Part 6 (1/2)

I took off her gag, helped her sit up a bit, put her head in my lap, and held her chin so she wouldn't turn and bite me in the junk. Then poured some booze in her mouth. She didn't really react, so I gave her more. I was getting nicely buzzed, even though it looked like I had barely touched the bottle. Each drink burned like fire down my throat. I wondered if she felt it.

One sip for me, one sip for her. She should at least die happy. I bet she was a tequila girl when she was alive. She looks like the party type-or she did. Now she looks like a party zombie in a hula skirt.

I stood up and nearly fell over when the liquor hit my head like a branch-the same branch I was going to use on her. Well, not really. Metaphorically speaking. I staggered in a circle before wandering to where I had placed all the stuff I got off the plane. I picked up the costume jewelry, went back to her, and put it all on. She wore two necklaces and a pair of blue earrings that dangled almost to her shoulders. Her ears weren't pierced, but that was okay. I just shoved them right on through her earlobes. She didn't even flinch. I added a couple of bracelets. I even put one on her slim ankle, and it looked pretty good there.

Then I put the gag back on her and helped her up. We both staggered-me from the drinking, her from the zombifying. I didn't think she could get drunk, but I bet that stuff will clean out her gut.

I guess tomorrow I can pump some more water in her stomach and hang her upside down. Maybe it will cut back on the death breath.

I tied her to the tree and went to fetch my new p.o.r.n magazines. I pa.s.sed out with my pants around my ankles. I'm not sure what was more embarra.s.sing-the fact that I pa.s.sed out like that or the fact that I knew I had an audience and it just made it better.

Day 19.

My Girlfriend's Husband is a Jerk.

f.u.c.king hangover.

I haven't had one of those in a long time. At least since my first miserable day on this miserable island, if you can call that a hangover. More like a crash-over. I will never forget waking up on this stupid island all disoriented and hurting everywhere. Was that just a few weeks ago? Seems like a few months. Years. Seems like a lifetime.

I rolled over. Felt like I had a mouth full of sand. Then I brushed at my mouth and discovered I did. I guess I pa.s.sed out on the ground and sucked in a few teaspoons of the stuff. I tried to spit, found out I didn't have any saliva, so I attempted to wipe it out.

The bottle of tequila was right next to me. I actually considered taking a swig to wash the stuff out. But then I retched at the thought of that c.r.a.p anywhere near my mouth. I stumbled to my feet, thanks to my pants hanging around my ankles. Jesus ...

I patted her on the a.s.s as I went by. Thump thump thump. It's starting to feel like a sandbag. She had fallen over a log and lay bent over all night. G.o.d, I hope I didn't try to do anything stupid last night while she had her a.s.s in the air.

I walked to the stream, then collapsed next to it. I splashed water into my mouth, spit out silt, and then drank so much that I thought I was going to explode. It was warm, like usual, but I didn't care. It was just about the best stuff I ever had in my mouth.

I wished I had a bottle of Motrin to stop the pounding in my head.

I was still nauseous, but I made it back to camp and collapsed in a heap. I lay on the palm mat and sweated out a half-gallon as the sun came out in full force. She kept moving around, scratching at the ground and kicking her legs around as she tried to figure out how to get off the log. Every once in a while, she moaned.

I dragged myself to my feet. With my hand shading my eyes from the cursed sun, I took a little stroll behind her. I kept my eyes everywhere but on her backside. Took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. I parted the dried gra.s.s skirt and studied the view. A couple of nasty-looking beetles had taken up residence in her nether regions.

I turned away and threw up for about an hour. Then I stumbled back to ”bed.”

That would've been a good time to kill her. There was a large rock by her hands. It was about the size of a football. I could pick it up and smash the back of her head in. It would take all of about ten seconds. There was one problem with that plan. It would require moving, and I was content to lie on the mattress and think about dying.

