Still Alive (Book 4): Zombie Oasis

by Javan Bonds

  I passed The End Of The World As We Know It and forced myself not to smell the delicious barbecue or think about going to get a quickie from the hot as hell waitress inside. I need to get used to the only thing I will get to eat until I get back to the island: fish.

  On the way back to the boat I reveled in random bird calls. It was great that at least one thing was somewhere close to normal again. The birds were back almost everywhere and I enjoyed seeing the occasional hawk or even the nasty little gulls that were basically the garbage men around the lake. Sure, they didn’t nest where they could be easily attacked by the two-legged carnivores. But most fowl could be found in the same places they always were.

  Rounding the corner at the antique store the Cora came into my line of sight. The gangplank was lowered but clearly now was rising. I knew exactly what was going on and started running and yelling, “Stop! Dammit, Crow! Stop!”

  Surprisingly, the rising of the gangplank did stop. She looked over the side as I sprinted across the parking lot of the Marina. “The fuck you want, white boy?”

  Out of breath, I could only point up at her. “Don’t you dare raise that damn thing! Let me board!”

  She turned to start reaching for the rope ladder. I did the first thing that came to mind: tell on her. “Hammer! Hammer!”

  The elder of the lesbian couple looked over the side. I whined, “Make her drop the gangplank!”

  The Expert shushed me. She helped her girlfriend finish dropping the ladder over the edge. “Mo, you know you need the exercise. It can’t hurt.”

  “This is bullshit!” I wanted to scream. I wish I carried some grenades to threaten them with. A pistol versus a caravel wasn’t very intimidating. I began cursing everything as I climbed the ladder. Why doesn’t she need the exercise? Senior citizens need to work out too!

  I dragged myself onto the deck. I stared at Hammer through narrowed eyes. Speaking quietly, I said, “I will never forgive you for that.”

  “Oh yes you will,” she offered from her seat at the table beside Gene.

  See? If I had just called him I would’ve been able to meet him here and not go through all the shit I just endured. I guess blaming it on the fact that I see the walkie-talkies as a post-apocalyptic cell phone is my only excuse. Like those impersonal devices of evil from back before Armageddon. Yeah, I had a cell phone, and even though it wasn’t a super extreme ultra big screen TV iPhone, I could make calls and send the occasional text. Not that I had a problem with texting, I’d just rather speak face-to-face. For some reason, I would rather drive to someone’s house before calling them and asking how they are. I probably could have used the money I spent on wasted gas throughout my life to purchase an automobile that didn’t look like a pile of shit. Alas, you already know I’m an unthinking dumbass.

  I looked at The Tech with surprise. “Why the hell are you here?

  “Well if that’s going to be your attitude …” He began to rise. “I just won’t go.”

  I grunted a questioning noise. He stopped and smiled. “Hammer came by the shop earlier and told me you were going to international waters. That sounded interesting. I’ve never been to the ocean myself and I would like to accompany you. If you would have me, that is.”

  Of course, I’ve never been in international waters either, unless you count the beach at Dauphin Island. “Hell man, I just went by the comic book shop to ask you if you wanted to go.” I paused and thought about the young boy he had basically adopted since the death of Georgia. “What about Hunter?”

  He dipped his head in the general direction of the island. “Oh, he’s with your mom. Mrs. Collins came by the shop a few hours ago and asked if he wanted to go pick apples with her.” He added, “He’s still not speaking since his parents died, but he nodded and agreed to pick fruit.”

  That’s convenient. I don’t think she would mind letting him stay with her and Daddy while we are gone. I offered, “You know, she probably wouldn’t mind watching him until we get back.”

  He was ahead of me. “I already thought of that. I’ll ask her when they return to the shop.”

  I’ve been too much of a pathetic loser to provide them with grandchildren. My brother just got married, so he will be at least a few more months. They’ll probably be glad to watch over Gene’s youngling. Maybe my dad can raise him to use proper radio etiquette. Like the oldest son he never had.

  I looked over to see Smokes coming up to the main deck. He was ready for his strenuous day of sitting around and eating fish. “Looks like I caught them all.” I shot a finger pistol at him as I faded to memories of Pokémon. Come on, that was similar to “Gotta catch ‘em all!” Okay, I know I’m a loser.

  ☠☠☠

  If you are anywhere near my age, don’t try to tell me you’ve always thought Pokémon was gay and stayed away from it. You wasted just as much money on trading cards as I did. I know I’m a geek, but even Easy had a deck of cards! I’m talking about the original hundred and fifty-one, not the new shit that seems to cater more to this generation of idiot children. I even knew how to play the card game and thought teaching girls how to play when I was fourteen was a good way to flirt. That’s probably why I didn’t get laid until my junior year. Those bitches will wish they had done things differently when I’m rich from selling my first edition holographic Blastoise! Dammit! My entire card collection was in my parents’ house when it burned to the ground.

  I had to ask the collector the question on my mind. “How much is a first edition holographic Blastoise worth?”

  He knew exactly what I was talking about. He answered as if there had not been a world-destroying cataclysm. “About three dollars.”

  I was crushed. Fuck. The whole damn pack cost ten dollars! Motherfucker. I had been holding onto collectibles that were one of the reasons I was a virgin for most of my teenage years. They wouldn’t have been worth a damn thing before the zombie apocalypse, but I had always held out hope.

  The Oracle approached the roundtable with his professorial aura. “Not all of them.”

  It took me a second to get back to the present because I was about to ask Gene about my damn holographic Zapdos. Sumbitch, he was right. The Man of God and The Tech were happy to go. The Expert demanded that she be allowed to accompany me. The Old Friend and The Medicine Man had reasons to go. I had even convinced my brother and his dark beauty of a wife to tag along. I just somehow forgot I didn’t yet have the willingness of The Love Interest. Shit, I would probably have to sell my soul and be castrated just to talk her into coming on a luxury cruise! Actually, most of the crew probably wouldn’t survive. I knew this would not go like I had planned it.

  ☠☠☠

  “But I don’t want to go anywhere!” She was nowhere near naked and there was no music playing in the background. My imagination had apparently lied to me.

  Sarah stood against the wall. I sat on the edge of the bed like a bumbling moron. “Why not?”

  “Because we’re safe here–”

  “But you won’t have to get off the ship,” I stated like I’ve never talked to women.

  “Mo, you’re safe here too! I know you found some way to almost die last time you went anywhere. I don’t want to lose you either!”

  Wow, that was probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. She actually cared about my well-being. It was still weird for me to believe I was romantically loved.

  I thought about it and finally came up with a compromise. The compromise wasn’t really a change in my original plans, but it made me sound pathetic. “I won’t take any stupid risks.” As if just being me isn’t stupid enough and being on any mission into no man’s land isn’t risky. I tried to cement my point. “We have to get this cure!”

  I stood and moved closer with outstretched arms. She leapt across the room. “Don’t even think about it!” Well dammit! I know I’m not getting any tonight, and doubtfully in the foreseeable future.

  Dropping my arms I sighed. She ran a hand over her eyes and relented a little.
“Okay, we can go, but only because of this cure. There will be no running off and no prisons.”

  I could only nod like an obedient child. Before I did it, I knew I was lying to her. I would assuredly run off and wind up almost killing myself for something that was clearly not worth it. What the hell is wrong with me? There’s a beautiful woman that regularly offers me coitus and I have to fuck it up by pissing her off and getting almost killed every few days. I may be sleeping on the deck tonight, but at least she’s going.

  There’s a saying that goes something like “Don’t go to bed mad, stay up and fight about it.” As usual, I’m too much of a puss to actually fight with anyone. Even if it is a girl that isn’t pushing a hundred twenty and is a good three inches shorter than me. She could yell at me and make my penis lonely for a long time. Rather than get screamed at, I chose to stay up until I passed out from drinking. I was sure to swipe a bottle of MD 20/20 before Sarah forced me out of the room with her penetrating stare.

  Before you say it, yes I know, 20/20 is nearly the cheapest liquor available. That’s why I have it. I know that goods are comparatively less expensive without all of the various taxes and shit that we use to have to pay. But I’m still unwilling to lose a pound of gold to get slightly tipsy on a watered-down margarita. I’m going to get hammered on what used to be a three-dollar bottle of nasty wine!

