Still Alive (Book 2): Zombie Island

by Javan Bonds

  ZOMBIE ISLAND

  ZOMBIE ISLAND

  ☠☠☠

  STILL ALIVE

  BOOK TWO

  Javan Bonds

  Copyright © 2017 Javan Bonds &

  If I Only Had A Monkey Publishing

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  For permissions contact: ifionlyhadamonkey@gmail.com

  Cover by Covers by Christian

  www.coversbychristian.com

  ☠☠☠

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my parents. Beyond just conceiving me, they made this book possible. Mama and Daddy work on this book and the entire series as much as I do.

  As always, thanks to the Diction Mistress at Swift Creative Writing, the gorgeous, brilliant woman that is my editor, Sheila Shedd. You wouldn’t be reading this book without her.

  Thanks to my beta readers, Dr. Larry Johnston, Kao Kikuyama, Glen Mardis, Mandy Owens, and Taft Reeves. These people are why the book is not as boring as it could be. Thanks to my final proof reader Donna Shields. If not for her Smokes would be wearing a “read” shirt instead of red.

  Thanks to my heroes, J. L. Bourne, Peter Clines, D. J. Molles, and all of my other fellow authors that continue to inspire me.

  Thanks to Christian Bentulan at Covers by Christian, the greatest cover designer on the planet.

  Thanks to my readers. The fact that you find my work entertaining is the reason I keep writing.

  Javan Bonds

  Disclaimer

  THIS IS A work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblances to persons, living or dead; business establishments; events; or locales are entirely coincidental.

  ☠☠☠

  Cast of Characters In Order of Appearance

  Elmo “Mo” Collins, The Hero and Chronicler. Acting Captain of the Viva Ancora; Jack of No Trades.

  Black Crow, Cook and Crewmate on the Viva Ancora. Permanent Resident Fisherwoman.

  Marlon “Smokes” Williamson, The Oracle. Gangbanger, Dope Dealer (Ret.); Interpreter and Conduit to The Screenwriter.

  Petunia “Hammer” Sledge, The Expert. Captain, US Marine Corp, Special Ops (Ret). Owner, Bottom Dollar Pawn; Extreme Survivalist.

  Gene Stanley, The Tech. PhD Mechanical Engineering (pending); Owner, Excelsior Comics; Collector of Fantasy/Science Fiction Memorabilia.

  Bradley Gage, The Old Friend. National Champion Sharpshooter; Paraplegic Trainer and Bodybuilder.

  Mary, The Innocent. Capuchin Monkey, Service Animal (partnered with Bradley.) Clearly wise compared to most other characters.

  Sarah Ogle, The Love Interest. Longtime Friend and Love-of-His-Life to Mo.

  Randy Collins, Leader of The Similar (Former). Mo’s Father; Interim Mayor of the island of Guntersville; Amateur Survivalist.

  Debbie (Mrs.) Collins, The Hero’s mother. Conservative Matriarch. Never uses nicknames.

  Dr. Philip George, The Medicine Man. Cardiologist, Indian, Pacifist.

  Daniel Daniels, The Builder (Unofficial). Construction Worker and General Handyman; Explosives Expert.

  Sojourner “Soje” Williamson, The Man of God. Farmer, Preacher. Patriarch of the Williamson Clan.

  “I mean, they say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.”

  ― Banksy

  Refugees

  ROBERT COE WALKED halfway down the hill from The Hampton Inn towards U S Highway 431 and saw that Mortimer wasn’t lying. There were Stop, Yield, Road Construction Ahead, And Slow signs driven into the curb, hanging from the inactive red light wire at the intersection, and nailed to several light poles leading up to the causeway. On farther, there stood what looked like a large wooden guard shack erected opposite where the bridge used to be. Robert assumed it was some kind of lookout post. He had fled Gadsden, Alabama with six other survivors. Now only he and two others remained: Mortimer, a senior citizen who had escaped from a nursing home, and a woman in her twenties who carried an evil little dog in a pink purse and thought every piece of clothing had to be covered with sequins. How did these two morons survive while construction workers, like Dennis, and cops, like Dale, wound up dead? Mortimer had appeared in Attalla carrying a pump shotgun and a revolver, so he wasn’t completely worthless; Delilah was another story. She had been Dennis’ ditzy blonde girlfriend, and while most would admit she looked like the cover of an SI Swimsuit Issue, she also happened to be a fucking idiot. Delilah refused to carry a gun because "It could just go off for no reason!"

