The Wilder Side of Z

by S A Ison

  “No, we’ll head south, then west. You got a baseball cap?” he asked, turning and locking the door. He’d already armed the security and activated all external and internal monitors.

  “Sure, why?” She was hopping down the steps like a five-year-old and he shook his head at her energy.

  “Facial recognition. I’m always paranoid about being spotted too close to home and in this truck,” he said, nodding to the deep blue 57 Chevy.

  “Yeah, I guess that would suck if you were picked up in this truck. They could do a search and figure out your nom de plume. Where’s your regular vehicle?”

  “I’ve got a few storage units over in Huntsville, Alabama. I switch out each visit. I’ll put this vehicle there, pick up mine. My Honda has false plates, once I get to Virginia, I’ll switch out the plates at a gas station. It’s in an area with very little traffic cams. I can then appear back on radar.” He grinned at her.

  “Damn boy, you’re good. But you do know that the agency has more than likely put a real time tracking device on your car? Hell, for all we know you’ve been chipped and they can track your body.” She laughed and climbed into the truck.

  “Maybe. If they did, they’d only get as far as Huntsville for my car. Somehow, I doubt that the agency would have the technology to actually chip us and try and hunt us down. Otherwise, they’d have just come here and gotten me,” he said. He placed their gear in the locked storage box in the bed of his truck.

  Zahara settled herself on the padded aqua bench seat of the 57 Chevy and looked expectantly over at Xander. She watched him as he looked around his place and she knew he was loath to leave it. She was as well. It felt like home, though she’d never really known what that meant. She’d never felt at home anywhere. She’d moved from home to home during her brutal childhood. It had taken her a few years, but she’d tracked down all her foster parents who’d abused her and she’d killed them. She’d been very careful, making each one look like an accident and had scattered them out over a number of years. She was skillful at killing and she was very imaginative when it came to executions. She’d executed those sorry bastards and she’d seen their fear as the light dimmed out of their eyes. She would have loved to have spit in their faces, but she could leave no trace of herself. It was enough to know that they would never harm another child. Wherever she went, Zahara made it a point of hunting down people who exploited and hurt children. She surfed the Dark Net and set up clandestine meetings with pedophiles and human traffickers. It was a hobby of hers and she found great satisfaction in it.

  She looked around the dooryard of the cabin as well and sighed then looked at Xander.

  “Yeah, I’m coming back here. You can bet on it, lover boy.”

  “Yeap,” he said simply and pulled the truck out and down the snaking drive, which was nearly a half mile long. She turned in her seat to look one last time at the pond. She really liked fishing and was glad he’d taught her. She’d also enjoyed eating it as well. She didn’t know how to cook, so Xander had prepared their meals for them. He taught her how to season and batter the fish and then fry it. She’d never been taught how to cook, had always thought cookery was some kind of mysterious alchemy with food. He’d been patient with her and she felt comfortable in his presence, more so than anyone else she’d known.

  Zahara had a deep distrust of people in general and men in particular. Betrayed at every turn. With Alexander, she felt safe for the first time in her life. Not so much with her physical self, she could easily defend herself, but with her emotional well-being. She watched as they passed several homes that ran along the road, she noted they were heading west, toward Highway 19 West. She leaned her head against the window and watched as the road sped by. She wondered why the agency was so hot and heavy to get Xander back and she wondered if they knew she’d not followed orders in Vegas? She hoped it wasn’t to retire him, she’d not want to be party to that. She’d never been called to retire an agent, she hoped she never would, since she just might not do it. That would mean she’d have to disappear. She was a faithful employee, to a point. Like men, she didn’t trust her government either. She trusted in no one but herself. That, she knew, would keep her alive.

  They turned onto the highway and she sat up straighter. She saw several cars abandoned. She looked over at Xander, who seemed to be in his own thoughts.

  “Hey, something seem a bit strange to you?” she asked.

  “Huh? What? What’d ya mean?” he asked, looking over at her. She smiled, with the ball cap on, dark sunglasses and dark beard, Xander looked like a serial killer. She almost laughed out loud. He was a killer.

