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Ultimate Undead Collection: The Zombie Apocalypse Best Sellers Boxed Set (10 Books)

Page 158

by Joe McKinney


  A few minutes later, she staggered past my hiding spot and kept on walking.

  I started building a barricade later that night.

  Day 4

  My Girlfriend Has Crabs

  I might kill her today.

  The barricades are holding up okay. I dragged some deadwood up last night and crafted a tiny fence. She walked into it, fell back and then walked into it again. This dislodged some of the wood, but I shoved it back into place. I sat in the shade of a tiny tree, and she walked away as if I’d pulled a disappearing act.

  Not too bright, that one. Sometimes when she walked away, I would call out to her. “Hey, hey, come back,” and she came right back like she had a hot date. It was pretty funny the first five or six times.

  I don’t know her name. No idea. I thought of making one up, but none really came to mind. Maybe Helga. Sure, a nice thick name to match her intelligence. I saw this movie once where Tom Hanks was stuck on a deserted island and all he had was a stupid volleyball for a companion. This dead chick is my Wilson.

  She is dead, quite dead. No pulse, no warmth, and no blood flow. She has a couple of cuts and scrapes, but they are just little furrows in the skin. They are gray and puckered like weird lips. I wonder if they’re infected or something.

  I’ve been thinking about making a rope out of old palm leaves and tying her to something. It would be a hell of a lot easier to just kill her, but then who am I going to talk to? I don’t have a volleyball with a cute smiley face drawn on. And if I kill her, how will I explain it when I get rescued? How will I tell them that some zombie chick tried to eat me and I had to take her down a notch by bashing in her head? I could show them the weird plant and berries, and maybe they could do something with it like find a cure for … I don ‘t know, being dead.

  So with no one to talk to, I decided to keep her around. I don’t have a Friday like Robinson Crusoe. Instead, I have a slack gray face to tell my problems to. She was hot when she was alive. Those clothes cover some of her, but I can see her shape under them. I wonder if the rest of her skin is gray as well. Maybe under that tiny skirt, she is still as white as a virgin.

  I should stop writing things like that. When I get off this cursed island, the book companies won’t want to hear about me lusting after some dead chick, no matter how horny I get. That would never make a good movie. Maybe a bad sitcom.

  Jesus. Four days and I am already going insane.

  Four days since I got here? Four days?! It seems like a lifetime.

  How in the world did I end up here? I was pretty disoriented after I woke up on the beach, but I will try to recount the accident. If I wait much longer, I might have sunstroke and they’ll find my bones with this barely filled-out journal.

  It all started when Cliff had emergency gallbladder surgery.

  That they ended up sending me was shockingly poor management. I have about as much pull as a neutered puppy, and I’m about as scary as a wet paper bag.

  But they needed a guy to go out there and look at the budgets for the resort, so that’s what I would do. Go in with my calculator, check out the accounting, act important, then leave and get a vacation out of the deal. I wanted Ally to go with me, but the company made it plain that I would have to pay her way. A grand just to get the plane ticket? If I had money like that, I wouldn’t blow it on a plane ticket. A new paint job for my car, maybe, but not a ticket.

  They put me up at a spectacular hotel. It sat so close to the beach that I only had to walk ten or fifteen feet to reach the bar. Then it was a quick dash for the water, which was just as blue as blue cold be. There were palm trees everywhere, and I even saw a guy climbing up one to get some coconuts.

  I was offered a massage after I got settled in. Asked if it was a man, because that would make me feel weird, but I was assured it was a woman. A beautiful woman, no less. Ally is a beautiful woman, in her way. I mean, she is a little taller than me and really doesn’t care about her hair like some of the model-looking girls I work with, but that’s cool. She laughs at my dumb jokes, and what else can you ask for? I also love the freckles that cover her face, neck and just about every inch of her body.

  The lady at the counter told me to bring extra money for a tip. She sort of winked at me, so I winked back. I could spare five bucks if it was a good massage. I had one at the mall once, but it was by this big guy who pressed on my shoulders so hard I thought I was going to have his fingers indented into my skin for the rest of the week.