  Robert headed back to the hotel and gathered the others where he and Mortimer would discuss their next moves. If that really was a guard shack, the city ahead was probably controlled by some lunatic biker gang that would charge them some type of "tariff" to pass through. He glanced over at Delilah and knew that they could make the payment. Approaching the bridge would be tricky; should the three of them simply walk slowly down the causeway with their hands up, hoping not to get riddled with bullets?

  "Roberrrt," Delilah whined, "Those people! Those people in the room right next to mine! They are making just, like, so much noise! Coco is like, totally upset. I screamed at them that I was going to tell the, like, manager, or whatever, and, okay, so. They, stopped, okay? But, I can’t be responsible for, like, my actions, you know? Like, if it happens again or whatever."

  Robert looked sideways at Mortimer; all they could do was shake their heads.

  Mortimer shrugged and Robert tried to explain to her. "Delilah, we are squatting in a hotel during the apocalypse. If you heard something in the next room, I doubt it was a paying customer of The Hampton Inn."

  "Well, like, that’s not fair. I mean, everybody has to pay if we do, right? I am definitely telling the Manager on them. Like, for evvvvrything. Right, Coco?"

  Robert pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe handing her over to the bikers wouldn’t be such a loss; unless they tried to give her back worse for the wear. He moved closer to Mortimer to form up a plan.

  "Here’s what you do, Bob,” began the senior of the three amigos. “You walk to the end of the causeway unarmed and alone. Once you have discussed the situation with the people on the other side, you can motion for us to come join you. Unless they machine gun your ass, then we know not to come out." Mortimer tacked on as if it were comical.

  The younger man was incredulous. "Why do I have to be the one to make first contact with the bikers? Why can’t we just send Delilah?"

  Mortimer gestured for Robert to keep his voice down. He whispered in reply, "Because she is our bargaining chip. We might need her after the introductions are out of the way."

  Mortimer was a cold-hearted old bastard, but Robert had to agree that the high maintenance bitch and her ugly little rat might have some value after all.

  Once the plan was agreed upon, Robert started back down the hill. He cautiously approached the guardhouse; it looked abandoned. Just as he thought he might be in the clear, an unseen female voice commanded: "Get on your knees with your hands up and state your name!”

  The young survivor stopped in his tracks and complied with the command. He stated his name. “Robert." He searched around the bridge for the source.

  An unseen male voice said, "Robert?”

  "Uhhh, yeah?" he answered.

  "Robert Roberts?" came the voice again.

  Robert paused and replied. “No…it’s Coe.”

  "Well…okay then. And you can put your hands down." The voice could be heard speaking s
oftly to at least one other, then came back with, "And are you

  alone?"

  This discussion had come to the point of either going well or ending in death for Robert, so he went for it. "Well, I have a couple other survivors waiting for my signal."

  The female asked, "A couple?"

  "Yeah, a man and a woman."

  "Call them up here before we bridge the gap."

  Robert lifted his arm and was about to wave to his compatriots as a bloodcurdling scream rang from their hotel. He wordlessly turned and hustled back to where he’d left his weapon to see what had gone wrong at The Hampton Inn.

  "Sum bitch. Fine, whatever," came an exclamation from behind the guardhouse.

