The Zombie Wilson Diaries
Author: Timothy W. Long
Date: 2010-02-05 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Humour; Fantasy; Science Fiction
Description: Review Long, a prolific horror author, writes with graphic glee - repulsive details and way off-color jokes abound. If this were a movie, it would be rated R for revolting but it's revolting in a cheerful kind of way. Barbara McMichael --Tacoma News Tribune Zombie Wilson is the most fun you'll ever have with a corpse in a coconut bra ... and that's saying something. Trish Martin - horrornews.net --Horror News On the whole, I'd call this one a triumph. It's quirky, fast paced, and good to the last withered drop. Scott A. Johnson - dreadcentral.com --Dread Central A dog-rough zomedy that'll have
Publisher: TWL Press

Undead Praise for The Zombie-Wilson Diaries

One of the best zombie novels of the year!

-- Paul “Goat” Allen, Barnes and Noble

Long, a prolific horror author, writes with graphic glee - repulsive details and way off-color jokes abound. If this were a movie, it would be rated R for revolting but it's revolting in a cheerful kind of way.

-- Barbara McMichael, Tacoma News Tribune

Zombie Wilson is the most fun you'll ever have with a corpse in a coconut bra ... and that's saying something.

-- Trish Martin - horrornews.net, Horror News

On the whole, I'd call this one a triumph. It's quirky, fast paced, and good to the last withered drop.

-- Scott A. Johnson, dreadcentral.com

“Something different for lovers of zombie fiction. A fast-paced, darkly comic tale with a hint—maybe more than a hint—of madness.”

-- David Dunwoody, author of EMPIRE

“A dog-rough zomedy that’ll have you laughing your (undead) ass off from start to finish. Daniel Defoe fans beware!”

--Wayne Simmons, author of Drop Dead Gorgeous

“Timothy Long’s Zombie Wilson Diaries is an addictive, engaging, funny, gross, no-holds-barred story of a castaway and the zombie girl he can’t live without. Don’t even hesitate to buy this one!”

-- Stephen A. North, author of Dead Tide

“After reading it cover to cover I fell in love with the story, so the five stars were well earned. I highly recommend this to anyone who is looking for something a little bit different to add to their zombie repertoire.”

-- Tonia Brown, author of Lucky Stiff

The Zombie Wilson Diaries

The Re-dead Version

Timothy W. Long

“Zombie-Wilson Diaries” By Timothy W. Long

Copyright 2011. Timothy W. Long

All Rights Reserved

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Editor – Stephanie Kincaid

Cover Art – Matt Edginton

Awesome volleyball pic – Lee ‘Goatboy’ Hartnup

Illustrator - Victoria Long

Dedication

For Victoria and Nicholas, the ones who make me laugh.

Day 3

Screw You, Paradise

Hi, Diary! I should have started this when I got to the resort, but I was too busy working and drinking margaritas. They went down like heaven in the heat. Not just heat but humidity. The minute I stepped off the plane, I was soaked to the bone. I have been in showers that didn’t leave me this wet.

So let me recap. Day 1. Arrived in paradise. Day 2. Crashed into paradise.

Christ. Every muscle in my body hurts. I woke up soaked and in pain. The sun was a blast of hell that ripped the skin right off my body. I can’t believe what has happened to me the last few days. I mean, this was supposed to be a simple job in a vacation wonderland. All I had to do was look over a resort and make sure they weren’t skimming money.

Instead my plane crashed and the ocean puked me up on a deserted island.

My old Casio watch died in the water, so I pried the bottom off and inspected it. No water in there, but it was still dead as a doornail. I tied it to a branch and walked away. No sense in keeping the stupid thing, so I used it as a Christmas ornament for some lucky savage.

The trees grew tall and had big old palm-looking leaves on them like you see in pictures of the islands. The islands ... where the hell did I think I was? Freaking Disneyland? Of course I had washed up on an island.

About twenty feet away sat a beautiful white beach. I found my cushion from the crash and carried it to an area that looked like a good place to sleep. The trees closed in like a little room and then opened into a space about ten feet square. There was a lot of dead vegetation, but I pulled some of it aside and found sand underneath.

I thought about collecting some palm leaves to make a bed.

I wandered along the beach and marveled at the beautiful location. The crystal-clear water, the warm sand, the tolerable humidity, and the fact that I was still alive. I had to sit down and take a few breaths. Said a brief prayer to God, if he was listening to me way out in the middle of nowhere. I lay back on the warm sand, closed my eyes for a minute and inhaled the humidity.

It was exhausting. I felt like I was in a sauna. I sure hope I can find help, assuming there are others around. This can’t be a deserted island. Is there really such a thing?

I got up, walked to the water, stared at it and stared at it some more. I studied the horizon for a while, watched the waves roll in from far away. They crashed onto the beach, then the water rolled back out. Repeat. It was so natural that I almost expected to see a surfer riding a wave. Hang loose, dude, and bring back some help when you surf to Hawaii.

Where did I come up on the shore last night? The waves had washed away all signs of my tracks.

Hunger gnawed at my stomach again, and I realized for the first time that I had nothing to eat. I knew from watching documentaries that I had to find water before anything else. If I didn’t have water, I would die. A body can supposedly go a long time without food, but not the wet stuff. I didn’t want to put that to the test. No thank you.

I studied the palm trees but didn’t see any fruit or cups of soup hanging from them. Walked along the edge of the woods until I saw a small stream of water, and tasted it with a cautious tongue. It was warm but clear, so I took a few more sips. The flow was just a tiny trickle, and I kept getting silty stuff in my mouth, so I followed it to a pool.

A sheet of water flowed down from the side of a mountain, forming a small waterfall before hitting a curved cliff about ten feet high. Then it filled the pool before extending in four or five directions.

I drank my fill and decided it was time to find some food. A little on-the-job training was in order if I was going to become a survivalist. I had no idea how to hunt down chow, but how hard could it be? People have been doing it for thousands of years.

I set out for the beach and scanned the area for some small animals or something else to eat. I looked for crabs but didn’t come across any. I then searched for wild animals in the bushes. Nothing. Probably wild boar in the woods. Not sure how to catch them, but I thought a spear might work.

I wandered along the shore and found a stick that was relatively straight. I was lucky enough to have a Swiss army knife on me. It had a blade, scissors and a file. I started cutting at the tip, but the wood was soft from being in the water. I strolled along the shoreline and looked for a drier stick.

That’s when I saw a shape on the ground.

I rushed to the body with a gasp. Another survivor. I hoped it was a survivor and not a corpse. When I reached the form, I saw that it was a woman. She was lying curled up in a ball next to some kind of flower. It had little blue berries hanging near a brightly colored center. Its long leaves curled upward and had serrated edges. It was pretty in a vicious way, like a tulip made for killing small animals.

I turned her over with a thump. Her mouth was full of the little berries AND foam AND blood AND, I think, seawater. It was so gross! She gagged around the mess, so I flipped her back over like my own personal flapjack and hit her back a few times. Figured the berries were just stuck in her throat. She choked them out in a ball of goo that was none too pleasant. But then she turned her head and tried to bite me! What the hell? Why was this chick trying to eat me when all I wanted to do was help?

I jerked back quickly and shot her my best “Seriously?” look.

“You okay?” I asked her over and over, but she didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t move.

I grabbed her around the waist from behind and lifted her up off the ground, then gave her the Heimlich maneuver. I tried to be polite and not feel her boobs through the silky shirt she was wearing, but they were kind of in the way. Another wad of goo flew out of her mouth.

I let go, and she stayed on her feet with her head bowed down. The weirdest thing? She was ice cold! Now how in the world did she get that way in this tropical wonderland? It had to be in the high nineties. I felt like the sun was going to beat me into the ground if I stayed out in it much longer. If she had a stash of ice, I wanted some of it.

I backed away, and she slowly turned toward me. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, and she snarled. I took her wrist, felt for a pulse but didn’t find one. She staggered toward me, so I sidestepped and moved around her. Then I touched her neck and managed to leave my finger there for a couple of seconds before her head turned and she tried to bite me again.

What the hell was wrong with this chick?

“Hold on. Jeez, I’m not going to feel you up!”

She didn’t seem to hear me. She kept snapping her teeth like she hadn’t had a bite to eat in days. I was starving, too, but I didn’t try to take a bite out of her!

I held her back, my hand on her chest, and tried not to touch her breasts, but hey, things happen, right, Diary? In all honesty, I wasn’t looking to cop a feel, I just wanted to stop her from trying to bite me. That’s when I noticed something scary.

She had no heartbeat.

We did a weird dance as she tried to bite me and I tried to see if she was alive. I backed off and rubbed my hands on my shirt. She came toward me one slow step at a time, but I kept backing up. I almost fell down as my heels struck a rock in the sand.

Then it hit me. I remembered this girl from the plane. She was with some big guy, and she was wearing a tiny skirt that flashed her legs and a shirt that showed off her boobs. I looked at her matted blond hair and blue eyes—make that “blue eye,” since the other was white and oversized like a sponge trapped in water.

Her skin should have been pink, or maybe white from being in the water and perhaps catching a chill. But it wasn’t. It was gray. Putrid gray, like the gray of something that isn’t fucking alive. Oh Jesus, Diary, I was about ready to freak the hell out. I wanted to run away from her and find some help or a gun or something.

She staggered toward me like she was drunk, and for half a second I thought maybe that was the whole problem. She got boozed up on the plane, and now she was recovering from spending all night in the ocean. Sure, that explained the lack of a pulse, dead puffy eyes and gray skin.

She had the worst hangover ever.

I couldn’t really process what was happening, so I waked away in a daze to find the closest thing I have to a home. My half-deflated cushion from the plane. Hello, home sweet home. You certainly are pathetic.

A few minutes later, she staggered past my hiding spot and kept on walking.

I started building a barricade later that night.

Day 4

My Girlfriend Has Crabs

I might kill her today.

The barricades are holding up okay. I dragged some deadwood up last night and crafted a tiny fence. She walked into it, fell back and then walked into it again. This dislodged some of the wood, but I shoved it back into place. I sat in the shade of a tiny tree, and she walked away as if I’d pulled a disappearing act.

Not too bright, that one. Sometimes when she walked away, I would call out to her. “Hey, hey, come back,” and she came right back like she had a hot date. It was pretty funny the first five or six times.

I don’t know her name. No idea. I thought of making one up, but none really came to mind. Maybe Helga. Sure, a nice thick name to match her intelligence. I saw this movie once where Tom Hanks was stuck on a deserted island and all he had was a stupid volleyball for a companion. This dead chick is my Wilson.

She is dead, quite dead. No pulse, no warmth, and no blood flow. She has a couple of cuts and scrapes, but they are just little furrows in the skin. They are gray and puckered like weird lips. I wonder if they’re infected or something.

I’ve been thinking about making a rope out of old palm leaves and tying her to something. It would be a hell of a lot easier to just kill her, but then who am I going to talk to? I don’t have a volleyball with a cute smiley face drawn on. And if I kill her, how will I explain it when I get rescued? How will I tell them that some zombie chick tried to eat me and I had to take her down a notch by bashing in her head? I could show them the weird plant and berries, and maybe they could do something with it like find a cure for … I don ‘t know, being dead.

So with no one to talk to, I decided to keep her around. I don’t have a Friday like Robinson Crusoe. Instead, I have a slack gray face to tell my problems to. She was hot when she was alive. Those clothes cover some of her, but I can see her shape under them. I wonder if the rest of her skin is gray as well. Maybe under that tiny skirt, she is still as white as a virgin.

I should stop writing things like that. When I get off this cursed island, the book companies won’t want to hear about me lusting after some dead chick, no matter how horny I get. That would never make a good movie. Maybe a bad sitcom.

Jesus. Four days and I am already going insane.

Four days since I got here? Four days?! It seems like a lifetime.

How in the world did I end up here? I was pretty disoriented after I woke up on the beach, but I will try to recount the accident. If I wait much longer, I might have sunstroke and they’ll find my bones with this barely filled-out journal.

It all started when Cliff had emergency gallbladder surgery.

That they ended up sending me was shockingly poor management. I have about as much pull as a neutered puppy, and I’m about as scary as a wet paper bag.

But they needed a guy to go out there and look at the budgets for the resort, so that’s what I would do. Go in with my calculator, check out the accounting, act important, then leave and get a vacation out of the deal. I wanted Ally to go with me, but the company made it plain that I would have to pay her way. A grand just to get the plane ticket? If I had money like that, I wouldn’t blow it on a plane ticket. A new paint job for my car, maybe, but not a ticket.

They put me up at a spectacular hotel. It sat so close to the beach that I only had to walk ten or fifteen feet to reach the bar. Then it was a quick dash for the water, which was just as blue as blue cold be. There were palm trees everywhere, and I even saw a guy climbing up one to get some coconuts.

I was offered a massage after I got settled in. Asked if it was a man, because that would make me feel weird, but I was assured it was a woman. A beautiful woman, no less. Ally is a beautiful woman, in her way. I mean, she is a little taller than me and really doesn’t care about her hair like some of the model-looking girls I work with, but that’s cool. She laughs at my dumb jokes, and what else can you ask for? I also love the freckles that cover her face, neck and just about every inch of her body.

The lady at the counter told me to bring extra money for a tip. She sort of winked at me, so I winked back. I could spare five bucks if it was a good massage. I had one at the mall once, but it was by this big guy who pressed on my shoulders so hard I thought I was going to have his fingers indented into my skin for the rest of the week.

I didn’t care for the flight much. We flew into Port Jolito on a regular airliner, but getting to the island in a small plane that shook the whole time it wasn’t swooping up and down scared me to death. I drank a couple of beers and almost fell asleep a few times. Then we’d bang around and I would pop my eyes back open, afraid we were going to crash.

I think the pilot swooped down to the water a few times just to scare me. I could actually see things on the surface, like dolphins. Or sharks. Had to make a couple of bathroom trips since the plane was so tiny. It shook and shook. I swear I thought the thing was going to come apart.

The next day was a little bit better.

I hopped on a little puddle jumper (I heard one of the people in the tiny airport call it that), and we set out for the other island. I was all alone and sat toward the front.

The pilot kept his door open and sang the whole time. Bawdy songs about girls that I couldn’t imagine were true. He said his name was Mooney, but he said to call him by his nickname, Looney Mooney.

I told him I preferred not to.

He talked whenever he wasn’t singing, and he told me to head to the bar later so I could buy him a drink. I agreed but decided to hide out after my work was done. Probably safer that way.

The books weren’t as bad as I thought. I looked through them and broke out my laptop. I compiled a big spreadsheet in half a day and found out that the company was doing pretty well. Not much funny business that I could find. I dropped my results in an email and sent it off to my boss. He would be happy, and I still had a couple of days to enjoy the sun.

Tried to call Ally, but I guess she was out and about. I left her a message telling her how much I missed her. Then I ordered room service and had some rum while I watched the local channels, which were in the native language. There was some sort of variety show that had men chasing each other around on bicycles through a city that looked like a quiet place—except for these yahoos. I could see myself retiring here, maybe opening a bar and offering maps and advice to tourists.

I got the diary out. Had it in a plastic bag with a digital camera, some extra cash, a tube of sunscreen, and my iPod. The bag was just a big thick clear thing Ally bought me. I guess they make them for divers. It has a clasp made of plastic that closes so tight you can take the thing underwater and it won’t even leak. She said it was expensive, but it looks like a fancy Ziploc baggie to me.

Ally said that the way it rains here, I’d need something to keep my stuff dry. Turns out she was almost right. Rain, crashing into the ocean, whatever.

At the time, I felt more like a drink than quality time with the diary, so I put it away without writing anything and headed to the pool. With any luck, I wouldn’t run into the crazy pilot. If he saw me drinking, it might just encourage him. Then who the hell was going to fly the plane?

I sat by the pool, and someone brought me a drink menu. I ordered some fancy thing that came in a coconut shell. I enjoyed it so much that I ordered one more. I could drink those things every day. I may have dozed, because when I opened my eyes, the sun was getting low, and I had to rush back to the room to grab my bags.

The hotel staff acted very nice as I packed to leave. With my inspection complete, I imagine they were glad to get rid of me. The manager gave me his personal cell number and told me to call if I had any questions about the books. Then with smiles, pats on the back, a handshake or two, I left feeling like a celebrity. I bet Ally would have loved it there, though under the circumstances, I suppose I shouldn’t feel too guilty for not springing for a ticket for her.

I miss my girl. Speaking of which …

When my new girl wandered off, I hiked to the center of the island and drank some fresh water guzzling until I thought I was going to puke. I took my shirt off and splashed water over my body. Wish I could strip and bathe for real, but I would have to do it fast in case she came after me. Don’t want her chasing after me while I’m buck-ass naked.

I managed to find a couple of little starfish-looking things by the shore, but I almost puked when I ate them raw. I wondered how they would taste if I cooked them.

I had some matches from the resort. I’d almost forgotten that I’d put them in the waterproof bag. Luck was really on my side, since no amount of rubbing sticks was likely to work in my favor. I did try it for a minute, but all I got was really sore hands and a warm stick.

She found me and stood against the sticks I’d used to construct a crappy barrier. She didn’t push against them, just stood there staring at me. I would have to keep an eye on her.

Managed to get a fire going. Had to clear out a section of my new living area so I wouldn’t catch on fire when I slept. Stupid chick went bat shit insane, like she’d never seen a flame before. I had to build up a little palm leaf barrier so she couldn’t see it. Then she settled down.

God, she was like some ADD kid with Tourette’s syndrome. Maybe I can tie her to something, give me time to do some much-needed work. Need to do some exploring. Find food. Maybe cook one of the coconuts just to have a different flavor.

All day I have been fighting the runs. Coconut must be the best system cleaner in the world. Work for five minutes, pop a squat. Go get some water, pop a squat.

That reminds me. She doesn’t eat. (Though she did try to eat me the first day.) Haven’t seen her take a dump either. Then again, she is too stupid to raise her skirt and do it. God! The thought of her crapping in some silky Victoria’s Secret panties makes me want to throw up—not that I have anything in my stomach.

I’m going to get water and then write more. Nothing else to do except gather my thoughts and jot them down.

***

Food at last, and not a bad meal if I do say so myself.

I came back from the little waterfall, and she just stared at me. She moaned, her jaw opened wide and I saw the horror that was her mouth. She must have fallen down a few times, because her front teeth are a mess. Some are cracked, and some are just plain broken. Her tongue is a gray hunk that reminds me of a dry slug. When it slips out, she has trouble getting it back in. I saw her chewing on it a couple of times, and that made me shiver despite the stupid heat.

I noticed some bug had planted eggs in her dried-out eye. Reminded me of spider sacs, but they were moving. Maybe they are cocoons. I don’t watch enough Animal Planet to make a call. All I know is that I wish I could hold her down and squish them.

Anyway, she was standing in front of a tree and wasn’t moving, so I decided to sneak past her and go sleep in my little walled-off space. Only I noticed that her hair was moving around like it was alive. I felt my skin crawl, and I shivered all over like I had caught a chill in the ninety-plus-degree sun. I wanted to bash her over the head and stop whatever was moving in there. I even reached for a stick before I saw the blue-and-white claw poke out. I felt my mouth flood with saliva at the sight.

My girlfriend had crabs—in her hair.

I thought drool was going to burst from between my lips. It was like someone poured water in my mouth. I couldn’t stop thinking about the crab legs Ally and I ate in San Francisco last year.

I had this stick in my hand, and I really wanted that crab. I walked toward her as slowly as I could. She smelled sort of like old fish left out, and don’t even get me started on where that reek might be coming from. I hope it’s just from the crash and her spending all that time in the water.

Please be from the seawater! Please be from the seawater!

One of the little crab claws poked out of the nest of blond hair and snapped at the air. I was just about close enough to grab it, but she must have sensed me behind her, because she turned—well, staggered, really—like she was on a bender. When she saw me, her eyes opened wide—even the one without the gross bug eggs in it—and her mouth snapped at the air.

I tried to ward her off with the stick, but she reached for me anyway. I slapped her hands away. Didn’t want to touch her skin, but I did and, man, was she cold. It actually felt good compared to the heat, sort of like touching a raw steak fresh from the fridge. I pushed her again, just enough to turn her away.

I made a grab for the crab’s claw, but the little bastard snapped at me. I was so hungry that I ignored the claw and let it close on my finger. It hurt like hell, so I tried to yank my hand back, but it wouldn’t let go. So there I was, dancing around this dead chick with my hand stuck in her hair. She reached for me over and over. Those nasty broken teeth snapped at me. She almost got a bite! Zombie bite—crap. I’ve read enough and seen the movies. I know that if she bites me, I am fucked.

I jerked my hand away hard enough to free it and stuck my sore thumb in my mouth. Then I worried that I had touched her and somehow the zombie virus would get into me. I spat repeatedly and prayed I wouldn’t change into a shambling creature like her.

This was not working!

I pushed her back, and she staggered into a tree. I backed up and found a large piece of curved driftwood. I turned it over so the round part stuck up in the air. Then I built up a pile of sand around the other end so it wouldn’t fall over. Finally, I pounded on the rounded end until it made a little hump on the ground.

I led her away, about ten feet or so, then I ran back and stood behind my new trap. She found me after a minute or two, and it was a mind-numbing slow wait for her to stagger toward me. She moaned and hissed and, at one point, even put her arms up like some stupid Frankenstein chick.

It took forever, but she fell for it. She tripped just like I’d hoped and fell flat on her face. I’ve heard that saying many times, but I’d never seen it happen quite like this.

I jumped on her back and fought the crab. He was buried in her hair like he was stuck in a net. At first I was scared of his snapping claws, but I managed to unhook two legs. Meanwhile, she lay under me and struggled to get up. I had my legs around her slim waist, and her face was still pressed into the sand. I worried that she would suffocate, but she didn’t bother to lift her head.

I held the crab around the ass end of his shell. I’m sure I muttered a few obscenities at the stupid thing, but it just snapped at me and hissed little bubbles.

She lay there for a long time, just moving her head back and forth. I thought about finding a stick to finish her off, but I had to admit she was pretty entertaining. When I get off this cursed island, I know I will write a book about my adventures and sell a million copies. It will be even better if I manage to keep her alive.

She didn’t even try to get up. She just flopped around like a slow-moving fish out of water.

I went back to camp, got the fire going and cooked the little snapper. He had to be just about the best crab I have ever tasted.

Night is here, and I can barely make out the page, so I guess I’ll try and get some sleep.

Oh God. I have to take another shit.

Day 5

My Girlfriend Doesn’t Talk Much

I was so tired from running around with my new girl that I crashed without taking precautions last night. I woke and jerked upright, looked around for her, my mind freaking with the thought that she may have taken a bite out of me while I slept. Looked over my arms and chest in a rush, felt the skin for puncture marks. Then got up and looked around. That’s when I noticed she had not moved from her spot last night. She was moving her arms and hands like she was swimming.

Fucking retard.

Hiked off to the stream and took a real bath. The morning was already muggy, so the water felt great. Used some sand to scrub my body as clean as I could. Wish I had some soap and shampoo. While I’m wishing for stuff, I guess I’ll wish for a burger and fries. God, I’m hungry.

The hike back sucked. I was covered in more sweat than when I made my trek to the pool. I wanted to stay at the stream all day, but I needed to figure out how to get some food. Decided I would try to sharpen a stick and jab it into a fish. Saw that on the TV show Survivorman once. He just threw it at the water and came up with something that flopped around on the end.

I was ready to eat something floppy.

The sun made me feel like my skin was on fire. The ground was rough, and all I have in the way of footwear was a pair of foam flip-flops. I wonder how long they’re going to last.

When I got to my little camp, I saw that the stacks of wood I had prepared for a signal fire were scattered everywhere. Looked like she tried to crawl over it. She was lying across a log with her ass in the air, skirt almost torn off.

Great.

I grabbed her ankle, dragged her away from the wood and pointed her toward the water. She snapped at me the entire time, turning her head back and forth as if she could reach me. She has shapely legs. Too bad they’re gray and covered in gunk.

Don’t think about the gunk! Don’t think about the gunk!

Wonder if I can give her a bath.

