Club Dead: Zombie Isle Read online

  Club Dead: Zombie Isle

  Dane Hatchell

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

  Copyright © 2014 Dane Hatchell

  Cover Copyright © P.A. Douglas

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  From Severed Press:

  From Severed Press:

  Other Titles Available from the Author

  Resurrection X: Zombie Evolution

  A Gentleman’s Privilege: Zombies in the Old South

  A Werewolf in our Midst

  Apocalypse³

  Club Dead: Zombie Isle

  Dead Coup d'État

  Dreaming of an Undead Christmas

  It Came from Black Swamp

  Lord of the Flies: A Zombie Story

  Love Prevails: A Zombie Nightmare

  Pheromone and Rotten

  Red Rain

  Soul Mates

  The Garden of Fear

  The Last Savior

  The Turning of Dick Condon

  Time and Tide: A Fractured Fairy Tale

  Two Big Foot Tales

  Two Demented Fish Tales

  Zombies of Iwo Jima

  Zombie God of the Jungle

  Zombie’s Honor

  Club Dead: Zombie Isle

  “I didn’t think the line could move any slower. I was wrong.” Nancy pulled her seventy-pound suitcase forward another six inches. She turned to Rod, her boyfriend, and waited for a word of sympathy.

  Rod, sporting an Australian style olive green jacura pulled low on his brow touching his sunglasses, ignored her. He was lost in a world of thrashing guitars and pounding drums mixing between his ears from his MP3 player.

  She gave him an elbow to the ribs, pointed to her ears, and mouthed the words, I’m talking to you.

  Rod jerked the ear buds out and let them dangle on his chest. “What? I’m on vacation!”

  Nancy rolled her eyes and turned back around.

  “It’s called ‘Island time.’ You have to get used to it,” Lisa said. “If they’d serve us cocktails while we’re in line it wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “No problem, mon, soon come,” Truett said to Lisa, his wife. “Everything is no problem. Just ask the locals. You want service? No problem. You want it right now? No problem. You’ve been waiting for thirty minutes for them to pour you a drink? No problem. If you try to get these locals to hurry it only makes them go slower. It took me a few trips to the islands before I figured out what ‘No problem’ was code for. It means, fuck you.”

  “This is the smallest airport I’ve ever been to in my life,” Bo said to his girlfriend, Natalie, who was right in the middle of taking a swig of a homemade tonic for a burst of energy.

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea how we can pass the time. This is a French resort, right? You know how those French women all go topless on the beach, right? Well, we can play a game and imagine what all the women around us will look like topless!”

  Responding to Truett’s suggestion as if it was a subconscious command, Rod and Bo’s roaming eyes went to work with robotic precision targeting women both young and old alike, mentally freeing them of shirts and underwear.

  Their three companions looked at each other and shook their heads in unison. They had learned long ago that boys never really grow up.

  * * *

  The staff checking passports eventually doubled, meaning the number of agents increased from one to two. The three couples and nearly one hundred others finally passed through immigration and climbed aboard vans waiting to take them for the three minute ride to Club Caribe. It took longer to load the passengers and their carry-ons than the drive to the resort receiving area.

  Once at the resort the Captain of the village, Barke, offered a brief welcome from the stage after the guests seated themselves in the outside theater. His attire for the day was a pink shirt and matching sneakers. He concluded his introduction with a warm invitation to meet back at the theater each night at ten o’clock for live entertainment. The Goes, what the activity directors working at the village were called because they were ‘always on the go,’ performed song and dance routines for those who wished resort fun to continue into the wee hours of the morning.

  “And be sure ladies and gentlemen to be here tonight for our special zombie extravaganza. The Goes will rise from the dead and dance, portraying the story of their transformation, and of the loved ones they leave behind. It is our most popular show and it will play only one time this week.”

  Bo leaned over to Truett. “That ought to be right up your alley.” Bo knew Truett was geeky in that sort of way.

