Still Alive (Book 2): Zombie Island

by Javan Bonds

  ☠☠☠

  I wasn’t worried when my parents decided to move from the Cora to the courthouse. It had already been cleared, and thanks to our demolition, I knew there was no chance of a peevie assault on the island. They just wanted to be closer to where they would be spending most every day. I was kind of hoping Sarah would remain here onboard. We all know how awesome it is to have a girl sleeping over. But it was understandable she wanted to stay with the people she had been safe with throughout the zombie apocalypse, and the courthouse was probably roomier. Not to mention the fact that my Mother wouldn’t let an unrelated female sleep here without a chaperone.

  My mom had already been to every crew member, crying and telling us all how much she’d enjoyed her time onboard and that she was going to miss us. She was going to be living less than a mile away; she could stand in the street and speak loudly, we’d probably be able to hear her. My dad appeared on the main deck with his final suitcase in hand and came to give us all handshakes. They would be leaving the Cora but I had a nagging doubt it would be permanent.

  I had to ask a question before he left. "How many more of them do you think will pop up?"

  He knew exactly to whom I was referring. New survivors had been showing up in pairs and half dozen since clearance of the peevie population began. Maybe the destruction of the Panhandle was heard for miles; the sound could have just been blocked from our angle. People started appearing in droves shortly after that.

  It was clearly not happenstance. Over twenty people had arrived in just the past few days. I’m guessing tremors could be felt through the ground for hundreds or even thousands of miles and everyone thought, "Hey, I think most of the grunt work is done someplace in that direction, we should start walking until we run into a safe-haven where other people spent their time and risked their lives to make an area free of infected." It’s not necessarily an overpowering odor, but maybe these slackers picked up on the scent of peevies being killed en masse and decided to migrate to a place where others were taking the initiative. I’m probably being a little hasty when I assume that these newcomers would be Democrats.

  So far it's been fine, since they don’t refuse to work and appear to actually enjoy the normalcy of daily tasks. My dad has voluntarily become the interim mayor of our tiny island community. I’m sure he would not have a problem with eventually holding an election, he has just taken the responsibility of forming some semblance of working government while civilization is restored.

  The county jail is directly across the street from the courthouse and I can picture Hammer being our sheriff, walking down the sidewalk dressed like Virgil Cole and spraying a stream of tobacco spit through her teeth. Once she is recovered to the point she can walk without wincing, that is.

  He smiled and chuckled. "Well, the more the merrier."

  I returned blankly. "Yeah, but we can’t let every survivor in the country move here."

  Let's assume folks stayed close to home. Alabama had almost four million people. If even one percent survived and decided to head for Guntersville, that would be ten times what our infinitely small island could possibly sustain. We could not be sure that the entire country was completely infested and even if it was, the entire surviving population would obviously not be showing up at our doorstep, still, over-crowding was a distinct possibility, and we were already getting refugees, and the living are a lot harder to get rid of once they move in.

  My dad grew somber, knowing exactly the scenario that was traveling through my head, and he couldn't argue with my logic. He understood that overpopulation could eventually get us in trouble. "We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, if that ever becomes a problem. Right now, I reckon we'll just keep doing what we’ve been doing, and take people as they come."

  ☠☠☠

  Being a government building, the courthouse was already equipped with minimal solar power, allowing enough electronic devices to be powered simultaneously so the government within the county seat could run fluidly in case of an outage. Daddy devised a registration form for all immigrants. It wasn’t a Social Security-type registration, but asked basic questions of each person to make their move somewhat more official and made some kind of record of them. The fact that everyone in the county had gone to the Guntersville courthouse to renew their driver’s licenses before the zombie apocalypse was also pretty convenient. Identification could be given to everyone.

  I doubt my dad was a fan of the Fiat currency system, so I don’t foresee printing dollar bills or anything. There hadn't been any need yet for anything past simple bartering for services.

