What the hell? This guy crawls out of the ocean after being out there for a week and decides to rekindle his marriage? What a jerk. I hit him in the gut a couple of times just for good measure. Each time the stick struck, it caused a jet of water to shoot out of his mouth like a surfacing whale.
Well this is just great. What am I going to do with two freaking zombies?
Day 20
My Girlfriend Wants a Threesome
God, I’m tired.
Yesterday, I managed to get a gag on the husband. I used a shirt from one of the suitcases, wound it up, tied it in the middle so it made a ball, then I put that in his mouth. I had to time it just right. He was trying to roll over, so I had to actually touch his disgusting flesh and squeeze the thing in there. He was snapping at me. When he went for the cloth gag, I sort of smashed it in there, tying it behind his neck. I smiled at my handiwork as he chewed on the cloth. He tried to roll over again. This time seawater came out of his nose, dribbling onto the ground.
I took some of my homemade rope, tied it around a big rock and attached it to one of his ankles. Hey look, he has on a ball and chain—next to his ball and chain.
I helped her up and untied her hands. She couldn’t balance with them behind her back, so I had to keep holding her upright. She brought them forward ever so slowly and tried to latch them onto my neck. I pushed her away, and she stumbled on her husband’s legs and fell again. Her hand caught in my shorts and tugged me down with her. I landed on the squishy tub of saltwater-logged lard with her on top of me.
Oh my God! I was stuck in a zombie sandwich!
I screamed as loud as I could as he tried to get his arm over me. Is this how I was going to die?
Stuck between an undead married couple like we were in some freaky porno movie. She tried to bite me, he tried to bite me, and I tried to yell my head off. My skin crawled as goose bumps erupted all over me. I wanted to torch every inch of flesh that had touched the damned dead things. I wanted to burn the spots and then rub them in alcohol. I rolled to the side and she went with me. I hit the ground on my back and she fell on top of me so she was straddling my waist. She started going for my neck again.
I bucked under her, but she was very persistent in trying to bite me. Her husband tried to roll over to do the same thing. I rolled again, this time so I could dislodge her, then I was on my feet, wiping at my body in disgust. I had zombie goo all over me. I yelled again, just for good measure. She just stared at me with that one luminous blue eye, snarling deep in her throat.
You and me both, babe. Frustration sucks.
He rolled onto his stomach, got his hand under his body, and tried to push himself up. I ran over and kicked him in the head, but it was like kicking a sack of rotten potatoes. If I had a gun, I could just end this. Shoot him in the face and maybe her while I was at it. The huge, bloated monstrosity seemed too large to kill in any conventional way. I looked around for a rock, but that would mean I would have to lean over to smash his head. I didn’t think I could stand to get any more zombie goo on me today.
Then I had an idea. Maybe I could get close to him by using something to shield me from the blows—maybe one of the pieces of luggage. I could put one of the big, inflexible bags over my upper body, cut a hole in the top and wear it. I didn’t want to get any crap on my other clothes, so I thought I should put something else on. I looked around at the few clothes I had cleaned up and saw the big floral-print dress. Of course!
Sure, I would look ridiculous, but the zombified lovers wouldn’t care. They wouldn’t care one little bit.
I grabbed the dress and my knife and ran to the shore. I stripped off my clothes, jumped in the surf, and scrubbed every inch of my body with sand. I came out, brushing the hair out off my face, and did it again. Then I let the hot sun dry me. I donned the dress, hiked it up, and looped the bottom up so my feet were free. It was actually quite comfortable, but it billowed around me, so I tied a knot in the side. It had a plunging neckline, which let lots of air in over my chest. This should protect me from any flying zombie bits and goo.
I grabbed one of the suitcases, a large one that was pretty dry. I used my knife to cut out the bottom. Kept glancing back over my shoulder in case he figured out how to chase me. The stuff was tough with a thick weave that was hard and barely flexible. I cut a hole in the top for my head and then a couple of holes for my arms. I slid it over my body and felt ready for war. No way could he hurt me now, and there was no way I could get any gunk on me.
I went back to camp and found he was on his feet. He came at me and I stepped aside. I snatched up my turtle helmet and slid it onto my head like a World War II soldier. I ran to the other side of camp and picked up the spear. I felt like a real warrior now.
We danced back and forth. At first I didn’t want to hit him with the spear. I was worried about how it would feel to stab him. As he swung his arm at me, however, I dodged in and drove the spear point into his body. Fucker. Try to take over my island. How about some metal in your diet? I yanked it out, but it hadn’t gone in very far. I tried to slap him across the temple with it. Maybe that would make him settle down. I went for his eye with the tip, but only managed to scrape his forehead.
This was exhausting, but at least I understood a little bit about what our ancestors had gone through while fighting mammoths and stuff like that. He moved toward me, swinging that massive waterlogged arm. Some of the beads flew off, but I turned at the last second so they hit the top of the helmet instead. I swung in and drove the spear point into his chest. It skittered across his ribs, opening his skin with a nasty cut. It didn’t bleed, and he didn’t look like he cared or even felt it.
