I reached the plane in a few minutes and grabbed hold. I thought that if I latched onto it and floated, I would be able to catch my breath. When I tried to do that, it started to sink.
I took hold of a piece of wire hanging out of a hole and started paddling back toward the shore. It was slow going. When I got tired, I flipped onto my back and floated. I tried kicking from that position, but I couldn’t tell if I was still pointed at the beach or not. I had to keep flopping over and getting a fix on the tail, then looking at the beach and deciding I wasn't about to sink.
I was getting really tired, so I made one last-ditch effort at hauling the tail section in. I flipped over on my chest, but I was still pretty far out. In fact, it didn’t look like I had moved at all. I took a chance, set my feet down, and was greeted with the ocean bottom. I tugged on the wire with both hands as I struggled to get to shore.
I hauled, pulled, dragged and finally made it onto the beach. The cable was biting into my hand, so I let go. It was some sort of electric wire from inside the tail of the craft. I pulled the piece of plane up as far as I could onto the beach and collapsed on the sand. I lay there as the sun beat down on me, but I smiled at my success.
It’s hard to explain just how important the piece was. It was something from the crash. Something that I could latch onto. I sighed as I lay there knowing I would be able to use the big hunk of airplane to build up a new place. Maybe a place to keep her.
Oh shit!
I shot to my feet and looked around, but she was nowhere in sight. Now where the hell was she?
At least she wasn’t close, so I felt free to work at the tail. I pulled it up the rest of the way, huffing and puffing as it bit into the sand. I rolled it over when it dug too deep of a furrow, pulling it up higher.
It was so heavy that I could barely move it. Maybe it was just full of metal struts and stuff they put in places for stability. I bet I would be able to take it apart and use the parts for all kinds of things.
Water spilled out of the back end as I got it onto the shore. It ran and ran until there was hardly any left. Then it was easier to move—but not much.
The tail section was missing the wings on the back, or most of them. I tugged it around so I could see the inside, and gasped. It was filled with bags! I started hauling stuff out, luggage, packs, and a duffel bag. All were waterlogged. I opened them up and found a lot of clothes. I did find a box of chocolates, still wrapped. Chocolate-covered macadamia nuts to be exact. I tore the wrapper off with shaking fingers and ate every single one like it was nirvana. I was going to eat a couple and leave the rest for later, but it was useless. Might as well have put a juicy pork chop in front of me and asked me to hold off on eating the entire thing.
I found some sandals, which were too big, but I put them on anyway. My old flip-flops were falling apart. Last time I buy three-dollar shoes at Walmart on my way to a tropical vacation. I found some shorts that were too small and set them aside. Everything was soaked with seawater, so I would have to wash them in the stream and dry them out later.
I found some jewelry. Gaudy stuff like big jade-looking medallions that were clearly made of glass. Some big pearl earrings and a couple of tennis bracelets. The stuff looked cheap, like the jewelry my Aunt Mildred used to wear.
Another bag turned up a couple of waterlogged magazines. Porn! The kind I like: with women. Yeah, yeah, I have my zombie “babe,” but she is about as useful as tits on a bull. Although she does—or did—have a great pair herself.
Another suitcase turned up more clothes, a toothbrush, an electric shaver and some cheap suits like you used to see the guys wear in the ‘70s. On closer inspection, I realized one was a tux. Hey, maybe someone was off to get married. I flipped the button up and down on the razor, but it didn’t buzz even a little. Stupid waterlogged thing. I ran my hand over my shaggy chin. I used to shave daily. Ally likes it, says it makes me look young.
I set the razor aside. Maybe I could bust the battery out later and do something with it. Like build a generator and charge it. Then I could use the battery to power a boat across the ocean.
In the bottom of that bag, I found the best thing yet. A bottle of Patrón tequila. Big full bottle with the plastic still fixed to the cork. I cried like a baby.