  Mo Collins, the reluctant leader of the diverse group of survivors living aboard the Viva Ancora, was taking his turn guarding the South Causeway. He was flanked by Captain Petunia Sledge “Hammer,” Bradley Gage, Mo’s Old Friend, and Bradley’s faithful companion and helper Capuchin, Mary. They were armed with a wide assortment of weapons, AR-15s, SKS, sawed-off shotguns, various pistols, along with an insane number of knives covering the body armor of the three-man army. Hammer was instantly suspicious of this "Robert" character. She would refer to her stance as “vigilant.” But Mo had won out over her paranoia using his standard argument, which, however absurd, had come directly from their personal apocalyptic Oracle, and had yet to be refuted: "We won’t die here; it’s not part of the script. What would Smokes do?”

  They tracked Robert back to The Hampton Inn. As they approached, several gunshots were fired.

  Hammer hit the deck and the other two took cover.

  Hammer instinctively recognized the shots and shouted, "Pistol!”

  Robert heard the shots and frantically rounded the corner to see Mortimer with a smoking revolver in his hand.

  “Dude! Why the fuck did you shoot her?" Robert yelled as he saw two naked, blue bodies lying beyond the body of the sequined Delilah.

  "She was screaming about ‘the people in the other room making a racket.’” Mortimer answered while dropping the empty shell casings into his pocket. “She rushed out to tell them she was going to ‘report them to the manager!’"

  He turned to face the younger man. "I’m guessing she knocked, no one answered, obviously, so she just barged right in.” He laughed. “No need to bother the manager now, I guess. Housekeeping, on the other hand…”

  Robert was upset that they had lost the only thing they had to bargain with to get them across the causeway. The senior added in defense, "And any stranger would have killed her as soon as they saw her. She’s been bitten right in the face."

  The plague victims, or “Peevies,” which is what the main protagonists were calling their zombies, rarely munched on the boney head or face. Like most animals, they normally went for the tasty, easily accessible fleshy part of the neck. By killing their victim on the first bite, they were able to pick their meal down to the bone like a piranha on a chicken wing. However, if the first fluid exchange was not fatal, the ensuing virus rendered the meat instantly inedible, not to mention spreading the disease. These lucky “survivors” would eventually turn. Some went very quickly, others took days to transform, desperately stripping their clothing from deep blue skin, craving flesh, and leaving an unspeakable wake of defecation behind them.

  Therefore, Delilah’s bite was not exactly what ended her, and though he was probably right, the strangers would have killed her before she could turn, Mortimer still felt the need to justify his actions. “Look, I did us all a favor and put her out of everyone’s misery,” he added with almost a grin. “Come on, did you really want to listen to her whine until she turned?”

  Robert relented. It was a reasonable bet that she could have remained human for several hours, even days, but she would have been in pain and then they would have had to worry about her losing it in the middle of the night and attacking them both. He shook his head. The old man might be heartless, but he was a survivor. Robert noticed that the little hairless vermin she called a dog was lying beside her, guts spilled where a peevie had taken a bite of him, too.

  Meanwhile, Hammer had rounded the corner and raised her rifle at the two men looking over the bodies. "Freeze!" she ordered.

  They were facing the other way and simply dropped their weapons, raised their hands slowly, and tried to remain otherwise motionless.

  "Turn around and walk this way!"

  Robert took the group in carefully, weighing their chances. Was this a biker chick? He felt like she should have tattoos, scars across her face…what was up with that cool eye patch? Pink camo? Some kinda pirate wench, maybe? Two more figures appeared behind her. Hold on…a handicapped pirate? Well, he did have a monkey on his shoulder. Hell, anything’s possible. None of them were particularly fancy dressed...but check out the body armor! These guys looked more like SWAT than swashbucklers. The lady moved forward as she gestured for the two refugees to get on their knees. She walked past them to inspect the bodies. Her compatriots kept firearms trained on their hostages. Two of the bodies were clearly infected, but the sparkly, fully clothed female that lay before the door had been human when she died.

  "So why did you shoot her?" the lady asked.

  Without turning around, Mortimer answered. "She got bit pretty bad, ma’am. I was just making it easier for her." Robert kept his thoughts to himself.

  "Well that’s too bad. She appeared to be a pretty girl,” said the soldier wench.

