The Zombie Wilson Diaries

by Timothy W. Long

  God—I should just kill her and get it over with. Then bury the body and kiss my million-dollar book deal goodbye. I’ll never get on CNN if I off her. I might get a mention when they find her body, but it won’t be the kind of mention I want.

  Maybe I should find a different place for her husband’s parts. I guess I can try finding a soft spot in the jungle to bury him.

  I took my prize to a little arena I had built. When I was a kid, we lived near the water. Sometimes, we would get crabs worked up and put them in a little arena to fight. I had the same idea here, except he would be fighting the zombie disease. And if it caught it, I would just smoosh the little bastard.

  I had a few chunks of her husband’s blood and flesh in the place, just tiny bits of it. The plan was to put the crab in and wait for him to eat some. I don’t know if a zombie crab would even freak me out. I’ve seen enough crazy shit in the last three weeks to last a lifetime.

  The crab marched around in circles, but he wasn’t interested in the blood and bits of goo. I picked some up and tried to feed him, but he fought back by latching onto one of my thumbs. Ouch! I shook him loose and almost tossed him on the fire right then and there.

  I grabbed a stick and let him latch onto that with one claw, then moved it so he could get his other claw on it. Holding him in the air, I grabbed him around the back and angled him up. Took the gooey stuff and pressed it against his little mouth. He tried to fight back, but I pressed until some coated his little feeler things. I took another piece and did the same thing. Then I smeared blood on his mouth.

  Put him back in the little prison and waited. I dug a hole and put seawater in, but it drained into the sand. I got a makeup bag out of my supply of suitcases, filled it with seawater, and put that in the hole with him. He wandered up to it, trying to fit his body in.

  Ah, shit! I fed him that zombie crap; now I won’t be able to eat him. I looked over at her. She was attached to the tree by her neck this morning. She didn’t exactly smile encouragingly. She moaned at me, low in her throat. I pretended like she was trying to be sexy. Then I thought about the aroma drifting toward me and gagged.

  That brings me back to problem number two.

  She smells. Bad. I mean she smells rotten. It’s not like I can give her a bath with soap. Every time I get close to her, I have to hold my nose or the smell almost knocks me over. I mean she smells like … well, death. For a while, it was the stuff in her stomach, and yeah, I planned to clean that out again today. I was able to cover up the smell of fish and seawater by dousing her in some Old Spice cologne I found in a bag. But now, it just sat on top of the stink.

  While I waited on the crab, I took her to the stream and removed her hula girl outfit. That is something else I can do today: make her a new grass skirt. I suppose I could dress her in some of the clothes I found, but if you had a chance to dress a girl up like this, you would do it, right?

  Right?

  RIGHT?!

  I took her coconut top off and sat her in the stream by using my well-practiced zombie-tripping technique. She fell near the edge of the water and tried to bite my arm. I yanked it back from the gag, then double-checked to make sure it was still secure. I loosened it and re-tied it just in case.

  I took a tiny bottle of Head and Shoulders from one of the bags I had found in the tail section. It had maybe half a teaspoon of shampoo in it. I had used half the other day on myself. Now I was going to use my last smear of shampoo on a dead girl. As I scrubbed, some of the hair came out in clumps. I tossed these aside and tried to ignore the open wounds left on her head.

  I washed her body as best I could and picked the bugs from various crevices. Dear Diary, let me just say that you do not want the details of some of the places I had to go to get to them. I washed her all over, but it was not fun. I used to enjoy this, especially her top half, but now she was getting stiff in all the wrong places. Her breasts no longer give way when I push against them. I could feel a lump in there and wondered if she had a cancer growth or something. Then I realized her flesh was shriveling around her implants. I can’t believe I used to think they were real. Just goes to show, zombify a chick and her true colors come out.

  I tugged her away from the stream and into the sun so she could dry off. I tied her to a tree and she stared up at the sun for a while.

  I went back to check on the crab, but there was no change. I pushed him and he turned to snap his claws at my stick. When I went back to her, she was hooting and calling at the sky. I don’t get that. Does she think she can talk to the clouds? I touched her cheek, and she turned her cold face to look at me. A spider had taken up residence by her ear, and it looked like it was checking out the cavity as a place to hide or catch prey. I knocked it off her head, and when it hit the ground, I mushed it.

  Then I ate it.

  It wasn’t that big, and a little protein doesn’t hurt when you are starving to death. It was pretty stupid, though. What if the spider had the zombie virus? God damn it! Was I going to end up spending my entire life worrying about every little morsel I ate?

  I put her coconut halves back on and tied them tight so she looked like she had cleavage again—a little shriveled now, but something to look at just the same. I took my time tucking them in, enjoying how they felt, since in a few more days, they would probably be as hard as potatoes. She stared at the sun, then at me. Whenever her good eye settled on me, she drew her lips back from her teeth.

  I brushed sand off her face, avoiding her teeth. Her dead eye is getting pretty bad. It looks like a raisin and just sort of floats there. I reached out, touched it, and the thing rolled around. It had a hollow feel in the socket, like a dried acorn in a shell when you shake it. How come that doesn’t bother her? I clenched my teeth and touched the eye with both fingers, which was a huge mistake, because it came loose.

