Last in was Jean-Luc. He breathed so heavily that he was afraid his tank wouldn’t last the length of the dive. He too expected salvation once below the surface. Hoping the waters would purge the impurities his body now secreted.
The dark depths wrapped him like a shroud bringing confusion instead. The lights from the others loomed underneath, seemingly an unreachable distance as his arms and legs refused to obey his commands. Adrift in a world of indescribable beauty, he began to convulse. The most hideous of transformations transpired.
One full minute after his heart took its final beat, the dead submariner’s eyes opened to a world of new possibilities. The zombie drifted downward under the cover of darkness after shedding the cumbersome air tank and mask. He came to a stop alongside a lone diver scanning staghorn coral for tiny creatures.
Two naked female legs stretched from wetsuit shorts down to the scuba fins. Her knees bent slightly forward highlighted calf muscles plump with meaty goodness. Jean-Luc crawled on the ocean’s bottom using his hands, stealthily moving toward his prey. He grabbed onto a leg and tore ferociously into bare flesh with his teeth.
The diver impulsively attempted to jerk free from her attacker. She screamed while desperately trying to keep the regulator from escaping her mouth. Bubbles flooded from the mouthpiece in the woman’s vain attempt to call for help. The flashlight fell from her hand as she reached down to fight the creature gnawing away on her calf.
Blood from the anterior artery pulsed into the water, sending out a silent signal a creature was hurt and unable to defend itself. Fish swarmed in for the feeding.
She was doubly surprised when her fingers encountered hair and a human head as she fought to pull the attacker free. Her imagination ran wild with images of mutated humans from Atlantis seeking revenge on mankind for polluting the beautiful ocean waters.
Jean-Luc followed the meaty trail up to her thigh and was well into devouring it when her body went limp. She had bled out enough to take her life.
Leaving the dead body for the sea to reclaim, Jean-Luc gazed though the waters and searched for his next fresh victim.
By this time, Emile, Rod, and another diver had grouped up and headed toward the flashlight abandoned on the ocean floor. Jean-Luc sensed a new source of food swimming his way, and headed straight for them.
Several different species of hungry fish invaded the area, including a shiver of hammerhead sharks. The other three divers had been too engrossed in a three foot spiny lobster to notice Jean-Luc’s attack and the dangers that circled above them.
Emile swam as fast as he could toward Jean-Luc when he saw he was without mask and air tank. He couldn’t imagine as to what had happened for him to be without his gear and fished out his spare regulator ready to hand it to his boss when they met.
Rod and his companion looked at each other not believing what they were seeing. They were even more surprised when Emile stopped kicking his fins and attempted to reverse course when Jean-Luc was only a few feet away from him.
It was either the dead in Jean-Luc’s eyes or the strand of femoral vein wedged between his lower teeth dangling from his mouth that stopped Emile cold and filled his bowels with hollow terror.
The two met with Jean-Luc grabbing the flaying arms of Emile as he drew him into a deadly embrace. Emile outweighed Jean-Luc by one hundred pounds, but he met his match against dead muscle reanimated by a power no longer limited by imprints of memory. Jean-Luc sank his teeth deep within his friend’s neck and felt the fast beat of the juggler pulsating in his mouth as he chewed. A mouthful of meat pulled free and found a new home in the zombie’s stomach.
Rod and the other diver witnessed it all in the beams of their flashlights. Before either had a chance to flee, the female diver first attacked by Jean-Luc snuck up behind Rod and bit off his left ear.
Rod turned and faced his attacker. It was Gisele. He had flirted with her earlier on the boat before his knees became weak. She chowed down on his ear like it was a wad of bubble gum. He had thought she was attractive, but now the wicked expression of human meat satisfaction on her face made her look like the ugliest woman in the world.
A hammerhead shark swam between Roberto, Louisa, and Lillian, just inches above the spiny lobster. The three followed it with their lights, surprised, but relieved that it didn’t stick around. The relief faded when the shark joined its companions that circled above. Their lights revealed over fifty of the nasty beasts.
The wall of sharks descended. The three disappeared in a frenzy of flesh, bone, and blood.
Jean-Luc and Emile pulled the diver next to Rod down by his flippers as he tried to flee to the surface. The race was on. Each started at an ankle and attempted to out eat the other.
