Zombie Fever: Outbreak (4 page)

“Okay, that was great guys. Please go to your assigned transport vehicles and we’ll see you at Danga Bay, the first CARS checkpoint on the other side!” Sheldon enthusiastically shouted through the obnoxious bullhorn in his hands. There were applause from the teams and production crew. Everyone felt the magic of reality TV. The feeling was a certain, undefined yet familiar kind of exhilaration of capturing an ongoing adventure where anything could happen.

Jamie climbed back into our rally car and pulled out into a caravan of CARS vehicles. I went inside the Cera showroom, then into the lift and down to the multi-storey car park where I had to pick up a vehicle that would be used later in the production and drive it across the border. We had heard about Tua Kee Media’s cost cutting measures during reality show productions prior to our auditions. And not hiring enough drivers to take all of the vehicles across the border was a fine example. The teams had to split up and drive solo each of the vehicles that would be used in the competition throughout the week, such as the all-wheel drive SUVs for off-road segments and tiny Eg-cars, an egg-shaped car that I predicted would be used for a parallel parking challenge. It was way cheaper than hiring drivers who would have to travel with the nomadic production as it journeyed across the Malaysian Peninsula.

I was driving one of the SUVs, but I should have been assigned an Eg-car because the truck was really too big for me to handle. I had to pull the seat as far forward as possible and still my toes were barely touching the pedals.

The SUV chugged down the ramp and I fell into formation behind the caravan of Cera cars. Jamie was eight vehicles ahead. We pulled out onto the street and into Singapore rush hour traffic.

I was a bit miffed considering how ill-timed this commencement seemed to be. We could have waited another hour and left the dealership past peak hours, avoiding the crawling stop-and-go traffic that plagues Singapore’s streets in the morning.

But apparently Sheldon was in a hurry to get over the border. Unbeknownst to us, he had received a call from a friend working at the Singapore Immigration Checkpoint that morning. The friend whispered conspiratorially that Singapore was going to close the border with Malaysia later in the day as a precautionary measure to ensure the infection wouldn’t spread into our glorious nation state.

Sheldon had to stick to the production budget submitted to his Tua Kee Media superiors. If the crew and teams couldn’t get across the border that day, Tua Kee Media would cancel his show blaming cost overruns and maybe even fire him for delaying the production. The studio was very cutthroat in that way. Meng told us at one of the photo shoots that that’s how Sheldon got the job of head producer for the reality television department when his predecessor lost control of costs on one of his shows. Supposedly, the filming of a ‘fat camp’ weight loss show had to be put on hold when one of the severely overweight contestants died of heat stroke while running an obstacle course chasing down a pandan cake tied atop a radio controlled car in the midday equatorial sun. There was a payout of thirty thousand dollars for the death of the contestant. The producer was blamed, then fired and Sheldon was hired to take over. Setting the pace for his career at Tua Kee Media, he frugally wrapped up the program under what remained of the show’s budget.

The caravan snaked along the CTE expressway north towards the TPE expressway then onto the SLE expressway to the Woodlands checkpoint. Singapore’s complex system of streets and expressways were designed to make every corner of the small nation-state more accessible, so more roads had been built than if it were designed on a grid. Because of this, the distance from the Cera dealership to the border may be less than twenty kilometers as the crow flies but takes a nearly an hour to drive, even while heading in the opposite direction of rush hour traffic.

But Singapore is like that; the perception of time and space somehow seems different here and a lot of that time and space is consumed during the in-betweens of getting from A to B.

We moved into the far left lane of cars at the border crossing to await passport inspection, first from the Singaporean side and then the Malaysian side.

I set the radio to scan to kill time. Singaporean radio stations of various languages and dialects flitted by in five second intervals, from Hindi dance music and Cantonese opera to wannabe English-speaking morning zoo types and the monotone of twenty-four hour local news. Reflecting the interests of the population, the news stations were focused on daily routines and events within Singapore. If there was a story that didn’t affect Singapore directly, then it wasn’t necessary to carry on about it when there were more immediate events happening, like a lorry accident on the PIE or an announcement of an en-bloc sale of an iconic but aging condominium estate in Tanjong Pagar. IHS was barely mentioned. As the stations automatically rotated around the dial, Malay channels would occasionally break through. I could speak some Malay thanks to my mother, but not enough to follow the quick pace of their speech. However, I did make out the term ‘Berjalan penyakit’ on a Malay news station repeated several times in highly agitated tones.

