Dawn Of The Dead (Cyclists)
In this horror screenplay I’m going to pen during my spare time this weekend, a small New England town is slowly, inexorably, invaded by a plague of humans on bikes. They’re a ragged lot, these two-wheeling freaks, alternately coming on like a swarm of bees in the middle of the avenue, ears stuffed with mobile device adjuncts (earbuds), or single-handedly clogging up the road going 2 miles an hour while checking email.
Oh, sure, they’re innocent enough looking – at first. There are moms in business suits and goofy-looking dads clad in loud reflective gear, little ones with helmets two-times too large, aging men in knee socks. Soon arrives a young, athletic cyclist, gliding past in his tight-fitting outfit. He seems to be some kind of leader of a riding cult. There are more like him, women as well, coming into the village artisanal bakery to reward themselves for taking up valuable real estate on the main road every Sunday, tromping across the freshly finished hardwood floor with sharp metal clips on the soles of their shoes and sitting down to a liesurely breakfast. Big-city advertisers have taken advantage of all the eyes on these sleek pedalers and cover their bodysuits in product messaging. “Credit Lyonnaise” and so forth. On certain nice summer days, they multiply into nuisance numbers.
Soon, the townsfolk begin to blame the nutty tandemistas for a wide range of social and economic ills that have nothing to do with them. What are these outsiders doing here anyway? Go back to your engine-free world!
The townsfolk have had enough. They get behind the wheels of their cars and go out on hunts, seeking out the peloton and picking off its riders one-by-one in a frenzy of SUV-bloodletting, until the only cyclist still rolling is the cult leader. As the townsfolk bear down on him, he cries out: “What has become of you people? You used to be peaceful!”
This is when he realizes that they’re completely possessed by some demon, who communicates with them 24/7 on their mobile phones.
And the thing is, that all happens in the first five minutes.