  Afterward, the Goes led the guests to their assigned rooms after grouping them together according to location. The resort stretched across 80 acres, with the farthest room taking a full ten minutes to reach by foot.

  The island was the quintessential definition of tropical paradise. Sandy white beaches kissed by the deepest of clear blue sea invited the weary of modern life guests a chance to explore or relax, and to recharge the batteries of the soul. Bright Caribbean yellow, blue, and green rooms offset in triangular patterns gave each a spectacular ocean view.

  The three couples met in front of the dive center for a late lunch. The dining room was just above on the second level. A balding man exited through double doors wearing a blue colored rash guard to greet them.

  “Ah, new arrivals! Welcome to Club Caribe. My name is, Jean-Luc. I am the Dive Master and head of all of Club Caribe’s water activities. Perhaps my new friends here will be spending some time under waters of the Caribbean with me, no? It is a time to discover the wonders of oceanic life from the smallest anemone to the great hammerhead sharks that lurk in the deep.”

  “We-we, Mon-sewer,” Truett said

  “Ah, Parlez-vous Français?

  “No, just funning with ya. My buddy, Rod, over there will be taking a few dives, though. He’s Canadian. You need to end every sentence with ‘Eh?’ or he won’t understand you.”

  “Really? How strange.”

  “No, not really. I’m just funning with ya. Right now we’re waiting to go to lunch.”

  A small dark-rust colored chicken stepped from around Jean-Luc’s legs and pecked at bits of debris on the concrete.

  “Oh, look. A chicken,” Lisa said, bending down to pet it. “Hey little chicky. Aren’t you cute.”

  “By any chance is its name, le diner de poulet gagnant gagnant?” Truett asked.

  “No, Monsieur. Her name is not ‘winner winner chicken dinner.’ She is my pet, Calimero. A sad tale is hers. My sister, Gail, is an activist for PETA. She rescued a dozen eggs from a French Bioengineering facility in Paris. There is no telling what horrors awaited these poor innocent creatures of God had they hatched into a life filled with knives and needles. I incubated them here at the club. Alas, she was the only one to survive.” Jean-Luc reached down to pick up Calimero.

  Spying his hand as it came toward her, the chicken thrust her head forward and gave him a peck on the soft skin between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Sacrebleu!’ Jean-Luc said and jerked his hand away.

  “Maybe you should have named her, Pecker,” Truett said.

  “Monsieur, my chicken is normally calm, cool, and collected. She is merely upset over your incessant prattle. Now, if you will excuse me, it is time for my Calimero to have a nap. I wish you to enjoy the lunch. Might I suggest chicken nuggets swimming in a pool of ketchup to excite the palate o
f someone with such self-acclaimed esteem as you?” Jean-Luc snatched Calimero up without further incident and slammed the door to the dive center shut.

  The five others stared at Truett in various degrees of disgust.

  Truett raised his hands to his shoulders. “What’d I say to piss him off?”

  Nancy looked over at Lisa. “How do you put up with that?”

  Lisa sighed. “I’ll give you my answer in French. Champagne. Lots of it.”

  * * *

  Emile navigated the dive boat from the cockpit located on the upper deck. The stars twinkled above like illuminated diamonds on black velvet as the sweet sounds of steel drums warmed the air in the background playing over the radio.

  “Hey, Emile, what’s the name of the dive site?” Rob asked, calling up from the bow.

  “The sea . . . I’m taking you to the sea. Ha-ha! Always with the questions you guests. I am the boat captain. You place your trust in me. I will show you a time you will never forget,” Emile said, with his thick St. Lucian accent. He was a hulking, intimidating man to look at, but he was a gentle giant and loved to tease.

  Diesel fumes mingled with the constant sway of the boat. Rod contemplated hanging his head over the side and call for Buick. The party of five other divers and two dive team members huddled in the stern excitingly reminiscing over previous dive adventures. Each story topped the one told before. A lovely Italian couple, Roberto and Louisa, had traveled the most. They delighted the others with stunning photos of previous dives on a touchpad.

