coop says. “A director needs to be fast and decisive. Boom, boom, boom.” He slaps the back of his left hand repetitively into the palm of his right. “That’s me. Not you. No offense, but your talents lie elsewhere. You’re more . . . contemplative. Which is why you’ll be good at writing this thing.”

“I don’t know.” I blink hard. “I’ve never written anything longer than a three-page English essay.”

“You’re gonna be brill, trust me,” Coop assures. “Just find your favorite horror films and mark the pages. You’ll watch a whole whack of flicks and then you can jack the scariest scenes to use in your screenplay.” He rolls back to the desk and opens the laptop. “Matt, since you’re the most organized of the three of us, you get to be in charge of all the organizational shit.”

“Oh, lucky me.” Matt laughs.

“It’s vital, dawg. We don’t have someone who can coordinate things, we don’t have a movie. You’re going to have to figure out where we can get the equipment, special effects, and music and everything. Grab some paper and make a list of all the things we’re going to need. Video camera, makeup, lights —”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on.” Matt scrambles around, looking for a pad and pen.

“Here,” I say, leaning over and snagging my backpack. I unzip the bag, reach inside, and blindly grab a still-moist hairball. “Goddamn it. Not again.” I fling the soggy globule of cat hair into my trash can and wipe my palm on the rug.

“Dude, little advice,” Coop says. “If you want to land the luscious ladies, keep the kittens from yurking in your backpack.”