Year of the Zombie [Anthology]

by David Moody

  Her throat still throbbed where his thumbs had dug in.

  The man she’d married had always been forceful – able to intimidate others with the mere strength of his confidence. Whenever they dined out (always at the finest restaurants), the waiters would hurry around anxiously despite Ross never being anything other than polite. People instinctively feared upsetting her husband.

  Emily had feared it too.

  She had never antagonised him during their first year of marriage, and very rarely in the second, but during this last year she’d finally begun to dig her heels in regarding certain things. Working hours – for one. Ross would often leave as early as 6AM and not return until midnight, with barely a text message in between. An affair was possible – it always was with men – but even if it was just honest hard work, Emily had no intention of being wed to a ghost. She needed to see her husband. And she bloody well told him so. The argument last month ended with her threatening divorce and vowing to take half his money. If she saw nothing of him anyway, what would be the difference? She had access to his money already, so just hand it over and part ways. It had been a bluff, of course, and not something she was proud of – but it had worked.

  Yet Ross had seemed resentful during their voyage to Portugal’s Silver Coast. He’d explained it away as a headache at first, but that had not kept him off his phone, trying to conduct business back home. When he’d lost signal sixty-miles off France’s West Coast, he’d become downright sulky. Didn’t he enjoy spending time with her? What was the point of having so much money if you couldn’t drag yourself away long enough to enjoy it?

  She’d spent most of last night alone and in tears – then she had passed out. The shock of what had happened, mixed with too much booze, had left her comatose for several hours. If only she had dealt with the situation sooner.

  It had all happened because she’d taken a stupid look at his phone.

  God, she’d been angry.

  So angry that, yesterday afternoon, she’d confronted him. ‘What did I say I would do if I ever caught you cheating on me?’ she demanded. ‘I said I’d cut your goddamn balls off!’

  He didn’t bother trying to deny it. Instead, he shocked her by flying off the handle and attempting to strangle her right there on the sun deck. No words, no emotion, just rage. Like she was the one who had done something wrong! How dare she check his phone! How dare she be upset by his cheating! Arsehole.

  If she hadn’t snooped, maybe he wouldn’t have snapped like a lunatic, but what else had she been supposed to do? Surviving her husband’s savage attack had been a mere stroke of luck. If things had gone even slightly differently…

  Ross still crouched on the rear deck. Emily didn’t know what to do. How could she remedy the situation? How did you go about talking to your husband about the fact he attacked you? Or that you passed out and left him for dead?

  With a sigh, Emily pulled her feet off the sun lounger, leant over the railing, and took a long look at the man she’d married. Ross’s sleek torso glistened with salt water. From her vantage point, he looked every part the millionaire dreamboat on the cover of a romance novel, just not quite as healthy as normal. His skin seemed just a little less sun kissed and a little more sallow. She should never have left him on the rear deck all night. He would never forgive her.

  Their marriage was over.

  He glared up at her with hungry eyes. Snarled.

  Fuck him! Least he’s not dead. I would be if I hadn’t fought back. I don’t owe him anything.

  Emily got up, taking the bottle of half-finished Prosecco with her. She took the ladder down to the rear deck and approached her husband cautiously.

  The moment she was near, he hissed at her like an animal.

  ‘Oh, calm down, you arsehole,’ Emily told him ‘It’s me who should be pissed off. I’ve come to see if you’re okay. I didn’t mean to leave you all night. I… I drank a bit too much too quickly, but can you blame me? My nerves were shot.’

  Ross was silent, but kept his eyes on her like a cat watching a mouse. His sclera had reddened, the spongy white flesh now criss-crossed with burst blood vessels, and his nose still dripped blood from where she’d struck him in the face with the granite lamp.

  After having somehow slipped free of his attempt to strangle her last night, Emily grabbed the closest thing to hand, which had been the heavy lamp. The blow was hard enough to hear Ross’s face crack, and it had sent him staggering backwards out of the lounge cabin and right over the safety rail. He hit the boards of the rear deck below with a sickening clunk!

  Foolishly, she had run down to help him.

  Despite everything, Emily still loved Ross – would have likely married him with or without money. She liked the way he held her in his powerful arms at night, or could educate her on any given subject if she asked a question. He was a man of knowledge and action, and she felt safe and confident by his side. The selfish side of him had not been apparent at first, but it had never been enough to stop her loving him.

  Now things were a mess.

  Waking up this morning, with a skull-thudding hangover and a feeling of doom in her guts, she’d expected to find Ross dead. He’d been badly hurt by what had happened shortly after being hit with the lamp, and she should have helped him right away, but she had been so mad… and so drunk. So when she had peeked out of the lounge window down at the rear deck, she was relieved to see Ross alive – and still visibly pissed off. He had immediately reached out an arm to her and growled. His injuries weren’t all that bad if he could still think about hurting her. Bastard.

  So she had left the son-of-a-bitch to suffer a little more.

  As she looked at him now though, she regretted the decision.

  Up close, she noticed blood crusting his groin, and other foul substances leaking down the inside of his thighs. He looked like a monster, and the hatred in his eyes made it clear he would act like one if released.

  Why did he still want to hurt her?

  I really shouldn’t have left him overnight, she thought to herself.

  TWO

  Midday was too hot to stay up on the sun deck, so Emily moved into the lounge while she tried to keep from panicking. There she continued to drink Prosecco and ruminate. It was crazy that she hadn’t already got Ross help, first passing out drunk after burying her head in the sand, then leaving him to fester even longer out of malice.

  She had to make a plan.

  Lifting her bum from the sofa, Emily again peeked down at the rear deck. Ross glared right back at her.

  Oh god, this is such a mess.

  The Prosecco bottle on the table was empty, but she didn’t want any more alcohol. She’d begun to feel sick, and the room was spinning. If she had any chance of figuring things out, she needed to clean up and face things rationally. Problem was, the thought of facing things sober was frightening. Her husband was possibly dying, and she was drifting somewhere off the Spanish Coast without a clue what to do. Alone and far from home.

  Ross hunched over the spot where their fight had ended yesterday afternoon.

  When she had hurried down the ladder to help Ross after his fall from the upper deck, he’d leapt straight back up and resumed trying to throttle her. In their struggle, they tumbled backwards and collided with the anchor return port. The back of Ross’s head thumped against the steel lever hard enough to knock most men out, but he didn’t so much as flinch.

  The steel chain started ravelling, leaping up out of the water.

  Ross grabbed Emily’s head with both hands. He was strong – much stronger than her – and she was completely powerless as his grinding teeth inched closer and closer to her cheek. He was trying to bite her. Blood spilled from his nose and splashed into his own mouth like a cave at the bottom of a waterfall. He was going to bite her nose right off her face – revenge for breaking his with the lamp.

  He was insane.

  Emily had closed her eyes and screamed, seeing stars as her husband’s thumbs pressed into her t
emples like tightening screws.

  She begged.

  The anchor’s chain continued leaping up out of the water. The noise the rotor made was loud enough to drown out her screams. Ross’s skull still pressed down on the lever.

  Clunk clunk clunk, it had gone. Clunk clunk clunk.

  Emily could still hear the sound now, as she headed out of the lounge, deciding that she would sober up quicker in the fresh air. Now, past six o’clock, the sun was gentler and easier to bear. Her sunburned neck and shoulders still stung as the salty spray settled on them, but the pain faded. She went to the railing and leant over. At first her eyes saw fields of blue all around, holding the ship in place, but then she spotted her husband.

  ‘Ross, honey, can you speak?’

  He grunted.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe this has happened. I didn’t realise you were so badly hurt.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. She could barely look at the bloody, shit-stained mess that was now her husband. ‘Will you please just try to say something to me?’

  He grunted again.

  Wiping tears from her face, Emily climbed down to the rear deck and stood in front of Ross. He swiped out at her angrily, only narrowly missing her face. The stench from his fingertips wafted up her nose and turned her stomach.

  Furious, she took a step back and pointed a finger. ‘You caused this, Ross. You cheated on me, and then tried to hurt me when I found out about it. I don’t understand why you’re acting this way. I haven’t done anything wrong. All I wanted was to spend some time with you. I love you, goddamnit.’

  Ross tilted his head, ground his teeth. A bloody slit ran through his lower lip and his chin was caked with gore. He must be in agony.

  What the hell was Emily doing? He needed her. Yes, he had cheated – a lot by the look of his text messaging history – but he didn’t deserve this. He must be in so much pain, probably delirious. He was only swiping out at her because he didn’t know what was happening. All he knew was pain. His guts hung out and now he was covered in his own shit, yet he was still trying to pull himself free and stand up. Maybe there was still time to help him. If only she had called the moment it had happened, or at least first thing in the morning when she awoke from her coma.

  If only they hadn’t fought. If only things had gone differently.

  When the anchor had leapt free of the water… Ross’s entire body had lurched sideways… His hands had let go of her head, and suddenly she was free.

  Panting and wheezing, Emily had staggered backwards, crashing into the side rail and bruising her hip. She put out an arm, ready to fend off another attack, but Ross didn’t come after her this time. He twisted side-to-side, tugging on something like a dog with a bone.

  Blood soaked his swim shorts.

  The anchor had impaled Ross through the hip, tethering him in place against the recall machine A couple of inches to the left and it would have missed him completely but, as it had happened, it pierced through a sizeable chunk of flesh and hooked him like a fish. Emily went to help him, but he reached for her throat again. Even in shock, Ross still wanted her dead.

  So she had left the fucker to suffer.

  Well, that wasn’t strictly true. First, she had vomited over the side rail (blood always made her gag), then she had gone into the lounge cabin and swigged from a bottle of Remy Martin Ross kept in the sideboard. She had cried for a while, letting her emotions flow out of her, then the alcohol fuzzed her mind sufficiently that time passed by without her realizing it. She remembered trying to go back out and see her husband one last time, and he once again reached out to attack her, even as the anchor yanked his flesh and tore his wound wider.

  What would Ross do if he managed to get free? He was acting possessed – an enraged monster from her nightmares. She rushed into the pilothouse to call for help, but didn’t know what she was doing with the radio. She twiddled knobs and pressed buttons, but all she got was jumbled voices. Was there an emergency number she was supposed to tune to – a Coast Guard channel or the Navy? Then her mind turned to how suspicious things would look. Would the authorities believe her story? If Ross were still angry, would he say she was the cause of his injuries? Would he use all of his money and clout to bury her? He already knew his cheating was exposed. Maybe he would cut his losses and use the situation to skip the costly divorce by sending her to prison.

  He could tell them she had lost control again. Like before.

  Anxious and unsure of what to do, Emily had hit the bottle again, this time a little too hard. She didn’t even remember falling asleep.

  Morning came, but she still didn’t know what to do. For the first few minutes it had all seemed like a dream. But it wasn’t.

  Twelve hours later, the dream had become a nightmare.

  ‘Hold on, honey,’ Emily said now as she peered at the sickening wound slashing her husband’s middle. ‘I’m going to call help. I’m so sorry, Ross.’

  Full of guilt at having delayed, Emily hurried up the ladder and went around the edge of the cabin to the pilothouse. The sleek black dashboard was dotted with soft blue lights. She sat down directly in front of the radio to the left of the steering column and thumbed buttons and twiddled the dials. This time she almost immediately found a voice. The disenchanted mumble sounded like a ghost coming out of the yacht’s innards, yet she yelled back at it urgently. When nothing happened, she realized she had forgotten to grab the extendable microphone. She pulled it to her mouth and shouted again. ‘Help me, help me. Mayday. SOS. Help!’

