The Zombie Wilson Diaries Part 9

"No!" I yelled and dashed in.

I grabbed the spear and pulled back as hard as I could. Sonofab.i.t.c.h! I was p.i.s.sed 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 d.a.m.n 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 a.s.s when it came time to bathe her at the pool. I might have to carry her stinky a.s.s 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 relations.h.i.+p. Unless you call indulging too much and feeling like s.h.i.+t the next day a good relations.h.i.+p. Kinda like a night of crazy s.e.x 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 d.a.m.n 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 c.r.a.p that was oozing out of her leg was now on my face.

I wiped at it with the sleeve of my s.h.i.+rt, 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 a.s.s. 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.

p.i.s.sed-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 a.s.s 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 ga.s.ses? Holy s.h.i.+t, 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 a.s.s 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. b.i.t.c.h, b.i.t.c.h, b.i.t.c.h. No amount of whining was going to help her at this point.

I was 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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 G.o.d, 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!

I dropped the food on a rock by the fire so it could cook slowly, then ran back to pick up the cap. It was sort of square and had a wide end that had some flat piece f.l.a.n.g.ed under so that when I laid it on the ground, it stood up and was quite stable.

I ate and felt more or less full. Some d.a.m.n French fries would cap off that meal. While I'm dreaming, again, I may as well dream of biscuits and a hot fudge f.u.c.king sundae.

I sat down to work on the piece. First, I ran some of the cargo netting under it and tied it in the center so it made a cross. I left some of the strap through the small hole, long enough to reach the middle of her leg. Then I tied a big lump in the middle, so I could control how much of the straps stayed loose.

It was about an hour later when she crawled back into camp with her eye fixed on my crotch like it was prime rib. I waited until she got close, then fell on her back and held her down. I pulled her leg back, the one missing the foot, and tried out the new fitting.

It was a bit tight. I moved the straps around so they didn't cross each other. Then I put it over her calf and pushed until it wouldn't move any more. I tapped it a few times, then took the ends I had left hanging, pulled them up and tied them to her knee. Wow, this might work.

I helped her up and stood her before me. She was very unsteady on the square hunk of metal. I saw the ends bite into her flesh, but I don't think she cared. She fell the first few times she took a step. Around the eighth or ninth time, she seemed to get her footing and was able to walk a few feet.

Now she makes a cool "thonk and slide" sound when she walks.

At least she's mobile again. I took her top off and tried not to stare at her shriveled b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They looked like peaches left in the sun for a few days. I looped the dress over her head and let it settle around her shoulders. She looks a lot better now. What a change!

"You look much better, babe."

Snarl.

"Really, the color suits your eyes. I mean eye."

Snarl.

Thunk. Slide. Thunk. Slide. At least I will hear her coming now. It was just about as effective as a cowbell.

Day 27.

My Girlfriend Whines a Lot.

The raft is coming along great! I rolled a pair of logs close to each other and then dragged the tail section from the plane between them. I rolled more logs on either side of those and-looky here-we had ourselves a floating fortress. There was plenty of webbing in the plane, so I took it all out, tore it apart, tied it up with half-a.s.sed knots that would make a boy scout cry, and then attempted to wrap the logs together.

I laid smaller logs next to the big ones in the hope it would help stabilize the craft. Then I grabbed a bunch of strips of palm trees I have been drying out and made more rope out of them, just like I have been using to keep my girl secured. I brought her to the site and let her stomp around a little while I worked. She got a bead on me with her eye, which was getting really dry and nasty these days. I can't imagine it works. What if she just senses me somehow, like a zombie psychic? Maybe being dead gives her special powers of the mind that I can't imagine.

Nah, she is too dumb for that.

The new foot is holding up surprisingly well. It slows her down a lot, and it is noisy as h.e.l.l. It sounds like she is a robot with that big heavy metal plate on her leg. I found another use for it. If I put her near a big log and kick the plate under it, she gets stuck for a while before she wiggles it loose.

The plan was to build the raft until I had no more material. Launch it, see if it floats and then, well, float away. Oh darn! I hadn't thought of that. How did I get it to move in the water? Perhaps I could try to make some sort of sail with all the clothes I have saved up. I don't have a way to sew them all together. I would have to make oars.

I got the first three logs tied together before I ran low on stuff to tie them with. It only left me a half-raft, and I would need to store stuff like food and water on the rest. I don't have much. I didn't come across any treasure left by a pirate. Don't have any souvenirs. I don't even have my bags from the trip.

I went back and retrieved some of the clothes and tore them into strips so I could make more rope. The jeans were the best. They were thick, made of strong fabric. The dresses and silk s.h.i.+rts didn't seem that great, but on closer inspection, the silky stuff was much stronger than I thought. I wound some together and found out I couldn't tear it apart no matter how hard I tried.

I managed to get another three logs tied together, and it was looking like a proper raft, almost like something you would see in a movie-almost. I found a long stick and tied a couple of pieces of broken luggage to it. I had to tear the hard plastic cases apart with the rock knife, but in the end, I had a broad-bladed oar. It should be strong enough to get me a decent way out to sea.

I'm in a good mood today. Making the raft has really lifted my spirits. I feel like a new man. I guess I am a new man, as much weight as I have lost. I got a glimpse of my face in the water as I worked and almost didn't recognize myself. I've given up shaving. Without shaving cream, the c.r.a.ppy plastic razors I found the first few days left my face a rash of blazing pain. My eyes looked sunken in, sort of hollow. They looked-wild.

"Do I look crazy to you?" I asked my zombie, who was stuck with her metal foot under a log.

Snarl.

I should write a top 40 pop tune called Snarl.

"I didn't think so either, baby."

