Club Dead: Zombie Isle Page 2

  Beads of sweat welled on her brow. She smeared them across her forehead with the back of her hand and felt grease and grime ball underneath. Jean-Luc must have given me the bug he had, she thought.

  She stopped the engine and struggled to focus on the dock. Her chest slammed against the steering wheel and knocked the air from her lungs as the boat made contact. The torpedo shaped inflatable guard that hung from the side of the dock whooshed and deflated on impact.

  Lauren wandered aimlessly on the upper deck and fell down the ladder access to the hull deck. Though her legs took the brunt of the fall, she managed to upright herself, and ambled toward the dock as the boat rubbed against a pylon. It had been pushed toward it by the force of the incoming tide.

  As she stepped on the dock her roommate’s kitten, Shark Bait, was there to greet her. He rubbed his face on her ankle, smelled blood, and licked a tiny cut with his sandpaper tongue.

  Lauren shambled forward and bumped Shark Bait’s nose hard enough to make him give it a quick wash. The small creature was nothing more than a nuisance that got in the way of her burning desire to feed.

  *

  “I don’t get it? It’s June. We’re in the Caribbean. It’s hot and humid. You’re wearing short-shorts, flip flops, and a leather jacket. What’s up with the leather jacket?” Nancy said to Natalie, taking her drink from Lenny the bartender.

  Natalie steadied her organic martini and gave it a squirt of Echinacea from an eyedropper. “My arms get cold. Leather is natural anyway. You’d be surprised how well it breathes.”

  “Your arms couldn’t get cold in this bar. This is the main bar, The Verve Pipe Lounge. You would think they’d crank up the air conditioning. That’s my only real complaint with this club. It’s almost impossible to find a place to cool off.” Lisa moved out of the way of a determined Lenny, now sporting a Reception Team shirt and busy carrying a couple’s luggage.

  “This place is dead,” Bo said, the umbrella from his pina colada tickled his nose while taking a sip through the straw.

  “Well, it’s been a long day. I guess everyone’s just tired. Look at the Goes sitting over there.” Nancy pointed toward two sectional couches piled with slothful male and female Goes from various teams. “Look at them, young, virile, I bet I could tell you each one of their personal stories just by reading their faces.”

  “Fuck that. We’re on vacation. I don’t want to play stupid games. I know how to get this party started!” Truett made a beeline for a floor lamp, removed the taper drum style shade, and placed it on his head.

  Lisa groaned.

  “How do you have sex with that man?” Nancy asked.

  “I use the most readily available aphrodisiac. Champagne.” Lisa turned to the nearest bartender. “Jedi, I would like two glasses of champagne please.”

  The ebony god gave her a wide smile that showed his perfect teeth. He lifted two full flutes of the sparkly goodness from behind the bar and set them before her as if anticipating her request.

  “Ooh, thank you,” Lisa said, wondering if perhaps the force was with him.

  Truett sauntered over to the couches and addressed the Goes. “All aboard!” Then, he pulled an imaginary lever. “Woo woo. Barrrr Riiiide! Get on board this train. Ah-chug-chug-chug-chug-chug . . .”

  Eve leaped from the couch with glee. She was the first to place her hands on Truett’s hips. He mechanically stepped forward and moved his elbows back and forth emulating the side rods of a steam locomotive. Louden, Meaks, Joshy, Francois, Ashley, Mari-Annie, and Lenny quickly followed suit. Lenny had changed into Water Sports team attire.

  “AMF’s for my friends here!” Truett declared, reaching the bar.

  A hail of cheers rose from the Goes as the bartenders snapped to. Jedi lifted two of the icy drinks from behind the bar and handed them to Eve. She carefully poured one into a thirty-ounce squirt bottle.

  Each member of the crew had a delicious and potent concoction of vodka, rum, gin, tequila, blue curacao, and a splash of Sprite.

  Truett lifted his glass. “Cheers to my friends. And why is this drink called AMF?” he lifted his hand up to his ear.

  “Adios Mother Fucker!” The crew roared in unison before tilting the glasses back.

