by S A Ison
“Looks like he doesn’t like the sunshine. Guess with those blown pupils, that sun kinda burns the brain. Vampire or nightcrawler. Take your pick,” Zahara said, stepping closer. The man once more lunged toward her but jerked back when the sun hit his face, emitting another shriek. She lifted her weapon and shot him in the forehead. The man fell backwards and didn’t move.
“No intelligence it would seem. Apparently a nightcrawler or zombie then,” she said and looked up at Xander.
“Why nightcrawler?” he asked, curious.
“Vampires have some intelligence. At least on TV they do. He is either a zombie or had a really shitty HMO. That bastard was dead. Do you think that’s why there’s no traffic? Something’s happened?”
“What, like genetic tampering? I’d seen a few blurbs about switching certain genomes on or off to stop aging. I’m not sure if it was at Harvard or the University of Arizona, they were tinkering with mitochondrial DNA mutations. Maybe someone was trying to re-engineer the ends of the chromosomes, the telomeres? Those die, the cell dies and can’t repair itself.”
“Wow, Mr. Science.” She looked at him and he saw her mouth twitch with humor.
“Hey, it’s our job to stay informed, especially if something can be turned into a bioweapon,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
“You think maybe this is some kind of bioweapon gone wrong?” she asked, nibbling on her lower lip.
“Not sure, let me turn on my phone. Let’s get back in the truck, in case there are more zombies. Ones that aren’t too particular about the sun,” he said, still reeling by the turn of events. What in the hell? That wasn’t real, was it? Was this some kind of attack on the United States? Had someone’s lab experiment gotten loose? Getting into the Chevy, Xander looked around. He pulled out his phone and turned it on. It took a moment for the smart phone to fire up and then he looked on the search engines for news. He swiped and found numerous articles about a virus and pandemic. International flight cancelations, riots, hospital closings and then he saw a series of videos. He pulled up one of the videos and looked over at Zahara.
“Look.” He leaned toward Zahara and she leaned into him. They watched several amateur videos of zombies chasing people around a mall parking lots, in the streets. The videos were poor quality, shot at night. There were screams and unintelligible shouts. They watched as the zombies jumped people, tackling them to the ground. Many had the telltale lividity on their limbs, though in some cases, it was difficult to make out much detail.
“What in the hell is going on?” Zahara asked, looking up at him.
“Damned if I know. There are articles about a pandemic and flight cancelation. Hospital closures. Let me look around a little more. Here, it says something, some kind of virus. Look, this article says a Level 4 lab was discovered in Iran, all scientist within, dead or missing, that was nearly three weeks ago. Looks like there are several conformations, though that doesn’t mean much, you know how rampant fake news is. Looks like something got out of the lab,” he said, looking over at Zahara.
“You think that’s what the big boys at work wanted from you? You think they wanted you to head to Iran? Why wait, they’d been looking for you for over two weeks? Why in the hell wouldn’t they just send another operative?” she said, shaking her head. She was right, it didn’t make sense. If they needed an operative for Iran, there were other qualified agents that could do the job just as well. Or, they could have sent Zahara, instead of sending her to look for him. Wait, she’d mentioned she’d been on assignment in Vegas, but she didn’t say what.
“Look,” she said, pointing into the tree line. He felt goosebumps ripple across his arms, when he saw three zombies, hiding in the depths of the heavy forest, in the deep shadows. They looked as though they shifted from one foot to another, as though wanting to come forward, but unable. Had they been the ones to attack the truck? The blood at the truck suggested the man had been attacked near dawn, when the sun wasn’t high. What would happen on a cloudy day? At dawn and at dusk? How many of these things were there?
“This is some next level shit. You think Iran was playing with some kind of biological weapon and it got away from them?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t doubt it. Our country is also notorious for messing around with viruses, genetic engineering and all kinds of fun things. Playing God. I can accept that Iran might follow along with China and North Korea. You might be right about something getting out. I wonder how widespread this is? Especially, if they are shutting down international flights. Should we head directly to D.C.? Should I call them?” she asked.
