Holiday of the Dead

by David Dunwoody

  As I poked the broken paddle against her head one last time, I came into direct contact with bone and felt the pain reverberate up the handle of the paddle into my wrists.

  The pain was excruciating and I’d had enough. The eye – the remnant seer of someone’s daughter, or mother, or sister … seemed to enjoy my distress. With a temper saved for madmen, I lost it. I raised my foot up and with one solid kick dislodged the head from between the blades of the propeller nearly slipping into the lake as a consequence of my success. Grabbing onto the edge of the boat sweaty and angry, I regained my composure and watched the mangled head flop into the water and slowly float by, the eye forever gazing back at me like a large insect nesting in a scalp of curly black hair.

  The motor was free of human waste. When I’d had enough time to successfully catch my breath, I dropped the outboard back in the water and went to the front of the boat, stepping over my brother’s body once again so that I could sit down in the driver’s seat. With a shaky hand, I turned the ignition.

  Though the outboard struggled and wheezed, the propeller finally coughed up water and the air filled with the odour of fuel as the engine began to hum.

  “Success Jerry!” I screamed, looking back at my brother’s body – black flies were having their way with him, cleaning their legs, crawling in and out of his nose. The sun was almost gone when I hit the throttle and directed the boat southward, my mind full of bitter regret.

  It had been a stupid idea going to Raindance Island and I won’t deny that I tried to talk Jerry out of continuing once we’d reached the second narrows earlier that day, but he made it clear how important it was not only for him to see the so-called body farm, but for me to see it too. When he talked about the island it was like he’d become a child again – he was convincing, and I wanted as bad as he did to recapture a little of that feeling again too. I was a willing partner in that fatal misstep and can still recall that fateful moment when everything went wrong …

  “You remember when we were kids and we stayed up to watch Night of The Living Dead on the late night movie?” Jerry had hollered as I watched the narrows disappear into the horizon behind us earlier in the day.

  “Sure!” I screamed over the sound of the boat crashing hard against the water. By that point we were on the move again and Jerry was making up for lost time. “It scared the hell out of me,” I’d mumbled.

  “And you remember that night at the Odeon drive-in when Dad and Ma took us to see Dawn of the Dead – the one with the zombies in the mall?”

  “Yeah, it was your birthday present wasn’t it?” I asked. We had failed to stay for the second feature because the movie had made me so sick. “Why?”

  I don’t recall what my brother said after that. I simply remember Jerry easing up on the throttle when I noticed the island of his preoccupation just up ahead.

  “Is that it?” I asked. I stood up to get a better look, placing my sunglasses atop my head.

  “That’s it,” Jerry said, letting the boat circle slowly. As we rounded the small island another boat soon came into view. Jerry saw it too and immediately cut the motor in case there was security there after all. Soon, he was squinting under his sunglasses. “Do you see that?”

  Atop the bow of the other boat lay what appeared to be a naked body. It didn’t take us long to realize it was female. The woman was strapped down, her ankles and legs tied opposite each other forming an X, her blonde hair matted and dry as straw.

  “What the hell is that all about?” I asked bewildered.

  “Well … I know they do different experiments with the bodies. Put people in natural type surroundings and all, but it almost looks like she’s–”

  “Sunbathing,” I said, crawling to the other side of the boat to take a better look.

  “I’m going to move closer,” Jerry said, starting up the engine again. With his free hand he pulled his camera out of his pocket.

  “You think that’s a good idea?” I asked, no longer interested and feeling suddenly queasy.

  Jerry had an odd look on his face. I watched a trickle of sweat roll down his cheek. “We’re here now. We may as well take a look.”

  Jerry inched the boat closer and startled me by calling out to the naked woman who turned her head toward the sound of his voice, her skin dark like leather from too many days in the relentless summer sun. The reflection of the water imprisoned her eyes and I saw a horror I hoped I’d never have to experience again. Orbs of baby blue – almost transparent, gazed back at us. She bared teeth no longer capable of finding shelter beneath lips, for the lips had all but rotted away. The woman was left with a permanent, sadistic grin.

  “Why would they tie her up like that?” I asked my brother as the hair stood up on my arms.

  On the island, just past an embankment formed by bedrock we soon found out the woman was not alone. In the trees I could see shadows moving, sombre creatures on two legs, dragging their bodies over the rough terrain. Distant howls and grunts reminded me of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. It was as though Jerry and I had discovered some strange new tribe existing on one island alone – Raindance Island, hell on earth.

  “There are more of them over there – do you see them? They’re alive,” I said transfixed.

  Jerry shook his head. “They’re dead,” he said soberly, “just like in them movies.”

  “We should get out of here,” I said as I tapped my brother’s arm. I tried to shake him from his daze. “Come on, Jerry. We need to go – they’re coming.”

  Jerry was debating – I could see it on his face. He surveyed our surroundings as if to ensure we weren’t being watched by anybody that mattered, and then pointed toward the rocky bank where six of the dead began gathering. “They’re tied up. If they go into the water, they’re gonna drown.” He turned his camera on as our boat drifted ever closer.