Unable to ward off her insatiable advances, Rod succumbed to death in the arms of a once beautiful stranger. His last thoughts were, This sucks! Eh?
Lauren scanned the water from above with the searchlight on the boat. The waters boiled with more than usual amounts of air. This had her reasonably concerned.
Light reflected off the balding head of Jean-Luc bobbing in the water. She rushed to the side of the boat and called out.
“Jean-Luc! Are you okay? What’s happening down there? Is anyone hurt?”
He paddled closer, keeping his face away from her light.
Lauren reached down and grabbed his outstretched hand just as it came within range.
Jean-Luc rose from the water and bit down hard on her left shoulder.
Lauren jumped back. A chunk of flesh remained in the zombie’s mouth as he fell back into the sea.
“What the fuck! Jean-Luc! Have you gone crazy?”
The zombies smacked his prize with glee, his chewing no longer encumbered by the salt water.
“Oh, my God . . . .” Lauren dry heaved as she watched her former boss delight in eating her flesh.
Emile’s head popped up next to Jean-Luc’s, then Rod’s, and two other divers. All shared the same dead look in their eyes. She could almost feel the gnashing teeth as they clacked in anticipation of stripping her bones of flesh. She didn’t know what was going on, and she wasn’t staying any longer to find out.
Lauren untied the boat from the buoy, ran up to the Captain’s chair, and started the engine.
*
A million thoughts raced through Lauren’s mind as she sped back to shore. All her hopes and dreams of starting a new life when her contract with Club Caribe expired in two weeks had vanished before her eyes. She had just abandoned the dive master, the captain, and six guests nearly a mile from shore. Would anyone believe her story? At the end of the week she was to take the final test for her Captain’s license. There was no way that would be happening now.
Beads of sweat welled on her brow. She smeared them across her forehead with the back of her hand and felt grease and grime ball underneath. Jean-Luc must have given me the bug he had, she thought.
She stopped the engine and struggled to focus on the dock. Her chest slammed against the steering wheel and knocked the air from her lungs as the boat made contact. The torpedo shaped inflatable guard that hung from the side of the dock whooshed and deflated on impact.
Lauren wandered aimlessly on the upper deck and fell down the ladder access to the hull deck. Though her legs took the brunt of the fall, she managed to upright herself, and ambled toward the dock as the boat rubbed against a pylon. It had been pushed toward it by the force of the incoming tide.
As she stepped on the dock her roommate’s kitten, Shark Bait, was there to greet her. He rubbed his face on her ankle, smelled blood, and licked a tiny cut with his sandpaper tongue.
Lauren shambled forward and bumped Shark Bait’s nose hard enough to make him give it a quick wash. The small creature was nothing more than a nuisance that got in the way of her burning desire to feed.
*
“I don’t get it? It’s June. We’re in the Caribbean. It’s hot and humid. You’re wearing short-shorts, flip flops, and a leather jacket. What’s up with th
e leather jacket?” Nancy said to Natalie, taking her drink from Lenny the bartender.
Natalie steadied her organic martini and gave it a squirt of Echinacea from an eyedropper. “My arms get cold. Leather is natural anyway. You’d be surprised how well it breathes.”
“Your arms couldn’t get cold in this bar. This is the main bar, The Verve Pipe Lounge. You would think they’d crank up the air conditioning. That’s my only real complaint with this club. It’s almost impossible to find a place to cool off.” Lisa moved out of the way of a determined Lenny, now sporting a Reception Team shirt and busy carrying a couple’s luggage.
“This place is dead,” Bo said, the umbrella from his pina colada tickled his nose while taking a sip through the straw.
“Well, it’s been a long day. I guess everyone’s just tired. Look at the Goes sitting over there.” Nancy pointed toward two sectional couches piled with slothful male and female Goes from various teams. “Look at them, young, virile, I bet I could tell you each one of their personal stories just by reading their faces.”
“Fuck that. We’re on vacation. I don’t want to play stupid games. I know how to get this party started!” Truett made a beeline for a floor lamp, removed the taper drum style shade, and placed it on his head.
Lisa groaned.
“How do you have sex with that man?” Nancy asked.
