The week passed in rehearsals.
Every morning, Henry arrived at the warehouse in Culver City. Same parking lot. Same coffee station. Same tape marks on the floor. But the work kept evolving.
They ran scenes. Adjusted timing. Found new beats. Ruben pushed them to go bigger with the comedy, then pull back when it felt too broad. The balance was delicate. Too much and it became cartoonish. Too little and it lost the fun.
"Zombie comedy is a tightrope," Ruben said. "You have to believe the stakes while laughing at them."
Henry spent hours on Columbus's narration. The rules had to feel genuine. Like Columbus actually believed this system kept him alive. Not jokes. Survival strategies that happened to be funny.
"Rule number two: Double tap," Henry said. "In those moments when you're not sure the undead are really dead dead, don't get all stingy with your bullets."
"Good," Ruben said. "But make it more paranoid. Columbus isn't casual about this. He's terrified someone will skip the double tap and get killed."
Henry tried again. Added an edge. Made it sound like a warning rather than advice.
"Better. That's it."
The cast grew closer. Small things. Inside jokes. Shared meals. The kind of camaraderie that came from spending hours together in a warehouse pretending to survive the apocalypse.
Woody told stories between takes. Hollywood stories. Crazy shoots. Difficult directors. He made everyone laugh.
Emma was sharp. Quick with comebacks. She and Woody had a natural rhythm. Banter that felt real.
Abigail was quieter but observant. She'd watch scenes and then offer thoughts that were smarter than her age suggested.
One afternoon, they worked on the scene where the group finds Twinkies. Tallahassee's obsession. The absurdity of searching for snack cakes during the zombie apocalypse.
Woody played it completely straight. Deadly serious about Twinkies. That made it funnier.
"Tallahassee would kill for a Twinkie," Woody said. "Literally. That's not a joke to him."
"That's what makes it funny," Emma said.
"Exactly."
They ran the scene a dozen times. Each time finding something new. A look. A pause. A reaction.
Henry watched Woody work. The way he committed fully to every absurd moment. No winking at the camera. No signaling that he knew it was ridiculous. That's what sold it.
"You make it look easy," Henry said during a break.
"It's not," Woody said. "Comedy is the hardest thing. Drama you can muscle through. Comedy either works or it doesn't. There's no faking it."
"How do you know when it works?"
"You feel it. The room changes. People laugh or they don't. You can't force it."
Henry filed that away.
By the end of the week, they'd worked through most of the major scenes. The dynamics were set. The rhythms established. Now it was about execution.
The following Wednesday, they did costume and makeup tests.
The makeup trailer was cramped. Five chairs. Mirrors with lights. Racks of clothes. Bins of prosthetics and fake blood. The makeup team moved efficiently, prepping everyone.
Henry sat in the second chair. A makeup artist worked on his face. Foundation. Dirt. Strategic smudges to make him look like he'd been running for his life.
"Columbus needs to look tired," she said. "But not too tired. Still functional."
"Right."
She added shadows under his eyes. Grease to his hair. Made him look unwashed but not disgusting.
In the chair next to him, Woody was getting the full Tallahassee treatment. Leather jacket. Cowboy boots. The wardrobe team fussed with the details.
"This jacket better not be too hot," Woody said. "We're shooting in Georgia. It's going to be miserable."
"Tallahassee wouldn't care about being hot," Emma said from the third chair. She was getting fitted for Wichita's practical layers. Tank top. Flannel. Jeans.
"Tallahassee also doesn't exist," Woody replied. "I, however, do sweat."
Everyone laughed.
Abigail was in the fourth chair, getting Little Rock's younger, scrappier look. Hoodie. Sneakers. The wardrobe person was debating between two different backpacks.
"The red one," Abigail said.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Little Rock would pick the red one. It's more visible. Easier for Wichita to keep track of her."
"Smart," the wardrobe person said.
Henry watched the team work. The precision. Every detail mattered. Columbus's rumpled button-down. The specific shoes. The way his collar sat. It all contributed to the character.