The top was on nice and tight, so I broke the plastic seal, removed it, and took a cautious sniff. It smelled good. I tilted the bottle a bit and let a splash touch my tongue. It was pure, and there wasn’t a hint of seawater. I found a bottle of rum as well, not a brand I knew, but it was flavored with coconut. Oh, great! If I never taste coconut again, I can probably go to my grave with a smile on my face.
I carried my treasures to the campsite and hung up as many clothes as possible. I was surprised to see her lying on her back, staring at the sky. She has gotten pretty good at getting up when she falls over. I mean, the first few days, I had to help her up all the time, but now she can roll on her side, crawl to her hands and knees, then stand up. It isn’t the quickest or the prettiest process, since she frequently has her ass facing me. All this time, I was worried, wondering where she was, and it turns out she is chilling in the shade. Stupid zombie chick. I should really kill her. Instead, I watched her as she stared up with some sort of green gunk coming out of her mouth. I think it was stuff oozing out of her gums.
I know she’s a hottie—or was, in her day. For the most part, I would love to stare at her with her clothes off, but the zombified look is NOT hot. The gray skin, the red-rimmed dried-out eye that always seems to stare past me. She has scratches on her body that don’t heal, and her girly parts don’t work anymore. Yuck.
I was walking around with the tequila, taking sips and gasping each time. Not much food to buffer the stuff in my stomach meant a speedy buzz. I sat next to her and started to untangle her leg from the rope she had gotten wrapped up in. Probably came back to her home and got stuck. Poor thing. I ran my hands along her cold leg, which was still smooth. I brushed off bits of sand. I stopped at her thighs and didn’t dare go farther. She rolled left and right, but that hooked leg had her stuck good. I was thinking that I would get drunk and then smash her face in with the branch. I could do it. I just needed some liquid encouragement.
I took off her gag, helped her sit up a bit, put her head in my lap, and held her chin so she wouldn't turn and bite me in the junk. Then poured some booze in her mouth. She didn’t really react, so I gave her more. I was getting nicely buzzed, even though it looked like I had barely touched the bottle. Each drink burned like fire down my throat. I wondered if she felt it.
One sip for me, one sip for her. She should at least die happy. I bet she was a tequila girl when she was alive. She looks like the party type—or she did. Now she looks like a party zombie in a hula skirt.
I stood up and nearly fell over when the liquor hit my head like a branch—the same branch I was going to use on her. Well, not really. Metaphorically speaking. I staggered in a circle before wandering to where I had placed all the stuff I got off the plane. I picked up the costume jewelry, went back to her, and put it all on. She wore two necklaces and a pair of blue earrings that dangled almost to her shoulders. Her ears weren’t pierced, but that was okay. I just shoved them right on through her earlobes. She didn’t even flinch. I added a couple of bracelets. I even put one on her slim ankle, and it looked pretty good there.
Then I put the gag back on her and helped her up. We both staggered—me from the drinking, her from the zombifying. I didn’t think she could get drunk, but I bet that stuff will clean out her gut.
I guess tomorrow I can pump some more water in her stomach and hang her upside down. Maybe it will cut back on the death breath.
I tied her to the tree and went to fetch my new porn magazines. I passed out with my pants around my ankles. I’m not sure what was more embarrassing—the fact that I passed out like that or the fact that I knew I had an audience and it just made it better.
Day 19
My Girlfriend’s Husband is a Jerk
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Fucking hangover.
I haven’t had one of those in a long time. At least since my first miserable day on this miserable island, if you can call that a hangover. More like a crash-over. I will never forget waking up on this stupid island all disoriented and hurting everywhere. Was that just a few weeks ago? Seems like a few months. Years. Seems like a lifetime.
I rolled over. Felt like I had a mouth full of sand. Then I brushed at my mouth and discovered I did. I guess I passed out on the ground and sucked in a few teaspoons of the stuff. I tried to spit, found out I didn’t have any saliva, so I attempted to wipe it out.
The bottle of tequila was right next to me. I actually considered taking a swig to wash the stuff out. But then I retched at the thought of that crap anywhere near my mouth. I stumbled to my feet, thanks to my pants hanging around my ankles. Jesus …
I patted her on the ass as I went by. Thump thump thump. It’s starting to feel like a sandbag. She had fallen over a log and lay bent over all night. God, I hope I didn’t try to do anything stupid last night while she had her ass in the air.