  Lauren entered through the side door without anyone other than Eve noticing. The once bronze glow of her tanned face had turned ghastly white. Deep black pits circled around her eyes. Blood seeped from various cuts and scrapes from the fall as well as the bite from Jean-Luc. It made a bloody mess on her shirt and shorts.

  “Hey, Lauren. I see you’re in make-up for the zombie show. I know this will be the first time for you to dance since your dental work, so I’ve got some liquid courage for you.” Eve shoved the straw in Lauren’s mouth just as she was about to give her a hungry hug. Eve squeezed the bottle until the sides almost touched.

  “Look at you, you must be thirsty. You haven’t even cried uncle yet.” Air filled the bottle, Eve squeezed the remaining contents down Lauren’s mouth unit it was empty.

  Lauren stepped back. She spread her arms from her side and tilted her head toward the ceiling. She opened her mouth. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She tried to walk. The impulses that animated her legs fired in reverse order. As she intended to move a foot right, it went left, and made her perform a wicked dance in her attempt to maintain balance.

  “Oh, I get it, practicing your dance routine. I bet you’re nervous. Jedi, another drink for my friend here!” Eve said.

  A fat middle age man with layer of aloe vera gel plastered on his red, balding head approached the bar and pointed toward Lauren. “I’ll have what that young lady over there is drinking.”

  *

  “Here’s an extra copy of your key, Mr. Adams. Don’t worry about the other one. I’m sure someone will find and return it,” Eric in Reception, said.

  “Thanks, Eric. Anything you can do about the air conditioning in the dining room? It’s hard to find a cool spot outside of my room. Heck, it’s even hot inside this lobby,” Adams said.

  “Sorry, Mr. Adams. The AC works hard twenty-four/seven. It’s hard to cool down the moist tropical air. Have you made it to one of our nightly shows in the theater?”

  “No.”

  “We have one every night. My favorite is ‘Cabaret.’ I have a starring role. You should check it out. The cool breeze from the Caribbean Sea blows across the theater and keeps it comfortable. Tonight’s show is about zombies—” Eric stopped as the outside doors opened with a thump. Five skin divers stumbled in. “Oh, look. Some of the zombie dancers are here. I don’t know why they’re wearing wet suits. Must be a change in wardrobe.”

  Stephanie, the other Receptionist, called from behind the counter. “Jean-Luc! What are you doing in here? You’re getting the floors all wet and disgusting!”

  Jean-Luc stopped and pulled his lips back, unnaturally exposing teeth.

  “That’s not funny, guys. You need to get down to the theater. The show starts soon. Take it out of here. Go on. Shoo,” Eric said.

  The other four walking dead broke away from behind the leader and headed straight for Adams and Eric.

  A vicious snarl from Jean-Luc froze Stephanie in place. Her mind whirled in disbelief. Lifting the false counter, Jean-Luc was on her before she could escape and pinned her against the wall.

  Eric shrieked as Adams fell to an onslaught of ravenous zombies. Each marked his territory and divided him into four sections. Rod and Emile started from the top and ripped away tender cheek and neck. The other two satisfied their cravings starting at the thighs and gouged out hunks of meat with each mouthful.

  Adams’s yells turned to gurgles while he choked on his own blood. The zombies ate him alive. The pain was beyond anything he could have ever imagined. Nerves searing from sharp teeth enflamed his whole body until shock rocked him restlessly to eternal sleep.

  Eric pounding on the back of Jean-Luc’s head with a complementary guest umbrella did nothing to slow the ravenous zombie. A pool of
blood grew on the floor and dripped down from Stephanie’s beautiful golden hair.

  Being no more than a gnat, Jean-Luc never noticed Eric as he disappeared from his side. His undead brethren pulled him away and continued the feast.

  Jean-Luc laid Stephanie on the floor and began eating her entrails. Her large intestine tore at his second bite, bursting the depleted remains of diner three days before. Corn stuck between his teeth from Mexican night. As Jean-Luc worked his way up, remnants of fish, rice, and beans squirted out filling his mouth from Bahamian night. The small intestine secreted the goodness of Italian. That led to the final prize of escargot and fine cheeses from French night in her stomach, the meal she had eaten just two hours before.

