02x01 - Grumpy Old Liv

Previously on iZombie...

I want my life back, Ravi, I eat brains!

It's all we have. One dose of the cure.

Two perhaps. Zombies are real, Liv.

I'm gonna kill 'em all.

I feed Seattle zombies.

Kill my crew, I'll make more.

Make more now, bitch!

You turned me into a zombie?

If it's what you thought I wanted, then you don't know me as well as you think you do.

Whatever happens now, I hope you can forgive me.

Police officer: It looks like Suzuki must've gone down swinging.

I need you to bring in Major Lilywhite.

Oh, my...

Surgeon: Your brother has lost a lot of blood, and he's gonna need more in order to survive.

Liv is O-negative.

Can you come with me, Miss Moore?


Time heals all wounds.

Time heals all wounds.



Hey, buddy.

Liv: Another surgery to remove shrapnel.

Three months, three surgeries.

You need to leave.

Right now.

Please, Mom.

Let me be here when Evan wakes up.

It kills me that he thinks I...

You were gonna let him die?

If Dr. Long hadn't been on duty...

If he hadn't shared your blood type...

Your brother has gotten your texts, your emails, your voicemails.

If he wanted to see you, you'd know.

It's drugs, isn't it?

No. I'm not on drugs.

What, then?

If I told you, you wouldn't believe me.

You'd try to have me committed, or you'd try to fix things in ways that would only make it all worse.

You'd put us all in danger.

Evan: Liv.


I'm here.

Go away.

Don't come back.

Liv: I couldn't have given Evan my blood even if I had been willing to turn him into a zombie.

The second some nurse took my pulse, took my temperature, they would've quarantined me.

Maybe it's better I'm radioactive, that I repel the people I love.

Keeps things simple.

Harden yourself, Liv.

You're a monster.

Act like one.



If I'd said, "Yeah, Mom, heroin. You're right.

"I'm riding the white horse, chasing the dragon," she'd have put me through hell, but she'd forgive me.

You can't give up on your family, Liv.

Or Peyton.

And Major?

Thought so.

Or Major.

He just...

He hasn't been himself. Helton Shelter won't give him a good reference.

He can't find a job that gives his life any meaning.

Well, he forgave you.

That's just a simple case of bros before... ex-fiancés.

But it would be wrong to say I'm completely forgiven.

Things are still...

Watch out for the blood.

This is why I pay someone to fix my car.


Clive: Victim was Wendell Gordon Gale, 77.

He died at 10:32 p.m.

Several people heard the victim scream.

And we're sure it's a murder?

Well, CSI guy says the jack is fully functional.

It didn't fail. Someone had to kick the release.

Check out this print. Wafflestomper.

The killer stood there watching long enough for the blood to reach his feet.

He must've enjoyed watching him die.

Or he was in shock.

Well, either way, he made his way over to the basement.

Did you see that?

The killer might've been on a bike.

Or a medical scooter.

Are you the detective in charge?

Yes, ma'am.

One of the officers said you wanted to talk to me.

I discovered the body.

Wendell was my brother-in-law, my late husband's older brother.

Do you know anyone who might've wanted to kill him?

Honestly, Detective. I'd be hard-pressed to think of anyone in a three-mile radius whose day isn't brightened by the news that he's gone.

Not particularly well-liked, huh?


Once upon a time, Wendell was a decent fellow.

But he's been a cantankerous son of a bitch for the past 30 years, give or take.

You name it, he hates it.

The laughter of children, puppies, other races, his own race, trick-or-treaters, Christmas carolers.

What happened 30 years ago?

Well, that's when the fibromyalgia set in.

He went on disability, became embittered.

His wife left him, took the two kids with her.

What was your relationship like with your brother-in-law?

I took pity on him.

Have you noticed that Final Hope hates me?

Her name is New Hope, not Final Hope. You know this.

If I wanted to give her a depressing name, I would've gone with Phantom Menace.

And she doesn't hate you. She just feels like you don't put enough energy into the relationship.

And she is not gonna let herself be a bit player in your grand drama.

At least that's what she insinuated to me.

Sorry, New Hope.