I fished for about an hour, gathering up much more than I usually would. I cooked some of the food, but I put the rest in a luggage piece that was filled with water. It was probably a makeup bag when it was in use; now it's my refrigerator.

I went back to fis.h.i.+ng, diving deep to dig up oysters in the beautiful blue surf. The clouds were rolling in, and I was sure it would rain before the day was over. That wouldn't help get the raft built any quicker. d.a.m.n!

I checked on her, but she was still stomping up and down. I lifted the hem of her dress to inspect her leg wound, and I was. .h.i.t with the smell of scorched meat again. It made me think of medium rare filet mignons with a side of sauteed mushrooms. I had to force myself to look at her rotting body to stop my mouth from drooling.

What a mess. I have written it before, and I will write it again. I should just kill her.

I'll do it before I push the raft into the water.

I went back to the construction site and inspected my handiwork again. I pulled on one log and then the other to make sure everything was solidly constructed. The clouds continued to roll in while I tried to work faster. When the rain came, I decided to check out my hatch idea.

As is frequently the case, the rain didn't exactly fall like a virgin spring day. It came down in bucketloads. Imagine standing under a shower. Now multiply the shower by twenty. That is what it felt like.

I jumped up on the hull and slid inside the opening. I had a bunch of palm leaves woven together with twigs that I used as a hatch. The large end was shut with something similar, a wall to protect me from the worst of the elements. That end was up in the air, thanks to the logs, so only a really heavy wave would get inside. I slid it shut and lay down to take a nap. Giant drops pelted the top in a pattern that reminded me of a really angry heavy-metal musician learning drums. Staccato, that is one way to describe it. f.u.c.king loud and annoying. That is another way.

I was kept more or less dry, even though a small river of water developed in the center of the tail section. I found that if I lay on my side, it didn't run against my back. I faced the wall and noticed stains for the first time. Probably where the seawater was eating away at the sides. This part of the plane was used mostly to hold the tail in place, or so I surmised.

It went on for about fifteen minutes at this pace. I was pretty sure it would stop soon; that's how it usually works. Except for one night when it dumped for several hours, the dousings were over quickly.

I heard her howl when the first pulse of thunder rolled across the sky. It started a ways out and then felt like a train was going past. I wish it had been a train-a train to Hawaii. Scratch that, a train to somewhere cold, like Finland. Isn't that where they build the ice hotels? Everywhere you look-ice! f.u.c.k me, but that sounds like heaven after the weeks I have had in this h.e.l.lhole.

She howled again as the thunder ripped another one. A few minutes later, I felt impact as lightning cracked into the ground. I popped my head out in the rain to see her struggling against the log. She was pulling against it so hard that the log was actually rocking back and forth. If she kept it up, she would lose the new metal foot I had made for her-or the rest of her leg. Then I would have to tie a stick on there. She would be just a parrot away from becoming a zombie pirate.

I jumped out of the hatch, which wasn't as easy as it sounds. I thought I could just get my legs back out, but it turned out it was almost impossible to slither out the opposite way from how I'd come in. I had to go back toward the front, which had a much larger s.p.a.ce, and then turn around.

I moved the palm leaves aside and popped out. The rain hit me and soaked me to the bone. It was pounding against me for all it was worth. I ran to her side and pushed against the log. Her good eye held a look of panic. I think. Kinda hard to judge what was behind that thing.

The oddest thing happened when I took her slimy hand in mine. And not just the pieces of skin sliding off her dead digits. Yeah, that was gross, but I'm getting used to sick stuff coming out of her various openings. Anyway, I took her hand in mine, and she calmed down right away. She didn't snarl, she didn't hoot or growl; she just stared at me until I took a step and tugged her hand. She clumped behind me as I walked back to the raft.

Now I had a problem. The large part of the tail had that little covering I built. It faced away from the water, and I was hesitant to break it open. It had taken a good bit of effort to create the d.a.m.n thing. I guess I didn't really have a choice. As the rain came down and drenched us both, I worked the end of it free, then tugged it off more or less in one piece. The little bit of strap I used to secure it in place came free without tearing, so I pushed it inside the opening for later reuse.

I crawled inside and then slid around so my feet went backwards. I pushed myself into the s.p.a.ce and settled against the sides.

Now, I know it would be the polite thing to invite my lady friend into the little hovel, but she stinks. I mean, she really smells, and she has stuff falling off her body. I wouldn't be able to sleep next to that. No one could sleep next to her. Another burst of lightning tore across the sky, and she let out something like a scream behind the gag.

Poor thing!

Taking her hand in mine, I pulled her so that her upper body was forced to bend over to fit in the s.p.a.ce with me. I backed up as far as I could and then tried to settle in for the downpour. I should have just gone back to camp, but she seemed so quiet now that she was with me. She laid her head to the side so that her eye could stare at me. She doesn't blink, ever, which is pretty freaky, but that eye can move when it wants to.

"Is that better?"

She didn't snarl for a change. Well look at Miss Smarty Pants. Finally knows when to keep her inhuman noises to herself.

Lightning lit the sky again. She jumped forward a little but calmed down until the thunder once again shook the ground. Then she let out a high-pitched noise that almost sounded like a whine. I patted her hand and ran my hand over her head, which turned up what I thought was a beetle of some sort. Scratch that; it was a furry spider. I smashed it against the side of the wall, then wished I had saved it for the fire. I learned a few weeks ago that they taste pretty good when cooked.

She sort of moaned at me. I thought of it as cooing. When the rain and lightning calmed down, it was like a switch went off in her head. She tried to stand up and bashed her head against the top of the plane, so I pushed her out. Of course, she tried to bite me a couple of times.

Day 28.