When I got to the hotel, I could see a pair of women at reception, checking in, it seemed. I decided to hold back until they were finished to approach the front desk. Luckily it appeared to be the same attendant I'd met the evening prior, to whom I had explained that I was appearing in a film in town. I feigned a deep interest in the options available in the vending machine outside the reception office until the women opened the door, when I'd intended to pass by unnoticed. Unfortunately that plan was cast into turmoil when their luggage wheels caught on the step. As I reached down to assist one of the women with her case, I noticed just how boldly the blackened veins appeared through my grey-green skin. The woman had the decency not to comment, though, other than to thank me for the assistance with the luggage.
Likewise, inside the reception office, the attendant at the front desk did not make reference to my appearance, thought she did appear to recognise me, and to be taken aback. Before I'd finished explaining that I was here to collect my bag that I'd left, she had rushed to bring it to me. I asked if there was a bathroom that I could use to remove the make up, and she directed me upstairs.
Once locked inside, I glanced at the mirror, but not for long. The illness that had been swelling within me since the lunch queue became overwhelming, and I lurched towards the toilet to vomit. I tried to be quick - I figured it might take a while to remove the make up and didn't want to attract further suspision from the front desk attendant.
Once I was finished, I flipped back my hood in front of the mirror, and saw that, despite my earlier efforts, there was still blood spattered on my face, particularly around my neck. I ripped off some toilet paper and was able to wet it to remove most of the blood. I likewise replaced my bloody jeans with a clean pair. My reflection in the mirror still had a deep gash on my right cheek and, though it looked cleaner than it had when I arrived, was still conspicuous. I was able to slowly rip the latex of this off, and also scratch away the bulbous pustules that are apparently the trademark of the film's zombies, though they left rings of my skintone showing their former presence. I tried to wash away the graze on my forhead, but it wasn't washing off, so I dampened some more paper to try to wash away the artificial green tint given to my skin, but it was no use. I gave up, put on my other shoes, and stowed the bloody shoes and socks in a bag. I quickly threw up again, before covering as much of my face as I could with the hood and leaving the hotel.
Thankfully darkness was falling as I started walking towards the station. I kept my head down as I passed by locals taking evening walks. At the station, I didn't have to wait long, but would have to change trains a couple of times before home. There had been another zombie-extra who had mentioned that he was taking the train in the same direction as me. I'd considered suggesting travelling together, but thought this would be inconvenient for him, since he'd have had to make the stop at the hotel too, or organise to rendezvous elsewhere. It wasn't long before the first train pulled up, and I climbed into an empty carriage. This train would only take me two stops though. When I changed stations, the second train was also quite empty, and I took a set at the rear of the carriage, facing away from other passengers. I saw my reflection in the window, and thought I looked ill.
After only a couple of stops, a man sat opposite me and put his feet onto the seat. I noticed he was looking at me, grinning, and met his gaze.
'How's it going?' he said, smiling deviously.
'I'm okay,' I replied. 'Thanks.'
'Are you meant to be a zombie?' he asked. 'Have you been at that zombie thing?'
I told him that I had been at the zombie thing, and he then asked 'What zombie thing?' and I explained that there had been a movie in production.
'I'm glad you are a zombie,' he said. 'When I got on and saw you I thought, "Fuck, it's some fuckin' street kid whose gonna hassle me the whole way!" But I'm glad it's just you.'
'Right...' I replied, hoping the conversation would be over soon. We sat in silence for a while, before the man tried to reignite our conversation.
'Could I have a cigarette?' he asked.
'I don't smoke.'
'Then could you give me ten or twenty bucks?'
'I don't have any money.'
We were close to the city, where I would change trains again, which was lucky, because I felt like I needed to vomit again. At Flinders Street I didn't have to wait too long for my final train to arrive, and managed to stick to the shadows. This was the most crowded of the trains, and it sat at the station for a while before it departed. A couple sat next to me, but moved away after a short time. Perhaps there are benefits to looking like decay. I was also feeling like it though. I could feel myself starting to sweat from trying to stave off vomiting. When I arrived at my home station, I noticed the Public Safety Officers looking sternly at me and recalled scenes of uniformed officers in combat with zombies during the filming. Oddly, a steam train rushed noisily past, going back to the railyard I'd just been filming at.