I heard shouting in the distance and turned. He almost got me when I looked. He stumbled toward me and caught me across the chest with his arm. It knocked me back, but I stayed on my feet.
I looked again to see that my island visitors from a few days ago had arrived. There were three of them, and they looked just as terrified as the last time they were here.
I turned and ran toward them, yelling, “Hey, wait! I need help! Don’t run off again! Please!”
I came pounding across the beach as they stared at me with their mouths wide open. I waved the spear over my head to show them I wasn’t interested in fighting. I didn’t think my “armor” would protect me if they started throwing their own spears.
They screamed and ran back toward their boats. One had a look of such complete fear on his face that I actually felt sorry for him. I looked behind me, and there was my girlfriend with her husband in tow. It scared the shit out of me too! He moved slowly, but he was building momentum, his one arm flailing at me. I ran toward the men as they ran to their canoes. One turned and shook his spear at me. His eyes were wide open, and his mouth was stretched in a giant O.
“No, please take me with you!”
It was too late. They were already rowing while casting quick glances behind them as if we were going to wade into the water and follow them. I wish her asshole husband would follow them along the bottom of the ocean and get eaten by a shark or a whale.
I turned on them. I was furious. She had her hands out, but she didn’t look down. So, like usual, she tripped on a piece of wood that had washed up on the shore. I ignored her and marched toward the husband. I drew the spear back, over my head, took two fast steps forward, and drove the thing into his chest. It went in this time, passing through all sorts of gross mushy stuff. As the spear went in, a bunch of pus showered my face.
I went crazy.
I ripped the turtle helmet off my head and started beating him. When I was done, his skull was a mass of stuff that looked like spilled beans or something. Like a can or six had been opened and dumped on the sand.
Oh God! What had I done? I didn’t mean to kill him, not really. I thought about it, I really did. I was pretty sure I was ready to kill him, but when I got used to how slow and dumb he was, I just felt sorry for the poor zombie dude. I thought I would wear him down with the spear an
d armor, then tie him to something. I have lived with one zombie companion, why not two?
Did this make me a murderer?
I had to bathe again. Then I pulled my girl off her dead husband, since she was feasting on his body—for the second time. She was going at a leg this time. God, that was going to be messy. She must have worked at the flesh like a rabid dog until her gag came loose. I was so beyond sickened that I couldn’t even throw up. I dragged her back to the camp, put her gag back on and tied her to the tree.
Then I collapsed and slept until dawn.
This morning, I went back to the body and studied it. I tried to move it, but it was far too heavy. I went back to camp and got my razor-sharp piece of rock and went to work. The arm came off first.
His muscles and stuff were still soft. The only hard part was when I had to rip the bone out of the shoulder. I had to put my foot against his side and pull for all I was worth. His other arm was just a stump, so I went at his legs. These came off as well, but it took a long time. The second one was stubborn, so I had to plant my foot in his crotch and pull on his knee. The sound of the bone coming out of the wet socket was like using a plunger on a toilet.
I didn’t have the energy to stay at it. I had to go hunt and fish. The only good thing was that I threw a rock at a pair of birds and actually hit one of them. It couldn’t fly off, so it flopped around on the ground. I picked it up and twisted its neck until it snapped. I pulled all the feathers off, roasted it and ate every bite, going so far as to crack the bones and suck out anything in them. Earlier today, I didn’t think I could take down a pissed-off zombie husband. Now I could twist birds’ heads like it was no big deal.
It was a rough day, and I deserved a drink. I cracked open the rum and took a long swallow, which burned all the way down to my soul. Sang a song, read a little to my girl. Drank more. Suddenly, my hangover was gone, so I kept on drinking. I wish I had enough booze to become an alcoholic on this cursed island. After a while, I slept like a rock.
Day 21
My Girlfriend is a Moaner
What to do with the body? What to do? In the movies, the guy always has a plan. I didn’t. I don’t even know what I am going to do from day to day. My plans consisted of deciding to hunt food for the day, then determining whether I should save some for the next day or just eat it all so I had extra energy to do it all again.
It’s so hot! I swear this place gets warmer every day. I took my shirt off and fetched my Jamaica cap. It was a lot more comfortable than the damn turtle shell, which smells terrible.
I had to dispose of the body, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. I dug into the sand, but not for very long. I bet I got down less than six inches, since there was a layer of rock under it. I would need a shovel, or it would take me a week to make the hole with my little rock tool.
I could have dragged the parts into the bushes, but she might find them. I didn’t need to have her eating him again. I already needed to clean her out, and I was not at all looking forward to that little chore.
I stood on the beach in the beating sun and looked around my little slice of paradise. I could have tried putting the parts in the water, but they might float back to shore. Or I could have buried them under some rocks, but fish might eat them, and I was seriously concerned about the zombie virus. Now that he had come back to life, what did it mean for the things that nibbled on him? That gave me an idea, but first I had to dispose of the body.
I went back at him with the sharp rock. I was glad that he had dried out a little bit, but he was still far from a regular stiff. His upper body was probably a hundred and twenty-five pounds. How the hell was I going to move it? I would have to slice it open. God!
