Part 5 (1/2)

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. Ee 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.