  “Those cars we just passed. Someone just left them half in the road. The doors of two of them were just standing open.”

  “I don’t know, didn’t notice. Maybe they’d been out partying and just stopped and passed out?” He shrugged.

  “Maybe.”

  “Hey, there’s a gun show in Huntsville. You wanna maybe swing by there before we head up north?”

  “Oh, you know my heart.” she said grinning and clapped her hands excitedly.

  “I normally hit those on the way to my place in the woods, but didn’t this time. So, I figured, maybe we could do it before we head north.”

  “Sure, that’s great. Oddly enough, I’ve never been to a gun show. I usually get my gear from the Dark Net or Uncle Sam. Hey, look out, there’s another vehicle in the road. Damnit. It’s a delivery truck,” Zahara said and her body leaned as Xander pulled his truck to the left, avoiding the delivery truck that was sitting in the road. He slowed down and they both looked inside. Slumped in the seat was a body. There was blood that ran down the legs and pooled on the ground. Xander stopped his truck and pulled his Glock. Zahara pulled her Sig Sauer and both got out cautiously.

  Ž

  Agent Vector moved his vehicle through traffic, a cigarette hanging from his lip. To say he was angry was an understatement. He’d been on the road for over a week, trying to hunt down Agent Zed. He had bounced from the West Coast over to Vegas and she was nowhere to be found. He was heading back to D.C. when he got the call to head to Huntsville. He wished he could have flown, but with all the hardware he carried, it just wasn’t feasible and why Huntsville? He knew Zahara, knew of her work and admired her from afar. He had met her a few times in briefings but he’d not worked with her. He knew of her proclivities toward vigilantism with regard to predators. However, the powers that be were not as understanding and with the recent deaths of two long distance rig drivers, Zahara Demir’s number had come up, or at least that is what he assumed. One never knew with upper management.

  Ethan Moreno was a veteran assassin, having spent years in the field, but he’d never been called upon to take out one of his own. And to retire an agent for so trivial a motive, Ethan was not happy. He didn’t know the real reason and he more than likely never would. None of them were ever given the whole picture, but he knew of Demir’s hobbies and thought it might be the case. It wasn’t as though she’d left any evidence, far from it. They were two mysterious deaths. It was only that the agency might have recognized her modus operandi.

  Ethan had been given several leads to follow, apparently, she’d been sent to Vegas and then she’d been sent after Agent Echo. He’d worked with Wilder during the Djibouti assignment that had gone sideways. Both he and Wilder had done an exemplary job, it had been bad intel and the greed of a lobbyist that had sent them to Africa. Wilder had nearly died and he’d had a hell of a time getting them to the extraction point. Ethan had been deployed to take the lobbyist out, making it appear to be a suicide. The lobbyist, Blain O’Shea, had cost the agency a lot and though the agency worked internationally, this problem had been handled in house and in country. It had been a pleasure to put the little shit out of their misery.

  Moreno was now heading to Huntsville; he’d been given intel that Wilder’s vehicle was there. Apparently, the vehicle had been Lojacked, which told him that his own vehicle had the same tech installed and
that burned his ass. It was his job to stay invisible, yet the agency saw fit to monitor and keep tabs on its agents. Like he was owned. As a black man, that did not sit well for various and obvious reasons. Once this was said and done, he’d find another unregistered vehicle, so when he wanted to go off-grid, he’d be well and truly invisible. Combine that and the fact he was hunting down a good agent, he’d been in a bad mood for days now. Also, for days now, he’d been seeing a disturbing occurrence. The news outlets were calling them zombies. Zombies of all things. There was a new virus out and it was spreading like wildfire. People were told to isolate themselves if they felt unwell. As if that was going to happen. He snorted at the thought.

  It had reached a worldwide crisis and many of the international flights were shut down. That was one of the reasons he’d been pulled off his mission. He had been about to depart San Diego, he was assigned a target in Seoul, Korea, but flights were either being canceled or delayed. Many highways were blocked off and the police were scattered around. He’d seen the National Guard in some of the larger cities, but all were spread thin. He didn’t believe it though. Something else must be going on. Zombies, really?