  I didn’t care for the flight much. We flew into Port Jolito on a regular airliner, but getting to the island in a small plane that shook the whole time it wasn’t swooping up and down scared me to death. I drank a couple of beers and almost fell asleep a few times. Then we’d bang around and I would pop my eyes back open, afraid we were going to crash.

  I think the pilot swooped down to the water a few times just to scare me. I could actually see things on the surface, like dolphins. Or sharks. Had to make a couple of bathroom trips since the plane was so tiny. It shook and shook. I swear I thought the thing was going to come apart.

  The next day was a little bit better.

  I hopped on a little puddle jumper (I heard one of the people in the tiny airport call it that), and we set out for the other island. I was all alone and sat toward the front.

  The pilot kept his door open and sang the whole time. Bawdy songs about girls that I couldn’t imagine were true. He said his name was Mooney, but he said to call him by his nickname, Looney Mooney.

  I told him I preferred not to.

  He talked whenever he wasn’t singing, and he told me to head to the bar later so I could buy him a drink. I agreed but decided to hide out after my work was done. Probably safer that way.

  The books weren’t as bad as I thought. I looked through them and broke out my laptop. I compiled a big spreadsheet in half a day and found out that the company was doing pretty well. Not much funny business that I could find. I dropped my results in an email and sent it off to my boss. He would be happy, and I still had a couple of days to enjoy the sun.

  Tried to call Ally, but I guess she was out and about. I left her a message telling her how much I missed her. Then I ordered room service and had some rum while I watched the local channels, which were in the native language. There was some sort of variety show that had men chasing each other around on bicycles through a city that looked like a quiet place—except for these yahoos. I could see myself retiring here, maybe opening a bar and offering maps and advice to tourists.

  I got the diary out. Had it in a plastic bag with a digital camera, some extra cash, a tube of sunscreen, and my iPod. The bag was just a big thick clear thing Ally bought me. I guess they make them for divers. It has a clasp made of plastic that closes so tight you can take the thing underwater and it won’t even leak. She said it was expensive, but it looks like a fancy Ziploc baggie to me.

  Ally said that the way it rains here, I’d need something to keep my stuff dry. Turns out she was almost right. Rain, crashing into the ocean, whatever.

  At the time, I felt more like a drink than quality time with the diary, so I put it away without writing anything and headed to the pool. With any luck, I wouldn’t run into the crazy pilot. If he saw me drinking, it might just encourage him. Then who the hell was going to fly the plane?

  I sat by the pool, and someone brought me a drink menu. I ordered some fancy thing that came in a coconut shell. I enjoyed it so much that I ordered one more. I could drink those things every day. I may have dozed, because when I opened my eyes, the sun was getting low, and I had to rush back to the room to grab my bags.

  The hotel staff acted very nice as I packed to leave. With my inspection complete, I imagine they were glad to get rid of me. The manager gave me his personal cell number and told me to call if I had any questions about the books. Then with smiles, pats on the back, a handshake or two, I left feeling like a celebrity. I bet Ally would have loved it there, though under the circumstances, I suppose I shouldn’t fee
l too guilty for not springing for a ticket for her.

  I miss my girl. Speaking of which …

  When my new girl wandered off, I hiked to the center of the island and drank some fresh water guzzling until I thought I was going to puke. I took my shirt off and splashed water over my body. Wish I could strip and bathe for real, but I would have to do it fast in case she came after me. Don’t want her chasing after me while I’m buck-ass naked.

  I managed to find a couple of little starfish-looking things by the shore, but I almost puked when I ate them raw. I wondered how they would taste if I cooked them.

  I had some matches from the resort. I’d almost forgotten that I’d put them in the waterproof bag. Luck was really on my side, since no amount of rubbing sticks was likely to work in my favor. I did try it for a minute, but all I got was really sore hands and a warm stick.

  She found me and stood against the sticks I’d used to construct a crappy barrier. She didn’t push against them, just stood there staring at me. I would have to keep an eye on her.

