The Wilder Side of Z

by S A Ison

  THE WILDER SIDE OF Z

  S.A. ISON

  The Wilder Side of Z

  Copyright © 2021 by S.A. Ison All rights reserved.

  Book Design by Elizabeth Mackey

  Book Edited by Ronald Ison Esq. Editing Services

  Book Edited by Boyd Editing Services

  All rights Reserved. Except as under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system, without prior written permission of S.A. Ison.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the production of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons – living or dead- is entirely coincidental.

  OTHER BOOKS BY S.A. ISON

  BLACK SOUL RISING From the Taldano Files

  INOCULATION ZERO Welcome to the Stone Age

  Book 1

  INOCULATION ZERO Welcome to the Age of War

  Book 2

  EMP ANTEDILUVIAN PURGE

  Book 1

  EMP ANTEDILUVIAN FEAR

  Book 2

  EMP ANTEDILUVIAN COURAGE Book 3

  POSEIDON RUSSIAN DOOMSDAY

  Book 1

  POSEIDON RUBBLE AND ASH

  Book 2

  EMP PRIMEVAL

  PUSHED BACK A TIME TRAVELER’S JOURNAL

  Book 1

  PUSHED BACK The Time Traveler’s Daughters Book 2

  THE RECALCITRANT ASSASSIN

  BREAKING NEWS

  THE LONG WALK HOME

  EMP DESOLATION

  THE VERMILION STRAIN POST-APOCALYPTIC EXTINCTION

  THE HIVE A POST-APOCALYPTIC LIFE

  PYTHAGORAS FALLS

  MY NAME IS MARY A REINCARNATION

  THE MAD DOG EVENT

  DISTURBANCE IN THE WAKE

  OUT OF TIME AN OLD FASHION WESTERN

  YESTERDAY’S WARRIOR

  NO TIME FOR WITCHES

  FUTURE RELEASES

  THE INNOCUOUS MAN A.I. APOCALYPSE

  A BONE TO PICK

  PROLOGUE

  Zahara Demir stood with her thumb out, her body relaxed as the golden glow of late afternoon washed over her small frame. Vegas had been fun but it was time to leave. She’d spent too much time here and she’d not fulfilled her assignment and that wasn’t good. She had, however, warned her target and helped facilitate with an exit strategy. Would the big boys in D.C. find out? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. This assignment had been off the official books, so it didn’t really count. She surveyed the big rigs as they arrived and departed the truck stop. She saw a potential ride and lifted her thumb higher and brought forth a wide smile. This was her usual mode of transportation when she was feeling adventuresome and restless. She stood near the exit ramp of an anonymous truck stop at the ass-end of Vegas, knowing that she could pick up an easy ride. The massive trucks circumnavigated the country and she could get to most any place she wanted to. She shifted the heavy backpack and watched as an eighteen-wheeler headed toward her. Her smile broadened when she saw the face of the man within the large cab. He had a smile on his face and began to slow down for her. Zahara picked up her guitar case and readied herself to climb up.

  “Hi, where ya headed?” the driver asked, leaning toward the open passenger window.

  “Just heading east.” She smiled up brightly.

  “Climb on up. You need help with your gear, little lady?” he asked.

  “Naw, I got it, thanks. I appreciate you stopping for me,” she said as she climbed up into the cab. The spacious cab smelled of cigarette smoke, fried food, and sweat, causing her nose to twitch. She settled herself in the large seat, moving papers and trash off of it. She pulled the seatbelt across and looked over to the drive.

  “Sam’s my name, how ‘bout you?” he asked, grinning. Zahara could see that the man hadn’t kept up with his dental plan and also chewed tobacco. She grimaced internally. Yuck.

  “I’m Lucy. Thanks again for the ride,” she said, pulling a pink straw from her denim jacket pocket. She popped it in her mouth and began to chew.

  “Trying to stop smoking?” Sam asked.

