by Joe McKinney
I had a couple of oyster shells ready, and I put the first one in her mouth the next time she snapped at me. I had to be careful so she didn’t get a piece of my finger. I wiped my hand down and grabbed the second one and snapped it onto the top of her mouth so she looked like a weird inside-out shellfish.
Now I was able to get to work. I had reconsidered the lube and decided to use a lot of it for this delicate operation. I wet the tube from the enema, slathered it up good and thick and then slipped the plastic end into her mouth. I had to push it against the back of her throat, and she gagged against it. I thought that was interesting. She is dead, after all, and shouldn’t have a gag reflex. Maybe she was just fighting the tube. I sure as hell would be.
I ran the tube down as far as it would go and then left the hose hanging there. I grabbed the bottle and screwed it on tight and then squeezed all the water into her stomach. She gurgled as it ran down her throat. I had to hold her head tightly so she wouldn’t thrash around.
Once it was empty, I ran to the beach and filled it again and repeated Operation Get the Nasty Shit out of her Gut. After her stomach was full with a third one, I untied her and dragged her away from the tree. I affixed the rope to her feet and then pulled the hose out. I massaged her gut just under her now-sagging boobs. I pushed and prodded, hoping to get the water and rotted material mixed together.
With the help of a low branch, I pulled her into the air, feet first, so that all the stuff in her stomach ran out of her mouth.
I could describe the maggot-infested rotted meat in great detail. It would surely make a great addition to someone’s bizarre horror movie, but I won’t. Let me just say that it was the single most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life. It was almost as bad when I repeated the process.
I don’t think she is any angrier with me today than usual. I took her to the stream afterward and gave her a long bath. I used a lot of the sunscreen to moisten her skin. I took my time and rubbed it all over her body, which was still cold to my touch. Her one good eye kept a constant watch on me, but she didn’t really react in any other way. If I were looking for any sort of gratitude, I wouldn’t find it here. With the meat out of her system, she must be a lot more comfortable, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at her.
Her clothes are getting worn out, the shirt hanging in strips. I could dress her in the stuff I found in the bags, but it’s all mostly ruined from the seawater. Besides, the clothes are all designed for a larger man, and I don’t want to waste them on her. I’m the live one here, and I need them more than she ever will.
I’m going to tie her to the tree and then go fishing.
Tomorrow, I will make her some new clothes.
Day 13
My Girlfriend Does the Hula
Had a pretty busy day today. I worked on the house … or hut … should probably just call it an enclosure. A homeless guy with a bunch of cardboard and wet paper towels could probably design a better home than this.
I saw a movie once where these two kids were stranded on an island and they somehow built a massive, multilevel mansion out of wood and palm leaves. Right now, I just needed something to keep me dry. I’ll worry about deserted-island engineering later.
I dragged more rocks over and managed to cut up some of the longer branches so I could build up a wall. I was planning to make it a sort of lean-to, but now I am going to elevate the roof and angle it so that the rain washes down to collect in the suitcase I dragged out of the sea yesterday. I may build a small space for her as well.
Tied her by her wrist to a tree that didn’t get much sun. Speaking of the sun, all that lotion I put on yesterday to moisturize her was a terrible idea. It just sat on top of her skin and didn’t soak in. So now she is covered in sand, because she falls down a lot. Each time I pick her up, it feels like I am picking up sandpaper. The shit has hardened everywhere.
I took one of the large shirts and tore off a sleeve and fashioned a new gag for her. She fought me the entire time as I wrapped it around her mouth. She smells so much better today now that the festering pile of meat is gone from her gut. I bet she is hungry, though. I mean, if she gets hungry. I’m a little confused on that point. If she had a full stomach, why was she always trying to take a bite out of me? Brain damage? Brain dead?
I have tried to reason with her. I talked to her, tried a little sign language, but nothing seems to get through. I offered some of the charred turtle. She chewed it once and then let the chunk of meat drool out of her mouth and down her chin. It left a black line that I had to clean up later, like she was a six year old.
There is no way I am giving her raw meat again, not after having to go through that whole disgusting process yesterday of jamming an enema tube down her throat. I had to dig a hole and then take a thick palm leaf and sort of scoop the nasty stuff in it. I felt like a giant cat covering shit. Fucking meow.
I managed to climb a tree today and get a couple of coconuts down. I broke one open and drank the wonderfully refreshing milk that was in the center. It went down like a dream, and the only thing I wished I had to go with it was some rum or tequila.
And a live girl—like Ally. She must be worried sick. I miss her like crazy. Sometimes I just lie on my little cot and think about all the fun we used to have together. She was a handful. Always coming and going. Ally was also sort of the hunter-gatherer of our relationship. She loved to fish, and she had no problem gutting, cleaning and smoking them. I had no problem eating them. This worked out well.
Staring at my new girlfriend, I decided that the clothes had to go, because they were torn up and covered in something I can only describe as goo. I didn’t exactly have replacements for her. Not unless I got real creative with the little crappy sewing kit I found yesterday. I had an idea, so I worked the rock knife into the shell and then all the way around it until it split open. I scraped out every last chunk of fruit and ate it like it was vanilla ice cream. I was never a huge coconut fan, so poor me, because it is now a staple of my diet. At first I left the shells in the direct sun to dry, but on second thought, I put them by the fire to dry faster.