I chatted the entire time I dragged her. Asked her name, what she did for a living. Asked if she liked guys like me at all, guys who don’t have buckets of money and actually have to work for a living. Not like the chucklehead she was with on the plane.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was just a perv ogling her from the back of the plane. Stupid plane! I know that pilot was drunk. So I told her all about the crash.

It started with that pilot. Looney Mooney with his shorts hung so low in the back I had to wonder if that was how he got his name.

Mooney wandered onto the plane, bumped into the wall, then smiled and nodded at the stewardess. His walk was sort of a weave as he made his way to the cockpit and shut the door. I hoped he wasn’t too sick. I knew he wasn’t drunk, because pilots aren’t allowed to drink before they fly. Right?

The stewardess was new. She didn’t smile much, but she did set up the few passengers with drinks early on. Come to think of it, where was she on the first flight? I guess the presence of additional people on the plane called for a stewardess.

She seemed nice and smiled whenever she passed my seat.

The only interesting part of getting on the plane was this hot girl that got on with this huge guy in a flower-print shirt. She was short but cute as all get out, with a figure to kill for. She had big perky boobs that poked out of a low-cut blouse. Her skirt was so short I got a glimpse of her upper thighs when she sat down. She laughed at the guy she was with.

A lot.

He must have been the funniest man in the world. Every time he said something to her, she cracked up like he was telling her the greatest joke in the world. He grinned back and wheezed like an asthmatic clown without the makeup.

They ordered drinks and that was that. A few more passengers got on, but for the most part, it was just me in the crap section and the rich snobs in the front.

I watched her from the back. She kept her attention on him, so I got to check her out every time she summoned the stewardess for more little bottles of booze. And she had to keep running to the bathroom.

At one point, the guy opened his bag and dug out a big gold bottle that looked like Cristal. I’m pretty sure that’s what the thing was. Asshole. He sucked it down like it was water. Probably has as much money as God, and with a hot chick like that at his side … I wish I could sit around and drink a two-hundred-dollar bottle of bubbly grape juice.

I guess I got part of my wish when SHE became my only companion. I think I would have settled for the booze.

It was about twenty minutes later when the plane bounced up and down a few times. I didn’t think it was a big deal until we started tilting forward. I’m no pilot, but I know a plane with its ass in the air is a bad thing.

I looked outside long enough to see the engine on the right side sputter, then spit smoke and bird feathers. Then it belched fire. Oh shit! Fire. Plane. Engine. This was not good, not good at all!

I can’t explain my next action. For the life of me, I don’t know what I was thinking.

I started tossing back alcohol like there was no tomorrow.

Come to think of it, there was no tomorrow! I guess if I couldn’t die screwing, I could settle for dying half drunk. So I guzzled cheap liquor and hoped it would hit my brain before we hit the water and exploded into a million pieces.

There was a lot of loud swearing from the front as the pilot tried to level out the plane, but no matter how many times he swore, we still hit the water. The noise was like dropping into hell. A half-second of silence and then screams from a woman. Looking back, I think it was ME screaming. Stuff flew everywhere, and I tasted salt water.

I think being in the back saved me. I remember when we struck. Then I blacked out. When I came to, I was spitting water and gasping for breath.

It was dark, almost night—guess I lost track of time. Smashing into the ocean will do that to you. I was still pretty buzzed and unsure if I had blacked out for an hour or a minute. I was holding on to my seat cushion, and there were plane parts all around me. I floated for a while and slowly sobered up. I called out again and again, “Are there any survivors?” but no one answered.

I floated for a long time and wondered if a shark was going to come along and eat my skinny white butt. I saw the beginning of Jaws over and over in my head.

The water was warm but not like a bathtub. It was more like a sink full of water that has been sitting around for a while. I wondered if I should be concerned about hypothermia. At least the seat was good at keeping me afloat—I bet I could’ve stayed on it for a week.

I was alone, in the dark, and I had no idea which way to go. I kicked my legs and hoped I was aiming for the nearest resort. I was sure they had those things as thick as McDonald’s restaurants in the tropics.

There were no sounds except the water that lapped against me as I swam.

The moon was barely visible behind a cloud. The cloud moved on, but another one took its place. I picked the moon as my new destination and kicked some more.

I’ve never had so much exercise in my life. Kicking, kicking and more kicking. I bobbed like a top even as I tried to push forward. I couldn’t tell if I was making any progress at all. It was all float, swim, float, swim, float, swim until my legs felt like they were stuck in Jell-O.

I floated like this for hours and even closed my eyes a couple of times. Didn’t help much. As soon as I felt like I was drifting off, water would wake me or the stuff would go into my ear.

Eventually, I hung in the sea like a corpse. I bet my skin looked like a prune. My balls were shriveled up and felt like they had retreated inside my gut. I had to wonder how long I could live like this. Then, to my complete and utter surprise, my feet touched sand. At first I jerked them up, because I thought it was a fish or a shark underneath me. Then I looked up and saw familiar shapes.

Trees!

I touched the bottom again and walked forward until I found the shore. I wept in relief and then threw up about thirty times. Old food, burning booze and seawater made a disgusting afterbirth.

I dragged myself up and out of the water and then along the beach, collapsed against a plant of some sort and then crashed hard. Like I said the first day: Screw you, paradise!

When I got tired of talking to the girl, I walked back to the wood and stacked it up again. I don’t know how I will light the fire when I see a plane or boat. Probably have to use my shirt. Or her clothes.

That might not look right. Stuck on the island and I burn the girl’s clothes instead of mine. Still, with that body, even the gray skin … I mean she was hot a day ago …

Holy shit—I am losing it!

She crawled across the sand, following me as I built up the woodpile again. She was just about the most disgusting dog that has ever followed me.

I felt bad about the bugs, so I sat on her back. I had to cock her head to the side and lean on it with my knee. Big-time wrestlers got nothing on my zombie-hold. I used the sharp end of a shell to dig out the eggs.

Some had started to hatch, so I took them back to the camp and held the shell near the fire until they were black. I figured if I cooked the hell out of them, it would destroy whatever zombie virus might be hiding in them.

I stared at them for a long time. They grew cold to the touch, but every time I held them to my lips, I couldn’t do the deed.

Finally I decided to suck it up and become a survivor. I closed my eyes and dumped the whole blackened mess into my mouth.

They tasted so bad that I almost threw up. I couldn’t even swallow them. I spit the horrid things out and then freaked because of the virus. What was I thinking? There was no telling how it spread. Now I would have to sit around and worry about turning into her. Her without awesome boobs.

I washed my mouth out with some water and sand and then headed to the beach.

The spear theory turned out to be shit. Caught a whole bunch of nothing. While I was staring at the water, waiting for a fin to show itself, I noticed a few little bubbles rising. Stuck my head under the water and looked around until I spotted a gray-and-black shell. Oysters! I found three and cooked them until they opened. Each had a tiny pearl, which I set aside. Then I gobbled the meat down like it was a T-bone. I never cared much for shellfish, but these had me back in the ocean looking for more so fast it would make your head spin.

I spent the afternoon collecting more of the little treasures. While I was ass up in the water, I heard a noise behind me. I spun around and caught a glimpse of grey—though shapely—legs. The rest of her was underwater! Oh God, she was going to drown!

I grabbed her ankle, dragged her out, and flipped her over.

Her face was blue, and water gurgled out of her mouth and nose. Her white dried-up eye didn’t look much better when it was wet. Her one good blue eye followed my movement as I dropped down and pressed on her chest with both hands. Water squirted out in a geyser, and I was stupidly in the line of fire. Blech!

She groan-gurgled a mouthful. When I lifted my hands from her chest, the water was sucked back into her mouth.

She snarled, but I pressed again. This time, I got the hell out of the way. See, I can learn.

“I’m not trying to get it on with you!” I complained when she took a snap at me.

She answered with a fresh gurgling groan. I dragged her to a big log and lifted her off the ground. I was simply too tired for this, so I dumped her, ass up, over the log and left her to drain.

No worse for wear, I took my oysters back to camp. Stoked up the fire and cooked them just like the others. Then I burned my fingers and mouth trying to get at the meat. I saved the pearls again. Maybe I’ll make her a necklace. That will look good when the rescuers arrive; they’ll see that I took good care of her. Plus I could use it as an apology for all the abuse. Yeah, chicks dig jewelry, right?

It’s getting late, so I guess I’ll go to sleep. Tomorrow, I plan to make a rope and tie her to something.

I can still hear her flopping around on the beach. I hope she doesn’t figure out how to stand up in the night. Crap, I better go check the barricade again.

Day 6

My Girlfriend likes to be Tied up

Woke to the sound of an airplane overhead.

I flew off my palm leaf mattress, stood up and took two stumbling steps before I tripped over her. She must have spent all night wiggling around the little barricade. If I had slept another half-hour, she would have had me. One bite and then we would be the perfect zombie couple. They’d find us and name us Dumb and Dumber.

I reared back to kick her, but she turned her head and looked at me with that one good eye. It was just as blue as a summer day and I felt—well, I felt a sense of pity for her undead ass.

Note to self: Make a damn rope and tie her to something.

So the plane (Dee Plane, Dee Plane) flew overheard, and I was jumping up and down like a maniac, screaming at the sky like I was the retard instead of her. I ran for the firewood, but she had scattered it all over the place in the night.

All right, now she is just fucking with me!

The plane flew off into the distance, and it was suddenly quiet again except for my stomach, which decided to growl like a chainsaw. I guessed I’d start with some high-fiber fruit and then try to dig up some oysters later. There was a weird blob of fish that looked like a big limp penis in the shallow water. I don’t know if I can cook it, but what the hell, beats starving to death.

I built up the wood stack again and stomped around, generally miserable. She hissed at me every time I went past her, but that’s okay. She can’t figure out how to stand up and give chase. I scowled at her, and she looked at me with that blank stare. Her gums look a little black today, and her teeth are turning green. I should bring some clean water and try to scrub her down.

That reminds me, she smells like death. Well, what I’m guessing death would smell like. It’s kind of like the smell of meat left out too long. I wonder how long until I run out of food and she starts looking like a steak.

“Want anything while I’m at the stream?” I asked her. She moaned and hissed again.

“Fine, no fruit for you.” I smacked her ass as I strolled away. Showed her ...

There seemed to be more water today. I should really follow the stream and find out where it leads. Maybe I am on the back end of some tropical getaway, lost and starving while some rich assholes are just living it up on the other side of the island. Maybe they have mai-tais, grilled steaks, French fries! Oh my God, I need some real food. On my way back, I looked all around for something to use as a rope. There were no vines hanging from the trees, just a bunch of huge leaves. I tore some down and tested how flexible they were. Wound one up and pulled on it. Then I took down another one and wound them together.

Never took basket weaving, never was a Boy Scout, and I never joined the Navy, although I learned how to crochet as a kid. That lonely summer when Grandmother taught me. You don’t let your grandmother down, Diary, you just don’t.

I collected a pile of leaves and carried them back. Found a pretty red flower growing in the shade of a palm tree and added it to my pile. If nothing else, I should be able to decorate my living space.

I got back and found she had crawled into my little sleeping area and made a mess of it. That would take a while to fix. Okay, enough of this. I sat on the other side of the barricade that wasn’t really much of a fence. I worked the branches back and forth to keep the fence in place, but if she ever goes at it with any force, she will break through it in a few minutes. I’m glad she isn’t that motivated.

I plopped down on the other side of the fence, and she started crawling toward me again. It’s like she doesn’t get how her arms can help her move; she just slithers like a big gray snake. I had plenty of time before she got near me. Her good eye is so dry … Wish she would blink it from time to time.

I should bring some water back for her so I can wet it. If I can cover her mouth, she might be more cooperative. At least she won’t be able to bite me.

I worked on my rope for a few hours and ate the fruit I left out to dry last night. A few small bugs on one meant some extra protein, even though I wanted to puke every time I chewed. I made a game out of how fast I could eat them. I grabbed a bunch of those little hopping sand fleas and shoved them into my mouth just as fast as I could. I found that if I got them in the back of my throat fast enough, I could just swallow and pretend they were raisins.

When I finished the rope, I found it was pretty strong. I yanked on the thing and then stood up and put my foot on one end against the ground and pulled. Looked like it would hold up nicely, at least until it dried out and fell apart.

I dropped onto her back and tried to ignore the smell. Jesus! I hadn’t needed my shirt thanks to the heat, so I tore off the bottom. It took a few tries to get the cloth around her neck and into her mouth without getting bitten.

Gagged, she was, for now, somewhat harmless. I lifted her to her feet and watched her try to keep her balance. She snarled and snapped at me over the cloth. I looped the rope around her throat and set off with her close behind, only she didn’t take well to her leash and fell flat on her face when I pulled too hard.

Oops.

I had to wrestle her stinky ass back on her feet again and decided to tie the rope around her waist instead.

With the first tug, she nearly fell again. Then I got an idea.

I let the slack out and moved to the end of the slack. She raised her arms toward me and moaned under her muffled gag, then stumbled after me. Can’t believe I have to play follow the leader.

I lead her to the stream, to the end away from where I like to bathe and gather water. Then came the delicate art of removing her clothes while she batted and snarled at me. She was wearing a really frilly white bra that spilled out a large pair of breasts when I tugged it down. Well good for her!

Too bad they are as cold as ice and mottled gray.

The rest of her clothes came off. I tossed her panties, because they were just nasty. I don’t even want to think about what they looked like, let alone write about it. Oh God. Cleaning down there should have been fun, but I just wanted to throw up.

She kept turning as I bathed her, doing the bob-and-snap dance. I washed her down with her silky shirt before putting it back on her. It’s see-through and helps offset the color of her skin. Her skirt went back on and hung limply around her waist, making a wet slapping noise as I led her back to camp.

I think I am getting used to being hungry, the constant gnawing ache. Sometimes my skin feels cold and clammy, even though the weather is hot and muggy. I saw a bird rifling through my stuff when I got back, but I was too slow to get him. I picked up a rock and threw it like I was aiming for home plate. It flew under him as he soared into the sky with a squawk.

I bet he would have tasted like chicken.

Tomorrow, I will try to build a snare. Maybe I can have a little KFC. I wonder how I will build a snare. Jesus. I don’t even know what a snare looks like.

I tied her to a tree and went oyster diving again. Found one of those long things that looks like a penis hanging out of a shell. It smelled terrible. but I’m gonna cook it in some coconut milk in the shell. Maybe I can choke it down.

When I got out of the water, I saw that she had managed to wrap herself around the tree so she was facing it, rope tight around her body. It took a while to get her untied. One of the starfish I pulled out tried to get away while I worked at her rope. But it only got about three inches. I tossed it on the fire with a grin.

It’s late, and I can barely keep my eyes open. The fire is stoked up nice and high. She doesn’t sleep, but I thought it would be nice to give her a little freedom, so I left the knot on the tree loose. Now she is walking in circles. Her clothes look clean, and her hair is actually nice tonight, not too badly matted. Put the red flower behind her ear, but now it is just hanging there, limp and dead.

She is like a little zombie carousel. Just watching her makes me sleepy. Round and round she goes; if she manages to get loose, away I’ll go.

Day 7

My Girlfriend Likes To Get Wet

Today it rained.

All. Goddamn. Day.

She stared up at the sky for hours as water washed over her body. It turned that shirt transparent again, leaving her breasts looking pretty much like a normal chick’s. I just pretended like she was alive. It was nice to get some relief, so to speak.

Huddled under the lean-to for hours and hours. I talked to her, which is just like talking to myself, since it is one sided. I don’t think about it like that. She is human, or was, so I can justify it in my mind.

So bored. I always had stuff to do at home when Ally was around. She worked odd hours, so sometimes I would be alone for a weekend. But I had video games and TV. I could catch up on all the shows like CSI and NCIS—which I’m pretty sure is just CSI spelled a different way.

How would those guys look at my new girlfriend? They would have to take blood samples, I’m sure—check her for trauma. Check me for drama as I squealed about what great care I was taking with her. They would make sure she wasn’t raped, which isn’t even a remote possibility. I may be alone and young and horny, but I am not into fucking dead chicks. Gross. That can’t feel good anyway; I mean, it would be all dry and stiff. Just thinking about is almost enough to put me off sex forever.

She managed to turn on her side, and after a few minutes of the rain pelting her, she drew her legs up so that her skirt rode up pretty high. God, why is she dead? She has such nice legs—as long as I ignore the gray. I managed to get some more relief while I watched her roll over a couple of times. Does that make me a sicko? I might have to strike this part from the diary once I am rescued.

Rain and more rain. Hovering in a corner right now while it pours down. Found a dry spot, and that is how I am writing to you, dear Diary. I wish night would get here so I can sleep. But this day may just go on forever.

Dragged the remains of the fire under the cover and then added a little more wood. Added some leaves to the shelter so that water stopped hitting me. Phew. As long as she doesn’t see the fire, I won’t have to put up with her screaming.

I should just put her out of her misery tomorrow morning. If I can work up the nerve.

Day 8

My Girlfriend’s Husband Smells

This morning, I woke huddled in my little sleeping area, shivering from the water that doused me overnight. The leaves I had added didn’t last long, and most of them lay soaked with rain on the other side of the lean-to. I really need to build up the shelter so I can stay dry. I have had a little luck weaving the big bladed ones together, so I think I’ll try to make a roof of some sort. Was thinking that if I created a triangular shape, it would let the water run off.

I stood and stretched. I was going to say good morning to her, but she wasn’t in her spot.

What the hell?

Her rope was broken in the middle. I looked around quickly, expecting her to jump out at me at any second, but she was nowhere to be seen. Her gag was on the ground; it looked like she had chewed through it. Not good. I might have to make a new one out of her skirt. The material looks stronger than the thin t-shirt I was wearing.

I walked to the beach and looked in the water, hoping she hadn’t wandered into it. I wonder how long she would be able to survive in the ocean. Probably until a shark got her. This presents an interesting question. If she bites an animal, will it turn into a zombie? Zombie sharks or zombie dolphins. Man, that is a freaky thought.

The water was crystal clear. The sand warm. It flowed around my toes as I wandered. If I had some beer, food, and a live girl, this would be paradise. I don’t know how big the island is yet. If she hadn’t turned up, I might have found out today.

I scanned the beach and thought I saw movement in the distance. Might have been a mirage. The water splashes up sometimes, and I think I am seeing things that aren’t there.

I walked along the waterline for a few minutes, and sure enough, it was her. She was on all fours. That was a new development. I wondered when she’d developed better motor skills.

She was on top of something. I couldn’t make it out, but it looked like a person. I started running, thoughts of another survivor leaping to mind. What if someone else made it and she was trying to eat them? Oh my God!

“Hey, HEY!” I yelled.

She turned her head, and her good eye locked on mine. She snarled around something in her mouth and then turned back to the thing on the ground. I came up alongside her and, to my horror, saw it was a body. It was a large person dressed in a flower-print shirt that looked awfully familiar.

The stench reached me, and I turned away to retch. I couldn’t afford to lose anything that was in my stomach, so I bit down on my gag reflex. I looked again, this time steeling my mind for the worst and realized who it was.

It was her husband. And she was eating him.

She had his shirt pulled up on one side, and a large chunk of his gut was missing. She ignored me as I walked around, both hands clenched over my mouth as I looked at the body. The last time I had seen him, he was laughing while feeling up his hot young wife. She had been vibrant, alive, flushed with champagne. Now they were both dead, although he was sure deader than her.

Oh crap! What if he came back to life like her? I couldn’t have two zombies wandering around my island. I would have to bash in his head. And her head, while I was at it. Should have done that on the first day, but … who would I talk to then?

Some choice, eh? Keep the one with boobs or take a chance on a big fat guy who was missing most of his stomach.

His head and one arm were in the water; the rest of his body was in the fetal position. I splashed into the surf and grabbed his arm, intent on dragging him out to sea. I thought I could weigh his body down with rocks. She hissed at me when I tugged on him, but she kept eating.

He must have weighed two-eighty in life. Now he was bloated and waterlogged. His head lolled out of the water, and I saw that his eyeballs were missing, eaten away by some sea creature, no doubt. His skin was pasty and puffy. There was no way that guy was coming back to life, I told myself over and over. He was too decayed, too full of water and crap. No way, man, no fucking way.

His fat ass was hard to move, so I yanked harder. There was a tear and a sucking noise, and suddenly I was falling into the water, holding his arm. I splashed and came up sputtering as seawater rushed into my nose and mouth. I stood up fast, wiping it off my face, and tossed the arm onto the beach with a squeal of horror. The fleshy part was facing me, and all the stringy gooey stuff that used to connect him to his shoulder was hanging there like a weird bowl of pasta. I was amazed that there was no blood. He probably bled out in the water. But how come he didn’t attract a shark or something?

She ignored me and kept chewing.

I stomped through the water and grabbed the end of the rope that trailed behind her. I gave it a hard tug, pulling her off his corpse. She stumbled to her feet. I gave another yank. She fell on her back and stared up at the sky as if in shock. But she kept chewing her mouthful of husband.

I used the rope to pull her farther away. She struggled but couldn’t figure out how to roll over. She must have crawled to the beach while I was asleep. I’m glad she didn’t try to come after me in the night. Last thing I need is for her to take a bite of my arm. Might wake up dead. I mean undead.

I didn’t want a repeat of the arm tearing off, so I grabbed his legs and pulled. He was so heavy! Maybe I should have torn him into pieces after all. It would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if I had an ax; then I could have hacked him apart.

I pulled and pulled. Worked the body inch by inch until it was in the water. Then he was easier to move. He wasn’t really buoyant anymore, probably due to his waterlogged clothes and skin. I wondered if it were possible for a body to stay in the water so long that all of the blood was replaced with seawater.

I was dragging him out to sea by his legs when his head surfaced. That eyeless socket regarded me with something like scorn. Could just be my imagination. I have been alone for close to a week now. Maybe it was starting to get to me—the insanity of being stuck on a deserted island with a damn zombie.

Alone.

Yeah, I know she is there, but she is this mindless shambling thing that wants to eat me. Does that sound like a good companion? At least Tom Hanks’s volleyball didn’t snarl and snap all the time.

I was in the water up to my neck when I figured it was far enough. I pushed him and hoped the current would take him out to sea.

It didn’t.

He sank so that only one leg stuck out of the water, then he started drifting back to shore. I could see the current pulling him. He rolled over, and his face was dragged along the sharp reef. That wouldn’t do much for his looks. I tugged him back out and then went underwater—pulling one leg with me. I found a large rock and wedged his foot under it. Took a few tries to lock him in place, but when I was done, only his neck and head were showing.

I realized I should take his clothes while I was at it. Might need those later.

It wasn’t hard to tug the shirt off his one-armed torso. I threw it to shore and went back for the pants, but there was no way I could tear them off unless I let him loose again.

She was freaking out by now, rolling over and over, trying to get to her side. In a furious push that looked like an old lady trying to get up (Help, help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!), she made one last attempt and actually rolled over onto her stomach and started crawling toward the arm. That gave me an idea of how to get her back to camp and keep her busy for the rest of the day.

I waded to shore, waterlogged like her ex, and grabbed the arm. It probably looked like I was shaking hands. She kept her eye on the meat the whole time. I shook it in front of her face. “You want some food, baby? Follow me. I got a one-course meal with your name on it.”

I walked away with his arm dragging in the sand. She followed close, her eye never leaving the pale ragged flesh.

I dropped the arm when we arrived back at camp. She leaned over and started nuzzling the flesh like a lover. I know, the irony, right? I tied the rope back together while she ignored me. I returned the courtesy by ignoring her chewing.

After that, I had pretty good luck with the surf and turf—although it was mostly surf. The turf came when I cooked a starfish in a weird papaya-looking fruit shell and ended up chowing down on one of the palm leaves I used to cover it up. Tasted gross, but it was one of the most filling meals I have had yet.

Meanwhile, she worked away on her own dinner and didn’t once snarl or snap at me, not even a single dirty look. She was as content as I have seen her on the island. I think that’s saying a lot, considering she is fucking dead.

Day 9

My Girlfriend Likes to Play with Herself

She didn’t give up on the arm. She kept gnawing away like it was a hunk of prime rib. Saliva squirted into my mouth when I thought of the last time I had eaten a good steak. I tried to think of the starfish and oysters as if they were a decent meal, but after a week on this cursed island, it’s all I can do to choke them down no matter how hungry I get.