  ☠☠☠

  I started drinking. Bradley was sitting across from me at the table. He characteristically abstained. “Man, that stuff can’t be good for you!”

  I chose to accept his criticism with silence. I knew if he took only a couple of slugs, he would be to damn wasted to care if it was full of typhoid! I sure as hell didn’t.

  The Oracle appeared from somewhere near the bow. He was obviously inebriated from an entirely different substance. My large friend offered this as he made his way below deck.

  “Bra, you coulda just told her to keep her white ass wit yo mama and daddy.”

  Reverse psychology? Fuck. I should have thought of that. Thanks for the clever idea now, Dr. Phil. I actually get a girlfriend that enjoys the no pants dance and I still wish I could go back in time and change what I just said to her. I could be involved in sexual relations at this very moment. But no, I’m a dumbass! I decided not to respond as the drink started doing its job. At some point, Bradley and his minion disappeared into the presidential suite. I guess it’s no fun to be around a drunk if you’re sober.

  Alone, my reasoning skills became even more affected by the alcohol. I decided to somehow stumble downstairs to grab my 17 HMR out of my room. Amazingly I didn’t wake Sarah as I fumbled and giggled like an idiot. It was surprising that I made my way back to the deck. I threw the rope ladder over the side. Next, I secured the bottle in my boot and slung the loaded gun over my shoulder. Amazingly, I made my way to the ground down the rope ladder with no memory of how I obviously survived or this would be less than a novella. I still have no clue how I managed to not split my head open or kill myself in some other way. Booze, heights, and firearms are obviously not a fatal combination. Maybe I should try it more often!

  I then made my way up the bridge and decided to fucking walk all the way across Buck Island. Since this island had recently been cleared, the border of the city had been expanded northward to the edge of it. No more permanent watchmen on the river bridge, they were now stationed at the next causeway. I thankfully did not burn up all the alcohol in my system with physical activity. When I made it to the guardhouse hours later, I asked the armored troopers if I could take some shots at a few peevies that I would draw to the edge of the causeway.

  The Enclave Soldier and Medieval Knight thought it would be hysterical to watch a drunk shoot at and miss a few zombies before giving up and crying. Mr. Camelot threw a can of pork and beans to the other side of the gap. When it exploded on impact, we watched and waited for the demons to appear.

  This exact scene had been played out numerous times at every entrance to the island. A shooter would set some bait and then wait for their prey to walk into range. I’ve been told it’s wrong to hunt over bait, but that’s exactly what I was doing. If you think I would shed a damn tear because I lured a bunch of naked cannibals to their deaths, you apparently haven’t read any of my other journals. I would compare it to hunting deer over a feeder or covering the field in corn. Both of those practices are immoral and illegal. I did one of the two nearly every time I went hunting. Stop being a bitch.

  I’ve heard stories of shooters piling up downed peevies around a bloodied bone or a piece of stinking meat. For some reason the bodies remain where they fell until no one is watching. I would have promised myself to wait and watch for the peevie undertaker to show up, but I expected my next waking thought would be in the parking lot of the city marina lying in a pool of my own vomit in just a few hours. There is a good chance some of the satellites are still working, I should remember to discuss with The Tech putting a GPS tracker on one of the dead zombies. But I have a terrible memory. Maybe I should just give him my journals and he can read through all this pointless bullshit to find a couple of gems.

  I’m pretty sure it took me two or five minutes to find the can in my scope. I can boast that I only screamed at my rifle three or four times for making it difficult. For some reason, the rabid nudists still do most of their hunting at night. I’m not sure why this is since they can come out anytime of the day now. They must find it easier to lumber up on a sleeping animal than to be stealthy.

  I set my little rifle on one of the rails of the gate, took a knee as I rested my bottle of cheap booze on the road beside me, and began reminiscing about my first drunk story.

  Everyone has a “first drunk” story, and like most, mine was one of those memorable events that seemed – at least at the time – to change my life. Fortunately, my first time getting shitfaced did not involve excessive amounts of vomit.