  The roar from the engine subsided. Emile called down to Lauren to hook the mooring line to the buoy. She hopped to attention, still dressed in her Goes attire, a pink shirt and white shorts. Tonight she wouldn’t have the duty to dive with the team. Recent dental work had her mouth wired shut for a minimum of six weeks. There was no way she could hold a regulator in her mouth. Thankfully, the cage didn’t prevent her from enjoying a few adult beverages after work.

  Once the boat was secure, Lauren joined John-Luc midway through his instructional. Emile climbed down the ladder and began suiting up for the dive.

  John-Luc excused himself and took a sip of water while dabbing his brow with a soft towel. He continued, “The darkness of the waters will make you consume more air from your tank than you would in the daytime. You will understand why once you dive underneath, as you can see only where your light shines. Your imagination will run wild as to what sea monster awaits to attack. Be not afraid. There is nothing to fear. Emile, and I, will be there to guide you along the way. Now, everyone suit-up.”

  Lauren grabbed an air tank for Jean-Luc and brought it over to him. “Are you okay? You’re sweating and it’s not from the heat. You don’t look so good.”

  “A touch of fever, perhaps. It is breaking.”

  “Don’t go. Emile can handle it.”

  “Yes, he could. However, safety rules will not allow. For a group this size we both have to dive or some of the guests will have to remain on the boat.”

  Jean-Luc took the tank and strapped it around his chest. Lauren knew he was right and there would be no talking him out of going. Every employee of Club Caribe made individual sacrifices in order fulfill the obligations to their job. It would take more than a little fever for Jean-Luc to deny any guest an exciting night dive.

  Bodies splashed over the side of the boat. Beams from flashlights mingled with the blue waters turning the surface mystic green. Rod felt immediate relief once off the boat and in a free float above the frigate wreck. His head was no longer hostage of the cascading waves. He mouthed a difficult smile around the regulator and followed Emile and the others to the forty-foot destination below.

  Last in was Jean-Luc. He breathed so heavily that he was afraid his tank wouldn’t last the length of the dive. He too expected salvation once below the surface. Hoping the waters would purge the impurities his body now secreted.

  The dark depths wrapped him like a shroud bringing confusion instead. The lights from the others loomed underneath, seemingly an unreachable distance as his arms and legs refused to obey his commands. Adrift in a world of indescribable beauty, he began to convulse. The most hideous of transformations transpired.

  One full minute after his heart took its final beat, the dead submariner’s eyes opened to a world of new possibilities. The zombie drifted downward under the cover of darkness after shedding the cumbersome air tank and mask. He came to a stop alongside a lone diver scanning staghorn coral for tiny creatures.

  Two naked female legs stretched from wetsuit shorts down to the scuba fins. Her knees bent slightly forward highlighted calf muscles plump with meaty goodness. Jean-Luc crawled on the ocean’s bottom using his hands, stealthily moving toward his prey. He grabbed onto a leg and tore ferociously into bare flesh with his teeth.

  The diver impulsively attempted to jerk free from her attacker. She screamed while desperately trying to keep the regulator from escaping her mouth. Bubbles flooded from the mouthpiece in the woman’s vain attempt to call for help. The flashlight fell from her hand as she reached down to fight the creature gnawing away on her calf.

  Blood from the anterior artery pulsed into the water, sending out a silent signal a creature was hurt and unable to defend itself. Fish swarmed in for the feeding.

  She was doubly surprised when her fingers encountered hair and a human head as she fought to pull the attacker free. Her imagination ran wild with images of mutated humans from Atlantis seeking revenge on mankind for polluting the beautiful ocean waters.

  Jean-Luc followed the meaty trail up to her thigh and was well into devouring it when her body went limp. She had bled out enough to take her life.

  Leaving the dead body for the sea to reclaim, Jean-Luc gazed though the waters and searched for his next fresh victim.

  By this time, Emile, Rod, and another diver had grouped up and headed toward the flashlight abandoned on the ocean floor. Jean-Luc sensed a new source of food swimming his way, and headed straight for them.