“No, because I won’t blow my cover over this. Let’s head to Huntsville, we’ll skip the gun show, if there even is a gun show now. Somehow, I think things are gonna get weird. Once we’re well away from this area, you can call. I just don’t want to be in North Carolina when you make the call.”
Zahara sat back and looked out the window as Xander pulled away from the truck and zombies. She nibbled at her bottom lip, her mind flashing with thoughts. This was some serious business here. She scanned the passing countryside with purpose now. They passed more abandoned vehicles, here and there they saw a body in the road or hanging from the vehicle. Xander slowed down and they looked at the bodies, but they didn’t get out of the truck. These bodies seemed fresh, the blood not as thick and dried.
“Should I shoot them in the head?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Xander.
“Yeah sure, that’s a good idea. I don’t know if these things infect the healthy or if it’s a virus like the cold or flu, but I don’t think it helps anyone if they get up and walk around. I’m not saying they’re zombies, but, damnit. I just don’t know.”
Zahara grunted her agreement and pulled her Sig Sauer and shot each of the bodies in the head. She sat back and they resumed their drive. It was eerily quiet and empty along the road. She wondered how extensive this thing was?
Ž
Bobby “Wheeler” Dealer stood in the large lot, cars as far as the eye could see. He’d built his car dealership from his father’s humble beginnings. He’d been a man on a mission when he’d taken the reins of the dealership and had built it into four dealerships all over Alabama. He had commercials going night and day and he’d amassed a fortune. He’d not gotten all of that by being weak. He’d also changed his last name from Dale to Dealer, just for the bragging rights of being Wheeler Dealer. His father had thought that he’d lost his mind. Twenty years later, Bobby was a millionaire and made sure everyone knew it. The millions didn’t do shit for him now, with all these damned zombies wandering around, unless he could hire someone to get rid of the damned things. He spit a long stream of tobacco out and watched as it landed on the head of a zombie. He’d shot the thing between the eyes. It stunk to high heaven.
He’d been on the phone all morning, threatening, cajoling and begging his employees to come to work, all to no avail. It didn’t matter, no one was stopping by, the streets were empty, but for the brave soul out and about. He cursed under his breath, guess no one wanted a new car with prime financing in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Damn. He dug down in his pocket and pulled out a small case and extracted a cigar. He clipped the end of it and then lit the cheroot, puffing and watching the end glow. He shifted the Glock 19 in his holster under his arm. He’d have loved to have worn a waist holster, but his girth was too large. He looked about his beloved lot and frowned. It was dotted with bodies, zombies. Damnit. He had to think, he had to salvage this, it had only been a week for Pete’s sake.
“Well shit, I forgot to swing by Reg’s place. Ah well, I’m sure the little wife is fine. Damnit. That was two days ago? I’m sure Reggie is home by now,” Bobby muttered and checked the magazine. He had a spare in his pocket. Damnit. He needed his people to drag the bodies away. No one was answering at City Hall, didn’t they have a plan for this? Shouldn’t someone be cleaning this mess up? Hell, he paid enough taxes and glad-handed enough of the local politicians.
Bobby was
a man who loved and craved attention and power. His set up here in Huntsville had been sweet for so many years. He had money, women when he wanted them, power and the respect from the local yokels. He was a big man and this pesky zombie bullshit wasn’t going to knock him off his self-made pedestal. His watery blue eyes scanned his parking lot and landed on one of the Hummers. He only had three of the beasts, they didn’t sell well, only to the indulgent rich. There weren’t many of those in Huntsville. He walked along the cars, running his fingers lightly over the shiny hoods and roofs of colorful vehicles. The scent of car infused the heated air, it was one of his favorite scents. But the stench of rot ruined it because he could get no one to come and take the dead away.
