The Zombie Wilson Diaries Part 2

There seemed to be more water today. I should really follow the stream and find out where it leads. Maybe I am on the back end of some tropical getaway, lost and starving while some rich a.s.sholes are just living it up on the other side of the island. Maybe they have mai-tais, grilled steaks, French fries! Oh my G.o.d, I need some real food. On my way back, I looked all around for something to use as a rope. There were no vines hanging from the trees, just a bunch of huge leaves. I tore some down and tested how flexible they were. Wound one up and pulled on it. Then I took down another one and wound them together.

Never took basket weaving, never was a Boy Scout, and I never joined the Navy, although I learned how to crochet as a kid. That lonely summer when Grandmother taught me. You don't let your grandmother down, Diary, you just don't.

I collected a pile of leaves and carried them back. Found a pretty red flower growing in the shade of a palm tree and added it to my pile. If nothing else, I should be able to decorate my living s.p.a.ce.

I got back and found she had crawled into my little sleeping area and made a mess of it. That would take a while to fix. Okay, enough of this. I sat on the other side of the barricade that wasn't really much of a fence. I worked the branches back and forth to keep the fence in place, but if she ever goes at it with any force, she will break through it in a few minutes. I'm glad she isn't that motivated.

I plopped down on the other side of the fence, and she started crawling toward me again. It's like she doesn't get how her arms can help her move; she just slithers like a big gray snake. I had plenty of time before she got near me. Her good eye is so dry ... Wish she would blink it from time to time.

I should bring some water back for her so I can wet it. If I can cover her mouth, she might be more cooperative. At least she won't be able to bite me.

I worked on my rope for a few hours and ate the fruit I left out to dry last night. A few small bugs on one meant some extra protein, even though I wanted to puke every time I chewed. I made a game out of how fast I could eat them. I grabbed a bunch of those little hopping sand fleas and shoved them into my mouth just as fast as I could. I found that if I got them in the back of my throat fast enough, I could just swallow and pretend they were raisins.

When I finished the rope, I found it was pretty strong. I yanked on the thing and then stood up and put my foot on one end against the ground and pulled. Looked like it would hold up nicely, at least until it dried out and fell apart.

I dropped onto her back and tried to ignore the smell. Jesus! I hadn't needed my shirt thanks to the heat, so I tore off the bottom. It took a few tries to get the cloth around her neck and into her mouth without getting bitten.

Gagged, she was, for now, somewhat harmless. I lifted her to her feet and watched her try to keep her balance. She snarled and snapped at me over the cloth. I looped the rope around her throat and set off with her close behind, only she didn't take well to her leash and fell flat on her face when I pulled too hard.

Oops.

I had to wrestle her stinky a.s.s back on her feet again and decided to tie the rope around her waist instead.

With the first tug, she nearly fell again. Then I got an idea.

I let the slack out and moved to the end of the slack. She raised her arms toward me and moaned under her m.u.f.fled gag, then stumbled after me. Can't believe I have to play follow the leader.

I lead her to the stream, to the end away from where I like to bathe and gather water. Then came the delicate art of removing her clothes while she batted and snarled at me. She was wearing a really frilly white bra that spilled out a large pair of b.r.e.a.s.t.s when I tugged it down. Well good for her!

Too bad they are as cold as ice and mottled gray.

The rest of her clothes came off. I tossed her panties, because they were just nasty. I don't even want to think about what they looked like, let alone write about it. Oh G.o.d. Cleaning down there should have been fun, but I just wanted to throw up.

She kept turning as I bathed her, doing the bob-and-snap dance. I washed her down with her silky shirt before putting it back on her. It's see-through and helps offset the color of her skin. Her skirt went back on and hung limply around her waist, making a wet slapping noise as I led her back to camp.

I think I am getting used to being hungry, the constant gnawing ache. Sometimes my skin feels cold and clammy, even though the weather is hot and muggy. I saw a bird rifling through my stuff when I got back, but I was too slow to get him. I picked up a rock and threw it like I was aiming for home plate. It flew under him as he soared into the sky with a squawk.

I bet he would have tasted like chicken.

Tomorrow, I will try to build a snare. Maybe I can have a little KFC. I wonder how I will build a snare. Jesus. I don't even know what a snare looks like.

I tied her to a tree and went oyster diving again. Found one of those long things that looks like a p.e.n.i.s hanging out of a sh.e.l.l. It smelled terrible. but I'm gonna cook it in some coconut milk in the sh.e.l.l. Maybe I can choke it down.

