The Zombie Girl Saga (Book 2): Eve Brenner, Zombie Agent

by Giacomi, A.

  It takes me about twelve hours to run enough tests on the rock to be completely sure of one thing. Fire brings the rock to life! It is like an “on” switch.

  One of my lab rats died a few hours ago, and I was going to dispose of him when I concluded my experiments for the day. After examining the rock under a microscope for hours, I figure that I should simply toy with it and see what the outcome will be. I douse it with water, and nothing happens. I place it on different materials, and nothing magnetic transpires. Then it occurs to me to bathe the rock in fire. I am astonished to find that my formerly deceased lab rat stirs in its cage. He came back from the dead, but he isn’t the same rodent. He hisses and gnaws at his cage. I bring my finger close to him, and he nearly takes it off. My next test is to be a bit more gruesome, but I have to know if my formerly deceased rat is exhibiting zombie-like tendencies. I grab one of my healthy hamsters and toss him into the revived rat’s cage. He immediately devours the hamster, tearing apart its intestines first. It’s a microcosm of murder, which is more disturbing because it can be examined so closely.

  I throw liquid on the rock and hold it over the cage, begging the rodent to cease immediately. Oddly enough, he does. He is frozen, staring at the rock and trembling. The rodent retreats to the opposite side of the cage, as far from the rock as possible. I gaze at the rock with astonishment. It has dual powers! The red rock protects until it is bathed in fire.

  My fears have been proven. The red rock from the volcano can raise the dead when linked with fire. The dead seem to lust after the rock when lit, much like Eve did; she mentioned feeling drawn to it and had to retrieve it from the earth.

  Something about this rock also screams foul play. If anyone ever wants to make a zombie army, it will only take a small rock and large cemetery to destroy an entire city in no time. It is only a fragment of something larger. I have to find the source of this rock and why it has been broken down and distributed. This rock is an even greater weapon than I can ever imagine. CSIS will want it back, but I decide it best to keep it from their reach.

  Later that day, I tell Agent Williams that I lit the rock on fire and it dissolved. To say that he was a little upset that I damaged the evidence from Pompeii is an understatement. He was livid, screaming, “Dr. August, that was the key to all this nonsense! Something about that rock was extremely important, I know it, I just know it! Now, what do you expect me to tell Vallincourt that won’t put your head on a platter, huh?”

  His threat is not empty. He will let me burn for this. I know he will not take responsibility for my error. I simply hope they will let me off for this. I won’t give them the rock even if it means my life.

  After our little argument, Agent Williams leaves in a huff and I retreat to my room to hide the precious gem. The bathroom is the only place they don’t keep cameras, and I decide to tape the rock to the back of my sink. I pray no one will find it there. Eve has promised me that the other red rock is somewhere safe, and I have to believe it. If these stones fall into the wrong hands, we will all suffer the consequences.

  PART 2: THE NEXT PHASE

  One year later…

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  EVE

  Over the past year, I have been hard at work as an agent. I have seen some crazy shit. We’ve been to Xi’an in China, where dozens of zombies burst out of terra cotta warriors. We ventured to Petra, in Jordan, and found an entire city of zombies; we buried them within those red rock walls. Most recently, we went to Sparta. Soldiers were buried there centuries ago waiting for their call to conquer the world in their next life; I’m not sure zombies are what historians had in mind. Luckily, they will never find out. Marcus and I have become very good at covering up the zombie attacks. Society is none the wiser. The only problem is the destruction.

  So many beautiful cities have been destroyed rather than preserved. It is disgustingly tragic. I am constantly being fed the same lines from Vallincourt and Agent Williams, that it was necessary to rid the world of zombies, but they haven’t succeeded, have they?

  Today’s topic of discussion is how zombies are now infiltrating the United States. It won’t be long before they find their way to Canada.

  We sit at a rectangular table in a large room with metal walls. The ceiling lights make my eyes burn. Does it have to be so friggin bright in here? I can’t be held responsible if my eyeballs start to bleed out and stain the outrageously white meeting room table. I whisper to Marcus, who sits next to me, “What is with all this white bullshit, anyway?” He just smiles and pats my thigh, waiting for the meeting to begin. “Not an answer,” I mumble.

