TYBEE ISLAND By Paul Cales Continued from the July 2017 Beachcomber. Catch up @ http://tybeebeachcomber.com/magazine awake.” Just then a scream was heard from a neighboring camp site. The three jump up from their camp fire and run over to where Crabber Brian, Jesus Jay, Carrie, and Marissa are camping. Jesus Jay and Brian are carrying Marissa from the water’s edge back to their camp. “What the hell happened?” “Marissa was wading in the water, playing with the bioluminescent plankton, and something attacked her,” Brian replied. “Wait, the glow bugs aren’t supposed to be here for another month or so,” says Nate. “That’s pretty bad. Looks like a small shark got her.” He and Tony immediately look at each other and at the same time say, “Pier incident!” “Shut up guys. Now’s not the time for a zombie story either. Someone help stop that bleeding,” Becky says. Marissa screams in agony again, “AAAHHHHH! It burns, oh Jesus it hurts!” “I know it hurts hun, just hold on,” chimes Jesus Jay. “I WASN’T TALKING TO YOU!!!” she shouts back, clearly not appreciating the joke. There is a hunk of flesh missing from the back of her arm just above the elbow and it is bleeding pretty badly. Jesus Jay takes his t-shirt off and tightly wraps it around her arm. “We’ve got to get her to the hospital. Is your boat in the water Tony?” Jesus Jay asks. “Nah man. It’s been beached for an hour or two.” “Mine too.” “We can probably lift yours up and drag it into the water. Tony’s boat is too heavy,” Nate says. “Alright, Carrie and Becky, stay with her while we get the boat in the water. We’re taking you back to Alley 3. Can one of you call an ambulance to meet us there?” says Brian. “Sure thing. I’m on it,” replies Carrie. The boys use everything they’ve got to get the boat in the water. “Bring her over here girls. We’re good to launch,” Brian shouts. Brian and Jay make quick work of getting to Alley 3. The ambulance was there waiting and swept her away. “Should Brian be driving the boat, he’s drunk?” Becky asks. “Have you ever seen him drive a boat sober? It’s probably for the best,” says Tony. It took them about a half hour to make it back to Little Tybee. “Dude. By the time we got her there she took a turn for the worse. I don’t understand it. It was a bad injury, but not bad enough to make her go into convulsions like that. God, I hope she’s alright.” “She’s probably in shock. I’ve seen traumatic injuries affect people differently when I was in the Army. Shock can be a bitch,” Tony says. “Well… anyone down for a shot of rum?” In unison, the entire group says “Damn right!” To be continued… TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | AUG 2017 33 Chapter 3 Sometimes Things Bite - Part I Little Tybee is a small island just off the coast of its smaller brother Tybee Island. It’s a nature preserve. There are no roads, no facilities, and no buildings. To the East it borders the Atlantic Ocean. To the North is Tybee Creek or, as the locals call it, The Back River. The Southern side borders Wassaw Sound. To the West is just a lot of marsh lands. Locals sneak over to Little Tybee to escape the tourists (and some of the Tybidiots) and camp out for a few days. It isn’t the easiest of locations to get to. The currents are extremely swift and the tides can rise as much as 9 feet or more 6 hours from dead low. Day 1 Nate, Tony, and Becky are escaping for a few days to Little Tybee. The spring break crowd is in town and they’re about done with the poor tipping and obnoxious college kids. It’s time for an adventure away from the main island. They set up camp and as the sun goes down Nate lights a fire so they can cook their dinner. “Come on guys. One of you has got to have a good ghost story,” Becky says. “It’s barely dark, we haven’t eaten yet, and I barely have a buzz. Speaking of which, Nate, toss me that rum,” replies Tony. “Seriously, you guys promised me a ghost story. NOT A ZOMBIE STORY, Nate. It seems that’s all you talk about.” “Well, yeah… Dude is a prepper. Remember that cruise ship that got quarantined a few years ago? Well, Nate and I were on a cruise at the same time and he started freaking out. I don’t know how many times I told him Ebola doesn’t turn people into the walking dead.” “Shut it Tony. You talk about zombies a lot too and I’m not the only one with over 10K rounds of ammo and a bunch of guns.” “The difference is I like guns and shooting them. You have 10 years’ worth of dehydrated food at your house. That’s a bit excessive, don’t ya think?” “No. Not really.” “GHOST STORY!” “Okay, okay, let me think,” Tony says. “Not a zombie story. Hmmm... So, there’s a little boy about 6 years old. He’s lying in bed and he hears a loud noise outside of his door. He’s scared. He slips under the covers and pretends to be asleep while keeping one eye trained on the door. The door swings open and there, in the doorway, is a large bloody figure holding his dead parents. He sees the large figure write something on the wall in his parents’ blood. He squints, but can’t make out what the words say. Then the large figure gets on his hands and knees and slithers under his bed. He can hear the thing breathing and gurgling ALL…NIGHT…LONG… Just as the sun creeps above the horizon, he can just barely make out what’s written on the wall.” “What’s it say? What’s it say?” “Come in closer guys. Closer…” Then Tony whispers, “I know you’re
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