When I got out of the water, I saw that she had managed to wrap herself around the tree so she was facing it, rope tight around her body. It took a while to get her untied. One of the starfish I pulled out tried to get away while I worked at her rope. But it only got about three inches. I tossed it on the fire with a grin.

It's late, and I can barely keep my eyes open. The fire is stoked up nice and high. She doesn't sleep, but I thought it would be nice to give her a little freedom, so I left the knot on the tree loose. Now she is walking in circles. Her clothes look clean, and her hair is actually nice tonight, not too badly matted. Put the red flower behind her ear, but now it is just hanging there, limp and dead.

She is like a little zombie carousel. Just watching her makes me sleepy. Round and round she goes; if she manages to get loose, away I'll go.

Day 7.

My Girlfriend Likes To Get Wet.

Today it rained.

All. G.o.dd.a.m.n. Day.

She stared up at the sky for hours as water washed over her body. It turned that shirt transparent again, leaving her b.r.e.a.s.t.s looking pretty much like a normal chick's. I just pretended like she was alive. It was nice to get some relief, so to speak.

Huddled under the lean-to for hours and hours. I talked to her, which is just like talking to myself, since it is one sided. I don't think about it like that. She is human, or was, so I can justify it in my mind.

So bored. I always had stuff to do at home when Ally was around. She worked odd hours, so sometimes I would be alone for a weekend. But I had video games and TV. I could catch up on all the shows like CSI and NCIS-which I'm pretty sure is just CSI spelled a different way.

How would those guys look at my new girlfriend? They would have to take blood samples, I'm sure-check her for trauma. Check me for drama as I squealed about what great care I was taking with her. They would make sure she wasn't raped, which isn't even a remote possibility. I may be alone and young and h.o.r.n.y, but I am not into f.u.c.king dead chicks. Gross. That can't feel good anyway; I mean, it would be all dry and stiff. Just thinking about is almost enough to put me off s.e.x forever.

She managed to turn on her side, and after a few minutes of the rain pelting her, she drew her legs up so that her skirt rode up pretty high. G.o.d, why is she dead? She has such nice legs-as long as I ignore the gray. I managed to get some more relief while I watched her roll over a couple of times. Does that make me a sicko? I might have to strike this part from the diary once I am rescued.

Rain and more rain. Hovering in a corner right now while it pours down. Found a dry spot, and that is how I am writing to you, dear Diary. I wish night would get here so I can sleep. But this day may just go on forever.

Dragged the remains of the fire under the cover and then added a little more wood. Added some leaves to the shelter so that water stopped hitting me. Phew. As long as she doesn't see the fire, I won't have to put up with her screaming.

I should just put her out of her misery tomorrow morning. If I can work up the nerve.

Day 8.

My Girlfriend's Husband Smells.

This morning, I woke huddled in my little sleeping area, shivering from the water that doused me overnight. The leaves I had added didn't last long, and most of them lay soaked with rain on the other side of the lean-to. I really need to build up the shelter so I can stay dry. I have had a little luck weaving the big bladed ones together, so I think I'll try to make a roof of some sort. Was thinking that if I created a triangular shape, it would let the water run off.

I stood and stretched. I was going to say good morning to her, but she wasn't in her spot.

What the h.e.l.l?

Her rope was broken in the middle. I looked around quickly, expecting her to jump out at me at any second, but she was nowhere to be seen. Her gag was on the ground; it looked like she had chewed through it. Not good. I might have to make a new one out of her skirt. The material looks stronger than the thin t-shirt I was wearing.

I walked to the beach and looked in the water, hoping she hadn't wandered into it. I wonder how long she would be able to survive in the ocean. Probably until a shark got her. This presents an interesting question. If she bites an animal, will it turn into a zombie? Zombie sharks or zombie dolphins. Man, that is a freaky thought.

The water was crystal clear. The sand warm. It flowed around my toes as I wandered. If I had some beer, food, and a live girl, this would be paradise. I don't know how big the island is yet. If she hadn't turned up, I might have found out today.

I scanned the beach and thought I saw movement in the distance. Might have been a mirage. The water splashes up sometimes, and I think I am seeing things that aren't there.

I walked along the waterline for a few minutes, and sure enough, it was her. She was on all fours. That was a new development. I wondered when she'd developed better motor skills.

She was on top of something. I couldn't make it out, but it looked like a person. I started running, thoughts of another survivor leaping to mind. What if someone else made it and she was trying to eat them? Oh my G.o.d!

"Hey, HEY!" I yelled.