  Brother Williamson had placed his cattle into a long, narrow area of fenced land, which included the baseball fields. It was the grassiest region of the island and he was happy to accept help from anyone with his livestock, keeping track of hours folks spent working for him. He had fifteen head of decent-looking cattle, and had built these amazing chicken houses by converting buildings from the Civitan Park. He also tended a healthy few acres of orchards and vegetable fields. Brother Williamson was by far our wealthiest citizen; for a while, he was the only one producing fresh food, but as people settled in, other farms and gardens were built and shared.

  There have been relatively few crimes on the island and even those were minor; mostly snack pilfering. Some sort of police force would eventually be required, but I don’t think the death penalty will be needed: if you rape someone and you don’t get shot while committing the crime, being expelled from the island at night without a weapon will pretty much be your end; there’s no need to build gallows.

  As my father made his way to the lowered gangplank, The Medicine Man took the opportunity to exclaim, "I think I’ll be moving, as well!"

  I suppose he would be more comfortable in his new office.

  I jokingly asked the doctor, "So I guess that means the old hag is going to make it?" I dipped my head in Hammer’s direction and she gave me a good hearted finger.

  "Captain Sledge will be fully recovered soon." The Medicine Man aimed his next suggestion at her and then all of us, "If you have any problems, you know where the office is."

  The doctor really had nothing to pack and he quickly walked to catch up with my dad. I really hadn’t thought about it, but the doctor, who had basically no worldly possessions and was clearly skill-less with firearms was perfectly okay with moving into a building, alone, that had just been cleared of infected cannibals. I could easily picture my parents moving into a peevie lair and clearing it without feeling threatened, but a doctor who had never fired a gun? Okay, he did shoot Hammer–but that was an accident. He didn’t seem like the type of person to just move away from people who had basically been his constant bodyguards for weeks. There had to be something more; maybe he had a secret identity as some sort of survivalist like that dude on The Discovery Channel.

  The crew size was shrinking back down to its number following the first quest. I didn’t feel paranoid living on a boat when there were easily accessible houses on land, I just enjoyed the electricity, the fact that I would get to move back into my queen-size bed, and I suppose I have a masochistic side that enjoys getting called "WHITE BOY."

  Hammer’s Discovery

  LATE IN THE afternoon, the Cora crew had yet to return from their daily chores on or off the island. Hammer made sure she was the first back to the ship and placed a pop-up camouflage deer hunting blind on the poop deck.

  Mo sarcastically asked her a question before making his way downstairs. "Gonna get an eight point?"

  At her confused look, he pointed to the blind and she smiled. "Yeah, something like that."

  The Hero simply shrugged and made his way down to shower before falling straight into bed. Captain Sledge was determined to discover what was happening to all the bodies of the dead infected that they were piling up. She was sure these body snatchers had to be blue.

  Sitting in her blind and watching through her night vision monocular, Hammer could see small groups of living infected gather to
retrieve the bodies of their fallen comrades.

  They appeared reserved and reverent as they carried their dead brethren, like pallbearers in a funeral procession. They carried the bodies out of sight and soon afterwards, bright lights, what appeared to be bonfires, could be seen on the horizon. Then the sounds would start, a chorus that chilled The Expert’s heart. It was like a mass mourning, the hysterical crying and moaning of a multitude. This was beyond what any of the living humans had imagined, and could be a whole game-changer. She would have to discover its meaning.

  She remained up in her blind, spellbound by what she could hear from across the water, echoing along the far shore. The voices seemed human, but were not really making recognizable noises or word sounds, just simple, animalistic wailing. The Expert remembered seeing something on National Geographic about the grieving process for different species. Primates mourned the death of a mate for a considerable amount of time, elephants never seemed to get over the loss of a loved one. Heck, even some poultry would cry out in agony at the loss of a member of its flock. But she could not recall one instance of animals doing something so human, like building a funeral pyre and participating in social grievance. Even so, that’s what appeared to be happening. As she listened to the screaming wails of the undead, she was reminded of her mother screaming like a lunatic at her father’s funeral.

