The Zombie Wilson Diaries Part 5

I keep her safe by not letting her stay in the sea. Like a few weeks ago, when I just happened to see her in the water and pulled her out by her legs. Then getting all of that rotten meat out of her stomach, that one almost sent me over the edge.

I have done my best to keep her alive. I mean, alive-ish? Wait ... she is dead ... no, undead ... so that means I have done my best to keep her dead-alive. Now my head hurts. I hate logic.

She's a zombie, for Christ's sake. Everyone knows that when you see a zombie, you have free rein to kill it. But I don't give in to that urge. In fact, I've done everything I can to keep her from getting hurt. But still she had to kick and snarl and move around all night. It was exhausting. After an hour of that, I took her back to the tree and tied her to it.

The thunder and lightning came back and scared her again, so I had to drag her a.s.s back to the camp and hold her down. Finally, I took some clothes and wrapped her as tight as I could so she couldn't even roll over.

In the morning, the storm was gone. Boy, was I happy about that. I had about a gallon of water, which I drank and washed off in. She watched me take my clothes off and bathe. I couldn't help but waggle my junk at her. "Yeah, you can't have this, can you?"

She didn't answer.

Tired after all that up and down last night. Lucky for me, I don't exactly have a schedule to stick to and can nap whenever I want. If I can get over the heat, that is. I was thinking about lying in the pool of water with my head on the sandy sh.o.r.e like a pillow. That would be a lot more comfortable than the d.a.m.n humidity.

Later, I unwrapped her and took her for a walk. I have devised a way to tie her wrist so that I can pull her along. I don't mean to treat her like a dog, but she does need the exercise, and it's not like I put a leash around her neck or anything.

The sun was high, and I didn't have my ball cap handy. I think I dropped it somewhere while chasing her across the island. So I flipped the turtle sh.e.l.l and gave it a once-over. It was lighter than it looked. I had rubbed sand in it to break away the dried meat, then washed it again before laying it by the fire to dry. I put it on my head. She took one look at me and recoiled like I was a monster. I growled at her, standing up with my hands raised. She snarled back.

I'm sure we made a cute couple.

We strolled along the beach, and I took the opportunity to splash water at her as I walked. I had my pant legs pulled up to my knees and walked in the shallow water. She followed but grumbled the whole time. Well, she doesn't so much grumble as just make these odd noises. I think she is somehow getting air sucked into her stomach while she walks, and then it gets expelled. Which sounds like she is growling and burping at the same time. It may not be coming from her mouth, though, and I don't want to think about that. Sometimes it sounds like she is farting. Ewwwww to farting zombies.

I have been worried about her rotting, since she is undead and all, so I took the opportunity to take her coconut top and gra.s.s skirt off again today and inspect her. I ran my hands over her body and pushed and poked stuff to make sure nothing was going bad. I bet it sounds weird, but if she starts to rot, what am I going to do? I don't have any perfume I can splash on her. I don't want a rotting zombie chick around.

We had wandered a bit farther when I heard noises in the distance. I stopped, and she walked into me. She tried to get her hands around my neck. Her mouth hit my neck like a kiss, and it felt like she was nuzzling against me. I took her arm and held her back while I listened to what sounded like voices.

Oh my G.o.d! I wanted to run and yell for help at the top of my lungs. After two weeks on this heap, I was going to be rescued at last. But what to do about my girl? No one would understand, and they might try to hurt her. I didn't have a lot of rope with me; most of it was tied to the tree, so I would have to make do. I dragged her to a fallen branch and tied her wrist to it. The log it was attached to was huge. There was no way she could drag it with her.

I checked the binding again and decided it would have to do. I set off down the beach. The vegetation grew out almost to the water here, and I hadn't really explored much past it. The tide was out, which made it easier to get around.

I came upon a scene that almost brought me to my knees. I felt tears stain my cheeks as I choked back a sob.

Pulled up on the sand was a boat with a long outrider like you see the Hawaiians or Polynesians ride in. There were long poles on it that the men obviously used for rowing. I wanted to shout for joy, but there was no one at the boat. I stumbled toward it like I had just found a steakhouse.

Then I saw two men leaning over near the edge of the vegetation and studying one of the weird flowers that my girl ate the first day. The thing that killed her and made her into a zombie.

"Hey!" I yelled.

One was on his feet in a flash. He was shirtless but had on a pair of Bermudas with a bunch of flowers all over them. Had a big old necklace of teeth and one that was some sort of flowers like a lei. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a small spear that was at his side and stared at me like I was a ghost.

