The Zombie Wilson Diaries Part 6

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 p.o.r.n magazines. I pa.s.sed out with my pants around my ankles. I'm not sure what was more embarra.s.sing-the fact that I pa.s.sed 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.

f.u.c.king 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 pa.s.sed 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 c.r.a.p anywhere near my mouth. I stumbled to my feet, thanks to my pants hanging around my ankles. Jesus ...

I patted her on the a.s.s 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. G.o.d, I hope I didn't try to do anything stupid last night while she had her a.s.s 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 gra.s.s 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 pa.s.s the day in misery. But I had things to do. I had to get my hung-over a.s.s up and go hunt for food. Check my c.r.a.ppy 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 s.h.i.+t 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 c.r.a.ppy 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 splas.h.i.+ng on the sandy sh.o.r.e. The large white airplane section was right where I had left it. I was happy that I pulled it so far up on sh.o.r.e. 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 rus.h.i.+ng over the sh.o.r.e 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 a.s.s 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 ma.s.s 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 f.u.c.ked-up Macy's Parade balloon. He didn't have on any clothes. His d.i.c.k 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 back to life and making his way back to sh.o.r.e?

How sweet. A reunion ... from h.e.l.l. 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 c.r.a.p, 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 c.r.a.p! I held the stick in front of me as he turned his ma.s.sive 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.

What the h.e.l.l? This guy crawls out of the ocean after being out there for a week and decides to rekindle his marriage? What a jerk. I hit him in the gut a couple of times just for good measure. Each time the stick struck, it caused a jet of water to shoot out of his mouth like a surfacing whale.

Well this is just great. What am I going to do with two freaking zombies?

Day 20.

My Girlfriend Wants a Threesome.

G.o.d, I'm tired.

Yesterday, I managed to get a gag on the husband. I used a s.h.i.+rt from one of the suitcases, wound it up, tied it in the middle so it made a ball, then I put that in his mouth. I had to time it just right. He was trying to roll over, so I had to actually touch his disgusting flesh and squeeze the thing in there. He was snapping at me. When he went for the cloth gag, I sort of smashed it in there, tying it behind his neck. I smiled at my handiwork as he chewed on the cloth. He tried to roll over again. This time seawater came out of his nose, dribbling onto the ground.

I took some of my homemade rope, tied it around a big rock and attached it to one of his ankles. Hey look, he has on a ball and chain-next to his ball and chain.

I helped her up and untied her hands. She couldn't balance with them behind her back, so I had to keep holding her upright. She brought them forward ever so slowly and tried to latch them onto my neck. I pushed her away, and she stumbled on her husband's legs and fell again. Her hand caught in my shorts and tugged me down with her. I landed on the squishy tub of salt.w.a.ter-logged lard with her on top of me.

Oh my G.o.d! I was stuck in a zombie sandwich!

I screamed as loud as I could as he tried to get his arm over me. Is this how I was going to die?

Stuck between an undead married couple like we were in some freaky p.o.r.no movie. She tried to bite me, he tried to bite me, and I tried to yell my head off. My skin crawled as goose b.u.mps erupted all over me. I wanted to torch every inch of flesh that had touched the d.a.m.ned dead things. I wanted to burn the spots and then rub them in alcohol. I rolled to the side and she went with me. I hit the ground on my back and she fell on top of me so she was straddling my waist. She started going for my neck again.

I bucked under her, but she was very persistent in trying to bite me. Her husband tried to roll over to do the same thing. I rolled again, this time so I could dislodge her, then I was on my feet, wiping at my body in disgust. I had zombie goo all over me. I yelled again, just for good measure. She just stared at me with that one luminous blue eye, snarling deep in her throat.

You and me both, babe. Frustration sucks.

He rolled onto his stomach, got his hand under his body, and tried to push himself up. I ran over and kicked him in the head, but it was like kicking a sack of rotten potatoes. If I had a gun, I could just end this. Shoot him in the face and maybe her while I was at it. The huge, bloated monstrosity seemed too large to kill in any conventional way. I looked around for a rock, but that would mean I would have to lean over to smash his head. I didn't think I could stand to get any more zombie goo on me today.

Then I had an idea. Maybe I could get close to him by using something to s.h.i.+eld me from the blows-maybe one of the pieces of luggage. I could put one of the big, inflexible bags over my upper body, cut a hole in the top and wear it. I didn't want to get any c.r.a.p on my other clothes, so I thought I should put something else on. I looked around at the few clothes I had cleaned up and saw the big floral-print dress. Of course!

