Island of the Zombies: Chapter Six

[nobleplatypus]

Hurley arrived back in the caves just in time for more mayhem. The scene was nearly identical to the one earlier that afternoon: Jack was standing with his arms folded, Kate was next to him, and an assortment of castaways (Charlie, Claire, and Steve included) were clustered around the pair.

"Look," Jack said with what sounded like the last frayed remains of his patience, "clearly there is some kind of... of mass hysteria going on here. We're all tired, we've all been under a lot of stress--"

"Stress?" This was Michael talking, now; he had one arm around Walt's shoulders and was using the other to gesticulate angrily. "Man, Walt didn't even know about the pilot! How the heck would he have hallucinated--"

"If he heard someone else talking about it," Jack began, throwing a significant glance in Charlie's direction. Charlie, in turn, began to sputter indignantly.

Oh, crap. The pilot, too? Hurley sighed. It wasn't surprising, given the fact that all the dead seemed to be rising. At least, Hurley thought, they'd had the foresight to burn those in the fuselage. God only knew how many other bodies lay scattered around the Island.

"I didn't hear anyone else talking about it," Walt insisted in that sulky tone children use when they know adults aren't really listening.

"Hear that?" Charlie gestured towards Walt.

"Jack," Kate said quietly, "I don't think they're making this up."

Jack threw up his hands. "Now you're siding with them?"

"I'm not siding with--"

"DUDES."

Everyone fell silent and turned to stare at Hurley, who was too busy blinking in shock over his sudden outburst to say anything at first. After taking a few moments to gather his thoughts into some semblance of order, he cleared his throat and began.

"Right. So, as some of you already know, there are a few, uh, zombies. Out there." Jack rolled his eyes and looked put upon, but didn't interrupt. "Yeah. Anyway, since I don't want to be eaten... and I'm sure none of you guys want that, either... I'm thinking maybe we should do something about it."

"What are you suggesting?" Jack asked, raising his eyebrows.

Hurley thought for a moment, trying to ignore the fact that everyone's eyes were focused on him. "Well, for tonight, we're going to have to set up guards all around the caves, and make sure none of the zombies get past us." No one booed, so he continued with growing confidence. "Then we can make some weapons and start, you know..." he trailed off, then made a chopping gesture with one hand. "Off with their heads... and stuff."

Everyone stared. Hurley squirmed a little, then waved a hand dismissively. "Just an idea."

"Were you a professional zombie killer in your previous life?" Steve asked half seriously.

"Nah, I wasn't professional," Hurley found himself saying before he could censor himself.

Everyone stared harder. There was an awkward pause.

Jack broke it by laughing without humor. "You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.

Jack, of course, did not believe in zombies. But all the castaways who had seen one--and all the castaways who hadn't seen one personally, but knew someone who had--did believe in zombies and were willing to put their faith in anyone who seemed to know a thing or two about the habits of the undead. Hurley, as fate would have it, knew a thing or five hundred.

"Then let's get to work." Locke stepped up out of nowhere and smiled at Hurley, who tried to smile back and couldn't quite manage it. "We can take shifts on guard duty, and post torches every fifteen feet around the perimeter. Boone?"

"I'm on it," Boone said, heading purposefully into the crowd to look for volunteers.

Charlie wove between a few people and stopped in front of Hurley. "You seriously killed zombies?"

"That's awesome," Steve said, having followed Charlie over with Claire in tow.

"That is something I'd like to hear about in more detail, if you don't mind," said Locke, tilting his head to one side.

"Uh, sure." Hurley started to head to a more secluded section of caves, realized that he was walking towards his lingerie stash, and hurriedly changed direction. He finally sat down in a hollow big enough to comfortably seat several people. Locke, Steve, Charlie, and Claire sat down as well. Hurley didn't remember Claire expressing particular interest in his backstory, but after noting Charlie's hand placed protectively (and perhaps a little possessively) on Claire's back, he chose not to comment.

"Right. So." Hurley took a deep breath, then began to talk.

No matter how hard he thought about it, he could never quite recall how or when the whole Zombie Thing had begun. He knew it must have been sometime around his junior year of high school, but he wasn't certain. Sometimes, if he really concentrated, he could dimly recall a man in a battered trilby handing him a shovel and asking him for "help with a little something" in the orange glow of a streetlight. But that was all.

Somehow, it had become a routine. Once the sun set, Hurley went for a stroll. He told his mother he had Restless Legs Syndrome to keep her questions at bay. Before he left the driveway, he made sure he had his shovel. Then the zombies came. And Hurley killed them.