“I use the most readily available aphrodisiac. Champagne.” Lisa turned to the nearest bartender. “Jedi, I would like two glasses of champagne please.”
The ebony god gave her a wide smile that showed his perfect teeth. He lifted two full flutes of the sparkly goodness from behind the bar and set them before her as if anticipating her request.
“Ooh, thank you,” Lisa said, wondering if perhaps the force was with him.
Truett sauntered over to the couches and addressed the Goes. “All aboard!” Then, he pulled an imaginary lever. “Woo woo. Barrrr Riiiide! Get on board this train. Ah-chug-chug-chug-chug-chug . . .”
Eve leaped from the couch with glee. She was the first to place her hands on Truett’s hips. He mechanically stepped forward and moved his elbows back and forth emulating the side rods of a steam locomotive. Louden, Meaks, Joshy, Francois, Ashley, Mari-Annie, and Lenny quickly followed suit. Lenny had changed into Water Sports team attire.
“AMF’s for my friends here!” Truett declared, reaching the bar.
A hail of cheers rose from the Goes as the bartenders snapped to. Jedi lifted two of the icy drinks from behind the bar and handed them to Eve. She carefully poured one into a thirty-ounce squirt bottle.
Each member of the crew had a delicious and potent concoction of vodka, rum, gin, tequila, blue curacao, and a splash of Sprite.
Truett lifted his glass. “Cheers to my friends. And why is this drink called AMF?” he lifted his hand up to his ear.
“Adios Mother Fucker!” The crew roared in unison before tilting the glasses back.
Lauren entered through the side door without anyone other than Eve noticing. The once bronze glow of her tanned face had turned ghastly white. Deep black pits circled around her eyes. Blood seeped from various cuts and scrapes from the fall as well as the bite from Jean-Luc. It made a bloody mess on her shirt and shorts.
“Hey, Lauren. I see you’re in make-up for the zombie show. I know this will be the first time for you to dance since your dental work, so I’ve got some liquid courage for you.” Eve shoved the straw in Lauren’s mouth just as she was about to give her a hungry hug. Eve squeezed the bottle until the sides almost touched.
“Look at you, you must be thirsty. You haven’t even cried uncle yet.” Air filled the bottle, Eve squeezed the remaining contents down Lauren’s mouth unit it was empty.
Lauren stepped back. She spread her arms from her side and tilted her head toward the ceiling. She opened her mouth. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She tried to walk. The impulses that animated her legs fired in reverse order. As she intended to move a foot right, it went left, and made her perform a wicked dance in her attempt to maintain balance.
“Oh, I get it, practicing your dance routine. I bet you’re nervous. Jedi, another drink for my friend here!” Eve said.
A fat middle age man with layer of aloe vera gel plastered on his red, balding head approached the bar and pointed toward Lauren. “I’ll have what that young lady over there is drinking.”
*
“Here’s an extra copy of your key, Mr. Adams. Don’t worry about the other one. I’m sure someone will find and return it,” Eric in Reception, said.
“Thanks, Eric. Anything you can do about the air conditioning in the dining room? It’s hard to find a cool spot outside of my room. Heck, it’s even hot inside this lobby,” Adams said.
“Sorry, Mr. Adams. The AC works hard twenty-four/seven. It’s hard to cool down the moist tropical air. Have you made it to one of our nightly shows in the theater?”
“No.”
“We have one every night. My favorite is ‘Cabaret.’ I have a starring role. You should check it out. The cool breeze from the Caribbean Sea blows across the theater and keeps it comfortable. Tonight’s show is about zombies—” Eric stopped as the outside doors opened with a thump. Five skin divers stumbled in. “Oh, look. Some of the zombie dancers are here. I don’t know why they’re wearing wet suits. Must be a change in wardrobe.”
Stephanie, the other Receptionist, called from behind the counter. “Jean-Luc! What are you doing in here? You’re getting the floors all wet and disgusting!”
Jean-Luc stopped and pulled his lips back, unnaturally exposing teeth.
“That’s not funny, guys. You need to get down to the theater. The show starts soon. Take it out of here. Go on. Shoo,” Eric said.
The other four walking dead broke away from behind the leader and headed straight for Adams and Eric.