Sure, I would look ridiculous, but the zombified lovers wouldn't care. They wouldn't care one little bit.

I grabbed the dress and my knife and ran to the sh.o.r.e. I stripped off my clothes, jumped in the surf, and scrubbed every inch of my body with sand. I came out, brus.h.i.+ng the hair out off my face, and did it again. Then I let the hot sun dry me. I donned the dress, hiked it up, and looped the bottom up so my feet were free. It was actually quite comfortable, but it billowed around me, so I tied a knot in the side. It had a plunging neckline, which let lots of air in over my chest. This should protect me from any flying zombie bits and goo.

I grabbed one of the suitcases, a large one that was pretty dry. I used my knife to cut out the bottom. Kept glancing back over my shoulder in case he figured out how to chase me. The stuff was tough with a thick weave that was hard and barely flexible. I cut a hole in the top for my head and then a couple of holes for my arms. I slid it over my body and felt ready for war. No way could he hurt me now, and there was no way I could get any gunk on me.

I went back to camp and found he was on his feet. He came at me and I stepped aside. I s.n.a.t.c.hed up my turtle helmet and slid it onto my head like a World War II soldier. I ran to the other side of camp and picked up the spear. I felt like a real warrior now.

We danced back and forth. At first I didn't want to hit him with the spear. I was worried about how it would feel to stab him. As he swung his arm at me, however, I dodged in and drove the spear point into his body. f.u.c.ker. Try to take over my island. How about some metal in your diet? I yanked it out, but it hadn't gone in very far. I tried to slap him across the temple with it. Maybe that would make him settle down. I went for his eye with the tip, but only managed to sc.r.a.pe his forehead.

This was exhausting, but at least I understood a little bit about what our ancestors had gone through while fighting mammoths and stuff like that. He moved toward me, swinging that ma.s.sive waterlogged arm. Some of the beads flew off, but I turned at the last second so they hit the top of the helmet instead. I swung in and drove the spear point into his chest. It skittered across his ribs, opening his skin with a nasty cut. It didn't bleed, and he didn't look like he cared or even felt it.

I heard shouting in the distance and turned. He almost got me when I looked. He stumbled toward me and caught me across the chest with his arm. It knocked me back, but I stayed on my feet.

I looked again to see that my island visitors from a few days ago had arrived. There were three of them, and they looked just as terrified as the last time they were here.

I turned and ran toward them, yelling, "Hey, wait! I need help! Don't run off again! Please!"

I came pounding across the beach as they stared at me with their mouths wide open. I waved the spear over my head to show them I wasn't interested in fighting. I didn't think my "armor" would protect me if they started throwing their own spears.

They screamed and ran back toward their boats. One had a look of such complete fear on his face that I actually felt sorry for him. I looked behind me, and there was my girlfriend with her husband in tow. It scared the s.h.i.+t out of me too! He moved slowly, but he was building momentum, his one arm flailing at me. I ran toward the men as they ran to their canoes. One turned and shook his spear at me. His eyes were wide open, and his mouth was stretched in a giant O.

"No, please take me with you!"

It was too late. They were already rowing while casting quick glances behind them as if we were going to wade into the water and follow them. I wish her a.s.shole husband would follow them along the bottom of the ocean and get eaten by a shark or a whale.

I turned on them. I was furious. She had her hands out, but she didn't look down. So, like usual, she tripped on a piece of wood that had washed up on the sh.o.r.e. I ignored her and marched toward the husband. I drew the spear back, over my head, took two fast steps forward, and drove the thing into his chest. It went in this time, pa.s.sing through all sorts of gross mushy stuff. As the spear went in, a bunch of pus showered my face.

I went crazy.

I ripped the turtle helmet off my head and started beating him. When I was done, his skull was a ma.s.s of stuff that looked like spilled beans or something. Like a can or six had been opened and dumped on the sand.

Oh G.o.d! What had I done? I didn't mean to kill him, not really. I thought about it, I really did. I was pretty sure I was ready to kill him, but when I got used to how slow and dumb he was, I just felt sorry for the poor zombie dude. I thought I would wear him down with the spear and armor, then tie him to something. I have lived with one zombie companion, why not two?

Did this make me a murderer?