  Hammer had stopped taking narcotics right after the splenectomy, as soon as she got off the surgery table. So this positively couldn’t be a hallucination. It was eerie, watching what her entire group believed were animals now exhibiting human-like traits. Of course, they were still the enemy. She knew their goal would always be to destroy her and her friends, so she would not shed a tear nor think twice about putting them down with gunfire. Still, witnessing this would make most people hesitate to pull the trigger. She would need to store this information and consult someone that knew more about the INFECTED.

  Mo Journal Entry 14

  I DEDICATE THE next few entries to the ones we lost while clearing the island of infected: Taliafero Williamson and one of his female cousins, now and forevermore known to me as Rosa, another insignificant character. God forgive me for not being able to remember her real name.

  Looking back, their deaths were completely unnecessary and avoidable. One might say gratuitous, even. I guess that’s why they say hindsight is 20/20. I regret the loss, but perhaps they were filling death scenes that would have otherwise been taken by some of our main protagonists.

  "you’s always at da place you is always post to be."

  We were about two-thirds along clearing all the hidden peevies, and the Williamson family were a huge part of that unenviable task. The slave labor/strike team from the Cora arrived on time, but The Williamson clan had risen early from their new residence on the houseboats and had already cleared out the Exxon. I was not informed, but apparently the entire group had secured the Publix. I’m not even sure when they’d had time to do this, but who cares. It was a joyous occasion for me. One less big, creepy, dark fucking building I would have to go into.

  Booker chuckled as he gave his after-action report to my father "It was as easy as a shot of ‘shine. We just threw firecrackers into the smaller rooms in the back and the zombies came running out like ants from a flaming hill!"

  The current Smurf residents of each building on the island were on par with the expected numbers. Small houses were not bursting at the seams with ravenous cannibals, but in places like the Holiday Inn there were at least two peevies in most rooms, a male and female, like they had been together. Maybe they are monogamous; I’ve heard of some animals that do that. It wasn’t clear if the zombies were paired before or after they were infected.

  We decided to move east across the four lane to the nearby Best Western. I was glad we chose this route, rather than start with the residential area and elementary school to our west. It felt like a scene from Rainbow Six as we entered the hotel, Gene hugging and peeking around each corner we came to. I had to struggle to keep from throwing up hand signals to give the squad commands. Smokes would have no clue what I was doing. The halls were empty, besides the haphazard sprays of vomit inducing diarrhea surrounding us.

  I did not have the balls to turn any of the knobs. I questioned anyone that could hear, "All these doors are closed; can they open them?"

  My question was answered when a male peevie opened and casually walked out of a door at the end of the first hall. It was scary to be so close yet completely unnoticed by a rabid predator. It didn’t seem bothered by us, maybe the excessive amount of peevie dirt all around was blocking our scent.

  We stared at a blue, hairy, shit covered ass walk away from us for a few seconds. My dad shouted, "Hey Avatar, I got something for you!"

  I was too bummed out that we never seemed to come across hot female supermodel peevies to cuss at my dad for alerting the fucking monster before it began turning around. He sent a bullet through its rib cage and all hell broke loose.

  Before the body of the dead nudist even stopped twitching, nearly every door swung open and an entire population of insane cannibals started throwing themselves into the hallway. With all the new hands, we had a virtual platoon out to do the clearing. Twenty rifles being fired constantly and nearly simultaneously was jarring.

  I was seriously glad Hammer had remained on the boat to recover from her recent stab wound, she probably would’ve made us stop and wait on the damn elevator. At least we got a break at the end of each hallway. The zombies seemed unwilling to enter the stairwells.

  After racing through each level of hotel rooms, we came to a ladder marked "Roof Access." This was part of the journey Bradley would not get to take part in, there was just no way around it.

  Smokes generously offered to stay behind with The Old Friend. "Y’all’s stupid if y’all thank I’s doin’ dat shit ‘again!”