She turned her head, and her good eye locked on mine. She snarled around something in her mouth and then turned back to the thing on the ground. I came up alongside her and, to my horror, saw it was a body. It was a large person dressed in a flower-print shirt that looked awfully familiar.

The stench reached me, and I turned away to retch. I couldn't afford to lose anything that was in my stomach, so I bit down on my gag reflex. I looked again, this time steeling my mind for the worst and realized who it was.

It was her husband. And she was eating him.

She had his shirt pulled up on one side, and a large chunk of his gut was missing. She ignored me as I walked around, both hands clenched over my mouth as I looked at the body. The last time I had seen him, he was laughing while feeling up his hot young wife. She had been vibrant, alive, flushed with champagne. Now they were both dead, although he was sure deader than her.

Oh c.r.a.p! What if he came back to life like her? I couldn't have two zombies wandering around my island. I would have to bash in his head. And her head, while I was at it. Should have done that on the first day, but ... who would I talk to then?

Some choice, eh? Keep the one with b.o.o.bs or take a chance on a big fat guy who was missing most of his stomach.

His head and one arm were in the water; the rest of his body was in the fetal position. I splashed into the surf and grabbed his arm, intent on dragging him out to sea. I thought I could weigh his body down with rocks. She hissed at me when I tugged on him, but she kept eating.

He must have weighed two-eighty in life. Now he was bloated and waterlogged. His head lolled out of the water, and I saw that his eyeb.a.l.l.s were missing, eaten away by some sea creature, no doubt. His skin was pasty and puffy. There was no way that guy was coming back to life, I told myself over and over. He was too decayed, too full of water and c.r.a.p. No way, man, no f.u.c.king way.

His fat a.s.s was hard to move, so I yanked harder. There was a tear and a sucking noise, and suddenly I was falling into the water, holding his arm. I splashed and came up sputtering as seawater rushed into my nose and mouth. I stood up fast, wiping it off my face, and tossed the arm onto the beach with a squeal of horror. The fleshy part was facing me, and all the stringy gooey stuff that used to connect him to his shoulder was hanging there like a weird bowl of pasta. I was amazed that there was no blood. He probably bled out in the water. But how come he didn't attract a shark or something?

She ignored me and kept chewing.

I stomped through the water and grabbed the end of the rope that trailed behind her. I gave it a hard tug, pulling her off his corpse. She stumbled to her feet. I gave another yank. She fell on her back and stared up at the sky as if in shock. But she kept chewing her mouthful of husband.

I used the rope to pull her farther away. She struggled but couldn't figure out how to roll over. She must have crawled to the beach while I was asleep. I'm glad she didn't try to come after me in the night. Last thing I need is for her to take a bite of my arm. Might wake up dead. I mean undead.

I didn't want a repeat of the arm tearing off, so I grabbed his legs and pulled. He was so heavy! Maybe I should have torn him into pieces after all. It would've been a h.e.l.l of a lot easier if I had an ax; then I could have hacked him apart.

I pulled and pulled. Worked the body inch by inch until it was in the water. Then he was easier to move. He wasn't really buoyant anymore, probably due to his waterlogged clothes and skin. I wondered if it were possible for a body to stay in the water so long that all of the blood was replaced with seawater.

I was dragging him out to sea by his legs when his head surfaced. That eyeless socket regarded me with something like scorn. Could just be my imagination. I have been alone for close to a week now. Maybe it was starting to get to me-the insanity of being stuck on a deserted island with a d.a.m.n zombie.

Alone.

Yeah, I know she is there, but she is this mindless shambling thing that wants to eat me. Does that sound like a good companion? At least Tom Hanks's volleyball didn't snarl and snap all the time.

I was in the water up to my neck when I figured it was far enough. I pushed him and hoped the current would take him out to sea.

It didn't.

He sank so that only one leg stuck out of the water, then he started drifting back to sh.o.r.e. I could see the current pulling him. He rolled over, and his face was dragged along the sharp reef. That wouldn't do much for his looks. I tugged him back out and then went underwater-pulling one leg with me. I found a large rock and wedged his foot under it. Took a few tries to lock him in place, but when I was done, only his neck and head were showing.

I realized I should take his clothes while I was at it. Might need those later.

It wasn't hard to tug the shirt off his one-armed torso. I threw it to sh.o.r.e and went back for the pants, but there was no way I could tear them off unless I let him loose again.