  Managed to get a fire going. Had to clear out a section of my new living area so I wouldn’t catch on fire when I slept. Stupid chick went bat shit insane, like she’d never seen a flame before. I had to build up a little palm leaf barrier so she couldn’t see it. Then she settled down.

  God, she was like some ADD kid with Tourette’s syndrome. Maybe I can tie her to something, give me time to do some much-needed work. Need to do some exploring. Find food. Maybe cook one of the coconuts just to have a different flavor.

  All day I have been fighting the runs. Coconut must be the best system cleaner in the world. Work for five minutes, pop a squat. Go get some water, pop a squat.

  That reminds me. She doesn’t eat. (Though she did try to eat me the first day.) Haven’t seen her take a dump either. Then again, she is too stupid to raise her skirt and do it. God! The thought of her crapping in some silky Victoria’s Secret panties makes me want to throw up—not that I have anything in my stomach.

  I’m going to get water and then write more. Nothing else to do except gather my thoughts and jot them down.

  Food at last, and not a bad meal if I do say so myself.

  I came back from the little waterfall, and she just stared at me. She moaned, her jaw opened wide and I saw the horror that was her mouth. She must have fallen down a few times, because her front teeth are a mess. Some are cracked, and some are just plain broken. Her tongue is a gray hunk that reminds me of a dry slug. When it slips out, she has trouble getting it back in. I saw her chewing on it a couple of times, and that made me shiver despite the stupid heat.

  I noticed some bug had planted eggs in her dried-out eye. Reminded me of spider sacs, but they were moving. Maybe they are cocoons. I don’t watch enough Animal Planet to make a call. All I know is that I wish I could hold her down and squish them.

  Anyway, she was standing in front of a tree and wasn’t moving, so I decided to sneak past her and go sleep in my little walled-off space. Only I noticed that her hair was moving around like it was alive. I felt my skin crawl, and I shivered all over like I had caught a chill in the ninety-plus-degree sun. I wanted to bash her over the head and stop whatever was moving in there. I even reached for a stick before I saw the blue-and-white claw poke out. I felt my mouth flood with saliva at the sight.

  My girlfriend had crabs—in her hair.

  I thought drool was going to burst from between my lips. It was like someone poured water in my mouth. I couldn’t stop thinking about the crab legs Ally and I ate in San Francisco last year.

  I had this stick in my hand, and I really wanted that crab. I walked toward her as slowly as I could. She smelled sort of like old fish left out, and don’t even get me started on where that reek might be coming from. I hope it’s just from the crash and her spending all that time in the water.

  Please be from the seawater! Please be from the seawater!

  One of the little crab claws poked out of the nest of blond hair and snapped at the air. I was just about close enough to grab it, but she must have sensed me behind her, because she turned—well, staggered, really—like she was on a bender. When she saw me, her eyes opened wide—even the one without the gross bug eggs in it—and her mouth snapped at the air.

  I tried to ward her off with the stick, but she reached for me anyway. I slapped her hands away. Didn’t want to touch her skin, but I did and, man, was she cold. It actually felt good compared to the heat, sort of like touching a raw steak fresh from the fridge. I pushed her again, just enough to turn her away.

  I made a grab for the crab’s claw, but the little bastard snapped at me. I was so hungry that I ignored the claw and let it close on my finger. It hurt like hell, so I tried to yank my hand back, but it wouldn’t let go. So there I was, dancing around this dead chick with my hand stuck in her hair. She reached for me over and over. Those nasty broken teeth snapped at me. She almost got a bite! Zombie bite—crap. I’ve read enough and seen the movies. I know that if she bites me, I am fucked.

  I jerked my hand away hard enough to free it and stuck my sore thumb in my mouth. Then I worried that I had touched her and somehow the zombie virus would get into me. I spat repeatedly and prayed I wouldn’t change into a shambling creature like her.

  This was not working!

  I pushed her back, and she staggered into a tree. I backed up and found a large piece of curved driftwood. I turned it over so the round part stuck up in the air. Then I built up a pile of sand around the other end so it wouldn’t fall over. Finally, I pounded on the rounded end until it made a little hump on the ground.

