Some had started to hatch, so I took them back to the camp and held the shell near the fire until they were black. I figured if I cooked the hell out of them, it would destroy whatever zombie virus might be hiding in them.
I stared at them for a long time. They grew cold to the touch, but every time I held them to my lips, I couldn’t do the deed.
Finally I decided to suck it up and become a survivor. I closed my eyes and dumped the whole blackened mess into my mouth.
They tasted so bad that I almost threw up. I couldn’t even swallow them. I spit the horrid things out and then freaked because of the virus. What was I thinking? There was no telling how it spread. Now I would have to sit around and worry about turning into her. Her without awesome boobs.
I washed my mouth out with some water and sand and then headed to the beach.
The spear theory turned out to be shit. Caught a whole bunch of nothing. While I was staring at the water, waiting for a fin to show itself, I noticed a few little bubbles rising. Stuck my head under the water and looked around until I spotted a gray-and-black shell. Oysters! I found three and cooked them until they opened. Each had a tiny pearl, which I set aside. Then I gobbled the meat down like it was a T-bone. I never cared much for shellfish, but these had me back in the ocean looking for more so fast it would make your head spin.
I spent the afternoon collecting more of the little treasures. While I was ass up in the water, I heard a noise behind me. I spun around and caught a glimpse of grey—though shapely—legs. The rest of her was underwater! Oh God, she was going to drown!
I grabbed her ankle, dragged her out, and flipped her over.
Her face was blue, and water gurgled out of her mouth and nose. Her white dried-up eye didn’t look much better when it was wet. Her one good blue eye followed my movement as I dropped down and pressed on her chest with both hands. Water squirted out in a geyser, and I was stupidly in the line of fire. Blech!
She groan-gurgled a mouthful. When I lifted my hands from her chest, the water was sucked back into her mouth.
She snarled, but I pressed again. This time, I got the hell out of the way. See, I can learn.
“I’m not trying to get it on with you!” I complained when she took a snap at me.
She answered with a fresh gurgling groan. I dragged her to a big log and lifted her off the ground. I was simply too tired for this, so I dumped her, ass up, over the log and left her to drain.
No worse for wear, I took my oysters back to camp. Stoked up the fire and cooked them just like the others. Then I burned my fingers and mouth trying to get at the meat. I saved the pearls again. Maybe I’ll make her a necklace. That will look good when the rescuers arrive; they’ll see that I took good care of her. Plus I could use it as an apology for all the abuse. Yeah, chicks dig jewelry, right?
It’s getting late, so I guess I’ll go to sleep. Tomorrow, I plan to make a rope and tie her to something.
I can still hear her flopping around on the beach. I hope she doesn’t figure out how to stand up in the night. Crap, I better go check the barricade again.
Day 6
My Girlfriend likes to be Tied up
Woke to the sound of an airplane overhead.
I flew off my palm leaf mattress, stood up and took two stumbling steps before I tripped over her. She must have spent all night wiggling around the little barricade. If I had slept another half-hour, she would have had me. One bite and then we would be the perfect zombie couple. They’d find us and name us Dumb and Dumber.
I reared back to kick her, but she turned her head and looked at me with that one good eye. It was just as blue as a summer day and I felt—well, I felt a sense of pity for her undead ass.
Note to self: Make a damn rope and tie her to something.
So the plane (Dee Plane, Dee Plane) flew overheard, and I was jumping up and down like a maniac, screaming at the sky like I was the retard instead of her. I ran for the firewood, but she had scattered it all over the place in the night.
All right, now she is just fucking with me!
The plane flew off into the distance, and it was suddenly quiet again except for my stomach, which decided to growl like a chainsaw. I guessed I’d start with some high-fiber fruit and then try to dig up some oysters later. There was a weird blob of fish that looked like a big limp penis in the shallow water. I don’t know if I can cook it, but what the hell, beats starving to death.
I built up the wood stack again and stomped around, generally miserable. She hissed at me every time I went past her, but that’s okay. She can’t figure out how to stand up and give chase. I scowled at her, and she looked at me with that blank stare. Her gums look a little black today, and her teeth are turning green. I should bring some clean water and try to scrub her down.
That reminds me, she smells like death. Well, what I’m guessing death would smell like. It’s kind of like the smell of meat left out too long. I wonder how long until I run out of food and she starts looking like a steak.
“Want anything while I’m at the stream?” I asked her. She moaned and hissed again.
“Fine, no fruit for you.” I smacked her ass as I strolled away. Showed her ...
There seemed to be more water today. I should really follow the stream and find out where it leads. Maybe I am on the back end of some tropical getaway, lost and starving while some rich assholes are just living it up on the other side of the island. Maybe they have mai-tais, grilled steaks, French fries! Oh my God, I need some real food. On my way back, I looked all around for something to use as a rope. There were no vines hanging from the trees, just a bunch of huge leaves. I tore some down and tested how flexible they were. Wound one up and pulled on it. Then I took down another one and wound them together.
Never took basket weaving, never was a Boy Scout, and I never joined the Navy, although I learned how to crochet as a kid. That lonely summer when Grandmother taught me. You don’t let your grandmother down, Diary, you just don’t.
