The Zombie Wilson Diaries

by Timothy W. Long

  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 time 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 the
m. 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.

  I was not in the mood to fight her. I slipped on my beat-up shorts and made the long trek to the beach so I could gather more food.

  It was hotter than usual, and it was a relief to walk into the seawater when I got to my favorite spot. I was up to my chest and enjoying the coolness while I tried to stay still, spear tip in the water, just waiting for some likely fish to swim by. I would settle for a medium-sized one. Hell, a small one for that matter, if I could just get the spear tip into its body.

  I looked back toward the island to see if she had caught up with me, but there was no sign of her. I saw the parts of her husband hanging in the tree, and I felt sorry for him. Poor bastard. I bet when he took off in the plane with his hot wife, he didn’t have any idea that within a week he would die, float in the water, end up as food for his dead wife, come back as a zombie, and be killed again. Life’s a bitch on a deserted island. Then you get hacked into little pieces.

  Why wouldn’t Hollywood turn that into a movie? It had everything. It had a romance, death, a plane crash, and a hero. Plus, it had freaking zombies, and everyone loves a good zombie movie!

  A shape flashed by, and I speared down in the hope that it was a fish. I was too slow and didn’t hit anything. I walked a few steps along the reef, but the thing was gone. I went back to watching the water. Every once in a while, I ducked my head in the water and opened my eyes to look around for likely victims.

  I looked up in time to see a large shape moving toward me. There was barely any sound as it passed through the water, only a whisper like a wave parting over a rock. No warning! The silent hunter had arrived, and I just about jumped out of my skin. It had a large fin, which was oddly tilted to the side instead of straight up and down. I backed up.

  Shark! It was a freaking shark!

  I backed up another step and slipped on a slimy rock. This explained a lot. No wonder there wasn’t anything to hunt. Everything got the hell out of the way before it arrived. I took one more step before panic set in. I lifted the spear above my head and ran, in slow motion thanks to the drag of the water, back to shore.

  I could feel the bastard bearing down on me as I tried to swim-run my way through the water. I let out a couple of screams that I’m sure sounded less than manly. I looked behind me and the fin had rolled over on the other side. Was the shark drunk? He came at me, passed by and hit the reef at a really fast rate. His fin flew up as he came to a stop.

  I made it to shore and clawed my way up the beach, just like I did the first day here. Deja-damn-vu. I collapsed and stared at a pair of nasty gray feet that had stopped just in front of my face.

  She was standing in front of me. staring at the water. I followed her gaze to the giant gray shark that flopped around like he was drowning on air. He really was gray, like a weird shade. I know sharks are gray and all, but he was almost a patchy color like …

  I got to my feet and took a step toward the thing. I wondered if I could kill and eat him before she bit him. That would be cool. How bad could shark steaks be? He flopped a lot more like a … well, I was gonna say like a fish out of water. Oh haha! I am so damn funny today. Is that what they call irony?

  He lifted his upper body in the air and brought it down hard. A piece of something flew out of his mouth and hit the sand in front of me. What the hell? It looked like part of a hand. Wow, man killer indeed.

  I stared at the partial fingers and got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I took another step toward the shark and stared into its eyes, which should be big and spooky, right?

  Isn’t that how sharks look? Like they are ready to eat you at any moment?

  No …

  I looked closer, even got a few feet away and crouched down.

  It reared up again, and I could see that it had no eyes. They were eaten away in the socket. Both of them were just str
ingy crap like weird jellyfish. I fell back on my ass and stared at the mouth that kept snapping at me just like a certain girl on my little chunk of paradise.

  Jesus fucking wept.

  I didn’t just have a zombie shark. I had a BEACHED zombie shark.

  I wonder if there is a cliff around that I can jump off.

  Day 25

  My Girlfriend Sucks

  Hi, Diary!

  Look, another day and I am still alive on this cursed island. I can’t believe I once found this place beautiful. If I ever make a million dollars, I am going to use the money to firebomb this hole back into the ocean. I hate it here, I H A T E it. I hate everything about this pit of despair. The heat, the humidity. I don’t think living in a sauna is the ideal life. No siree-bob.

  Don’t even get me started on the damn zombies. So a girl was bad enough. I mean, I could find humor in it. Laugh at her as she fell down—a lot. When I first found her body, she was still pretty good looking. I mean, I wouldn’t do her. That would be sick and wrong. Right? But she was better than looking at palm trees. Know what I mean? I got to play dress-up, treat her like my doll, make fun of her, paint her face like a clown. That was a fun day, clowning around with my pet zombie.

  And now I have a zombie shark to worry about.

  I went to the waterfront and looked at him. He was so pitiful, stuck on the shore with his tail flapping up and down. He should be dead. Scratch that; he is dead. Undead. What sick god comes up with a zombie shark? Seriously, if I had a ship right now, I would take this thing back to civilization just like they did King Kong, and I would sell him to some circus owner. Then they could have my girl and make a whole zombie circus. Maybe I could run it. I’d call it the “circus zombies of the damned,” because that is what I am. Damned on this stupid rock.