"You look appropriately neurotic," Emma said, glancing over at Henry.
"Thanks?"
"No, it's good. Columbus would definitely look like that."
The makeup artist stepped back. "Okay. Let me get the Polaroid."
She took photos. Henry from multiple angles. Reference shots for continuity. Then she moved to the zombie makeup demonstration.
A model sat in the fifth chair. The effects team went to work. Prosthetics. Layers of latex. Paint. Blood. forty minutes later, the model looked genuinely dead. Rotting skin. Exposed bone. Milky eyes.
"Jesus," Woody said. "That's good."
"We've got about forty variations," the effects supervisor said. "Different stages of decay. Different injuries. We want each zombie to feel specific."
They walked through the process. Showed how the prosthetics were attached. How the blood would spray. How the practical effects would combine with CGI.
Henry watched, fascinated. The craft of it. The artistry in making something look horrifically real.
"You'll be covered in blood most days," the supervisor told them. "Fair warning."
"Looking forward to it," Woody said.
After makeup, they did wardrobe approval. Henry tried on three different versions of Columbus's outfit. Same basic pieces but different fits. Different levels of wear.
Ruben studied each option.
"The second one," he decided. "It looks lived-in but not falling apart. Columbus is neat. He'd keep his clothes as clean as possible."
"Agreed," Henry said.
They spent another hour on details. Props. Accessories. The little things that would make the world feel real.
By the time they finished, it was late afternoon. Everyone was tired but energized.
"Two weeks until we shoot," Ruben announced. "Get some rest. Once we start, it's going to be intense."
Two weeks passed quickly.
Henry kept rehearsing. Kept refining. Ran lines alone in his apartment. Practiced physicality. Made sure Columbus's nervous energy was consistent.
Jeff called to check in.
"How's Zombieland prep?"
"Good. We start shooting Monday."
"And you're ready?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Stay focused."
Henry knew that. The work was what mattered.
Monday arrived.
The production had moved to Georgia. Cheaper to shoot there. Tax incentives. The crew had been setting up for weeks.
Henry flew out Sunday night. Checked into the hotel the production had booked. Nothing fancy. Clean. Functional.
He barely slept. Too much adrenaline.
At five AM, his alarm went off. He showered. Dressed. Met the transport van downstairs.
The set was thirty minutes outside Atlanta. Abandoned amusement park. They'd dressed it for the apocalypse. Trash everywhere. Overgrown plants. Broken rides. It looked perfect.
Henry walked through, taking it in. This was real now. Not rehearsal. Actual filming.
The crew was already moving. Setting up cameras. Running cables. The organized chaos of production.
In the makeup trailer, the artist greeted him.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
She worked quickly. Same look they'd tested. Tired but functional. By six-thirty, Henry was done.
Costume. Columbus's rumpled button-down. The specific shoes. He looked at himself in the mirror. Not Henry. Columbus.
On set, Ruben was conferring with the DP. They were starting with a scene in the amusement park. Columbus and Tallahassee clearing zombies.
Woody arrived. Already in character. The swagger. The confidence.
"Let's kill some zombies," Woody said.
They ran through blocking. Where to stand. Where to move. The stunt coordinator explained the zombie choreography. How the kills would work. Where the effects would be added later.
"Action!"
Henry moved through the scene. Columbus's careful steps. His reluctance. Every zombie kill hesitant. Necessary but not enjoyed.
Woody was the opposite. Tallahassee loving every second. Making it look easy.
"Cut! Good. Let's go again."
They did it again. And again. Different angles. Different takes. Building coverage.
By lunch, Henry was exhausted. But good exhausted. The kind that came from actual work.
They broke. Henry grabbed food from the catering tent. Sat with Emma and Abigail.
"How's it feel?" Emma asked.
"Real."
"Yeah. Rehearsal's one thing. But this..." She gestured at the set. "This is it."
They ate. Talked about the morning's work. About what was coming next.
After lunch, they shot more scenes. The pace was relentless. Set up. Shoot. Reset. Set up. Shoot. Hours passed in focused intensity.