I had to bathe again. Then I pulled my girl off her dead husband, since she was feasting on his body-for the second time. She was going at a leg this time. G.o.d, that was going to be messy. She must have worked at the flesh like a rabid dog until her gag came loose. I was so beyond sickened that I couldn't even throw up. I dragged her back to the camp, put her gag back on and tied her to the tree.

Then I collapsed and slept until dawn.

This morning, I went back to the body and studied it. I tried to move it, but it was far too heavy. I went back to camp and got my razor-sharp piece of rock and went to work. The arm came off first.

His muscles and stuff were still soft. The only hard part was when I had to rip the bone out of the shoulder. I had to put my foot against his side and pull for all I was worth. His other arm was just a stump, so I went at his legs. These came off as well, but it took a long time. The second one was stubborn, so I had to plant my foot in his crotch and pull on his knee. The sound of the bone coming out of the wet socket was like using a plunger on a toilet.

I didn't have the energy to stay at it. I had to go hunt and fish. The only good thing was that I threw a rock at a pair of birds and actually hit one of them. It couldn't fly off, so it flopped around on the ground. I picked it up and twisted its neck until it snapped. I pulled all the feathers off, roasted it and ate every bite, going so far as to crack the bones and suck out anything in them. Earlier today, I didn't think I could take down a p.i.s.sed-off zombie husband. Now I could twist birds' heads like it was no big deal.

It was a rough day, and I deserved a drink. I cracked open the rum and took a long swallow, which burned all the way down to my soul. Sang a song, read a little to my girl. Drank more. Suddenly, my hangover was gone, so I kept on drinking. I wish I had enough booze to become an alcoholic on this cursed island. After a while, I slept like a rock.

Day 21.

My Girlfriend is a Moaner.

What to do with the body? What to do? In the movies, the guy always has a plan. I didn't. I don't even know what I am going to do from day to day. My plans consisted of deciding to hunt food for the day, then determining whether I should save some for the next day or just eat it all so I had extra energy to do it all again.

It's so hot! I swear this place gets warmer every day. I took my s.h.i.+rt off and fetched my Jamaica cap. It was a lot more comfortable than the d.a.m.n turtle sh.e.l.l, which smells terrible.

I had to dispose of the body, but I wasn't sure how to do it. I dug into the sand, but not for very long. I bet I got down less than six inches, since there was a layer of rock under it. I would need a shovel, or it would take me a week to make the hole with my little rock tool.

I could have dragged the parts into the bushes, but she might find them. I didn't need to have her eating him again. I already needed to clean her out, and I was not at all looking forward to that little ch.o.r.e.

I stood on the beach in the beating sun and looked around my little slice of paradise. I could have tried putting the parts in the water, but they might float back to sh.o.r.e. Or I could have buried them under some rocks, but fish might eat them, and I was seriously concerned about the zombie virus. Now that he had come back to life, what did it mean for the things that nibbled on him? That gave me an idea, but first I had to dispose of the body.

I went back at him with the sharp rock. I was glad that he had dried out a little bit, but he was still far from a regular stiff. His upper body was probably a hundred and twenty-five pounds. How the h.e.l.l was I going to move it? I would have to slice it open. G.o.d!

She sat on the ground and stared at me with that blank look. I walked over, ran my hand through her hair, and told her she was still beautiful to me. She showed her broken teeth around the gag. She snarled, growled, moaned, and did her usual "I want to eat you" stare with her pretty blue eye. I cleaned out a couple of bug eggs from her dried eye and smashed them on the ground.

I helped her to her feet, took the log off her lap and let her stretch her legs a bit. She stumbled around in a circle, then went to her husband. She dropped down beside his torso and leaned over to bite him. I shuddered, pulled her off, marched her to the tree, and tied her up again while she fussed at me. I went back, grabbed his leg and dragged it behind me as I headed for the beach. I was hoping some great idea would hit me if I started walking, and hit me it did.

I had been looking in the wrong direction, which was down. I should have been looking up. Of course. Up!

I dragged the leg to a tree and looped the nasty thing over my shoulder. It was like carrying a ma.s.s of meat that reeked of rotten fish. It dripped and oozed congealed blood. I tried not to gag as I grabbed hold of a branch and tugged myself up. I got one foot on another branch and was soon a few feet off the ground. When I was about fifteen feet up, I maneuvered the leg so it hung over a large branch.

She couldn't reach that, not in a million years. I went back for the other leg and put it in another tree. This one was easier, because it still had a shoe on, so I had a way to tie the thing to a branch. It actually stretched between two branches.