"Hey, help, I've been stuck here for two weeks! My plane crashed and I ..."

The other was on his feet, but he wasn't looking at me. Neither was the first one for that matter. They stared past me at something in the distance.

"Guys, you need to help me get off this island!" I walked toward them across the hot sand. I already had visions of being taken to their village, where I would be treated like a G.o.d, fed real food, and then returned to civilization like a conquering hero. I was sure to make the talk show circuits, be on the radio and have Hollywood knocking down my door. I might even have to come back here with an expedition and show them how I lived. People go crazy for that stuff, and I would give it to them.

They spoke to each other in low tones and started backing away toward the beach. I held out my hands. Why were they acting like that? Oh my G.o.d! I yanked the turtle sh.e.l.l off my head and threw it aside. I bet it scared them. Their eyes went wide, and they turned and ran for the boat.

"No! Wait!" I yelled.

A shape brushed into me, then shambled toward them. She had gotten loose from her binding and looked ready for dinner. One of them threw a spear in haste and ran to the boat. The slim piece of wood missed her by about a foot and sank into the sand. The other guy was already pulling the tiny boat into the sea. She still had the cover on her mouth. She wasn't any danger.

"She can't hurt you! Wait! Please come back!"

But they were already in their boat and rowing like the thing was on fire.

She stumbled to the water and just kept going. I had to go after her and grab her around the waist to haul her back to the sh.o.r.e. She struggled, trying to turn and bite me. I took her to the sh.o.r.e and deposited her on the sand in a heap.

I hope they come back.

They have to come back.

She stared at me silently and then came after me like I was one of them instead of the guy who has been taking care of her. She had her hands out and, with her slow shambling walk, was about as dangerous as a p.i.s.sed-off puppy. I walked away from her.

I pulled the spear out of the sand and walked back toward her with murder in my heart. I held the weapon low, but when I got closer, I moved it over my head as if I were going to throw it. If she keeps this up, I will never get off the island. She just scared off my first real rescue attempt. Dammit!

Life and death. Er, death and death. I could have just ended her then. I could have ended her any time. But my dilemma was there again. If I killed her, I would lose my only companion.

Maybe I will kill her tomorrow.

Day 17.

My Girlfriend Wants Some Time Apart.

I couldn't sleep. Tossed and turned all night on the little palm-leaf mattress. Tied her up a ways off and ignored her snarls. I half hoped those guys would return in the middle of the night and kill her for me. I can't seem to do it. I guess I am just too chicken s.h.i.t.

What if they never come back and I am stuck here for years? Years with her. She will probably fall apart before a month pa.s.ses. I doubt her body will be able to hold up to all the crazy stuff on the island. Something is going to come along and eat her, or she is going to wander into the water one day when I'm not looking.

I stoked up the fire in the night, but I had to do it behind the lean-to so she didn't see it. After almost two weeks, it still scares her to see a roaring fire. I have never threatened to push her in. I don't know why she goes bat-s.h.i.t insane when she sees the flames. She's like a child that has been burned and knows to fear flames. But as far as I know, she hasn't been hurt by fire. Stupid Franken-zombie-chick.

Read the stupid romance book by the flickering light. The book was about a woman who lost her firefighter husband in a ma.s.sive inferno at a skysc.r.a.per. He somehow pulled out nearly everyone in the building, but he went in one last time. He just had to be a hero instead of calling it a day and cracking open a cold one. Now she is settling for a cop, but she is scared that he'll be killed in the line of duty. And, as if she didn't have enough problems with men, she has a crush on her boss at work. G.o.d, what a stupid story. Who thinks this stuff up?

The book did get wet while floating around in the big hunk of luggage, so it was crinkly. Every time I turned a page, I thought it was going to fall out. Too bad she p.i.s.sed me off so bad. Otherwise, I would've read to her. She seems to like that.

The mosquitoes were pretty bad. I've found that they stay away when she is near. They certainly don't land on her and bite her. If they tried to bite her, I wonder if they would catch the virus? Oh no! What if they pa.s.sed the disease onto me that way? If that was going to happen, I'm sure it would have by now, since I have been bitten about a million times. Stupid bugs. Some nights I want to roll around in the fire to stop the itching. I bet that would scare her off for good. Me running around in flames.

I lay awake and wondered how to kill her. I knew I would have to somehow destroy her head. I was thinking of using a rock, but if it was small, I would have to hit her a few times. I don't really like blood, and I don't like hurting people. I really didn't like the idea of seeing her putrid brains splattered on the sand.