I tied her up again, but she ignored me and went back to gnawing. She was no longer tearing out big chunks. She was just nuzzling the bones and meat like a … well, like a dog.

I spent the day working on my hut-to-be. I laid a foundation of palm leaves and branches, built them up so they were a few inches off the sand. I have been assaulted nightly by all kinds of bugs and things that bite. With any luck, the little bastards won’t be able to get me when I’m off the ground.

My idea of building a house like a tri-fold enclosure was paying off. I wove leaves all day to create the walls and ceiling. When I was done, I had something I could lie under. I stretched out and watched her stare at her prize. She didn’t move for a long time, and I wondered if she was thinking about anything in particular.

Zombies don’t think, they don’t feel, and they don’t talk. I know the stories and movies, but seeing one this close is something different all together. First of all, she is cold to the touch, and if you think I am enjoying her running around in what is left of her clothes, you are wrong. Her skin is gray and mottled. It looks like some really bad spackle on the side of a house. She only has one good eye; the other is dead and looks like a white almond.

The worst part is that she had been chewing on dead meat all night and day. I don’t even want to think about where it goes or how it gets back out. It’s not like she can take a crap. For all I know, the stuff she has been chowing down on is just sitting in her stomach and rotting. That’s probably what makes her breath so foul that I have to sit upwind.

And now she has a strip of skin stuck in her teeth and no idea how to get it out. She has been trying all morning. It just bounces off her chin as she snaps at it over and over again. It reminds me of the paddleball game where you bounce a ball off a small paddle that is attached via a rubber band. I bet she has tried to get that thing a hundred times already. Her one good eye stares down at it, but she can’t seem to get her hands to do anything like pull the skin off her broken teeth.

Boing. Snap. Boing. Snap. Boing. Snap. Skin, five hundred and forty. Zombie chick, zero.

I was busy making the hut when she fell on her face. She had reared back slowly and then let her mouth snap shut against air. She moved quicker than I have seen her move before, and it landed her on the ground.

I took the opportunity to stop working on the hut and find some smaller leaves. I got on her back again and tried to ignore the smell, the cold skin, and the clothes that were covered in dried blood. I tilted her head to the side as she snarled at me and used the leaves to pull the skin out from between her teeth. It was a long piece that was white and putrid. Spoiled and nasty.

I know when the rescue boat arrives and they read my diary, they will have trouble coming to grips with some of the things I had to do to the girl, but I promise I did everything as humanely as possible.

I tore part of her skirt off and wrapped it around her mouth. I’m still afraid of her bite.

I left her on the ground and went back to work on the hut. She rolled around and managed to get her hands trapped under her body and then bounced up and down like she was humping them.

It looked like she was playing with herself. The snarls and grunts didn’t help.

It rained later, so I took off my clothes and rubbed down with some sand. She looked at me blankly and continued thrusting her body up and down. So I decided to treat it like a vote of approval and did a little dance for her.

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 scraped 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 hell was that crap 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 passed 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 shellfish. Now I dream about that shit like it is filet mignon with crab and a bearnie … bernnie … ber—ah fuck 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 makeshift 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 splashing 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 shore. 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 shit.

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 crap 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 passed, 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 encompass 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-fuck-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. Bitch! After all I had done for her.

“What’s wrong with you? What the hell 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.”

I felt bad about leaving her arms tied up, but I put out the fire, laid her gently on her back and then tugged a small log over her feet. With her childlike reflexes and lack of motor skills, she wouldn’t go far. I felt sleepy for the first time that night. I lay there for a few minutes, listening to her snarl behind the gag, and then sang a soft song I remembered from one of my favorite bands. She quieted down, and I did it again.

After that, I closed my eyes and slept like a baby.

Day 11

My Girlfriend Likes to Play House

I was walking along the shore near the spot where I deposited her dead husband when I saw a shape moving in the water. It had a hump, and for a second, I thought it was his head bobbing around. Then there was a flap as the thing moved a fin, and I realized it was a turtle.

Ah. How cute! I had a turtle once, when I was a kid. Mom made me keep it in a big glass aquarium. Maybe I could keep this one as a pet and get rid of the zombie girl. Sure. I could name him and set up an area for him to live in. I bet I could learn a lot from the old fellow, like how to catch fish. Did turtles eat fish? Thinking back to my old turtle, Zeus, I was pretty sure he ate leaves and crap like that.

Wait. Turtle. Meat … MEAT!

I splashed into the surf in a rush and managed to grab one back flipper before he could pull it into his shell. He turned to snap at m,e and I thought of her, the way she tries to bite me all the time like I’m a steak. I’m pretty damn hungry, but I don’t understand how another person can look that tasty.

Its body was about a foot and a half at its longest part. I hauled it in and grabbed the shell while it tried to retract everything. I raced to the shore and studied it as it tried to get away. It had its fins out again, and I touched them. The texture of the skin was strange, like old wet leather.

Now all I had to do was get the thing open.

I like animals, and I would normally never hurt one, but I was starving. I hadn’t had a decent meal in almost two weeks, and every day was a struggle just to get up and hunt for anything edible. The rumble in my stomach drove me on. It was a deep gnawing in my gut that went on at all times of the day and night. Even drinking a lot of water didn’t help. When I did that, I just had a hollow gurgly feeling, like I needed to throw up. Running with a gut full of water sounds like carrying a bucket of water. It’s all slosh slosh burp burp. I miss Coke and Mountain Dew. I miss beer, and as much as I hate the sour taste of wine, I wish I had a bottle of red and Ally by my side.

I had managed to make a sort of hand ax with some black rock I found. The stuff looked like glass, and if I chipped at it enough with another rock, it was as sharp as a knife. I am like some damn caveman making weapons out of rock. I miss my cooking knives, too, while I am bitching about things I miss. I also miss Twinkies, Ho-Hos and chocolate chip cookies. I miss coffee and my four-dollar mochas. In fact, if I had a cup of coffee right now, I would probably blow a blood vessel in my head.

I wondered if I should kill the thing first or just start cutting. I wasn’t looking forward to discovering what sound a turtle makes when it’s cut open.

I lugged it back to camp, laid it on its back and let one hand rest on its belly so it didn’t try to roll over and get away. She was sitting up where I left her, secured to a rock. Her legs were tied together so she couldn’t stand up. She stared at me with that blank look, her one eye fixed on me and then on the animal. She made biting motions, which I am getting used to.

I studied the turtle, and so did she. She seemed strangely fascinated with the thing. I went and took her gag off so she could maybe have a taste when I cut it up. I guessed that I would have to put the meat on the ground in front of her so she could lean over and eat it.

I held the knife above the turtle’s green neck. Its eyes stared at me with something like fear. Did it know I intended to cut its head off? I touched the neck, and it recoiled immediately. Then I had to wait again for it to stick its head out.

Meanwhile, she was trying to crawl toward the animal. The turtle sensed this and backed away. I let one of her arms free, because I wanted to see how she would interact with it. Would she think it was a pet? Would she try to attack it?

The turtle backed into me. I pushed it forward, but it stuck its legs and head back in its shell. That gave me a good idea for a shelter. If she wanted to be near me all the time, I would build a rock room and stay in it while she was out by the fire. It would be just like we had a home. Well, a home with a corpse in it.

The turtle got brave and lurched into motion. I was going to wait until it stretched its neck all the way out and then—whack!—that sucker would be ready to cook. Assuming I figured out how to get the meat out of its shell. God … Meat, how long had it been? Turtle soup—isn’t that a delicacy somewhere? It was about to be a delicacy in my stomach.

I was drooling, mesmerized by my meal walking away when she snapped her head forward and latched onto the turtle’s neck. That’s when I learned that turtles can make noise. They hiss like a really pissed-off cat. She ripped the head back and tore it half off. Blood gushed out and stained the sand a deep red. I wondered if I should be drinking it or something. Had to be a lot of minerals and protein.

Oh shit! The zombie stuff she had. If I got any of it in my mouth, would it change me too?

I reeled back while she lay tied on her side and ripped at the head. She used her free hand to hold it to her lips and ate every scrap of flesh hanging off the neck. The turtle kept trying to back away, but his legs moved slower and slower. After a while, there was just a little twitching and the only sound was her enjoying her meal. But she didn’t really look content. She didn’t look happy or sad. She just looked like a mindless eating machine.

I picked up the rest of the turtle and used my knife to cut off a leg. It was tough, and I had to tear a lot of muscle and sinew to get it loose. By the time it came off, it was covered in sand, so I walked to the water and washed it off.

I set it on a rock next to the fire, just a few inches away, and within moments, the smell of roasted meat hit my nose.

I looked up at the sun and almost said a thank you to whatever god may be looking out for me. I used a stick to turn the leg after a few minutes, when the leg looked blackened, and then waited for what seemed like hours.

She didn’t move, just ate, and I wondered again where the meat went. I studied the line of her body, the way her shirt hung loose over her midsection, and realized her stomach had grown much larger. Jeez, how much did she eat? She looked like she was pregnant.

No! Not pregnant. She had eaten at least one arm from her dead husband a few nights ago. The meat was probably sitting in there, rotting and bloating.

I had no energy for worrying about it tonight, so I took the turtle leg off the fire and set it on another rock to cool. I couldn’t wait long, so I tore a tiny piece of white meat off. I stared at it, wondering if it would turn me into her new zombie boyfriend. How much would that suck? The rescuers would find us, and my diary would never get made into a movie.

I gulped and then threw the meat onto the fire. I couldn’t take the chance. I didn’t want to die. I cried when I put the stupid turtle meat on the fire and watched it crackle and burn. I used the rock knife to cut out every scrap of meat and added those to the flame. The smell almost drove me insane.

I wanted to lean over and bash her head in with the same rock I used to slice open the turtle. Bash her head in so that whatever zombie brains she had were a big pile of mush on the ground. I wanted to jump up and down on them, stomp them into the ground.

I was so mad that I went back to the water and splashed into it. I stomped around until I came across one of those big floppy things that hang out of shells and look like a cow’s penis. I snatched it out of the water, took it back to camp and put it on the fire. A few minutes later, I had a filling meal that tasted like crap. Really and truly tasted like some shit I wouldn’t eat in a million years. Yet there I was, munching away like it was a chili dog. At least it filled the hollow pit of my stomach.

How can I forgive her? She is ruining what happiness I might have had, but she can’t help it. She is acting on pure instinct. She has no mind. She can’t figure out that when she does something like that, it is bad for me.

She was chewing away at the last of the turtle when I leaned over and moved some hair out of her face. My beautiful turtle-chomping zombie girlfriend. Well, sort of beautiful; her skin is so gray now it looks like a weird mottled, overripe piece of eggplant. And she is so cold. I let her sleep by me all night, but in the morning, she was still like ice.

I left her to play with the head while I went off and collected more items for our little house. I gathered fallen branches and large leaves and started building up a collection of rocks. The food might have been terrible, but it made me feel a hell of a lot better.

It will take a while, but I’m pretty sure I can build some kind of hut or house, something we can live in. I’ll make a little pen for her, so I don’t have to worry about her eating me in the middle of the night. I bet she will like that. A place out of the rain and cold and heat of day.

No rest for the wicked, back to work.

Day 12

My Girlfriend Goes on a Diet

Found a couple of bags today. One was a waterlogged overnight-style case filled with clothes and a couple of romance novels. I set those out to dry, thinking that maybe she would like to hear a story. There was also a sewing kit and a portable fishing reel with no pole. Oh holy hell, happy day. All I needed was some bait. I’m sure I could scrounge up some little critters to stick on the end of a fishing line. Then a stick, of course, and a way to secure the reel to the stick. The more I looked at the thing, the more I realized it might not be that great. Sort of like a car with no keys. I set it down and looked in the other luggage.

The second bag was a heavy plastic case that must have floated, because some of the clothes inside were mostly dry, though salt encrusted. There were a couple of porn mags inside, but they featured men engaged in sex, and I was not the least bit interested.

Still, I set them aside. Waste not, want not. They would make good kindling. Or maybe I could show them to her, see if that got her worked up.

I found an enema kit still in the box. Who the hell brings one of those on vacation? I nearly threw it away before I got an idea.

The rest of the contents included a little sewing kit and a hat. Just a baseball cap with some Jamaican team stitched on it, but it would keep the sun off my forehead. There was some lubricant, which I carefully set aside. I didn’t want to know who had used that stuff and for what. It said it was petroleum based, and I have to admit that it would probably work well on my lips, since they are cracked and dry as a bone.

I took the stuff back to the camp and then hauled her to her feet. She belched as I picked her up, and the smell of meat left to rot in her gut made me gag. The little bit of food in my stomach felt heavy and wanted a way out. I took a clean breath of air, closed my eyes and thought of a fresh bouquet of flowers.

Well, no sense in waiting any longer. Went to the beach and filled the enema bag with salt water and then rinsed the thing you jam up your ass—really well. I have never used one on myself, but there was this one time when Ally … uh, never mind. I scrubbed my hands in sand and salt water until they were raw.

Took the full bag back to the camp and set it aside so the top was pointed up. Then I put her against a tree and tied her there with some of the rope I had fashioned. The stuff was getting a little worn, but she didn’t seem to be that strong, not like the zombies I had seen in movies. Maybe it was a lack of food or blood. She wasn’t getting any of mine. That’s for sure.

Now came the tricky part. The whole time I maneuvered her into position, she fought me, even though her hands were tied at her side. She kept snapping her head forward as if she were going to get a bite of me through the gag.

I carefully removed the gag and then held her head back by pushing on her forehead. The smell from her mouth was wretched. I held my breath as long as I could. Rotted meat from her husband and God only knew what else made me think about going vegan.

I had a couple of oyster shells ready, and I put the first one in her mouth the next time she snapped at me. I had to be careful so she didn’t get a piece of my finger. I wiped my hand down and grabbed the second one and snapped it onto the top of her mouth so she looked like a weird inside-out shellfish.

Now I was able to get to work. I had reconsidered the lube and decided to use a lot of it for this delicate operation. I wet the tube from the enema, slathered it up good and thick and then slipped the plastic end into her mouth. I had to push it against the back of her throat, and she gagged against it. I thought that was interesting. She is dead, after all, and shouldn’t have a gag reflex. Maybe she was just fighting the tube. I sure as hell would be.

I ran the tube down as far as it would go and then left the hose hanging there. I grabbed the bottle and screwed it on tight and then squeezed all the water into her stomach. She gurgled as it ran down her throat. I had to hold her head tightly so she wouldn’t thrash around.

Once it was empty, I ran to the beach and filled it again and repeated Operation Get the Nasty Shit out of her Gut. After her stomach was full with a third one, I untied her and dragged her away from the tree. I affixed the rope to her feet and then pulled the hose out. I massaged her gut just under her now-sagging boobs. I pushed and prodded, hoping to get the water and rotted material mixed together.

With the help of a low branch, I pulled her into the air, feet first, so that all the stuff in her stomach ran out of her mouth.

I could describe the maggot-infested rotted meat in great detail. It would surely make a great addition to someone’s bizarre horror movie, but I won’t. Let me just say that it was the single most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life. It was almost as bad when I repeated the process.

I don’t think she is any angrier with me today than usual. I took her to the stream afterward and gave her a long bath. I used a lot of the sunscreen to moisten her skin. I took my time and rubbed it all over her body, which was still cold to my touch. Her one good eye kept a constant watch on me, but she didn’t really react in any other way. If I were looking for any sort of gratitude, I wouldn’t find it here. With the meat out of her system, she must be a lot more comfortable, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at her.

Her clothes are getting worn out, the shirt hanging in strips. I could dress her in the stuff I found in the bags, but it’s all mostly ruined from the seawater. Besides, the clothes are all designed for a larger man, and I don’t want to waste them on her. I’m the live one here, and I need them more than she ever will.

I’m going to tie her to the tree and then go fishing.

Tomorrow, I will make her some new clothes.

Day 13

My Girlfriend Does the Hula

Had a pretty busy day today. I worked on the house … or hut … should probably just call it an enclosure. A homeless guy with a bunch of cardboard and wet paper towels could probably design a better home than this.

I saw a movie once where these two kids were stranded on an island and they somehow built a massive, multilevel mansion out of wood and palm leaves. Right now, I just needed something to keep me dry. I’ll worry about deserted-island engineering later.

I dragged more rocks over and managed to cut up some of the longer branches so I could build up a wall. I was planning to make it a sort of lean-to, but now I am going to elevate the roof and angle it so that the rain washes down to collect in the suitcase I dragged out of the sea yesterday. I may build a small space for her as well.

Tied her by her wrist to a tree that didn’t get much sun. Speaking of the sun, all that lotion I put on yesterday to moisturize her was a terrible idea. It just sat on top of her skin and didn’t soak in. So now she is covered in sand, because she falls down a lot. Each time I pick her up, it feels like I am picking up sandpaper. The shit has hardened everywhere.

I took one of the large shirts and tore off a sleeve and fashioned a new gag for her. She fought me the entire time as I wrapped it around her mouth. She smells so much better today now that the festering pile of meat is gone from her gut. I bet she is hungry, though. I mean, if she gets hungry. I’m a little confused on that point. If she had a full stomach, why was she always trying to take a bite out of me? Brain damage? Brain dead?

I have tried to reason with her. I talked to her, tried a little sign language, but nothing seems to get through. I offered some of the charred turtle. She chewed it once and then let the chunk of meat drool out of her mouth and down her chin. It left a black line that I had to clean up later, like she was a six year old.

There is no way I am giving her raw meat again, not after having to go through that whole disgusting process yesterday of jamming an enema tube down her throat. I had to dig a hole and then take a thick palm leaf and sort of scoop the nasty stuff in it. I felt like a giant cat covering shit. Fucking meow.

I managed to climb a tree today and get a couple of coconuts down. I broke one open and drank the wonderfully refreshing milk that was in the center. It went down like a dream, and the only thing I wished I had to go with it was some rum or tequila.

And a live girl—like Ally. She must be worried sick. I miss her like crazy. Sometimes I just lie on my little cot and think about all the fun we used to have together. She was a handful. Always coming and going. Ally was also sort of the hunter-gatherer of our relationship. She loved to fish, and she had no problem gutting, cleaning and smoking them. I had no problem eating them. This worked out well.

Staring at my new girlfriend, I decided that the clothes had to go, because they were torn up and covered in something I can only describe as goo. I didn’t exactly have replacements for her. Not unless I got real creative with the little crappy sewing kit I found yesterday. I had an idea, so I worked the rock knife into the shell and then all the way around it until it split open. I scraped out every last chunk of fruit and ate it like it was vanilla ice cream. I was never a huge coconut fan, so poor me, because it is now a staple of my diet. At first I left the shells in the direct sun to dry, but on second thought, I put them by the fire to dry faster.

I took her to the stream and removed her ragged clothes. They came away in tatters, and I tossed them in a heap. I don’t think she needs them anymore and, really, what purpose do they serve? Besides, they are a mess.

“Why can’t you be alive?” I asked her as I washed her breasts several times.

“Why can’t you talk?” I asked as I washed down her thighs. Too bad I don’t have any soap.

The smell of sunscreen was really strong, and I was happy that it wasn’t covering up the smell of decay. Ever since I found her body, I have been afraid she would start rotting.

“Why did you have to eat those weird berries?” I asked as I washed her butt. What guy doesn’t like to give his girlfriend a bath, right?

I went at her hair and got all the stuff out of it. It’s long and blond, and I bet it would look good with some shells woven into it. Or maybe I should cut it so it is easier to take care of. I bet I could take my black-rock knife and hack it off. She stared at me with that one good blue eye and moaned as I worked at her body. I pretended that she liked it instead of the truth: that if the gag were off, she would try to take a bite out of me.

I didn’t bother putting clothes on her. I took her cold hand in mine and led her back to the camp. Set her on the little pallet of leaves and tied her legs together so she couldn’t stand up and walk away. Then I grabbed the coconut halves and used the knife I found in the luggage to drill little holes in them. I worked on this for a few minutes, then got some fishing line and went to work.

I did get up early and try to fish, but it was a wasted effort. I found a tiny crab and hooked it, then tried dropping it in the water with one end tied to a stick. I didn’t even see a fish, let alone catch one. I need to think about where to fish later on today. I don’t think the fishing line is going to be much use unless I find a lake so I can bob the thing in the water. I just don’t have a fishing pole.

She snarled from her spot as I worked. Sheesh. I get no gratitude. I pretty much had the coconut halves ready, so I went to her side and crouched there and tried them on. I did some adjustments with the straps and then covered them in palm leaf strips so it didn’t look so tacky.

I untied her and then helped her up. She tried to come at me, but I pushed her away gently. She looked pretty good with the coconut halves making up a bikini top. Her breasts are pretty large, and they fill the halves. In fact, they press out of the top enough to give her some cleavage, gray though her skin is.

I tore up some more palm leaves and made a skirt out of them. It wasn’t perfect. Some of them kept falling out, but that was okay. She still looked like my little island girl. I wanted to go for the tropical look, but she looked more like those hula dolls people put on dashboards in their cars.

I put one of her pumps on, but she kept fighting me. So I just left her with the one. Now when she walks around, she sort of looks like she is dancing.

Yep, my girlfriend can do the hula, and it is kinda hot.

Day 14

My Girlfriend Moans a Lot

I spent the morning exploring more of the island. I have no sense of direction here. Well, I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but I might have that mixed up. It’s an island, so there isn’t moss on the shaded side of trees to determine which way you are supposed to look. Not that I even know how that works. Kind of like building a fire. If I lose my matches, I am screwed. I couldn’t start a fire if you gave me two sticks and a pair of midgets to rub them together. That’s why I have to constantly go back and add stuff to the fire. Even if it burns down to just a pile of ashes, I have been able to shave some wood off a stick and puff until it catches.

Can’t count on her to help out. She just stares at me and growls all the time. Sometimes she moans, but in a way that is far from sexy. She moans like she is really bored. She moans at night when I hide from her. She moans when I walk by. Sometimes, she manages to stand up; then she walks toward me with her hands held out in front of her, and moans really loud.

I shouldn’t say negative things like that. The Lifetime Network will only want me to say positive things. They’ll want to hear about all the things I did to rescue my girl.

Speaking of which, when I left this morning, I tied her to the tree and moved her out of the sun. She doesn’t tan. Not anymore. She always has that gray color to her skin. I think it has something to do with the pigment dying. She has spent hours in the sun and doesn’t turn red. I wish I had some of that tanning stuff so I could paint her body and make it look like she has a tan. I remember that Ally once did that at a salon, and her white complexion turned an almost orange color. It was embarrassing, but I told her she looked hot.

So anyway, Diary, I decided to explore, so I went what I will call “the other way.” I’m used to going one way to explore the island, so today I headed for the other side. See, I don’t need a compass. I took a left out of the little campsite and went around the island. I found lots of interesting stuff, like more sand, and trees and shrubs. Jesus Christ, it looks JUST like the side I had already explored.

I got to a point where I thought I was halfway around the island, picking my way over bleached logs that washed up on the shore, around fallen branches, coconut shells and tons of black rocks. I started picking up large rocks and throwing them in the general direction of my campsite so I could gather them up later. I figure that if I toss them every day, I will have a big pile in a few weeks and I can finish my house.

When I get it built, it will probably be the wrong way or too heavy, and it will fall in on me. Probably bury me in a ton of stones. Break bones, pin me to the ground. Then I am screwed, because the next time she gets loose, she will bite whatever is exposed, and then I am bound for Zombie-Wilsonville.

At least collecting them is something to do. It’s not like I have a lot on my plate. I pretty much spend all day scavenging for food and trying not to lust after my dead girlfriend. Is it lust? I don’t know. I can’t exactly do her. I mean, that’s just disgusting. GROSS. But I can look at her and, well …

I saw a pair of birds hopping around, pretty little flyers with a rainbow of color. They weren’t parrots or anything, but they were bright. I had a brief fantasy about putting them in a cage and teaching them to talk. Pretty bird, want a piece of raw oyster? Want a piece of my pretty dead girlfriend? I want a piece of you!

My mouth flooded with so much saliva that I thought it would burst out between my lips. I’m glad there was no one to ask me a question, because the answer would have seen a river of drool leaking down my chin.