I can't be trusted with secrets.

I am serious about this.


I think someone's feeling sorry for herself.

Who, me? Or...

Oh, you.

Well, I do feel sorry for myself.

But that doesn't mean that I'm wrong about Final Hope.

She looks traumatized every time I get close to her cage.

Well, maybe it's the cannibalism.

She is squeamish.


I'm grossing out a rat.

That's it.

I am throwing in the towel. I am done.

Until I'm human again, no more interpersonal relationships.

I am all business.

I'm one of the Riders of the Apocalypse, leaving pestilence and misery in my wake.

I take it drinks with the new roommate didn't go well.

It was fine.

She's fine.

It's not like I'm gonna find another Peyton on Craigslist.

I mean, the girl works for the IRS, for crying out loud.

(SIGHS) Well, if you're going to be pathetic until you're human again, I suppose we should try to make that happen.

Now, let me see...

What do I need to replicate the cure?

Hmm... Ah, yes.

Utopium from the night of the boat massacre.

The tainted stuff.

I remember having a limited supply...

I remember asking you not to use up the last bit...

Whatever happened to that?

Passive aggressive is not a good look on you.

Three months of trying to recreate it has gotten me nowhere.

I mean, the cure wasn't even properly tested.

What if it wears off? What if Major grows horns?

How many times can I say "I'm sorry"?

Well, one more would be good.

I'm sorry.

All right, then.

But would we prefer that Blaine was out there making more zombies?

That's why I gave him the cure, to make sure that, that couldn't happen.

Plus, I got the distinct impression that Major would've put a shotgun in his mouth before he'd eat brains.


Okay, so, in the grand scheme, maybe it was a little short-sighted.

Let's find that Utopium.

Where do we start?


Of course.

All roads lead to your new mortal enemy.

And where might he be?

Who the hell knows?


I can't sugarcoat it. This won't be easy.

But I'm here to make the process... What's the word?


It's what I do.

You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone with more experience.

I'll bet ever since you got the news, you've been walking around like a zombie, am I right?


I thought so.

Just know this.

My number-one priority is your peace of mind.

I never stop thinking about it.

So, let's take this journey together.

What do you say?


Lieutenant Suzuki died a hero.


In recognition of his heroism, he has been awarded the Seattle Police Department Medal of Honor.


How many more people might have died had your husband not waded into a firefight and dispatched members of a drug ring responsible for so many deaths?








What, already?

Late night?

Suddenly you're Matlock?

Neighbor of the deceased called the tip line, left an unintelligible message.

I was gonna run it down.

Any visions yet?


I got a vision of you leaving me the hell alone, so I can catch some shut-eye.

Fine. I'll handle this solo.

You take care of that hangover.

Oh, brush the sand out of your crack and relax.

I'm just busting your chops, flatfoot.

Turn your hat around, punk. Show some respect!


Is he crouching behind home plate at Yankee Stadium?

Captain came down to Homicide today, presented Suzuki's widow with the Medal of Honor.

He deserved it.

Did he?

So you and Major are back together, huh?

How's that going?

What? No. We're not together.

We're the opposite of together.

What makes you say that?

Well, you're his alibi for the Meat Cute murders.

He spent the night at my place.

Must be how I got the impression you were back together.

We talked about this. He was on the couch.

He just had a few sleepless nights after he got out of the mental hospital.

He didn't like being alone.

So at the time of the shooting, you were in your room, he was on the couch.

You're sure he couldn't have snuck out?

I'm sure.

We talked most of the night, and he passed the gun residue test.

No one could find him for 24 hours.

He could've scrubbed his clothes clean. It just doesn't add up, Liv.

The wound in Suzuki's thigh looked self-inflicted.

Julien, the guy Major claimed was murdering his kids, the one Major said he shot three times?

Was one of the victims.

The teenager found in the deep freeze was a Helton Shelter kid.

It's a closed case, isn't it?

Someone was satisfied with the investigation.

They do love making one of their own a hero.



Byron Thistlewaite?


I'm Detective Clive Babineaux, and this is medical examiner Olivia Moore.

You left a message on the SPD tipster hotline.

