by Joe McKinney
No compass, so I went left this time. I walked for a good while until I couldn’t even see the part of the island I started on. I soon passed the farthest area I had ever explored, and I kept going. It looked much the same as it did everywhere else. Sand, rocks and water. Yep, it was a beach. When I get off this place, if I ever see a beach again, I will probably claw my eyes out, stomp on them and then jump off the nearest cliff.
I heard a noise behind me and turned to see that she was following. She lumbered along on unsteady feet, her shuffling walk a sad sight. Gray skin on display—and lots of it, since she didn’t have anything on her lower half.
I turned to go back and take her to camp, but then changed my mind. She obviously wanted to get some exercise as much as I did. So I let her follow.
Haha—zombie exercise. They sure do have a great diet. I mean, it’s all protein. Zombies don’t need carbs. I just about fell over laughing at the witty comments in my head. What do they call that?
The big word for going crazy … psych-something or other. I have that. I need a doctor. I need a lobotomy. I need to talk to someone who’s alive!
FUCK!
I reached a section of palm trees that hung over the seawater in a close pattern. I decided to take a break and enjoy the scenery. The water bottle I carried was a constructed from a coconut shell with a small hole in the top. I capped it with a stick and hung it at my side by a strap I adapted from a piece of luggage. I was getting to be a real boy scout. I took the top off and drank the water, which tasted like coconut. Another thing I won’t miss when I leave the island. I used to love coconut. Now the smell makes me want to gag.
I waited in the shade, and after about fifteen minutes, she finally reached my location. I jumped out of the bushes and said, “BOO” really loud.
She kept walking.
Damn! Her zombie brain must be overloaded. I ran past her, stopped a few feet away and taunted her to hurry up. She continued on her unsteady feet, but now she had her hands in front of her in what I like to call the classic zombie stroll. A long, low moan came at me.
I grinned and continued on my way.
The island is much bigger than I thought. It would take hours, maybe an entire day to walk all the way around it. I kept expecting to come across a hotel or something, a place that some rich people own or a resort that promises total seclusion. That would be just my luck, stuck here for weeks and there are people sunning themselves on the beach. “I say, old boy, you look a bit tuckered out. Have a coconut frosty.”
There were small paths between some of the trees, and I started down a few of them, but the foliage grew thicker the farther I went. Back on the beach, I found a few holes in the sand and knew what that meant. I had to move fast, but if I could get my hand in one quick enough, I could usually pull out a clam. I cracked these on rocks and ate them raw. It used to gross me out, but now I just want the protein, so I gag through the horrid taste. I spent some time digging out a few and made a tidy meal out of the little suckers. Maybe I should figure out how to smoke these things. Alley used to love them. Nah. Better to just swallow them and hope they don’t try to crawl back up my throat.
The next path was wider. I was able to follow it deeper than the previous ones. There were a lot of trees, and plants with huge flowers on them. I heard chirping and saw a pair of birds fly away from a low shrub. I felt around, but didn’t turn up any eggs. Now that would be a treat. Maybe I could scramble them, pour them on a big flat rock and cook them on the fire. Too bad I didn’t have any cheese or bacon. While I am wishing for stuff, I may as well wish for a steak and a baked potato.
Early in my career as a deserted island survivor, I dug around in the ground for some sort of roots. I remember once having tubers, and they were a lot like potatoes. I didn’t have any luck, just like every other hunting trip I have attempted.
The sound of something moving in the bushes caught my attention. I thought maybe it was one of the visitors—maybe some people who have lived here all along and I was too stupid to explore and discover them.
Then I heard a plane in the distance, and all thoughts of exploration disappeared. I yelled as loud as I could, “Hey, I’m down here!” knowing as I did it that there was no way they would hear me this far below. I ran for the shore with my hands waving. I guess all the excitement woke up my little friend.
The thing that came out of the bushes heard me all right; it heard me and then some. I glanced back as I ran, and it was right behind me. Nasty son of a bitch with tusks and a shaggy coat of hair. Sort of looked like a really mad little goat. I reached the edge of the shore and kept going. I almost ran into my girl. It looked like she finally caught up. She was shambling around with her face pointed up at the sun.
