Part 7 (2/2)

I brought back some small rocks and held them near her eye. She snarled at me a few times, but there was no snapping. I hoped her body wasn't going bad and dying. Wait, she is already dead. I a.s.sured myself of that fact by putting my head on her chest and listening for a heartbeat again. Nothing, I thought I heard a thump once, a week ago, but there was nothing now.

She smelled so bad. I dropped the rocks and got the supplies. There was no use in putting it off. In went the enema tube, and I pumped her full of water. She had to hang upside down for a while as the chunks of her hubby drained. Again. It was like I was replaying a bad movie.

While the stuff oozed out, I went back and checked out the crab. It was still dancing around, and when I put a stick near its head, it snapped at it with lightning speed. That a.s.sured me that maybe the virus couldn't be pa.s.sed on to other animals. I played around with it for a while, showing it the stick and then jerking it back when it tried to get a piece.

I grabbed the bottle of tequila, figuring I could spare a capful or two to sterilize her guts. I let her down from the tree, helped her to her feet, and gave her a few swallows. I took her to the camp and got her cleaned up. She still smelled terrible, so I dumped half a bottle of cologne on her. I didn't find any perfume in the bags, real shame about that. She would just have to settle for smelling manly.

Better than smelling deadly.

I think I need to start sleeping downwind.

She was far too compliant. I have to wonder what is going on inside her head. What does she think about all day? Does she even see me as a person? For all I know, she sees me as a walking, talking box of KFC fresh from the fryer.

I used some of the lipstick I had found to paint one of the rocks and jammed it in her eye socket. The color wasn't so great, a bright red, but I didn't have any other choices.

Her gra.s.s skirt was destroyed, and I wasn't in the mood to make anything else for her. I watched her sway as she walked around in circles with just the coconut top on. I didn't see a need to tie her to the tree. She just ignored me unless I got too close. From a distance, her stone eye was sort of pretty with the lipstick laid on thick.

I went back to the crab. Poked and prodded him for a while. He moved around in circles and fought the stick. I found myself talking to him. After a while, I started calling him Spike for no particular reason.

”Tough guy, eh?” I asked in my best ... what was that guy's name? Had his lip curled down and had an accent that was all att.i.tude. Not Pesci. Too young. No it was ... oh yeah, Cagney. My impression sucked.

I bet I could keep this one. Tie him to something like my girl. He wouldn't be much trouble. I could feed him and bring him fresh water. It was only fair. Besides, his color was gorgeous. He had the most amazing blue hues.

I turned the stick over and stabbed him through the center. He kicked and flailed, but stopped after a few seconds. I picked off the outer top sh.e.l.l and tossed him in the fire. Smelled delightful, but I'm not taking a chance on the zombie cooties being in the stupid animal. He was a little guy anyway. I can always go spend a few hours looking for another one. Not much else on my calendar today.

After killing Spike, I took the sh.e.l.l parts and used the file on a large one to shape it into a disc. I cut two small holes in it and used the fake gold chain from one of the pieces of costume jewelry I found a few days ago to construct a string. Then I threaded it into the blue disc and tied it to her head.

Beautiful. Her blue eye is back. The only problem is that now she looks like a pirate.

Day 23.

My Girlfriend is a Biter.

I went exploring again today, and it was pretty amazing. I have come to the realization that I may never get rescued from this cursed island. I haven't seen any more planes, and the guys in the boats have not returned. The last two times, they ran off in terror, so why should they bother coming back? One of my biggest fears is that they know the properties of the strange berries she ate, the ones that turned her into a zombie.

I wonder if this is the sort of thing that led to the belief in zombies in Haiti. Maybe the berries grow there as well. I should really bring some back to civilization. In fact, I am going to do just that. I will put some in one of the medicine bottles I found. Whatever drugs were in them are now long gone. They dissolved in the ocean while the bags were floating around.

I think one was some sort of antibiotic, because the letters were rubbed off except for the last two, which were ”IN.” I've taken penicillin and even Cipro once, which has a much longer name and ends with ”floxin” or something like that. I took that stuff for an abscess that grew near my a.s.s. It was so gross being hunched up over a table while three or four doctors did stuff back there. The antibiotic made me sick as a dog by the fourth or fifth day, but I took the whole bottle anyway.

I decided to hit the beach and just walk for a while. Maybe I would find the other side of the island after all. It's not as hot today as it has been, and some low clouds probably contributed to this. I left her behind. Why tie her up anymore? She just stares at the sun as she hoots and hollers like some weird zombie bird. Zombie birds? Talk about bird flu.

I've been on this cursed island for three weeks, but I have barely explored it. At first, I was worried about getting hurt. I worried about leaving her behind, because I thought she might get loose and ambush me when I returned. Now I know she couldn't ambush a panda bear on Quaaludes.

No compa.s.s, so I went left this time. I walked for a good while until I couldn't even see the part of the island I started on. I soon pa.s.sed the farthest area I had ever explored, and I kept going. It looked much the same as it did everywhere else. Sand, rocks and water. Yep, it was a beach. When I get off this place, if I ever see a beach again, I will probably claw my eyes out, stomp on them and then jump off the nearest cliff.

I heard a noise behind me and turned to see that she was following. She lumbered along on unsteady feet, her shuffling walk a sad sight. Gray skin on display-and lots of it, since she didn't have anything on her lower half.