Yeah, isn't that hotline for anonymous tips?

We don't claim it's anonymous.

The implication, though. I didn't leave my name or number.

How'd you even find me?

We sprung for caller ID.

Thought it might come in handy for solving murders and whatnot.

"T-shirts are passé" ?

I don't get it.

You're wearing a T-shirt.

It's meant to be ironic.

It's a joke.

Good one.


Your T-shirt's stupid.

That's meant to be literal.


Something about eggs and somebody threatening somebody?

Listen, I wanted to do my civic duty, but I don't wanna get involved.




This kid, he's, like, the terror of the neighborhood.

What kid?

Rodney Ricks.

Okay, he's from a couple blocks over. He's a real thug.

He's a teenager.

Not a bear. Pretend you got a pair and speak up, son.

The other night, I hear some commotion, and I look out across the street, and Rodney and a few of his homies are egging Wendell's house.

And Wendell comes charging out and he tases him.

Rodney drops like a rock, and Wendell just starts kicking the hell out of him.

And finally, when Rodney gets up, he's shouting, I'm gonna bleep you up, old man."

Where were you standing when you heard all this?

You could make out what they were saying all the way from here?

All the shouted bits, yeah. I had the window open.

You do all these paint by numbers, or you have a slow nephew or something?

No, I found them at a gallery.

Were they in the garbage?


Sorry. (EXHALES)

I would've been back sooner, but we got stuck behind an Asian driver.

Hey, Archie Bunker, I'm of Asian descent.


Explain to your people how turn signals work.

Mind prepping drawer six for transfer?

"Body going to Shady Plots." New funeral home?

Uh, change of ownership.

Says here the new owner is John Deaux. That's D-E-A-U-X.

It's a known alias for my least favorite of our cured zombies.


Oh, the humanity.


You see anything you like?

It's so rare the dead get to choose.

I got one with a breakaway lid that's a real time-saver for today's zombie looking to make that classic hand-shooting-up- through-the-dirt big entrance.

I don't mind admitting you were an inspiration behind this venture.

Letting the brains come to you.

Fortunately my previous enterprise provided me enough startup capital I needed to diversify.

And Seattle's zombie population feeds off already-deceased people, as God intended.

How low must the bar be for me to be able to say, with some sincerity, that I am proud of you?



Rain check.

Oh, forgot.

Taste buds as kaputski as the rest of you.




Are you eating that or impregnating it?

I'm curious.


Why are you still suiting up for Team Z?

The uniform sucks.

Morale is, let's be honest, consistently low.

Don't tell me you've actually developed a taste for brains.


Hold the phone! You dig it.

You get off on being the hero, don't you?

(IMITATES JIMMY STEWART) Oh, would you... Would you look at that.

That's a... That's a crime-solving zombie.

Roger, get in here!

She's a... She's a credit to her species.

Why can't they all be like her? (LAUGHS)

This isn't by choice.

(IN NORMAL VOICE) So you gave all the cure to me, and you can't make more?

(GASPS) That must stick in your craw.

Did you get a look at the place?

Did you?

Come on.

Check it out.

Viewing and services in the chapel there, refreshments served here.

Embalming and brain-harvesting in the basement.

It's got great flow, don't you think?

I've been meaning to ask you.

After our last encounter, you might recall it as the night you shot me, I was watching the coverage of the gunfight at the Meat Cute corral, and guess what I didn't see?

Your boyfriend's name among the deceased.

Now, I'm no medical examiner, but when I left, I would've have put dollars to doughnuts that Dudley Do-Right was a goner.

Which could only mean one thing.

Somewhere out there, Major Lilywhite, the most presciently named zombie of all time, roams the Earth.

Whitey Shamblemoore begs to differ.


Well, next time you see your beau, remind him he owes me a million dollars and a whole deli's worth of imported meat-slicing appliances.

The night of the boat party, you were selling Utopium.

But it wasn't pure. It was cut with something.

We need more of it if we're gonna make more of the cure.


And why would I want to help?

I'm human. I've got a thriving business.

I just learned I've been pre-approved for a Best Buy card.

I've gone legit.

Put my criminal ways behind me.