By the time they wrapped at eight PM, Henry was covered in fake blood and completely drained.
"Good first day," Ruben said. "See you tomorrow."
Henry peeled off the bloody costume. Showered in his trailer. The water ran red.
Back at the hotel, he collapsed on the bed. His phone buzzed. Text from Jeff.
How was day one?
Henry typed back.
Exhausting. Good.
That's what matters. Keep it up.
Henry smiled.
He ordered room service. Ate mechanically. His body was tired but his mind was still running. Going over the day's work. What he could improve tomorrow.
He fell asleep with the script on his chest.
The next few days followed the same pattern. Early call times. Long days. Focused work.
They shot the amusement park scenes. Columbus and Tallahassee's growing partnership. The zombie kills. The humor in the horror.
Henry found the rhythm. The balance between fear and comedy. Columbus's neurotic energy playing against Tallahassee's chaos.
By Thursday, they were ready for the Bill Murray scenes.
Bill arrived on set that morning. Casual. Relaxed. Like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Henry had grown up watching Bill Murray. Ghostbusters. Groundhog Day. The man was a legend.
And now Henry was going to act opposite him.
"Henry, right?" Bill shook his hand. "I hear you're good."
"Thanks. I'm a huge fan of your work."
"That's nice. Let's make something funny."
They rehearsed the scene. Bill playing himself. Or a version of himself. Surviving the zombie apocalypse by pretending to be a zombie. The absurdity was perfect.
The group arrive at Bill Murray's mansion. Find him alive. The scene was mostly improv. Bill riffing. Emma and Woody reacting.
"Rolling!"
They started. Bill was immediately in it. Natural. Funny without trying. Every line felt spontaneous even though they'd rehearsed.
Woody played Tallahassee's starstruck shock. Meeting Bill Murray during the apocalypse. The surreality of it.
"Cut! That was great. Let's go again, but Bill, maybe play the zombie thing a bit more."
Bill nodded. They went again. This time he committed harder to the zombie act. Groaning. Shuffling. Then breaking character to laugh at his own joke.
It was perfect.
Henry watched Bill work. The ease. The confidence. No self-consciousness. Just being present and finding the funny.
They shot variations. Different approaches. Bill suggesting lines. Ruben encouraging the improvisation.
"What if I say this instead?" Bill would offer.
"Try it."
They'd try it. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. But the willingness to experiment made everything better.
During a break, Bill pulled Henry aside.
"You're good at this," Bill said. "The straight man thing. Not everyone can do it."
"Thank you."
"No, seriously. Comedy needs someone to ground it. Otherwise it's just chaos. You're grounding it."
Henry didn't know what to say. Bill Murray was complimenting his comedy.
"Just keep doing what you're doing," Bill said. "Don't try to be funny. Let the situation be funny."
"Okay."
"Good talk." Bill walked off to grab coffee.
Woody appeared. "Did Bill Murray just give you acting advice?"
"Yeah."
"That's a good day."
They shot until evening. The Bill Murray scenes wrapped. Bill said goodbye to everyone. Casual. Like he hadn't just elevated the entire movie.
"That was incredible," Emma said after he left.
"Yeah," Henry agreed.
Ruben gathered everyone. "Great work today. Bill's scenes are going to be the heart of this movie. And you all made them work."
Henry drove back to the hotel that night feeling something close to elation. They'd shot with Bill Murray. It had gone well. Really well.
His phone buzzed. Text from Jeff.
Heard Bill Murray joined set today. How'd it go?
Henry replied.
Better than I could've hoped.
Good. Keep it up. Big things coming.
Henry set his phone down. Looked out the hotel window. Atlanta at night. Lights spreading in every direction.
He thought about the day. About Bill's advice. About Columbus. About the work still ahead.
They had weeks left of shooting. Then (500) Days press. Then who knew what.
But right now, in this moment, Henry was exactly where he wanted to be.
Doing the work. Making something good. Learning from legends.
He fell asleep quickly. Tomorrow was another early call time.
The work continued.