He snapped at me even though I was standing a good twenty or thirty feet away. He just snapped over and over again like I was right in front of him. He had these giant teeth, and they were surrounded by some weird gummy green crap like seaweed that had gone bad.
I cleaned up my girl, but the only plans I had for this thing was to kill it.
I had the spear, and I was ready for war. Again, sorta. Like the day her husband came back to the island. That day sucked. I had a feeling this day was going to suck worse. I was lost in thought when I felt her hand on my shoulder. I just about jumped out of my skin!
She had crept right up on me and looped her hand up over my hand to grab my neck. I stumbled back into her, and we went down in a heap. She had the gag on, so I wasn’t that worried about being bit. She still managed to get her mouth near my ear and was making disgusting noises as she tried to bite it. A rotten smell hit me, and I was reminded of cleaning out a refrigerator after something has gone bad and sat for months.
The noise was worse, like a bite and inhale at the same time. Her lips touched my neck and I lost it. It sounded like she was trying to give me a hickey. Yep, my girlfriend sucks. I tore her arm from around my neck and came to my feet. She lay there with her legs spread, and I tried like hell not to look between them. I was afraid of what I would see, afraid of what she might have been up to in the middle of the night.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, there were indeed things down there, moving around—things that looked like some kind of larvae. I was going to have to clean them up. Oh God, oh God, oh God! God damn it!
I snatched up the spear and stomped across the hot sand, which was like walking through a layer of Silly Putty. The shark waited for me with a vacant look in his eyes. Vacant because he had no eyes. It wouldn’t be untrue to say he didn’t know what he was in for. Not that it mattered. They probably rely on smell like in the shows on TV where they dump a bucket of blood in the water and the sharks come racing.
His eyes were dried out and looked like hollow sockets. Weird stuff still hung there, but it was dry and looked like string. He curled his body as I walked along beside him, and tried to get a bite of me. I wasn’t interested in that. I liked my legs right where they were.
The tide was rolling in, and I could see waves for a change. Usually it was pretty calm here. Don’t know why I haven’t attempted to build a raft and sail away yet. Probably because I don’t know the first thing about making a waterborne craft. If I could do that, then I would have left weeks ago. Probably been swept away to sea, drowned. Nah, I was much safer on the ground.
Then again, I had the tail section from the plane. Maybe I could use that. I have some netting from inside the section and a lot of logs. I could build a small cover out of palm trees and sticks. I would have to leave her behind, of course. Probably wouldn’t have to go far. The visitors to my little slice of paradise probably came from somewhere nearby. I would probably reach another island in a matter of hours. Maybe half a day. If I sailed past one, there had to be others after it. Or so I reasoned.
I actually looked around the immediate area for stuff to build a raft with. There were a lot of small logs and some other debris, like sticks I could use for the raft if I decided to make one. I should use a piece of paper and try to draw out what I want to do. Or at least make a guess at what I’m going to make. I’m no artist, despite my stick-figure artwork, eh, Diary?
Ally is going to get such a kick out of the pictures I have drawn. I might have to get rid of a few of them, since they are racy. I hope she doesn’t get too mad about me dressing the zombie up like a hula girl. She will be mad about a lot of stuff. I should maybe hide this diary, but what about the Hollywood guys who will want to hear my amazing tale of survival against all odds, against all zombies. What if Oprah wants me on her show? What if I have to talk about all the stuff I have done?
Well, that’s in the future. My immediate concern was killing a zombie shark.
I walked around him on both sides. He smelled worse than she did, and she smelled like death. He had a definite stench from the sea, but it also reminded me of the time someone pulled a prank on me at work. They hid an open can of tuna behind my desk, and as it rotted, it smelled a little worse each day. After a few weeks, I wasn’t able to go into my office and had to call the maintenance guys to hunt around for the source.