  I looked toward the gathering mob and blocked the sun with my hand. Sure enough, five out of six of them had cinder blocks firmly attached with a chain and a shackle to their ankles. The only one that wasn’t shackled had no arms whatsoever. The other five – three men and two women appeared to be in their early twenties to mid forties. One girl in particular stood out because of her Hooters t-shirt and orange short-shorts. One of the men donned a thick green sweater and cargo pants, not summer wear by any means, though it certainly didn’t take a fashion designer to dress a rotting corpse.

  Dragging the cinder blocks behind them, the walking dead were soon wading in the shallow water when our attention was drawn away from the island. A large clang erupted beneath our boat.

  “What was that?” I asked, watching Jerry move cautiously toward the outboard motor. He picked a paddle up and gripped it tightly before hesitantly leaning over the stern of the boat.

  “Jesus Christ!” He moaned, backing up.

  “What?”

  “There’s a bunch …” Jerry said.

  I moved toward my brother as the boat rocked back and forth, and tried to maintain my balance as I peered into the clear lake. I was astonished to see a dozen pair of eyes staring back at us from below the waterline. The living corpses were anchored by cinder blocks attached to their ankles and every one of them had their arms extended up toward us, the tips of their fingers jutting out of the water like fleshy aquatic plants, their hair flowing gently to and fro with the mild current. Even submerged and restrained, they wanted nothing more than to get at us.

  “I bet they wander out here whenever a boat shows up with new specimens,” Jerry said, watching spellbound.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Well,” Jerry said as a matter of fact, “probably because they’re hungry.”

  That was enough.

  “I don’t think we should be here Jerry,” I said. Several more corpses were approaching the water’s edge; some of them struggled up to their waists while another ripped the chain off his ankle altogether, severing his foot in the process. He stumbled over the rocks, the fresh stump throwing him off balance and he f
inally fell to the ground in a growling heap.

  “One more minute,” Jerry begged calmly. “I want one more picture.”

  “No!” I insisted. “I’m done with this crazy shit, let’s go.”

  I meant no harm to Jerry but will admit I was terrified when I chose to sit down in the driver’s seat of my brother’s boat and turn the ignition switch, coercing the motor back to life. I hit the throttle sending Jerry – who was busy aiming his camera – tumbling over the side of the boat. There my brother dangled, and there our fate took a dark and twisted turn. I turned the ignition back off and went to Jerry, helping him up, but not before one of those anchored bodies managed to take a nasty bite out of his hand. The blood poured out of my brother’s wound as he struggled to remain calm.

  “I’m sorry Jerry,” I insisted, over and over again. He stumbled about the boat, finally finding the towel which he wrapped around the deep wound. His blood coated my clothes as I helped him sit down. When I knew he was safe, I turned the motor on once again, my heart racing, my mind sputtering, the groaning dead playing symphonic havoc on my ears.

  A horrible grinding noise filled the air when I hit the throttle and the entire boat jerked forward. The motor struggled until bubbling lake water turned crimson red. Smoke soon followed, and Jerry screamed over the chaos for me to turn the motor off, but I couldn’t. Every time I looked over my shoulder I saw the blood pouring down his hand, every time I looked back I saw a dozen more dead bodies stumbling down the rocky embankment, and it wasn’t long before I could smell them – their rotting skin, their insides putrefying. I looked up at the sky as the motor struggled – I glanced at the beautiful sun and wondered if I was only dreaming.

  The boat went nowhere – we were stuck on something, and the dead were finding their way to the edge of our craft, the water shallow as we drifted closer. In the chaos I watched Jerry – he was using the paddle at the back of the boat, hitting something over and over until finally, I heard a snap. First it was the paddle that let out a sharp crack but then – something else, something far more … human. The outboard broke free like a tether had been cut and we jerked forward, leaving Raindance Island in our wake.

  I turned to see my brother cursing angrily at me but I could not hear him. He pushed me out of the way. I fell against the live-well and watched him struggle to reach for the ignition key. He switched it off and fell into the driver’s seat, clutching his bloody hand as the boat came to a subtle drift once again.

  “You’re gonna fry it,” Jerry gasped out of breath. He pulled the towel off the bite and cringed at the wound before crawling over to where I still lay. “You alright?” he asked.

  I shook my head and got up glancing back at the island to make sure we were no longer in its grip. Jerry collapsed. I caught him, but he was bigger than me and all I could do was guide him down so that he didn’t hurt himself again. In the moments we still had together he told me what to expect should he die and begged me to throw his body into the lake if I had to but I couldn’t think about it. It was too much to process, he was telling me survival plots from late night movies, and even though I saw those dead people with my own eyes, I still had trouble believing it could happen to my own brother.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Jerry said as we drifted on the lake. “Bad idea … stupid idea …”

  “I’ll get us back to shore. We’ll get you to a hospital – Dryden is only twenty miles away,” I insisted. Jerry shook his head like he agreed, but I think deep down inside he knew of my capabilities. I was his little brother – even at thirty-nine, and in his mind it was still up to him to somehow take care of me.