“Watch out!” I yelled, then broke into a stupid grin at my words. What was she going to do? Jump out of the way?
I ran right into the water with the stupid pig thing right behind me. I splashed in up to my knees and then to my waist before turning around to see the monster stop at the surf. It shook its head and let out a loud squeal. I yelled back at it, but it must have thought my challenge a bit lacking since it had just chased me halfway across the fucking island.
God, if I just had that spear, I could have tried to take him—or her—out and have myself a nice meal.
It turned to see my girl and set off after her. She didn’t even look at it. She just had that dazed look on her face. The pig screamed and smashed into her, which took her to the ground. A tusk went into her leg and then slid back out as she tumbled over. She flopped forward and, by sheer luck, got one arm over the little critter.
I think that was just the thing to wake her up. And me. I felt a sudden terror at the prospect of that pig ripping her to shreds. How dare he try to kill my zombie chick?
I looked around and found a large rock in the water. It was slick with seaweed, but I grabbed it and stalked toward the stupid animal. She rolled over and lowered her head for a bite.
The gag came loose and flew out of her mouth as she rubbed her lips up and down, probably trying to find a good place to take a chunk. They rolled around for a few seconds while I danced around them, looking for a break in the action. I intended to smash the pig’s head in as soon as it stopped moving long enough. I was trying to avoid flailing legs as I looked for my opening. It was squealing to get free from what looked like an iron grip. She kept biting into him and tore at his flesh like a mad dog. She was actually growling at the animal.
I brought the rock up and smashed it into the pig, aiming for the head, but I got excited and hit its back instead. It screamed and tried to turn, so I hit it again and again.
After a while, it didn’t move; it just lay there in a bloody heap in her lap. I panted hard and sat down next to her. That blue eye swiveled toward me, and I wondered if she was at all grateful. It was impossible to understand the look. The eye patch didn’t help. I tugged at the pig, but she held on for dear life. Or dear death? Dear unlife? Whatever …
I pulled, but she didn’t let go. I wanted to haul the piggy back to camp, chop it up and eat it. Ribs! I could eat ribs! If I could cut it open. I finally took one of her arms and pulled it loose. She gave up, and I was able to pry the heavy corpse from her. She came at me, of course, but I batted her hands aside as I had done many, many times before.
She gave up on me pretty quickly. I guess a zombie really can learn new tricks. Her eye trained on the prize. She leaped at it and managed to rip it free from my hands, before sinking to the ground and going for the neck. She ripped out a huge hairy chunk.
I tore the pig free again and started dragging it back to camp. She tried to stand, but fell. I couldn’t help but look at the huge gash on the calf of her leg. Bone, pus—grey-covered muscles and tendons made me think of a medical class on cadavers. I would have to look at it later, unfortunately. For now, all I wanted was to cut this pig up and eat until I couldn’t move. Then eat more.
It was a tough sucker to slice up, and I drooled the entire t
ime as I took hunks of skin off. Then I removed a rear leg, cut the skin loose, yanked it down the raw meat covering bone, and put it near the fire. I stoked up the flames with some fresh wood. I was thinking of cutting strips and hanging them near the smoke to make pig jerky. I didn’t know much about making stuff like that, but I was going to learn really fast. That or die from overeating.
I was shaking with thoughts of how wonderful the meat was going to be when she finally crawled back into camp. She was drooling a smear of red down her chin that I tried to ignore. I slipped a gag over her mouth again. She put only half an effort into snapping at me.
I checked out her leg, and it wasn’t as bad as I thought. The horn had gone in and then out cleanly. I brought back some seawater to pour over the gash, then I tore up a shirt that was too big for me and wrapped it around the wound. Later, I planned to boil some water and pour it in there. Not like she would feel it.
