Zombie Island

by Gamboa, Allen

  “Boys, boys.” Emma said following Ryan into the crowded car. “Sometimes I think you guys are still twelve.”

  “You wouldn’t be wrong luv.” Ryan said as he swiftly pushed past a family of four all lathered down with sunscreen. He found a bench and ushered Emma quickly over to it. The smell of cocoa butter and sweat filled the air. “Grab a seat, Em.”

  “Hey!” The ponytailed father of the sunscreen splattered family grumbled as Ryan cut him off. “We had that bench, mate.”

  “Oh, look.” Ryan pointed behind the pale hippy. The man spun around as Emma, Zoe and Anastasia slid past them onto the bench. The man quickly turned to see the girls crowding the bench.

  “Rude!” The man’s halter topped wife, who really needed a bra, shouted. “That’s plain rude!”

  “Look my friend is pregnant.” Ryan said pointing at the scantily clad Zoe. “You folks wouldn’t want a pregnant lady standing, would ya?”

  “Lady?” The saggy breasted woman frowned. “Hmmph!”

  “Come on.” The man pushed his family farther down the rail car. “Fucking wankers!”

  “Is that anyway to talk in front of your kids?” Ryan yelled after them.

  “Ryan you are bad.” Emma smacked him on the butt.

  “Pregnant?” Zoe patted her exposed six pack. “Really?”

  “Hey,” Ryan dropped his kit on the crowded car’s floor and sat down on Emma’s lap. “Best I could do on short notice.”

  “Bravo.” Emma slow clapped. “My hero.”

  “Well, fuck me.” Ben said, who was sandwiched between a seven-foot-tall black guy in a speedo and half-shirt and a four-foot-ten woman in a string bikini that reeked of week old sweat and pot. Also, Ben had to be careful where he turned or he would’ve definitely gotten a face full of speedo wrapped penis.

  “Sorry, mate.” Ryan smiled at Ben as he gave Emma a kiss on the forehead. “You just need to be prettier.”

  “Definitely.” Joshua said. He’d found a single seat in the overstuffed car and Samantha was sitting on his lap taking selfies and chewing gum.

  “How long a ride is it?” Ben yelled through the crowd of vacationers towards his friends.

  “Long enough.” Ryan shouted back switching places with Emma. “Just relax and enjoy the scenery.” He said nodding to the overstretched speedo that was mouth level with Ben’s face. “Consider yourself lucky. You don’t even have to pay extra, mate.”

  “Yay. Woo-hoo.” Ben said, deadpan. He reached into the pocket of his board shorts and retrieved his mobile and earbuds. Finding his music playlist on the device, he put in the earphones and cranked up the volume. Vance Joy never sounded better as he drowned out the crying kids, obnoxious loud mobile talkers and the occasional blaring radios. Too bad he couldn’t block out the smells that seemed to envelop him. Ben couldn’t wait to get off this damn human sardine can and breathe the fresh ocean air.

  Ben glanced over at his four friends on the bench. They were all laughing and joking, having a great time as usual. Out of the six Samantha, just one of Joshua’s many flings, was the most serious and mellow. Ben was always the one the group could come to with their problems. Everyone except Ryan. Ryan kept all of his issues inside until he became mean and hard to be around. Then Ryan would explode, be an arsehole and that’s how he vented. Once that was done Ryan was a good guy, until he wasn’t.

  Emma was the ‘mother’ of the group. She tried to fix everything for everyone. Ryan, he figured, would be her lifelong project. Too bad. Emma was generally a great person. Out of the group she was the only one that had a ‘normal’ upbringing. Ben figured she’d end up divorced with a houseful of kids. Ryan definitely didn’t deserve the affections of the attractive young woman. Maybe someday Ryan would wake up and realize what he really had. Joshua on the other hand was a solid dude. The young Maori was always up to help a friend without asking for anything in return. He’d come from a dirt-poor family. Joshua’s mum had worked for Ben’s family’s business as a bookkeeper. During school breaks she’d bring Joshua to work with her. Ben's parents also brought him to their small restaurant during the summer. His father named the restaurant, “Death and Taxes”. His mum hated the name but customers seemed to dig the healthy menu themed restaurant and thought the name funny. So, during school breaks and the summer, both boys bonded playing football and generally just goofing off in the alley behind ‘Death and Taxes’. Joshua was always a strong, good looking kid, great at sports and he had a way with the girls. Ben was wiry, an okay athlete and terrible at interactions with the opposite sex. Despite their differences and economic stature, both Ben and Joshua grew to be almost as close as brothers. Ben was thrilled when he found out Joshua had gotten a scholarship to the University. But over the school year things had started to change. Ben had gotten busy with his schoolwork and Joshua was swamped with classes, rugby and girls. Ben didn’t know in which order but the two boys had gotten used to seeing less and less of each other. This little trip would be a nice break for both of them and hopefully mend some holes in their friendship.

  “Ben!”

  “Wha-?” He turned at the sound of his name and almost got a mouth full of speedo covered balls. Quickly turning the other way, he saw Zoe wholeheartedly laughing at his near miss with stranger fellatio.