I stopped the dial on 94.1ALIVE, Tua Kee Media’s news station. I listened for forty minutes while sitting in queue and they didn’t mention the Malaysian outbreak at all. I heard nothing but information on the new government budget and talk of upcoming elections in May.

My SUV neared the Singapore customs inspection gantry, I watched as the customs officer went through his routine with the car ahead of me, questioning the driver and inspecting the boot for contraband or hidden over-stayers who’d violated their visa conditions and were trying to avoid prosecution.

It was my turn.

I slowly eased the SUV forward.

I wanted to get through this quickly so I put on my most flirtatious smile as I handed the customs officer my passport and the SUV paperwork. He noticeably brightened up when he saw my pretty brown eyes looking back. He barely looked at the documents and even forgot to look in my boot, mesmerized and enchanted by my extreme cuteness.

The immigration officer, however, wasn’t as trouble-free, questioning my reasons for leaving Singapore even after most of my colleagues had driven through his line ahead of me with the same story. He even asked me, of all things, if I were pregnant which I found quite intrusive. After a few more scowls and penetrating looks through my papers and at my passport photo, he let me through.

Passing through the Malay side was a breeze as usual. The immigration officer was half asleep after working through the nightshift. I got my stamp and proceeded through the maze of concrete barriers designed to block a run for the border and got onto the J1 Expressway in line with the rest of the Cera vehicles.

Our caravan crept along the coastal expressway a short distance to Danga Bay near to the city of Johor Bahru. Danga Bay was a feeble attempt by Johor entrepreneurs to create a seaside resort. It had bungalows and seafood restaurants set along the heavily, industrially-polluted causeway waters between the two countries. For a resort, it was in sorry shape. The entire place looked as if the contractors fled the scene after about sixty percent of construction had been completed. The best part was a nice parking lot and about a half a dozen or so kampong-style elevated bungalows freshly painted and sitting in a diamond shaped square, surrounded by a manicured grassy area with interconnecting sidewalks and flowerbeds. Beyond those were three half-built corrugated steel warehouse-type buildings meant to hold the restaurants and tourist souvenir shops. One seafood restaurant occupied the corner of one building, the rest of the buildings stood vacant. It was shoddy work and I questioned the logic of trying to create a resort on the smelly, dirty shores. The chemical smell of the contaminated waters stuck in your nasal passages like a thick coating of margarine.

Neither Jamie nor I were impressed with this first Cera pit stop. Jamie told me that this scene’s background was all in the editing. If they filmed part of the show with the bungalows as the backdrop and the cameras stayed at fixed angles, it might actually look like a nice place. “You can’t smell TV,” she said. The rest of the teams were also looking around, Tucker and Yvonne with noses pinched. Ted and Ahmed were bragging that they had been here before. I think they were the only ones that weren’t surprised that something as cool sounding as ‘Danga Bay’ could turn out to be so crummy.

I nodded towards the Ang Moh team. Quaid and Norris were headed towards us, looking around and obviously talking smack about the place. Quaid, a former British police officer and rather handsome to boot, came up to Jamie and me with Norris tailing a few meters behind him looking distant, mentally off in his own little world.

“Can you believe this mess? They ought to be ashamed of themselves,” Quaid complained, snapping a few pictures of the bungalows with the flashy rally cars strategically parked in an ultra-cool diagonal row out front.

Perhaps selective photography could make this place look like something real after all.

