“Why is it that the women who are so fuckable are always so fuckin’ insane?

“This last one was a real nutter.  I met her at a bar at the hotel where I was workin’ on assignment.  The place was full ‘cause of  the convention, and she walked in with the tightest little…well, I know I sure as hell wasn’t the only one lookin’. 

“She came on over and sat down next to me.  She leaned in, actin’ all like she was gonna tell me a secret.  I figgered that was fine — maybe she was married and a bit bored.  Hot and horny housewives are the best; nuthin’ like ‘em when you’ve been on the road.  And with my picture always running right there with my by-line, I get a lot of recognition, if ya know what I mean.

“Only instead of tellin’ me how much she wanted me in her pants, she started tellin’ me about this fucking tourist trap on some piss-ass little island.  She said it was right off the coast, but there was no way to get there but plane or boat.  One of those places that was hard hit by the original zombie invasion, she said.  Told me how no one had been back there for years because of all the original horror stories, but then cruise ships and those little tourist ride puddle-jumpers started goin’ by it.  That’s when it all leaked out, she said.

“What leaked out? I asked her, tryin’ as hard as I was to keep her goin’.  I thought I had her figgered out — one of those that comes to you with breakin’ news as an excuse to get herself broke in.  Normally worth it to play along.

“It’s got zombies, she said.  Left over from the days of the attack.

“I laughed at her.  Who the hell wouldnta?  Fucking zombies, still kickin’ around?  I mean, hell, they’d have’ta been around for what, 48 years now?  How would that flesh still be holdin’ together?  I mean, sure, they were horrorfyin’ — I was only five when it all happened, and I got me some real nightmares from it even today — but them still around?  Naw, not possible..

“She didn’t act mad, so I thought I still had a chance at ‘er.  Thought maybe she’d just been tryin’ me on for size.  But, nope, she kept at it.

“It’s all the government, she said.  They went into this island after the rest of the country was back under control.  The zombies had been trapped on the island once the bridge had gone out, so they were all there, ripe for experimentation.  All nice, safe, secure, and away from the pryin’ public eyes.  But then, like it always happens, someone knew someone who knew someone who worked there, and the secret kinda leaked out about the zombies.

“So — and here’s where it gets good — they got a’hold of this friend of a friend who turned out to be high up enough, and got permission to do guided tours of the deserted town with the fuckin’ zombies as the coupe de grass.

“They guide these people through the town, showin’ them all the buildings that had been deserted during the initial wave of zombies, the bloodstains still on the walls, the bones that were left out dryin’, all that good shit.  Build it up like one of those real old ghost towns out west from the gold rush — only nastier, and bloodier, and a hell of lot more recent.

“Once the people got all worked up on the zombie remains, they’d get to the center of town and see ‘em.  The zombies.  Now, most of those freaks on the tour wouldn’t’ve seen zombies b’fore.  Most of the old timers who actually fought in the attack wouldn’t go playin’ with zombies.  But idiots that don’t know from zombies…the minute the guide opened up that door, the people rush in, expectin’ the zombies to be restrained and all that shit, but of course they ain’t.  The tourists wound up in the midst of those hungry fucking things, and they’d get eaten.  Then the gate was shut up.

“Next thing you know, there’re some cock ‘n’ bull stories about where the people went — the cruise ship went missing, or the family got killed when some nutcase went psycho during a mugging, whatever.

“Everyone’s happy.  The zombies are well fed, the government gets money ‘cause these idiots are paying for the tour, and, of course, the secret never gets out.

“This crazy broad told one helluva good story.  I wasn’t gonna believe a word she was sayin’ — I mean, do I look like a fuckin’ idiot?  But I told her yeah, yeah, it’s godawful horrible how the government would do something like that.  I sympathized, I mooed at her cow eyes, and I promised I’d look into it.  Told her how much I appreciated the story, and how we’d get someone snuck into the tour group with a video feed and get them to escape at the end.  Arm them or somethin’.  Whatever she wanted to hear.  She loved me for it.  Man, did she fuckin’ love me for it.  For fuckin’ hours.

“Of course, she was really pissed at me the next morning when I told her there was no fuckin’ way I was going to call that in.  I tried to let her down easy, told her I’d talk to them once I was there, but she was fuckin’ convinced that ‘they’ wouldn’t let me get to work.  Thought ‘they’d’ kill me for it.  I told her she was a flake.  She tried to rip my eyes out for that one.

“Then she bailed outta there.  Didn’t even shower.  Told me she’d find someone else who would believe her.  I don’t think she ever did.  Got her crazy ass hit by a car that afternoon.  She was running all over the freeway.  Prob’ly off her meds.

“But she got me thinkin’.  I know, I know, all them fuckable women are fuckin’ crazy.  But what if this one was right?

“So, when does this little plane land?  Do we get all the way into town?  Really?  The dead center?  Just how dead, hahaha.  Yeah, I crack me up.  So what’s the name of this island again?”

—–

Katherine Sanger was a Jersey Girl before getting smart and moving to Texas.  She’s been published in various e-zines and print, including Baen’s Universe, Black Petals, Star*Line, Anotherealm, Lost in the Dark, Bewildering Stories, Aphelion, and RevolutionSF, and edited From the Asylum, an e-zine of fiction and poetry.

Her poetry has won numerous awards, including First Place in Byline’s “Autumn Poem” contest, First Place in “Lucky Thirteen” contest sponsored by Sol Magazine, and Honorable Mention in: The Houston Chapter Award, The Hap Fulgham Prize, and The “Varoom-Varoom” Award.