  “Take the filleting knife, and dig that shit out of the propeller …”

  Daylight died along with my sanity when the motor I had worked so hard to get started again chugged a final breath in the fading light of a horrid day. We would not make it back to the narrows because the boat had run out of gas.

  In the glow of a full moon, I saw my brother’s dead eyes stare back at me and I felt his disappointment. “I forgot to grab the extra fuel Jerry!” I said, laughing sheepishly. “You told me to grab it, but I forgot. What a pair we make, eh?”

  I began to sob. I pulled my son’s drawing out of my pocket and looked at it, hoping to calm my nerves. He’d drawn me standing in the boat with my arms out celebrating. Next to me was the crayon recreation of his Uncle Jerry, with his arms extended as he held up a large brown fish. I smiled, swallowing my emotion. When I glanced back up I realized Jerry was crawling toward me, emitting a low growl from the back of his throat. I stood up, dropping Joshua’s picture into the water.

  “Jerry?”

  My brother reached for me, his thick fingers seeking my throat. He opened his mouth and released a snarl that came with an odour of death.

  I fought with Jerry – I didn’t want to, but I had little choice. I fought him and I begged him to remember who he once was as we struggled. In the ascending moonlight, his dead eyes failed to sparkle, and as I pushed him away from me he fell down, giving me enough time to grab the broken paddle. I used it on him the way I’d used it on the decapitated head that had rendered our outboard useless. I jabbed the jagged wooden handle into his body but it did little to stop him. He wrapped his hands around my leg and sank his teeth deep into my calf. I let out a mind-bending scream as I felt my leg muscle separate from my bone. I fell on top of Jerry and felt the warmth of my own blood as it pooled inside my sneaker. I closed my eyes against the pain and my mind faded in and out.

  With what little strength I could gather, I pulled myself up to the front of the boat and crawled out onto the bow, separating my brother and myself with the windshield. I tried to stop the flow of blood from my wound, clenching my leg in desperation, when I was startled to hear the sound of a motorboat approaching.

  Jerry struggled to find a way over the windshield as I balanced my weight atop the front of the boat while suddenly feeling terribly dizzy. With what little strength I had left I screamed out to the strangers for help.

  A searchlight soon lit the area, and I waved toward it, feeling weak. I was so very thankful they’d come. Then I heard the first shot ring out. In my daze I heard Jerry’s body drop out of the boat, and a second shot followed immediately. Cold lake water splashed on my lips and I savoured it, my throat so dry. I lay on my back, no longer able to feel my wounded leg as I overheard voices, military and formal.

  “Two males, one deceased – one infected.”

  “Copy that.”

  I felt a shackle go around my left ankle and my wrists were cuffed. I asked them who they were as I drifted in and out, but nobody answered me. Above me the sky filled with millions of stars and I gazed at them for what seemed like hours as they towed Jerry’s boat back to shore. I debated what I would say when I saw Jerry’s wife, Jackie, and their little boy, Jon. Then I remembered that I’d been bitten too.

  Perhaps I’d only been dreaming after all …

  I awoke to sunshine. I could hear birds chirping, and could see trees dancing in the heavy wind, but my mind wasn’t right. I was not thinking straight and my thoughts were strangely jumbled.

  Confused, I glanced over to see someone strangely familiar. The naked dead girl stared back at me from the boat where she remained chained, just as I was now. Chained and naked, my body formed an X on the bow of Jerry’s boat.

  I struggle to move, but cannot.

  In my confusion, I look over to the shoreline of a familiar island and see Jerry.

  Jerry?

  Jerry is lying on the rocks.

  The others …

  The dead are eating his corpse.

  Damn you, Jerry …

  Damn you for everything.

  I want to hurt him so badly …

  He let me down, for he’s over there with them, and I’m tied up …

  I’m chained up … over here, on the boat.

  I want to eat too …

  I want to eat my brother …

  You let me down,
big brother. You let me down when I need you most.

  THE END

  THE FOUR OF JULY

  By

  Shawn M Riddle

  I wake with a jolt, dreaming of being lowered steadily into a thumping cement mixer. As I struggle back to the waking world, I realize that the sound isn’t only in my dream; it’s resonating throughout the whole cabin. Damn! Those helicopters again. They’ve been flying around here at all hours of the day and night for the past two days. Helicopters in Washington D.C. were common enough, but not all the way out here.

  “I’m gonna find those flyboys and tear ’em a new one,” grumbles Jack as he sits up in his cot and rubs his eyes.

  “I don’t know man. Something doesn’t seem right,” I say.

  “We’re in the middle of the Shenandoah Mountains, for Christ’s sake! I expect this kind of crap at home, but I came out here to get some peace and quiet!” Jack's voice gets louder with every word.

  “I don’t know which is louder; you two or the damn helicopters! Will you shut the hell up? I’m trying to sleep over here!” Mike yells from his bed.

  “This is starting to freak me out a bit,” I say. “Maybe there’s something wrong.”

  “We can ask at a gas station on the way back, if you like,” Jack says with a shrug.

  Since there’s no cell phone reception out here, and the local radio stations aren’t much better, it’s about our only option. I nod in his direction.