“Do you mind if I get a photo of you lovely ladies next to your car?” Quaid asked and I could tell he was coming on to us, “I know the both of you are going to be famous after this show and want to make sure I have a shot of you beautiful ladies for my archives.“

Of course, he was trying to flatter us. We were all going to be together for the week. I’m sure he was thinking that at some point he may have an opportunity to take advantage of the closeness we were feeling as colleagues in a shared adventure. We posed for his picture, hands on our hips and gave him our best come hither smiles.

“Cheers,” he said with a bit wolfish grin and walked off to snicker with Norris and, I’d guess, to make some crude innuendos about us.

Sheldon signaled for all to gather around. He had a group of six Malay men with him armed with cameras and firearms. They were rather rugged, mercenary looking, and a bit unruly.

“Everyone, please listen to me closely. Each team will be accompanied by one of these gentlemen who will be your cameramen, sound crew and bodyguard during the race. They will be in your cars and at your sides during the entire production. You will only be unaccompanied when you are locked away in the safety of your hotel rooms. They will be filming you from breakfast until bedtime. Our goal is to film you night and day during the next five days and obtain as much incidental footage as possible. I’d prefer to waste film on the cutting room floor than miss any footage that would make this show a success. Whether it’s an argument, a toilet break or a romantic interlude between team members, I want to capture it all!” He raised his hands into the air, “For this show is going to rival both the all reality television series in its popularity and production value!” He preached and we cheered, drawn into the fantasy that we would be world famous after the production aired. People would point to us in the streets, approach us on the MRT and chase us while on holiday in Phuket, asking for autographs and taking secretive photos with their handphones.

“Like I said, your cameraman is also your bodyguard. They are armed with pistols,” one of the cameramen lifted his shirt and we could all see a large clunky looking revolver sticking out of the top of his pants, “and a shotgun will be secured in the boot of your cars in the event of ambush by highway robbers, an attack by a pack of menacing infected or perverts intent on taking advantage of team members from the weaker sex,” Sheldon said with a chauvinistic smirk towards Jamie and I, his harelip scar shining in the equatorial sun. “These gentlemen work for our sister station in Kuala Lumpur, they may look rough, but they are professionals. They speak very little English and have been instructed not to help you with directions. The interior of your cars are bugged for sound and feeding live to our mobile production unit. If we hear any of you engage in conversation with your cameraman regarding the competition you will be disqualified and lose your chance at boo-coo money!” he held up his hands, twisting his fingers as though holding imaginary cash.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve been informed that no one can return to Singapore until the Malaysian side of filming is complete. We received special permission to film the race during this so called ‘zombie fever’ epidemic and have specific instructions on when and how we can return to Singapore. I will tell you more as we draw near the completion of the race. Eliminated contestants will be confined to a designated hotel until the end of the race or when we need them for reshoots or personal bio taping. You should know that there is also talk of Singapore closing the border later today due to some unconfirmed sightings of a Berjalan penyakit just north of here. I’ll keep you informed when and if I hear anything more.

Now please hand over your handphones and mobile devices. As you know, there will be no contact with the outside world until the race is over. No internet, emailing, texting and definitely no phone calls. Any attempt to contact anyone outside this production team will be construed as cheating and you will be eliminated.”

We removed our phones and tablets from our pockets and bags, reluctantly handing them over to Kip, Sheldon’s assistant, who was carrying a large metal box which was padlocked for safekeeping.

“We’ve already filmed the start of the race back at the dealership so we’ll do away with the obligatory sound off. Please, Kip, hand each team their first clue and let’s get going.”

Sheldon motioned to Kip who pulled out a stack of six cardboard envelopes from a bag beside his leg. He handed one envelope to each team.

“Okay, this is a simple scene,” Sheldon continued taking a deep breath. “All you need to do is have one team member open the envelope and hand the clue to his or her partner. The team member holding the envelope will then hold it up like so,” he held the envelope against his chest with the red logo of CARS prominently displayed outward for the camera, “your partner will then read the clue slowly and clearly. Remember slowly and clearly. Then you will dash to your cars and drive off as fast as you can in the direction you think you need to be heading to complete the event specified on the card.” He smiled enigmatically, “Don’t forget to take your cameraman and don’t look into the camera, ever! Good Luck and Go!”