Part 3 (1/2)

I dug out some oysters later and even tried to spear a fish. This ended in failure about fifty times. I took one last throw at a large fish and managed to spear a little tiny red one right next to it. I felt like I had just made the winning toss in the Olympics!

I nearly ran back to camp to show her what I had caught. I hooted and hollered, but she just rocked back and forth on her hands. After watching her for a few minutes, I slipped my hands under her waist and pulled her up to her feet. She steadied herself and turned her head ever so slowly to look at me with that one blue eye. I sc.r.a.ped a couple of maggots off her other eye, and I must say, it was a downright romantic moment.

Until she snarled at me and bit against the gag like she was going to rip my nose off. I backed away, sat on a rock, and watched her walk to the end of the rope, then strain against it. She was no more than three feet from me. Her eye crinkled up in rage-well, the good one did-and she reached for me with those hands that were now covered in sand, dried blood and chunks of her husband's skin.

This is ridiculous. I should just kill her.

”Should I kill you, babe?”

Snarl.

”Should I take you out and leave you in the water, point you away from the island and then swim away?”

Snarl.

”Maybe hang you from a tree and set you on fire? Do you think a boat or plane would see that?”

Snarl.

These one-sided conversations were getting on my nerves. But she is my Wilson, so it is my obligation to chat with her. Tell her my problems. Tell her how I feel about stuff. Show her a good time on the island. Walk her from one end to the other. All the stuff a couple should do.

I cooked the fish and tossed her the raw fins. She stared at them from her tree, where she had managed to wrap herself up again. She howled against the gag and reached for me with one arm. I got a stick and pushed one of the fins toward her. She watched me, not the stick, not the fin. She kept her eye on me, and a gross pink fluid bubbled out of her mouth. I stopped in mid-chew and fought to keep my stomach calm. I wanted to turn and throw up. I knew that if I did that, I would have to re-eat the stuff, because I am so low on food. Managed to keep it down after a few breaths. Phew.

What the h.e.l.l was that c.r.a.p coming out of her mouth? If I didn't know any better, I would have said it was foaming Alka-Seltzer in red Kool-Aid. I wonder if her guts are backed up from all the stuff she ate. I can't take much more of this.

Tomorrow, I plan to explore the island. With any luck, I will find a better place to live.

Day 10.

My Girlfriend Hates to be Left Alone.

I spent the day exploring the island. It was a nice change of pace to get away from her. I wandered and tried to keep a map, but my drawing skills aren't really up to snuff. I pa.s.sed the stream, followed it to a tree-covered hill, and attempted to climb it. Quickly realized I am not cut out for being more than a few feet off the ground. All I could think about was falling and breaking a leg. That would be the end game for me.

The trees grew closer together here, and I had trouble getting through them. The stream ran cleaner but not cooler. I drank until I was full and then moved around the hill.

I came across some more fruit and attempted to eat them. I'm not sure what they were, but they tasted bitter, and they were very stringy. I choked down the flesh of one and pocketed a few others for later.

I found a new place to fish and dug out some more oysters. Ignoring their taste, I ate them raw. Funny how just a week ago, I would have turned my nose up at the thought of sh.e.l.lfish. Now I dream about that s.h.i.+t like it is filet mignon with crab and a bearnie ... bernnie ... ber-ah f.u.c.k it. Whatever you call that green sauce on top.

The day was coming to an end, so I walked back to camp. At least what I thought was camp. With my terrible sense of direction, I went the wrong way. Ended up down the beach from my makes.h.i.+ft home.

The night rolled in, and I was soon walking by the light of the moon. This sucked. If I didn't find my camp soon, I would have to find somewhere else to sleep, because I was getting really tired.

Then I heard a splas.h.i.+ng noise.

”Anyone there?” I called out, knowing that there was probably just the body of her husband. Maybe he came loose and washed up on sh.o.r.e. Maybe he was lying within reach, just waiting to grab me with his one hand as I strolled by.

I shuddered, turned away and made my way in the opposite direction.

I came across camp a few minutes later and plopped down behind my little homemade tent and stared up at the stars. Bugs attacked me immediately, going for every inch of exposed skin. I slapped at them as fast as I could, but I knew how this little battle would end. Me, zip. Bugs, about a billion.

