At the top of the hill we could see the ruins of an old church and etched on a plaque on one of the remaining walls was ‘St. Paul’s Church, 1512’. Quaid got a couple of lengths ahead and began taking pictures of anything he could find that might be Maarten.
We followed Quaid along the stone path to the rear of the church remains. There, on the edge of the hill and standing on a pedestal overlooking Malacca, was a tall white stone statue of a bishop, his right hand notably absent. Quaid, in his usual reckless ‘action before thinking’ way, took a photo of the statue, sprinted around us and back down the zigzagging path.
“That’s not Maarten, that’s St. Francis Xavier. What a dope,” Ted told Jamie as we watched the Brit reverse and disappear back down the hill.
“Maarten must be in the church,” I whispered to Jamie, oh so softly, so that Ted wouldn’t hear, “I bet this Maarten is the proud owner of one of the tombstones inside. Follow me,” I grabbed Jamie’s hand and ran towards the front entrance of the church.
There was nothing left of the five hundred year old ruins of St. Paul’s Church but walls and a stone floor. The doors, ceiling and windows had been destroyed long ago. Even so, there was a hushed beauty and tranquility in the brick and gray mortared walls. I saw a pair of Korean tourists in one corner of the structure watching us intently through camcorders and a European gentleman sitting on a window ledge filming us with a handphone. I glanced up at the open roof and spotted five stationary cameras mounted at different angles on top of the four walls. I tried not to stare into any of the cameras, knowing they’d cut our scenes if we weren’t looking natural enough. Large rectangular tombstones lined the interior walls of the church, varying between one to one and a half meters tall. The stones were adorned with large crests and lengthy passages carved in Dutch.
Wait a sec.
Why were there mounds of fresh dirt underneath the tombstones on an otherwise clean stone floor?
I was just about to inspect one of the mounds further when Lydia and Derrik found out the hard way. Apparently, they had come to the same conclusion about Maarten and the tombstones. But they were sloppy in their ways and Lydia tromped through one of the mounds of dirt. The soil shifted beneath her and two grey, veiny-looking hands reached up out of the moist loam and grabbed her by the ankles.
She screamed as a zombie pulled himself out of the ground, moaning, trying to keep a hold of her legs as he moved to take a bite from her exposed calf. The nearby mounds of dirt started shifting and more zombies pulled themselves out of the dirt. Jamie and I held each other in real terror as we watched Derrik pull Lydia free from the gruesome creature.
“Relax, they’re not really zombies,” Norris whispered behind us, trying not to move his lips so that the overhead cameras wouldn’t pick up what he was saying, “Look, their just bad actors in cheap theatrical make-up.”
We watched as the zombies shuffled around moaning, bumping into each other and lurching toward the screaming tourists with their cameras courtesy of Tua Kee Media, capturing footage and now huddled together, terrorized, in the corner. They were screaming and scraping at the walls with their nails, the cameras now discarded as they tried to scale the ruins to get away. Evidently, Sheldon hadn’t let them in on the zombie surprise.
“Look at Derrik and Lydia. Can’t you see they’re just overacting and badly at that?” He nodded towards Lydia, who had her arm over her forehead yelling, “Save me, save me, Derrik!”
“If I were you, I’d get in there, act scared, get your photo and get the hell out of here. You can bet this will be a big scene in the show. Quaid will realize his mistake and be back any minute with our camera. Don’t let us get the best of you.” He winked, gave us a flash of a smile, then put a panicked look on his face and started pointing at the ‘zombies’, his hand shaking with simulated foreboding.
“Zu-Zu-Zu-Zombies!” Norris cried in sarcastic dread. His acting was about as good as the zombie actors who were taking their performance to a corny degree.
We ran through the gauntlet of phony undead, trying to make sense of the Dutch passages on the stones. The zombies kept grabbing at our clothes and trying to corner us. I assumed if that happened we’d probably be taken off the show and declared ‘Eaten’.
One of the lurching actors wouldn’t leave us alone as we hunted for Maarten’s location along the walls. Sick of him following us, Jamie jumped up and kicked him in the face with a loud, “High yah!” A Canadian tourist was close by filming her attack with his handheld. The zombie actor fell to the ground, blood gushing from his crushed nose. I’m sure he was angry and wanted to retaliate, but was sensible enough to stay in character and just crawled around on the floor spreading his blood in disgusting smeared crimson Rorschach handprints. There would have to be some clever special effects editing here if they were to be put this part in the show, because zombie blood is viral green not healthy red.