I collected a pile of leaves and carried them back. Found a pretty red flower growing in the shade of a palm tree and added it to my pile. If nothing else, I should be able to decorate my living space.
I got back and found she had crawled into my little sleeping area and made a mess of it. That would take a while to fix. Okay, enough of this. I sat on the other side of the barricade that wasn’t really much of a fence. I worked the branches back and forth to keep the fence in place, but if she ever goes at it with any force, she will break through it in a few minutes. I’m glad she isn’t that motivated.
I plopped down on the other side of the fence, and she started crawling toward me again. It’s like she doesn’t get how her arms can help her move; she just slithers like a big gray snake. I had plenty of time before she got near me. Her good eye is so dry … Wish she would blink it from time to time.
I should bring some water back for her so I can wet it. If I can cover her mouth, she might be more cooperative. At least she won’t be able to bite me.
I worked on my rope for a few hours and ate the fruit I left out to dry last night. A few small bugs on one meant some extra protein, even though I wanted to puke every time I chewed. I made a game out of how fast I could eat them. I grabbed a bunch of those little hopping sand fleas and shoved them into my mouth just as fast as I could. I found that if I got them in the back of my throat fast enough, I could just swallow and pretend they were raisins.
When I finished the rope, I found it was pretty strong. I yanked on the thing and then stood up and put my foot on one end against the ground and pulled. Looked like it would hold up nicely, at least until it dried out and fell apart.
I dropped onto her back and tried to ignore the smell. Jesus! I hadn’t needed my shirt thanks to the heat, so I tore off the bottom. It took a few tries to get the cloth around her neck and into her mouth without getting bitten.
Gagged, she was, for now, somewhat harmless. I lifted her to her feet and watched her try to keep her balance. She snarled an
d snapped at me over the cloth. I looped the rope around her throat and set off with her close behind, only she didn’t take well to her leash and fell flat on her face when I pulled too hard.
Oops.
I had to wrestle her stinky ass back on her feet again and decided to tie the rope around her waist instead.
With the first tug, she nearly fell again. Then I got an idea.
I let the slack out and moved to the end of the slack. She raised her arms toward me and moaned under her muffled gag, then stumbled after me. Can’t believe I have to play follow the leader.
I lead her to the stream, to the end away from where I like to bathe and gather water. Then came the delicate art of removing her clothes while she batted and snarled at me. She was wearing a really frilly white bra that spilled out a large pair of breasts when I tugged it down. Well good for her!
Too bad they are as cold as ice and mottled gray.
The rest of her clothes came off. I tossed her panties, because they were just nasty. I don’t even want to think about what they looked like, let alone write about it. Oh God. Cleaning down there should have been fun, but I just wanted to throw up.
She kept turning as I bathed her, doing the bob-and-snap dance. I washed her down with her silky shirt before putting it back on her. It’s see-through and helps offset the color of her skin. Her skirt went back on and hung limply around her waist, making a wet slapping noise as I led her back to camp.
I think I am getting used to being hungry, the constant gnawing ache. Sometimes my skin feels cold and clammy, even though the weather is hot and muggy. I saw a bird rifling through my stuff when I got back, but I was too slow to get him. I picked up a rock and threw it like I was aiming for home plate. It flew under him as he soared into the sky with a squawk.
I bet he would have tasted like chicken.
Tomorrow, I will try to build a snare. Maybe I can have a little KFC. I wonder how I will build a snare. Jesus. I don’t even know what a snare looks like.
I tied her to a tree and went oyster diving again. Found one of those long things that looks like a penis hanging out of a shell. It smelled terrible. but I’m gonna cook it in some coconut milk in the shell. Maybe I can choke it down.
When I got out of the water, I saw that she had managed to wrap herself around the tree so she was facing it, rope tight around her body. It took a while to get her untied. One of the starfish I pulled out tried to get away while I worked at her rope. But it only got about three inches. I tossed it on the fire with a grin.
It’s late, and I can barely keep my eyes open. The fire is stoked up nice and high. She doesn’t sleep, but I thought it would be nice to give her a little freedom, so I left the knot on the tree loose. Now she is walking in circles. Her clothes look clean, and her hair is actually nice tonight, not too badly matted. Put the red flower behind her ear, but now it is just hanging there, limp and dead.
She is like a little zombie carousel. Just watching her makes me sleepy. Round and round she goes; if she manages to get loose, away I’ll go.
Day 7
My Girlfriend Likes To Get Wet
Today it rained.
All. Goddamn. Day.
She stared up at the sky for hours as water washed over her body. It turned that shirt transparent again, leaving her breasts looking pretty much like a normal chick’s. I just pretended like she was alive. It was nice to get some relief, so to speak.
Huddled under the lean-to for hours and hours. I talked to her, which is just like talking to myself, since it is one sided. I don’t think about it like that. She is human, or was, so I can justify it in my mind.
So bored. I always had stuff to do at home when Ally was around. She worked odd hours, so sometimes I would be alone for a weekend. But I had video games and TV. I could catch up on all the shows like CSI and NCIS—which I’m pretty sure is just CSI spelled a different way.