  “Gotta watch it, Beno!” Zoe chuckled. Anastasia gave her a gentle shove.

  “That’s just rude, Zoe.”

  “Aw, just a bit of fun. Right, Ben?”

  “Sure.” Ben just slightly nodded his head trying not to be assaulted by the giant black man’s privates or inhale the foul aroma coming from the diminutive, bikini clad hippie wedged in next to him. He hoped and prayed that the damned Tube ride would end soon.

  MONEY WASH

  Cockatoo Island

  DonDarrion Rhodes set his mobile phone down on the nightstand and swung his size thirteen feet onto the queen size bed. Hands behind his head he glanced out the open, sliding glass doors of his beachside cabin. He could see groups of festival goers moving across the sand carrying ice chest and tents. Smiling to himself, the big money launderer sat up on the bed. The executive ‘glamp’ cabin sure was a far cry from the shitty city projects he’d grown up in. DonDarrion reached over to the champagne bucket on the nightstand and poured himself the rest of the Dom Perignon.

  “Shit!” He chuckled as he quickly swigged the expensive champagne. If only the old crew could see him now. Holed up in a swanky campsite in Australia. They’d never believe it. Gangster finally living it large. He laughed aloud as he set the glass back down. Hell, he’d even been able to fly first class all the way here. Since he’d been laundering money for the 18th Street Disciples he had gone from washing it through small businesses to waste and shipping companies. In the beginning that really sucked. Not many small business owners wanted to entangle themselves with drug money and street gangs. Money though, was a big lure some people couldn’t resist. One business led to another until now, with this festival, he was able to take their drug money internationally. Hooking up with the two clueless new millionaires, LaShell and Rosie, was just fortuitous. G-Money, the Disciples leader, promised him a high leadership role in the gang if he could pull this off. Not bad for the son of a heroin junkie. Damn, he even had his own business cards. DonDarrion A. Rhodes, Small Business Investor and Entrepreneur. If his Mom was still alive and not strung out she’d be proud of him, she would have to be. DonDarrion’s father was locked away forever for a triple homicide and had never given a flying fuck about him. Well, DonDarrion would show them all that he was more than the piece of shit he had been expected to become.

  A light knocking on the back door of the executive cabin made DonDarrion instinctively reach for the Glock he kept in his nightstand. One of his various underworld connections had been able to make sure the gangster was armed with a handgun during his stay. DonDarrion was no stranger to weapons. When he was sixteen he had shot a rival gang member. The banger didn’t die from his wounds, but DonDarrion knew, from t
hen on, he didn’t want to be just another shooter in the gang, he wanted to be a shot caller. A big Kahuna.

  The knocking on his door continued and DonDarrion refrained from drawing the weapon. After all, he had no enemies here. Getting to his feet he trudged over to the thin wooden back door. Pulling it open he saw LaShell staring up at him.

  “Don.” She smiled. “Rosie and I were going to grab a bite. You want to come?” LaShell flashed a bright, white, perfect set of teeth. The smile and shapely arse drew him in.

  “Sure.” He ran a hand across his bald head and gave the woman in the expensive weave a warm smile. “Let me grab my shoes.”

  “Can I come in?” LaShell asked a little slink in her voice.

  “Uh, sure.” DonDarrion ushered her in. He’d had his eyes on the beautiful former model since they’d first met months earlier. She’d always been business first with him so this was a little unexpected. DonDarrion closed the door behind her.

  “Nice places, aren’t they?” LaShell stopped near one of the two overstuffed, rattan chairs.

  “Have a seat,” he said a little too anxiously, almost awkward. “Want some Dom?”

  “No Cristal?”

  “Uh, no. All I could get here.” DonDarrion sounded a little embarrassed. Usually he wouldn’t care if his date wanted Cristal or Dom, but this woman… she had something. Something he could not explain.

  “Well, then yes, please.” LaShell flashed that million-dollar smile again.

  “Cool, cool.” He reached over to the bucket and filled a flute with champagne.

  “Don.” LaShell nodded as she took the glass from him. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Sure.” He said uneasily not sure what was going on. He filled himself a flute. “Toast?”

  “Do you know who I am?” LaShell asked again as she put up one of her ring adorned fingers.

  “Yeah.” The gangster frowned not really liking where this was going. “Shouldn’t we go see your friend Rosie? She’s waiting, right?”

  “Who am I?” LaShell said ignoring his questions. “I know you know. Who am I?”

  “LaShell Washington.”

  “And?” She took a sip from her champagne.

  “You were a supermodel.”

  “And?”

  “You retired, early.” Don Darrion tilted his chin down at her for effect. “And started up a fragrance company, lingerie line and healthy snack food.”

  “And?” LaShell crossed a shapely leg over the other. She playfully dangled the expensive high heeled shoe off her foot and twirled the empty champagne flute in her hand. None of this was lost on the money launderer.

  “You are worth 300 million and about to sell your lingerie company for 500 million.”

  “You do your homework Mister Rhodes.” She held out the glass to be refilled. Unsure of what was really going on, he poured her another glass.

  “Thank you.” LaShell raised the flute in her direction. “My personal life?”

