Thoomp ... thoomp ... thoomp ... Cora Clarkson pressed the balls of her hands into her eyes and fought back the urge to scream. It was only a few more hours until dawn. She had been stuck on the island for three days--she could handle three more hours. Thoomp ... thoomp ... thoom-- "I don't know. I think maybe we should let him in." Cora's hands were still covering her face so Tom couldn't see the gymnastics her eyes performed as they rolled around her head. Tom Clarkson--Cora's soon-to-be ex-husband--sat on the edge of the bed in a tank top and cargo shorts. He was staring at the door of the shack, a flimsy plank barrier that was the only thing standing between them and Zombie Jesus. On Tom's face was an expression that, three days earlier, Cora would have described as endearing curiosity. In the dead of the night, trapped inside a beach shack that could moonlight as a tinder box if it needed the extra cash, desperate for dawn and the boat that would take her away from this godforsaken desert island, Cora saw the expression for what it really was. Blind, vapid--borderline insipid--stupidity. Thoomp ... thoomp ... thoomp ... "... you want to let Zombie Jesus inside?" Cora asked, releasing each word slowly as if that might give Tom a chance to catch up with his stupidity. "Yeah, why not?" Tom replied, not even remotely joking. "I mean, is it just a coincidence that we come to this island to fix our marriage and we just so happen to stumble across Zombie Jesus washed up on the beach? We've been here for three days. We go home tomorrow. We've talked circles around absolutely everything and the one thing we haven't done is talk to Zombie Jesus--" Thoomp ... thoomp ... thoomp ... "--and now he wants to come inside." Tom raised his eyebrows at Cora. "Tell me that's just a coincidence." Cora counted off fingers. "One, it's just a coincidence. Two, although he bears a striking resemblance to Jesus Christ, that thing out there is still a zombie. Three, despite zombie being the operative word for this--" Cora waved her arms apart in frustration, "--this whole fucking night, letting Jesus inside isn't going to fix our marriage--" "I'm just saying--" "He's a zombie, Tom!" Cora cried. Her head rolled back and she addressed the dry, thatched roof with an exasperated sigh. "I can't believe this is actually happening." Tom stood and paced the small room. "What if this was all meant to be? What if we came to this island specifically to find Zombie Jesus? You know? If we never came here--if we never found him washed up on the shore--I dunno, maybe he would have just washed right back out to sea again. What if the big man himself wanted us to be here to save his only begotten son?" Cora couldn't believe what she was hearing. "... 'the big man himself'?" Tom pointed upwards. "Yeah. God. The Holy Father. Creator of the Universe. Jesus's Pop-Pop." Tom kneeled in front of Cora. "What if God wants us to be right here, right now, for like, cosmic reasons? What if this is why we got married in the first place?" "'This'?" Tom nodded and gestured at the door. "Zombie Jesus. What if we're here to save him so that he can save us? What if letting Zombie Jesus inside is how we fix our marriage?" Tom grinned stupidly. "Wouldn't that just blow your mind?" "... Tom?" "Cora?" "You're a fucking idiot." Thoomp ... thoomp ... thoomp ... Tom stood up and paced away from Cora. "See, you think I'm the problem here, but you're the one who's always so close-minded." Cora ground her teeth together--it was one of those moments. Cora had booked the three-day excursion as a form of marriage counseling. Three days alone on a small island, no cell phones, no television, no distractions whatsoever. They had no choice but to talk to each other and figure our their issues. Not that it mattered. After they were dropped off, it took Cora less than six hours to realize it was her fault all along--she had harbored a blind faith towards the institution of marriage. She had wanted the husband and the house because that's what people did and--by all accounts--things would just work out. Cora realized that it had never mattered who the husband was. Until, that is, it was Tom. And then she realized she was stuck with him. Except, not really. Because what's the point of making mistakes if you can't learn from them? Cora wasn't on the island for six hours before she decided to divorce her husband. It took Tom three days of re-litigating all of their marital, personal, and emotional problems, blatantly ignoring the fundamental truth that it takes two committed people to make a marriage work, to then finally accuse Cora of being close-minded. Cora climbed to her feet. "I have never in my life met someone as close-minded and ignorant as you are." Tom plopped back down on the edge of the bed. "No--see--no, that's just an opinion. A flawed one, at that." Cora yanked at her hair. This wasn't the first time she wondered what she had ever seen in him. "Zombie Jesus is not an opinion!" Tom shrugged a shoulder. "Well--" "No! Tom, this isn't up for debate," Cora said. "If you open that door and let Zombie Jesus inside, he will eat us. That's what zombies do." Tom raised a finger. "All zombies aren't Jesus. Plus, there's that whole thing