She sat on the ground and stared at me with that blank look. I walked over, ran my hand through her hair, and told her she was still beautiful to me. She showed her broken teeth around the gag. She snarled, growled, moaned, and did her usual “I want to eat you” stare with her pretty blue eye. I cleaned out a couple of bug eggs from her dried eye and smashed them on the ground.
I helped her to her feet, took the log off her lap and let her stretch her legs a bit. She stumbled around in a circle, then went to her husband. She dropped down beside his torso and leaned over to bite him. I shuddered, pulled her off, marched her to the tree, and tied her up again while she fussed at me. I went back, grabbed his leg and dragged it behind me as I headed for the beach. I was hoping some great idea would hit me if I started walking, and hit me it did.
I had been looking in the wrong direction, which was down. I should have been looking up. Of course. Up!
I dragged the leg to a tree and looped the nasty thing over my shoulder. It was like carrying a mass of meat that reeked of rotten fish. It dripped and oozed congealed blood. I tried not to gag as I grabbed hold of a branch and tugged myself up. I got one foot on another branch and was soon a few feet off the ground. When I was about fifteen feet up, I maneuvered the leg so it hung over a large branch.
She couldn’t reach that, not in a million years. I went back for the other leg and put it in another tree. This one was easier, because it still had a shoe on, so I had a way to tie the thing to a branch. It actually stretched between two branches.
The arm went in another tree, but now I had the torso and head to deal with. I took the rock and went to work on his fat neck. It reminded me of videos where guys are cutting off whale blubber. Each shallow cut separated some flesh, which was white and puckered.
I pushed his body to roll him over and realized that the head wasn’t that heavy. Didn’t even want to think about what I had to do. I wanted to go fishing, hunt, find some food and then rest for the whole day. My body hurt everywhere from the battle yesterday, and I wanted to sleep.
I sighed and set the rock against his gut, just under his ribcage, and pushed hard. A terrible noise came out like a long, nasty fart as trapped air escaped from the wound. I fell back as stuff squirted out. The smell was horrendous. I backed away like a crab, my feet kicking at the sand until I ran into her and she tried to sink her teeth into my shoulder. Idiot. She still had her gag on. I jumped to my feet and shook my finger at her.
No!
This was getting messy. There were already chunks of him all over the place, and now a river of pink water was leaking onto the sand. I decided to move him close to the water so I could work and have the tide clean up the mess later.
I dragged him, which wasn’t easy, since I had already removed his legs and arm. It left a line of gore behind him, but there was nothing to be done about it. I would have to move that sand around to clean it up. The rock knife was slippery in my hand, so I rubbed it in sand and started cutting again.
It took about an hour to get through his gut, but in the end, I got it separated into two halves. I would go through the ribcage and slice him sideways, but it was too hard to cut through all that bone.
His guts were the worst. They were a putrid gray color with hardly any blood—just lots of water. I dug out his intestines and the rest of his organs and stuff that fell out, loaded those into one of the suitcases and hauled it away to dump in the woods. The bottom of the torso went into another bag, and I dragged it away as well. Now I just had his upper body to deal with.
Good Christ. Was it Miller time yet?
One of the bags that washed up had turned out to be a very nice backpack. I loaded his upper half into it, then strapped it on. All kinds of stuff squished together and then fell out of the bag as I adjusted it. I gathered up the parts and put them back in. Staggered forward as the weight shifted, but then I straightened up and was able to move with him back there.
I went back to the trees and found a nice thick one to climb. I went up about twenty feet and then slid out of the backpack. I fixed it to a pair of branches so he would have a nice view of the water as it came in and out. I made my way down the tree, then went to the beach and bathed in the surf.
I was exhausted, but I had to eat. I waded out and dug up some oysters. I got five of t
hem—wow. I chased a crab and took my feast back to the camp. After a night and a day, the fire was down to almost nothing. She watched me as I stoked it back up, but she didn’t say anything. I had to move the little palm tree wall in front so the flames wouldn’t freak her out.
After a few minutes of silence, I decided to say something first.
“I’m sorry about your husband. I think he has a good view now.”
She snarled back at me.
“I didn’t mean to, you know. It was an accident. I just wanted to get him worn out, then tie him to something. You like it, why wouldn’t he?”
She moaned at me.
“It was nothing personal. I bet he was a nice guy and all. He was rich, right? A girl like you would be with a rich guy. Not some dork like me.” I smiled. This is the part where the girl says, “You’re all I need. I don’t care about money, cars and jewelry. I just care about you.” Then you take her to bed for like a whole weekend. The only place I was taking her was to test as an anchor if she pissed me off again.
She growled at me.
“We’re better off without him. We don’t need him messing up our relationship, right?”
Moan.
“Just you and me, baby. Just you and me.”
I broke out the rum and drank half the bottle.
Day 22
My girlfriend is a Dirty Pirate
Yesterday, I was concerned about leaving the husband’s blood everywhere. Would it do anything bad to animals or sea creatures? I found a crab this morning. Quick little bastard that tried to snap me a few times. Snapping. I’m used to that after three weeks on a deserted island with a freaking zombie.
The Zombie Wilson Diaries Page 9