  I led her away, about ten feet or so, then I ran back and stood behind my new trap. She found me after a minute or two, and it was a mind-numbing slow wait for her to stagger toward me. She moaned and hissed and, at one point, even put her arms up like some stupid Frankenstein chick.

  It took forever, but she fell for it. She tripped just like I’d hoped and fell flat on her face. I’ve heard that saying many times, but I’d never seen it happen quite like this.

  I jumped on her back and fought the crab. He was buried in her hair like he was stuck in a net. At first I was scared of his snapping claws, but I managed to unhook two legs. Meanwhile, she lay under me and struggled to get up. I had my legs around her slim waist, and her face was still pressed into the sand. I worried that she would suffocate, but she didn’t bother to lift her head.

  I held the crab around the ass end of his shell. I’m sure I muttered a few obscenities at the stupid thing, but it just snapped at me and hissed little bubbles.

  She lay there for a long time, just moving her head back and forth. I thought about finding a stick to finish her off, but I had to admit she was pretty entertaining. When I get off this cursed island, I know I will write a book about my adventures and sell a million copies. It will be even better if I manage to keep her alive.

  She didn’t even try to get up. She just flopped around like a slow-moving fish out of water.

  I went back to camp, got the fire going and cooked the little snapper. He had to be just about the best crab I have ever tasted.

  Night is here, and I can barely make out the page, so I guess I’ll try and get some sleep.

  Oh God. I have to take another shit.

  Day 5

  My Girlfriend Doesn’t Talk Much

  I was so tired from running around with my new girl that I crashed without taking precautions last night. I woke and jerked upright, looked around for her, my mind freaking with the thought that she may have taken a bite out of me while I slept. Looked over my arms and chest in a rush, felt the skin for puncture marks. Then got up and looked around. That’s when I noticed she had not moved from her spot last night. She was moving her arms and hands like she was swimming.

  Fucking retard.

  Hiked off to the stream and took a real bath. The morning was already muggy, so the water felt great. Used some sand to scrub my body as clean as I could. Wish I had some soap and shampoo. While I’
m wishing for stuff, I guess I’ll wish for a burger and fries. God, I’m hungry.

  The hike back sucked. I was covered in more sweat than when I made my trek to the pool. I wanted to stay at the stream all day, but I needed to figure out how to get some food. Decided I would try to sharpen a stick and jab it into a fish. Saw that on the TV show Survivorman once. He just threw it at the water and came up with something that flopped around on the end.

  I was ready to eat something floppy.

  The sun made me feel like my skin was on fire. The ground was rough, and all I have in the way of footwear was a pair of foam flip-flops. I wonder how long they’re going to last.

  When I got to my little camp, I saw that the stacks of wood I had prepared for a signal fire were scattered everywhere. Looked like she tried to crawl over it. She was lying across a log with her ass in the air, skirt almost torn off.

  Great.

  I grabbed her ankle, dragged her away from the wood and pointed her toward the water. She snapped at me the entire time, turning her head back and forth as if she could reach me. She has shapely legs. Too bad they’re gray and covered in gunk.

  Don’t think about the gunk! Don’t think about the gunk!

  Wonder if I can give her a bath.

  I chatted the entire time I dragged her. Asked her name, what she did for a living. Asked if she liked guys like me at all, guys who don’t have buckets of money and actually have to work for a living. Not like the chucklehead she was with on the plane.

  It wasn’t that long ago that I was just a perv ogling her from the back of the plane. Stupid plane! I know that pilot was drunk. So I told her all about the crash.

  It started with that pilot. Looney Mooney with his shorts hung so low in the back I had to wonder if that was how he got his name.

  Mooney wandered onto the plane, bumped into the wall, then smiled and nodded at the stewardess. His walk was sort of a weave as he made his way to the cockpit and shut the door. I hoped he wasn’t too sick. I knew he wasn’t drunk, because pilots aren’t allowed to drink before they fly. Right?

 

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