  Ironically, the song ‘Your Body is a Wonderland’ played joyfully across the lobby speakers.

  * * *

  “Where should we sit?” Lisa said, looking over the available seats in the theater.

  “Let’s sit somewhere close to the end. If the show’s really bad, we can make a quick exit,” Truett said, waiting for his Irish coffee to cool enough to sip.

  “Rod loves these shows. This is not our first trip to Club Caribe, you know. The Goes train really hard for this. They’re not paid anything extra either. It’s their gift to us. Rod told me to save him a seat. The dive trip should be back by now,” Nancy said, sipping on a melted pina colada.

  “Natalie and I are going over to the food table in the back and talk to Ralphie. I’ve seen these shows before and . . . let’s just say they’re not for everyone,” Bo said, making a quick exit. He pulled Natalie by the hand not wanting to hear any whining from the others.

  White cloth draped over a rectangular table presented an array of handcrafted flowers made from fruits and vegetables, surrounding samplings of ripe cheeses, crackers, and dips. Ralphie wore a grin from behind the table, always ready to aid and assists in his guests’ dining pleasure. He was a large block of pure muscle, his face sharp as chiseled granite, his eyes cold as blue steel.

  “Hey, Ralphie. You’ve out done yourself again,” Bo said, as he delighted in the presentation of food.

  Natalie snatched up a creation of triple cream brie dotted in caviar and radish dust, and bit into it. “Mmm, Mmm. This is better than sex.”

  “As always, ma’am. My reward is your pleasure,” Ralphie said, taking a slight bow.

  “This is delicious food, and it’s art too. I’m amazed at the variety of dishes you offer at each meal. How do you manage to outdo yourself each time?” Bo asked, before he crunched down on a cracker dipped in a pâté of sea urchin and squirrel brains marinated in watermelon vodka.

  “Years of training.”

  “Where’d you get your training?” Bo asked, chasing his first bite down with another.

  “U.S. Army, Rangers. Gulf War I, Gulf War II, deployed in Afghanistan for the last eight years before making Club Caribe my home. I thought it was time to explore the creative side of my personality.”

  “Wow. I never would have figured that. Excellent choice, my friend. You have found your true calling in life.” The lights dimmed over the theater. Bo turned toward the stage, and then turned back to Ralphie. “Oh, and thank you for your service.”

  “The honor and privilege was all mine,” he said, and bowed. A large movie screen to the right of the stage came to life with scenes of zombies rising from the beach waters. They attacked the busy Goes and startled guests relaxing in the sun. The next scene had the dining room flooded with the undead. The cooks busily preparing food became the newest entrée of the day. The last scene ended in the lobby. The attack of the undead continued, until the last of the living turned, and the mob of zombies walked menacingly toward the camera and toward the viewers.

  “That was a really bad movie,” Bo said.

  Natalie punched him in the shoulder. “Be nice. They’re just doing this for fun. Try to get into the spirit of things.”

  The curtains parted, music swelled from above. The mood darkened with a creepy song by Marilyn Mansion. Six of the male Goes fronted by the six foot seven inch Cedrick began the dance of the undead. Each actor wore tattered clothing of mock filth and skin plagued with imitation rot.

  “Hey, this looks pretty good,” Lisa said.

  “I know. I hope Rod gets here soon,” Nancy said, taking a quick look toward the back to see if he had arrived.

  The song came to a frenzied conclusion. The lights dimmed. Scurrying in the cover of darkness, six female Goes in zombie attire replaced their male counter parts. The dance of the undead continued.

  The men waited behind the curtain for the song to end. Next, they would be joining the women on stage in a routine simulating zombie courtship.

  Jean-Luc and his hungry crew arrived behind stage and attacked the unsuspecting dance members. What screams that weren’t drowned out by the loud music blended in as part of the act.

  The zombettes finished the last lumber and shuffle of the routine at the conclusion of the song. The curtains closed. The lights dimmed once again.

  “What’s holding the guys up?” Ashley asked.

  “Goofing off behind the curtain is my guess. Let’s go get them. The song’s about to start,” Meaks said.