  “Something like that,” Zahara said grinning, her emerald eyes crinkled in humor. She relaxed as Sam pulled the rig onto the highway. She ran her fingers through her dark wavy hair, which had been pulled back into a loose ponytail. Her fingers bumped the ornamental elastic and she sighed happily. She was on her way and she could enjoy the ride. She liked riding in the big rigs, it offered a high vantage point and traveled to places unknown. She was a small petite woman, so when she had a chance, she chose to perch up high. It somehow gave her a feeling of power; she wasn’t sure where that need came from. The two rode in companionable silence for a while. She wished her traveling companion was a bit neater and cleaner with his rig, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “So, uh. You travel a lot like this, Lucy?” Sam asked, looking sideways at her. Zahara almost groaned, she would have liked to just ride in silence. Ah, the chatterboxes, she thought.

  “Sometimes. I enjoy the open road. I meet a lot of interesting people,” she said, still chewing on her straw.

  “Yeah sure, guess that’s true. But how do you know you aren’t getting into a rig with a serial killer?” Sam asked, grinning.

  “What are the chances that there are now two serial killers in a rig?” Zahara said and her tinkling laugh filled the cab.

  ONE

  Agent Echo reclined in a hand-carved oak rocking chair on the wraparound porch of his log cabin, his long legs stretched before him. He cradled an ancient briar wood churchwarden pipe in his hand, enjoying the aromatic cherry blend, as the blue smoke curled around his head. It was late morning and Alexander Wilder was feeling decidedly lazy as the breeze from the large pond blew toward him. Xander was on an extended sabbatical from the agency. A sardonic smile curved on his lips; the agency assumed he’d gone on regular leave, but Xander had different plans. He had been edging toward burnout and he wanted well away from civilization and work. He drew on the pipe, letting the fragrant smoke fill his mouth and held it but a moment, then let it drift from his mouth. His dark brown eyes crinkled when the smoke hit them. His long legs were propped on a log stool that he’d made years ago. Around him, the forest was filled with the buzzing drone of cicadas and the chatter of birds; their conversations were soothing to his battered soul.

  His property, a forty-acre piece of forested land, was nestled near the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The property boasted a four-acre pond, fed by Fie Creek which ran north to south on the land. Xander had purchased the property some twenty odd years before, when he’d first been recruited by the agency. He’d found it, seated near Maggy Valley, North Carolina. He’d grown up in Phoenix, Arizona, but had never gone back to the state, nor his hometown. Even at a young age, he’d not been foolish enough to think that when it came time to retire from the agency, he’d perhaps wish to disappear. It wasn’t unheard of for agents to be retired, with extreme prejudice. Some agents vanished, while others went on to the desk, to ride that horse until it was shot. For Xander, he preferred to have a few options. One had been the acquisition of the hidden property. He’d obviated the queries over the years, when asked what he would do when his career ended.

  As far as he knew, no one from the agency was cognizant of his property. He’d been assiduous in his visits, keeping a strict circuitous route when he visited his home. He was adept at countersurveillance, it was a proportionally large part of his job. Agent Echo worked for a black clandestine sub-agency. Xander was an assassin for the United States government, though the agency was known only to a selec
t few on Capitol Hill. Credible deniability was key. The agency was also compartmentalized, leaning more toward internal secrecy. Xander figured if the agency could do it, he could as well. He also kept a small studio apartment in D.C. that the agency did know of.

  He was an exceptionally trained operative, functioning both inside and outside of the country. When he was given assignments, he was allowed to execute the jobs as he saw fit. He was given a greater amount of latitude because he’d been at it for nearly twenty years. At forty-five, Alexander was in his prime. An apex operative. As good as he was, he still needed that decompression after months of hunting down and neutralizing his targets. He had over the last few years, shifted his agenda, however. As a government employee, his paycheck was less than stellar. He’d begun to pick up side jobs via the Dark Net, unbeknownst to his government. When given an assignment, Xander freelanced in the country he was to operate. He would go dark and disappear for a day and surface quite a bit richer. He was padding his numbered bank accounts. Should the government find out about his little side jobs, then Xander would be retired, permanently.