I tied her to the tree, but she just lay at its base like she was depressed or something. A depressed zombie? What sort of drugs do you give a zombie that is down? Zoloft starts with a Z. If I come up with a cure, I will call it ZedLoft.
I turned the meat and burned my fingers in the process, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to eat. One side was crispy, and I waited for it to cool so I could tear a chunk off. It might have been the longest thirty seconds of my life.
I caught a glimpse of her while I was studying the meat. Couldn’t help but think of all the blood she had on her face from biting the pig.
Biting into the pig.
Biting …
I stood up and screamed at the sky, then I stomped on the ground like it was my mortal enemy. Take that, ground. See how I do? I kept on screaming until my voice was completely raw. Then I couldn’t scream anymore.
She had bitten into the pig. Now the pig probably had the zombie virus, and I couldn’t take a chance on eating it. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. I was starving. I pushed the rest of the corpse into the fire, curled up in a ball and cried until I fell asleep.
Day 24
My Girlfriend Likes it When I Talk Dirty
Rose at the crack of dawn, because there was nothing else to do. When the sun starts to shine, I have to get motivated. I find that I am more and more tired every day. I’m sure it’s a lack of vitamins, decent food, and well, let’s be honest here, Diary, a lack of love. My zombie girl is about the worst girlfriend ever. I swear she hates me.
My stomach was a big hollow pit that started growling before I could even take a piss. I should be eating a big pile of pig meat right now, but she had to ruin that too. Back to shellfish and crab today, if I can catch any. I realized later that feeding the crab the zombie meat didn't affect him. Then again, I don’t even know if he got any down. Had a zombie bitten the crab, that might be a different matter. I hope I have my zombie lore straight.
I would kill for a cup of coffee. I haven’t had any in weeks. I am over the withdrawal symptoms, but that doesn’t make it right. The headaches, the shakes, the cold sweat. A lifetime of caffeine addiction was hard to break, but I didn’t really have a choice. No Starbucks stands with young girls named Amber or Gwen on this island.
I have been here for twenty-two days, and I wonder if they are even looking for us. The crash must have been near here, because I didn’t float in the water for very long that first day. At least I don’t think so. I was out for the count. It’s really a wonder I didn’t drown. Of course, she survived as well, only to turn into a zombie when she got to the island.
When I tied her up last night, I made up my mind, once again, to kill her in the morning. But I find I am not really in the mood for it. I’m not in the mood for anything. I don’t even want to get up! I want to lie here and be miserable. Yeah, yeah, poor me. I should throw a pity party, but there’s no one to invite.
Ally would have none of that if she were here. She’d stare at me over her wire-frame glasses and say, “Get your butt in gear, Mister.” And then she would hit me with one of those sunny smiles that make me feel like I am on top of the world.
I looked over at her, but she didn’t even smile. She leered; that is a good word. She looked at me with that slack gray face, drooping eye, and the blue eye patch that covered her empty socket. I think some of her teeth are missing. I bet when she bit into that stupid pig, it shook some loose. Where’s a dentist when you need one? Hey, Doc! Got a deader here! Think you can fix her up? Maybe some orthodontics to straighten up the crooked ones, the snaggly ones? How about that big space in back where her molars fell out? Eh, Doc?
“What the hell are you staring at?” I shouted at her. I picked up a couple of chunks of driftwood and threw them at her. One might have hit her on the chest. She didn’t even bat an eye.
She just stared at me.
“Why don’t you go away? Leave me alone! Filthy fucking zombie bitch! I hate you!”
I got to my feet and walked over to her. I picked up a rock and held it at my side. I yanked the rope loose from the tree and threw it at her. She hissed and snarled behind the gag. She reached for me, and I slapped her hand aside. How long was I going to have to put up with her?
“Go find your own place! Find someone else to take care of you! Why don’t you fuck off?” I yelled and shoved her away. She took one stumbling step and fell to her hands and knees. I planted my foot on her ass and gave her a shove. She went down flat, sprawled to the ground spread eagle. I wished she were wearing something besides the coconut halves.