  “Damned fake-ass news reporting motherfuckers,” he snarled to himself, as he scanned the road. Yet, he was seeing more and more evidence of something terribly wrong. He’d stayed clear of large cities, preferring to take secondary roads and he was rerouted several times. Again, zombies? It had to be something else. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it. It just wasn’t possible. This was real life, not some stupid movie or series. He lived in a world of hard realities. Most citizens would never know how deadly the world really was and how fragile their happiness was. Plots and schemes by other unfriendly nations were rampant. It was because of agents like himself and Wilder and Demir that the world remained in some semblance of balance and now, he was to retire Demir. Damnit. He didn’t like it one bit.

  Now this virus thing, which was said to be worse than the last one. He’d gotten a blurb of intel, nothing more. He’d not been briefed as to the reasons and origins of the virus; he’d only heard speculation about Iran or Harvard when he’d texted some of his contacts. When he’d queried work, he’d been told the standard, need to know. Last night, he’d seen disturbing evidence of these creatures wandering around outside his hotel room, in the parking areas. He’d also seen several unsuspecting guests attacked and mauled. The police showed up and they too were attacked. It ended in a blood bath, one police officer dead, torn apart, two guests were killed, one injured and three police officers wounded. Ambulances took all away. He’d planned on getting an early start, but after witnessing those events, he waited until well after sunrise. Again, his brain rebelled at the notion of zombies.

  He was on the last leg of his trip to Huntsville. The closer he got to the city, the more evidence he detected of the zombie people. If they were zombies, could they turn him? Would he be forced to break his cover by shooting these creatures, thereby drawing attention to himself? He was sure the agency would love that and he’d have a hard time explaining himself to the police.

  “O’Donnell would just love that bit of bullshit. I’d be retired right after I retire Agent Zed,” he said to the road ahead. And why did they think Agent Zed was with Agent Echo? Was there some kind of thing going on between the two agents? Shit, Wilder would blow his brains out if he tried to kill Zahara if he was actually banging her. Fucking micromanaging O’Donnell gave out information with a tweezer. Need to know.

  This morning when he’d called into work, he’d been shocked that there had been no answer. He’d called several other numbers, but was met with a continuous ring. He even tried O’Donnell’s personal cell, nothing. He’d also tried texting, but received no reply. This was disturbing. He’d never been met with this kind of dilemma. He had a bad feeling. Ethan raised his hand and rubbed his bald head in nervous agitation. He had no friends to call or consult. He didn’t wish to call his older brother. Robert was nearly twenty years older and was married to a domineering woman who eroded her husband down to a nub.

  He only spoke occasionally with Robert and had only visited a few times in his adult life. They were essentially strangers. He had no one to share his concerns with. He’d been a loner most of his adult life. He grunted as he tracked the movement of several people running along the road. Then he saw shapes move along the shadows of buildings along the street. His eyes narrowed. Were those really zombies? Or perhaps just really sick people, incoherent? Zombies weren’t real, that shit was only in the imagination and books. Yet, he caught glimpses of staggering people. They didn’t look rotten or anything like that. They just looked drunk. He grunted and sped up, swerving to get around an abandoned vehicle. Why in the hell were these cars left in the middle of the road? Why not pull over? Why not pull into a parking lot? None of it made sense.

  “Keep trying to convince yourself, man. D.C. isn’t picking up and all your contacts have gone silent.” He turned on the radio and switched channels. Some had music while others had nothing but static. One was a warning tone signal and the tiny hairs on his arm rose.

  TWO

  Xander moved carefully toward the delivery truck, his head on a swivel. He looked around, but saw no one and heard nothing but the birds that inhabited the surrounding trees. He noted the blood from the body was congealed, perhaps a few hours old. He noticed that Zahara was just as careful and she was looking around and behind. There were no houses near, only standing forest along the highway, it was an isolated stretch of road. The birds in the forest quieted, Xander glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten. There were no other cars on the road and he thought that was odd as well. In fact, he’d not seen another vehicle on the road since they left his cabin. The hairs rose on his arms, that thought niggled him and sent off warning bells in his brain.