  He wasn’t worried however; he was a careful and canny man, he knew his fieldcraft well. He yawned and scratched his chin, which rasped loudly; he’d not shaven in two weeks. Though he had dirty blond hair, his beard was nearly black. He’d been peeved to see gray growing in increasing numbers. The darker beard had come in handy during several of his ops. Xander was just under six foot, with dirty blond hair and dark brown eyes; he was relatively unremarkable. He had an athlete’s build, not too bulky, but not too slender either. It was essential in his line of work, that he not stand out. To walk among the people as some kind of shadow or ghost. Completely forgettable.

  He took another deep draw on the long-stemmed pipe and nearly choked when he felt the tiny hairs along his body give a strident scream of warning. He’d lived too long on the edge of life to ignore it. Though his body appeared relaxed, his gaze shifted quickly. He let the smoke escape him, slow and lazy, as though he’d not a care in the world. Something or someone was out there and he felt its presence. Who was it? He didn’t know any of his neighbors, who were miles away from him. His land was wired for intruders and his smart phone hadn’t buzzed with warning. Was it an animal? Perhaps a predator of some kind? Something was out there, he knew that. He shifted in the chair and felt the Glock 26 at his lower back. It was small and he could carry it anywhere undetected.

  He stretched lazily and yawned wide, scratched his side and brought down his feet from the stool. His boots made a thump on the scarred knotty pine porch floor and Xander slowly stood. He worked his neck from side to side; the bones popping softly and he brought the pipe to his lips and took a lazy puff. Stepping off the porch, he ambled across the yard, letting the blue smoke stream behind him. He walked down the slight decline toward the large pond. He enjoyed fishing off the small dock, though he did have a small flat skiff he could use. That was for when he was feeling ambitious. The feeling of being watched persisted as he reached the pond. He stood looking around, as though he were enjoying the view. He kicked at a rock, then squatted and picked up a stone. He hurled the stone, skipping it across the water. All the while, his gaze scanning into the trees, around bushes and rocks. He sniffed the air, but detected nothing. Dragonflies danced along the glittering water’s surface, as cattail fluff floated on the breeze. He reached out his hand and caught one of the delicate filaments on his fingertips, then blew it away.

  He walked along the pond and then turned back up toward the cabin, opting to move around to the side of the structure. He stopped by an apple tree, pretending to inspect the growing fruit. All the while, his brain churned, thinking. Had the agency found him? Had they come to retire him? He could feel the pounding of his heart throughout his body, his senses were heightened, his body outwardly relaxed. He walked around the back of the cabin, but heard and saw nothing. He made his way back to the front of the cabin and was about to step up onto the porch when a blur caught his eye.

  He staggered back as the impact of a body hit him. He felt the heat and weight of it, he heard snarling and growling close to his ear. His arms came up instinctively to fend off whatever had jumped on him. His heart had nearly jumped out of his throat. The form clung to his back like a crazed monkey and he could feel its hot breath at the base of his skull. He swung around and then he heard giggling and snorting. He then felt cool air hit his back as the body fell away and he turned in a crouch, ready to attack. His eyes widened. Flea!

  Agent Zed, whom he was very well acquainted with, stood before him. His dark eyes narrowed and his mouth bracketed down in a scowl.

  “You here to kill me?” he asked in a flat voice.

  “If I were, you’d already be dead. I’ve been here for a couple hours watching you,” she said laughing, then snorted, shaking her head. She slapped him on the shoulder and walked up onto the porch and sat in his rocking chair.

  “Then why in the hell are you here? And how did you find me?”

  “The top brass wants you back at the corral. Got several operatives out combing the country for your happy ass. I told them you loved fishin’, suggested they hit the panhandle of Florida or along the Gulf coast. As to how I know about this place, I followed you here last year, after the debacle in Djibouti. You and Agent Vector got really screwed on that assignment. I also know where Agent Papa, Agent Vector, and Agent Lima live as well.” She shrugged elegantly. Xander’s eyes narrowed dangerously; he didn’t like being followed. The smile on her face widened.