  Today’s meeting requires all the agents to discuss a “minor” zombie episode in Miami, Florida. The virus seems to be spreading randomly now. We aren’t sure where this individual became infected or if there are others. Not knowing the origin of the zombie makes everything more dangerous. Things are beginning to happen under our noses. I try to calm down, but all I can keep thinking is, This is how an apocalypse starts. If the CIA can’t keep a handle on it, then CSIS won’t be able to do much more, even if they do have an extra piece of weaponry: me.

  Vallincourt clears his throat and kicks off the meeting by thanking us all for being here. As if we have a choice. Personally, I’d rather be taking down some more zombies or working on a cure. I can’t help anyone from a meeting room. Instead, they decide to place me at a human buffet table. I honestly feel that this is a bit of a joke on their part. They really think it safe to have a zombie in a room full of humans? All they have to do is tick me off a bit, and I will work up enough of an appetite to finish off every single one of them, no doggie bag required.

  The agents continue to discuss a man who ate another man’s face. The CIA worked hard to cover it up as a drug-related incident. The news is reporting that the man took bath salts, and that this caused the attack. News sources everywhere are talking about the negative side effects of bath salts, and schools are being proactive, warning students about the dangers of this new drug and not to try it for themselves. Little do they know that this drug was never on the market; it was created and put out on the streets by the very people who promised to keep their city drug free! I sneer at the file in front of me as I read the report. The gruesome pictures within reveal what was left of the man’s face. Doctors are now working hard to rebuild him.

  We discuss strategies to observe more of our territory and aid the CIA with their current crisis. All of this will need to be kept under wraps. No slip-ups and no extra media attention. The entire world would be running scared if they only knew what lurked in their backyards.

  After our four-hour meeting, Vallincourt asks everyone to leave but Marcus and me.

  “Agents, I have a new mission for you. As you know from our meeting, zombies are now spreading across America, and the source is still unknown. We do, however, have a lead in Nevada. A few officers patrolling the Grand Canyon mentioned growls echoing from its base. There is a possibility that the zombies are being bred there. It is a large tourist attraction, and many people go missing there every year. The site fits the puzzle perfectly, but I need you both to go down there and check it out for yourselves. I promised the CIA that I wouldn’t intervene, and that’s why I need you to go incognito.”

  I giggle. “In-cog-nito? Sir, no one says that anymore.”

  He scowls at me without laughing. “I need you both to play man and wife on vacation in Vegas. It’s not a joke, Agent Brenner. We need you to remain low key.”

  I laugh even harder as he explains our cover story. I can’t help it, especially when he reveals our cover names. I am to be Eleanor Roosevelt, and Marcus is to be Patrick Roosevelt. I blurt out, “Are you kidding me? No one is going to believe those are our real names!”

  Vallincourt begins to roll his eyes, clearly exhausted with my lack of composure. “Yes they will, Eve,” he states angrily. “They will believe that a lovely patriotic couple is vaca
tioning in their favourite place in the whole wide world, and if they don’t believe it, then perhaps it’s a reflection of your failure to commit to the role.” He sneers at me and then marches out of the room. I stick my tongue out behind his back; it is the only form of rebellion that I am able to demonstrate.

  Marcus quickly finds my tongue and silences it with his eager mouth. We haven’t had much time alone lately, and we try to keep our relationship from Vallincourt. Unfortunately, he’s been a rather large cock-block with all his meetings and training sessions lately. But here we are alone and willing.

  Marcus finds the buttons on my blouse and begins to fiddle with them as he presses me against the meeting room doors. His heat makes me hungry, and I fear myself and my restraint. “Marcus, I’m not sure here is the best place.” But he doesn’t heed my concern. He’s too busy kissing any exposed skin he can find. I feel my body trembling beneath him but not in the way he hopes. I am beginning to feel less human, and it is so not the time!

