The Zombie Wilson Diaries Read online

  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 muttere
d 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.