We're not sure your cure is permanent.


The first batch killed the test rat inside of two days.

And which batch did you shoot me up with?

The second.

So let me appeal to your self-interest.

You're likely on borrowed time, and if we don't get that tainted Utopium, you may wake up finding yourself with a hankering for some of the pink stuff.

(CLEARS THROAT) Shipment just arrived.


Tell you what, Liv Moore, I'll make some inquiries about that special boat-night Utopium.

Inquire like your life depends on it.

Oh, and you can save your respectable businessman jiggery-pokery for someone who might buy it.

Hand to God. Your boyfriend scared me straight.

I'm a changed man.

You'll see. I'll earn your trust.

We should go out some night, bust some criminals' skulls.




Let's take a look at this bad boy.

Who's gonna rule Seattle?

We are.

One hundred percent pure and uncut.





I'm gonna come clean with you, Major.

I'm an emotional eater, and last night, I was feeling all stuffed-crust pepperoni.

I'm your trainer, Bill, not your priest.

Ready to work?


Three, four, five, six, seven...



You're determined. I'll give you that.

I get it. You're not talking to me.

Look, I told you. I just need some time.

This isn't a social call.

And it's not a message you'd want recorded for posterity.


It's Clive.

He's grilling me about your Meat Cute alibi.

He's like a dog with a bone. Those five dead henchmen?

He suspects you killed them.

Where've you been?

They brought in that Rodney Ricks kid who killed Wendell.

He did it?

You had a vision?


Good God, Lemon, patience!

That kid screams guilty. He's wearing makeup, and his pants are hanging so low, they look like a bra for his ass.

(SIGHING) Obama.

So, I went to see your brother this morning.

You did?


I took your favorite police sketch artist, Jimmy, to see him.

Had Evan describe the man who hired him at Meat Cute.

This is what Jimmy came up with.

Now I worked with the sketch artist at the 48th Precinct last month, described the man I met at Meat Cute on that decapitation case.

Here's my sketch.

There was a name written in Suzuki's own blood at Meat Cute.


I think this is our Blaine.

You ever see him?

Maybe with Major?



I'm warning you, son.

A bunch of good men didn't die face-down in the muck so you could paint your face like a $2 whore.

I think what she means to say is, did you or did you not threaten Mr. Gale?

(SCOFFS) That douche from across the street went running to the cops, huh?

He tell you the old son of a bitch tased me?

So, you have motive and no alibi.

You know who you should be going after?



Talk about motive. He hates 'em for getting into his bird feeders.

We thought it'd be hilarious to toss bags of sunflower seeds into his yard every time we went by.

After a while, his place was just overrun with squirrels.

Then, one day, poof!

They're all dead. Like, a hundred of them.

He poisoned 'em, stacked 'em up like firewood, and burned 'em.

Who does that?

Would you mind putting your foot up on the table?

You know, if we were in Baghdad, this would be like me flipping you off.

Should I put the other one up here, too?

Does this look like your gynecologist's office?

Haven't you heard? That stuff'll rot your brain.

I think we're too late.

Rodney: Ah.

Board member on speaker: "Max Rager, Minimum Return."

That was the headline in the Journal yesterday.

I'm sure you saw it.


Yesterday I biked up Buck Mountain, sailed back down in a hang glider.

I had my breakfast, made love to my companion, sent her on her way.

Then I took my Asian investors ballooning in wine country, I secured a deal which opened up Vietnam and Laos, then I jetted back home where I accepted...


... a Chamber of Commerce innovator award.

Gee, I guess I must've missed the Journal headline.

Why don't you email it to me?

Board member: No one on the board doubts your commitment to being the face of the company.

Woman: Since the article detailing how Max Rager consumers have experienced manic, violent episodes, sales have dropped 30%.

And, of course, there are the lawsuits.

Last year, we did sales of...

Seven point eight.

Eight b-b-billion dollars.

I'm more than the face, and I hope you and the board don't forget that.

And when Super Max hits the market, well...

Woman: You've been promising us Super Max for a year, Vaughn.

And can you guarantee Super Max won't have the same side effects that plagued Max Rager?