Where are the police? he wondered. Last week, the streets were heavy with police presence and the National Guard, now, not a uniform to be seen. He grunted and rubbed at his nose. The damned reek of these bodies. He shook his head as though dislodging flies and then realized that there were flies all around him. He batted angrily at them. He headed to the office to get the keys of the Hummer. Well, if the employees wouldn’t come to him, he’d go to them. He needed an army if what was happening was really happening. Now was the time to strike, when all the world was in confusion. Here was a rare, mighty rare opportunity! If this was a zombie apocalypse, then he could be king here. No police, no military? Shoot, he could make Huntsville his kingdom and rule all. He needed to secure the food and weapons. If this was the real deal, then in order to be top turd, he’d need to control everything and for that, he needed people.
Ž
Ethan drove his car slowly, weaving in and out of stalled traffic. He shook his head. It was late afternoon and he saw more activity around him but it was peculiar. People ran around him, some jumping from their vehicles and running into stores, their faces distorted with terror. Others running here and there, carrying their belongings and bags with children in tow, fear and confusion etched upon their young faces. No one walked, they were all moving quickly. He observed several people push heavily ladened shopping carts of food and his stomach growled.
“Shit, you’d better stock up on supplies, looks like this isn’t gonna end any time soon,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled into the market parking lot and got out. The daylight was edging down taller buildings making long heavy shadows. From those areas, he could hear groaning. He rubbed his arms, trying to smooth the goose bumps down. Danger sirens were screaming in his brain, they’d been with him the last few days, but soft and in the back of his brain. He checked his weapon and tucked it into the holster at his waist and pulled his jacket closed. Standing outside his car, Ethan looked around him. He detected the soft crying from women who ran to their cars, shoving bags of food and supplies into the back seats. As he walked past them, they looked up with uncertainty and fear.
He was nearly run over by a man shoving a shopping cart through the door of the store and he cursed him. The man’s eyes were wild with fear so Ethan left it alone. He walked into the store and all around him was bedlam. People ran up and down the aisles and grabbed at whatever their hands touched. He could feel the panic and fear as though it were a living, breathing creature. He saw a woman with two children trapped between her arms and the shopping buggy she was pushing. Her eyes were wild and rolling, her mouth pulled back into a tight grimace. The children looked as though they were in shock and moved like automatons. She was at the canned vegetable aisle and was putting cans of beans into the cart.
A large man blew past and then stopped, sweat dripped from his flushed face. He backed up quickly and started raking cans of beans off the shelves with his forearm. He rammed his buggy into the woman’s cart and knocked her and the two children back. The handle of her shopping buggy knocked into the little boy’s forehead and he fell against his mother’s legs. The large man rammed his cart again, moving the mother and her children backwards. Ethan felt a boiling rage consume his body and he pulled his weapon, even knowing he shouldn’t.
He walked up behind the man who was snarling at the woman to get out of his way. Ethan wasn’t a big man but he had a deep voice and he laid a hand on the big man’s shoulder and squeezed hard and placed the barrel of his weapon into the notch at the back of the man’s skull and spine.
“You got one more fucking time to juke her cart and I’ll paint the ceiling with your brains,” he whispered softly. He could feel the man freeze and stiffen beneath his hand and he jammed his weapon deeper into the back of the man’s neck.
“Ma’am, take your time and get what you need. This man here is just gonna wait. Aren’t you?” he asked and squeezed harder. He was satisfied with the rumble from the man. The woman’s eyes darted to him and she seemed to calm down a bit, though fear was still bracketed across her face. She nodded slightly and picked more cans from the shelf and moved past. She shot the big man a filthy glare and moved quickly away.
“Now, I’m gonna let you go and if you behave yourself, I won’t blow your fucking head off. I see you do that shit again, I won’t say a word,” Ethan hissed and tapped the man’s head with his weapon and stepped in front. The bigger man’s eyes widened as the smaller man stepped in front of him and he eyed Ethan’s weapon, still pointed at him. The big man’s mouth moved like he wanted to say something and hate filled his eyes. That caused Ethan to grin and he put the weapon back in the holster.
“You wanna give it a shot asshole?” he asked softly. The big man’s eyes narrowed and Ethen knew the man wanted to take a swing at Ethan but he snorted and then moved on and away, slowing down his rampant rush. Ethan chuckled to himself and walked over to get a cart. A lot of the shelves were bare and he sighed. He’d have to locate the garage and hole up near it so he could watch for Wilder, if the man hadn’t already come. He sighed heavily as he moved up and down the aisles and he kept his eyes peeled for the woman and her children.