There were a couple of camera flashes around the corner of a low-lying wall just beyond the bloodied actor on the south side of the cathedral ruins. Meng, Esther, Ahmed and Ted where surrounding a tombstone taking photos of the Dutch writing. Jamie and I rushed towards them, intending to get our photo and sprint by them and back down the hill to Cindy for our next clue. Jamie snapped the photo and glanced at the screen to make sure the name ‘Maarten Janson’ could clearly be seen.
Esther and Meng were already leading Ahmed and Ted towards the gaping hole that was the front entrance to St. Paul’s ruins. Meng barreled his way through the bogus ‘zombie horde’, creating a path through which Esther, Ahmed and Ted followed. The zombie actors closed in behind them, doing everything they could to slow the teams down, creating maximum drama and therefore maximum camera time for themselves.
“They’re never going to let us through,” I said, watching as they turned, formed a zombie wall and began advancing towards us.
“Here, look at this,” Jamie pointed to a smaller tombstone next to the larger one of Maarten Janson. She climbed on top of it, then up on top of old Maarten’s and then she was on the low-lying interior wall which, coincidentally, intersected with a hole where a large circular stained-glass window used to be on the rear wall of the cathedral. I climbed up behind her and she helped me steady myself on the wall. Not wanting to lose the camera, I stuffed in into my sports bra, which was quite uncomfortable but safer than in the loose pockets of my short shorts.
Foot over foot we did our balancing act along the top of the brick reached the window opening. It was about navel height and we looked over the ledge to see if we could shimmy out and slip down to the ground. There was about a four meter drop to the flower bed below. We’d certainly get injured if we tried to drop down, I thought.
“What do we do now?” I asked, looking back across the cathedral, seeing Ted appear at the front entrance and the remaining two teams snapping photos of Maarten’s tombstone, the moaning crowd of zombie actors being held off by Quaid who was swinging a janitor’s broom in wide arcs.
“We have to jump. I’ll go first and try to break your fall.” Jamie, always the brave one scaled, over the lip of the opening and holding on the rough stone began sliding down the wall as far as she could before she had to let go. She dropped down, her legs crouching and did a somersault to lessen the impact. I held my breath expecting her to scream out in pain from a broken ankle or hyper-extended knee but she was fine. She stood up, brushed off some clinging soil and motioned for me to come down. I followed her lead but wasn’t nearly as graceful. When I let go, I fell right on top of her. But we were up and running as soon as I hit the ground.
We hit the trail back down the hillside behind the church where the two teams, Esther and Meng and Ted and Ahmed, were zigzagging down. We gained some ground as we were much more agile and quicker than the muscle heads and out-of-shape comedians.
Cindy was waiting below, waving us all in. She took the camera from Meng who got there first, examined the picture slowly to build suspense, smiled and handed him a fresh envelope. She then did this for Ted and then, finally, for us. Everyone sweating and panting, the adrenaline and race down the hill making both of Jamie and me lightheaded and a bit giddy.
Jamie tore open the envelope, took out the clue from inside along with what looked to be a key card. She handed me the envelope, careful to face the Cera logo into the camera and began to read the next clue out loud for Felix who joined us looking refreshed and relaxed, “Take this key and locate your car waiting for you at Frol De La Mar. Then get to Chinatown and find Jonker Street and the Eg-car section. Reach behind you and get dressed in your viral protection.”
Frol De La Mar.
“The ship!” We said together in unison.
When we drove to A’Famosa earlier we’d driven by a large replica of a Portuguese ship that sank off the coast of Malacca on its way back to Portugal back in 1511. The ship, named ‘Frol De La Mar’ or ‘Flower of the Sea’ was just over the other side of the atoll we’d just descended. The two teams ahead of us were already running along the bottom of the hill in the direction of the maritime museum, hoping for an exit at the other end of the parking lot.
Jamie looked up the hill. I knew what she was thinking. It would be shorter if we crested the hill and ran down the other side, possibly gaining the lead.
