A Bit of Beach Fun (And Zombie Turtles)

Is that a zombie turtle chasing me?

Topsail Beach, NC is known for its turtles.  What I didn't know was that sometimes those turtles are zombie turtles.  They're stealthy and faster than turtles that aren't zombiefied.  And they prey upon unsuspecting, middle-aged tourists and vacationers.

Like me!

You never hear them.  They come en masse, stalking, waiting to strike the unwary.

They're not content to convince the unbelieving of their existence.  Their motives are base.  Their sole aim is to multiply.  They need humans in order to propagate.

And I was the means to their ends!

The panicked brain is not known for strategy.  I was armed with nothing more than a Basset Hound and a diet cola.  Both were useless.

What good is a twelve-ounce aluminum can against zombiefied, armored turtle shells?  And have you ever thrown a sixty-five pound Basset Hound?  The old girl might have done a bit of damage had I managed, but Basset tossing is for the young--even when facing a horde of zombie turtles.

But the zombie turtles do throw.  They hurl each other like cannon balls.  And once you've lost your balance they have you!

Zombie turtles bite with massive zombie fangs!

Razor-like fangs as long as their legs protrude from their mouths the moment you're within striking range.  And they strike without mercy.

The Basset merely yelped and fled like the yellow-belly coward she is, leaving me writhing and flailing on the sandy beach, helpless turtle fodder.

I felt teeth puncture my flesh.  The setting sun ignited a flash from below the horizon.  The gentle waves swelled into a tsunami.  The world changed.  The transformation was almost instantaneous.

I rose, no longer fully human.  I saw things as never before, a world of gray dotted with shapes of green.  My newly birthed instinct recognized those shapes and the need to propagate my transformed self grew to blinding urgency.

A bikini-clad lady gawked, then screamed and ran.  I gave chase, but lacked the speed of zombie turtles.  Her partner, a hulking man barely in his twenties, threw his cooler at me.  Bottles of Budweiser shattered against my head.  I winced at the stench.  Only the smell of blood placates me now.

He charged towards me.  I doubted my ability to prevail, but my mutant turtle brethren intervened.  He's one of us now.  He assists Topsail Beach's Chamber of Commerce by designing tourist brochures.

Me?  I'm still here.  On the beach.  Toting my stale can of diet cola.  Waiting...

You simply must come to Topsail on your next vacation!

Note: No turtles (zombie or otherwise) were harmed in the writing of this story.  My wife and I had a truly fabulous time on Topsail Island and plan to vacation there again.