about the cracker and eating Jesus's flesh." "What?!" Tom snapped his fingers trying to think of the word. "It's that--in church--communion! With the wafers. So, like, if you've participated in communion--which I have--Zombie Jesus won't eat you. You're like, inoculated to the whole zombie thing." Cora blinked. "... I can't believe I wanted to let you impregnate me." "Hey, that's not--" "No, I'm serious. There are some critical, genetic flaws in there--" Cora waved a hand at Tom, "--that should never be reproduced." Tom crossed his arms. "Classy, Cora. Really. I'm not the one who went all baby-crazy." Thoomp ... thoomp ... thoomp ... Cora spun around in rage and pounded her fists against the door, making it creak against already loose hinges. "Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! JUST GO AWAY!" Cora sank to her knees, palms against the door. "Cora ..." Thoomp ... thoomp ... thoomp ... "Cora--" "This marriage is over, Tom," Cora said. "Plenty of mistakes were made, not the least of which was coming to this fucking island." "I mean, I told you that was a bad idea--" "It's not like you were making any suggestions!" "Because there was nothing to fix!" "You were having panic attacks in the middle of the night, Tom!" "Because I was dreaming about my dad--" "Your dad is dead, Tom!" Tom stewed on the edge of the bed. "You used to like me, you know?" "I have no idea why." "And then all of a sudden you just decided you didn't." "Because all of a sudden you started to have panic attacks." "Which apparently were well-founded because now you want a divorce." Tom shook his head in disappointment. "You know, commitment used to mean something." "Commitment? To what?! A five-month marriage that we rushed into? Commitment to each other? You're having panic attacks because you're dreaming of your dead dad--how am I supposed to commit to someone who doesn't even know who he is?" "I think I know who I am, Cora." "Do you? Your dad died nine years ago and it's just now shaking you to your core." "What, is there a statute of limitations on processing the death of a parent?" "Yes. It's nine years," Cora said flatly. "And what's to process? You have the emotional depth of a kiddie pool." Tom bounced back up again. "Cora! The point is that we figure it out and grow together! That's what a marriage is! One and one make one, united, together!" Cora dead-eyed her soon-to-be-ex. "What have you figured out about your panic attacks, Tom?" "What?" "You said you want to figure it out and grow, so tell me what you've learned from your panic attacks," Cora said with a flat shrug. "It's been a few months since they started, brought on by dreams of your dad who died nine years ago. Surely you've unearthed some deeper meaning of self?" "I think you're missing the point--" "Don't tell me what I'm missing--" Thoomp ... thoomp ... thoomp ... "You're missing several thousand dollars because this--" Tom gestured around the shack, "--is a fucking bullshit of a couples' therapy retreat." "Well, that's one thing we can agree on." One of the wooden planks on the door splintered and Cora bounced off the wall to huddle with Tom on the bed. "Goddammit!" she cried. Bony fingers poked through the splintered plank. Black, rotting flesh caught on the edges and peeled back as Zombie Jesus pushed his hand further into the shack. Wood scraped against bone and Cora cringed in Tom's arms. Zombie Jesus moaned something unholy. More fingers crowded into the hole and more skin peeled away. A dark green gore glooped onto the ground in front of the door. With his hands clawing at the hole, Zombie Jesus resorted to banging his head against the door. Thump ... thump ... thump ... He wasn't in yet. "See?" Tom said softly. "Zombie Jesus is already bringing us together." Cora looked at her husband and realized they had their arms around each other. She sighed, grimaced, and then pushed Tom away. Cora cradled her head as they sat in silence, save Zombie Jesus's skinned finger bones scritch-scritch-scritching against the door. "... it's as if he's still alive," Tom said distantly. "He's a zombie." "My dad." "What?" "In my dreams," Tom said. "It's as if he's still alive. Like, he didn't die nine years ago, but instead went to live another life somewhere else with a different family. When I dream of him, it's like I'm just discovering he's alive. He never died. He just wanted to--I dunno--get away from me or something." This was the first time Tom had ever confided in Cora even vague details about his panic-attack-inducing dreams. She didn't know how to react. "... what do you think it means?" she asked. Tom shrugged helplessly. He had no idea and no emotional expertise to figure it out. It had been nine years, after all. Another plank splintered, pulling Cora's attention back to the door. Zombie Jesus was trying to mash his head between his hands, peering through the slowly widening hole with a cloudy yellow eye. More unholy moaning. An uncomfortable, moist gnashing. "He's gonna get in," Tom said, pointing out the obvious. "The boat will be here in a few hours," Cora replied. "I don't think it's gonna take him a few hours to get through that door." Cora sighed. "This can't possibly get any worse." A flash of lightning