Zombieleaks has strived to track down the individuals who Romero attempted to contact. Alex Wright was one of six. The other five were asked by associates of Romero to provide written submissions of their actions when the Blood Turned and in the aftermath. Following the suppression of Alex’s investigation into the Preservation and the rapid onset of Post-Zombosis Stress Disorder (PZSD), the remaining five recounted events that not only call the supposed truths of the Commandments into question, but much of the actions of the Preservation.
Zombieleaks obtained transcripts of these confessions and have included them in full as part of this data dump.
Since Alex’s death we have shown the utmost care throughout our data gathering process. However, we cannot verify the status of the other five subjects, therefore all personal details have been redacted to protect their identities.
For data organisation purposes, we have classified their cases as:
I can’t even remember who asked me to record this message. It’s funny, my agent used to save me from ever having to respond to crackpots. Now, I’m seeking you out. Given what you’ve no doubt heard about my previous contempt for the non-famous I don’t imagine you’ll have much sympathy for what I’m about to tell you.
Yes, I am me, the world-renowned actor Thomas Holiday. I made some good films, I think. I made some shitty ones too, but those were mainly for the money. Money, all the good it did me in the end?
I want you to know it is me because you see, unfortunately, I’m going to be dead soon. I’ve decided to disown the Church of Zombology, accept my fate and conduct this interview with you. I’m embracing Neurological Zombosis, letting it come for me, and I need to let everyone know how, and why. You are in the right place for a ‘big scoop’, or whatever the hell it’s called.
One of the best things about the Blood Turning the way it did? It was a real leveller. Nobody knew what blood type anyone else had. I didn’t even know my own. Blood type doesn’t depend on race, or privilege, or power. It hit eighty-six million in the ass no matter how many servants they had or how many Ferraris were parked in the driveway.
It didn’t make a difference how famous you were; if you had AB- blood, or were around someone who did, you went down when the Blood Turned. For a few weeks, it was a free-for-all and some of entertainment’s biggest names became slobbering wrecks. There was no special Zombie protection just because you once guest-hosted an episode of Saturday Night Live.
Some pretty renowned dudes got separated from their mounds of money. At least two movie sets I know of had A-Listers turn on their co-stars mid-scene. One instance had a director allowing his leading man total creative freedom, so when he fell to the ground everyone around him assumed it was part of his ‘method’ – fucking method – and let him lie there. By the time his on-screen love interest decided he hadn’t moved for a few minutes and so it might be worth checking on him, he leapt up in that strange way they all did, as if someone had plugged them into the mains, and ripped a hole right out of her jugular. Half the show-runners hadn’t read the script and thought that this was ‘acting’ while the director and producers rushed to her aid. When she was dead – then not dead – it was eventually agreed that a gruesome bloodbath might not work so well in a romantic comedy about rival cookie store owners who fall for each other, and so this incident might indeed be something a little more serious. Those two actors were famous enough that even in Zombie form their PA’s would have been scared to say no to them as they lurched towards their brains. With some of those kids, though, there wouldn’t have been much to chew on.
And the thing that would have hurt them the most is that they just became part of the wider statistic among the many, many victims. Before the Blood Turned, every half-famous person got an internet-led obituary where morons who had never met them felt obliged to comment on their passing.
‘Tributes flood in as Hollywood mourns some Z-List fucking loser’ – shitty actors used to get a level of send-off they would never get these days. They were guaranteed a funeral full of mourners and a tribute special on HBO. But after, best case scenario is an axe to the skull and your body thrown in one of the massive pits they constructed out in the sticks or, even worse, die a normal death with the normal people. It’s all about the legacy.