I took her to the stream and removed her ragged clothes. They came away in tatters, and I tossed them in a heap. I don’t think she needs them anymore and, really, what purpose do they serve? Besides, they are a mess.
“Why can’t you be alive?” I asked her as I washed her breasts several times.
“Why can’t you talk?” I asked as I washed down her thighs. Too bad I don’t have any soap.
The smell of sunscreen was really strong, and I was happy that it wasn’t covering up the smell of decay. Ever since I found her body, I have been afraid she would start rotting.
“Why did you have to eat those weird berries?” I asked as I washed her butt. What guy doesn’t like to give his girlfriend a bath, right?
I went at her hair and got all the stuff out of it. It’s long and blond, and I bet it would look good with some shells woven into it. Or maybe I should cut it so it is easier to take care of. I bet I could take my black-rock knife and hack it off. She stared at me with that one good blue eye and moaned as I worked at her body. I pretended that she liked it instead of the truth: that if the gag were off, she would try to take a bite out of me.
I didn’t bother putting clothes on her. I took her cold hand in mine and led her back to the camp. Set her on the little pallet of leaves and tied her legs together so she couldn’t stand up and walk away. Then I grabbed the coconut halves and used the knife I found in the luggage to drill little holes in them. I worked on this for a few minutes, then got some fishing line and went to work.
I did get up early and try to fish, but it was a wasted effort. I found a tiny crab and hooked it, then tried dropping it in the water with one end tied to a stick. I didn’t even see a fish, let alone catch one. I need to think about where to fish later on today. I don’t think the fishing line is going to be much use unless I find a lake so I can bob the thing in the water. I just don’t have a fishing p
ole.
She snarled from her spot as I worked. Sheesh. I get no gratitude. I pretty much had the coconut halves ready, so I went to her side and crouched there and tried them on. I did some adjustments with the straps and then covered them in palm leaf strips so it didn’t look so tacky.
I untied her and then helped her up. She tried to come at me, but I pushed her away gently. She looked pretty good with the coconut halves making up a bikini top. Her breasts are pretty large, and they fill the halves. In fact, they press out of the top enough to give her some cleavage, gray though her skin is.
I tore up some more palm leaves and made a skirt out of them. It wasn’t perfect. Some of them kept falling out, but that was okay. She still looked like my little island girl. I wanted to go for the tropical look, but she looked more like those hula dolls people put on dashboards in their cars.
I put one of her pumps on, but she kept fighting me. So I just left her with the one. Now when she walks around, she sort of looks like she is dancing.
Yep, my girlfriend can do the hula, and it is kinda hot.
Day 14
My Girlfriend Moans a Lot
I spent the morning exploring more of the island. I have no sense of direction here. Well, I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but I might have that mixed up. It’s an island, so there isn’t moss on the shaded side of trees to determine which way you are supposed to look. Not that I even know how that works. Kind of like building a fire. If I lose my matches, I am screwed. I couldn’t start a fire if you gave me two sticks and a pair of midgets to rub them together. That’s why I have to constantly go back and add stuff to the fire. Even if it burns down to just a pile of ashes, I have been able to shave some wood off a stick and puff until it catches.
Can’t count on her to help out. She just stares at me and growls all the time. Sometimes she moans, but in a way that is far from sexy. She moans like she is really bored. She moans at night when I hide from her. She moans when I walk by. Sometimes, she manages to stand up; then she walks toward me with her hands held out in front of her, and moans really loud.
I shouldn’t say negative things like that. The Lifetime Network will only want me to say positive things. They’ll want to hear about all the things I did to rescue my girl.
Speaking of which, when I left this morning, I tied her to the tree and moved her out of the sun. She doesn’t tan. Not anymore. She always has that gray color to her skin. I think it has something to do with the pigment dying. She has spent hours in the sun and doesn’t turn red. I wish I had some of that tanning stuff so I could paint her body and make it look like she has a tan. I remember that Ally once did that at a salon, and her white complexion turned an almost orange color. It was embarrassing, but I told her she looked hot.
So anyway, Diary, I decided to explore, so I went what I will call “the other way.” I’m used to going one way to explore the island, so today I headed for the other side. See, I don’t need a compass. I took a left out of the little campsite and went around the island. I found lots of interesting stuff, like more sand, and trees and shrubs. Jesus Christ, it looks JUST like the side I had already explored.
I got to a point where I thought I was halfway around the island, picking my way over bleached logs that washed up on the shore, around fallen branches, coconut shells and tons of black rocks. I started picking up large rocks and throwing them in the general direction of my campsite so I could gather them up later. I figure that if I toss them every day, I will have a big pile in a few weeks and I can finish my house.
When I get it built, it will probably be the wrong way or too heavy, and it will fall in on me. Probably bury me in a ton of stones. Break bones, pin me to the ground. Then I am screwed, because the next time she gets loose, she will bite whatever is exposed, and then I am bound for Zombie-Wilsonville.