painted a gory portrait of Zombie Jesus clawing at the door and a clap of thunder rattled the shack. Cora and Tom both jumped in surprise. "Fuck me," Cora wheezed. Tom craned his neck, listening. "I don't hear any rain." Cora rolled her eyes. "Give it a second." "Do you smell that?" Zombie Jesus had gotten a hand through the door, up to the wrist. He waved it about, grasping for Cora and Tom at the other end of the shack. Gore flung from his rotting digits and splattered throughout the shack. Cora crinkled her nose. "How could you not?" she replied. "No," Tom said, climbing to his feet, sniffing the air. "I smell smoke." The lightning bolt. The fucking tinder box of a beach shack. Cora shot to her feet and scanned the thatched roof. She stabbed a finger at the back corner. "There!" A trickle of smoke became a billow and then--before Cora could even begin to process what was happening--flames erupted from the corner and rolled across the ceiling. Cora and Tom lurched backwards as the shack went up in flames. Zombie Jesus's grasping hand was waiting for them. "Gaaah!" Tom cried out as the jagged bone of a rotting finger cut into his shoulder. Smoke filled the shack and burning debris fell. Cora grabbed Tom and yanked him away from the door. They crouched down, Zombie Jesus waving his hand over their heads. "Okay-okay-okay!" Tom cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'll agree to the divorce. Fifty-fifty everything! I just want to get out of here!" "Tom!" "I'm sorry! I know I don't deserve you--I never did--" Cora grabbed his face and yelled at him. "Tom!" "What?" "You were right." Tom was very confused. "What?!" "We need to let Zombie Jesus inside." Tom's eyes went wide. Cora scooted him to the side and grabbed for the door latch. Flames licked at her hands and she yelped. She reached again, grabbed the latch and cringed-- --she had been touched by Zombie Jesus. Despite the heat of the flames, a deathly chill crawled up her spine. Cora gritted her teeth. "Fuck you, Zombie Jesus!" Cora lifted the latch and grabbed the edge of the door. She twisted her other hand--the one that Zombie Jesus was holding--and grabbed his decomposing wrist, pulling it hard through the hole as she swung the door in. Zombie Jesus stumbled into the shack. With the door still between them, Cora let go of the wrist and gave the door a solid shove. It banged into Zombie Jesus, sending him backwards into the flames. "Come on!" Cora cried, grabbing Tom's arm and pulling him around the door and onto the beach. Flames consumed the shack. The walls collapsed, sending a small explosion of sparks and embers into the air as Cora and Tom tumbled and rolled into the sand. Gasping and hacking from smoke inhalation, the couple laid sprawled on the beach as the remains of the shack burned. A fat, heavy drop of rain splattered on Cora's forehead. The fire popped and sizzled. More drops of rain fell. Cora couldn't tell if the rain doused the fire or if it had just burned itself out. Either way, when the short burst of rain subsided, the charred remains of the beach shack wheezed tendrils of smoke into the night air. Tom coughed weakly. "Jesus ... Christ ..." A pile of black, smoldering debris shifted and a figure clawed its way out of the wreckage. "... no fucking way," Cora muttered as they both began crawling backwards in the sand. Zombie Jesus pushed aside a section of wall and climbed to his feet. He moved in laborious half-jerks as if he was being filmed in stop motion. Moonlight illuminated a blackened corpse that was more bones than crisped flesh. He took a shambling step forward. Cora's hands sunk into wet sand and she felt water lap at her wrists. Zombie Jesus took another step towards Cora and Tom. "Cora?" "Now's not really the time, Tom." Zombie Jesus stepped over another smoking section of the shack and onto sandy beach. "I did love you," Tom said. Cora didn't take her eyes off Zombie Jesus. "I know you did." "Did you--did you love me?" Zombie Jesus lurched across the beach, closing the distance. "In retrospect?" Cora asked breathlessly. Tom looked at his wife, eyes hopeful. He still had that blind faith that Cora could never get back. "No. Definitely not," she said. Zombie Jesus was almost on them. "Are you kidding me?!" Tom whined. "After all this--" Zombie Jesus took another step, hesitated, and then the charred, crispy remains of his hip give out. His torso jerked downwards and brittle bones snapped as he collapsed to the sand. There was a sickening crack as Zombie Jesus's skull snapped from his spine, tumbling across the sand and into Tom's lap. Tom jumped and flung the gnashing zombie head away. Gentle waves lapped at Cora and Tom's backs. After a long moment, Cora finally broke. "Ha!" Tom jumped again. Cora climbed to her feet, the laughter uncontrollable. "Fuck you, Zombie Jesus!" she yelled at the still-biting skull that sat face-down in the sand. "Resurrect from that--" Cora kicked sand at the zombie, "--you fucking bag of dicks!" "Cora--" "Shut up, Tom." "But--" Cora pointed out at the water. "Our ride's here."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Access Octomono Masonry Settings
Archives
December 2020
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed