Zombie Agent

by A. Giacomi

  He doesn’t exactly leave us with any comforting thoughts, but going into a zombie-infested ancient city seems to be becoming our new area of expertise. If anyone will know what to do, it’s Agent Williams and me. I am just hoping we’ll be able to get along for more than two minutes at a time. If we are to survive, we will need each other.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AGENT WILLIAMS

  When we arrive in Italy, it seems as though everyone is sucking each other’s faces off at the airport. It is true what they say about Italy: everyone feels exceptionally romantic here. Except for me. The sight disgusts me in my current mood. I blame my lack of enthusiasm on Eve, since she really tried my patience the entire way here. I just want a minute to myself, but with my mission being to “watch” her, that is going to be near impossible.

  Eve stumbles along with her luggage. She seems so incurably human that no one will ever suspect that she is truly part zombie. I don’t wait up as she tries to organize her luggage. I am determined to keep her at a bit of a distance. Instead of helping her, I decide to arrange for a cab to take us to our hotel. We will be staying in Naples until tomorrow, which simply means more time with Eve. I am dreading this, but I try to pretend that I am comfortable around her.

  Our car ride is blissfully quiet. We don’t even look at each other, and I almost forget she’s sitting right next to me until the cab halts in front of our hotel and we awkwardly gesture towards each other to head out first. It is a strange dance of, “You go ahead,” “No, you,” until she finally decides to exit the car.

  When I catch the first glimpse of our hotel, I am blown away. It is not at all like any of the hotels I am used to; this is, in fact, a palace. They call it the Palazzo Caracciolo, and if I could pronounce it right, I’m sure that it would sound lovely. The bellboy gives us a brief history lesson as he carries our luggage to our rooms. The hotel was once owned by an aristocratic family, so it was, in fact, someone’s home. “Lucky them,” I mutter under my breath. I live in a facility, and even if I do eventually retire from my role as an agent, I will never be able to afford such luxury. At least I can enjoy it through a job perk. I am in Italy, staying at a palace, with a gorgeous woman I can’t stand to look at. Two and a half out of three isn’t bad, and I decide that I should probably lose the attitude for a bit and try to enjoy myself.

  When we walk into our room, there is a main living area that separates the two bedrooms. The living area has couches, a television, and a desk in the corner, and at the end of the room is a balcony. It is as romantic as you can imagine. The drapes sway in the wind, and as they part, I can see the city outside. It is simply breathtaking.

  I tip the bellboy, and he takes his leave. Eve shuffles about, trying to organize her luggage, and drags her items into the other room. I don’t offer to help because she truly doesn’t need it; she is the stronger one.

  I decide to have a seat on one of the sofas. I close my eyes and breathe in and out, trying to calm myself after the long flight. My peaceful state is short-lived as something unexpectedly smacks the back of my head. I rub the sore spot and notice that one of Eve’s shoes is the culprit. When I turn to look at her, she is furious. My hands begin to sweat a bit; perhaps she is hungry? I didn’t exactly have time to create a zombie meal plan yet. I raise my hands in the air sarcastically.

  “I’m unarmed. Let me get one of my shoes off if you want a real fight.” I think humour is the way to go, but I see Eve’s eyes light up in that wicked way, and I know it will only be moments before she becomes something other.

  I watch her closely as she breathes in and out like a dragon ready to spew its flames. I try a different approach; perhaps some sympathy will soothe her. “Eve, tell me what’s wrong. I can help.”

  She can’t answer; I can tell she is fighting an inner battle. Her head twitches from side to side, and she tugs at her hair. I begin to back away from her as her veins begin to turn a strange blue hue, so that they are now noticeable beneath her skin. This is how it always starts.

  My back hits the wall. I am out of space unless I venture onto the balcony. An idea strikes me as Eve begins to drool like a rabid hound. I step out onto the balcony and glance down. It is far enough that it will break some bones. If I throw her over, I will be able to save myself and peel her off the pavement before she can fully heal. It sounds like a win-win.