  The other voice stopped mumbling and quieted for a moment. Then it spoke back in a confused tone. Emily knew the voice was talking to her, but she also realized, with dismay, that the speaker was Spanish.

  ‘I don’t speak Spanish. English! Please, I need someone who speaks English.’

  The voice mumbled again, making the radio unit vibrate with the bass of the deep voice – but it was useless. She couldn’t understand what he was saying, or if he could understand her. She stated her situation, hoping it would be recorded or in some way understood at the other end. Then she twiddled the dial to search for somebody else. Could there be anybody English she could find so close to Spain? Didn’t many Spaniards speak English as a second language? How far did the radio reach? Could she get a hold of Portsmouth or some boats in the Channel? She had to try.

  She kept shouting into the radio, hoping that somewhere in the static somebody would hear her. ‘My husband needs help. Please. Help. My husband needs medical attention.’

  ‘Hello?’

  Emily shot back in her seat, shocked by the voice even though she had been searching desperately for it. The word had been unmistakable. Hello.

  ‘Yes, hello,’ she shouted. ‘I need help. Can you help me?’

  ‘That depends,’ came the voice. ‘Where are you and what’s your situation?’

  ‘I-I have no idea where I am – somewhere off the north coast of Spain in a yacht. He’s been injured. My husband needs help. Can you help?’

  ‘All right,’ came the soothing voice. ‘Try to stay calm. What is your position?’

  ‘I already said I don’t know.’

  ‘You should have a GPS unit. Do you see one?’

  She looked around the cramped compartment. ‘You mean the little television screen? It has three circles on it and a little green boat in the middle.’

  ‘That’s the one, sweetheart. Now, at the top of the screen, are there any numbers? Those are your coordinates.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I see them!’ She read the numbers out eagerly.

  ‘Got it,’ came the man. ‘Bear with me, sweetheart.’

  There was a tense silence, and for a terrifying second, Emily thought he’d gone. But he hadn’t. ‘My name is Alex, and I’m only forty minutes away. I’ll call through to the Spanish Coast Guard in the meantime. What exactly has happened?’

  Emily shook her head. This was where it all began, the explanations and recounting of what had happened. She really
hoped Ross survived – of course she did, he was her husband – but mostly so that he could tell them she had not been responsible for what had happened.

  ‘My husband is dying,’ she said, deciding to go with the truth. ‘The anchor came up out of the water and impaled him. It’s bad.’

  ‘Bloody hell. I’ll be there as quick as I can, sweetheart. Just stay calm.’

  ‘That ship has sailed,’ she moaned, but her rescuer had already gone.

  THREE

  All Emily had to do was sit tight. Help was on the way, and Ross was still alive (she could hear him shuffling around on the rear deck). That was good. If he were still alive when help arrived, they would see she was trying to help him. Perhaps they could save him. Maybe his injuries weren’t as bad as they looked.

  She just hoped he told them the truth about what happened.

  Would Ross admit his wife had found out he was a cheat, and that he had attacked her when she’d confronted him? He was a respected man, and his reputation was important to him – maybe more important than she was. She had broken his nose in the struggle, yes, but would they think she had impaled him, too?

  This was stupid, she thought to herself. Ross was her husband. They loved each other. She never wanted to hurt him. Even if he was getting dirty text messages off a bunch of slags – but maybe that was all there was to it. Maybe it had never gone further than text.

  Yeah, right!

  She needed to be with him, so Emily went down to the rear deck and sat down along the edge. Ross reached out to her as soon as he saw her, grasping hungrily at the air. He looked just like a zombie, and the more she examined him, the more her ghoulish interpretation seemed correct. Beneath the caked, black blood, his face had gone an unhealthy grey. His teeth were splintered from grinding together so much, and his lower jaw hung limply. The coil of his intestine had slipped further out of his gut and was now hung like a glistening skipping rope. She had no medical experience, having only ever worked in an office before meeting Ross, but she had seen in the movies that stomach wounds took a long time to kill you – yet she had never got the impression that somebody could hang on this long with their insides on the outside.