Bird, oh my God. I was tasting KFC already. In fact, I started shaking as I picked up a big black rock and threw it as hard as I could at the bird. The little beast must have seen me coming from a mile away. I missed him, and he squawked as he left with his little girlfriend. They headed toward the center of the island, and I marked the spot. Of course, when I walked another half a mile, I had completely lost the spot. I’m pretty sure it was near a tree. Brilliant.

I turned away and went back to the camp, head down, depressed about my escaped extra-crispy tropical bird meal. I stopped near a little spot where the water was stuck in a pool from the tide going out. There were some little tiny fish in it, so I grabbed them. Ate them raw, pretending they were a fine three-piece chicken meal. Except they weren’t; they were mushy and tasted like salt.

Yuck.

I got back to the camp and she was gone.

Again? Crap! For a zombie, she has turned into a pretty decent Houdini.

I’m getting tired of hunting for her. I need to build a cage. Besides, it gets so hot that I need to stay under cover during the day. It is like a sauna out there, but who wants to be in a sauna twenty-four hours a day? It sucks. By noon, I feel like I am covered in sweat, and it makes me want to live in the little lake.

I took off in the opposite direction I’d taken when I started out. I walked the beach and looked at the footprints. But they looked just like all of my footprints. Kinda hard to track someone in sand. It just looks like a bunch of shallow indentations. I had already determined that she was not smart enough to sneak up on me. Her idea of sneaking involves a lot of moaning and snarling behind a piece of cloth.

I caught sight of her moving toward the trees, and when I called out to her, she kept going. I yelled louder, but she ignored me. How rude.

“Yo, zombie chick! Come back!” I never got around to giving her a name, but I didn’t think she would mind zombie chick, as derogatory as it sounds.

“Come back, babe!” But she kept going. I think she is messing with me again.

I dashed after her, and she kept moving until I grabbed her arm and spun her around. She fell backwards, and I caught her in my arms. Her coconut halves hit my chest hard, and her hula skirt fell open to reveal her long gray legs. She snapped at me, but the cover over her mouth stopped her teeth from sinking into my cheek. It sort of felt like a kiss.

I wondered what she was after out here. What was she following? I heard a noise in the trees, and another pair of those birds took off. I had her in my arms, but I dropped her to snatch up a rock and throw it at the departing pair. They sailed away with a fresh squeal and were gone. I looked after them and then at her. She was lying there, good eye fixed on them, then head turning to watch them depart.

Had she really left the camp to follow the birds? That made no sense. She doesn’t have a brain. She can’t think for herself. She is dead. No pulse, no heartbeat, no breath.

Her eye swiveled back to me, and she snarled again.

I helped her up and took her hand in mine. Then we walked together, me tugging her by her wrist. After a few minutes of that, it became easier to put my hand around her cold shoulder and walk her back to the camp like young lovers on the beach. About the only thing I was in love with was the idea of bashing in her stupid head.

Day 15

My Girlfriend Likes to Cuddle

I’m glad I worked on the shelter. It started to rain last night when the sun was sinking below the horizon. It really does sink too; it’s like a big bloody clump that paints the water pink. I was reading a book to her, one of the romance novels I rescued from the luggage a few days ago. I didn’t care for it. For once, she was quiet and even stared at me as I read. Of course, her tongue was pressing against the gag, so I think she may have been imagining eating me.

I wonder if she has an imagination.

During the day, I managed to hit a whole group of starfish. I brought back four of the things. One was quite large, with a big red stripe on each arm. I had the bright idea to set a palm leaf in the sun with some seawater in it. This dried up, and I was left with a whole batch of salt. Now if I just had some pepper and a glass of whiskey, I would be a happy camper.

She sat on the ground while I ate and stared at my food. I spend a lot of time staring at stuff. Not much else to do. I used to stare at the TV and at movie screens, but now I was stuck replaying movies in my mind when I wanted some entertainment. I just wish that I had watched more porn. I’d like to have that stuff replaying in my mind. I mean, I’m still young. At this age, I should be horny a lot. It’s natural, right, Diary?

At one point, she leaned so far forward that she fell over on her face. I jumped to my feet and helped her up. She hissed at me, so I took the cloth off her face, figuring she was tired of having it there. She moaned, snarled, snapped and lunged at me with her teeth exposed. Her gums are going green, like she has gum disease or something. Too bad I don’t have Listerine, some toothpaste and maybe a horse brush.

I left her like that, but I did adjust the coconut halves over her boobs. I pressed them up so she had some cleavage and then tightened the strap so it would stay. It was kinda hot, but it would’ve been hotter if she weren’t so gray.

And dead.

Her good eye kept looking at me. Her dry sandpaper-looking (sandpaper-sounding, for that matter) tongue slid between her lips. Then she chewed on it. Not hard. She treated her tongue more like a pacifier. I took some of my water in a cupped palm leaf and tilted her head back. She snapped at me, but when she was staring straight up at the sky, she stopped, zoning out. I wet her lips, and some of the water ran down her chin. I poured a bit in, then a splash more. She didn’t really drink it, but it filled her mouth, and some ran down her cheeks and neck. The rest sort of gurgled down her throat. Reminded me of when you pull a stopper out of a sink of water and the stuff swirls around.

Wonder if I will have to hang her upside down later and get the water out. She didn’t seem to mind being upside down. She recovered like a champ, back on her feet in no time and with no ill effects.

The rain arrived later, and I tugged the new cover over my shelter. I had been busy cutting up the luggage I found and using it to construct the roof. Large patches of the fabric went into the construction, as did every stray palm leaf and thin branch I could locate. Water hit it and ran down the side. I angled it over the little rock shelter so the water would run off and get caught up in broad leaves and deposited in the big plastic overnight bag with its hard shell. It was a gaudy red, bright as blood, but it was a great addition. I swirled the water around the bottom, having cut out the liner. I had washed the container in the ocean and rubbed it down with sand. The water came faster, so I rinsed it out a few times. I wouldn’t have to trek to the stream tomorrow.

She looked miserable as water flattened her hair to her head. I stood her up and put her one shoe on. It was the only pump I had been able to locate. It made her stumble, but when I moved into the shelter, she walked around looking for me. I liked to think that she missed me, but I knew that what she really missed was the chance to chow on one of my appendages.

She stumbled in the rain like she was doing a little dance as she went around and around the tree. I had to go out and lead her the other way around a couple of times, because she got wrapped up.

Dancing in the rain for me. What a sweetie.

Thunder came later and rumbled across the sky. I pushed myself deeper into the enclosure and curled up with some of the clothes I had dried out. One piece was a floral-print dress that looked big enough to fit two women. I had some string but really no idea how to do an alteration. I had been thinking about how cute she would look in it.

Besides, I kind of like playing dress-up with her. Probably seems weird, but after being on this stupid rock for two weeks, just about anything was entertaining.

Lightning struck the other side of the island, and the ground shook a second later as thunder followed. I heard a noise after that. When I looked, she was freaking out. Another burst of lightning stabbed down, and the air smelled funny. Clean, but with a sharp edge to it.

She tried to pull away from the tree and howled at the blast. I couldn’t leave her like that, but the shelter was too small. I didn’t have anything to tie her to. She would just have to deal with it.

She started hooting and hollering like an animal stuck in a trap. She thrashed against the rope. I knew it wouldn’t hold if she got much more than those slow-motion lumbering steps going. She had broken away from my poor attempts to bind her a few too many times.

I untied the rope from the tree, and she seemed to calm down a bit. I wrapped it around her body so her arms were secure. Another lightning strike and she backed into me, almost knocking me down.

I tugged her close and moved to the little shelter. I took out a pair of socks that were bright green and tied them together, then added another pair to make the thing longer and carefully put it over her mouth so it was completely covered. A sock gag. A normal person would go nuts. Although, I read somewhere that some people like it. Probably married men.

There was no way for her to bite me. I dragged her to the ground, put one arm around her and tugged her body back against mine. She calmed down considerably after that. When the lightning struck again, she bucked against me, but I held her close.

It was nice to lie with a soft woman for a change. The lightning kept striking for a few more minutes and then, just like that, it was gone. She lay still for a while, and it was eerie to hold her, since she didn’t breathe. She was still cold and moved around every once in a while. I sat up and leaned on my elbow to see what she was doing. She had her mouth pressed against the ground. I think she was trying to push the gag off.

She quieted down, and I considered tying her to the tree again. But I hated the idea of having to get up and bring her back in if the storm returned. I gripped her tighter under the coconut halves and sighed contentedly. I was just starting to drift off when I thought I felt something suspiciously like a heartbeat. Then realized it was just another light blast of thunder. Ah, wishful thinking.

Day 16

My Girlfriend Hates my Friends

The rain stopped by the time I woke up. She kept thrashing around in the night like I was hurting her or something. Just by making her snuggle up to me … jeez. Does she even realize how much I do for her? I mean, I clean her, and let me tell you, that is no easy task. No one should have to clean the stuff I have cleaned from the places I have cleaned.

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 ass 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 shore like a pillow. That would be a lot more comfortable than the damn 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 shell 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. Ewwwww to farting zombies.

I have been worried about her rotting, since she is undead and all, so I took the opportunity to take her coconut top and grass skirt off again today and inspect her. I ran my hands over her body and pushed and poked stuff to make sure nothing was going bad. I bet it sounds weird, but if she starts to rot, what am I going to do? I don’t have any perfume I can splash on her. I don’t want a rotting zombie chick around.

We had wandered a bit farther when I heard noises in the distance. I stopped, and she walked into me. She tried to get her hands around my neck. Her mouth hit my neck like a kiss, and it felt like she was nuzzling against me. I took her arm and held her back while I listened to what sounded like voices.

Oh my God! I wanted to run and yell for help at the top of my lungs. After two weeks on this heap, I was going to be rescued at last. But what to do about my girl? No one would understand, and they might try to hurt her. I didn’t have a lot of rope with me; most of it was tied to the tree, so I would have to make do. I dragged her to a fallen branch and tied her wrist to it. The log it was attached to was huge. There was no way she could drag it with her.

I checked the binding again and decided it would have to do. I set off down the beach. The vegetation grew out almost to the water here, and I hadn’t really explored much past it. The tide was out, which made it easier to get around.

I came upon a scene that almost brought me to my knees. I felt tears stain my cheeks as I choked back a sob.

Pulled up on the sand was a boat with a long outrider like you see the Hawaiians or Polynesians ride in. There were long poles on it that the men obviously used for rowing. I wanted to shout for joy, but there was no one at the boat. I stumbled toward it like I had just found a steakhouse.

Then I saw two men leaning over near the edge of the vegetation and studying one of the weird flowers that my girl ate the first day. The thing that killed her and made her into a zombie.

“Hey!” I yelled.

One was on his feet in a flash. He was shirtless but had on a pair of Bermudas with a bunch of flowers all over them. Had a big old necklace of teeth and one that was some sort of flowers like a lei. He snatched a small spear that was at his side and stared at me like I was a ghost.

“Hey, help, I’ve been stuck here for two weeks! My plane crashed and I …”

The other was on his feet, but he wasn’t looking at me. Neither was the first one for that matter. They stared past me at something in the distance.

“Guys, you need to help me get off this island!” I walked toward them across the hot sand. I already had visions of being taken to their village, where I would be treated like a god, fed real food, and then returned to civilization like a conquering hero. I was sure to make the talk show circuits, be on the radio and have Hollywood knocking down my door. I might even have to come 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 God! I yanked the turtle shell 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 shore. She struggled, trying to turn and bite me. I took her to the shore 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 pissed-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 shit.

What if they never come back and I am stuck here for years? Years with her. She will probably fall apart before a month passes. 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-shit 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 massive inferno at a skyscraper. 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. God, 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 pissed 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 passed 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 chores. 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 shellfish by the fire and added some wood. Cut a hole in the top of the coconut and drank half the milk in one massive 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 shell and ate it steaming hot. Burned my mouth because my hands were shaking from being so damn 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 space 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.

The little maggots oozed out of the socket, wiggling and squirming around. It set my freshly full stomach on edge, made me want to turn my head and puke for the rest of the day. I had to look away and think calming thoughts.

I tripped her—a move at which I’ve had a lot of practice. I stood in front of her and waited until she grabbed at me. Then I took an arm, kicked one foot behind her knees, and sort of swept her off her feet. Not like a romantic thing, you know, just a quick way to put her on her stubborn ass.

Then I sat on her chest, my knees pinning her arms to the ground. There was a seashell close by, so I picked it up and scooped the little bugs out of her eye and ground them into the dirt. I removed her gag and then dug the bugs out of there as well.

“Did any of them crawl down your nasty throat?” I asked her.

Moan, snarl.

She pretty much has three words in her vocabulary—or zombulary. A moan, I’m pretty sure, is a way to tell me how much she cares about me. A snarl is a show of fierce protection. And, lest I forget, there is the ever-present hoot. A sort of forlorn call for her dead husband … or brains.

Every once in a while, she lets out a keening moan that is high in pitch and sounds downright sad. She mainly does that when she falls down. I suspect it is either gas or air leaving her lungs.

Her mouth wasn’t too bad today. I had to lean over and get a stick so I could dig out the little beetle that was making a home in her cheek. Smashed him on the sand. Her breath was terrible. Like rotten meat and garbage left out for weeks. Where is the bottle of Listerine when I need it? With her skills, she would probably just slurp the stuff into her gut. Then I would have to break out the enema bottle. Again.

Wait, why was I going through all this trouble? I was planning to smash her head in with the big knotted stick. I was going to watch her brains leak out. If it was even wet up there. Or watch the blood flow, if there was any left in her veins. It would probably ooze out like lukewarm Jell-O.

Who was I fooling? I couldn’t kill her. We had been through too much, seen too much, shared too much. But I had to do something in case the men in the boat came back. I had to put her somewhere. Maybe I could finish up the enclosure I was planning and leave her there. No, I think she needs to be made aware that I won’t tolerate her actions anymore. I will take her into the bushes and tie her to a tree nice and tight and then check on her each day.

I’ll probably have to make more rope and tie her tighter. Maybe I can figure out a way to get her off the ground so animals don’t start chewing on her feet.

I was deep in thought when I saw something floating in the water. Something that looked like a plane. Oh my God!

I jumped up and ran to the water and stared after the piece of wonderful that had just fallen into my lap. It was bobbing up and down like a top. The colors were the same as the plane I had crashed in. I made out more of the shape as it drifted toward the shore. It had to be the tail section.

I splashed into the water, intent on hauling it to shore. It would make a great start to the new shelter. At last, I will be able to sleep in something and not worry about my girl sneaking in for a love bite at the stroke of midnight.

Day 18

My Girlfriend has a Drinking Problem

Yesterday was the best day on the island!

Was planning to kill her, do her in—I had the bat ready and everything. Well, not a bat but a big branch of bleached wood with a knot in it. I had it all set. Break her skull and bury the remains. That’s how you take care of zombies, right? You hit them in the head—or shoot them, except I didn’t have a gun, and the spear would be too messy or more than likely miss. If it got stuck up in her noggin, it would be a bitch to guide her around with that stick hanging out.

I had the tool ready, but I saw part of the airplane drifting in the water. It was bobbing up and down like a big-ass top. I ran to the edge of the shore and stared at it where it floated about twenty feet away. I was concerned about the tide carrying it away or the current taking it deep underwater, so I risked it and dove into the surf. The waves weren’t too high, but my flip-flops tugged at the bottom of the sandy reef as I struggled to walk. When I was barely touching the bottom and my head was just above water, I broke into a swim, stretching out with long limbs in a gold-medalist breaststroke.

Who the hell was I kidding? I can’t swim worth a damn! Never could. I was lucky to do a half dog paddle I probably looked like one, too, with my head barely above the water as it splashed in my face. So goddamn sick of seawater. The stuff makes me want to gag. Reminds me of when I was a kid and had a sore throat. Mom used to make me gargle salt water.

I reached the plane in a few minutes and grabbed hold. I thought that if I latched onto it and floated, I would be able to catch my breath. When I tried to do that, it started to sink.

I took hold of a piece of wire hanging out of a hole and started paddling back toward the shore. It was slow going. When I got tired, I flipped onto my back and floated. I tried kicking from that position, but I couldn’t tell if I was still pointed at the beach or not. I had to keep flopping over and getting a fix on the tail, then looking at the beach and deciding I wasn't about to sink.

I was getting really tired, so I made one last-ditch effort at hauling the tail section in. I flipped over on my chest, but I was still pretty far out. In fact, it didn’t look like I had moved at all. I took a chance, set my feet down, and was greeted with the ocean bottom. I tugged on the wire with both hands as I struggled to get to shore.

I hauled, pulled, dragged and finally made it onto the beach. The cable was biting into my hand, so I let go. It was some sort of electric wire from inside the tail of the craft. I pulled the piece of plane up as far as I could onto the beach and collapsed on the sand. I lay there as the sun beat down on me, but I smiled at my success.

It’s hard to explain just how important the piece was. It was something from the crash. Something that I could latch onto. I sighed as I lay there knowing I would be able to use the big hunk of airplane to build up a new place. Maybe a place to keep her.

Oh shit!

I shot to my feet and looked around, but she was nowhere in sight. Now where the hell was she?

At least she wasn’t close, so I felt free to work at the tail. I pulled it up the rest of the way, huffing and puffing as it bit into the sand. I rolled it over when it dug too deep of a furrow, pulling it up higher.

It was so heavy that I could barely move it. Maybe it was just full of metal struts and stuff they put in places for stability. I bet I would be able to take it apart and use the parts for all kinds of things.

Water spilled out of the back end as I got it onto the shore. It ran and ran until there was hardly any left. Then it was easier to move—but not much.

The tail section was missing the wings on the back, or most of them. I tugged it around so I could see the inside, and gasped. It was filled with bags! I started hauling stuff out, luggage, packs, and a duffel bag. All were waterlogged. I opened them up and found a lot of clothes. I did find a box of chocolates, still wrapped. Chocolate-covered macadamia nuts to be exact. I tore the wrapper off with shaking fingers and ate every single one like it was nirvana. I was going to eat a couple and leave the rest for later, but it was useless. Might as well have put a juicy pork chop in front of me and asked me to hold off on eating the entire thing.

I found some sandals, which were too big, but I put them on anyway. My old flip-flops were falling apart. Last time I buy three-dollar shoes at Walmart on my way to a tropical vacation. I found some shorts that were too small and set them aside. Everything was soaked with seawater, so I would have to wash them in the stream and dry them out later.

I found some jewelry. Gaudy stuff like big jade-looking medallions that were clearly made of glass. Some big pearl earrings and a couple of tennis bracelets. The stuff looked cheap, like the jewelry my Aunt Mildred used to wear.

Another bag turned up a couple of waterlogged magazines. Porn! The kind I like: with women. Yeah, yeah, I have my zombie “babe,” but she is about as useful as tits on a bull. Although she does—or did—have a great pair herself.

Another suitcase turned up more clothes, a toothbrush, an electric shaver and some cheap suits like you used to see the guys wear in the ‘70s. On closer inspection, I realized one was a tux. Hey, maybe someone was off to get married. I flipped the button up and down on the razor, but it didn’t buzz even a little. Stupid waterlogged thing. I ran my hand over my shaggy chin. I used to shave daily. Ally likes it, says it makes me look young.

I set the razor aside. Maybe I could bust the battery out later and do something with it. Like build a generator and charge it. Then I could use the battery to power a boat across the ocean.

In the bottom of that bag, I found the best thing yet. A bottle of Patrón tequila. Big full bottle with the plastic still fixed to the cork. I cried like a baby.

The top was on nice and tight, so I broke the plastic seal, removed it, and took a cautious sniff. It smelled good. I tilted the bottle a bit and let a splash touch my tongue. It was pure, and there wasn’t a hint of seawater. I found a bottle of rum as well, not a brand I knew, but it was flavored with coconut. Oh, great! If I never taste coconut again, I can probably go to my grave with a smile on my face.

I carried my treasures to the campsite and hung up as many clothes as possible. I was surprised to see her lying on her back, staring at the sky. She has gotten pretty good at getting up when she falls over. I mean, the first few days, I had to help her up all the time, but now she can roll on her side, crawl to her hands and knees, then stand up. It isn’t the quickest or the prettiest process, since she frequently has her ass facing me. All this time, I was worried, wondering where she was, and it turns out she is chilling in the shade. Stupid zombie chick. I should really kill her. Instead, I watched her as she stared up with some sort of green gunk coming out of her mouth. I think it was stuff oozing out of her gums.

I know she’s a hottie—or was, in her day. For the most part, I would love to stare at her with her clothes off, but the zombified look is NOT hot. The gray skin, the red-rimmed dried-out eye that always seems to stare past me. She has scratches on her body that don’t heal, and her girly parts don’t work anymore. Yuck.

I was walking around with the tequila, taking sips and gasping each time. Not much food to buffer the stuff in my stomach meant a speedy buzz. I sat next to her and started to untangle her leg from the rope she had gotten wrapped up in. Probably came back to her home and got stuck. Poor thing. I ran my hands along her cold leg, which was still smooth. I brushed off bits of sand. I stopped at her thighs and didn’t dare go farther. She rolled left and right, but that hooked leg had her stuck good. I was thinking that I would get drunk and then smash her face in with the branch. I could do it. I just needed some liquid encouragement.

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 porn magazines. I passed out with my pants around my ankles. I’m not sure what was more embarrassing—the fact that I passed 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

Fucking 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 passed 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 crap anywhere near my mouth. I stumbled to my feet, thanks to my pants hanging around my ankles. Jesus …

I patted her on the ass 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. God, I hope I didn’t try to do anything stupid last night while she had her ass 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 grass 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 pass the day in misery. But I had things to do. I had to get my hung-over ass up and go hunt for food. Check my crappy 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 shit 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 crappy 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 splashing on the sandy shore. The large white airplane section was right where I had left it. I was happy that I pulled it so far up on shore. 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 shirt 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 rushing over the shore 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 ass 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 mass 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 fucked-up Macy’s Parade balloon. He didn’t have on any clothes. His dick 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 shore?

How sweet. A reunion … from hell. 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 crap, 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 crap! I held the stick in front of me as he turned his massive 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 hell? 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

God, I’m tired.

Yesterday, I managed to get a gag on the husband. I used a shirt 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.

I took some of my homemade rope, tied it around a big rock and attached it to one of his ankles. Hey look, he has on a ball and chain—next to his ball and chain.

I helped her up and untied her hands. She couldn’t balance with them behind her back, so I had to keep holding her upright. She brought them forward ever so slowly and tried to latch them onto my neck. I pushed her away, and she stumbled on her husband’s legs and fell again. Her hand caught in my shorts and tugged me down with her. I landed on the squishy tub of saltwater-logged lard with her on top of me.

Oh my God! I was stuck in a zombie sandwich!

I screamed as loud as I could as he tried to get his arm over me. Is this how I was going to die?

Stuck between an undead married couple like we were in some freaky porno movie. She tried to bite me, he tried to bite me, and I tried to yell my head off. My skin crawled as goose bumps erupted all over me. I wanted to torch every inch of flesh that had touched the damned dead things. I wanted to burn the spots and then rub them in alcohol. I rolled to the side and she went with me. I hit the ground on my back and she fell on top of me so she was straddling my waist. She started going for my neck again.

I bucked under her, but she was very persistent in trying to bite me. Her husband tried to roll over to do the same thing. I rolled again, this time so I could dislodge her, then I was on my feet, wiping at my body in disgust. I had zombie goo all over me. I yelled again, just for good measure. She just stared at me with that one luminous blue eye, snarling deep in her throat.

You and me both, babe. Frustration sucks.

He rolled onto his stomach, got his hand under his body, and tried to push himself up. I ran over and kicked him in the head, but it was like kicking a sack of rotten potatoes. If I had a gun, I could just end this. Shoot him in the face and maybe her while I was at it. The huge, bloated monstrosity seemed too large to kill in any conventional way. I looked around for a rock, but that would mean I would have to lean over to smash his head. I didn’t think I could stand to get any more zombie goo on me today.

Then I had an idea. Maybe I could get close to him by using something to shield me from the blows—maybe one of the pieces of luggage. I could put one of the big, inflexible bags over my upper body, cut a hole in the top and wear it. I didn’t want to get any crap on my other clothes, so I thought I should put something else on. I looked around at the few clothes I had cleaned up and saw the big floral-print dress. Of course!