  Several different species of hungry fish invaded the area, including a shiver of hammerhead sharks. The other three divers had been too engrossed in a three foot spiny lobster to notice Jean-Luc’s attack and the dangers that circled above them.

  Emile swam as fast as he could toward Jean-Luc when he saw he was without mask and air tank. He couldn’t imagine as to what had happened for him to be without his gear and fished out his spare regulator ready to hand it to his boss when they met.

  Rod and his companion looked at each other not believing what they were seeing. They were even more surprised when Emile stopped kicking his fins and attempted to reverse course when Jean-Luc was only a few feet away from him.

  It was either the dead in Jean-Luc’s eyes or the strand of femoral vein wedged between his lower teeth dangling from his mouth that stopped Emile cold and filled his bowels with hollow terror.

  The two met with Jean-Luc grabbing the flaying arms of Emile as he drew him into a deadly embrace. Emile outweighed Jean-Luc by one hundred pounds, but he met his match against dead muscle reanimated by a power no longer limited by imprints of memory. Jean-Luc sank his teeth deep within his friend’s neck and felt the fast beat of the juggler pulsating in his mouth as he chewed. A mouthful of meat pulled free and found a new home in the zombie’s stomach.

  Rod and the other diver witnessed it all in the beams of their flashlights. Before either had a chance to flee, the female diver first attacked by Jean-Luc snuck up behind Rod and bit off his left ear.

  Rod turned and faced his attacker. It was Gisele. He had flirted with her earlier on the boat before his knees became weak. She chowed down on his ear like it was a wad of bubble gum. He had thought she was attractive, but now the wicked expression of human meat satisfaction on her face made her look like the ugliest woman in the world.

  A hammerhead shark swam between Roberto, Louisa, and Lillian, just inches above the spiny lobster. The three followed it with their lights, surprised, but relieved that it didn’t stick aro
und. The relief faded when the shark joined its companions that circled above. Their lights revealed over fifty of the nasty beasts.

  The wall of sharks descended. The three disappeared in a frenzy of flesh, bone, and blood.

  Jean-Luc and Emile pulled the diver next to Rod down by his flippers as he tried to flee to the surface. The race was on. Each started at an ankle and attempted to out eat the other.

  Unable to ward off her insatiable advances, Rod succumbed to death in the arms of a once beautiful stranger. His last thoughts were, This sucks! Eh?

  Lauren scanned the water from above with the searchlight on the boat. The waters boiled with more than usual amounts of air. This had her reasonably concerned.

  Light reflected off the balding head of Jean-Luc bobbing in the water. She rushed to the side of the boat and called out.

  “Jean-Luc! Are you okay? What’s happening down there? Is anyone hurt?”

  He paddled closer, keeping his face away from her light.

  Lauren reached down and grabbed his outstretched hand just as it came within range.

  Jean-Luc rose from the water and bit down hard on her left shoulder.

  Lauren jumped back. A chunk of flesh remained in the zombie’s mouth as he fell back into the sea.

  “What the fuck! Jean-Luc! Have you gone crazy?”

  The zombies smacked his prize with glee, his chewing no longer encumbered by the salt water.

  “Oh, my God . . . .” Lauren dry heaved as she watched her former boss delight in eating her flesh.

  Emile’s head popped up next to Jean-Luc’s, then Rod’s, and two other divers. All shared the same dead look in their eyes. She could almost feel the gnashing teeth as they clacked in anticipation of stripping her bones of flesh. She didn’t know what was going on, and she wasn’t staying any longer to find out.

  Lauren untied the boat from the buoy, ran up to the Captain’s chair, and started the engine.

  *

  A million thoughts raced through Lauren’s mind as she sped back to shore. All her hopes and dreams of starting a new life when her contract with Club Caribe expired in two weeks had vanished before her eyes. She had just abandoned the dive master, the captain, and six guests nearly a mile from shore. Would anyone believe her story? At the end of the week she was to take the final test for her Captain’s license. There was no way that would be happening now.