I turned to go back and take her to camp, but then changed my mind. She obviously wanted to get some exercise as much as I did. So I let her follow.

Haha-zombie exercise. They sure do have a great diet. I mean, it's all protein. Zombies don't need carbs. I just about fell over laughing at the witty comments in my head. What do they call that?

The big word for going crazy ... psych-something or other. I have that. I need a doctor. I need a lobotomy. I need to talk to someone who's alive!

f.u.c.k!.

I reached a section of palm trees that hung over the seawater in a close pattern. I decided to take a break and enjoy the scenery. The water bottle I carried was a constructed from a coconut sh.e.l.l with a small hole in the top. I capped it with a stick and hung it at my side by a strap I adapted from a piece of luggage. I was getting to be a real boy scout. I took the top off and drank the water, which tasted like coconut. Another thing I won't miss when I leave the island. I used to love coconut. Now the smell makes me want to gag.

I waited in the shade, and after about fifteen minutes, she finally reached my location. I jumped out of the bushes and said, ”BOO” really loud.

She kept walking.

d.a.m.n! Her zombie brain must be overloaded. I ran past her, stopped a few feet away and taunted her to hurry up. She continued on her unsteady feet, but now she had her hands in front of her in what I like to call the cla.s.sic zombie stroll. A long, low moan came at me.

I grinned and continued on my way.

The island is much bigger than I thought. It would take hours, maybe an entire day to walk all the way around it. I kept expecting to come across a hotel or something, a place that some rich people own or a resort that promises total seclusion. That would be just my luck, stuck here for weeks and there are people sunning themselves on the beach. ”I say, old boy, you look a bit tuckered out. Have a coconut frosty.”

There were small paths between some of the trees, and I started down a few of them, but the foliage grew thicker the farther I went. Back on the beach, I found a few holes in the sand and knew what that meant. I had to move fast, but if I could get my hand in one quick enough, I could usually pull out a clam. I cracked these on rocks and ate them raw. It used to gross me out, but now I just want the protein, so I gag through the horrid taste. I spent some time digging out a few and made a tidy meal out of the little suckers. Maybe I should figure out how to smoke these things. Alley used to love them. Nah. Better to just swallow them and hope they don't try to crawl back up my throat.

The next path was wider. I was able to follow it deeper than the previous ones. There were a lot of trees, and plants with huge flowers on them. I heard chirping and saw a pair of birds fly away from a low shrub. I felt around, but didn't turn up any eggs. Now that would be a treat. Maybe I could scramble them, pour them on a big flat rock and cook them on the fire. Too bad I didn't have any cheese or bacon. While I am wis.h.i.+ng for stuff, I may as well wish for a steak and a baked potato.

Early in my career as a deserted island survivor, I dug around in the ground for some sort of roots. I remember once having tubers, and they were a lot like potatoes. I didn't have any luck, just like every other hunting trip I have attempted.

The sound of something moving in the bushes caught my attention. I thought maybe it was one of the visitors-maybe some people who have lived here all along and I was too stupid to explore and discover them.

Then I heard a plane in the distance, and all thoughts of exploration disappeared. I yelled as loud as I could, ”Hey, I'm down here!” knowing as I did it that there was no way they would hear me this far below. I ran for the sh.o.r.e with my hands waving. I guess all the excitement woke up my little friend.

The thing that came out of the bushes heard me all right; it heard me and then some. I glanced back as I ran, and it was right behind me. Nasty son of a b.i.t.c.h with tusks and a s.h.a.ggy coat of hair. Sort of looked like a really mad little goat. I reached the edge of the sh.o.r.e and kept going. I almost ran into my girl. It looked like she finally caught up. She was shambling around with her face pointed up at the sun.

”Watch out!” I yelled, then broke into a stupid grin at my words. What was she going to do? Jump out of the way?

I ran right into the water with the stupid pig thing right behind me. I splashed in up to my knees and then to my waist before turning around to see the monster stop at the surf. It shook its head and let out a loud squeal. I yelled back at it, but it must have thought my challenge a bit lacking since it had just chased me halfway across the f.u.c.king island.

G.o.d, if I just had that spear, I could have tried to take him-or her-out and have myself a nice meal.

It turned to see my girl and set off after her. She didn't even look at it. She just had that dazed look on her face. The pig screamed and smashed into her, which took her to the ground. A tusk went into her leg and then slid back out as she tumbled over. She flopped forward and, by sheer luck, got one arm over the little critter.

I think that was just the thing to wake her up. And me. I felt a sudden terror at the prospect of that pig ripping her to shreds. How dare he try to kill my zombie chick?

I looked around and found a large rock in the water. It was slick with seaweed, but I grabbed it and stalked toward the stupid animal. She rolled over and lowered her head for a bite.

The gag came loose and flew out of her mouth as she rubbed her lips up and down, probably trying to find a good place to take a chunk. They rolled around for a few seconds while I danced around them, looking for a break in the action. I intended to smash the pig's head in as soon as it stopped moving long enough. I was trying to avoid flailing legs as I looked for my opening. It was squealing to get free from what looked like an iron grip. She kept biting into him and tore at his flesh like a mad dog. She was actually growling at the animal.

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