Sure, I would look ridiculous, but the zombified lovers wouldn’t care. They wouldn’t care one little bit.

I grabbed the dress and my knife and ran to the shore. I stripped off my clothes, jumped in the surf, and scrubbed every inch of my body with sand. I came out, brushing the hair out off my face, and did it again. Then I let the hot sun dry me. I donned the dress, hiked it up, and looped the bottom up so my feet were free. It was actually quite comfortable, but it billowed around me, so I tied a knot in the side. It had a plunging neckline, which let lots of air in over my chest. This should protect me from any flying zombie bits and goo.

I grabbed one of the suitcases, a large one that was pretty dry. I used my knife to cut out the bottom. Kept glancing back over my shoulder in case he figured out how to chase me. The stuff was tough with a thick weave that was hard and barely flexible. I cut a hole in the top for my head and then a couple of holes for my arms. I slid it over my body and felt ready for war. No way could he hurt me now, and there was no way I could get any gunk on me.

I went back to camp and found he was on his feet. He came at me and I stepped aside. I snatched up my turtle helmet and slid it onto my head like a World War II soldier. I ran to the other side of camp and picked up the spear. I felt like a real warrior now.

We danced back and forth. At first I didn’t want to hit him with the spear. I was worried about how it would feel to stab him. As he swung his arm at me, however, I dodged in and drove the spear point into his body. Fucker. Try to take over my island. How about some metal in your diet? I yanked it out, but it hadn’t gone in very far. I tried to slap him across the temple with it. Maybe that would make him settle down. I went for his eye with the tip, but only managed to scrape his forehead.

This was exhausting, but at least I understood a little bit about what our ancestors had gone through while fighting mammoths and stuff like that. He moved toward me, swinging that massive waterlogged arm. Some of the beads flew off, but I turned at the last second so they hit the top of the helmet instead. I swung in and drove the spear point into his chest. It skittered across his ribs, opening his skin with a nasty cut. It didn’t bleed, and he didn’t look like he cared or even felt it.

I heard shouting in the distance and turned. He almost got me when I looked. He stumbled toward me and caught me across the chest with his arm. It knocked me back, but I stayed on my feet.

I looked again to see that my island visitors from a few days ago had arrived. There were three of them, and they looked just as terrified as the last time they were here.

I turned and ran toward them, yelling, “Hey, wait! I need help! Don’t run off again! Please!”

I came pounding across the beach as they stared at me with their mouths wide open. I waved the spear over my head to show them I wasn’t interested in fighting. I didn’t think my “armor” would protect me if they started throwing their own spears.

They screamed and ran back toward their boats. One had a look of such complete fear on his face that I actually felt sorry for him. I looked behind me, and there was my girlfriend with her husband in tow. It scared the shit out of me too! He moved slowly, but he was building momentum, his one arm flailing at me. I ran toward the men as they ran to their canoes. One turned and shook his spear at me. His eyes were wide open, and his mouth was stretched in a giant O.

“No, please take me with you!”

It was too late. They were already rowing while casting quick glances behind them as if we were going to wade into the water and follow them. I wish her asshole husband would follow them along the bottom of the ocean and get eaten by a shark or a whale.

I turned on them. I was furious. She had her hands out, but she didn’t look down. So, like usual, she tripped on a piece of wood that had washed up on the shore. I ignored her and marched toward the husband. I drew the spear back, over my head, took two fast steps forward, and drove the thing into his chest. It went in this time, passing through all sorts of gross mushy stuff. As the spear went in, a bunch of pus showered my face.

I went crazy.

I ripped the turtle helmet off my head and started beating him. When I was done, his skull was a mass of stuff that looked like spilled beans or something. Like a can or six had been opened and dumped on the sand.

Oh God! What had I done? I didn’t mean to kill him, not really. I thought about it, I really did. I was pretty sure I was ready to kill him, but when I got used to how slow and dumb he was, I just felt sorry for the poor zombie dude. I thought I would wear him down with the spear and armor, then tie him to something. I have lived with one zombie companion, why not two?

Did this make me a murderer?

I had to bathe again. Then I pulled my girl off her dead husband, since she was feasting on his body—for the second time. She was going at a leg this time. God, that was going to be messy. She must have worked at the flesh like a rabid dog until her gag came loose. I was so beyond sickened that I couldn’t even throw up. I dragged her back to the camp, put her gag back on and tied her to the tree.

Then I collapsed and slept until dawn.

This morning, I went back to the body and studied it. I tried to move it, but it was far too heavy. I went back to camp and got my razor-sharp piece of rock and went to work. The arm came off first.

His muscles and stuff were still soft. The only hard part was when I had to rip the bone out of the shoulder. I had to put my foot against his side and pull for all I was worth. His other arm was just a stump, so I went at his legs. These came off as well, but it took a long time. The second one was stubborn, so I had to plant my foot in his crotch and pull on his knee. The sound of the bone coming out of the wet socket was like using a plunger on a toilet.

I didn’t have the energy to stay at it. I had to go hunt and fish. The only good thing was that I threw a rock at a pair of birds and actually hit one of them. It couldn’t fly off, so it flopped around on the ground. I picked it up and twisted its neck until it snapped. I pulled all the feathers off, roasted it and ate every bite, going so far as to crack the bones and suck out anything in them. Earlier today, I didn’t think I could take down a pissed-off zombie husband. Now I could twist birds’ heads like it was no big deal.

It was a rough day, and I deserved a drink. I cracked open the rum and took a long swallow, which burned all the way down to my soul. Sang a song, read a little to my girl. Drank more. Suddenly, my hangover was gone, so I kept on drinking. I wish I had enough booze to become an alcoholic on this cursed island. After a while, I slept like a rock.

Day 21

My Girlfriend is a Moaner

What to do with the body? What to do? In the movies, the guy always has a plan. I didn’t. I don’t even know what I am going to do from day to day. My plans consisted of deciding to hunt food for the day, then determining whether I should save some for the next day or just eat it all so I had extra energy to do it all again.

It’s so hot! I swear this place gets warmer every day. I took my shirt off and fetched my Jamaica cap. It was a lot more comfortable than the damn turtle shell, which smells terrible.

I had to dispose of the body, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. I dug into the sand, but not for very long. I bet I got down less than six inches, since there was a layer of rock under it. I would need a shovel, or it would take me a week to make the hole with my little rock tool.

I could have dragged the parts into the bushes, but she might find them. I didn’t need to have her eating him again. I already needed to clean her out, and I was not at all looking forward to that little chore.

I stood on the beach in the beating sun and looked around my little slice of paradise. I could have tried putting the parts in the water, but they might float back to shore. Or I could have buried them under some rocks, but fish might eat them, and I was seriously concerned about the zombie virus. Now that he had come back to life, what did it mean for the things that nibbled on him? That gave me an idea, but first I had to dispose of the body.

I went back at him with the sharp rock. I was glad that he had dried out a little bit, but he was still far from a regular stiff. His upper body was probably a hundred and twenty-five pounds. How the hell was I going to move it? I would have to slice it open. God!

She sat on the ground and stared at me with that blank look. I walked over, ran my hand through her hair, and told her she was still beautiful to me. She showed her broken teeth around the gag. She snarled, growled, moaned, and did her usual “I want to eat you” stare with her pretty blue eye. I cleaned out a couple of bug eggs from her dried eye and smashed them on the ground.

I helped her to her feet, took the log off her lap and let her stretch her legs a bit. She stumbled around in a circle, then went to her husband. She dropped down beside his torso and leaned over to bite him. I shuddered, pulled her off, marched her to the tree, and tied her up again while she fussed at me. I went back, grabbed his leg and dragged it behind me as I headed for the beach. I was hoping some great idea would hit me if I started walking, and hit me it did.

I had been looking in the wrong direction, which was down. I should have been looking up. Of course. Up!

I dragged the leg to a tree and looped the nasty thing over my shoulder. It was like carrying a mass of meat that reeked of rotten fish. It dripped and oozed congealed blood. I tried not to gag as I grabbed hold of a branch and tugged myself up. I got one foot on another branch and was soon a few feet off the ground. When I was about fifteen feet up, I maneuvered the leg so it hung over a large branch.

She couldn’t reach that, not in a million years. I went back for the other leg and put it in another tree. This one was easier, because it still had a shoe on, so I had a way to tie the thing to a branch. It actually stretched between two branches.

The arm went in another tree, but now I had the torso and head to deal with. I took the rock and went to work on his fat neck. It reminded me of videos where guys are cutting off whale blubber. Each shallow cut separated some flesh, which was white and puckered.

I pushed his body to roll him over and realized that the head wasn’t that heavy. Didn’t even want to think about what I had to do. I wanted to go fishing, hunt, find some food and then rest for the whole day. My body hurt everywhere from the battle yesterday, and I wanted to sleep.

I sighed and set the rock against his gut, just under his ribcage, and pushed hard. A terrible noise came out like a long, nasty fart as trapped air escaped from the wound. I fell back as stuff squirted out. The smell was horrendous. I backed away like a crab, my feet kicking at the sand until I ran into her and she tried to sink her teeth into my shoulder. Idiot. She still had her gag on. I jumped to my feet and shook my finger at her.

No!

This was getting messy. There were already chunks of him all over the place, and now a river of pink water was leaking onto the sand. I decided to move him close to the water so I could work and have the tide clean up the mess later.

I dragged him, which wasn’t easy, since I had already removed his legs and arm. It left a line of gore behind him, but there was nothing to be done about it. I would have to move that sand around to clean it up. The rock knife was slippery in my hand, so I rubbed it in sand and started cutting again.

It took about an hour to get through his gut, but in the end, I got it separated into two halves. I would go through the ribcage and slice him sideways, but it was too hard to cut through all that bone.

His guts were the worst. They were a putrid gray color with hardly any blood—just lots of water. I dug out his intestines and the rest of his organs and stuff that fell out, loaded those into one of the suitcases and hauled it away to dump in the woods. The bottom of the torso went into another bag, and I dragged it away as well. Now I just had his upper body to deal with.

Good Christ. Was it Miller time yet?

One of the bags that washed up had turned out to be a very nice backpack. I loaded his upper half into it, then strapped it on. All kinds of stuff squished together and then fell out of the bag as I adjusted it. I gathered up the parts and put them back in. Staggered forward as the weight shifted, but then I straightened up and was able to move with him back there.

I went back to the trees and found a nice thick one to climb. I went up about twenty feet and then slid out of the backpack. I fixed it to a pair of branches so he would have a nice view of the water as it came in and out. I made my way down the tree, then went to the beach and bathed in the surf.

I was exhausted, but I had to eat. I waded out and dug up some oysters. I got five of them—wow. I chased a crab and took my feast back to the camp. After a night and a day, the fire was down to almost nothing. She watched me as I stoked it back up, but she didn’t say anything. I had to move the little palm tree wall in front so the flames wouldn’t freak her out.

After a few minutes of silence, I decided to say something first.

“I’m sorry about your husband. I think he has a good view now.”

She snarled back at me.

“I didn’t mean to, you know. It was an accident. I just wanted to get him worn out, then tie him to something. You like it, why wouldn’t he?”

She moaned at me.

“It was nothing personal. I bet he was a nice guy and all. He was rich, right? A girl like you would be with a rich guy. Not some dork like me.” I smiled. This is the part where the girl says, “You’re all I need. I don’t care about money, cars and jewelry. I just care about you.” Then you take her to bed for like a whole weekend. The only place I was taking her was to test as an anchor if she pissed me off again.

She growled at me.

“We’re better off without him. We don’t need him messing up our relationship, right?”

Moan.

“Just you and me, baby. Just you and me.”

I broke out the rum and drank half the bottle.

Day 22

My girlfriend is a Dirty Pirate

Yesterday, I was concerned about leaving the husband’s blood everywhere. Would it do anything bad to animals or sea creatures? I found a crab this morning. Quick little bastard that tried to snap me a few times. Snapping. I’m used to that after three weeks on a deserted island with a freaking zombie.

God—I should just kill her and get it over with. Then bury the body and kiss my million-dollar book deal goodbye. I’ll never get on CNN if I off her. I might get a mention when they find her body, but it won’t be the kind of mention I want.

Maybe I should find a different place for her husband’s parts. I guess I can try finding a soft spot in the jungle to bury him.

I took my prize to a little arena I had built. When I was a kid, we lived near the water. Sometimes, we would get crabs worked up and put them in a little arena to fight. I had the same idea here, except he would be fighting the zombie disease. And if it caught it, I would just smoosh the little bastard.

I had a few chunks of her husband’s blood and flesh in the place, just tiny bits of it. The plan was to put the crab in and wait for him to eat some. I don’t know if a zombie crab would even freak me out. I’ve seen enough crazy shit in the last three weeks to last a lifetime.

The crab marched around in circles, but he wasn’t interested in the blood and bits of goo. I picked some up and tried to feed him, but he fought back by latching onto one of my thumbs. Ouch! I shook him loose and almost tossed him on the fire right then and there.

I grabbed a stick and let him latch onto that with one claw, then moved it so he could get his other claw on it. Holding him in the air, I grabbed him around the back and angled him up. Took the gooey stuff and pressed it against his little mouth. He tried to fight back, but I pressed until some coated his little feeler things. I took another piece and did the same thing. Then I smeared blood on his mouth.

Put him back in the little prison and waited. I dug a hole and put seawater in, but it drained into the sand. I got a makeup bag out of my supply of suitcases, filled it with seawater, and put that in the hole with him. He wandered up to it, trying to fit his body in.

Ah, shit! I fed him that zombie crap; now I won’t be able to eat him. I looked over at her. She was attached to the tree by her neck this morning. She didn’t exactly smile encouragingly. She moaned at me, low in her throat. I pretended like she was trying to be sexy. Then I thought about the aroma drifting toward me and gagged.

That brings me back to problem number two.

She smells. Bad. I mean she smells rotten. It’s not like I can give her a bath with soap. Every time I get close to her, I have to hold my nose or the smell almost knocks me over. I mean she smells like … well, death. For a while, it was the stuff in her stomach, and yeah, I planned to clean that out again today. I was able to cover up the smell of fish and seawater by dousing her in some Old Spice cologne I found in a bag. But now, it just sat on top of the stink.

While I waited on the crab, I took her to the stream and removed her hula girl outfit. That is something else I can do today: make her a new grass skirt. I suppose I could dress her in some of the clothes I found, but if you had a chance to dress a girl up like this, you would do it, right?

Right?

RIGHT?!

I took her coconut top off and sat her in the stream by using my well-practiced zombie-tripping technique. She fell near the edge of the water and tried to bite my arm. I yanked it back from the gag, then double-checked to make sure it was still secure. I loosened it and re-tied it just in case.

I took a tiny bottle of Head and Shoulders from one of the bags I had found in the tail section. It had maybe half a teaspoon of shampoo in it. I had used half the other day on myself. Now I was going to use my last smear of shampoo on a dead girl. As I scrubbed, some of the hair came out in clumps. I tossed these aside and tried to ignore the open wounds left on her head.

I washed her body as best I could and picked the bugs from various crevices. Dear Diary, let me just say that you do not want the details of some of the places I had to go to get to them. I washed her all over, but it was not fun. I used to enjoy this, especially her top half, but now she was getting stiff in all the wrong places. Her breasts no longer give way when I push against them. I could feel a lump in there and wondered if she had a cancer growth or something. Then I realized her flesh was shriveling around her implants. I can’t believe I used to think they were real. Just goes to show, zombify a chick and her true colors come out.

I tugged her away from the stream and into the sun so she could dry off. I tied her to a tree and she stared up at the sun for a while.

I went back to check on the crab, but there was no change. I pushed him and he turned to snap his claws at my stick. When I went back to her, she was hooting and calling at the sky. I don’t get that. Does she think she can talk to the clouds? I touched her cheek, and she turned her cold face to look at me. A spider had taken up residence by her ear, and it looked like it was checking out the cavity as a place to hide or catch prey. I knocked it off her head, and when it hit the ground, I mushed it.

Then I ate it.

It wasn’t that big, and a little protein doesn’t hurt when you are starving to death. It was pretty stupid, though. What if the spider had the zombie virus? God damn it! Was I going to end up spending my entire life worrying about every little morsel I ate?

I put her coconut halves back on and tied them tight so she looked like she had cleavage again—a little shriveled now, but something to look at just the same. I took my time tucking them in, enjoying how they felt, since in a few more days, they would probably be as hard as potatoes. She stared at the sun, then at me. Whenever her good eye settled on me, she drew her lips back from her teeth.

I brushed sand off her face, avoiding her teeth. Her dead eye is getting pretty bad. It looks like a raisin and just sort of floats there. I reached out, touched it, and the thing rolled around. It had a hollow feel in the socket, like a dried acorn in a shell when you shake it. How come that doesn’t bother her? I clenched my teeth and touched the eye with both fingers, which was a huge mistake, because it came loose.

Dropped the eye, jumping back as if it were a bug trying to bite me. Well, that wasn’t so bright. Now she would have a hole. I left her alone for a bit and went out to find some rocks. She walked around in circles. I wonder if she has trouble with depth perception, only having one eye and all. I kept an eye on her the entire time, since both of mine work. I wonder why she doesn’t try to follow or bite me as much as she used to. She was always trying to attack me. Now she wanders around like a lost puppy. I think her body may be slowing down and affecting the way her brain works.

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 assured 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 assured me that maybe the virus couldn’t be passed 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 grass 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 attitude. 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 shell 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 shell 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 ass. 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 compass, 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 passed 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!

FUCK!

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 shell 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.

Damn! 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 classic 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 wishing 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 shore 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 bitch with tusks and a shaggy coat of hair. Sort of looked like a really mad little goat. I reached the edge of the shore 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 fucking island.

God, 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.

I brought the rock up and smashed it into the pig, aiming for the head, but I got excited and hit its back instead. It screamed and tried to turn, so I hit it again and again.

After a while, it didn’t move; it just lay there in a bloody heap in her lap. I panted hard and sat down next to her. That blue eye swiveled toward me, and I wondered if she was at all grateful. It was impossible to understand the look. The eye patch didn’t help. I tugged at the pig, but she held on for dear life. Or dear death? Dear unlife? Whatever …

I pulled, but she didn’t let go. I wanted to haul the piggy back to camp, chop it up and eat it. Ribs! I could eat ribs! If I could cut it open. I finally took one of her arms and pulled it loose. She gave up, and I was able to pry the heavy corpse from her. She came at me, of course, but I batted her hands aside as I had done many, many times before.

She gave up on me pretty quickly. I guess a zombie really can learn new tricks. Her eye trained on the prize. She leaped at it and managed to rip it free from my hands, before sinking to the ground and going for the neck. She ripped out a huge hairy chunk.

I tore the pig free again and started dragging it back to camp. She tried to stand, but fell. I couldn’t help but look at the huge gash on the calf of her leg. Bone, pus—grey-covered muscles and tendons made me think of a medical class on cadavers. I would have to look at it later, unfortunately. For now, all I wanted was to cut this pig up and eat until I couldn’t move. Then eat more.

It was a tough sucker to slice up, and I drooled the entire time as I took hunks of skin off. Then I removed a rear leg, cut the skin loose, yanked it down the raw meat covering bone, and put it near the fire. I stoked up the flames with some fresh wood. I was thinking of cutting strips and hanging them near the smoke to make pig jerky. I didn’t know much about making stuff like that, but I was going to learn really fast. That or die from overeating.

I was shaking with thoughts of how wonderful the meat was going to be when she finally crawled back into camp. She was drooling a smear of red down her chin that I tried to ignore. I slipped a gag over her mouth again. She put only half an effort into snapping at me.

I checked out her leg, and it wasn’t as bad as I thought. The horn had gone in and then out cleanly. I brought back some seawater to pour over the gash, then I tore up a shirt that was too big for me and wrapped it around the wound. Later, I planned to boil some water and pour it in there. Not like she would feel it.

I tied her to the tree, but she just lay at its base like she was depressed or something. A depressed zombie? What sort of drugs do you give a zombie that is down? Zoloft starts with a Z. If I come up with a cure, I will call it ZedLoft.

I turned the meat and burned my fingers in the process, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to eat. One side was crispy, and I waited for it to cool so I could tear a chunk off. It might have been the longest thirty seconds of my life.

I caught a glimpse of her while I was studying the meat. Couldn’t help but think of all the blood she had on her face from biting the pig.

Biting into the pig.

Biting …

I stood up and screamed at the sky, then I stomped on the ground like it was my mortal enemy. Take that, ground. See how I do? I kept on screaming until my voice was completely raw. Then I couldn’t scream anymore.

She had bitten into the pig. Now the pig probably had the zombie virus, and I couldn’t take a chance on eating it. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. I was starving. I pushed the rest of the corpse into the fire, curled up in a ball and cried until I fell asleep.

Day 24

My Girlfriend Likes it When I Talk Dirty

Rose at the crack of dawn, because there was nothing else to do. When the sun starts to shine, I have to get motivated. I find that I am more and more tired every day. I’m sure it’s a lack of vitamins, decent food, and well, let’s be honest here, Diary, a lack of love. My zombie girl is about the worst girlfriend ever. I swear she hates me.

My stomach was a big hollow pit that started growling before I could even take a piss. I should be eating a big pile of pig meat right now, but she had to ruin that too. Back to shellfish and crab today, if I can catch any. I realized later that feeding the crab the zombie meat didn't affect him. Then again, I don’t even know if he got any down. Had a zombie bitten the crab, that might be a different matter. I hope I have my zombie lore straight.

I would kill for a cup of coffee. I haven’t had any in weeks. I am over the withdrawal symptoms, but that doesn’t make it right. The headaches, the shakes, the cold sweat. A lifetime of caffeine addiction was hard to break, but I didn’t really have a choice. No Starbucks stands with young girls named Amber or Gwen on this island.

I have been here for twenty-two days, and I wonder if they are even looking for us. The crash must have been near here, because I didn’t float in the water for very long that first day. At least I don’t think so. I was out for the count. It’s really a wonder I didn’t drown. Of course, she survived as well, only to turn into a zombie when she got to the island.

When I tied her up last night, I made up my mind, once again, to kill her in the morning. But I find I am not really in the mood for it. I’m not in the mood for anything. I don’t even want to get up! I want to lie here and be miserable. Yeah, yeah, poor me. I should throw a pity party, but there’s no one to invite.

Ally would have none of that if she were here. She’d stare at me over her wire-frame glasses and say, “Get your butt in gear, Mister.” And then she would hit me with one of those sunny smiles that make me feel like I am on top of the world.

I looked over at her, but she didn’t even smile. She leered; that is a good word. She looked at me with that slack gray face, drooping eye, and the blue eye patch that covered her empty socket. I think some of her teeth are missing. I bet when she bit into that stupid pig, it shook some loose. Where’s a dentist when you need one? Hey, Doc! Got a deader here! Think you can fix her up? Maybe some orthodontics to straighten up the crooked ones, the snaggly ones? How about that big space in back where her molars fell out? Eh, Doc?

“What the hell are you staring at?” I shouted at her. I picked up a couple of chunks of driftwood and threw them at her. One might have hit her on the chest. She didn’t even bat an eye.

She just stared at me.

“Why don’t you go away? Leave me alone! Filthy fucking zombie bitch! I hate you!”

I got to my feet and walked over to her. I picked up a rock and held it at my side. I yanked the rope loose from the tree and threw it at her. She hissed and snarled behind the gag. She reached for me, and I slapped her hand aside. How long was I going to have to put up with her?

“Go find your own place! Find someone else to take care of you! Why don’t you fuck off?” I yelled and shoved her away. She took one stumbling step and fell to her hands and knees. I planted my foot on her ass and gave her a shove. She went down flat, sprawled to the ground spread eagle. I wished she were wearing something besides the coconut halves.

She worked her way to her feet ever so slowly. I held the rock over her head and felt around in my brain for the courage to go through with it. To be a man and put her out of her—and my—misery. She crawled to her feet and walked toward the beach. I didn’t have the energy to go after her. I should at least put some pants on her or something.

The sun was a big ball of misery. I fished for a few agonizing hours but only came up with a couple of large starfish. Yay. Stuff tastes like shit; I hate them. I cooked them, peeled off the hard shell and ate every bite, though, starfish guts and all. I wonder if these things are a delicacy in some part of the world. I found a coconut on my way back to camp and devoured it too. I think it was worse than the starfish.