  Eve slowly stumbles out onto the balcony; she is fully under the Azrael Virus’ control now. She no longer looks human or makes any sounds even resembling human speech. I ready my hands to grab her, and she is equally as ready to pounce at any moment. There is no use reasoning with her now. Her hands reach out in front of her, and she rushes towards me with her mouth wide open. I use her speed against her and fling her over the balcony as I move out of the way. She growls as she falls through the air, and the eventual thud is loud and squishy sounding.

  My heart pauses. “Oh God, what if she hit her head?” I look over the balcony, desperate for good news, and there lies Eve’s body in a contorted position. I scan her face, which is still covered in blue veins; the head seems to be intact, and there doesn’t seem to be any blood below. I feel terrible, but I did not have another choice. She lies so still that I wonder if she will ever wake, but sure enough, limbs start twitching, and I know that I need to get down there before she decides to have a buffet meal at the hotel.

  I sprint out of the room and head downstairs to the Piazza where Eve’s body fell. When I reach her, I notice that she is already standing and analyzing her broken wrist. It seems a bit backwards, but she snaps it back into place without cringing. Her dead eyes stare back at me, and she looks from me to the hotel’s exit, then back again.

  “Eve, don’t do it. Eve, stay!” I feel as though I am talking to an animal as I beg her not to head out into the city. I can’t control her if she leaves my sight, and Vallincourt will have my head.

  I slowly walk towards her, trying to reassure her that I can help, but when I get too close, she pushes me down with a vicious growl. She doesn’t attack me; instead, she sprints off in the other direction. I want to go after her, but she is much too fast to catch.

  Instead, I decide to head back to the hotel room, which isn’t as easy as that sounds. There is a bit of a crowd behind me when I turn to look. Men and women stare at me with curiosity in their eyes. I have to tell them something, and all I can come up with is, “Lover’s quarrel. She’ll be back.” One man pats me on the back as I re-enter the hotel; I suppose he actually believed me and wished me luck getting her back. I truly hope I do but not for the reasons they think.

  Once I avoid the crowd downstairs, I sprint up to the hotel room and place a call to the local police about an insane woman running about with a knife. I give a description of Eve and mention the direction that she seems to be heading. Hopefully, they will take the call seriously and will be able to locate her; I have no way of knowing where she’ll end up since I stupidly decided to remove her tracker. Call it a moment of poor judgment on my part.

  I sit in one of the chairs in the hotel room and close my eyes for perhaps ten minutes. I have to organize my thoughts. If the local police can’t catch her, I will be forced to call Vallincourt. As I play out that conversation in my head, I hear a knock at the door. I leap to my feet and throw the door open. Eve stands there, her mouth dripping with blood, and she collapses in the doorway. My heart does laps as I scan the hallway for any witnesses; thank God no one is in the halls. I drag Eve’s body into the room and close the door.

  My first instinct is to try and wake her. I slap her cheeks gently and call her name. When she doesn’t come to, I decide to slap a little harder and shout her name, but still, she remains out cold. I decide that the next best thing to do will be to wash her. The blood strewn across her face and drenching her shirt will raise some eyebrows, so I drag her into the washroom, pick her up, and place her in the tub. I begin to fill the tub with cold water as I remov
e her blood-soaked shirt and toss it in the nearby trash bin. She lays there quite corpse-like. Her skin is pale, without the prominent veins that formerly gave her a blue hue. She doesn’t move until the water in the tub reaches her chin. Then all at once she startles and sits upright trying to catch her breath. His eyes seem terrified, like she just witnessed the most horrible accident. I stare at her eyes for longer than I would like. They are intoxicating, bewitching even, grey, green, and brown all at the same time. They resemble a supernova, and I am caught in their explosive light.

  The spell is broken when Eve starts shrieking. I try to shush her, but she can’t calm herself down. I jump into the tub with her and hug her until her screams become whimpers. When she seems calm enough, I get out of the tub and grab her a towel. She stands and takes it from me in an irritated manner then storms out of the bathroom into the living room. I chase her out the door. “What the hell was that about? I’m trying to help you!” I spit out at her.