She was freaking out by now, rolling over and over, trying to get to her side. In a furious push that looked like an old lady trying to get up (Help, help, I've fallen and I can't get up!), she made one last attempt and actually rolled over onto her stomach and started crawling toward the arm. That gave me an idea of how to get her back to camp and keep her busy for the rest of the day.

I waded to sh.o.r.e, waterlogged like her ex, and grabbed the arm. It probably looked like I was shaking hands. She kept her eye on the meat the whole time. I shook it in front of her face. "You want some food, baby? Follow me. I got a one-course meal with your name on it."

I walked away with his arm dragging in the sand. She followed close, her eye never leaving the pale ragged flesh.

I dropped the arm when we arrived back at camp. She leaned over and started nuzzling the flesh like a lover. I know, the irony, right? I tied the rope back together while she ignored me. I returned the courtesy by ignoring her chewing.

After that, I had pretty good luck with the surf and turf-although it was mostly surf. The turf came when I cooked a starfish in a weird papaya-looking fruit sh.e.l.l and ended up chowing down on one of the palm leaves I used to cover it up. Tasted gross, but it was one of the most filling meals I have had yet.

Meanwhile, she worked away on her own dinner and didn't once snarl or snap at me, not even a single dirty look. She was as content as I have seen her on the island. I think that's saying a lot, considering she is f.u.c.king dead.

Day 9.

My Girlfriend Likes to Play with Herself.

She didn't give up on the arm. She kept gnawing away like it was a hunk of prime rib. Saliva squirted into my mouth when I thought of the last time I had eaten a good steak. I tried to think of the starfish and oysters as if they were a decent meal, but after a week on this cursed island, it's all I can do to choke them down no matter how hungry I get.

I tied her up again, but she ignored me and went back to gnawing. She was no longer tearing out big chunks. She was just nuzzling the bones and meat like a ... well, like a dog.

I spent the day working on my hut-to-be. I laid a foundation of palm leaves and branches, built them up so they were a few inches off the sand. I have been a.s.saulted nightly by all kinds of bugs and things that bite. With any luck, the little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds won't be able to get me when I'm off the ground.

My idea of building a house like a tri-fold enclosure was paying off. I wove leaves all day to create the walls and ceiling. When I was done, I had something I could lie under. I stretched out and watched her stare at her prize. She didn't move for a long time, and I wondered if she was thinking about anything in particular.

Zombies don't think, they don't feel, and they don't talk. I know the stories and movies, but seeing one this close is something different all together. First of all, she is cold to the touch, and if you think I am enjoying her running around in what is left of her clothes, you are wrong. Her skin is gray and mottled. It looks like some really bad s.p.a.ckle on the side of a house. She only has one good eye; the other is dead and looks like a white almond.

The worst part is that she had been chewing on dead meat all night and day. I don't even want to think about where it goes or how it gets back out. It's not like she can take a c.r.a.p. For all I know, the stuff she has been chowing down on is just sitting in her stomach and rotting. That's probably what makes her breath so foul that I have to sit upwind.

And now she has a strip of skin stuck in her teeth and no idea how to get it out. She has been trying all morning. It just bounces off her chin as she snaps at it over and over again. It reminds me of the paddleball game where you bounce a ball off a small paddle that is attached via a rubber band. I bet she has tried to get that thing a hundred times already. Her one good eye stares down at it, but she can't seem to get her hands to do anything like pull the skin off her broken teeth.

Boing. Snap. Boing. Snap. Boing. Snap. Skin, five hundred and forty. Zombie chick, zero.

I was busy making the hut when she fell on her face. She had reared back slowly and then let her mouth snap shut against air. She moved quicker than I have seen her move before, and it landed her on the ground.

I took the opportunity to stop working on the hut and find some smaller leaves. I got on her back again and tried to ignore the smell, the cold skin, and the clothes that were covered in dried blood. I tilted her head to the side as she snarled at me and used the leaves to pull the skin out from between her teeth. It was a long piece that was white and putrid. Spoiled and nasty.

I know when the rescue boat arrives and they read my diary, they will have trouble coming to grips with some of the things I had to do to the girl, but I promise I did everything as humanely as possible.

I tore part of her skirt off and wrapped it around her mouth. I'm still afraid of her bite.

I left her on the ground and went back to work on the hut. She rolled around and managed to get her hands trapped under her body and then bounced up and down like she was humping them.

It looked like she was playing with herself. The snarls and grunts didn't help.

It rained later, so I took off my clothes and rubbed down with some sand. She looked at me blankly and continued thrusting her body up and down. So I decided to treat it like a vote of approval and did a little dance for her.