How would those guys look at my new girlfriend? They would have to take blood samples, I’m sure—check her for trauma. Check me for drama as I squealed about what great care I was taking with her. They would make sure she wasn’t raped, which isn’t even a remote possibility. I may be alone and young and horny, but I am not into fucking dead chicks. Gross. That can’t feel good anyway; I mean, it would be all dry and stiff. Just thinking about is almost enough to put me off sex forever.
She managed to turn on her side, and after a few minutes of the rain pelting her, she drew her legs up so that her skirt rode up pretty high. God, why is she dead? She has such nice legs—as long as I ignore the gray. I managed to get some more relief while I watched her roll over a couple of times. Does that make me a sicko? I might have to strike this part from the diary once I am rescued.
Rain and more rain. Hovering in a corner right now while it pours down. Found a dry spot, and that is how I am writing to you, dear Diary. I wish night would get here so I can sleep. But this day may just go on forever.
Dragged the remains of the fire under the cover and then added a little more wood. Added some leaves to the shelter so that water stopped hitting me. Phew. As long as she doesn’t see the fire, I won’t have to put up with her screaming.
I should just put her out of her misery tomorrow morning. If I can work up the nerve.
Day 8
My Girlfriend’s Husband Smells
This morning, I woke huddled in my little sleeping area, shivering from the water that doused me overnight. The leaves I had added didn’t last long, and most of them lay soaked with rain on the other side of the lean-to. I really need to build up the shelter so I can stay dry. I have had a little luck weaving the big bladed ones together, so I think I’ll try to make a roof of some sort. Was thinking that if I created a triangular shape, it would let the water run off.
I stood and stretched. I was going to say good morning to her, but she wasn’t in her spot.
What the hell?
Her rope was broken in the middle. I looked around quickly, expecting her to jump out at me at any second, but she was nowhere to be seen. Her gag was on the ground; it looked like she had chewed through it. Not good. I might have to make a new one out of her skirt. The material looks stronger than the thin t-shirt I was wearing.
I walked to the beach and looked in the water, hoping she hadn’t wandered into it. I wonder how long she would be able to survive in the ocean. Probably until a shark got her. This presents an interesting question. If she bites an animal, will it turn into a zombie? Zombie sharks or zombie dolphins. Man, that is a freaky thought.
The water was crystal clear. The sand warm. It flowed around my toes as I wandered. If I had some beer, food, and a live girl, this would be paradise. I don’t know how big the island is yet. If she hadn’t turned up, I might have found out today.
I scanned the beach and thought I saw movement in the distance. Might have been a mirage. The water splashes up sometimes, and I think I am seeing things that aren’t there.
I walked along the waterline for a few minutes, and sure enough, it was her. She was on all fours. That was a new development. I wondered when she’d developed better motor skills.
She was on top of something. I couldn’t make it out, but it looked like a person. I started running, thoughts of another survivor leaping to mind. What if someone else made it and she was trying to eat them? Oh my God!
“Hey, HEY!” I yelled.
She turned her head, and her good eye locked on mine. She snarled around something in her mouth and then turned back to the thing on the ground. I came up alongside her and, to my horror, saw it was a body. It was a large person dressed in a flower-print shirt that looked awfully familiar.
The stench reached me, and I turned away to retch. I couldn’t afford to lose anything that was in my stomach, so I bit down on my gag reflex. I looked again, this time steeling my mind for the worst and realized who it was.
It was her husband. And she was eating him.
She had his shirt pulled up on one side, and a large chunk of his gut was mi
ssing. She ignored me as I walked around, both hands clenched over my mouth as I looked at the body. The last time I had seen him, he was laughing while feeling up his hot young wife. She had been vibrant, alive, flushed with champagne. Now they were both dead, although he was sure deader than her.
Oh crap! What if he came back to life like her? I couldn’t have two zombies wandering around my island. I would have to bash in his head. And her head, while I was at it. Should have done that on the first day, but … who would I talk to then?
Some choice, eh? Keep the one with boobs or take a chance on a big fat guy who was missing most of his stomach.
His head and one arm were in the water; the rest of his body was in the fetal position. I splashed into the surf and grabbed his arm, intent on dragging him out to sea. I thought I could weigh his body down with rocks. She hissed at me when I tugged on him, but she kept eating.
He must have weighed two-eighty in life. Now he was bloated and waterlogged. His head lolled out of the water, and I saw that his eyeballs were missing, eaten away by some sea creature, no doubt. His skin was pasty and puffy. There was no way that guy was coming back to life, I told myself over and over. He was too decayed, too full of water and crap. No way, man, no fucking way.
His fat ass was hard to move, so I yanked harder. There was a tear and a sucking noise, and suddenly I was falling into the water, holding his arm. I splashed and came up sputtering as seawater rushed into my nose and mouth. I stood up fast, wiping it off my face, and tossed the arm onto the beach with a squeal of horror. The fleshy part was facing me, and all the stringy gooey stuff that used to connect him to his shoulder was hanging there like a weird bowl of pasta. I was amazed that there was no blood. He probably bled out in the water. But how come he didn’t attract a shark or something?
The Zombie Wilson Diaries Page 3