  “Marcus, I’m hungry,” I whisper in his ear. He backs away and leaves the room, locking me inside. I’m glad that he didn’t hesitate, because it only takes mere moments for me to lose my mind and tear into the door, slamming my body against it. I feel a gash in my head form from hitting the door. Blood pours into my eyes and into my mouth. I lick it away and feel a pinching sensation as the wound seals itself.

  We recently upgraded my meal plan. Unfortunately, rats and animals aren’t satiating me anymore. It was inevitable, but I still hate myself for doing it. My desire to survive is much more urgent than my regret. Vallincourt promised me that all the meals are cold-hearted killers of the worst kind. This doesn’t make eating humans feel okay, but it doesn’t leave a terrible taste in my mouth either.

  A frightened man is shoved into the meeting room. I’m sure I look very terrifying. Marcus told me about how my eyes glow red, that my skin turns a veiny blue hue, and how my mouth opens unnaturally wide when I am hungry. To this frightened criminal, I look like a monster of the worst kind, growling at him and salivating as I examine where I might attack first.

  He isn’t a small man, but his fear makes him seem minute. His head is shaved, and he still wears his orange prison suit complete with restraints. Without his hands-free, he stands no chance against me, and he knows it. This is not a battle; this is an execution, and it is going to be delicious.

  I’m sure that people are listening on the other side of the door as I enjoy my meal. All they hear through the halls are screaming shrieks of terror and flesh ripping from bone, then nothing.

  ***

  The next morning, Marcus greets me. He wakes me with kisses against my back. I honestly thought the whole zombie and eating people thing would be a turn-off, but it never bothers him. He understands that I have to feed, and he never brings it up or questions it. He accepts me for what I am, and I appreciate him so much more for it. By this point, I have almost said I love you several times, but the words get caught up in my throat, and there they stay. I’m not really great at I love you’s.

  Marcus’s kisses eventually reach my lips, and he presses himself to me so fiercely that I fear I might attack him in response. It is a strange sort of desire that tears through me. He smells like the most delicious meal I can even fathom, and he also embodies something very animal and sensual. I want him to devour me, and I want to devour him. This inner conflict only makes the entire thing more pleasurable. As Marcus becomes more daring in his pursuit of my flesh, the door slides open, and a very embarrassed Jazz drops all of our fresh new towels on the ground. “Holy, sweet Jesus! Sorry!” she says as she spins to face the hallway. “Let me know when you’re decent, and I will come in.” Marcus and I are laughing hysterically as we throw on some clothes quickly.

  Jazz is the only one who knows exactly how “familiar” Agent Williams and I have become with one another. We don’t want to tell the other staff members for fear of judgment or disapproval, and I haven’t told Dr. August simply because I am too scared to know his thoughts. I want to believe that Marcus and I will be happy together, and I know that Dr. August will have something negative to say that will put doubt in my mind. I simply don’t want our little bubble to burst.

  “We’re decent, Jazz,” Marcus yells to her while making the bed.

  “Honestly, you two need to put a sock on the door or something. What if it was someone else? I’m sure you wouldn’t be laughing then! I would just appreciate a heads up. If I gotta see one more ass cheek, I may throw up.”

  I giggle and give Jazz a huge hug. She has become a close friend and confidant. I pretty much told her my life story. She is one of those people I simply trust, even if I don’t know why. I try to dislike her, but it is all in vain. The only person who is missing out is me. I love her stories about home and her family. It makes me feel better; it makes me feel normal somehow. I appreciate that.

  “Alright, you two. I’m going to put these towels in the bathroom and then go off and grab you some luggage. Vallincourt wants you packed and ready to go in an hour.”

  She leaves, and Marcus immediately attacks me again. “Marcus, she’s going to be pissed if she comes back and we’re at it again,” I say, slapping his hands away.“I don’t care,” he says as he begins to take off my shirt. “I love you.” I feel a jolt of nervous energy run up my spine and into my throat. No words escape. Instead, I press my lips to his violently, praying that he will simply melt under the weight of them. Thankfully, the heat of the moment takes us both, and words become unwelcome guests.