Well, I can guarantee that we will all be so wealthy, we won't care.

Lighten up, people. Lighten up.

I am Mr. Social Responsibility.

Our best and brightest are on it.

And as always, your encouragement and advice are valued and taken to heart.

So, one love, sayonara, hasta pronto.


Remind me again why we can't put all of them into the company plane and fly it right into a volcano?

We need their money.

Once Super Max hits shelves, you'll be untouchable.

Assuming we're not mid-zombie apocalypse.

That's not gonna happen.


Our surveillance has paid off.

We've solved the zombie problem.

And how's that?

We've located the instrument of their destruction.

Is that my cue to start cackling maniacally, or shall I wait for you provide the details?

Hi. I'm here for Mr. Addis.

The new trainer. Yeah, come in.

You know, my dad's not fat, but his job is killing him.

High stress, and he refuses to get his blood pressure checked.

I mean, I keep bugging him to start working out, but he's a heart attack waiting to happen.

That's Kyle.

He won't notice you unless you're a zombie he can kill.


Hey, Dad! Your trainer's here.

No pressure, but we're counting on you to save his life.

No pressure.

Hey there.

Is it too soon to start begging for mercy?


That, uh, chin-up contest you talked about?

Yeah, it's on. Right now.

You go first.

So, listen, uh...

Look, I know you've not been in a great head space these days, but I wanted to talk to you about the house, generally.

The kitchen, specifically.

The goop in the sink? It's developed consciousness and opposable thumbs.

So I showed up to train a new client today, and he was a zombie.

What, like, blonde hair, pale skin?


He was normal-looking.

So how did you know?

I... Look, I can't explain it, all right, but I knew.

My hair stood on end, my pulse was racing.

Like a wild animal's fear instinct telling you to run.

Look, I've experienced it once before.

With Liv.

No, I was in a crowd.

Liv, uh, doesn't seem to set it off.


Because she domesticated you.

Like a lap dog or a pigeon that would eat crumbs out of your hand.

Why don't I take care of them dishes?

Hey, what's up, pale beauty?

Dream on, Tupac. Pfft.

Oh, it's like that?

You rang?

So, three days before Wendell Gale was killed, he filed an insurance claim.

Someone apparently keyed his car to the tune of $1,300 in damages.

Rodney Ricks? Sounds like something that kid would do.

I know you feelin' me, girl, stop playin'.

Yeah, my thoughts, too.

None of Rodney's shoes matched our wafflestomper print, but he could've ditched 'em.

You wanna go pay him a visit?

Hey, snowflake.

You look like you could use a little color in you, you know what I'm saying?



Unless you wanna spend the night in a cell with the Aryan Knights of the New Confederacy, you're gonna need to zip it.

Thanks, Clive.

You're one of the good ones.

I'm gonna go get myself a coffee and try very hard to forget you said that.


Oh, it was a compliment.


Enjoying your day off?

I think we've discovered a new side effect of the cure.


Well, more than once now, Major's run into people and he's just utterly convinced they're zombies.

His heart starts racing, his hair stands on end.

He's a human zombie detector.

So New Hope has had the cure.

That's why she runs away from me.

My thoughts exactly.

Then that stands to reason that all of the patients who...

Oh, for God's sake.

Now, you listen here, young lady.

I have had it with your shenanigans.

You stubborn, mean-spirited b*st*rd.

Think I can sell my place, when I'm living next to this hell hole?

You sleep with one eye open, Wendell.


Wendell: No, no!

No, not my car! Get back here, you old hag!

... your sense of entitlement, your complete lack of manners...

Did they find the guy who did that to your hair, or is he still at large?

Clive: Jimmy. Jimmy.

Hey, never mind her.

There are some bear claws in the break room. Why don't you take mine?

I'm taking hers, too.

Oh, you'll lose a hand.

I'm not scared of you!

What's your deal?

Do you need some aspirin?

Like, some lady aspirin?


I'm sorry, it's just...

I had a vision.

It wasn't Rodney who keyed Wendell's car.

It was Wendell's sister-in-law, Clara.

She can't sell her house because Wendell's place is like Little Calcutta.