  She turns around to glare at me, screaming, “This is all your fault!”

  Now my blood is truly boiling. I did nothing to instigate this response. I was a bloody saint towards this little brat, and I can’t wait to hear how this little episode has become “all my fault.”

  She shivers through each word she spits out at me, “Look, I don’t know what I’ve done to you. You’ve been giving me the silent treatment ever since I got back from Little Lake. I went to help my friend. I had to go. Don’t you get it?”

  I feel as though a knife hits me in the chest when she refers to Cameron Jackson as a “friend.” I know they were more—I saw that they were more—and that hurt me. Without thinking, I spit out words that I don’t mean to utter. “Friend? What kind of friend do you sleep with, huh?”

  Her face shifts from fury to comprehension. I’ve revealed something about myself, and I feel more exposed than a hairless cat. It is dawning on her that I was watching her, and it may have also been dawning on her that I care about what I found.

  She almost whispers her next question. “You were watching me? You were watching us?” She looks a bit mortified, and I am grateful that that is all she has discovered for the time being.

  I try to explain that it was the only way Vallincourt would let her leave his presence. He wanted cameras everywhere she went. If I didn’t comply, he would have retrieved her, and she would have never been able to help Cam. Eve seems to understand, but her expression remains that of shock.

  “So you saw everything then?”

  I nod in answer to her question, but I sense she has another one coming that will be more difficult to answer.

  She takes a deep breath and asks, “Is that why you’ve been so cold lately?”

  My words catch in my throat, and I retreat to the balcony knowing that I can’t win this battle. She sees me clearly now, and I am in danger of being injured in a way that has eluded me for ages.

  As I stand at the balcony, I almost want to toss myself over the edge. I pray that that will be the end of her questioning, but she inevitably follows me outside. The night air blows her hair around her face, making her look more angelic than human or zombie. Her eyes search mine as if she is trying to suck answers from them.

  Instead of speaking, she draws nearer so that the space between us ceases to exist. My heart races, and my breaths grow shallow as her body presses against mine. I don’t venture to touch her; I fear my own hands. She brings her lips to mine, and my soul sets fire. As her lips find mine, again and again, the force against me grows stronger. My hands come alive and pull her to me so that we can tangle and never part.

  None of this is a good idea. I know that she is under my protection, and this is altogether unethical. I know that she has just murdered someone out there in the streets, and the police may very well have followed her here. I know that she was with Cam just over a week ago, but all these facts blow away like dust in a hurricane of lust.

  I pull her legs up and wrap them around my body so that I can carry her back inside. She continues to kiss and claw at me as I race her to my room. I lose myself in her and care very little about the consequences; I only desire to find every inch of her before the sun rises.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EVE

  My eyes flutter as daylight begins to flood the room. Agent Williams and I are still tangled in a semi-embrace. I can’t escape, nor do I want to. It feels nice to wake up with someone beside me. That thought also leads me to think of Cam and how he used to greet me the next day with kisses along my neck and collarbone. He would utter, “I love you,” a thousand times before he would allow me to leave the bed. I feel this strange mix of guilt and satisfaction as I lay with Agent Williams. I don’t know him nearly as well, but I feel something for him that I didn’t know I could. Somehow, Agent Williams makes me feel like less of a beast. He knows what I am, and it is almost as if he likes me more for it.

  I know that Cam and I can never be, and perhaps I am starting to become okay with that. I am starting to accept the fact that Cam and I can move on and be happy again. Maybe I can find happiness with Agent Williams. Sure, he has a bit of a temper and is a bit of a stalker, but he seems to care about me, and it is nice to feel wanted.

  Agent Williams starts to stir and turns his head to greet me with a grin. He kisses my shoulder, and guilt fills my body again, making it rigid. I slide out of his embrace and start to search the room for my clothes and begin to get dressed. Agent Williams looks alarmed. “Is there something wrong?”