Here is the thing about starfish, Diary. I saw them as a kid and thought they were cute. They are not cute. They are gross, and they smell. They have a million little feeler things on the bottom, and the texture is really weird when you crunch on a freshly cooked one. I have tried them raw, and they taste bitter and sort of like shit. I heard once that they regenerate if you cut off a piece. Whatever. I just choke the little fuckers down and hope I don’t puke.

I went to the pool of water that is a few minutes from camp and soaked for what seemed like hours. I sang songs, talked to a rock, you know, crazy stuff like that. Have I mentioned that I am bored? I hung out under the waterfall and let it fall on my shoulders in the hope it would take some of the tension away.

I was underwater, seeing how long I could hold my breath, and had just counted to sixty when I came up for air. She was standing at the edge of the water on unsteady legs. She took a shambling step back when I appeared, and she snarled at me like I was a hunk of sirloin.

I snarled back.

She took another step forward and then fell. I shook my head and got out of the water. I didn’t have anything to dry off with, but in the heat, it didn’t really matter. I grabbed her leg and stretched it out. The big hole in her calf was easier to see in the day. The damage was pretty bad. A normal person would have trouble standing up on that thing, but she managed it somehow.

I splashed some water on it and looked her over. I was always careful about this part. The pool of water flows out to a stream so I always make sure the water that touches her is on the move. I would hate to get any of her zombie crap in my mouth while out for a swim.

Dear God, she was a mess. I started to clean her up. Pulled the little bugs out of the wound first. They were just getting settled in, so there weren’t any maggots yet. That was a pleasant surprise. I tugged her into the water and went at her body with a small rock. Smashed critters, beetles, anything that had made a home in her various cracks and crevices. I mean really, if she met some studly zombie guy and he tried to give it to her, he would probably lose his junk to the things living up there.

The eye patch was the worst. There was a large caterpillar thing living in there. I took it out and held it up to the light. It wiggled and all those little legs twitched at the air as if trying to find something to latch onto. I should have left the rock eye in the hole. I rinsed him in the water, took a handful of sand and scrubbed him down, then rinsed him again. She lay on her back and stared at the sky, making those little hooting noises.

I showed her the big bug. He was long enough to reach my wrist from where he dangled between my thumb and forefinger. I smiled at her as I pulled the bug’s head off. It came away like a weird gooey caramel—same color. I just wish it tasted like a caramel. I think the little feelers had a salty, crunchy flavor. I tried to imagine they were French fries.

“You may be as dumb as a brick, but you make a good food container.” I patted her knee. “Stupid zombie twit. No, really, I have seen fence posts with more sense than you. If you ever get your hands on something live again, please don’t bite it.”

Her eye swiveled to meet mine, but I couldn’t read her expression, her being dead and all. I put her eye patch in place, double-checked her gag, and then just stared at her for a few minutes. Splotches of skin have started to dry up around her shoulders and on her legs. I touched one, and it felt like old leather or something. Not like when you touch a nice jacket. This was cold and rough.

I pushed on a spot again and the patch shifted, then tore free. I jumped back and stared at the flesh underneath, except it wasn’t anything like flesh. Flesh was the nasty shit I just knocked off her leg. This was a dried-out layer of blood over the muscles and sinews, which were in really bad shape. She rolled to her side and stood up, and the hunk of dead skin hung there like a magnet that drew my eyes. The layer under it sort of crunched up and down as she took a step toward me.

I was not in the mood to fight her. I slipped on my beat-up shorts and made the long trek to the beach so I could gather more food.

It was hotter than usual, and it was a relief to walk into the seawater when I got to my favorite spot. I was up to my chest and enjoying the coolness while I tried to stay still, spear tip in the water, just waiting for some likely fish to swim by. I would settle for a medium-sized one. Hell, a small one for that matter, if I could just get the spear tip into its body.

I looked back toward the island to see if she had caught up with me, but there was no sign of her. I saw the parts of her husband hanging in the tree, and I felt sorry for him. Poor bastard. I bet when he took off in the plane with his hot wife, he didn’t have any idea that within a week he would die, float in the water, end up as food for his dead wife, come back as a zombie, and be killed again. Life’s a bitch on a deserted island. Then you get hacked into little pieces.

Why wouldn’t Hollywood turn that into a movie? It had everything. It had a romance, death, a plane crash, and a hero. Plus, it had freaking zombies, and everyone loves a good zombie movie!

A shape flashed by, and I speared down in the hope that it was a fish. I was too slow and didn’t hit anything. I walked a few steps along the reef, but the thing was gone. I went back to watching the water. Every once in a while, I ducked my head in the water and opened my eyes to look around for likely victims.

I looked up in time to see a large shape moving toward me. There was barely any sound as it passed through the water, only a whisper like a wave parting over a rock. No warning! The silent hunter had arrived, and I just about jumped out of my skin. It had a large fin, which was oddly tilted to the side instead of straight up and down. I backed up.

Shark! It was a freaking shark!

I backed up another step and slipped on a slimy rock. This explained a lot. No wonder there wasn’t anything to hunt. Everything got the hell out of the way before it arrived. I took one more step before panic set in. I lifted the spear above my head and ran, in slow motion thanks to the drag of the water, back to shore.

I could feel the bastard bearing down on me as I tried to swim-run my way through the water. I let out a couple of screams that I’m sure sounded less than manly. I looked behind me and the fin had rolled over on the other side. Was the shark drunk? He came at me, passed by and hit the reef at a really fast rate. His fin flew up as he came to a stop.

I made it to shore and clawed my way up the beach, just like I did the first day here. Deja-damn-vu. I collapsed and stared at a pair of nasty gray feet that had stopped just in front of my face.

She was standing in front of me. staring at the water. I followed her gaze to the giant gray shark that flopped around like he was drowning on air. He really was gray, like a weird shade. I know sharks are gray and all, but he was almost a patchy color like …

I got to my feet and took a step toward the thing. I wondered if I could kill and eat him before she bit him. That would be cool. How bad could shark steaks be? He flopped a lot more like a … well, I was gonna say like a fish out of water. Oh haha! I am so damn funny today. Is that what they call irony?

He lifted his upper body in the air and brought it down hard. A piece of something flew out of his mouth and hit the sand in front of me. What the hell? It looked like part of a hand. Wow, man killer indeed.

I stared at the partial fingers and got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I took another step toward the shark and stared into its eyes, which should be big and spooky, right?

Isn’t that how sharks look? Like they are ready to eat you at any moment?

No …

I looked closer, even got a few feet away and crouched down.

It reared up again, and I could see that it had no eyes. They were eaten away in the socket. Both of them were just stringy crap like weird jellyfish. I fell back on my ass and stared at the mouth that kept snapping at me just like a certain girl on my little chunk of paradise.

Jesus fucking wept.

I didn’t just have a zombie shark. I had a BEACHED zombie shark.

I wonder if there is a cliff around that I can jump off.

Day 25

My Girlfriend Sucks

Hi, Diary!

Look, another day and I am still alive on this cursed island. I can’t believe I once found this place beautiful. If I ever make a million dollars, I am going to use the money to firebomb this hole back into the ocean. I hate it here, I H A T E it. I hate everything about this pit of despair. The heat, the humidity. I don’t think living in a sauna is the ideal life. No siree-bob.

Don’t even get me started on the damn zombies. So a girl was bad enough. I mean, I could find humor in it. Laugh at her as she fell down—a lot. When I first found her body, she was still pretty good looking. I mean, I wouldn’t do her. That would be sick and wrong. Right? But she was better than looking at palm trees. Know what I mean? I got to play dress-up, treat her like my doll, make fun of her, paint her face like a clown. That was a fun day, clowning around with my pet zombie.

And now I have a zombie shark to worry about.

I went to the waterfront and looked at him. He was so pitiful, stuck on the shore with his tail flapping up and down. He should be dead. Scratch that; he is dead. Undead. What sick god comes up with a zombie shark? Seriously, if I had a ship right now, I would take this thing back to civilization just like they did King Kong, and I would sell him to some circus owner. Then they could have my girl and make a whole zombie circus. Maybe I could run it. I’d call it the “circus zombies of the damned,” because that is what I am. Damned on this stupid rock.

He snapped at me even though I was standing a good twenty or thirty feet away. He just snapped over and over again like I was right in front of him. He had these giant teeth, and they were surrounded by some weird gummy green crap like seaweed that had gone bad.

I cleaned up my girl, but the only plans I had for this thing was to kill it.

I had the spear, and I was ready for war. Again, sorta. Like the day her husband came back to the island. That day sucked. I had a feeling this day was going to suck worse. I was lost in thought when I felt her hand on my shoulder. I just about jumped out of my skin!

She had crept right up on me and looped her hand up over my hand to grab my neck. I stumbled back into her, and we went down in a heap. She had the gag on, so I wasn’t that worried about being bit. She still managed to get her mouth near my ear and was making disgusting noises as she tried to bite it. A rotten smell hit me, and I was reminded of cleaning out a refrigerator after something has gone bad and sat for months.

The noise was worse, like a bite and inhale at the same time. Her lips touched my neck and I lost it. It sounded like she was trying to give me a hickey. Yep, my girlfriend sucks. I tore her arm from around my neck and came to my feet. She lay there with her legs spread, and I tried like hell not to look between them. I was afraid of what I would see, afraid of what she might have been up to in the middle of the night.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, there were indeed things down there, moving around—things that looked like some kind of larvae. I was going to have to clean them up. Oh God, oh God, oh God! God damn it!

I snatched up the spear and stomped across the hot sand, which was like walking through a layer of Silly Putty. The shark waited for me with a vacant look in his eyes. Vacant because he had no eyes. It wouldn’t be untrue to say he didn’t know what he was in for. Not that it mattered. They probably rely on smell like in the shows on TV where they dump a bucket of blood in the water and the sharks come racing.

His eyes were dried out and looked like hollow sockets. Weird stuff still hung there, but it was dry and looked like string. He curled his body as I walked along beside him, and tried to get a bite of me. I wasn’t interested in that. I liked my legs right where they were.

The tide was rolling in, and I could see waves for a change. Usually it was pretty calm here. Don’t know why I haven’t attempted to build a raft and sail away yet. Probably because I don’t know the first thing about making a waterborne craft. If I could do that, then I would have left weeks ago. Probably been swept away to sea, drowned. Nah, I was much safer on the ground.

Then again, I had the tail section from the plane. Maybe I could use that. I have some netting from inside the section and a lot of logs. I could build a small cover out of palm trees and sticks. I would have to leave her behind, of course. Probably wouldn’t have to go far. The visitors to my little slice of paradise probably came from somewhere nearby. I would probably reach another island in a matter of hours. Maybe half a day. If I sailed past one, there had to be others after it. Or so I reasoned.

I actually looked around the immediate area for stuff to build a raft with. There were a lot of small logs and some other debris, like sticks I could use for the raft if I decided to make one. I should use a piece of paper and try to draw out what I want to do. Or at least make a guess at what I’m going to make. I’m no artist, despite my stick-figure artwork, eh, Diary?

Ally is going to get such a kick out of the pictures I have drawn. I might have to get rid of a few of them, since they are racy. I hope she doesn’t get too mad about me dressing the zombie up like a hula girl. She will be mad about a lot of stuff. I should maybe hide this diary, but what about the Hollywood guys who will want to hear my amazing tale of survival against all odds, against all zombies. What if Oprah wants me on her show? What if I have to talk about all the stuff I have done?

Well, that’s in the future. My immediate concern was killing a zombie shark.

I walked around him on both sides. He smelled worse than she did, and she smelled like death. He had a definite stench from the sea, but it also reminded me of the time someone pulled a prank on me at work. They hid an open can of tuna behind my desk, and as it rotted, it smelled a little worse each day. After a few weeks, I wasn’t able to go into my office and had to call the maintenance guys to hunt around for the source.

I didn’t know who did it. Probably Derek from IT. The guy hates me for some reason. I call them a lot for all the viruses and stuff my machine gets, but that is no reason to do something so mean. Well, I bet they are missing me now. I just bet they are. I do all the accounting on the office supplies, so without me, they are probably out of coffee, and they can kiss bagel Friday goodbye.

The surf was picking up, bashing away at the reef, but I had time before it was far enough in to suck the bastard back out to sea. I would have to kill him while I had the chance. Kill him again. Just eating the dead guy’s hand killed him and brought him back, or zombified him. Whatever I am supposed to call the damn disease. Did that mean it would do the same to me? I was pretty sure I had gotten parts of the husband in my mouth when we fought. I was covered in crap after that, and it took me a while to wash it off. Was the zombie virus racing through my body?

I felt fine. I felt as healthy as could be expected, given the circumstances. If I turned into one of them, I was going to be really pissed.

I took the spear and stabbed at the shark. I hit the side of his head, and it went sideways, cutting a big slice in his cheek. Tough sucker. He turned his dry head toward me and snapped a few times.

I tried again but this time drove it in harder. Once again the spear slid along his cheek and did little damage. I lifted the spear and then smacked him on the head. There ya go. Bad shark, die!

He didn’t care for that one bit, so I tried again with the stabbing. I ran to the other side and drove the spear into his eye socket. It went in, but the massive gray head reared to the side and ripped the spear out of my hand. Ah, crap!

She was back on her feet and, of course, picked that time to come at me. If it weren’t for bad timing, she would have no timing at all. I had to dance out of the way of the swinging spear only to have her try to latch onto me. Christ! Caught between a zombie girl and a beached zombie shark. Why won’t this thing die? Oh yeah …

I pushed her off me, but she hung on, then fell. I backed up a step as she ended up on all fours. The shark popped his head around and the spear caught her right across the ass, which sent her flying. Stupid shark, you don’t hit my girl!

I tried to grab the spear but had to jump back because it came in too fast. She got up and staggered in a circle as if she couldn’t get her bearings. Then she walked toward the shark with her hands out like she was going to eat him.

To my horror, he was big enough to get a bite of her. She went down as the spear caught her again. This time her legs went up in the air and her head smacked into the sand. Then she rolled to the side, got one foot up in the air and tried to stand, but the shark’s mouth closed on her ankle and, just like that, snapped her foot off.

“No!” I yelled and dashed in.

I grabbed the spear and pulled back as hard as I could. Sonofabitch! I was pissed beyond words. I could see the foot in his mouth before he crunched down on it. He snapped once more and then the foot was gone. I waited until he thrashed his head the other way and then jabbed the spear into his eye again, this time with everything I had. It went in, past some stuff that crunched. It didn’t move as fast this time, so I kicked the end of the spear, and it slid in about a foot.

He slowed down but didn’t stop moving, so I grabbed the handle and turned it like I was beating eggs. Scrambled zombie shark brain, yum yum. The big creature shuddered and then his head flopped down on the beach.

She lay on her back, staring at the sun, completely unconcerned that she had just lost her foot.

I looked at the stub of a leg, and it wasn’t bleeding. Just had some stringy stuff hanging out of the end. No blood, no mess. I picked her up and plopped her over my shoulder. Huffing and puffing from the physical exhaustion of battling the zombie shark, I went back to camp so I could call it a night. Time to see how much rum is left in the bottle.

Day 26

My Girlfriend Beats Me Up

I tied her to the tree last night, and she didn’t complain—she never does. When morning arrived, it was a blast of sunlight that left my head throbbing like I was inside a large bell. A large bell like they put on churches and then ring to announce stuff like death. I think it rang eight million times for all the brain cells I killed last night.

Maybe it isn’t such a great idea to drink myself into oblivion on the island. Not like I can afford another night like that. I am almost out of booze anyway. I polished off the rum and threw the bottle at her as I ranted about missing Ally and how a stupid zombie girl can’t do a damn thing for me. I feel bad about it now, really guilty. I should make it up to her. Too bad I don’t have some fresh husband to feed to her.

She hissed at me as I got close. Her lips drew back around the blue strip of cloth, but her eye stared past me. I stroked her stringy hair and told her I was sorry for throwing the empty bottle at her. I don’t think I hit her, but maybe it did. I heard it thunk off something. I looked around for it, but it must have flown into the bushes.

I grabbed her leg and looked at the ragged wound. It was festering already. The skin was gray and puffy, but also dried out. A couple of bugs were working the flesh, so I squashed them. That was going to be a big problem if I didn’t take care of it. I didn’t have a hard time imagining the things that might work their way under her flesh and make a home.

The skin was rotted; there was no doubt about it. It was putrid and black and smelled terrible. When I was a kid, I had a cut on my foot I was scared to tell my mother about. When it got really bad and leaked pus, it had a similar smell. I wondered if she’d be okay if I wrapped the stump.

I didn’t know how she was going to get around either. I guessed she would have to crawl everywhere. That was going to be a pain in the ass when it came time to bathe her at the pool. I might have to carry her stinky ass there. GROSS!

Diary, I really hate that I can’t bring myself to just put her out of her misery. She is so pathetic. Yet every once in a while, that blue eye looks into mine and I feel overwhelming pity for her. She has been the only thing on the island I can relate to. Well, besides the booze. Although that isn’t much of a relationship. Unless you call indulging too much and feeling like shit the next day a good relationship. Kinda like a night of crazy sex where your girlfriend wants to try new things. Things you don’t like so much.

I dragged her to the fire by her feet. I mean by her foot. I figured that any kind of wrapping wouldn’t last long and would smell even worse in a day or three. I needed to stop the rot while I could. The thing was oozing brown pus, and when some of it dripped on my pants, I decided I would have to burn the damn things.

I tugged her closer to the flame and stoked it up by blowing on it and feeding it a little bit of wood. She kept trying to get up, but I pushed her back down. It wasn’t hard. I have seen two year olds who are more coordinated than she is.

I pulled her closer, got a look between her legs and regretted it. I really needed to clean that stuff up. I hoped I had some alcohol left—for me, not her.

I blew on the flame a little more and dragged her closer. She got a look at the flame and tried to back up like a weird three-legged crab. I held her, but she thrashed against me. Her gross leg came up, smacking me across the face pretty hard. My ear rang immediately, and the side of my face went numb. I fell to the side, freaking out because that crap that was oozing out of her leg was now on my face.

I wiped at it with the sleeve of my shirt, but it didn’t do any good. I could still feel the goop on my cheek. I rolled back up and made a grab for her, because she was sliding across the sand on her ass. I pulled her back and clamped my arm over her leg and wrestled her close to my body. There was no way she was going to get the best of me.

She thrashed around as I tugged her leg into the fire. Her other leg hit my head, and I almost became the one in the flames. I heard bells this time, and I think I saw stars. I turned to make another grab, but I was slowing down. This time her flailing foot caught me upside the temple and I went over.

I don’t know how long I lay on my side, gasping in air and sand. Everything seemed out of focus when I opened my eyes, like I was seeing things through a tunnel.

Sand? Check.

Palm trees? Check.

Pissed-off zombie chick? Check.

I rolled to my left as she fell on me. She landed on my side, and her arm drove into my stomach. Jesus Christ! She was kicking my ass and she wasn’t even trying hard!

I rolled a couple of times, but the pain from the hangover and from getting kicked in the head—repeatedly—left me unable to get any air past my lips and into my lungs.

I staggered to all fours. She came down on me again, this time with her hand looped over my neck just like yesterday when she tried to attack me during the shark killing. She was heavier than I remembered, but it was probably just from feeling so beaten down.

I managed to get a breath and then shrugged her to the side. I fell on top of her this time, and when I did, a bunch of weird sounds came out of various parts of her body. The stench of rotting meat hit me like a weight. I gagged and threw up all over her back. How long had she been building up all those gasses? Holy shit, it smelled worse than death. Worse than Lenny Cansta, a kid I used to go to middle school with who had the worst farts of any single person I have ever known. He once cleared out wood shop with a ripper that put the band saw to shame. Even the teacher looked green.

This was worse!

I wanted to scream at the sky. I managed to wipe some of the puke off my face, grabbed her leg in a tight grip, and dragged her to the fire before she could protest any more. I stuck her stump in and pressed it against a flaming log. The smell of cooking meat, seared and burning, hit my nose. I couldn’t help it. I started drooling.

She went crazy, but it wasn’t from pain. Ever since the first night I found her, she was terrified of fire. Weird that such a primal urge would survive her changing into this undead thing. She couldn’t have any brain cells left, and it made me wonder if she was able to feel anything else. Like a sense of loyalty to the guy who has saved her ass more than once.

She scrambled away from the fire with her leg trailing smoke. She tried to stand, but it was a wasted effort as she fell flat on her face. I noticed that more of those patches of skin were appearing on her body, and dragging her hadn’t helped. Some flesh hung loose, as if the dead skin cells were getting together and planning to mutiny and escape from her body.

I walked to the pool in a daze. When I reached it, I got my clothes off and collapsed. I wiped zombie pus off my head, then dunked my head to let the moderately cool water soak into my bones. It felt fantastic, so I stayed in the water for what seemed like hours. I napped by the side of the pool on the soft sand, and air blew over my body, cooling it for a few minutes before the heat started beating at me again.

My face hurt, and I could feel lumps from where she’d kicked me. My reflection in the water showed I had a black eye and one of my cheeks was puffed out. She got me good, but in the end, I managed to stop the rot. Score one for me!

I had to hunt, of course. When I walked to camp to find some fresh clothes, she was still trying to stand up … and falling down over and over again. I couldn't help it. I pointed and laughed. Petty of me? Maybe, but that’s how I was feeling. It wasn’t being beat up by a girl that bugged me. It was being beat up by a zombie girl.

I headed to the beach with my rock tool and stopped at the plane tail section. She crawled behind me, but at the rate she was going, it would probably take her an hour to catch up. She still growled and snarled behind her gag. Bitch, bitch, bitch. No amount of whining was going to help her at this point.

I was checking out the end of the plane section. It was open. The cap—or whatever goes back there—had come off. This part of the plane was pretty good sized. I thought that I could sleep in it if I rolled it over and got the big gaping holes down. Better yet, maybe I could use it to construct a raft. I could mount the piece between a couple of logs and use the hatch to get in and out. It would keep me dry. I might even be able to sleep in the thing. I would need a larger hole in the back to tie everything to, though.

I stomped on the cap a couple of times, and it flew off with a crack. I looked at the opening and figured it should be okay. I would need to punch holes in it so that I could get the rope and parts of the straps in.

I went to the beach and dug up some clams, then fished for oysters and starfish. I saw what I thought was a lobster, but the little bastard had huge claws, and my spear was still stuck in the twice-dead shark. I bet shark tastes good when you are starving. Too bad I won’t find out.

I was coming back out of the water when I spotted her crawling across the sand. She was leaving a group of bushes. Big-bladed things that I hated. I got into a patch of them once and had to back out slowly. The serrated edges were sharp enough to cut me in two.

She came out with scratches all over her body. Oh God, those would never heal. I think I need to start dressing her in normal clothes again. I do have that floral-print dress, but it was made for a girl a lot bigger than her tiny frame. I fought a mammoth zombie-husband in it and won. She might like wearing something that stinks like him.

I needed to make something for the foot so she could get around. I sniffed my oysters as I walked back to camp, and when I went past the tail section, I had a great idea!

I dropped the food on a rock by the fire so it could cook slowly, then ran back to pick up the cap. It was sort of square and had a wide end that had some flat piece flanged under so that when I laid it on the ground, it stood up and was quite stable.

I ate and felt more or less full. Some damn French fries would cap off that meal. While I’m dreaming, again, I may as well dream of biscuits and a hot fudge fucking sundae.

I sat down to work on the piece. First, I ran some of the cargo netting under it and tied it in the center so it made a cross. I left some of the strap through the small hole, long enough to reach the middle of her leg. Then I tied a big lump in the middle, so I could control how much of the straps stayed loose.

It was about an hour later when she crawled back into camp with her eye fixed on my crotch like it was prime rib. I waited until she got close, then fell on her back and held her down. I pulled her leg back, the one missing the foot, and tried out the new fitting.

It was a bit tight. I moved the straps around so they didn’t cross each other. Then I put it over her calf and pushed until it wouldn’t move any more. I tapped it a few times, then took the ends I had left hanging, pulled them up and tied them to her knee. Wow, this might work.