At least collecting them is something to do. It’s not like I have a lot on my plate. I pretty much spend all day scavenging for food and trying not to lust after my dead girlfriend. Is it lust? I don’t know. I can’t exactly do her. I mean, that’s just disgusting. GROSS. But I can look at her and, well …
I saw a pair of birds hopping around, pretty little flyers with a rainbow of color. They weren’t parrots or anything, but they were bright. I had a brief fantasy about putting them in a cage and teaching them to talk. Pretty bird, want a piece of raw oyster? Want a piece of my pretty dead girlfriend? I want a piece of you!
My mouth flooded with so much saliva that I thought it would burst out between my lips. I’m glad there was no one to ask me a question, because the answer would have seen a river of drool leaking down my chin.
Bird, oh my God. I was tasting KFC already. In fact, I started shaking as I picked up a big black rock and threw it as hard as I could at the bird. The little beast must have seen me coming from a mile away. I missed him, and he squawked as he left with his little girlfriend. They headed toward the center of the island, and I marked the spot. Of course, when I walked another half a mile, I had completely lost the spot. I’m pretty sure it was near a tree. Brilliant.
I turned away and went back to the camp, head down, depressed about my escaped extra-crispy tropical bird meal. I stopped near a little spot where the water was stuck in a pool from the tide going out. There were some little tiny fish in it, so I grabbed them. Ate them raw, pretending they were a fine three-piece chicken meal. Except they weren’t; they were mushy and tasted like salt.
Yuck.
I got back to the camp and she was gone.
Again? Crap! For a zombie, she has turned into a pretty decent Houdini.
I’m getting tired of hunting for her. I need to build a cage. Besides, it gets so hot that I need to stay under cover during the day. It is like a sauna out there, but who wants to be in a sauna twenty-four hours a day? It sucks. By noon, I feel like I am covered in sweat, and it makes me want to live in the little lake.
I took off in the opposite direction I’d taken when I started out. I walked the beach and looked at the footprints. But they looked just like all of my footprints. Kinda hard to track someone in sand. It just looks like a bunch of shallow indentations. I had already determined that she was not smart enough to sneak up on me. Her idea of sneaking involves a lot of moaning and snarling behind a piece of cloth.
I caught sight of her moving toward the trees, and when I called out to her, she kept going. I yelled louder, but she ignored me. How rude.
“Yo, zombie chick! Come back!” I never got around to giving her a name, but I didn’t think she would mind zombie chick, as derogatory as it sounds.
“Come back, babe!” But she kept going. I think she is messing with me again.
I dashed after her, and she kept moving until I grabbed her arm and spun her around. She fell backwards, and I caught her in my arms. Her coconut halves hit my chest hard, and her hula skirt fell open to reveal her long gray legs. She snapped at me, but the cover over her mouth stopped her teeth from sinking into my cheek. It sort of felt like a kiss.
I wondered what she was after out here. What was she following? I heard a noise in the trees, and another pair of those birds took off. I had her in my arms, but I dropped her to snatch up a rock and throw it at the departing pair. They sailed away with a fresh squeal and were gone. I looked after them and then at her. She was lying there, good eye fixed on them, then head turning to watch them depart.
Had she really left the camp to follow the birds? That made no sense. She doesn’t have a brain. She can’t think for herself. She is dead. No pulse, no heartbeat, no breath.
Her eye swiveled back to me, and she snarled again.
I helped her up and took her hand in mine. Then we walked together, me tugging her by her wrist. After a few minutes of that, it became easier to put my hand around her cold shoulder and walk her back to the camp like young lovers on the beach. About the only thing I was in love with was the idea of bashing in her stupid head.
Day 15
My Girlfriend Likes to Cuddl
e
I’m glad I worked on the shelter. It started to rain last night when the sun was sinking below the horizon. It really does sink too; it’s like a big bloody clump that paints the water pink. I was reading a book to her, one of the romance novels I rescued from the luggage a few days ago. I didn’t care for it. For once, she was quiet and even stared at me as I read. Of course, her tongue was pressing against the gag, so I think she may have been imagining eating me.
I wonder if she has an imagination.
During the day, I managed to hit a whole group of starfish. I brought back four of the things. One was quite large, with a big red stripe on each arm. I had the bright idea to set a palm leaf in the sun with some seawater in it. This dried up, and I was left with a whole batch of salt. Now if I just had some pepper and a glass of whiskey, I would be a happy camper.
She sat on the ground while I ate and stared at my food. I spend a lot of time staring at stuff. Not much else to do. I used to stare at the TV and at movie screens, but now I was stuck replaying movies in my mind when I wanted some entertainment. I just wish that I had watched more porn. I’d like to have that stuff replaying in my mind. I mean, I’m still young. At this age, I should be horny a lot. It’s natural, right, Diary?
At one point, she leaned so far forward that she fell over on her face. I jumped to my feet and helped her up. She hissed at me, so I took the cloth off her face, figuring she was tired of having it there. She moaned, snarled, snapped and lunged at me with her teeth exposed. Her gums are going green, like she has gum disease or something. Too bad I don’t have Listerine, some toothpaste and maybe a horse brush.