I suppose I could stick that spear in her eye and stir like I was scrambling eggs. But I bet that would be just as gross as using a rock. The stuff would probably leak out of her like liquid putty.

The way to make sure she's dead for real would be to remove her head. I would need the knife for that, or maybe my little black hand-ax would do. The Swiss army knife would take a long time to cut through her neck. It would probably get stuck in her spine, and then how would I pop those bones apart? I might even break the blade trying to do it.

Maybe I could find a nice thick chunk of wood and smash her head. That sounded like the best idea. I could swing it like a baseball bat. If I did it hard enough, she wouldn't even make a sound; she would just drop to the ground, dead-or dead again. I dropped a melon once, and the sound was like a hollow gurgle. That's exactly what her head would sound like. Gross! I wish I had a safer way to do it, something more humane, but I don't have a gun or a stick of dynamite.

I thought about looping a rope around her neck and hanging her from a tree. Maybe dropping her from a distance would snap her neck. I could try doing it with my hands, but I think that only works in movies.

Morning came slowly. The sun rose while I tossed and turned. I missed my bed, the little apartment that Ally and I shared in Los Angeles. I wonder how she's doing. Does she miss me? She probably thought I was dead and wanted to move on. My poor Ally. Here I am contemplating killing a woman, and she is stuck at home worrying about me. How am I going to explain all this to her? She is the jealous sort, and I'm not looking forward to telling her how I rescued a dead chick and lived with her for a few weeks on a deserted island.

I strolled past her like she wasn't even there as I went about my daily ch.o.r.es. I ignored her hoots and moans and just kept working. I bathed, dug up some oysters and even a couple of mussels. I had an idea to make a seafood soup but had nothing to cook it in. Found a few little crabs and added them to my catch, then picked up a coconut. That would be a treat, a cup of sweet coconut milk to wash down the food.

I set the sh.e.l.lfish by the fire and added some wood. Cut a hole in the top of the coconut and drank half the milk in one ma.s.sive swallow that almost made me spit it back up through my nose. The crab popped, and some stuff came out of its mouth, so I took it off, cracked the sh.e.l.l and ate it steaming hot. Burned my mouth because my hands were shaking from being so d.a.m.n hungry.

I have lost a lot of weight on this stupid island. No McDonald's in sight, no steak dinners, or delicious French fries. No ice cream, chips, cookies, or cake. I miss regular food so much that some days I stare into s.p.a.ce and think about the best meals I have eaten. Once, Ally and I were in San Francisco, and we stopped at this burger joint that had steak fries with this amazing garlic flavor due to gigantic chunks that clung to the potatoes like bugs. We ate so many that we couldn't finish the burgers. I burped up garlic for days.

After breakfast, it was time to go check on her and put my plan into action. I wasn't really looking for a stick, but on the way I found a nice one with a big bleached knot in it. I slung the zombie killer over my shoulder and set off again. The water was lapping at the sandy beach in gentle waves that set my mind at ease. I felt calm at the prospect of killing her. I felt cool and collected.

When I reached her, I found that she had managed to get herself wrapped around a tree. The length of rope was twisted around her body. She had one leg in the air, like she was trying to climb out of something but instead got it caught in the binding. It was that or she was the worst ballerina in history. I just don't understand what possessed me to look between her legs while one was in the air.

One hand was behind her back, and she had a whole swarm of flies around her. I tugged at the rope and got her loose. When she turned to snap at me, I saw that a bunch of bugs had made a nest of her bad eye again.

The little maggots oozed out of the socket, wiggling and squirming around. It set my freshly full stomach on edge, made me want to turn my head and puke for the rest of the day. I had to look away and think calming thoughts.

I tripped her-a move at which I've had a lot of practice. I stood in front of her and waited until she grabbed at me. Then I took an arm, kicked one foot behind her knees, and sort of swept her off her feet. Not like a romantic thing, you know, just a quick way to put her on her stubborn a.s.s.

Then I sat on her chest, my knees pinning her arms to the ground. There was a seash.e.l.l close by, so I picked it up and scooped the little bugs out of her eye and ground them into the dirt. I removed her gag and then dug the bugs out of there as well.

"Did any of them crawl down your nasty throat?" I asked her.

Moan, snarl.

She pretty much has three words in her vocabulary-or zombulary. A moan, I'm pretty sure, is a way to tell me how much she cares about me. A snarl is a show of fierce protection. And, lest I forget, there is the ever-present hoot. A sort of forlorn call for her dead husband ... or brains.