I heard a noise in the distance and wondered if a bird was nearby. I gathered up a couple of rocks and listened. Then I realized there was one sound I was not hearing, and that was the sound of her.

I jumped to my feet and walked to the tree, hands held out before me in the dark. I felt around the base and only found a strand of broken rope.

Oh s.h.i.+t.

I heard a sound and leaped back, hit the little fence and went down hard. I was back on my feet in a second. I was sure I would be in pain from that spill in the morning.

If I lived that long.

I crept back to my shelter and stood outside it for a while, just staring into the darkness. I looked from corner to corner, shape to shape, and tree to tree. The moon was a sliver, so it was hard to make anything out. Every splash of water, every rustle of a leaf scared the c.r.a.p out of me.

She would fall on me at any moment, and I would be too shocked to react, I just knew it. I was exhausted from my walk around the island, but my adrenaline was up, and I had no chance of falling asleep.

After standing in place for about half an hour, I decided to light a fire and catch her when she shambled into camp. Not much of a trap, I know, but I had to do something other than standing in place all night, freaked out that I might be turned into zombie kitty chow.

I sparked up the fire with a precious strip of paper and one of the remaining matches. It caught quickly, and I fed it wood until I had a cozy blaze going. I stood off to the side and waited for about an hour, but she didn't shamble into camp.

I still heard rustling near the trees, but I hoped it was crabs or just a bunch of leaves rubbing together. I thought I should investigate. If my breakfast was walking around, I needed to gather them up. I started to make a torch a half-dozen times but always found a reason in the back of my head not to. What if she was waiting there? What if she had developed sudden smarts and planned a trap that starred me as the poor sap getting eaten instead of her dead husband.

An hour pa.s.sed, and my fear grew. She should have come back by now and tried to attack me. She had been drawn to fire every time I lit one, even though she hates them. What was different now?

Went to the fire after another half-hour and took out a long stick that was burning on the end. I took a few breaths and started walking around the camp area. Then I expanded my circuit to encompa.s.s what I thought of as the perimeter. Like I was Rambo, like I knew where the bad guys were. I don't have a bad-guy-o-meter in my head like they do in the movies. Instead, I have a freak-me-the-f.u.c.k-out-meter. If I stood out there much longer, I was probably going to die of fright. Any minute, I expected her to jump out and attack me, latch her disgusting teeth onto my neck and tear it out, just like in the movies.

I walked back and forth, flinching at every shadow, flicker, or breeze. She still didn't lurch out at me.

I decided to investigate the area the noises had come from, hoping to score a crab or two. With the fire nice and hot, they would cook up moist and juicy in a few seconds. I started drooling at the thought.

I moved into the little copse and got close to the ground in hopes of spotting one of the little guys. That's when the hand touched my ankle.

I'm pretty sure I screamed like a six-year-old girl as I fell down again. My breath came fast and furious as I scrambled backwards. She had laid a trap for me. b.i.t.c.h! After all I had done for her.

”What's wrong with you? What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you? I take care of you! I clean you! Why would you do that?”

Then I came across her body, and my words died in my throat. She was lying on her back with the rope wrapped around her body, one arm secured against her chest. The other reached for me. One of her legs was hooked over a branch; the other was bent at the knee and tucked under her thigh. Her skirt was around her waist, and it was the first thing I fixed. Then I unbent her leg and took the other off the branch and stretched them out, rubbing the sand off.

She still had the gag around her mouth, and her good eye was fixed on mine while she snapped behind the cloth. I did my best to straighten her clothes while she did her best to eat my arm. I helped her up and noticed she was starting to smell again. I would take her to the stream first thing in the morning and wash her off.

”I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have left you like that. That wasn't cool.”

I felt terrible. Zombie or not, I should take better care of her. I wouldn't treat an enemy the way I was treating her. I took her back to the fire and sat her down. I tried to fix her hair, but it was ratted and lank, not greasy like I expect mine is tonight. I bet she doesn't have oil at all from her head, being dead and all. Or because hot (even formerly hot) chicks don't seem to have problems like that.

”I'll do better, baby. I will take care of you better than this. I know it's hard, you know, being dead and all, but you deserve some common human decency.”