  I can see that the sudden distance alarms him, and I try to smooth it over with a smile. “No, I’m good, just chilly.”

  I don’t want to make things weird between us by sharing my thoughts. I don’t want to tell him that it feels a little like I am cheating on Cam, even though I’m not. It will take me some time to adjust to a new person, especially Agent Williams. I don’t even know his real name!

  “I can’t call you Agent Williams anymore.” I shrug as I look at him. “It feels so impersonal, and we just did something incredibly personal, so if you don’t mind, I would like another name. So…”

  I await his answer, but all he does is smile and move closer. He crawls towards me, grabbing my chin in his hand and pulling my lips to his. I forget my question and find my clothes leaving my body again. It is very difficult to question someone who is so gosh darn distracting!

  In a blur of limbs, it begins and ends, and I am left dizzy and grinning from ear to ear. I turn to Agent Williams, who wears a similar expression. Perhaps we will make a good match after all. He pulls me close to his chest, and I accept his embrace. He kisses me and whispers, “Marcus, my name is Marcus.” I smile into his chest. For some reason, the name is funny to me, perhaps because I can’t picture him being anything but Agent Williams.

  ***

  When the clock strikes ten, we decide it best to begin getting ready. Our cab will be here in an hour to take us to Pompeii.

  With our luggage packed and our bodies cleansed, we head down to the lobby to await our ride. A quirky little Italian man stumbles into the lobby. He seems a mix of Charlie Chaplain and Groucho Marx. He’s so accidentally entertaining that I want to giggle at the sight of him and clap my hands. The expression on his face changes from confused to happy to frustrated and continues to cycle through each until he spots Agent Williams and me.

  He waves us over and rapidly exits the building. Once we’re in the car, he explains in an adorable Italian accent that he isn’t allowed in that hotel anymore. Something about urinating in all the plants when he was drunk one night. He truly is a comedian. I giggle so hard that he continues to tell jokes the entire way to Pompeii.

  The taxi ride was roughly half an hour, and when we arrive, I am a little sad to bid our new friend farewell. I even give him a hug before he drives away. I almost think “Marcus” looks a bit jealous about our quick embrace, but I shrug it off since the thought is entirely lu
dicrous.

  We are set to meet with the curator of the Pompeii attraction, Luca Rossi, along with the eyewitness, Groundskeeper Mario Zattini.

  The curator greets us out front; he is the only visible person in the vicinity. I suppose they truly have closed the site until further notice. Mr. Luca Rossi rubs his hands together nervously as he greets us; his grayish eyes look quite small behind the frames of his glasses, and what hair that remains on his head sticks straight up. Sure, he looks a bit disheveled, but I can understand why. He is dealing with a possible volcanic eruption, his museum is unable to take in tourists, and to top it off, people are disappearing without a trace.

  Mr. Rossi decides that it’s best to start where the Groundskeeper found the missing bodies. We head over to a chunk of the wall where bits of rock seem to have fallen away. I can see the outlines of bodies, but none remain, not even a single bone.

  Small pieces of rock cover the ground as though bodies busted through the rock onto the other side. Those were some strong zombies. As we are analyzing the area, a rather large man appears, the groundskeeper, Mr. Zattini. He holds his hat tightly in his hands and greets us. Agent Williams has him recount what he was noticing in Pompeii. Zattini tells us that the moaning sounds from the rock walls have not ceased. In fact, they are getting louder every night.

  We ask Mr. Rossi if we can stay on site for the evening, and he is most appreciative that we will look into the matter at all. He is a little worried about having us camp out alone and asks if he can call some extra security for us. We decline, of course; we don’t want more people to protect or more people in the way. I will be more potent than a dozen soldiers anyhow.

  Our two new Italian acquaintances turn to leave, but Mr. Zattini turns back after a moment and decides to offer us one last piece of information.

  “You see, there is a laugh that comes around the corners. I hear it in the night. It’s a little girl. She’s here, I know, but nobody listens to me. She’s still here. I just no see her yet, but I hear her all the time.”