  ***

  We arrive in Las Vegas as Eleanor and Patrick Roosevelt. I can’t even look at my fake passport or driver’s license without laughing. I even put on a really hilarious American accent that only makes Marcus angry because he can’t stop laughing. He likes to be serious and professional on missions, but I have a hard time doing the same.

  Our hotel is The Luxor; it is closer to the end of the Vegas strip. The pyramid makes my infected blood bounce with terror. The last time I saw something like this was in Egypt where that thing bit my arm and ruined my very normal life. I enter the hotel with a scowl on my face; Marcus has to remind me to “lighten up” as we approach the check-in desk.

  The woman at the desk is a lovely Texan with ruby red hair. I try to copy her accent as she uses words like “y’all,” and she never used the letter “g” at the end of a word, not once. She completes the transaction by saying, “Let us know if y’all need anythin’. The staff is more than willin’ to help make yer stay as comfortable as possible. Y’all have fun now.”

  “Thank ya, darlin’,” I say in a very cheesy fake Texan way. Marcus pulls me away and tells me that she most likely thought I was mocking her, which doesn’t make me feel guilty. In fact, it makes the whole situation funnier, and I am laughing myself to tears the entire way to our room.

  Later that evening, we decide to hit up a nightclub. Marcus mentions that we should have a little time to ourselves and let loose a little since we are in Vegas. He makes a terrible joke about what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, which I completely refuse to laugh at because of its unoriginality.

  The nightclub is called Lax, and it is in our hotel, which is quite convenient. The club is luxurious and posh. My little black dress doesn’t feel Mrs. Roosevelt enough for the place. Instead, I feel more like a dominatrix, but Marcus says he likes it. I suppose there isn’t much to hate about a short skirt and cleavage. I catch him gawking a few times. Good! I think. Got to keep this boy on his toes.

  Through the flashing lights and fog machine, I catch a few women staring at my Mr. Roosevelt. I suppose rings mean nothing to hungry females. I hold him closer and give them a dirty look. They look terrified as I stare in their direction; I quickly turn away, frightened that my eyes might be fiery.

  “Marcus, are my eyes okay?” I yell into his ear over the loud music.

  He takes my face into his hands and stares into my
eyes as if I am the only person in the room. “Your eyes are fine. The rest of you is fine,” he says with a cocked eyebrow and leads me to the dance floor.

  We dance for about twenty minutes, and then Marcus leaves me to fetch us some drinks. I find a sofa to sit on and observe the dancers clawing at each other; it is like sex on the dance floor. As I watch, I notice a man standing by the DJ booth in a hoodie. I think it a bit odd that he is covered and even odder that he isn’t complying with the dress code. He is hiding something. How did the bouncers not notice the bulkiness under his excessive clothing? The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and before I can stand to stop him, he takes two large machine guns out of his pocket and starts spraying bullets everywhere. Bodies hit the ground, and those who have time evacuate. The man stares at me and grins. His dark smile is drenched with insanity. I see Marcus running from the bar and shake my head, begging him to stay back. I don’t need saving.

  The man in the hoodie holds up his guns and fires several bullets into my chest. The blasts knock me back slightly, and blood pours from the wounds, but I am not down for the count, not even close. He stares at me, befuddled, as I begin my approach. He decides to spray more bullets at me when he realizes that the first rounds have had no effect. When I reach him, his smile fades into a trembling frown. He is confused and afraid. That combination always tastes best.

  I grab his arms and break them. His arms fall limply to his sides as he drops the guns. Screams fill the air, and I inhale them through my nose. The pleasure of the kill is near. I lick his sweaty skin and then bite his Adam’s apple, tearing it clean out. I spit out one of his defining male features and then punch into his guts and pull out strands of intestines. I quickly shove them into my mouth, relishing their gooey warmth. He slides to the ground, as he is bathed in his own blood, still slightly alive as I smile with bits of his insides dangling from my teeth.