The Zombie Wilson Diaries

by Timothy W. Long

  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 pole.

  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 s
and. 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 Cuddle

  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.

  I left her like that, but I did adjust the coconut halves over her boobs. I pressed them up so she had some cleavage and then tightened the strap so it would stay. It was kinda hot, but it would’ve been hotter if she weren’t so gray.

  And dead.

  Her good eye kept looking at me. Her dry sandpaper-looking (sandpaper-sounding, for that matter) tongue slid between her lips. Then she chewed on it. Not hard. She treated her tongue more like a pacifier. I took some of my water in a cupped palm leaf and tilted her head back. She snapped at me, but when she was staring straight up at the sky, she stopped, zoning out. I wet her lips, and some of the water ran down her chin. I poured a bit in, then a splash more. She didn’t really drink it, but it filled her mouth, and some ran down her cheeks and neck. The rest sort of gurgled down her throat. Reminded me of when you pull a stopper out of a sink of water and the stuff swirls around.

  Wonder if I will have to hang her upside down later and get the water out. She didn’t seem to mind being upside down. She recovered like a champ, back on her feet in no time and with no ill effects.

  The rain arrived later, and I tugged the new cover over my shelter. I had been busy cutting up the luggage I found and using it to construct the roof. Large patches of the fabric went into the construction, as did every stray palm leaf and thin branch I could locate. Water hit it and ran down the side. I angled it over the little rock shelter so the water would run off and get caught up in broad leaves and deposited in the big plastic overnight bag with its hard shell. It was a gaudy red, bright as blood, but it was a great addition. I swirled the water around the bottom, having cut out the liner. I had washed the container in the ocean and rubbed it down with sand. The water came faster, so I rinsed it out a few times. I wouldn’t have to trek to the stream tomorrow.

  She looked miserable as water flattened her hair to her head. I stood her up and put her one shoe on. It was the only pump I had been able to locate. It made her stumble, but when I moved into the shelter, she walked around looking for me. I liked to think that she missed me, but I knew that what she really missed was the chance to chow on one of my appendages.

  She stumbled in the rain like she was doing a little dance as she went around and around the tree. I had to go out and lead her the other way around a couple of times, because she got wrapped up.

  Dancing in the rain for me. What a sweetie.

  Thunder came later and rumbled across the sky. I pushed myself deeper into the enclosure and curled up with some of the clothes I had dried out. One piece was a floral-print dress that looked big enough to fit two women. I had some string but really no idea how to do an alteration. I had been thinking about how cute she would look in it.

  Besides, I kind of like playing dress-up with her. Probably seems weird, but after being on this stupid rock for two weeks, just about anything was entertaining.

  Lightning struck the other side of the island, and the ground shook a second later as thunder followed. I heard a noise after that. When I looked, she was freaking out. Another burst of lightning stabbed down, and the air smelled funny. Clean, but with a sharp edge to it.

  She tried to pull away from the tree and howled at the blast. I couldn’t leave her like that, but the shelter was too small. I didn’t have anything to tie her to. She would just have to deal with it.

  She started hooting and hollering like an animal stuck in a trap. She thrashed against the rope. I knew it wouldn’t hold if she got much more than those slow-motion lumbering steps going. She had broken away from my poor attempts to bind her a few too many times.

  I untied the rope from the tree, and she seemed to calm down a bit. I wrapped it around her body so her arms were secure. Another lightning strike and she backed into me, almost knocking me down.

  I tugged her close and moved to the little shelter. I took out a pair of socks that were bright green and tied them together, then added another pair to make the thing longer and carefully put it over her mouth so it was completely covered. A sock gag. A normal person would go nuts. Although, I read somewhere that some people like it. Probably married men.

  There was no way for her to bite me. I dragged her to the ground, put one arm around her and tugged her body back against mine. She calmed down considerably after that. When the lightning struck again, she bucked against me, but I held her close.

  It was nice to lie with a soft woman for a change. The lightning kept striking for a few more minutes and then, just like that, it was gone.
She lay still for a while, and it was eerie to hold her, since she didn’t breathe. She was still cold and moved around every once in a while. I sat up and leaned on my elbow to see what she was doing. She had her mouth pressed against the ground. I think she was trying to push the gag off.

  She quieted down, and I considered tying her to the tree again. But I hated the idea of having to get up and bring her back in if the storm returned. I gripped her tighter under the coconut halves and sighed contentedly. I was just starting to drift off when I thought I felt something suspiciously like a heartbeat. Then realized it was just another light blast of thunder. Ah, wishful thinking.

  Day 16

  My Girlfriend Hates my Friends

  The rain stopped by the time I woke up. She kept thrashing around in the night like I was hurting her or something. Just by making her snuggle up to me … jeez. Does she even realize how much I do for her? I mean, I clean her, and let me tell you, that is no easy task. No one should have to clean the stuff I have cleaned from the places I have cleaned.

  I keep her safe by not letting her stay in the sea. Like a few weeks ago, when I just happened to see her in the water and pulled her out by her legs. Then getting all of that rotten meat out of her stomach, that one almost sent me over the edge.

  I have done my best to keep her alive. I mean, alive-ish? Wait … she is dead … no, undead … so that means I have done my best to keep her dead-alive. Now my head hurts. I hate logic.

  She’s a zombie, for Christ’s sake. Everyone knows that when you see a zombie, you have free rein to kill it. But I don’t give in to that urge. In fact, I’ve done everything I can to keep her from getting hurt. But still she had to kick and snarl and move around all night. It was exhausting. After an hour of that, I took her back to the tree and tied her to it.