He was never quite sure if he was finding the zombies, or if the zombies were finding him. But at least one showed up every night, without fail. He bludgeoned them with his shovel at first, then bought an aluminum baseball bat. His mother thought he was getting into sports and was delighted.

Unfortunately, the zombies didn't always show up early for Hurley's convenience. Some nights, he wandered until three or four in the morning before he found one. He would be exhausted the next day, too tired to keep his eyes open in class. His grades began to drop. Explanations for the change were demanded.

Hurley was bad at lying.

And Catholics don't really believe in zombies.

So he was institutionalized, which broke his mother's heart. It didn't take him long to figure out that all the doctors really wanted was to hear him say--with conviction--that none of it had ever happened. So he worked on it until he could. It took him a while; heck, it took years--years to forget their shuffling, jilted gait, years to forget the sound a head makes when it's smashed in by a baseball bat, years to forget the way the lukewarm blood splattered against his face. But eventually, he was able to say without a shadow of a doubt that the whole Zombie Thing had never happened. In fact, he told them, he fainted at the sight of blood. It had all been a ludicrous hallucination, but he was better now, he knew fantasy from reality, his Restless Legs Syndrome had cleared up, he was fine. And he really wanted to just go home and try to resume as normal a life as anyone could hope for. He was thinking of getting a job somewhere, maybe a fast food place. He was cured.

They let him out of the hospital. He got a job at a fast food place and tried to lead a normal life. But part of him was always waiting for something, something he was supposed to have fogotten.

And now it was here.

"So you were like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, only with zombies?" Claire asked.

"Yeah."

"Hurley the Zombie Slayer," Steve supplied. "Only you didn't have wacky sidekicks." Charlie mumbled something that sounded a bit like, "He does, now."

"Pretty much." Hurley raised his eyebrows at the ground, waiting for jeers that never came.

"Well, we'll rely on your expertise," Locke said, smiling and clapping Hurley on the back. "How do you suggest we take care of them?"

Hurley sat up, trying to hide his surprise. He had never thought he'd mention the Zombie Thing again, and he had certainly never expected people to believe him. Now here he was sitting in a circle of people who believed him, supported him, and wanted to help him do the job he'd sworn to forget. "You have to go for the head. Either knock it off, or just hit it really hard."

"We did that." Charlie frowned. "Hitting it really hard, at least."

"No, dude, you have to," Hurley grimaced a little, "really smash it. You can't just hit it or poke it or stab it, you've gotta..." he trailed off, then repeated his chopping hand motion. "The brain has to be totally destroyed." He paused, then added as an afterthought, "Unless you're just knocking its head off. Then it doesn't matter."

Claire had paled drastically, and Steve and Charlie were both looking a bit green. Locke merely nodded and said, "Sounds doable."

"Are the caves going to be safe enough?" Claire shifted, a hunted look in her eyes. "Should people move to the beach?"

Hurley shrugged. "It's not about the location. I think pretty much everywhere is equally safe."

"Or unsafe." Steve raised his eyebrows.

"All that matters is having people keep watch. Zombies aren't that fast, but they can be quiet when they want to be. You see them coming, you're okay. You don't..." Hurley shrugged again. "I dunno. Just don't get bitten."

"What happens if you get bitten?" Claire asked hesitantly, sounding as if she already knew the answer.

"You turn into one of them."

There was a sober silence.

"Well," Locke said cheerfully, rubbing his hands together, "let's get to it!"

Woo! This will be posted over at FFN tomorrow, and I'll archive the rest of the fic here... possibly tomorrow, as well. Also, since this hasn't been updated in about a year, you all might want to reread it over there before reading this chapter, just to avoid confusion. :)

Comments

[avalonauggie.livejournal.com]

OH. MY. GOD.
There are no words. No words to describe this brilliance. All the angst of a regular Lost flashback, and yet none of the contrivance! and ZOMBIES! OHMYGOD HURLEY SO AWESOME.
this fic is ridiculously great. or greatly ridiculous. EITHER WAY IT ROCKS.

[platy-fics.livejournal.com]

Eee, thanks! :D

I am now writing a chapter from Shannon's point of view. It is too, too much fun. XD

[featherfish.livejournal.com]

AHAHAHAHAHAHA I LOVE IT!

I LOVE LOCKE AND HIS CRAZY GUSTO!

CHARLIE/STEVE FOREVAAAAH!

[platy-fics.livejournal.com]

Perhaps Charlie and Steve will hook up at the very end. Or maybe there can, at some point, be a really tense moment where it totally looks like they're going to die, and they'll look at each other... *starts giggling too hard to type*

Ahhh, wow. Teh ghey sneaks in whether you want it to or not.

[featherfish.livejournal.com]

I KNOW! It's kinda awesome.

DOOOO IT!