She told him to "sleep with one eye open."

She's in one of those wheelchair things.

How's she gonna kick out the jack?

In my vision, she was jogging.

Open up.

I'm here on business.

I can hear you moving around in there.

I was sorry to hear about your brother.

I wanted to be at the funeral, but, you know.

Things came up.

Look, I need to talk to you about the night of the boat party.

Someone cut the Utopium that night.

It was you, right?

You and your twin? There's a payday.

A big one.

For whoever can show me how it was done.

Don't make me huff and puff, man.

Don E.

Long time, brother.

I didn't cut it.

But I know who did.

So is there some kind of finder's fee?



Clara: Come in!

Oh, watch it, ladies, it's the po-po.

And what can I do for you, Officers?

We have reason to believe you vandalized your brother-in-law's car a couple of weeks ago, and then threatened him.

Am I a suspect now?

Ladies, they think I might've killed Wendell.

But you were with us.

Damn right, I was.

We all heard the scream. We couldn't figure out what it was.

You all can vouch that Clara was with you?

She was.

Sitting right there.

You poor, dear thing.

You're white as a ghost and so skinny.

You need to eat something.

Oh, that's okay.

Oh, no, go on. Have a bite.

Be a good girl.

Wendell: That's it. Be a good girl.

Eat up, you ugly bitch.

Think you can crap in my yard, do you?

Hello? Anybody home?

Wendell was offering a dog a rolled-up piece of bologna.

He wanted to punish it for pooping in his yard.

You think he was poisoning the dog?

Well, that's what it looked like.

It was a spaniel.

Like our reluctant tipster Byron's.

I don't remember a dog.


He had dog toys and all those paintings of spaniels, but no actual spaniel.

What if Wendell poisoned Byron's dog, and Byron found out?

Byron crushes Wendell, then calls in an anonymous tip fingering the local juvenile delinquent.

Let's pay the man a visit.




Evening, Mr. Thistlewaite.

We had a few more...

Where's your dog, Byron?


"Uh. Uh. Uh."

It's a simple question.

Don't stall for time. Don't invent a story. Produce the dog.


Come here, girl. (CLICKING TONGUE)



As we suspected...

You have a dog.

That's just a little game we play called, "Does the person we're questioning have a dog?"

So why'd you...

Mr. Thistlewaite, we were just doubling back, asking a few more questions.

Can you tell us where you were between the hours of 10:00 and 11:00 on the night Wendell was killed?

The Foggy Duck.

It's a pub a couple blocks over.

There was a football game.

Do you remember who was playing?




Clive: Recognize him?

Liv: Is that Byron?

Heading into the Foggy Duck an hour before the murder.

He gets in his car and leaves an hour after the murder.

I looked into it, there was an Arsenal-Chelsea rebroadcast that night.

So his alibi checks out. He was busy hating America.

Why does it look like you swallowed a canary?

Because when I went to the pub, I saw that there was a second exit around the side, one that can't be seen by the surveillance camera.

But most importantly, look what I found tacked up at the pub.

Judging by the flyers underneath this one and the ones partially covering it, I'd guess it's been up there for about a week.

But we know the dog is alive, so what does...

What if on the night of the murder, Byron sat in this pub downing pints.

His dog was missing, and he was sure Wendell was responsible.

He gets enough liquid courage in him that he decides to go have a chat with Wendell.

He finds the old man underneath his car, loses it, kicks out the jack.

Then, a day or two later, Lana comes wandering back.

Well, good luck to us proving it.

There's the bonus.

Take another look at the screen, there.

What do you see?


His shoes. Wafflestompers.

Let's hope they're a match.

I'm gonna need you to step outside while the officers conduct the search.

Watts, master closet first.

You failed to mention you misplaced your dog last week.

Was that even relevant?

Well, once we asked about your dog? Yeah.

I went back and checked out that Arsenal-Chelsea match.

Right about the time Mr. Gale was murdered, an Arsenal player headed in a goal.

Which one was he? Which guy?

This what you were looking for, Detective?

Thanks, Eric. It is, indeed.

Right here, we have a boot print left in Wendell's blood.

