people getting off of it were of the tasty variety.
Murphy and I were the first two off the boat for a reason.
A long, straight dock ran down the center of the marina, and the Whites were at the far end. Murphy and I headed right toward them. As we neared, they first seemed curious. They stood up and postured aggressively, hoping to drive us off, as whatever was left of their brains made the determination that we were coming for them. By the time we were a dozen steps away, the Whites were afraid and backpedaling until their heels were hanging over the water.
Murphy took a businesslike approach and raised his hammer as he got within a few steps. I had my machete up, ready to hack when the first one lunged. I was certain that one would. They were simple-minded beasts, and backed into a corner, would turn on us.
But they didn’t.
First one, then the others, turned and dove into the water.
“Motherfucker.” Murphy was surprised.
I looked at Murphy and agreed. “Motherfucker.”
“Fucking swimming Whites,” he said. “That island’s not going to stay safe.”
“No.” Watching the Whites swim slowly and clumsily across a hundred yards of water toward shore, I said, “This changes everything.”
Running footsteps on the boards behind us reminded me that talking out loud was almost always a mistake. I spun and raised my machete. A White was only a few dozen feet away and running at full tilt.
Murphy stepped back a bit, knowing what was coming.
Just as the White got within reach, I swung my machete around in a fast arc that ripped through his throat. The White tumbled to the boarded walkway, bouncing his face on wood as he came to a rest at my feet. Blood gurgled out of his open throat while he twitched and tried to move.
“Might as well get the rest of ‘em.” Murphy called up the dock, “Hey, buddy! We’re right here!”
Murphy’s hollering had the desired effect. Another White came running from the far end of the dock. Four more popped up from places where they’d been hidden on the decks of boats.
“You got it okay?” he asked.
I gave Murphy a glance. “As long as I don’t have to shoot any, I’m fine.”
“If you get in trouble, I’ll jump in. Cool?” replied Murphy.
I readied my stance and held my machete back, ready to hack.
The Whites tumbled out of their boats and rushed toward us. The one from the far end of the dock began sprinting in our direction. Murphy’s words had him convinced that we were edible despite our skin color.
When the runner got within reach, I swung my machete around and caught him across the throat just as I’d cut his predecessor. I had to step aside as his momentum carried him through the place where I’d been standing. He tumbled into the water.
The other Whites were busy doing me the favor of not coming together in a gang but at intervals of twenty or thirty feet, leaving me plenty of time to dispatch each before the next arrived. The last of them was a young blonde woman in one of the tiniest bikinis I’d ever seen. She was also the wiliest of the bunch.
My throat-slashing technique worked perfectly on all except her. When I swung, she was ready. She ducked under my blade and plowed into me with all of her momentum.
I fell, losing my machete as I hit the deck. She was immediately clawing and biting; whether trying to kill me or eat me alive, it didn’t matter. I was punching wildly and pushing, trying to keep her teeth off my skin.
Murphy grabbed a handful of her long, oily hair, pulled her head back, and punched her hard in the temple. That stunned her for a moment, and Murphy punched her again, and a third time. Her eyes rolled back and she went limp.
“Fucking bitch.” I crawled out from under her.
Murphy smashed her face into the dock a few times and rolled her into the water. She splashed and floated face down.
“You all right, man?”
I looked down at myself. “Embarrassed.”
“That you got tackled by a chick?”
“That I got
Murphy and I were the first two off the boat for a reason.
A long, straight dock ran down the center of the marina, and the Whites were at the far end. Murphy and I headed right toward them. As we neared, they first seemed curious. They stood up and postured aggressively, hoping to drive us off, as whatever was left of their brains made the determination that we were coming for them. By the time we were a dozen steps away, the Whites were afraid and backpedaling until their heels were hanging over the water.
Murphy took a businesslike approach and raised his hammer as he got within a few steps. I had my machete up, ready to hack when the first one lunged. I was certain that one would. They were simple-minded beasts, and backed into a corner, would turn on us.
But they didn’t.
First one, then the others, turned and dove into the water.
“Motherfucker.” Murphy was surprised.
I looked at Murphy and agreed. “Motherfucker.”
“Fucking swimming Whites,” he said. “That island’s not going to stay safe.”
“No.” Watching the Whites swim slowly and clumsily across a hundred yards of water toward shore, I said, “This changes everything.”
Running footsteps on the boards behind us reminded me that talking out loud was almost always a mistake. I spun and raised my machete. A White was only a few dozen feet away and running at full tilt.
Murphy stepped back a bit, knowing what was coming.
Just as the White got within reach, I swung my machete around in a fast arc that ripped through his throat. The White tumbled to the boarded walkway, bouncing his face on wood as he came to a rest at my feet. Blood gurgled out of his open throat while he twitched and tried to move.
“Might as well get the rest of ‘em.” Murphy called up the dock, “Hey, buddy! We’re right here!”
Murphy’s hollering had the desired effect. Another White came running from the far end of the dock. Four more popped up from places where they’d been hidden on the decks of boats.
“You got it okay?” he asked.
I gave Murphy a glance. “As long as I don’t have to shoot any, I’m fine.”
“If you get in trouble, I’ll jump in. Cool?” replied Murphy.
I readied my stance and held my machete back, ready to hack.
The Whites tumbled out of their boats and rushed toward us. The one from the far end of the dock began sprinting in our direction. Murphy’s words had him convinced that we were edible despite our skin color.
When the runner got within reach, I swung my machete around and caught him across the throat just as I’d cut his predecessor. I had to step aside as his momentum carried him through the place where I’d been standing. He tumbled into the water.
The other Whites were busy doing me the favor of not coming together in a gang but at intervals of twenty or thirty feet, leaving me plenty of time to dispatch each before the next arrived. The last of them was a young blonde woman in one of the tiniest bikinis I’d ever seen. She was also the wiliest of the bunch.
My throat-slashing technique worked perfectly on all except her. When I swung, she was ready. She ducked under my blade and plowed into me with all of her momentum.
I fell, losing my machete as I hit the deck. She was immediately clawing and biting; whether trying to kill me or eat me alive, it didn’t matter. I was punching wildly and pushing, trying to keep her teeth off my skin.
Murphy grabbed a handful of her long, oily hair, pulled her head back, and punched her hard in the temple. That stunned her for a moment, and Murphy punched her again, and a third time. Her eyes rolled back and she went limp.
“Fucking bitch.” I crawled out from under her.
Murphy smashed her face into the dock a few times and rolled her into the water. She splashed and floated face down.
“You all right, man?”
I looked down at myself. “Embarrassed.”
“That you got tackled by a chick?”
“That I got
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