I sighed the sigh of one content to pa.s.s the day in misery. But I had things to do. I had to get my hung-over a.s.s up and go hunt for food. Check my c.r.a.ppy traps that don't catch anything. Useless snares that couldn't latch onto a wild elephant if it walked over one in slow motion.

I needed to eat. I needed to get up and get motivated. I considered cooking the s.h.i.+t out of the beetles, but that thought almost made me throw up again. I should try to spear fish. I haven't had much luck, but it did work once. Nice quiet work where I can stand in the cool ocean and just toss my c.r.a.ppy sharpened stick in the water. And get my arms and neck scorched from the sun.

She flopped around again, tried to stand, but it looked like her leg was hooked under another branch. Sucks not to have any motor skills, doesn't it? She kept throwing her hand forward like she could get a grip on something and pull herself up, but the only thing at her fingertips was sand.

Time to get at it.

I hauled myself up and walked to the water. It was coming in at a brisk pace today, little waves splas.h.i.+ng on the sandy sh.o.r.e. The large white airplane section was right where I had left it. I was happy that I pulled it so far up on sh.o.r.e. Otherwise it might be floating away again. Big piece of plane like that, I can build something with it. Of course, the best idea would be to just leave it there so any potential rescue craft can spot it.

I looked through the luggage again, sorted out the wet clothes, tossed more toiletries into a pile and inspected the actual bags for things I could use. I found more razors, the plastic kind. I had quite a growth of beard, but it was all scraggly and gross. I found shaving lotion, and when I hit the trigger, a gel squirted out on the ground. I scooped it up and sniffed it. Smelled like a little slice of civilization. I smeared some on the front of my s.h.i.+rt so I could smell it all day. It tried to foam but ended up leaving a blue stain behind.

I could cut up the bags later and add them to my shelter, which is still a long way from being finished. In fact, a strong tropical storm would turn my lean-to to kindling.

I went back to camp and ate some lunch. A gourmet meal of smoked oysters and coconut. I wish I had just one of the macadamia nuts from yesterday. When I opened the box, it was like I was a kid at Christmas. I couldn't have stopped if someone put a gun to my head.

She was still lying spread eagle over the branch, so I untied her and helped her up. We did the usual snarl dance, which is when she tries to bite me, hands flopping around as she tries to get one around me, while I bat at them and snarl back for all the good it does. I left the one shoe on because she has trouble walking very fast. I got tired of her trying to latch onto me, so I tied her hands behind her back like she was my prisoner or something. She still flailed in slow motion, her body jittering back and forth like a weird gray snake charmer.

I sighed as I watched her. I really should have killed her today, but I had a terrible headache that wasn't getting any better. I had hoped that moving around and sweating would help get the alcohol out of my system, but I still felt like someone took a sledgehammer to the back of my skull. Sometimes, when I stopped moving, the pain throbbed in unison with my heart.

I sat her down and put a branch over her lap so she was stuck to the ground. Her feet scratched at the ground as her legs moved back and forth. She kept her eye on me, that startling blue orb that follows me wherever I go. I put her out of my mind and tried to think of my bed in our little apartment. It was old and sagged a little on both sides where we slept, but I would give just about anything to be in it right now.

I closed my eyes, and the sound of the surf rus.h.i.+ng over the sh.o.r.e made my head swim.

I dozed and had a little dream about Ally walking around in an American flag and nothing else. She was singing the theme to Gilligan's Island, and the whole cast of the show stood behind her, offering advice on my predicament.

There was a crash that broke the dream and threw my mind into mush as I struggled to wake up. Had she somehow gotten out from under the branch? I turned over and tried to ignore it, but the sound of moaning made me open my eyes to an absolute horror. I swear I let out a small scream that sounded like a six-year-old girl with a skinned knee. I came to my feet and started running so fast you would think my a.s.s was on fire.