  Oh dear God, get ready to squeal like a pig, Robert thought. He looked at the soldier’s rifle trained on his head and noted the wench’s authoritative stride.

  The standing soldier was sporting a shaggy flat-top. He said, "I guess that makes only two of you now." At that Robert nodded. That still makes us outnumbered. Flat Top gestured in Mortimer’s direction. "What’s his name?"

  Why does this guy need to know everyone’s name? Mortimer thought. Then answered, "I’m Mortimer, Mortimer Lester.”

  Flat Top laughed. "No shit. Can we call you Moe?”

  This didn’t seem like a question you would pose to a person you were about to brutally rape and murder. It made Robert want to ask what was going to become of them, but he simply waited in silence.

  A sickened scowl crossed Mortimer’s face as he spat on the ground. "I’d rather you not, son. My Mama used to call me that and I hated that old crone."

  The Flat Top looked amused, and even the wench laughed briefly and spit. "All right then…probably just confuse things anyway,” he smiled back at her.

  By this time the wench was through inspecting the bodies and had returned to stand before them. "I guess y’all ain’t gonna overthrow our island with a 357 revolver, an 870 with four shells, and a half-Mag-9. Nevertheless, I’ll just hold on to these for now. Please follow us."

  Let’s see, he thought. Follow a crazy pirate chick to your possible death in a sadistic torture chamber or try to stay alive in a cheap hotel with absolutely no defense? Robert and Mortimer exchanged glances and shrugged. They got off their knees and followed the armored trio and their monkey.

  They trailed their captors across the pontoon bridge and waited while the wench hopped on a jet ski to move it aside. After re-connecting the bridging, she hopped off like a much younger person and radioed to someone that she would need "replacements on the causeway," and that her team was "en route to the courthouse with ‘new visitors.’" Robert almost asked if it was really necessary to make air-quotes with her fingers while using the radio, but before he was allowed to think much about it, the party arrived at a large white double-cab. Everyone loaded into the vehicle. Robert stared in amazement as the crippled guy threw his chair into the back, launched himself into the cab by hooking a hand over the top, and landed perfectly into the seat without disturbing the creature on his shoulder whatsoever. Robert had really tried to maintain his stoic silence, but that was ridiculously badass and he congratulated The Wheelchair Pirate with an expression of amazement and respect.

  Robert
had been through Guntersville more than once in his life and he was pretty sure they were traveling north on the southbound-only route. They pulled to the side of the road in front of the County Courthouse, executing a perfect parallel park. The wench smiled with satisfaction, opened her door and waited for the others. Robert and Mortimer followed their armed escort through glass doors opening on an extensive complex.

  They crossed through the lobby and were halfway down a wide hallway before Robert noticed the lights…they were on. Pondering the presence of electricity was cut short by Flat Top, who must have read his mind. He was wielding what looked like an AK. "Yeah, it’s a government building so it has limited solar panels. We can run some of the electricity almost all day." He smiled devilishly at The Wheelchair Pirate. "Well, besides the elevator, that is, so it’s a good thing Daddy is on the first floor."

  Robert’s anxiety spiked at the mention of this "Daddy." What kind of cult had captured them? The walk continued a little farther down the hall. Flat Top asked, "So, where you guys from anyway?"

  Oh, they’re not going to kill us, Robert thought. Maybe we will just be repeatedly raped. He was fairly certain no one would be this friendly with people they were about to seriously harm. "Down around Gadsden. What about you?" Robert hoped that if he made some kind of personal connection with these people, maybe they would keep his sweet ass around, and preferably intact.

  The soldier replied, "I was raised just up the mountain, but for a year or so, I’ve been on the crew of the Viva Ancora."

  I knew it! Robert’s question came out childish and excited. "The pirate ship?"

  Flat Top rolled his eyes as if he had heard this question a thousand times. "Yeah. And before you ask, yes you can see it."

  They finally turned into what appeared to be a waiting room. They faced a normal-looking woman sitting at a desk. She looked up and jolted to attention as though she’d been daydreaming.