What do you know?

It's a match.


(SNIFFLES) I thought he killed her.

He threatened to. Multiple times.

He said if he caught her in his yard one more time...

Lana had been missing a few days, and I'd searched the neighborhood.

But in my heart, I knew what had happened to her.

I had more than a few beers in me that night.

I know it was you.


What did you do to my dog?

That's one dog that won't be crapping in anyone else's yard.

He pretty much admitted to it, to killing her.



It was one second.

It was one second of my life that I can't take back.


And that's when I heard it.



I'm so sorry. I'm gonna have to leave you.

Yes, I am.

A momentary lapse in reason, and now Byron will likely spend his next 20 years in prison.

Well, you did your job. People don't get to kill each other willy-nilly.

We're cremating Wendell?

We couldn't find any next of kin?

We found them. They just weren't interested in claiming his body.

Liv: What do you have to say for yourself, Wendell?

Life dealt you a lousy hand, so you just folded tent, decided it was easier to be a rotten b*st*rd.

That's not gonna be me.

I'm going down swinging.

Zombies don't deserve our mercy, so just put that thought out of your head.

(EXHALES) How to explain?

I love submarine movies.

Big fan.

And there's always this moment...

It's the moment where the sub is torpedoed, and the compartment is flooding, and the captain's gotta give the order to "seal it up," even though he knows that there are men still alive in there.

Cut to the sailor who receives that order, tears in his eyes, closing that hatch on his comrades.

The man that closes that hatch is a hero, isn't he?

But we are both doing what needs to be done. We are saving lives.

There are zombies living among us.


And they are feasting on human brains.

Where do they get these brains?

Who knows?


But don't you think it's a good idea to put an end to it?

Sure, they look like us, they sound like us, but if you think of them as brain-eating atomic bombs, you'll sleep like a baby.

You've got the wrong man for the job.

Oh, I have the only man for the job.

Ravi on recording: More than once now, Major's run into people and he's just utterly convinced they're zombies.

His heart starts racing, his hair stands on end.

He's a human zombie detector.


You're singularly qualified.

Now, we've learned a few things about zombies.

Weird as it sounds, they (LAUGHS) can't get enough of spicy food.

And in order to blend in, they require pretty regular tanning and hair dyeing.

Our tech boys have developed an algorithm which scans credit card statements for charges which fit this zombie profile.

Those 322 people are suspected zombies. Your mission, determine which ones are the real deal (WHISPERING) and close that hatch on them.

Kill them?


After all...

Aren't you the greatest zombie killer alive?

You forgot your list.

I'm not doing this.


Liv on recording: It's Clive.

He's grilling me about your Meat Cute alibi. He's like a dog with a bone. Those five dead henchmen? He suspects you killed them.

I've got you over a barrel, big guy.

Five murders, that's a lot of years in the pokey.

Do what you gotta do.

Major, we are doing our civic duty here.

We played a big part in creating this problem.

And we are gonna be very aggressive in cleaning it up.

We do know of one zombie, Liv Moore.

We don't have to start with her, but we've gotta start somewhere.




Liv: When I was 21, it was a very good year. 27? Less great. Best friend gone. Love of my life avoiding me. And my brother and mom still unwilling to hear me out. Tomorrow I'll eat a new brain, get Wendell out of my system. Maybe someday I'll be forgiven. With any luck, someone with a winning personality is out there getting murdered right now.

Whoa. Uncool, Liv.

Get out of my head, Wendell.




Gilda: Hey, roomie.

Wanna watch the season premier of Zombie High?

Not really.

I want to stay in here feeling sorry for myself, not listen to IRS break room gossip.

Sounds great. I'll be right there.



What are those pesky zombies up to this week?

Death and mayhem.

The ush.

Hey, how was work?

Oh, my God. (LAUGHS)

You would not believe the guy we hired.

Super freaking hot. Like, stupid hot.

Magic Mike hot.

Right on. Are you gonna work your Gilda magic on him?

(SIGHS) It's under serious consideration.

Maybe I'll just toy with him for a while.

Oh, he doesn't stand a chance.


No, zombie!

Dumb, dumb zombie.