Part 12 (1/2)

I gagged for the hundredth time this week and staggered as the soft sand turned my weak legs against me. I fell down, and the breath was driven from my body. I got to all fours, yelling a warning.

”Stay away from her! She's a zombie!”

”Are you f.u.c.king stupid?” the woman yelled back.

Um.

I got to my feet and moved toward them again. I bet I looked like a zombie myself. The woman turned and walked backwards until she hit a rock and fell on her b.u.t.t. Her hands flew back to stop the fall, but she still must have come down pretty hard, because I heard an ”Umph.”

The man-the dead man-had stopped twitching, and my girl was dragging herself across the sand toward him. She had her eye set on the b.l.o.o.d.y gash that used to be his throat.

I felt weak as a newborn, but I had to make sure she didn't get too much of him. I would have to drag her away.

Then I realized that wasn't such a big problem. It was, in fact, among the least of my worries.

I think I said the F word about twenty times as I grabbed a rock-a big sucker-and lifted it over my head. In the surf, just ahead of me, dead Mooney was struggling to sit up, and he didn't look happy. He looked f.u.c.king dead.

I came up behind the zombified airplane pilot and threw the rock like a basketball player aiming for a teammate.

From a foot away, I missed.

He turned and fixed his eyes on me, then reached for my feet. I tried to step back, but he hit my ankle pretty hard. Now it was my turn to fall down. He slithered over the sand and, in my weak condition, it was all I could do to push him away. I backtracked, moving like a crab with my b.u.t.t on the sand until I was a few feet away. He came to his hands and knees and tried to stand. I heard the stewardess scream behind me.

I got up and kicked him in the head, which was like kicking a tree. It hurt! The man fell to his side and then started to get up again. Christ, there was about to be a whole island of zombies, and wouldn't that be a shame?

I kicked him again, right in the noggin, a big old soccer kick like you see the guys do in the World Cup. His head popped up, and then he went down flat, but his hands were moving again. I was too weak to wrestle a gag on him. He was a big fresh zombie, and even if I'd had the strength I possessed a few weeks ago, I doubt I could've managed to tie him to anything.

This time, I didn't mess around. I grabbed the rock and swung it into the back of his head. He slumped to the sand, so I lifted it high and used gravity to help propel his forehead deep into the surf. The noise was horrendous. Instead of turning to throw up, I lifted the b.l.o.o.d.y rock again and smashed his pulped head one more time.

I was gasping for breath. Out of my mind. I had spent three or four days on the ocean, lost, hungry, thirsty and confused, only to end up in this new version of the tropical vacation from h.e.l.l. The stewardess yelled one more time but waved my hand in the air in the universal ”I got this” gesture.

Leaning forward, I took in big deep breaths. I wanted to sleep for about a week, wake up and sleep some more.

After a moment, I got up but wondered where my girlfriend was. It would be just like her to go back to the fresh dead body and chow down, but that wasn't the case. I turned to look for her and nearly choked on my own gasp. She had her face buried in the neck of the stewardess and was slurping like a baby. I screamed for her to stop and ran to the women even though I could tell it was too late. I dragged her off and back a few feet, but she slithered toward the body again. It was only when the woman started moving that my girl backed off and set her eyes on me. I didn't have the energy left today, so I pointed her at the pilot, slapped her a.s.s and pushed her away.

The stewardess was missing most of her throat, just like the pilot. Blood was everywhere. Her eyes were staring at the sky, but they both swiveled like marbles in Jell-O to meet mine.

This was just great. I have always wanted a menage a trois, but this is f.u.c.king ridiculous.

Now I had two zombies.

I wondered if there was a cliff on this stupid island I could jump off.

It was too much to deal with, so I dragged the stewardess to the pilot and left the girls to eat their fill.

I walked along the beach and contemplated my next move. Should I just kill myself? Kill the girls? Kill the girls and then kill myself? I'm not really the killing type. Never have been, even though I have killed two zombies in the last month-which doesn't count. If they haul me in front of a court, I can always argue that they weren't alive in the first place.

Zombie Slayer. When I get back to civilization, I will get a t-s.h.i.+rt made up and wear it with pride.

I spent the rest of the day pilfering the survivors' supplies. They had dried jerky and water. I drank and ate until I felt like I was going to explode.

Later I sat on a tree branch and watched the girls as they ate the pilot. They nuzzled the meat, tore off chunks and feasted like there was no tomorrow.

They ignored me when I went to the raft and undid some of the rope. I had my next course of action, but the sun was setting. I knew I would run out of time, so tomorrow would work out just fine. I picked up the ropes and items I had used to float my girl behind the raft and took them to camp.

I went for her first. It was just like old times. I looped a gag over her mouth and dragged her by her ankle to a tree. The rope was waiting, so I secured her and then hooked a log over her lap so she wouldn't get away.

Eileen wasn't as easy. She was a fresh zombie and rather spry. I went to throw the cloth over her head, but she backed up into me. Her head whipped around, and she snapped her blood-covered teeth less than an inch from my hand. I jerked it back and pushed her. She fell on her side, and I dropped on her. The gag took a few tries to get over her mouth, and I had to be really careful not to let those cracking snappers take a piece of me.

I dragged her to the tree as well and tied her up. She was livid, eyes glaring at me like she was genuinely mad. Stupid zombie girl. Girls.

I laid rope next to each one, right under a nice long tree branch. Tomorrow, they were going over it. I tossed the rest of the items near them. Good thing I remembered to pack the Vaseline. The enema bag and hose went into the pile as well.

I hope when someone finds us, they don't find three zombies. I'll probably get used to having them around, and one day I'll slip up. Then it'll all be over. We will be a happy family of undead lovers.

At least they have simmered down and look sort of sleepy from their meal. They managed to face each other and have been in a staring contest ever since.

Well, Diary, I have run out of room in this stupid book. My hand is sore, and every inch of my body hurts. I hope to get a fire going behind some cover so they don't freak out. In the morning, I will get them all cleaned up and then figure out how in the world I will survive with my two Zombie-Wilsons.

Day Whatever.