Every once in a while, she lets out a keening moan that is high in pitch and sounds downright sad. She mainly does that when she falls down. I suspect it is either gas or air leaving her lungs.

Her mouth wasn't too bad today. I had to lean over and get a stick so I could dig out the little beetle that was making a home in her cheek. Smashed him on the sand. Her breath was terrible. Like rotten meat and garbage left out for weeks. Where is the bottle of Listerine when I need it? With her skills, she would probably just slurp the stuff into her gut. Then I would have to break out the enema bottle. Again.

Wait, why was I going through all this trouble? I was planning to smash her head in with the big knotted stick. I was going to watch her brains leak out. If it was even wet up there. Or watch the blood flow, if there was any left in her veins. It would probably ooze out like lukewarm Jell-O.

Who was I fooling? I couldn't kill her. We had been through too much, seen too much, shared too much. But I had to do something in case the men in the boat came back. I had to put her somewhere. Maybe I could finish up the enclosure I was planning and leave her there. No, I think she needs to be made aware that I won't tolerate her actions anymore. I will take her into the bushes and tie her to a tree nice and tight and then check on her each day.

I'll probably have to make more rope and tie her tighter. Maybe I can figure out a way to get her off the ground so animals don't start chewing on her feet.

I was deep in thought when I saw something floating in the water. Something that looked like a plane. Oh my G.o.d!

I jumped up and ran to the water and stared after the piece of wonderful that had just fallen into my lap. It was bobbing up and down like a top. The colors were the same as the plane I had crashed in. I made out more of the shape as it drifted toward the sh.o.r.e. It had to be the tail section.

I splashed into the water, intent on hauling it to sh.o.r.e. It would make a great start to the new shelter. At last, I will be able to sleep in something and not worry about my girl sneaking in for a love bite at the stroke of midnight.

Day 18.

My Girlfriend has a Drinking Problem.

Yesterday was the best day on the island!

Was planning to kill her, do her in-I had the bat ready and everything. Well, not a bat but a big branch of bleached wood with a knot in it. I had it all set. Break her skull and bury the remains. That's how you take care of zombies, right? You hit them in the head-or shoot them, except I didn't have a gun, and the spear would be too messy or more than likely miss. If it got stuck up in her noggin, it would be a b.i.t.c.h to guide her around with that stick hanging out.

I had the tool ready, but I saw part of the airplane drifting in the water. It was bobbing up and down like a big-a.s.s top. I ran to the edge of the sh.o.r.e and stared at it where it floated about twenty feet away. I was concerned about the tide carrying it away or the current taking it deep underwater, so I risked it and dove into the surf. The waves weren't too high, but my flip-flops tugged at the bottom of the sandy reef as I struggled to walk. When I was barely touching the bottom and my head was just above water, I broke into a swim, stretching out with long limbs in a gold-medalist b.r.e.a.s.t.stroke.

Who the h.e.l.l was I kidding? I can't swim worth a d.a.m.n! Never could. I was lucky to do a half dog paddle I probably looked like one, too, with my head barely above the water as it splashed in my face. So G.o.dd.a.m.n sick of seawater. The stuff makes me want to gag. Reminds me of when I was a kid and had a sore throat. Mom used to make me gargle salt water.

I reached the plane in a few minutes and grabbed hold. I thought that if I latched onto it and floated, I would be able to catch my breath. When I tried to do that, it started to sink.

I took hold of a piece of wire hanging out of a hole and started paddling back toward the sh.o.r.e. It was slow going. When I got tired, I flipped onto my back and floated. I tried kicking from that position, but I couldn't tell if I was still pointed at the beach or not. I had to keep flopping over and getting a fix on the tail, then looking at the beach and deciding I wasn't about to sink.

I was getting really tired, so I made one last-ditch effort at hauling the tail section in. I flipped over on my chest, but I was still pretty far out. In fact, it didn't look like I had moved at all. I took a chance, set my feet down, and was greeted with the ocean bottom. I tugged on the wire with both hands as I struggled to get to sh.o.r.e.

I hauled, pulled, dragged and finally made it onto the beach. The cable was biting into my hand, so I let go. It was some sort of electric wire from inside the tail of the craft. I pulled the piece of plane up as far as I could onto the beach and collapsed on the sand. I lay there as the sun beat down on me, but I smiled at my success.

It's hard to explain just how important the piece was. It was something from the crash. Something that I could latch onto. I sighed as I lay there knowing I would be able to use the big hunk of airplane to build up a new place. Maybe a place to keep her.