I helped her up and stood her before me. She was very unsteady on the square hunk of metal. I saw the ends bite into her flesh, but I don’t think she cared. She fell the first few times she took a step. Around the eighth or ninth time, she seemed to get her footing and was able to walk a few feet.

Now she makes a cool “thonk and slide” sound when she walks.

At least she’s mobile again. I took her top off and tried not to stare at her shriveled breasts. They looked like peaches left in the sun for a few days. I looped the dress over her head and let it settle around her shoulders. She looks a lot better now. What a change!

“You look much better, babe.”

Snarl.

“Really, the color suits your eyes. I mean eye.”

Snarl.

Thunk. Slide. Thunk. Slide. At least I will hear her coming now. It was just about as effective as a cowbell.

Day 27

My Girlfriend Whines a Lot

The raft is coming along great! I rolled a pair of logs close to each other and then dragged the tail section from the plane between them. I rolled more logs on either side of those and—looky here—we had ourselves a floating fortress. There was plenty of webbing in the plane, so I took it all out, tore it apart, tied it up with half-assed knots that would make a boy scout cry, and then attempted to wrap the logs together.

I laid smaller logs next to the big ones in the hope it would help stabilize the craft. Then I grabbed a bunch of strips of palm trees I have been drying out and made more rope out of them, just like I have been using to keep my girl secured. I brought her to the site and let her stomp around a little while I worked. She got a bead on me with her eye, which was getting really dry and nasty these days. I can’t imagine it works. What if she just senses me somehow, like a zombie psychic? Maybe being dead gives her special powers of the mind that I can’t imagine.

Nah, she is too dumb for that.

The new foot is holding up surprisingly well. It slows her down a lot, and it is noisy as hell. It sounds like she is a robot with that big heavy metal plate on her leg. I found another use for it. If I put her near a big log and kick the plate under it, she gets stuck for a while before she wiggles it loose.

The plan was to build the raft until I had no more material. Launch it, see if it floats and then, well, float away. Oh darn! I hadn’t thought of that. How did I get it to move in the water? Perhaps I could try to make some sort of sail with all the clothes I have saved up. I don’t have a way to sew them all together. I would have to make oars.

I got the first three logs tied together before I ran low on stuff to tie them with. It only left me a half-raft, and I would need to store stuff like food and water on the rest. I don’t have much. I didn’t come across any treasure left by a pirate. Don’t have any souvenirs. I don’t even have my bags from the trip.

I went back and retrieved some of the clothes and tore them into strips so I could make more rope. The jeans were the best. They were thick, made of strong fabric. The dresses and silk shirts didn’t seem that great, but on closer inspection, the silky stuff was much stronger than I thought. I wound some together and found out I couldn't tear it apart no matter how hard I tried.

I managed to get another three logs tied together, and it was looking like a proper raft, almost like something you would see in a movie—almost. I found a long stick and tied a couple of pieces of broken luggage to it. I had to tear the hard plastic cases apart with the rock knife, but in the end, I had a broad-bladed oar. It should be strong enough to get me a decent way out to sea.

I’m in a good mood today. Making the raft has really lifted my spirits. I feel like a new man. I guess I am a new man, as much weight as I have lost. I got a glimpse of my face in the water as I worked and almost didn’t recognize myself. I’ve given up shaving. Without shaving cream, the crappy plastic razors I found the first few days left my face a rash of blazing pain. My eyes looked sunken in, sort of hollow. They looked—wild.

“Do I look crazy to you?” I asked my zombie, who was stuck with her metal foot under a log.

Snarl.

I should write a top 40 pop tune called Snarl.

“I didn’t think so either, baby.”

I fished for about an hour, gathering up much more than I usually would. I cooked some of the food, but I put the rest in a luggage piece that was filled with water. It was probably a makeup bag when it was in use; now it’s my refrigerator.

I went back to fishing, diving deep to dig up oysters in the beautiful blue surf. The clouds were rolling in, and I was sure it would rain before the day was over. That wouldn’t help get the raft built any quicker. Damn!

I checked on her, but she was still stomping up and down. I lifted the hem of her dress to inspect her leg wound, and I was hit with the smell of scorched meat again. It made me think of medium rare filet mignons with a side of sautéed mushrooms. I had to force myself to look at her rotting body to stop my mouth from drooling.

What a mess. I have written it before, and I will write it again. I should just kill her.

I’ll do it before I push the raft into the water.

I went back to the construction site and inspected my handiwork again. I pulled on one log and then the other to make sure everything was solidly constructed. The clouds continued to roll in while I tried to work faster. When the rain came, I decided to check out my hatch idea.

As is frequently the case, the rain didn’t exactly fall like a virgin spring day. It came down in bucketloads. Imagine standing under a shower. Now multiply the shower by twenty. That is what it felt like.

I jumped up on the hull and slid inside the opening. I had a bunch of palm leaves woven together with twigs that I used as a hatch. The large end was shut with something similar, a wall to protect me from the worst of the elements. That end was up in the air, thanks to the logs, so only a really heavy wave would get inside. I slid it shut and lay down to take a nap. Giant drops pelted the top in a pattern that reminded me of a really angry heavy-metal musician learning drums. Staccato, that is one way to describe it. Fucking loud and annoying. That is another way.

I was kept more or less dry, even though a small river of water developed in the center of the tail section. I found that if I lay on my side, it didn’t run against my back. I faced the wall and noticed stains for the first time. Probably where the seawater was eating away at the sides. This part of the plane was used mostly to hold the tail in place, or so I surmised.

It went on for about fifteen minutes at this pace. I was pretty sure it would stop soon; that’s how it usually works. Except for one night when it dumped for several hours, the dousings were over quickly.

I heard her howl when the first pulse of thunder rolled across the sky. It started a ways out and then felt like a train was going past. I wish it had been a train—a train to Hawaii. Scratch that, a train to somewhere cold, like Finland. Isn’t that where they build the ice hotels? Everywhere you look—ice! Fuck me, but that sounds like heaven after the weeks I have had in this hellhole.

She howled again as the thunder ripped another one. A few minutes later, I felt impact as lightning cracked into the ground. I popped my head out in the rain to see her struggling against the log. She was pulling against it so hard that the log was actually rocking back and forth. If she kept it up, she would lose the new metal foot I had made for her—or the rest of her leg. Then I would have to tie a stick on there. She would be just a parrot away from becoming a zombie pirate.

I jumped out of the hatch, which wasn’t as easy as it sounds. I thought I could just get my legs back out, but it turned out it was almost impossible to slither out the opposite way from how I’d come in. I had to go back toward the front, which had a much larger space, and then turn around.

I moved the palm leaves aside and popped out. The rain hit me and soaked me to the bone. It was pounding against me for all it was worth. I ran to her side and pushed against the log. Her good eye held a look of panic. I think. Kinda hard to judge what was behind that thing.

The oddest thing happened when I took her slimy hand in mine. And not just the pieces of skin sliding off her dead digits. Yeah, that was gross, but I’m getting used to sick stuff coming out of her various openings. Anyway, I took her hand in mine, and she calmed down right away. She didn’t snarl, she didn’t hoot or growl; she just stared at me until I took a step and tugged her hand. She clumped behind me as I walked back to the raft.

Now I had a problem. The large part of the tail had that little covering I built. It faced away from the water, and I was hesitant to break it open. It had taken a good bit of effort to create the damn thing. I guess I didn’t really have a choice. As the rain came down and drenched us both, I worked the end of it free, then tugged it off more or less in one piece. The little bit of strap I used to secure it in place came free without tearing, so I pushed it inside the opening for later reuse.

I crawled inside and then slid around so my feet went backwards. I pushed myself into the space and settled against the sides.

Now, I know it would be the polite thing to invite my lady friend into the little hovel, but she stinks. I mean, she really smells, and she has stuff falling off her body. I wouldn’t be able to sleep next to that. No one could sleep next to her. Another burst of lightning tore across the sky, and she let out something like a scream behind the gag.

Poor thing!

Taking her hand in mine, I pulled her so that her upper body was forced to bend over to fit in the space with me. I backed up as far as I could and then tried to settle in for the downpour. I should have just gone back to camp, but she seemed so quiet now that she was with me. She laid her head to the side so that her eye could stare at me. She doesn’t blink, ever, which is pretty freaky, but that eye can move when it wants to.

“Is that better?”

She didn’t snarl for a change. Well look at Miss Smarty Pants. Finally knows when to keep her inhuman noises to herself.

Lightning lit the sky again. She jumped forward a little but calmed down until the thunder once again shook the ground. Then she let out a high-pitched noise that almost sounded like a whine. I patted her hand and ran my hand over her head, which turned up what I thought was a beetle of some sort. Scratch that; it was a furry spider. I smashed it against the side of the wall, then wished I had saved it for the fire. I learned a few weeks ago that they taste pretty good when cooked.

She sort of moaned at me. I thought of it as cooing. When the rain and lightning calmed down, it was like a switch went off in her head. She tried to stand up and bashed her head against the top of the plane, so I pushed her out. Of course, she tried to bite me a couple of times.

Day 28

My Girlfriend is Falling Apart

We barely made it back to camp last night before the rain started up again. She slowly—I mean slowly—craned her neck back until she was staring straight at the sky. I thought she was going to break out in a song from the way her mouth opened and her eye rolled back in her head. Was this her way of showing fear?

I took her to the tree, the big one with the huge leaves that kept her fairly dry, and tied her up. She lunged at me as I walked away, one arm reaching for my shoulder, but she missed me by a good two or three feet. I think she has lost whatever depth perception she used to have. After the night before, I pretended that she didn’t want me to go. Sorry, honey. I have work to do.

I dashed to my little lean-to, which leaked because I hadn’t fixed the walls in a while, even though I kept meaning to. I shifted the parts aside until I could find a decent place to lie down that wasn’t dripping rain. I took out the last of the romance novels and read it out loud. In this one, a woman was on a journey to discover herself while sleeping with a bunch of men. I think the only thing she discovered was a really good orgasm.

There was a lot of inner reflection. Silly stuff about how she felt and how much she worried about how the men in her life regarded her. She went on for pages about how she was unloved and neglected by most of them until she met Mr. Right, who happened to be a pilot. I wish there were a pilot here so he could fly my ass off this rock. It was just plain silly, but I read it anyway. I think she has enjoyed this one just as much as the others.

I finally fell asleep after taking the last deep drink of the tequila. I was down to just a few shots, if that. I slurped them down and used fresh raindrops as a chaser. It did the trick and helped me fall asleep. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was her staring at me like I was a bowl of chicken teriyaki. She looked ridiculous with the gag on her rotting mouth.

I woke up and started singing almost immediately. I was so happy because I was going to work on the raft all day, and with any luck, I would leave the island tomorrow. I blew a kiss to her as I went by. She snarled at me, then started clumping around the tree in circles like she used to do. Well, I guess I’m not the only one feeling chipper this morning.

I untied her and left her alone. She could do whatever she wanted to as long as she kept her teeth safely behind the gag. I was pretty sure I would have to fight her off once or twice today, but hey, who doesn’t want a girl’s attention?

The first thing I did was get as many oysters and clams as I could. The night before, I had left the luggage with my collection of shellfish in a pool of water to keep them fresh. I added to the collection and tossed out the ones I thought were dead. If they moved again, I would re-add them. As hungry as I have been, I have no desire to cook dead stuff and eat it. That doesn’t sound right. Freshly dead stuff. Like saying freshly live stuff, this brought back bad memories of finding her quivering body. Finding her husband as he lumbered toward me. Finding the dead shark with the death breath. I don’t think I will ever be able to watch a zombie movie again for as long as I live.

She wandered near a couple of times, but only came at me once. I pushed her away and batted at her, deflecting her clumsy attacks. I hit her hand as she tried to get it around my neck, and one of her fingers snapped backwards and stuck there. I grabbed her wrist to take a look. I tried to push the finger back in the right direction, but when I did, it came loose and fell off. I held the finger in one hand and did a double take. Crap, she really was falling apart.

I pushed her away and tossed the finger aside. On second thought, I dug a hole in the sand and buried it. No sense in creating more zombie animals. She stumbled away on her heavy metal foot and walked in circles for a while. Every time she spun past me, she hissed or snarled but couldn’t really form the thought to come after me again. Just in case, I escorted her to the tree where her husband’s rotting parts were hanging and left her facing it. She stared up at one of his legs and snarled like she was still pissed at him.

Caught some of the little fish that collect near the pools of water the tide leaves in the rocks. Not my favorite, but every little bit helps. I planned to hang them near the fire all night so they would dry out and turn into tiny-fish jerky. They would go great with some of the salt I have been making from dried out seawater. Sea salt from the islands. I should come back and start a business. Right after I firebomb this goddamn island back into the ocean.

The bindings on the raft were holding up pretty well. A day by the beach seemed to have hardened them with the same salt I was going to use to start my new company. If the sea-salt business doesn’t work out, and how can it not, maybe I will hire someone to research the berries here. I could bring them back and give them to a pharmaceutical company. Maybe they could make some longevity pills or something.

Or keep people alive for a while.

Or start a zombie invasion. Yeah, I have seen the movies. It only takes one evil doctor in a laboratory to start that shit up, and then everyone is forced to live in a farmhouse and fight the things day and night. Screw that.

Still, I went to the little evil flowers and studied them for a few minutes. I tried to stay away from this area, because I knew how dangerous it was. If she ate the berries, there was no telling what other animals would try to ingest them.

The flower was still in bloom, a beautiful violet-colored blossom with those wicked-looking serrated blades for leaves. The berries hung under them and reminded me of blueberries, but smaller. I took a stick and knocked a few off, then scooped them toward me.

Just a couple of inches away—death and rebirth. I studied them and decided that they needed to go with me. I wrapped some in a leaf and then double-wrapped that with another. Took those back to the camp, put them in one of the medicine bottles, and stashed them in the backpack along with all the other things I had, which didn’t amount to much. I had the lighter that I kept in the plastic storage bag Ally bought me. I had my previously waterlogged wallet and what is left of my ID cards.

An empty bottle of tequila I would save to use for water.

I took a couple of the books I had collected over the last few weeks, the ones I had read and disliked the least. I thought about bringing the enema kit, but what was the point? I was going to leave her here to rot. There just wasn’t room on the raft, and what the hell was I going to do with a zombie chick who is falling apart?

Would I be sad to leave her behind? A little bit. But when I came back to show the Hollywood guys where I had lived and how I had survived, she would still be there as proof. That was going to be a great day. I bet I was going to be on Oprah with my girlfriend, Ally, who waited so patiently for me to survive. Everyone would want to hear my story, and I would give it to them. I might write a book about it based on you, dear Diary. I mean how hard can it be to write a book with zombies in it?

I got back to fishing and hunting. There had been no sign of pigs or boars or whatever that tusked thing was that she killed. I wish one would show up so I could cook it. Boar jerky probably tasted amazing. A lot better than the spiny starfish I was used to living on.

She wasn’t near the tree when I got back to camp. I heard some leaves crashing together not far from the raft, so I went to investigate. She was indeed caught in a pair of branches. When I went to free her, she didn’t even try to bite me. What the hell is wrong with her lately? I have gotten so used to being on guard from this killing machine that it was strange not to have my hands up to fend off her attacks. She just followed me back to the beach with a few tugs. I stopped near the tree her hubby was in.

I wonder how he is doing up there? If I walk out into the water, I can just see his rotting head. I don’t like to do that. I waved at his shape nonetheless and went back to adding shellfish to my “refrigerator.”

Tomorrow is the day. I can’t wait!

I looked her over later in the day. Took off her dress and left it on the ground. I was going to bring it with me in case I needed the cloth to fix the raft. She had a lot more of those patches of dead skin. Dead skin. That sounds funny, since her whole body is dead.

A couple of the patches of skin fell off, and I could see the dried tendons underneath. Come to think of it, she does sort of creak and make weird noises when she walks. Like paper sliding together. I have seen some petty gross things in the past few weeks, so I think that can explain my curiosity and my following actions.

I grabbed her arm and studied one of the gross holes left in her skin. Her forearm had several of these places, so I pushed against one only to discover that it was really dry. The tendons inside were almost hard. They didn’t squish like they should. I pushed one aside and looked at her to see if she felt it. She didn’t show any sign of pain or even irritability. Of course, with her mouth in that weird grin from the gag, it is hard to tell if she is making a face at all.

I dug deeper, pushing aside sandy stuff that sprinkled on the ground, and touched the bone. I pushed it a few times to see if it was hollow, but it seemed as hard as a rock. That must be good. She started to pull her hand away, and I could feel the leathery tendons tighten over my finger. I jerked it out of the hole and looked at it to make sure it wasn’t cut.

Then I did something stupid. I smelled my finger.

When I was done puking, I went to the pool of water and scrubbed my hands in sand and water. I rubbed so hard that I almost drew blood.

I don’t know what to do with her. With those big sores, she is going to be filled with bugs soon. I can’t have them eating my girl from the inside out. One day she will have so many in her that she will just fall apart, and that will be a real shame. Diary, I need her so I can sell my story. Who is going to believe that I lived on a deserted island with a zombie for a month and didn’t kill her or go crazy? Or go crazy and kill her?

I went back to camp and tossed her clothes in a heap. Then I went over her body and cleaned up as many of the little critters as I could. It was a thankless job, but she put up with it. In fact, she only tried to bite me a couple of times.

I moved her eye patch aside and cleaned out a spider that was living there. He was a nasty-looking thing that had green legs with red spots all over them. I dug him out with a stick and tossed him on the fire.

I helped her up, stuck her metal foot under a log (that will keep her out of zombie trouble) and went back to work on the raft.

It was just about done. There wasn’t much to it. Six logs—not really logs, more like long thick sticks about ten inches around—with the tail section secured to the top so I can sleep in it. I have some food saved up, and I have been collecting coconuts for the last few days. Have about ten or eleven of them. I plan to zip them in a bag and secure it to the top of the raft.

I took everything of importance I could find and added it. Knife, empty bottles. The Vaseline and even the magazines.

The raft is all set. It’s on a bunch of smaller logs, so all I have to do is give it a push and it will roll right into the water. Too bad I don’t have a compass, but I plan to pick a star at night and aim for it. A nice bright star. What to do with the girl? What to do …

Well, Diary, I will call it a night. It’s a big day tomorrow. Damn! I just noticed that I am running out of pages. I don’t know what I will write on when they are full, but with any luck, I will be rescued by then.

Day 29

My Girlfriend is Dead Weight

I had trouble sleeping last night, because I was so excited! I got up a few times and paced around in the middle of the night. Smacked bugs, rubbed one out, sang a few songs, stuff like that. It was so hot that I lay sweating for hours before exhaustion finally took over and I slept. I woke up just before dawn and felt like I had sand in my eyes because they were so dry.

I went down and checked the tide, but it was still out about twenty feet. I started getting ready by rolling a log behind the raft and finding a strong branch I could use to launch it. I went over all of the knots and straps again, looking for any loose ones, but they were all holding up pretty well.

The heat was already starting to piss me off, so I got in the water and gathered some shellfish. There was a good-sized crab I managed to snatch up by once again offering my hand as bait. This is not a good way to catch crabs, because they are fast little bastards in the water. He reared back, and I thought I would get my hand out of the way in time. He got me right between the thumb and first finger. It was like a bolt of pain ripped my hand apart. I grabbed him by the back of his shell, marched back to the fire and promptly threw him on it.

I took great pleasure in watching him wither and crackle while I showed him my hurt hand. She was staring at me, making those little hooting noises. That better not be laughter.

“You’re next if it is.”

I untied her after breakfast and let her thump around. She had a few new bugs on her, but no spiders this time. I flicked them off but didn’t eat any. Since the shark incident, I have been scared to eat anything that has come in contact with her or her zombie kin.

I checked the tide, but it was moving so slowly it seemed like it would never get to the raft. I was excited and scared at the same time. I was leaving my safe haven and putting my trust in the water, which was a bad idea, since I can’t swim very well. But I’ve had a lot of on-the-job training over the last month. I guess as a last resort, I could eat some of the berries before I went under, then I would come back, just like her.

But then I would be a zombie underwater. How long could I walk around the bottom of the ocean before pressure smooshed me or some big predator ate me? I could see it now: walking around in circles for days when a big whale sees my undead ass as a quick snack.

A zombie whale! That would teach some whale hunter. What would Captain Ahab have done if he was hunting Moby-fucking-zombie-whale? He probably would have cut his losses with the leg and gone back to being pissed off at the world.

She clumped past me. I waved at her, but she didn’t bother waving back. I threw a couple of pebbles at her, but she just kept on going. She stopped under the tree her husband was in and stared at the trunk for a while. Then she turned around and walked the other way, like she was a guard or something. She did this for a long time.

I wonder if she is worried about me leaving. Can she sense that this is our last day together? I went to her and took her hand to lead her to the stream. I might as well give her a farewell bath. I mainly splashed water on her, but she didn’t even react. So I sat her down in the end of the stream and let the water rush over her for a while.

She looked at me with her one good eye, then snarled and snapped a few times. I washed her hair and even tried to use some sand to scrub it, but it didn’t do much good. Besides, big clumps of it came out, and I had to toss them into the woods.

“Are you going to miss me?”

Snarl.

“I bet you are. I bet you are going to be so lonely.”

Snarl, snap, snarl.

I should write a country song about how my girl got her snarl back.

“I’ll come back for you. Really, I will. I’ll come back with a bunch of scientists, specialists and doctors, and we will do everything we can for you. Or bash in your head. I won’t lie, though, baby. They might want to take you apart and slice up your brain.”

She just stared at me, so I helped her out of the water and let her dry as we walked. Her skin was so cold when I held her hand with its missing finger. The absence of the digit bothered me, so I took her other hand and led her back to the beach.

I was having second thoughts about bringing her with me. I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave her. Without me, she would walk into the ocean within a couple of days, and then she would be lost forever—or until she walked out on some beach and started eating people. How would I prove my story?

I supposed I could tie her to the tree, which would make it a lot easier to find her when I came back. But I was almost out of rope, so if I tied her up, she would be on a really short chain, unable to move more than a few feet from camp. I doubted it would even work. She is a crafty little zombie. She has become the Houdini of the undead. It seems like every time I figure out a way to secure her to something, she figures out a way to escape.

I could tie her up in the tree so any potential predators wouldn’t get her. But then I worried that birds might peck pieces out of her body. Not that there are a lot of birds around. But even one or two could do a lot of damage over the course of a month. Plus, they might turn into zombie birds. Yikes! They might carry the disease to some other city or country. Besides. How would I get her body up in a tree?

I already knew what I had to do. I just wasn’t sure how to do it. I knew that I couldn’t leave her here. I have known it for a while, but I didn’t want to admit it. I had to take her. I had to figure out a way to drag her with me. I didn’t have room on the raft, and how could I control her? If I tied her down and the raft came apart, then she might float away. I couldn’t put her in the tail section. We couldn’t both fit. Besides, she stinks and is falling apart. And I would have to spend all my time making sure she didn’t bite me.

I went back to the raft and looked it over. It was so pathetic that I barely had room to move around, let alone carry her along with me. I walked the beach and dug up a few more clams near the water. I walked farther along the beach and thought I spotted a big sea cucumber thing. I waded into the water but gave up when I realized it was probably just a rock.

I wandered even farther but didn’t find any treasure. This section of the beach just doesn’t attract that many fish or crabs for some reason.

I heard talking—maybe chanting—and blamed it on the sun. Hello, cruel heat. Why do you have to play mind games with my rapidly departing intellect?

I took a step toward the trees. Then another. The noise was getting louder, and I was starting to think it wasn’t related to my scorched mind at all. I was hearing voices, and they weren’t in my head!

Was I about to be rescued at long last? Here I was, all set to run myself out of Dodge, and the cavalry had finally arrived. That was just my luck. I heard a saying once that if it weren’t for bad luck, you wouldn’t have any luck. My luck was so bad it was trying to ass fuck me while messing with my mind.

Another step and then I was in the bush. I moved toward the beach where the islanders had made landfall not so long ago. Or was it? Was that a week ago? A month? Twenty years? It seemed that long. Time wasn’t really my friend here. When I was at the hotel, I sure wished time would stop.

Stupid time.

But back to the voices—the ones NOT in my head.