  “You sure you weren’t followed? We both know not to trust the agency.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m good that way, as you know. I tend to travel off-grid. I decided to come here, figured I needed a little vacay too. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. This is a nice place, dude,” she said grinning and waggled her dark tapered eyebrows.

  Xander could feel his shoulders relax. Zahara Demir, Agent Zed, nicknamed Flea, was one of the top operatives that the agency had. She was a diminutive woman, fast and deadly. She could present as a teenager or woman, depending on her appearance. She could move nearly invisible among the masses and her exotic coloring could place her origins in many countries. With a complexion of soft olive skin, dark mahogany hair and green eyes, she was just on the edge of beautiful. He’d worked with her on several occasions over the years and knew she could have killed him easily. If she’d been at the cabin for a of couple hours watching him, then she’d wanted him to know she was there when he’d first felt her presence. Like himself, Zahara was a ghost.

  Xander gathered his thoughts by relighting his pipe, puffing and drawing the glow in the bowl. He let the plume of smoke circle him before he spoke. He watched as she pulled a pink straw from her jacket pocket and began to chew on the tip. He grunted to himself. What was he going to do with her? He wasn’t going back, at least not for another week or so. He damned well needed this downtime.

  “I don’t know why you bothered coming here. You know I’m not going back until I’m damned well good and ready,” he stated bluntly, settling on the porch steps.

  “Oh, if I wanted to take you back, I could take you back.” She grinned in a challenge. This caused Xander to snort with amusement at her cheeky declaration. She always thought too highly of herself, though in all honesty, she had a right to.

  “Right, you and what army?” he said with a snort, then his eyes opened wide when she blew through the straw, a hard-quick puff. His hand flew up to his neck when he felt the sting of a tiny needle. He pulled out a small dart and looked incredulously up at the grinning Zahara.

  “You fucking bitc…” Agent Echo fell down the short steps to the ground, unconscious. Zahara laughed and shook her head. That boy always did underestimate me, she thought. She got up from the rocking chair and went to the door of the cabin and carefully opened the door. She leaned in and let out a breath, there was a control panel just inside the door. It was disarmed. She walked into the structure and looked around admi
ringly. The cabin boasted large windows and when she looked closer, she saw that the windows were bulletproof. She grinned.

  She turned away from the windows and went to the kitchen and opened the solar refrigerator. Reaching in, Zahara grabbed a beer, then tossed the cap into the trash. She walked around looking at the furnishings, which were mostly leather and wood. Well-made and comfortable. Above the large open room was a large loft area. She saw several bookshelves and figured she go check it out later and grab a book to read. Walking to the large fireplace, she kicked at the logs stacked neatly beside it. Beside the fireplace was the master bedroom. She stepped into the master bedroom and looked around.

  “Needs a woman’s touch, Xander, but I’ll give you kudos, this place is nice. I think I’ll like it here just fine,” she said to the empty room, her hands resting on her slender hips. She didn’t care for Agent Papa’s hideaway which was at a marina, it was okay, but smelled of rotting fish. Agent Lima’s hideaway was in the inner city of Chicago as was Agent Vector’s apartment, Zahara suspected that it was where the men had grown up. Not very imaginative. Agent Vector was dull and by the book. If he weren’t an agent, he’d be a great pencil pushing robot. Zahara didn’t have a hideaway, she preferred to drift the highways during her downtimes. She’d grown up in Atlanta, Georgia, a fourth-generation Turkish immigrant. Her grandfather had served in Vietnam and had come home with a few medals. Her father had served in Desert Storm and came home with a Purple Heart and a drug habit. Her mother and father had died before her eyes when she’d been five. She’d been placed in foster care after that and had been bounced around and abused until she turned eighteen.