Amy Brashear - The Incredible True Story of the Making of the Eve of Destruction

Max flipped through his collection of vinyl. He took a record out of its sleeve and placed it on the record player and set the needle: “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire” [69] “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire” is a pop song written by Bennie Benjamin, Eddie Durham, Sol Marcus, and Eddie Seiler in 1938. First recorded by Harlan Leonard and His Rockets and later covered by many artists such as The Ink Spots, who are well-known for teaming up with Ella Fitzgerald. In 1941, The Ink Spots (Bill Kenny, Deek Watson, Charlie Fuqua, and Hoppy Jones) recorded the song and it hit #4 on the US pop chart. by the Ink Spots.

It was slow. Eerie. Matched perfectly with the constant fireworks rumbling in the distance.

Freddy and I danced in the middle of the room. Until we started making out, and Owen started to cry, and Dylan threw up, and the director grabbed his bullhorn and threw it at the record player, which knocked it off the table and stopped the music.

“What did we do? What did we do?” the director screamed at Dylan.

“What the hell,” Max said, going after the director.

I had never seen Max that angry. He swung at the director, but the director met his fist and twisted. I swear he broke Max’s hand. The scream that came out of Max’s mouth was on par with a horror movie where the girl runs in the direction of the guy with the chain saw.

The “party” was over by then. Though the moonshine was still being consumed.

We stayed inside; it was still snowing, though the snow was gray and it smelled nasty, like something rotting. It had been over an hour since we filmed, and fireworks were still going off.

Everyone was in their own corner, like a boxing match. The high of being drunk was starting to fade a little. The director wasn’t as angry and Dylan wasn’t as sick, though it helped that he’d stopped drinking. We mostly had. We mostly wanted real food. A hot meal. The junk food was good in theory—not in execution. Terrence and Owen were discussing, really arguing over, sports.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Any sport that can end in a zero-zero tie is not a sport—it’s a playdate,” Terrence said about the game of soccer.

“And the NFL is just stupid,” Owen said.

“Oh, please, Lawrence Taylor could kick your ass.”

“Yeah, he probably could.”

They laughed. And that subject was done with.

Tyson and I were playing tic-tac-toe.

“This is just like that movie,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I have a headache.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Like they said, unwinnable,” he said.

“They didn’t say unwinnable. You can win at tic-tac-toe if you catch the other team off guard,” I said.

“Do you have any aspirin?” Dylan asked, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.

I shook my head. “I can ask Max. This is his cave, so he might.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, leaning over.

Max sat against the wall with Owen, who looked sick too. Max was coughing and coughing, like he’d smoked too many packs.

“Max, are you okay?” I asked.

“Screw you,” he said.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you ?”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, coughing.

He was pale and looked like hell.

“We’ve got to get off this mountain,” I said. “We need real food and water and probably a lot of coffee.”

“Not before we film your death scene,” the director said, looking at me. “You’ve got to die.”

This was what winning the contest was all about. My walk-on role. The role where I died. It’s easy to pretend to be sick, but when you were really feeling sick, it was much harder. Tyson helped me with my makeup, actually messing it up with a little bit of moonshine. When he wasn’t getting it in my eye and possibly burning my retinas, he was making me paler than I already was. He messed with my hair and threw dirt on my clothes. He was probably experiencing pleasure in all of this. He was no longer throwing up, and though he looked like death warmed over, he had a smile on his face.

“Kid, you made Laura look hideously good,” the director said, looking at me.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Max said.

“Watch it, or I’ll go over there and knock out your teeth,” I said, staring at him. I even did the whole two-fingers-pointed-at-my-eyes-and-then-pointed-at-his gesture, whatever that was called. My head hurt.

Thank God my death scene was soon, because I felt like dying.

“This will be easy,” the director said. “Do you remember your lines?”

“Lines?” I asked.

“Lines, yes,” he said, sighing.

“Sure,” I said, lying. It was that awkward moment when the only thing that I knew was my name. Laura. Right? Honestly, you could have called me “hey, you,” and I’d have been okay with that right about then. My head hurt like hell, if hell could hurt. Could it? I was delirious.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Dylan, we’re ready.”

Dylan staggered over and stood in front of us, and then fell to his knees and sat on his butt. He put the camera on his shoulder and looked through the viewfinder. “Ready,” he said. “Is the light on? I can’t see colors.”

“It’s on,” I said, blinking.

“Good. My head’s playing tricks,” he said. “I haven’t felt this bad since that time I did some mushrooms with—” He stopped talking.

The director dug into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle. “Laura, when you get to your line about saving Owen’s life for yours, you take your potassium iodide tablet and give it to him. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said.

“And, Owen, you take it, okay?”

“Okay, wait. Do you want me to swallow it?” Owen asked.

“Of course, meta-acting. Anyway, it’s just aspirin.”

“It’s what now?” Dylan asked, dropping the camera from his shoulder.

“Aspirin.”

“I’ve been asking everyone for a pill, and you had them all along.”

“Yeah, do you need one?” the director asked.

“You’re an asshole,” Dylan said, holding out his hand for the bottle.

“You can’t say that to me,” the director said.

“Why not?”

“You know who I am.”

“Yeah, I don’t care. I’m done. I’ll do commercials for the rest of my life. I’m fine with that,” Dylan said, grabbing the bottle of aspirin out of the director’s hand and taking more than the recommended dose.

“Can we get this done so I can go and die now?” I asked, laying my head on Owen’s shoulder.

“Okay?” the director said, holding out his hand for the aspirin bottle.

“Okay,” Dylan said, chucking the bottle at the director’s head.

“Well, wasn’t that mature.”

“Wasn’t that mature,” Dylan mimicked. He put the camera back on his shoulder and pointed it toward Owen and me.

“Action!”

“Are we not going to practice?” I asked.

“Cut! No, I’d thought we’d wing it. And action!”

“Really?” Owen asked. “Not one time?”

“Cut! Honestly, guys, I thought we wanted to get off this mountain for real food, and clean clothes, and a bath, because we all need a bath.”

“Okay,” Owen said.

“Okay,” I said.

The bus driver was outside throwing up what sounded like his insides, but Freddy, Terrence, and Tyson went over to Max and sat and watched as I died.

“Okay, everyone, read. Okay, I’ll take the silence as an affirmative. And action!”

INT. FALLOUT SHELTER—AFTERNOON

HANK is blind. HELEN sits beside him. She rubs her thumb against the back of his hand. They are the only ones in the room. The rest have decided to put on gas masks and go exploring into the new wasteland.