A vicious snarl from Jean-Luc froze Stephanie in place. Her mind whirled in disbelief. Lifting the false counter, Jean-Luc was on her before she could escape and pinned her against the wall.
Eric shrieked as Adams fell to an onslaught of ravenous zombies. Each marked his territory and divided him into four sections. Rod and Emile started from the top and ripped away tender cheek and neck. The other two satisfied their cravings starting at the thighs and gouged out hunks of meat with each mouthful.
Adams’s yells turned to gurgles while he choked on his own blood. The zombies ate him alive. The pain was beyond anything he could have ever imagined. Nerves searing from sharp teeth enflamed his whole body until shock rocked him restlessly to eternal sleep.
Eric pounding on the back of Jean-Luc’s head with a complementary guest umbrella did nothing to slow the ravenous zombie. A pool of blood grew on the floor and dripped down from Stephanie’s beautiful golden hair.
Being no more than a gnat, Jean-Luc never noticed Eric as he disappeared from his side. His undead brethren pulled him away and continued the feast.
Jean-Luc laid Stephanie on the floor and began eating her entrails. Her large intestine tore at his second bite, bursting the depleted remains of diner three days before. Corn stuck between his teeth from Mexican night. As Jean-Luc worked his way up, remnants of fish, rice, and beans squirted out filling his mouth from Bahamian night. The small intestine secreted the goodness of Italian. That led to the final prize of escargot and fine cheeses from French night in her stomach, the meal she had eaten just two hours before.
Ironically, the song ‘Your Body is a Wonderland’ played joyfully across the lobby speakers.
* * *
“Where should we sit?” Lisa said, looking over the available seats in the theater.
“Let’s sit somewhere close to the end. If the show’s really bad, we can make a quick exit,” Truett said, waiting for his Irish coffee to cool enough to sip.
“Rod loves these shows. This is not our first trip to Club Caribe, you know. The Goes train really hard for this. They’re not paid anything extra either. It’s their gift to us. Rod told me to save him a
seat. The dive trip should be back by now,” Nancy said, sipping on a melted pina colada.
“Natalie and I are going over to the food table in the back and talk to Ralphie. I’ve seen these shows before and . . . let’s just say they’re not for everyone,” Bo said, making a quick exit. He pulled Natalie by the hand not wanting to hear any whining from the others.
White cloth draped over a rectangular table presented an array of handcrafted flowers made from fruits and vegetables, surrounding samplings of ripe cheeses, crackers, and dips. Ralphie wore a grin from behind the table, always ready to aid and assists in his guests’ dining pleasure. He was a large block of pure muscle, his face sharp as chiseled granite, his eyes cold as blue steel.
“Hey, Ralphie. You’ve out done yourself again,” Bo said, as he delighted in the presentation of food.
Natalie snatched up a creation of triple cream brie dotted in caviar and radish dust, and bit into it. “Mmm, Mmm. This is better than sex.”
“As always, ma’am. My reward is your pleasure,” Ralphie said, taking a slight bow.
“This is delicious food, and it’s art too. I’m amazed at the variety of dishes you offer at each meal. How do you manage to outdo yourself each time?” Bo asked, before he crunched down on a cracker dipped in a pâté of sea urchin and squirrel brains marinated in watermelon vodka.
“Years of training.”
“Where’d you get your training?” Bo asked, chasing his first bite down with another.
“U.S. Army, Rangers. Gulf War I, Gulf War II, deployed in Afghanistan for the last eight years before making Club Caribe my home. I thought it was time to explore the creative side of my personality.”
“Wow. I never would have figured that. Excellent choice, my friend. You have found your true calling in life.” The lights dimmed over the theater. Bo turned toward the stage, and then turned back to Ralphie. “Oh, and thank you for your service.”
“The honor and privilege was all mine,” he said, and bowed. A large movie screen to the right of the stage came to life with scenes of zombies rising from the beach waters. They attacked the busy Goes and startled guests relaxing in the sun. The next scene had the dining room flooded with the undead. The cooks busily preparing food became the newest entrée of the day. The last scene ended in the lobby. The attack of the undead continued, until the last of the living turned, and the mob of zombies walked menacingly toward the camera and toward the viewers.
A Fistful of Zombies: 12 Zombie Tales Page 7