A monstrosity had smashed into the camp. It was at least six feet tall and walked with a limp. The face was a ma.s.s of skin that hung in strips. One arm hung at its side; the other was missing. The body was bloated to twice the size of a person-giving the figure a cartoonish look. It didn't help that he was fat to begin with. Now he kind of looked like a f.u.c.ked-up Macy's Parade balloon. He didn't have on any clothes. His d.i.c.k should have been dangling, but it was a gnawed-away stump.

Gaping wounds hung open all over him, but they didn't leak blood. The man's hair hung in clumps around his head. The smell was horrid, like seafood left to rot. A week ago, I came across a big fish that was sitting in the sun and it wasn't as foul as this. I was about fifty feet away when my terror gave way to reason. I stopped, turned toward camp and took some deep breaths. Stupid hangover. I got my nerve up, grabbed a branch of bleached wood-the same one I had been planning to kill her with-and ran back. I pushed aside the branches and leaves until I could see into my camp. The man had stopped and was staring at her. She stared back at him. They both moaned.

Oh Jesus, I knew him! It was her husband. My skin crawled at the complete horror before me. The dead man and his dead wife. Him with his big bloated body, her with her slim figure and death breath. How long had he floated in the water before coming back to life and making his way back to sh.o.r.e?

How sweet. A reunion ... from h.e.l.l. Sound the bells; the lovebirds are back together. He stumbled toward her, but she just sat there with her hands behind her back and the branch over her lap. Oh c.r.a.p, he was going to kill her.

I ran into camp, yelling at the top of my lungs, ”Hey, hey! Leave her alone!”

He turned toward me with empty eye sockets trained on me like he could still see. One had some gooey stuff hanging out of it. The other was white but livid, lined with pus and some kind of fish eggs. A bunch of barnacles had latched onto some exposed cheekbone right below the eye. Others sprouted on his arm and kneecaps, probably spots where bone peeked through. I wanted to run away, set the place on fire, swim back to civilization-anything to get away from this horror.

He drew back his lip, just the top one-the other was torn away-and snarled at me the way she does. But he didn't have a gag to protect me from his bite. Ah c.r.a.p! I held the stick in front of me as he turned his ma.s.sive waterlogged body my way. I thrust it at him, but he kept coming. So I resorted to some ninja moves. I swept the branch down low to knock his feet out from under him, but he didn't budge. In fact, the impact rang up my arm and made my hands numb. Some ninja.

I jerked back as he brought up one hand to grab me, but I didn't have to worry, since most of his digits were eaten away. White flesh hung from his hand, but the bones were still intact. I thought of that Disney movie with the pirates that turned into skeletons at night. I stepped back, but the stump of his hand still whacked my shoulder pretty hard.

I shuddered as I threw an adrenaline-fueled swat at his head. This one connected, and he fell over on his side. I could have sworn the island moved when he hit the ground. Water ran out of his mouth and pooled on the sand. He couldn't shut his mouth, and neither could I. Him because barnacles were growing on his jaw. Me because I was screaming like a kid who just saw the boogeyman.

What the h.e.l.l? This guy crawls out of the ocean after being out there for a week and decides to rekindle his marriage? What a jerk. I hit him in the gut a couple of times just for good measure. Each time the stick struck, it caused a jet of water to shoot out of his mouth like a surfacing whale.

Well this is just great. What am I going to do with two freaking zombies?

Day 20.

My Girlfriend Wants a Threesome.

G.o.d, I'm tired.

Yesterday, I managed to get a gag on the husband. I used a s.h.i.+rt from one of the suitcases, wound it up, tied it in the middle so it made a ball, then I put that in his mouth. I had to time it just right. He was trying to roll over, so I had to actually touch his disgusting flesh and squeeze the thing in there. He was snapping at me. When he went for the cloth gag, I sort of smashed it in there, tying it behind his neck. I smiled at my handiwork as he chewed on the cloth. He tried to roll over again. This time seawater came out of his nose, dribbling onto the ground.