  I was fairly certain that (at least as far as I could remember) I had never been inside this hotel. There was no time to rest on any of the couches or notice much of anything besides the layers of shit everywhere. My dad had to ring the fucking dinner bell for these carnivores and the only way for us to have alerted the damn things any better would have been to smear ourselves with bloody meat and break out the trombones! Well, Gene could have gotten another nosebleed. Thank God for small favors. As the majority of the party topped the ladder, I was one hundred percent sure I had never been on the roof.

  There were a few old TV satellites, the elevator shack, and a shed, which we later discovered contained equipment to repair the elevator, a couple of gas powered weed eaters, and a hand push lawnmower.

  Before I go on, I must digress: lawnmowers on the fucking roof? Inefficient? I know it was probably to save space, but it would be like robbing a bank and coming outside to find your getaway car on fucking blocks!

  It was not even discussed. Everyone in the group obviously realized that there was no point going to the elevator shaft and checking inside. They were probably intelligent enough, but we all knew peevies would not pry open the door only to trap themselves inside a tiny room on a roof and stay there in the oven until the sun went down to pry themselves back out. Besides, the damn elevator car probably wasn’t at the roof doors anyway and we weren’t going to bother checking for it on any of the other floors.

  We moved directly to the shed, the only clear point of interest on the roof. We were all automatically sure there would be no zombies hiding in this minuscule Quonset hut under the baking sun, and were therefore not prepared for a fight. What the fuck? This is like a movie! Just when everyone decides that they are safe, dramatic music starts and we get attacked.

  We all stood at ease with our rifles over our shoulders and Taliafero hurried in front of my dad to be the party member to discover what we all assumed was absolutely nothing. He swung the door open and was immediately full body slammed to the ground by a rotund version of Smurfette with impossibly huge breasts–and not the good kind. For a second I had the terrible thought that it was E
ternity returned from Alaska to haunt me, until I saw that it did not have more armpit hair than I have hair on my head. The raving blue nudist would have been shitting the pants it wasn’t wearing if it could identify the sound of twenty rifles being un-slung simultaneously. We all aimed but were unable to fire upon the monster for fear of hitting Tal. The screaming cannibal rose, digging its fingers into the young man, pulling him close in what appeared to be a disgusting sexual embrace. Tal was pinned, motor boating some shit covered, blue boobies as the creature ran around aimlessly on the roof. He finally pushed himself out of its grasp with the look of a traumatized rape victim on his face. The peevie again began racing towards him, and my dad could see exactly what was happening.

  With the young man directly behind the lunatic cannibal and in our line of sight and at the edge of the roof, the danger was obvious. My father didn’t want to fire and screamed, "Drop!"

  Tal didn’t drop fast enough and we could see that if the monster crashed into him, it would surely drive him off the roof with it. In the second before their collision my father let off three shots into the infected’s back, hoping to stop it or at least send it in another direction.

  The bullet holes were probably fatal and I never found out if any of the shots passed through and hit Tal, but it didn’t matter anyway. The mortally wounded beast continued its forward momentum and slammed into the oblivious Taliafero Williamson.

  The two launched over the side and into the air, clinging to one another as if they were lovers. Tal had been standing at the edge facing the water and I was hoping their flight would end with an aquatic crash landing. This hotel is the closest building to the water’s edge I can think of; there can’t be more than five feet between the foundation and the shore. I guess they are being more truthful than most businesses on the island when they spoke of "a majestic waterfront view," aside from the fact that there’s nothing majestic about a man-made lake.

  We were all praying to see the Oracle’s cousin floating safely in the water while the rabid skinny dipper splashed around and tried to get to land. As the delegation looked over the side we saw what we should have expected: Tal lay unmoving beneath the large, blue cannibal with his neck cocked at an unnatural angle. They were on the rocks at the water’s literal edge, he could have reached over his head and his hand would have been in the lake…he only died by inches! The blubbery demon on top of him was obviously dead, so we consoled his family members and made our way back down to the ground through a newly cleared-of-infected building before recovering the body of our deceased comrade and simply floating the overweight abomination out into the lake. Fish couldn’t get infected, and the meat was cooked before we ate it. Anyway, I was confident this was nowhere near the worst meal the fish of this lake had ever eaten.