I didn’t know who did it. Probably Derek from IT. The guy hates me for some reason. I call them a lot for all the viruses and stuff my machine gets, but that is no reason to do something so mean. Well, I bet they are missing me now. I just bet they are. I do all the accounting on the office supplies, so without me, they are probably out of coffee, and they can kiss bagel Friday goodbye.
The surf was picking up, bashing away at the reef, but I had time before it was far enough in to suck the bastard back out to sea. I would have to kill him while I had the chance. Kill him again. Just eating the dead guy’s hand killed him and brought him back, or zombified him. Whatever I am supposed to call the damn disease. Did that mean it would do the same to me? I was pretty sure I had gotten parts of the husband in my mouth when we fought. I was covered in crap after that, and it took me a while to wash it off. Was the zombie virus racing through my body?
I felt fine. I felt as healthy as could be expected, given the circumstances. If I turned into one of them, I was going to be really pissed.
I took the spear and stabbed at the shark. I hit the side of his head, and it went sideways, cutting a big slice in his cheek. Tough sucker. He turned his dry head toward me and snapped a few times.
I tried again but this time drove it in harder. Once again the spear slid along his cheek and did little damage. I lifted the spear and then smacked him on the head. There ya go. Bad shark, die!
He didn’t care for that one bit, so I tried again with the stabbing. I ran to the other side and drove the spear into his eye socket. It went in, but the massive gray head reared to the side and ripped the spear out of my hand. Ah, crap!
She was back on her feet and, of course, picked that time to come at me. If it weren’t for bad timing, she would have no timing at all. I had to dance out of the way of the swinging spear only to have her try to latch onto me. Christ! Caught between a zombie girl and a beached zombie shark. Why won’t this thing die? Oh yeah …
I pushed her off me, but she hung on, then fell. I backed up a step as she ended up on all fours. The shark popped his head around and the spear caught her right across the ass, which sent her flying. Stupid shark, you don’t hit my girl!
I tried to grab the spear but had to jump back because it came in too fast. She got up and staggered in a circle as if she couldn’t get her bearings. Then she walked toward the shark with her hands out like she was going to eat him.
To my horror, he was big enough to get a bite of her. She went down as the spear caught her again. This time her legs went up in the air and her head smacked into the sand. Then she rolled to the side, got one foot up in the air and tried to stand, but the shark’s mouth closed on her ankle and, just like that, snapped her foot off.
“No!” I yelled and dashed in.
I grabbed the spear and pulled back as hard as I could. Sonofabitch! I was pissed beyond words. I could see the foot in his mouth before he crunched down on it. He snapped once more and then the foot was gone. I waited until he thrashed his head the other way and then jabbed the spear into his eye again, this time with everything I had. It went in, past some stuff that crunched. It didn’t move as fast this time, so I kicked the end of the spear, and it slid in about a foot.
He slowed down but didn’t stop moving, so I grabbed the handle and turned it like I was beating eggs. Scrambled zombie shark brain, yum yum. The big creature shuddered and then his head flopped down on the beach.
She lay on her back, staring at the sun, completely unconcerned that she had just lost her foot.
I looked at the stub of a leg, and it wasn’t bleeding. Just had some stringy stuff hanging out of the end. No blood
, no mess. I picked her up and plopped her over my shoulder. Huffing and puffing from the physical exhaustion of battling the zombie shark, I went back to camp so I could call it a night. Time to see how much rum is left in the bottle.
Day 26
My Girlfriend Beats Me Up
I tied her to the tree last night, and she didn’t complain—she never does. When morning arrived, it was a blast of sunlight that left my head throbbing like I was inside a large bell. A large bell like they put on churches and then ring to announce stuff like death. I think it rang eight million times for all the brain cells I killed last night.
Maybe it isn’t such a great idea to drink myself into oblivion on the island. Not like I can afford another night like that. I am almost out of booze anyway. I polished off the rum and threw the bottle at her as I ranted about missing Ally and how a stupid zombie girl can’t do a damn thing for me. I feel bad about it now, really guilty. I should make it up to her. Too bad I don’t have some fresh husband to feed to her.