  “Uh…”

  “Come on Don. Don’t get shy on me.” She grinned and placed the flute to her lips.

  “You were married once to Hugo Fuentes of the Dodgers, divorced after a year. Engaged to billionaire Abu Anasazi, then not. I could go on.”

  “I’m sure you could.” She waved him off and let her heel drop to the floor. “Am I some kind of mark, Don?”

  “No.” He shook his head and set his flute down on the table. “I just like to know who I am in business with, that’s all.”

  “Hmm.” LaShell took another drink then sat back in the chair. “So do I.” She gave him a quick smile. “DonDarrion Alphonse Rhodes. Grew up in the Bridge Street Projects. Mom deceased and father incarcerated. Am I right?”

  “What?” DonDarrion took a step back. He wasn’t used to people digging into his background. “Listen…”

  “Relax Don.” LaShell crossed her well-toned arms. “I haven’t had the career or success because I’ve sat on my ass.”

  “And it’s a fine ass.”

  “Don…” She held out the glass for more. Don reluctantly poured her another. “Money laundering?”

  “LaShell...”

  “Shelly. Call me Shelly.”

  “Shelly. Look, I’m connected…”

  “I know.” She took another drink. “I know who you launder for. I have some pretty thorough investigators.”

  DonDarrion let out a sigh and sat down on his bed. “What do you want from me La... Shelly?”

  “Nothing.” She lewdly grinned. “Yet.”

  “The people I work for are serious. They don’t get threatened.”

  “I really don’t care about all that. All I care about is how this blows back on me. This could ruin some of my potential business investors. I am, after all, my own brand.”

  “Look, Shelly, no one will know about my deal. I’ve been doin’ this for a while without any problems.”

  “And yet my private eyes found you washing cash for the 14th Street Disciples.”

  “Twelfth Street.” DonDarrion corrected her.

  “Twelfth Street. Does it really make a difference?”

  “Yes, could get you shot if ya don’t know the difference between a Twelfth or Thirteenth Street Disciple.”

  “Whatever. Look, I don’t care if it’s the fucking ISIS. I don’t want this coming back on me. See, I can hire people with guns too.”

  DonDarrion chuckled at that and sat down on the bed. “Shelly I ain’t normally used to measuring dicks with women. The people I work for are serious so that makes them very dangerous.” He stared her up and down. “I don’t fuck up, I love being bullet free, ya feel me?”

  “I feel ya.” LaShell finished off the champagne and set the empty flute on the table next to DonDarrions. “Come on, Rosie’s waiting for us and if she doesn’t get something in her soon she’ll be a real bitch,” the model said, slipping on her shoes and standing up. DonDarrion gave her a sideways glance then got to his feet and walked over to the door and opened it for her. The money launderer knew he had his hands full with this one.

  DEMONS

  1863 Cockatoo Island

  “Well,” Major Kidd reloaded the rifle and calmly fired another round into the advancing zombie’s chest. The undead thing stumbled back a couple feet, then continued shambling towards the group of armed prison guards that lined the exercise yard. “Fuck me.” He noticed the creature had been one of the matrons, the Major believed it was the one that was named Robin. Damn… she’d been a good lass.

  “What the hell are they?” Boyle, one of the other guards asked, voice cracking in fear.

  “Bloody fucking demons.” Kidd raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired a round into the dead woman’s forehead. Her skull exploded like an overripe tomato, its body instantly collapsing to the ground. Another of the dead stumbled over the re-killed corpse and fell at the Major’s feet. The zombie struck out a trembling hand towards his booted feet. Kidd quickly jammed his rifles bayonet into its head. A black fluid squirted across one of his boots as he pulled the blade from its skull. The creature let out a groan then stopped moving.

  “The head boys.” He turned to his assembled men as he flipped the rifle over and dropped out the spent cartridge. “Aim for the heads!”

  As more of the dead began to charge at the guards, the men had a renewed sense of hope as they opened fire on them. This time bullets smashed into the zombies’ heads quickly bringing them down.

  “That was easy.” Smiley said, staring down at the half dozen corpses before them. He reloaded the smoking rifle and spat some chew on the ground. “Like shootin’ pigeons.”

  “We’ve just begun boys, don’t get cocky.” The Major said, fixing the big guard with a hard stare. He’d seen too many idiots like Smiley endanger the other men they served with. “Don't let them scratch or bite you! You let them get close enough and you’ll become just like them, straight away.” Major Kidd glanced around at the other twenty or so armed guards he had around him. Kidd remembered the fall of
Kabul being similar to this. He had been a

  Lieutenant back then, but now he was again in charge of a small contingent of men that were grossly outnumbered. The Major shoved another round into his rifle. “The prison is crawling with these things! We need to stop them right now! We’ve lost enough mates already!” He glanced over at the guards that still remained. “Finn, you take four men to a wing and make a sweep. Dead or sick you put a bullet or bayonet in their noggins. Keep everyone else locked up!”

  “Sir?” The younger guard reloaded his rifle.

  “You heard me. Anyone, and I mean anyone, that’s infected by these monsters you put down. I don’t care if it’s the bloody Queen herself! Understand?”