  “Is it just me or have you seen any other cars since we left the cabin?” he asked, edging closer to the body in the truck.

  “Now that you mention it, no. Just those two cars, back a ways, that were half sitting in the road. I didn’t see anyone. It’s Wednesday, so I’m pretty sure people should be out and about. Did we miss something while we were at the cabin?” she asked.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” he said in a low voice, his internal alarm bells ringing louder.

  “Should I check my phone?” she asked, coming up beside him.

  “No, I can check mine. You’ll be pinged if you do. Mine isn’t registered,” he said. They looked at the body of the man laying inside. He lay across the gears and it appeared as though he’d been gutted. There were dull gray and purple coils of intestines spilling from the man’s shirt. One hand hung to the floor; it was nearly purple with settled blood. The rest of the arm was pasty white, where the blood had drained into the hand. There was a clear bite mark on the man’s arm and to Xander, it appeared as though it were a human bite mark.

  “What in the hell happened here?” Zahara asked softly, tippy toeing up, to get a better look. She stood just at the edge of the viscous blood pool.

  “Not sure, but check out the bite mark on the guy’s arm,” he said and pulled her sideways, so she could get a better look.

  “Damn, that’s a human bite. Did someone try to rob him? Why aren’t there any police? It’s pretty clear he’s been here a while,” she muttered, as she craned her neck for a better look. They both jumped when a moan came from the body.

  “Gas escaping from the body,” Xander said, grinning sheepishly. Zahara snorted, her face pinkening.

  “Yeah, I got that.” She grinned nervously and she looked around them, he did as well. Nothing, no other sounds or movements. They turned back to see the dead man rise up and Zahara gave a high squeak and grabbed Xander’s arm.

  “What the fuck!?” she whispered, her nails digging into his arm.

  “He’s dead, but damn, look at his eyes,” he said and pointed. The man’s face was leached of color and the eyes were fixed and dilated. So much so that Xander couldn’t see the iri
s, only the blown pupils. There was no emotion, facial animation, nor any indications the man was in pain.

  “What the hell? Is he dead or alive?”

  “He’s dead, look at the lividity in his hand, that blood has settled and he’s been gutted,” he said not taking his eyes off the dead man, the clear evidence before them gave his statement some verisimilitude.

  “What the freak, are we talking zombie?” she muttered and looked at him. For the first time, Xander saw just the tiniest hint of fear in the green depths. That shook him. Agent Zed was absolutely fearless. He was about to speak when the dead man shifted. He looked back to see both of the arms extended and the bloody fingers curled into claws. The man opened his mouth and a guttural snarl came out of his mouth. His dead eyes were pointed at them and his face contorted into animalistic rage. Xander placed his hand on Zahara’s arm and pulled her back a step.

  “I’d call you a liar, but damnit… I think you’re right and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think he’s a damned zombie,” he said with open mouthed incredulity. Clearly, he was dreaming or in some kind of nightmare. He was startled when Zahara slapped him across the face. It wasn’t hard or painful, just startling.

  “Why in the hell did you hit me?”

  “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t sleeping,” she said, scrutinizing him.

  “Then why hit me? Why not smack yourself?” he asked with no heat.

  “That would have hurt; besides, my hand is tingling. I’m awake. Anyway, don’t be a big baby about it.” She shrugged.

  “Hell, we’re damned well awake, that’s for sure,” he grumbled, rubbing his cheek.

  “Oh, this is some straight up weird bullshit. It has to be a prank of some kind,” she said and he could hear the stress in her voice. He looked at her quickly, she’d lost the fear and her mouth had flattened out in recalcitrant defiance, her small chin jutting forward. He almost grinned. They both looked back when the man snarled again. This time louder and he shifted forward, more of his intestines spilling out onto the truck’s floor well, making a wet splat sound. The pungent scent of bowel permeated the air. The man tried to lunge forward but when his head came out of the truck cab, the bright sunlight hit his face and he screamed in pain, his arms going up to block the sunlight.