  ☠☠☠

  The summer I turned seventeen was a time of not really doing anything when I wasn’t working. For some reason, one of my thirty-something neighbors stopped by my house one day. He got in the habit of stopping by when I was around to shoot the shit and tell me funny stories about his years in high school. It was nothing weird; he didn’t try to show me his dick or anything. He was happily married and had kids. He was just one of those cool guys that probably recognized I was a loser and took pity on me. He could’ve just been bored.

  Anyway, one day I asked him if he would buy me some alcohol and he told me he would have to think on it. I was willing to bet my eternal soul that he would. I conspired with a friend, “Cannonball,” the next day at school and we thought about what to ask for. The next day I was off work my older friend came by and agreed to do it. So I gave him the list and the cash. Somehow Cannonball or myself let the news of our impending festivities slip to my fourteen-year-old brother, who at the time was not in high school or massive. He wasn’t yet a ladies’ man and it goes without saying that I wasn’t. We didn’t have a problem getting Easy — who had already received the nickname — in on it.

  We had ordered a bottle of Peaches and Cream MD 20/20, a pint of Aristocrat vodka, and a couple of thirty-packs of the cheapest beer available. I discovered a cracked and worn cooler in the dumpster at the grocery store, stole a couple of bags of ice, and carried the cooler to a spot down by the creek. We were fully prepared for a Saturday of getting drunk and trying not to die.

  Three days before our planned outing, the booze arrived. I hauled it to the secret cooler where it would remain until we were ready to chug some three-dollar vodka and malt liquor.

  At this time, I had a desperate crush on a girl and felt we should invite her to our marathon of drinking shitty alcohol. Because you know, I might could have gotten laid and stuff. I decided that four people was enough and refused to allow my friend or my brother to invite anyone else.

  Her name was Candy, somewhat of a “full figured” or curvy girl. Now she’s a “Sports Illustrated” or “maxim” bikini model or
something. I guess that shows how lucky I am. Well, maybe not technically now, I’m saying before the world went to shit. And actually, she’s probably a carnivorous, blue monster at the moment even if she is hot and naked. I guess everything worked out since I didn’t end up marrying her and having her babies.

  ☠☠☠

  That reminds me, why do you never see sexually attractive and nude female zombies? There are plenty of naked guys, children, and even the occasional stripped and morbidly obese middle-aged woman. I’ve never been attacked by a blue version of Hugh Hefner’s girlfriend. I would have no problem shooting Doctor Manhattan from a hundred yards off in that little bull’s-eye on his forehead. But if a zombified Silk Specter wanted to take a bite out of my neck, I’d let her get a little bit closer. Just so I could see some hot blue boobies. Does that make me a bad person? Anyway, enough digressing while digressing.

  ☠☠☠

  So Cannonball pulled up in his self-proclaimed “GIT-R-DUN,” piece of shit, early 1980s model Ford pickup. The damn thing was nearly as ugly as most of my vehicles from that era. He was followed shortly by Candy in her shit-colored Honda. The four of us were off to the woods in the old John Deere Gator.

  To this day I have no clue where my parents were. There was no way of knowing what the hell was wrong with me. I thought Cannonball would be a responsible driver for our ride through the pasture. Somehow, my buddy nearly sank the Gator into the pond. We eventually made it to our designated “party” spot in the woods intact. Our quartet immediately began cracking open bottles of disgusting beer and washing it down with even more disgusting vodka. I was the only one of the group that enjoyed the taste of the 20/20. I was damn happy to drink most of it.

  After we were all three sheets to the wind, for some reason Cannonball decided he wanted to drive around recklessly. The stupid drunk teenagers in the back thought that would be fun and a safe idea. None of us noticed the fucking tree that sat directly in front of the Gator’s front wheel. As a side note, a Gator has five wheels. Cannonball proceeded to drive up the damn thing. The vehicle tipped onto the side I was sitting against. Candy was sitting in the dump bed across from me, and my brother was beside her. I fell onto my back and wasn’t hurt at all until Candy’s knee hit me squarely in the eye. Looking back, it’s a good thing the damn thing didn’t just tip all the way over and kill all of us. I had a black eye and nearly a concussion from the full weight of a person colliding with my orbital socket. I’m surprised I didn’t just lose the eye or be blinded. At least that way Hammer wouldn’t be the only one.