I walked to the stream, then collapsed next to it. I splashed water into my mouth, spit out silt, and then drank so much that I thought I was going to explode. It was warm, like usual, but I didn’t care. It was just about the best stuff I ever had in my mouth.
I wished I had a bottle of Motrin to stop the pounding in my head.
I was still nauseous, but I made it back to camp and collapsed in a heap. I lay on the palm mat and sweated out a half-gallon as the sun came out in full force. She kept moving around, scratching at the ground and kicking her legs around as she tried to figure out how to get off the log. Every once in a while, she moaned.
I dragged myself to my feet. With my hand shading my eyes from the cursed sun, I took a little stroll behind her. I kept my eyes everywhere but on her backside. Took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. I parted the dried grass skirt and studied the view. A couple of nasty-looking beetles had taken up residence in her nether regions.
I turned away and threw up for about an hour. Then I stumbled back to “bed.”
That would’ve been a good time to kill her. There was a large rock by her hands. It was about the size of a football. I could pick it up and smash the back of her head in. It would take all of about ten seconds. There was one problem with that plan. It would require moving, and I was content to lie on the mattress and think about dying.
I sighed the sigh of one content to pass the day in misery. But I had things to do. I had to get my hung-over ass up and go hunt for food. Check my crappy traps that don’t catch anything. Useless snares that couldn’t latch onto a wild elephant if it walked over one in slow motion.
I needed to eat. I needed to get up and get motivated. I considered cooking the shit out of the beetles, but that thought almost made me throw up again. I should try to spear fish. I haven't had much luck, but it did work once. Nice quiet work where I can stand in the cool ocean and just toss my crappy sharpened stick in the water. And get my arms and neck scorched from the sun.
She flopped around again, tried to stand, but it looked like her leg was hooked under another branch. Sucks not to have any motor skills, doesn’t it? She kept throwing her hand forward like she could get a grip on something and pull herself up, but the only thing at her fingertips was sand.
Time to get at it.
I hauled myself up and walked to the water. It was coming in at a brisk pace today, little waves splashing on the sandy shore. The large white airplane section was right where I had left it. I was happy that I pulled it so far up on shore. Otherwise it might be floating away again. Big piece of plane like that, I can build something with it. Of course, the best idea would be to just leave it there so any potential rescue craft can spot it.
I looked through the luggage again, sorted out the wet clothes, tossed more toiletries into a pile and inspected the actual bags for things I could use. I found more razors, the plastic kind. I had quite a growth of beard, but it was all scraggly and gross. I found shaving lotion, and when I hit the trigger, a gel squirted out on the ground. I scooped it up and sniffed it. Smelled like a little slice of civilization. I smeared some on the front of my shirt so I could smell it all day. It tried to foam but ended up leaving a blue stain behind.
I could cut up the bags later and add them to my shelter, which is still a long way from being finished. In fact, a strong tropical storm would turn my lean-to to kindling.
I went back to camp and ate some lunch. A gourmet meal of smoked oysters and coconut. I wish I had just one of the macadamia nuts from yesterday. When I opened the box, it was like I was a kid at Christmas. I couldn’t have stopped if someone put a gun to my head.
She was still lying spread eagle over the branch, so I untied her and helped her up. We did the usual snarl dance, which is when she tries to bite me, hands flopping around as she tries to get one around me, while I bat at them and snarl back for all the good it does. I left the one shoe on because she has trouble walking very fast. I got tired of her trying to latch onto me, so I tied her hands behind her back like she was my prisoner or something. She still flailed in slow motion, her body jittering back and forth like a weird gray snake charmer.
I sighed as I watched her. I really should have killed her today, but I had a terrible headache that wasn’t getting any better. I had hoped that moving around and sweating would help get the alcohol out of my system, but I still felt like someone took a sledgehammer to the back of my skull. Sometimes, when I stopped moving, the pain throbbed in unison with my heart.