He wasn’t sure how long this thing with the zombies would last, but he figured if he laid in enough supplies for the time being, he should be good. He still couldn’t believe he was calling them zombies. Shit. This just couldn’t be real and no one was answering in Washington. What was that about? Should he still hunt down and kill Agent Zed? Was this his own time to retire and disappear off-grid? He had the apartment in Chicago but he was sure the agency knew about that. He pulled out his phone and checked again. Nothing. No texts from anyone. He shoved the phone into his back pocket and moved to the register. He looked out the large window and saw that the shadows were longer now. He needed to get over to the storage garage to check it out and reconnoiter the lay of the land.
A few minutes later he was loading up his car. He kept looking around him, the groaning becoming louder, it had been a soft white noise earlier, but now, it was intensifying. Then his heart slammed into his chest when he saw one of the creatures lurching from the side of the building. Even from the distance and fading light, Ethan could see the shredded muscles hanging in tatters down the man’s arm. His clothing was black with dried blood. His shirt was hanging open and there were blackened gash marks across the man’s chest. The wind shifted and Ethan let out a hasty breath. The guy was rotting, literally rotting before his eyes. Putrid fumes engulfed Ethan as the man drew closer. The man’s eyes were white, all color gone. Ethan didn’t turn when a woman screamed. The thing before him jerked in that direction and the woman screamed again. He wanted to tell her to shut up, these things apparently followed noise and movement.
He sighed heavily and pulled his weapon and took aim. He drew a bead on the creature and shot it in the head. It fell to the ground in a boneless motion, the strings cut. The man was out of his misery and Ethan wondered if the man had even been conscious of his condition? Unfortunately, that shot drew more of the zombie-like creatures and he cursed in disgust. Going to the trunk of his car, he pulled out a modified suppressor and attached it to his weapon. As the creatures came within range, he shot each one and watched as they dropped. The soft ppfftt sound of his weapon’s report didn’t draw attention. Si
x dead easily and he looked around him. He ejected the magazine and shoved in a fresh mag.
He noticed a body laying by a dumpster and walked over to it. He could smell the fresh blood and looked down into the face of a woman, her eyes wide open and a scream frozen on her mouth as it gaped open. She had been pretty, but her face was distorted with the terror she experienced just before death. Her throat had been ripped open, the blood pooled and drying around her head. He squatted down and put his hands over her dead eyes and shut them. He felt her jerk and he jumped back.
“What the fuck!?” he snarled and he backpedaled. Were these really zombies? The woman sat up and the blood leaked down her neck and patted onto the ground. Her eyes looked up at him uncomprehending and she let out a noise, somewhere between a cry and a groan, sounding like a wounded animal.
“Lady, you’re not right,” he said and shot her between the eyes. Her body twitched a moment, fell and then she was still. He realized that no blood oozed from the small hole in her head. Yeah, she was dead and she was a friggen zombie. He cursed softly under his breath and turned away, going back to his car. There were fewer people on the streets now and he got back inside his car and leaned back to the back seat. He picked up a black cargo bag and pulled it to the front seat. Inside was ammo for his Walther PPQ 9mm but also for his other weapons. He replaced the used magazine with a full one. His eyes bounced from his weapon to out the window and around him. He needed to get to the storage garage and quick.
He checked the GPS and let out a sigh of relief, it was only three blocks away. He was again unsure as to why he had to track down Wilder first, surely Agent Zed was nowhere near Agent Echo, why would she? O’Donnell, had ordered him so here he was. Did they know something he didn’t? He again speculated that perhaps Wilder and Demir were having an affair. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. There were very few female agents and operatives in their line of work. He had to admit that Demir was a beautiful woman, but she was so odd and quirky and a smartass with a lethal tongue. He’d felt the bite of loneliness himself, but relationships were rare and it was the nature of their profession.