She hissed at me as I got close. Her lips drew back around the blue strip of cloth, but her eye stared past me. I stroked her stringy hair and told her I was sorry for throwing the empty bottle at her. I don’t think I hit her, but maybe it did. I heard it thunk off something. I looked around for it, but it must have flown into the bushes.
I grabbed her leg and looked at the ragged wound. It was festering already. The skin was gray and puffy, but also dried out. A couple of bugs were working the flesh, so I squashed them. That was going to be a big problem if I didn’t take care of it. I didn’t have a hard time imagining the things that might work their way under her flesh and make a home.
The skin was rotted; there was no doubt about it. It was putrid and black and smelled terrible. When I was a kid, I had a cut on my foot I was scared to tell my mother about. When it got really bad and leaked pus, it had a similar smell. I wondered if she’d be okay if I wrapped the stump.
I didn’t know how she was going to get around either. I guessed she would have to crawl everywhere. That was going to be a pain in the ass when it came time to bathe her at the pool. I might have to carry her stinky ass there. GROSS!
Diary, I really hate that I can’t bring myself to just put her out of her misery. She is so pathetic. Yet every once in a while, that blue eye looks into mine and I feel overwhelming pity for her. She has been the only thing on the island I can relate to. Well, besides the booze. Although that isn’t much of a relationship. Unless you call indulging too much and feeling like shit the next day a good relationship. Kinda like a night of crazy sex where your girlfriend wants to try new things. Things you don’t like so much.
I dragged her to the fire by her feet. I mean by her foot. I figured that any kind of wrapping wouldn’t last long and would smell even worse in a day or three. I needed to stop the rot while I could. The thing was oozing brown pus, and when some of it dripped on my pants, I decided I would have to burn the damn things.
I tugged her closer to the flame and stoked it up by blowing on it and feeding it a little bit of wood. She kept trying to get up, but I pushed her back down. It wasn’t hard. I have seen two year olds who are more coordinated than she is.
I pulled her closer, got a look between her legs and regretted it. I really needed to clean that stuff up. I hoped I had some alcohol left—for me, not her.
I blew on the flame a little more and dragged her closer. She got a look at the flame and tried to back up like a weird three-legged crab. I held her, but she thrashed against me. Her gross leg came up, smacking me across the face pretty hard. My ear rang immediately, and the side of my face went numb. I fell to the side, freaking out because that crap that was oozing out of her leg was now on my face.
I wiped at it with the sleeve of my shirt, but it didn’t do any good. I could still feel the goop on my cheek. I rolled back up and made a grab for her, because she was sliding across the sand on her ass. I pulled her back and clamped my arm over her leg and wrestled her close to my body. There was no way she was going to get the best of me.
She thrashed around as I tugged her leg into the fire. Her other leg hit my head, and I almost became the one in the flames. I heard bells this time, and I think I saw stars. I turned to make another grab, but I was slowing down. This time her flailing foot caught me upside the temple and I went over.
I don’t know how long I lay on my side, gasping in air and sand. Everything seemed out of focus when I opened my eyes, like I was seeing things through a tunnel.
Sand? Check.
Palm trees? Check.
Pissed-off zombie chick? Check.
I rolled to my left as she fell on me. She landed on my side, and her arm drove into my stomach. Jesus Christ! She was kicking my ass and she wasn’t even trying hard!
I rolled a couple of times, but the pain from the hangover and from getting kicked in the head—repeatedly—left me unable to get any air past my lips and into my lungs.
I staggered to all fours. She came down on me again, this time with her hand looped over my neck just like yesterday when she tried to attack me during the shark killing. She was heavier than I remembered, but it was probably just from feeling so beaten down.