  Dropped the eye, jumping back as if it were a bug trying to bite me. Well, that wasn’t so bright. Now she would have a hole. I left her alone for a bit and went out to find some rocks. She walked around in circles. I wonder if she has trouble with depth perception, only having one eye and all. I kept an eye on her the entire time, since both of mine work. I wonder why she doesn’t try to follow or bite me as much as she used to. She was always trying to attack me. Now she wanders around like a lost puppy. I think her body may be slowing down and affecting the way her brain works.

  I brought back some small rocks and held them near her eye. She snarled at me a few times, but there was no snapping. I hoped her body wasn’t going bad and dying. Wait, she is already dead. I assured myself of that fact by putting my head on her chest and listening for a heartbeat again. Nothing, I thought I heard a thump once, a week ago, but there was nothing now.

  She smelled so bad. I dropped the rocks and got the supplies. There was no use in putting it off. In went the enema tube, and I pumped her full of water. She had to hang upside down for a while as the chunks of her hubby drained. Again. It was like I was replaying a bad movie.

  While the stuff oozed out, I went back and checked out the crab. It was still dancing around, and when I put a stick near its head, it snapped at it with lightning speed. That assured me that maybe the virus couldn’t be passed on to other animals. I played around with it for a while, showing it the stick and then jerking it back when it tried to get a piece.

  I grabbed the bottle of tequila, figuring I could spare a capful or two to sterilize her guts. I let her down from the tree, helped her to her feet, and gave her a few swallows. I took her to the camp and got her cleaned up. She still smelled terrible, so I dumped half a bottle of cologne on her. I didn’t find any perfume in the bags, real shame about that. She would just have to settle for smelling manly.

  Better than smelling deadly.

  I think I need to start sleeping downwind.

  She was far too compliant. I have to wonder what is going on inside her head. What does she think about all day? Does she even see me as a person? For all I know, she sees me as a walking, talking box of KFC f
resh from the fryer.

  I used some of the lipstick I had found to paint one of the rocks and jammed it in her eye socket. The color wasn’t so great, a bright red, but I didn’t have any other choices.

  Her grass skirt was destroyed, and I wasn’t in the mood to make anything else for her. I watched her sway as she walked around in circles with just the coconut top on. I didn’t see a need to tie her to the tree. She just ignored me unless I got too close. From a distance, her stone eye was sort of pretty with the lipstick laid on thick.

  I went back to the crab. Poked and prodded him for a while. He moved around in circles and fought the stick. I found myself talking to him. After a while, I started calling him Spike for no particular reason.

  “Tough guy, eh?” I asked in my best … what was that guy’s name? Had his lip curled down and had an accent that was all attitude. Not Pesci. Too young. No it was … oh yeah, Cagney. My impression sucked.

  I bet I could keep this one. Tie him to something like my girl. He wouldn’t be much trouble. I could feed him and bring him fresh water. It was only fair. Besides, his color was gorgeous. He had the most amazing blue hues.

  I turned the stick over and stabbed him through the center. He kicked and flailed, but stopped after a few seconds. I picked off the outer top shell and tossed him in the fire. Smelled delightful, but I'm not taking a chance on the zombie cooties being in the stupid animal. He was a little guy anyway. I can always go spend a few hours looking for another one. Not much else on my calendar today.

  After killing Spike, I took the shell parts and used the file on a large one to shape it into a disc. I cut two small holes in it and used the fake gold chain from one of the pieces of costume jewelry I found a few days ago to construct a string. Then I threaded it into the blue disc and tied it to her head.

  Beautiful. Her blue eye is back. The only problem is that now she looks like a pirate.

  Day 23

  My Girlfriend is a Biter

  I went exploring again today, and it was pretty amazing. I have come to the realization that I may never get rescued from this cursed island. I haven’t seen any more planes, and the guys in the boats have not returned. The last two times, they ran off in terror, so why should they bother coming back? One of my biggest fears is that they know the properties of the strange berries she ate, the ones that turned her into a zombie.

  I wonder if this is the sort of thing that led to the belief in zombies in Haiti. Maybe the berries grow there as well. I should really bring some back to civilization. In fact, I am going to do just that. I will put some in one of the medicine bottles I found. Whatever drugs were in them are now long gone. They dissolved in the ocean while the bags were floating around.

  I think one was some sort of antibiotic, because the letters were rubbed off except for the last two, which were “IN.” I’ve taken penicillin and even Cipro once, which has a much longer name and ends with “floxin” or something like that. I took that stuff for an abscess that grew near my ass. It was so gross being hunched up over a table while three or four doctors did stuff back there. The antibiotic made me sick as a dog by the fourth or fifth day, but I took the whole bottle anyway.

  I decided to hit the beach and just walk for a while. Maybe I would find the other side of the island after all. It’s not as hot today as it has been, and some low clouds probably contributed to this. I left her behind. Why tie her up anymore? She just stares at the sun as she hoots and hollers like some weird zombie bird. Zombie birds? Talk about bird flu.

  I’ve been on this cursed island for three weeks, but I have barely explored it. At first, I was worried about getting hurt. I worried about leaving her behind, because I thought she might get loose and ambush me when I returned. Now I know she couldn’t ambush a panda bear on Quaaludes.

  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 th
at 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.