  As she walked past the curtain, Meaks bumped into Joshy, her boyfriend. His arms were open wide ready to greet her. “What in the hell are you guys doing back here? Get your ass on stage!”

  Joshy hungrily grabbed for her chest. She slapped his hands away just before contact.

  “Not now, horn dog. We’ve got a show to perform. Wha—you’ve got fake blood all over your hands and now it’s on me. What’s going on here?”

  Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Joshy hugged with a passion unlike ever before, cracking her ribs and smooshing her breath out. He began his first human dish by eating the lips he used to kiss.

  The other women similarly fell to the onslaught of cannibal corpses, offering a sheer delight in every bite.

  “Seems like the show should have started back by now,” Truett said.

  “Probably wardrobe malfunction. Some of the women were about to fall out of their shredded tops. I wish Rod would hurry and get here,” Nancy said.

  “Me, too. I don’t want him to miss a free shot,” Truett said.

  From either side, filing out from behind the stage, two groups of cast members joined by a diving team mechanically walked toward the waiting guest.

  “What’s going on now?” Lisa asked.

  “Oh, I get it. They’re going to come out and pretend to attack the crowd as part of the act. Hey look, Cedrick is right there.” Truett stood from his chair. “Hey, Cedrick. Hey, buddy. Over here. Come take a picture with my wife.”

  Lisa stood and waited. “Wow. He sure is tall. He’s such a good actor too. He’s almost making me scared.”

  Lisa turned and posed as Truett focused the camera. Cedrick loomed from behind and bent down to bite her neck.

  “That’s it . . . that’s it . . . got it. Wow. Perfect shot.” Truett looked up from the image captured on his camera to see Cedrick chomp down of his lovely wife’s neck. Blood rained down her chest like a crimson waterfall. Her scream weakened his knees. He stumbled forward to rescue her.

  Chaos quickly ensued as the wave of undead cut through the crowd. The weak and the slow were the first to fall. Blood splattered in all directions bathing the dead and undead in a christening of gore and horror.

  “What’s happening over there?” Natalie said, quickly clinging to Bo’s side.

  “You two get back. I know how to handle this.” Ralphie rolled out his knife collection and selected a twelve-inch butcher knife and a clever. Before he could come from behind the table, he looked up and saw a zombie almost upon them.

  Bo leaped into action with a front kick and knocked the creature’s head so far back the neck snapped. Ralphie was at his side in a heartbeat.

  “Where’d you learn that?” he asked.

  “Japan. I went to college in Tokyo. I didn’t spend my
free time playing Pokémon. Ralphie, he’s still moving.”

  Ralphie dropped to one knee and brought the clever down straight through the neck, severing the spine. “He’s not moving now.”

  Another attacker came at Natalie. She raised her forearm to block the snake-like strike of his bite. His teeth could not penetrate the leather jacket she wore.

  Ralphie’s twelve-inch blade went in one ear of the zombie and poked out the other. Another monster was down, but there was still a horde more to go.

  “Hoo-ah!” Ralphie screamed from the top of his lungs and charged toward the turbulent crowd in the theater.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” Bo said, and then pulled Natalie away from the horrific scene.

  “What’re we going to do?” she asked.

  “I’ve got an idea. Hurry!” Bo led down the narrow concrete walk, the serenity of the lush landscaping a forgotten blur.

  “Good! I see the boat’s still at the dock. Pray that we can make it there before any of them get us.”

  The two ran down the dock unimpeded. The faint echo of their hollow steps mingled with the clam of the ocean waves below. Bo helped Natalie on the boat first, and then followed, making a quick check above for any surprises.

  “It’s clear. I’m taking us out.” Bo started the engine, reversed course from the dock, and then turned to the open Caribbean Sea.

  “Bo, can you come down here? I’ve got something for you to see,” Natalie called.

  Bo fast stepped down the ladder to join her.

  “Look who’s on board with us. A cute little kitten.”

  The kitten sat listless underneath a bench.

  Bo retrieved a flashlight from the console and shined its light over the kitten.

  “It might be sick. Its eyes looked glazed over.”