A million dollars, million dollars …
I sighed, not wanting to be filmed with Jamie trying to convince me to take the high road, so I said, “Okay, okay, let’s go,” before she could open her mouth.
We sprinted back up the hill and after cresting the rise passed St. Paul’s cathedral yet again and saw that the zombie actors were taking a tea break, sitting around three picnic tables in their grey make-up and tattered clothing, sipping from mugs and comparing acting notes under the canopy of a large Wax Jambu shade tree.
Felix was back to trailing us and we could hear him gasping for air as he tried to keep up while filming us running from behind.
We could see the two teams below trying to scale a high chain-link fence bordering the parking lot that was blocking them from the cul-de-sac that housed Studthuys, formerly the official residence of Dutch governors, which was directly across from to the maritime replica ship. The Ang Moh team was nowhere to be seen. They had to be behind us, probably still back with Cindy. As we ran down the hill and around Queen Victoria’s fountain in Dutch Square, I could make out Derrik and Lydia across the street at the Eg-cars trying to find the right fit for their key card.
“How did they pass us?” I blurted out as we ran around the fountain.
“Rotten cheaters,” was all Jamie could say, hands on her knees as we paused for a second or two for Felix to catch up.
We crossed Jalan Merdeka between two slow moving tour buses. Traffic out front of the Maritime Museum and Ship was at a crawl while the looky-loos strained to see what was being filmed by the large production crew out front of the Frol De La Mar. We could see Derrik and Lydia pulling into the snaking one-way traffic in a Cera Eg-car with their cameraman crammed inside a compartment meant for a few pieces of luggage, his body pressed across the back window.
There were four remaining Eg-cars sitting in a row. Jamie got into the first car, slotted in the key card into the ignition slot and pushed the start button. Nothing happened. She ran to the second car and, again, nothing. Finally, the third car being the charm revved up into a 600cc whine to my cheers.
Felix slid into the back compartment and I forced my seat back against his knees, locking it in place. Then I climbed in and Jamie pulled forward into the traffic. I could see Sheldon in a director’s chair next to a bulky panoramic camera on the bow of the ship. He was talking on a satellite phone but gave us a hearty thumbs up as we pulled away.
“You’re going to have to circle around the outskirts of the town’s central district to get back to the bridge that crosses over into Chinatown. It’s a tricky bit of road and we can’t miss the turn or we’ll have to circle again and lose valuable time,” I told Jamie as I looked at the small Malacca tourist map that I found in the glove compartment.
“Don’t give me options; just tell me when to turn.” She replied, focused on the creeping traffic that took up both sides of the road.
We circled around the town as the map indicated.
By the time we came to the bridge that we had to cross, I was sure the remaining three teams were already behind us on the long circular road and closing fast.
I could see three police cars on the other side of the bridge and when we crossed the bridge, the Malacca cops allowed us through to Chinatown but turned everyone else away. Apparently, they were only allowing CARS teams and crew into the area. The rest of the traffic was redirected in a u-turn back across the bridge to the outrage of the locals.
Kip was standing near the police under a large canopy to block the searing heat. He flagged us over to the side of the road, making a cutting motion to alert Felix that he should momentarily pause filming. After we pulled up, Kip opened the driver’s side door and squatted beside Jamie next to the car.
“Howdy girls, isn’t this fun?” He was all smiles, the excitement of creating TV magic on his youthful face. “Listen, we have about a one hour window to film in this area without interference from the locals. In this sequence you need to act rushed and scared. After all, you’re in ‘zombie’ territory and you just came from a church and graveyard filled with ‘zombies’.” As Kip talked he did those little bunny ear hand motions whenever he said zombie, it was cute. “When you parallel park the Eg-car, the main thing to remember is that you mustn’t bump into any of the other cars. You will be disqualified if you do. Felix is sitting on a parcel that contains your two hazmat suits. When you finish parallel parking, I want you to change into the suits inside the car to show to the audience the roomy Eg-car interior. You can put the suits on over your clothes or strip down to your skivvies beforehand, it’s up to you. I’m not going to tell you that you’ll probably get more camera time the more skin you show or that we’re creating a blooper reel on the website where any accidental nudity will be prominently displayed, increasing your overall fame quotient with the eighteen to thirty-five year old male demographic,” He gave us an encouraging wink.