I stepped faster, sure footed like a bush hunter. If this was Africa, I would have purchased a cool hat and whip when I arrived. I might even have a leather jacket, because that’s what the famous archeologist Dr. Jones wore. It might be a hundred and ten, but nothing broke his cool.

The beach was just ahead, and I was now able to make out movement. Not a mirage but people. A lot of people. More people than I had seen in weeks.

I should run out and greet them. I wish I had something to offer, like a tray of ice-cold coconut slices. What the fuck was I thinking? As soon as they saw me, they would probably try to kill me. I had chased them off last time, even if I didn’t mean to.

I stood behind the leaves and watched the men get out of their boats. I was pretty sure it was the same visitors as before. They wore the same kind of clothes. I remembered the big boy with the tropical-print shirt. What, was it on sale at Village-R-Us?

They didn’t look so happy go lucky this time. They looked irritated.

I was hoping my rescuers would arrive with food and beer. These guys were arriving with weapons. They had huge shields made out of leaves woven tightly together. They were also building a whole stack of spears. Then one of them pulled out something different, something that looked like a blow gun. Or a really long pipe. If it shoots darts, then it is silent but deadly in a different way than the coconut-powered gas that I seem to emit on a regular basis.

Ah, shit. They were here, and they were here for me and her Highness. The princess zombie had finally drawn the attention of someone who could do something about her rotted state. I had to get off the island, but how could I make a run for it if they had those cool boats? They would be on me within minutes. Then it would be bye bye, zombie girl and bye bye, big Hollywood paycheck. And maybe bye bye, my life.

I needed a plan. I needed a way to distract them, a way to destroy the boats, and a way to get off the island without getting me and my girl filled with holes. There was no way I could be sure they would let me live. They might be savages, headhunters even! Maybe that was what they were after all along!

I took a few deep breaths and then went to retrieve her.

I led my girl along the well-worn path to the little lake I was so fond of spending my days in. My plan was pretty simple. I was going to hide her somewhere they would never think to look. Then I would go back and take care of them.

Just to be clear, I had no idea how I was going to take care of them.

I used some rope to tie her in a neat zombie bundle. With her hands at her sides and her legs tied together, I was able to tug her into the water. Now this may come as a surprise to you, oh dear Diary, but instead of sinking like dead weight, she floated. I dragged her corpse out to the center of the lake, took a deep breath and then swam for the bottom.

Once I had her on the floor of the lake, which was only seven or eight feet deep, I was able to drag a few large rocks to hold her down there. A few bubbles rose to the surface, but as I sank her, they stopped when her lungs were full of water.

It was time to put part two of my non-plan into effect. I was going to do what I did best.

I was going to hide.

Day 30

My Girlfriend Hates Long Goodbyes

Night fell. It fell hard ... I’ve always wanted to say that.

I found a nice little cubbyhole up above the waterfall. Not much space, and it smelled like shit. Pretty sure an animal lives in here. I wish the little bastard had made it to my camp for a barbecue.

I pulled some giant leaves over the tiny entryway and waited. I heard the men stomping below and talking in some language that may as well have been French. I didn’t understand a single word.

I resisted the urge to look at them, to peek between the leaves and see what they were up to. Of course they passed my girl where she lay on the bottom of the lake. I hoped there were no piranhas or other carnivores in the lake. If she got eaten, I was not getting my movie deal!

So night fell, as I said. I waited and waited until the moon was as high in the sky as I have ever seen. I crept out to the camp the islanders had made and found them passed out, surrounded by these wooden containers that must have had booze in them. It turns out the blow gun was not a gun at all. It had a pipe end that was filled with something black. What were these guys up to?

To make matters worse, a few of the flowers lay limp next to the giant pipe. Holy shit! Were they smoking the zombie berries? If they all woke up dead and howling for blood, I was so far beyond fucked it made my head spin.

I moved along the beach and hid behind rocks and trees when I had to. I didn’t have much in the way of weapons. Just my Swiss army knife. I guess I could cover their mouths, one at time, and slit their throats. With my luck, they would hear me, and the only thing getting cut would be my neck.

The boats were a ways from the camp. I went to them and looked around but didn’t really find anything interesting. Some dried fish in a wrapper. I ate that shit like it was a fucking four-course French meal at Chez Soufflé. They had a bunch of spears and things that I suspected were torches.

They had runners strapped to the sides of the boats. Big things that hung over the side and probably kept the boat from tipping over. I started to cut through one when I got an idea. I didn’t stop cutting, though. That would be part of the fun.

Three boats were all they needed for their army. I took my time at each one, sawing while constantly looking over my shoulder.

Come and kill my girl, will you?

I wanted to be brave, but I expected them to wake up at any moment and chop off my head and shrink it for their witch doctor. These guys always have witch doctors, right?

Once I had the runners loose, I crept into the camp and stole a piece of wood that was sticking out of the fire. The men, there were eight or nine of them in all, snored like it was going out of style. One guy was so big I was afraid the island would shift if he bolted to his feet.

I was just stepping away from the huddled bodies when one of them farted and rolled over. I froze and closed my eyes. I figured that if they couldn’t see my white eyeballs, they wouldn’t see me at all. Maybe they would think I was just a dream.

In the movies, this is the part where the guy wakes up, sees the other guy sneaking into their camp, calls the alarm, and the creeper has to beat the hell out of them all.

The only thing that was going to get beat was my ass.

But luck was on my side—for once. I haven’t had a lot of that in the last few weeks. I guess I was due.

He started snoring again—this linebacker dressed in shorts and a rumpled Hawaiian shirt.

I was out of the camp in no time, running to the boats. I uncovered a few of their torches and laid them along the waterside, where they wouldn’t see them. It was just a matter of some blowing while holding the smoldering stick to the side of one.

It was a slow flame at first, but it caught on soon enough. Then the fire was licking up the side of the little craft.

I proceeded to torch the other vessels. I was quite a ways down the beach when I heard the first cries. As soon as they tried to move one, they would be in for a shock.

It was time to GO!

I headed for the water first. I took a dip while the sky lit up near the beach. I’m sure they would be able to drag the boats into the water to put out the flames, but with no floaty things on the ends, they were unlikely to be able to follow me.

I dove into the water and pushed the rocks off her. Her eyes were almost pretty in the water. The one that is still blue. The socket I had covered had a little fish living in it, and that just about scared me to death. There was hardly any light to begin with, but with her O of a mouth and fluttering nonexistent eye, I was thankful to be in the water, considering I almost shit my pants.

I dragged her to the shore and tried to pick her up. Stupid clothes were heavy, so I stripped them off. I hauled her over my shoulder and then took off for my camp. Water leaked out of her mouth and across my back the whole way. She even burped a few times.

“We are going on a trip. You say I never take you to nice places. Well, guess again, baby.”

Gurgle gurgle.

“That’s right, another tropical paradise where you will hopefully become a star.”

I dumped her in a heap. They had made a mess, going through my stuff. I gathered as much as I could and tossed items into bags and cases. Christ! They would be here any minute!

I found my turtle hat and threw it on the raft just in case I wanted to protect my head from the heat or had to fight another giant zombie. Hah, like that will happen. The little cooler was hanging by a rope, floating a foot from the raft. I grabbed the dress she was wearing yesterday and brought it along. I had been planning to use it to help fix the raft if I had to tie some logs together. Now I had another idea.

I put it on her and led her back to the raft as fast as I could. I tossed her to the floor of my vessel and pushed off. The raft didn’t move at first, so I stood back and kicked it.

Noises behind me. Were they on their way to spear me and steal my raft?

She stared at the water like she had never seen anything wet before. She hooted and snarled at the moon, head tipping back to take in the full circle of white light.

I kicked again, and this time, the raft slid along the logs and into the water. I smiled at my ingenuity and waded along as I pushed it. The surf was barely moving, so it was just a matter of walking it as far as I could and then kicking my legs and pushing away from the beach.

I climbed on board and rowed while pushing her down. The raft was barely large enough for me, let alone her and her stink.

She sat down the next time I pushed her and stared at me in all her naked glory. Before she fell, I got a look at her backside. Her ass has shrunken so that it looks like the butt of a seventy-year-old woman. Her legs, which were once long and flawless, look like blue cheese.

Her breasts, which I couldn’t take my eyes off just a month ago, are these things that look like really big raisins with nipples. The implants are so plain now that I can’t believe I used to think she was real up there. Good thing she is a nightmare to look at. I was able to concentrate on getting the hell out of here.

I put the big dress on her and then tied it around her legs nice and tight. Had to lay her down for that, then I had to fight her to keep her from attacking me.

My hands were shaking. At any moment, I expected the islanders to burst though the jungle, howling for blood.

I had to set her down, but she didn’t fight back much. She just stared at the shape of her husband in the trees and hooted every once in a while. I considered making a gag to shut her the hell up.

I secured her legs together with the dress pulled all the way down to her ankles, then I took the metal piece off her leg and tossed it toward the hollowed tail section. Say hello to my new anchor.

The end of her leg was rotted and smelled terrible. Pus and crap dripped from between the exposed bone and where I thought I had burned it closed, some of the skin had been pulled back, so that critters had been able to gnaw away at the end. I wrapped it in a piece of cloth. I didn’t want to see any barnacles growing on her like her husband, Barnacle Douche-Waffle. God, that guy was a jerk.

I took a pair of thick dry logs I had brought along just for the hell of it. We floated away from the island at a snail’s pace so I rowed every few minutes to get a little momentum.

I had to push her down again. She snarled at me when her head hit a log.

“Sheesh, I’m trying to help you here.” I blew up the enema bag, screwed on the end and tied it tight so it wouldn’t leak. I set that in front of her and grabbed the shirts. The logs were first. I used one shirt to secure one log under each arm. The inflated enema bag was next. I used the other shirt to tie it under her chin. I figured it would keep her head from dipping in the water and make her float better.

I tugged her off the raft and pushed her into the water. Just as I had hoped, she floated like a weird zombie top. Or like one of those bobbers you put on a string before you drop it in the water to let you know when a fish nibbles at it.

I crawled up on the raft and picked up my oar. I rowed away, only pausing once to give the island the bird with both hands. Stupid island. I hope I never see you again. Stupid island visitors. I hope you guys can get home someday.

She snarled at me from the water where she was dragged along behind. Water kept splashing up into her face, but she didn’t care.

I sat on the top of the tail section and rowed twice on one side, then twice on the other. Still, the current carried us away. I tried to fight it, but it was a losing battle. The raft was dragged along the side of the island instead of away from it, but soon enough, my old home was falling into the distance.

I stared out at the ocean, at the beautiful blue water as we were carried farther and farther away. I felt a sense of relief, a sense that I would soon be picked up or land on a civilized island. I know there are islands everywhere out here, because I saw them on the maps, and they weren’t that far apart.

After a few hours, the sun started to set and I lost track of the island. I was going to have to trust to the current. I looked in every direction, but there was no sign of land yet. I looked back at the island, or where I thought the island had been, but there was no sign of it. All I saw was beautiful blue water.

Water water everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t even tell in what direction I was floating. That’s when I realized I may have made a mistake. I was stuck on the open ocean with a few days’ food, a little bit of water and an undead zombie chick.

Damn it! I have to hang my ass over the side of the raft and take a dump. Hope that stuff doesn’t float into her.

Day 3?

My Girlfriend Ain’t no Juliet

I’m writing while sitting in the hatch of the raft.

It’s a bumpy ride, so I have to write slow.

I have been at sea for three days, I think. The lack of food and water has made me a very unhappy raft camper. I thought for sure I would hit another island in a day, two at most. Now it’s day three on the water. I feel like shit. I feel lost and miserable. I finished the last romance book last night as I stared at the sea. Fifth time I read that one, and it wasn’t any better than the first. I read them aloud so she could listen, but she has somehow become turned around and can’t even see me. All she does is moan. I have to put up with it day and night.

Moan moan moan.

My lips were so dry that the act of licking them was like licking a dry potato. My body was weak, and I felt like I hadn't eaten in a week. I ate all of my supplies in a day and a half. Note to self: If you are going out to sea, bring more food!

The water was gone in a day. I tried to ration it, but I sweated out so much that I felt dehydrated a few hours after we left. Getting in the water didn't help the feeling much, though it did help me cool off.

I planned to get in the water later and turn her around. If I get too depressed, I guess I can just let go and float until I can’t float anymore. All of my worries would be over. She would have to hang out until someone found her. She’d float for weeks, and with any luck, predators wouldn't eat her.

But it was too much to leave her to chance. I really would have to do her in if it came to that. I would have to find a way to bash in her brain at last.

Cold at night and too hot during the day. Everything was wet. I tried to dry out my clothes, but water splashed over the side of the raft every few seconds, so it was a losing battle. I had some coconuts left, but the tool I use to cut them open slipped in my wet hands yesterday and went over the side. I scrambled for it, but the last log was already loose, and I was too afraid to put any more weight on it.

Not much more to write today. I want to keep the diary dry, so I will stop here. Only a few damn pages left anyway. Another day and my gut feels like it has never had food in it. I feel so tired and thirsty. I know that seawater will kill me, and I also know it tastes terrible. Of course, I had to try some just to see how bad it was. Sure I was on the island and tasted it every day, but never when I was this thirsty. It just pissed me off when I got some in my mouth. Cold and wet, but it sucked the life right out of my tongue along with any moisture. If that albatross flew by right now, he would probably shit on my head.

She hooted every once in a while. When the moon came out at night, she freaked a little and moaned like she was horny. I talked to her, but she just stared at me. So bored. I started reading one of the books again, but that had no effect on her.

Is that smoke?

Did they figure out how to chase me down? Maybe they built a giant steamer out of the parts of their boats and are after me. They plan to burn us on the boat, kill my girl. God, I’m delirious.

Land at last. I think the tide caught us and slingshot us around the side of the island. I fought it, wrestled control back and even made some progress in getting to the beach.

It was almost time to make landfall.

Time to prepare to hit the beach. I will write more if I don’t piss off some natives and get speared. Or cooked. Or both. I don’t even know what day it is. I think I have been missing for thirty-six days or maybe it is thirty-five. Yesterday was miserable, and now I have fresh problems. Oh, Diary, I should have just stayed on the first island.

We landed all right and we were greeted like heroes, just like I had always imagined. Looks of awe turned to disgust—wait, I am getting too far ahead. I’m just so tired. I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.

I rowed for all I was worth and landed with my girl in tow. One head popped up, and I heard a little scream. A pair of people came out of the bushes and ran at me at full speed. I almost turned and jumped back on the raft.

They looked terrible! I thought at first it was more zombies, but I was still holding my oar, so I prepared to beat them to death.

“We’re rescued!” a man yelled. Was he talking to me? He was dressed in the tatters of a white shirt and tan Bermudas. The woman was in worse shape. She wore the remains of a skirt and a shirt that was tied in the middle. She had no shoes, and her hair reminded me of that chick with snakes on her head.

The guy's voice sounded familiar. Oh shit, it was the pilot of the plane!

“Mooney?” He picked me up in a big bear hug and started crying. So did I.

He had no idea just how fucked we all were.

The woman was the stewardess, and she had somehow kept her shirt in one piece. Her faded nametag read “Eileen.” She hugged me too. They were both thin and wasted, and they didn’t smell that great. Not that I did. I probably smelled like seaweed and fish.

“Food? Water?” I croaked. My mouth felt like it was coated in salt.

It turns out they had a little better luck at hunting that I did, and they had a small supply of jerky from a baby boar that Mooney killed. I ate it and then drank a few sips of water. They had to collect it in whatever they could, because they relied on the rain. No pool of water here. They had to get it all from the sky. The water tasted old, but I didn’t care one bit. It tasted like heaven as far as I was concerned.

They filled me in on what had happened since the crash. They floated for a day or two on luggage and then swam to the island. Mooney had been a boy scout when he was young, and he remembered how to make fires and set proper snares. They were hungry a lot, but they seemed to be in decent shape, all things considered. I had been on a seafood diet, but they had meat—red meat—and it was just about the best thing I had ever eaten in my life.

“What about the black box?” I was convinced it was just a matter of time before they found it and us. Planes always have those things on them. It had to be a law!

“We didn’t have one. They took it out a year ago, because it was broken, but they never replaced it. Different rules on the island and all.”

I wanted to pick up a rock and bash myself over the head. This was not how I had seen the rescue going. We were supposed to land on a resort or be picked up by a cruise ship or maybe find islanders.

“What did you bring with you?” Mooney asked as he pointed at the water. I was wondering how I could break the news to them that I had a zombie girl in tow. I guessed now was the time.

“It's one of the passengers. She’s been living on the island with me. But there’s something wrong with her. You have to let me explain.” It was going to be the mother of all explanations. Yeah, I have a pet zombie. She smells, and she is falling apart. At least with the dress on, they couldn't see all of the damage her body had sustained over the last month.

I sat down as my knees gave out. I was exhausted. I needed rest more than anything. Eileen put her hand on my shoulder, and I felt like crying at the touch of a live person. Mooney had decided to take matters into his own hands and walked toward the water.

“Mooney, wait! She isn’t what you think she is!” I tried to say, but he was red in the face.

“Sick bastard!” he yelled at me. “What the hell did you do to this woman?”

He had some kind of pocketknife, and he was cutting her loose. I tried to get to my feet but nearly fell down as a dizzy spell hit. I felt like the whole world was crashing in on me. I wanted to pack it in and go back to the first island. I didn't need these people, and they didn't need to mess with my girl!

“Eileen, help me here!”

She jumped to her feet and walked into the surf.

“Don't take the gag off! No matter what!” I yelled, but it was too late. He had her out of the water already and was working at the knot. I heard her moan, and struggled to my feet.

Eileen stared at me over her shoulder as she stomped away. She looked pretty pissed. I went after them on shaky legs.

He carried her out of the water. She had her head against his chest, and her dress was tattered around the bottom but still covered up most of her body. He made it to shore and was in the process of setting her down when she looped an arm over his neck and moved her head against his throat like a lover. Then his eyes went wide as blood flew like he’d been stabbed. She had latched onto the side of his neck and torn a piece out. He dropped her on her ass and fell to the ground with his hand over his neck, trying to stop the blood, but it was like a river.

I couldn’t help it. I rolled my eyes.

Rookie.

I caught up with them and saw that the damage was really bad.

“Gah Gah Gah,” he tried to say, sounding like a bird. He shook his hands around but didn’t take flight. Instead, he pitched forward and flopped around on the ground. I wanted to help him attach a bandage, but all I had on me was a wet shirt and even wetter pants. I stood over him as the sand turned red, but I did back up when the blood got close to me.

Eileen stared at him in horror and let loose a little scream. It wasn't so bad, but she was just getting warmed up. The second scream almost knocked me over.

Eileen went nuts. She started hitting me like I had bitten him. I tried to hold her back, but she was throwing her hands at me so fast I had to turn and run. I got about fifteen feet away when she stopped and went back to Mooney’s side.

His legs bumped up and down against the sand like he was having a slow-motion seizure. I shook my head because I couldn’t believe what was happening. I wanted to get back on my damn raft and row for the middle of the ocean so I could drown myself. Leave them alone and let them sort it out. I was sick to death of all the zombies, the hunger, the thirst. I was sick of being alone, and I was sick of missing Ally.

I stomped the ground in frustration, then turned and went back for them. The stewardess had pushed my little zombie off of Mooney, and my girl was rolling around in the surf. She had blood on her face and a huge stain that ran down her throat and onto her dress. Her hands held a hunk of meat to her mouth. The thing was stringy with sinew. Now, I am no expert on ripped-out throats, but she seemed to have done a very thorough job.

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 fucking 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 butt. 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 bloody 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 fucking 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 butt 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 bloody 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 hell. 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 ass 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 ménage à trois, but this is fucking 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-shirt 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

A new beginning?

Good Morning, Diary

Fuck you six ways from Sunday.

My one last link to my old life, and all I can think about is how much I want to burn you. Burning you in the six pits of hell might be appropriate. How do you like the sound of that, ol’ Diary? Wanna meet a fiery end? I could roast a crab over your pages and then piss on the ashes. Then I could grind them into the sand like a …

But I can’t do such a thing. You are worth so much more to me. So much in fact that I am going to keep writing in you. But I’m going to write in you upside down, the ultimate play on words. It sort of gives “read between the lines” a new meaning.

Now that I have told you off, I would like to offer a special letter to my dearly dead companion.

Dear … whatever the hell your name is,

Sometimes I hate you. Sometimes I want to pick up a rock and bash in your head. Back when we first started this mad adventure together, you were young and hot. You were spry and nubile. You could rock a coconut bra like no one else’s business.

Now you are dead and rotting. You smell, baby, there is no other way to put it.

Back on our first island, our lovers’ paradise, where I took care of you, let you eat part of your dead husband, let you run around without a care in the world, we had something special. Now don’t get me wrong. I know nothing could ever happen between us. Let’s be honest here, baby: You’re about as lively as a rock. I have seen stuffed animals with more life than you.

But sometimes I do care about you. That should be clear by now. I saved you from that stupid zombie shark after it ate your foot. Do you remember that? I saved you from drowning a few times. Like that third or fourth day we were on the island. I was trying to fish, and you were trying to mermaid you self over to me like I was a fresh can of spam. I had to pull you out of the water. Now the jury is still out on whether or not you can even drown to death, er, undeath, I mean double death, or whatever form of afterlife you seem destined for.

Remember how I figured out a way to clean out your disgusting rotted meat stomach with seawater and a little leverage? Those were the days. You were still sort of fresh and looked pretty good in the coconut bra and grass skirt. Now your clothing is hanging in strips. You look like hell, baby. I wish you would take better care of yourself.

Remember when I was going to leave you on the island and sail off? Plans changed, sure. I let you bob along like a little top. And when we got to our new island paradise, I had to beat yet another guy to death to protect you. Why, if someone ever gets the real story here, they may just start asking questions. For instance: Why do I always kill the men around here? But it’s not like that, baby. It’s not like that at all.

And now our happy family includes Eileen. She isn’t too happy about being a zombie. I can see that in her eyes. I would hazard a guess that she hates it. She is always staring at me with that same look—the one that says, “Hey, look at the walking Happy Meal.”

So here we are, the three of us on our island paradise. Our lovely home in the sun. Just you, me, another dead chick, and the ocean.

After I burn the diary, I think I should burn you. But that would look bad, eh, my lovely lady? Burning you and scattering the ashes. What will I tell the nice men in white coats who want to talk to me about my feelings when I am at the mental institution, as surely I must end up? Will I tell them I kept a dead girl as a zombie companion? They will ask questions, and they will wonder just how lonely I got.

Not THAT lonely.

So someday, long from now, when we are back in civilization and you are restored to life, I hope you read this letter and understand that I did my best to take care of you. Really.

Sorry about the enema tube down your gut.

With love and desperation.

Me.

I’m glad I got that out of my system. I may be on a new island with a new zombie girl, but something about all this is familiar. Maybe because I just spent a month in the same situation? At any rate, it is really good to be back on dry land after spending days and days on the water with my zombie top floating along behind me.

She didn’t even get prune skin. Some little critters did pick at her leg, though, the one missing the foot. I had to bandage it up with some cloth and then jam it back into the metal strut. There is also something reassuring about her pad-and-clomp zombie walk.

It’s late, and I found some coconuts. Wow, shocker. Fucking coconuts. I thought about tossing them in the ocean, but in the end I cracked one open and ate my fill. I can’t wait to get up in the middle of the night with the runs—again.

God, I hate coconuts.

God, I hate zombies.

GOD, I HATE THIS FUCKING DIARY.

About the Author

Timothy W. Long has been writing tales and stories since he could hold a crayon and has also read enough books to choke a landfill. He has a fascination with all things zombies, a predilection for hula-girl dolls, and a deep-seated need to jot words on paper and thrust them at people.

Tim is the author of the horror novel Among the Living. He has also been published in AlienSkin and Fantastic Horror. He has sold stories to almost a dozen horror anthologies.

He also co-wrote the post apocalyptic masterpiece Wacktards of the Apocalypse which was recently named the preferred version of the end of the world by a consortium of rapture survivors.

Tim swears that if he is ever stuck with a zombie, no matter how attractive, he will bash in her brains.

Really!

Drop Tim a line at stupidzombies@gmail.com and let him know what you think of this book.

For more Zombie-Wilson, swing by:

http://www.timothywlong.com