The boat party was supposed to be a break. Time to let loose and have fun. But it wasn't. It couldn't have been farther from it.
As I rip open the zipper of the lemon yellow body bag, I feel an innate sense of wrong. Something is different. Something fundamental has changed and won't ever be the same again. I look into a beautiful azure sky, but I don't take the time to appreciate it. There's a stinging pain on my arm and an ominous rumbling in my stomach. I sit up and look down at my arm. Scratched. I know what this means. I've seen the zombie movies. And those kids on the boat were definitely zombies. I look up to see a young EMT scrambling in the sand. He gains purchase and takes off, yelling for a doctor. I finish unzipping the bag and stand up and brush off my clothes. There's a hunger in my gut – it's hard to ignore – but I am able to think beyond it.
"Miss?" The EMT is back with a doctor. I give him a half grimace half smile and clear my throat.
"Hi," I croak.
"You should sit down, miss. Please." Says the doctor. I pull my sweater tight around me. I know that I can't allow this doctor to check me out. If I am a zombie (and I really have very little doubt), then it's likely that my results will only spell trouble for me.
"I'm fine. I'm a doctor at Seattle Presbyterian. I know the after effects of drowning. I'm declining treatment."
"But-" says the young EMT. The doctor shakes his head in anger. "You really should get checked out."
"No, thank you." I tell him, and turn and begin walking down the beach, away from the debris and the action. I hear one of them call out to me, but neither follow and I am beyond relieved. I am stumbling along the beach when I see it. Something has washed up on the shore. I've travelled a fair distance from the authorities. As I get closer, I see it's a body. I feel a pep in my step. I want to have sympathy for the poor soul who washed up on the beach and has yet to be discovered, but all I can really think is lunch.
I crouch down beside to body and I see his head has been cracked open. It looks like someone has already started in on it, but I can't afford to be picky. My urge to eat is growing stronger by the second and it takes everything I have not to turn around and lure that young EMT away from the rest. I imagine myself knocking him out and then bashing his head in with a rock. Brains.
But wait. That's not me. I don't want to do that. I shake my head and start rifling inside his cranium, pulling out the slimy, stringy, damaged brain. The taste is unlike anything I've ever tasted before. Disgusting doesn't even begin to cover it. But somehow I can't make myself stop. I stuff my face with the man's brains until my fingernails are scraping the inside of his skull. I wipe my face on my shoulder and lean back. I've just devoured a man's brains. And I do mean devoured. I don't think I could possibly have done it any faster. But now that my stomach is satiated, I feel my mind clearing. I need to get away from this body ASAP. I know that being caught here, with his blood on my hands and my face, will mean the end of life as I know it. I laugh. The end of life as I know it. Yeah, because being caught is my biggest problem. My laugh chokes off as I think about Major. Oh Major. What am I going to do?