Read Online Please by Peter Darbyshire - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Peter Darbyshire
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on a Sunday morning. There were twenty of us, all made up with different injuries by professional makeup crews. We sat on the asphalt while they painted wounds on us. I asked for a bullet in the chest, but the woman who worked on me said it wasn't that kind of disaster. "It's an explosion of some sort," she said. "With toxic gas and all that." She did something to my head that made it look all burned and black, then ripped the top of my shirt open.
"Am I getting reimbursed for that?" I asked.
"Do you think you can vomit?" she asked, rubbing fake blood into my chest. Her hands were warm and strong, like a masseuse's. "We don't have any of the simulated vomit left, and they wanted everyone throwing up from the gas."
"What kind of gas is this anyway?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said. "All they said was gas."
"I don't think I can vomit," I said. "Maybe I should just take off my shirt and you can put blood all over me instead."
"I think we're about done here," she said. She turned to Rachel and worked on her for a while, giving her a slashed throat and covering one of her eyes with melted skin.
"How do I look?" Rachel asked me when the makeup woman was done.
"Perfect," I told her.
The hospital had hired a professional film director, a man by the name of Eden, to stage the event. He listed off all the films he'd worked on, but I'd never heard of any of them. He arranged us around a burned-out tanker truck they'd parked in one corner of the lot.
"This was in a real accident," he told us. "Two or three people got killed. So try to play off that, uh, realistic feeling."
Rachel put up her hand. "What do you mean, 'two or three'?" she asked.
"The fire department guys told me two bystanders died when it blew," Eden said, "but they never found the driver, so they're not sure what happened to him."
I looked at the cab of the truck. It was all melted, the metal fused together so tightly you couldn't see inside it. I wondered if the driver was still in there.
Eden spread us out around the truck and told us to lie down until the ambulances arrived. He walked among us, adjusting people's limbs and telling us to show more pain, that sort of thing. A couple of times he stopped and looked at the scene through a little lens hanging from his neck.
"All right," he said, when he was done, "I'm going to call the ambulances now. Try to stay in character when they get here."
Beside me, Rachel lay back and looked up at the sky, practised her moaning.
Eden walked over to the snacks table and grabbed a gasoline container from underneath it. He took it over to the burned-out truck and poured gas all over the hood and the cab. Then he tossed the can aside and took a lighter from his pocket, lit the truck on fire.
Rachel stopped her moaning and looked up. "There's no gas left in the truck, is there?" she asked.
"Are there going to be fire trucks too?" I called out, but Eden shook his head.
"No, this is just for, uh, effect," he said. "I thought it would make things look more real."
"He thought?" Rachel said, watching the smoke from the fire rise up into the sky. "Does the hospital know about this?"
"So no one's going to put out the fire?" I asked.
Eden didn't answer, though, because he was talking into his cell phone now. "Everybody's in places here," he said. "We're ready for the take."
I looked around the parking lot. People were pulling into parking spots around our taped-in area and getting out of their cars, wandering into the mall. Some of them looked our way, but no one actually stopped.
Eden frowned as he put away his phone. "Attention, people," he shouted. "There's been a delay. It seems there's been a real disaster in a chemical plant on the other side of the city, and our ambulances got sent there by mistake. They thought it was the exercise." People around Rachel and me groaned, but Eden held up his hands. "I want you all to stay in position," he said. "They're going to come for us as soon as they realize the
"Am I getting reimbursed for that?" I asked.
"Do you think you can vomit?" she asked, rubbing fake blood into my chest. Her hands were warm and strong, like a masseuse's. "We don't have any of the simulated vomit left, and they wanted everyone throwing up from the gas."
"What kind of gas is this anyway?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said. "All they said was gas."
"I don't think I can vomit," I said. "Maybe I should just take off my shirt and you can put blood all over me instead."
"I think we're about done here," she said. She turned to Rachel and worked on her for a while, giving her a slashed throat and covering one of her eyes with melted skin.
"How do I look?" Rachel asked me when the makeup woman was done.
"Perfect," I told her.
The hospital had hired a professional film director, a man by the name of Eden, to stage the event. He listed off all the films he'd worked on, but I'd never heard of any of them. He arranged us around a burned-out tanker truck they'd parked in one corner of the lot.
"This was in a real accident," he told us. "Two or three people got killed. So try to play off that, uh, realistic feeling."
Rachel put up her hand. "What do you mean, 'two or three'?" she asked.
"The fire department guys told me two bystanders died when it blew," Eden said, "but they never found the driver, so they're not sure what happened to him."
I looked at the cab of the truck. It was all melted, the metal fused together so tightly you couldn't see inside it. I wondered if the driver was still in there.
Eden spread us out around the truck and told us to lie down until the ambulances arrived. He walked among us, adjusting people's limbs and telling us to show more pain, that sort of thing. A couple of times he stopped and looked at the scene through a little lens hanging from his neck.
"All right," he said, when he was done, "I'm going to call the ambulances now. Try to stay in character when they get here."
Beside me, Rachel lay back and looked up at the sky, practised her moaning.
Eden walked over to the snacks table and grabbed a gasoline container from underneath it. He took it over to the burned-out truck and poured gas all over the hood and the cab. Then he tossed the can aside and took a lighter from his pocket, lit the truck on fire.
Rachel stopped her moaning and looked up. "There's no gas left in the truck, is there?" she asked.
"Are there going to be fire trucks too?" I called out, but Eden shook his head.
"No, this is just for, uh, effect," he said. "I thought it would make things look more real."
"He thought?" Rachel said, watching the smoke from the fire rise up into the sky. "Does the hospital know about this?"
"So no one's going to put out the fire?" I asked.
Eden didn't answer, though, because he was talking into his cell phone now. "Everybody's in places here," he said. "We're ready for the take."
I looked around the parking lot. People were pulling into parking spots around our taped-in area and getting out of their cars, wandering into the mall. Some of them looked our way, but no one actually stopped.
Eden frowned as he put away his phone. "Attention, people," he shouted. "There's been a delay. It seems there's been a real disaster in a chemical plant on the other side of the city, and our ambulances got sent there by mistake. They thought it was the exercise." People around Rachel and me groaned, but Eden held up his hands. "I want you all to stay in position," he said. "They're going to come for us as soon as they realize the
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