Theresa Jacobs believes in magic, fairies, dragons, and ghosts. Yet she trusts science and thinks that aliens know way too much. When she is not at work she spends her time reading, writing, exercising her dog, and binge-watching TV shows, with her longtime partner and fiancé. She is also a big movie buff and a sci-fi nerd at heart.
Read more of Theresa’s work right HERE.
THE VACATION
by
Theresa Jacobs
“Hello!” Carey’s voice grew fainter with each yell, her throat raw.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and snot bubbled out of her nose, but she didn’t care. The cloudless azure sky was no comfort in her dire situation. Among the plane’s wreckage, a woman lay on her back, one arm over her face as though shielding the blazing sun, the other outstretched, beckoning Carey back. The zombie movie she’d scoffed at a few hours ago made her leery of the surrounding dead.
Mangled bodies lay strewn across the land, or strapped in their seats, sported flesh speared with metal, tongues lolled, eyeballs dangled, and one—headless. The scene of bloodshed and destruction she just clawed her way out of made her gag.
“I’d give my tits to find a resort right about now.” Her eyes glazed over as she visualized laying by a sparkling blue pool sipping a Mai Tai.
To her left lay an overgrown jungle, with its canopy of dancing palms and lush, vibrant greenery—she knew a welcoming evil grin when she saw one. A hush of whispering fronds beckoned, Come into my sheltering arms, you’ll be cool, we’ll keep you safe.
She shuddered, picturing massive tarantulas, writhing centipedes, or sharp-toothed salivating beasts thirsting for her tender flesh. A tiny white spider, a brilliant speck against the obsidian ground, scampered close to her exposed manicured toes. She screamed and danced back. Her body wracked by a violent tremor.
“God damn it! Why me?” She hurried on, praying no more spiders crossed her path, brushing at her arms as if an unseen web dangled from her delicate skin.
She eyed the water ten feet below on her right. The continuous roar of waves, at first annoying, now lulled her into a hypnotic state. Ahead was a monotonous march of uniformity. From the jungle, an invisible something scuttled. She shivered, putting two more steps between herself and the unknown horrors. Close to the cliff’s edge, she sat and dropped her Fendi bag to her lap. She wished she’d been braver and gathered the necessary supplies before heading off.
Her stomach growled, her mouth was dry, her face and arms both burning hot and icy cold from sunburn. It was clear no rescue was forthcoming. The last time she’d looked at her phone, before the gates of hell opened, it had been five am. Now the sun was dipping low into the evening hours and her temples throbbed to the beat of an invisible drum.
“Let’s go on vacation, he said. It’ll be fun, he said.” Carey’s lip curled, and she gave an angry middle finger back at the distant plane. “Asshole.”
This is my punishment for vacationing with my boss. A lot of good the money will do me here.
She rifled around her useless designer purse and opened her bottle of Motrin; thankful she always bought gel caps. In desperate need of pain relief, she bit into two. The bitter liquid coated her tongue and she tossed the green casings aside. Exhausted, she flopped onto her side, tucking her purse under her head for a pillow.
“Just a little rest,” she said and stared unseeing across the churning ocean. She imagined a Special-Ops helicopter as a black speck on the horizon, with a herculean seal team on its way to save her.
A light moan escaped Carey’s lips as she reached to pull the blankets over her cold shoulders. Her hand encountered hard rock instead of soft bedding. Rising to consciousness, she felt the rough ground beneath her hip and reality flooded in.
“Ah crap.” Her entire body ached. She had bumps and bruises from the crash; her feet swollen and blistered, her shoulders and face pulsated, and now her tongue felt three-times its original size. The wind had a cold bite. She braced against the next gust, looking to the shelter of trees behind her. The overgrown brush was as dark as Hades, and if she wasn’t willing to venture there during daylight, nothing would force her there now.
A groan emanated from the darkness to her left.
She craned her neck and squinted into the dark.
Yes! Her heart raced with anticipation as a staggering form appeared in the moonlight.
“Hey over here! I’m here,” she called.
Something seemed odd about the person, giving her pause. They groaned, as ceaseless as the waves and loud enough to be heard over them. Fear formed a hard knot in the pit of her stomach. More inky forms appeared beyond the first straggler. One of them walked too far left and dropped over the cliff into the ocean—without a scream.
She watched the awkward shuffling movements of ten or more people. Even though she had no service, her cell phone still had power, and she retrieved it from her purse. She pressed the flashlight icon, aiming the light at the crowd.
Her mouth dropped open; her heart sank to co-mingle with the fear. These weren’t ordinary people. Their clothes torn and bloody. Their mouths worked up and down, chopping at the night air. Even with half his face caved in, she recognized the white blonde tufts of her boss’s hair, his polyester baby blue pants, and Hawaiian shirt.
“No-no-no-no, zombies aren’t real.” She shook her head as the horde of lumbering, maladroit forms advanced toward her.
“Son-of-a-bitch!”
She aimed the light into the inky dark of the undulating ocean, looked at her purse with its useless contents, and grimaced at her options. With a growing lump in her throat, she looked towards the unknown tropical hell. Carey imagined the bushes tickling her exposed flesh. Damp vines and debris clutching at her toes, beetles with thick pinchers crunching underfoot, and the possibility of a snake dropping on her head from above. If she survived the night, what would tomorrow bring? And the day after that?
Carey hugged her Fendi bag tight to her breast.
“Great vacation, Chuck,” she said, closed her eyes and jumped off the cliff.