I managed to get a breath and then shrugged her to the side. I fell on top of her this time, and when I did, a bunch of weird sounds came out of various parts of her body. The stench of rotting meat hit me like a weight. I gagged and threw up all over her back. How long had she been building up all those gasses? Holy shit, it smelled worse than death. Worse than Lenny Cansta, a kid I used to go to middle school with who had the worst farts of any single person I have ever known. He once cleared out wood shop with a ripper that put the band saw to shame. Even the teacher looked green.
This was worse!
I wanted to scream at the sky. I managed to wipe some of the puke off my face, grabbed her leg in a tight grip, and dragged her to the fire before she could protest any more. I stuck her stump in and pressed it against a flaming log. The smell of cooking meat, seared and burning, hit my nose. I couldn’t help it. I started drooling.
She went crazy, but it wasn’t from pain. Ever since the first night I found her, she was terrified of fire. Weird that such a primal urge would survive her changing into this undead thing. She couldn’t have any brain cells left, and it made me wonder if she was able to feel anything else. Like a sense of loyalty to the guy who has saved her ass more than once.
She scrambled away from the fire with her leg trailing smoke. She tried to stand, but it was a wasted effort as she fell flat on her face. I noticed that more of those patches of skin were appearing on her body, and dragging her hadn’t helped. Some flesh hung loose, as if the dead skin cells were getting together and planning to mutiny and escape from her body.
I walked to the pool in a daze. When I reached it, I got my clothes off and collapsed. I wiped zombie pus off my head, then dunked my head to let the moderately cool water soak into my bones. It felt fantastic, so I stayed in the water for what seemed like hours. I napped by the side of the pool on the soft sand, and air blew over my body, cooling it for a few minutes before the heat started beating at me again.
My face hurt, and I could feel lumps from where she’d kicked me. My reflection in the water showed I had a black eye and one of my cheeks was puffed out. She got me good, but in the end, I managed to stop the rot. Score one for me!
I had to hunt, of course. When I walked to camp to find some fresh clothes, she was still trying to stand up … and falling down over and over again. I couldn't help it. I pointed and laughed. Petty of me? Maybe, but that’s how I was feeling. It wasn’t being beat up by a girl that bugged me. It was being beat up by a zombie girl.
I headed to the beach with my rock tool and stopped at the plane tail section. She crawled behind me, but at the rate she was going, it would probably take her an hour to catch up. She still growled and snarled behind her gag. Bitch, bitch, bitch. No amount of whining was going to help her at this point.
I wa
s checking out the end of the plane section. It was open. The cap—or whatever goes back there—had come off. This part of the plane was pretty good sized. I thought that I could sleep in it if I rolled it over and got the big gaping holes down. Better yet, maybe I could use it to construct a raft. I could mount the piece between a couple of logs and use the hatch to get in and out. It would keep me dry. I might even be able to sleep in the thing. I would need a larger hole in the back to tie everything to, though.
I stomped on the cap a couple of times, and it flew off with a crack. I looked at the opening and figured it should be okay. I would need to punch holes in it so that I could get the rope and parts of the straps in.
I went to the beach and dug up some clams, then fished for oysters and starfish. I saw what I thought was a lobster, but the little bastard had huge claws, and my spear was still stuck in the twice-dead shark. I bet shark tastes good when you are starving. Too bad I won’t find out.
I was coming back out of the water when I spotted her crawling across the sand. She was leaving a group of bushes. Big-bladed things that I hated. I got into a patch of them once and had to back out slowly. The serrated edges were sharp enough to cut me in two.
She came out with scratches all over her body. Oh God, those would never heal. I think I need to start dressing her in normal clothes again. I do have that floral-print dress, but it was made for a girl a lot bigger than her tiny frame. I fought a mammoth zombie-husband in it and won. She might like wearing something that stinks like him.
I needed to make something for the foot so she could get around. I sniffed my oysters as I walked back to camp, and when I went past the tail section, I had a great idea!
The Zombie Wilson Diaries Page 12