Oh s.h.i.t!

I shot to my feet and looked around, but she was nowhere in sight. Now where the h.e.l.l was she?

At least she wasn't close, so I felt free to work at the tail. I pulled it up the rest of the way, huffing and puffing as it bit into the sand. I rolled it over when it dug too deep of a furrow, pulling it up higher.

It was so heavy that I could barely move it. Maybe it was just full of metal struts and stuff they put in places for stability. I bet I would be able to take it apart and use the parts for all kinds of things.

Water spilled out of the back end as I got it onto the sh.o.r.e. It ran and ran until there was hardly any left. Then it was easier to move-but not much.

The tail section was missing the wings on the back, or most of them. I tugged it around so I could see the inside, and gasped. It was filled with bags! I started hauling stuff out, luggage, packs, and a duffel bag. All were waterlogged. I opened them up and found a lot of clothes. I did find a box of chocolates, still wrapped. Chocolate-covered macadamia nuts to be exact. I tore the wrapper off with shaking fingers and ate every single one like it was nirvana. I was going to eat a couple and leave the rest for later, but it was useless. Might as well have put a juicy pork chop in front of me and asked me to hold off on eating the entire thing.

I found some sandals, which were too big, but I put them on anyway. My old flip-flops were falling apart. Last time I buy three-dollar shoes at Walmart on my way to a tropical vacation. I found some shorts that were too small and set them aside. Everything was soaked with seawater, so I would have to wash them in the stream and dry them out later.

I found some jewelry. Gaudy stuff like big jade-looking medallions that were clearly made of gla.s.s. Some big pearl earrings and a couple of tennis bracelets. The stuff looked cheap, like the jewelry my Aunt Mildred used to wear.

Another bag turned up a couple of waterlogged magazines. p.o.r.n! The kind I like: with women. Yeah, yeah, I have my zombie "babe," but she is about as useful as t.i.ts on a bull. Although she does-or did-have a great pair herself.

Another suitcase turned up more clothes, a toothbrush, an electric shaver and some cheap suits like you used to see the guys wear in the '70s. On closer inspection, I realized one was a tux. Hey, maybe someone was off to get married. I flipped the b.u.t.ton up and down on the razor, but it didn't buzz even a little. Stupid waterlogged thing. I ran my hand over my s.h.a.ggy chin. I used to shave daily. Ally likes it, says it makes me look young.

I set the razor aside. Maybe I could bust the battery out later and do something with it. Like build a generator and charge it. Then I could use the battery to power a boat across the ocean.

In the bottom of that bag, I found the best thing yet. A bottle of Patron tequila. Big full bottle with the plastic still fixed to the cork. I cried like a baby.

The top was on nice and tight, so I broke the plastic seal, removed it, and took a cautious sniff. It smelled good. I tilted the bottle a bit and let a splash touch my tongue. It was pure, and there wasn't a hint of seawater. I found a bottle of rum as well, not a brand I knew, but it was flavored with coconut. Oh, great! If I never taste coconut again, I can probably go to my grave with a smile on my face.

I carried my treasures to the campsite and hung up as many clothes as possible. I was surprised to see her lying on her back, staring at the sky. She has gotten pretty good at getting up when she falls over. I mean, the first few days, I had to help her up all the time, but now she can roll on her side, crawl to her hands and knees, then stand up. It isn't the quickest or the prettiest process, since she frequently has her a.s.s facing me. All this time, I was worried, wondering where she was, and it turns out she is chilling in the shade. Stupid zombie chick. I should really kill her. Instead, I watched her as she stared up with some sort of green gunk coming out of her mouth. I think it was stuff oozing out of her gums.

I know she's a hottie-or was, in her day. For the most part, I would love to stare at her with her clothes off, but the zombified look is NOT hot. The gray skin, the red-rimmed dried-out eye that always seems to stare past me. She has scratches on her body that don't heal, and her girly parts don't work anymore. Yuck.

I was walking around with the tequila, taking sips and gasping each time. Not much food to buffer the stuff in my stomach meant a speedy buzz. I sat next to her and started to untangle her leg from the rope she had gotten wrapped up in. Probably came back to her home and got stuck. Poor thing. I ran my hands along her cold leg, which was still smooth. I brushed off bits of sand. I stopped at her thighs and didn't dare go farther. She rolled left and right, but that hooked leg had her stuck good. I was thinking that I would get drunk and then smash her face in with the branch. I could do it. I just needed some liquid encouragement.