She worked her way to her feet ever so slowly. I held the rock over her head and felt around in my brain for the courage to go through with it. To be a man and put her out of her—and my—misery. She crawled to her feet and walked toward the beach. I didn’t have the energy to go after her. I should at least put some pants on her or something.
The sun was a big ball of misery. I fished for a few agonizing hours but only came up with a couple of large starfish. Yay. Stuff tastes like shit; I hate them. I cooked them, peeled off the hard shell and ate every bite, though, starfish guts and all. I wonder if these things are a delicacy in some part of the world. I found a coconut on my way back to camp and devoured it too. I think it was worse than the starfish.
Here is the thing about starfish, Diary. I saw them as a kid and thought they were cute. They are not cute. They are gross, and they smell. They have a million little feeler things on the bottom, and the texture is really weird when you crunch on a freshly cooked one. I have tried them raw, and they taste bitter and sort of like shit. I heard once that they regenerate if you cut off a piece. Whatever. I just choke the little fuckers down and hope I don’t puke.
I went to the pool of water that is a few minutes from camp and soaked for what seemed like hours. I sang songs, talked to a rock, you know, crazy stuff like that. Have I mentioned that I am bored? I hung out under the waterfall and let it fall on my shoulders in the hope it would take some of the tension away.
I was underwater, seeing how long I could hold my breath, and had just counted to sixty when I came up for air. She was standing at the edge of the water on unsteady legs. She took a shambling step back when I appeared, and she snarled at me like I was a hunk of sirloin.
I snarled back.
She took another step forward and then fell. I shook my head and got out of the water. I didn’t have anything to dry off with, but in the heat, it didn’t really matter. I grabbed her leg and stretched it out. The big hole in her calf was easier to see in the day. The damage was pretty bad. A normal person would have trouble standing up on that thing, but she managed it somehow.
I splashed some water on it and looked her over. I was always careful about this part. The pool of water flows out to a stream so I always make sure the water that touches her is on the move. I would hate to get any of her zombie crap in my mouth while out for a swim.
Dear God, she was a mess. I started to clean her up. Pulled the little bugs out of the wound first. They were just getting settled in, so there weren’t any maggots yet.
That was a pleasant surprise. I tugged her into the water and went at her body with a small rock. Smashed critters, beetles, anything that had made a home in her various cracks and crevices. I mean really, if she met some studly zombie guy and he tried to give it to her, he would probably lose his junk to the things living up there.
The eye patch was the worst. There was a large caterpillar thing living in there. I took it out and held it up to the light. It wiggled and all those little legs twitched at the air as if trying to find something to latch onto. I should have left the rock eye in the hole. I rinsed him in the water, took a handful of sand and scrubbed him down, then rinsed him again. She lay on her back and stared at the sky, making those little hooting noises.
I showed her the big bug. He was long enough to reach my wrist from where he dangled between my thumb and forefinger. I smiled at her as I pulled the bug’s head off. It came away like a weird gooey caramel—same color. I just wish it tasted like a caramel. I think the little feelers had a salty, crunchy flavor. I tried to imagine they were French fries.
“You may be as dumb as a brick, but you make a good food container.” I patted her knee. “Stupid zombie twit. No, really, I have seen fence posts with more sense than you. If you ever get your hands on something live again, please don’t bite it.”
Her eye swiveled to meet mine, but I couldn’t read her expression, her being dead and all. I put her eye patch in place, double-checked her gag, and then just stared at her for a few minutes. Splotches of skin have started to dry up around her shoulders and on her legs. I touched one, and it felt like old leather or something. Not like when you touch a nice jacket. This was cold and rough.
I pushed on a spot again and the patch shifted, then tore free. I jumped back and stared at the flesh underneath, except it wasn’t anything like flesh. Flesh was the nasty shit I just knocked off her leg. This was a dried-out layer of blood over the muscles and sinews, which were in really bad shape. She rolled to her side and stood up, and the hunk of dead skin hung there like a magnet that drew my eyes. The layer under it sort of crunched up and down as she took a step toward me.