I sat her down and put a branch over her lap so she was stuck to the ground. Her feet scratched at the ground as her legs moved back and forth. She kept her eye on me, that startling blue orb that follows me wherever I go. I put her out of my mind and tried to think of my bed in our little apartment. It was old and sagged a little on both sides where we slept, but I would give just about anything to be in it right now.
I closed my eyes, and the sound of the surf rushing over the shore made my head swim.
I dozed and had a little dream about Ally walking around in an American flag and nothing else. She was singing the theme to Gilligan’s Island, and the whole cast of the show stood behind her, offering advice on my predicament.
There was a crash that broke the dream and threw my mind into mush as I struggled to wake up. Had she somehow gotten out from under the branch? I turned over and tried to ignore it, but the sound of moaning made me open my eyes to an absolute horror. I swear I let out a small scream that sounded like a six-year-old girl with a skinned knee. I came to my feet and started running so fast you would think my ass was on fire.
A monstrosity had smashed into the camp. It was at least six feet tall and walked with a limp. The face was a mass of skin that hung in strips. One arm hung at its side; the other was missing. The body was bloated to twice the size of a person—giving the figure a cartoonish look. It didn’t help that he was fat to begin with. Now he kind of looked like a fucked-up Macy’s Parade balloon. He didn’t have on any clothes. His dick should have been dangling, but it was a gnawed-away stump.
Gaping wounds hung open all over him, but they didn’t leak blood. The man’s hair hung in clumps around his head. The smell was horrid, like seafood left to rot. A week ago, I came across a big fish that was sitting in the sun and it wasn’t as foul as this. I was about fifty feet away when my terror gave way to reason. I stopped, turned toward camp and took some deep breaths. Stupid hangover. I got my nerve up, grabbed a branch of bleached wood—the same one I had been planning to kill her with—and ran back. I pushed aside the branches and leaves until I could see into my camp. The man had stopped and was staring at her. She stared back at him. They both moaned.
Oh Jesus, I knew him! It was her husband. My skin crawled at the complete horror before me. The dead man and his dead wife. Him with his big bloated body, her with her slim figure and death breath. How long had he floated in the water before coming ba
ck to life and making his way back to shore?
How sweet. A reunion … from hell. Sound the bells; the lovebirds are back together. He stumbled toward her, but she just sat there with her hands behind her back and the branch over her lap. Oh crap, he was going to kill her.
I ran into camp, yelling at the top of my lungs,
“Hey, hey! Leave her alone!”
He turned toward me with empty eye sockets trained on me like he could still see. One had some gooey stuff hanging out of it. The other was white but livid, lined with pus and some kind of fish eggs. A bunch of barnacles had latched onto some exposed cheekbone right below the eye. Others sprouted on his arm and kneecaps, probably spots where bone peeked through. I wanted to run away, set the place on fire, swim back to civilization—anything to get away from this horror.
He drew back his lip, just the top one—the other was torn away—and snarled at me the way she does. But he didn’t have a gag to protect me from his bite. Ah crap! I held the stick in front of me as he turned his massive waterlogged body my way. I thrust it at him, but he kept coming. So I resorted to some ninja moves. I swept the branch down low to knock his feet out from under him, but he didn’t budge. In fact, the impact rang up my arm and made my hands numb. Some ninja.
I jerked back as he brought up one hand to grab me, but I didn’t have to worry, since most of his digits were eaten away. White flesh hung from his hand, but the bones were still intact. I thought of that Disney movie with the pirates that turned into skeletons at night. I stepped back, but the stump of his hand still whacked my shoulder pretty hard.
I shuddered as I threw an adrenaline-fueled swat at his head. This one connected, and he fell over on his side. I could have sworn the island moved when he hit the ground. Water ran out of his mouth and pooled on the sand. He couldn’t shut his mouth, and neither could I. Him because barnacles were growing on his jaw. Me because I was screaming like a kid who just saw the boogeyman.
The Zombie Wilson Diaries Page 8
