Agent Zero

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Nothing, then. Sleep.

  * * *

  White light. An unfamiliar sound. He was off the bed in a heartbeat, the knife yanked free and ready for play.

  Holly, at the window, turned slowly. It was her opening the drapes and eerie directionless snowlight pouring into the room, not any threat, and she looked slow because he was moving much faster than even an agent should.

  Reese stopped dead. Blinked, orienting himself.

  Her hair, wet from the shower, was raveled silk along her damp shoulders. Wrapped in a towel, she was still steaming from warm water, and the clean lines of her long bare legs threatened to leave him breathless. Milky pale, glowing under the pale light, smoky blue eyes wide, it was as if she’d just appeared, angelic, offering water to a dying man.

  “It snowed.” Childlike wonder. “Look at that.”

  Uh-oh. “Get out of the window.” He stowed the knife, made it across the room in quick strides and yanked the curtains closed without bothering with the chain pull on either side. The mechanism resisted, and something pinged off in a different direction, hitting the wall with a metallic click. He ignored it. The parking lot below was full of featureless humps of white. It looked bad.

  The storm had run faster than they could. If he hadn’t been so tired last night, they would have had a chance.

  Goddammit. “Great.”

  She tightened the towel with a quick casual motion, the terry cloth compressing her breasts. Looked up at him, still wide-eyed, her collarbones so fragile and her neck so thin. Her hair was brittle, too. He had to feed her more. “Oh. I suppose it’s bad for driving, isn’t it.”

  “Yeah.” He stalked for the flat-screen television above the useless dresser—did anyone ever actually put their clothes in that thing, for God’s sake?—and tried to ignore the fact that she was incredibly, softly naked under a hotel towel. It didn’t help that he could see her in the mirror set to the right of the TV, or that her smell was all over him.

  Small consolation that he felt fully sharp now, too, in more ways than one. Mental and physical both clicking along nicely, now that he’d had some rest. He and the virus were still getting along.

  Holly paused. “So...what do we do?”

  It was jungle warm in here, maybe from the hot water. Or maybe it was just her, heating up everything inside him. Still, she’d said we.

  That was good.

  “I’m going to check the weather report, clean up. If it’s bad for driving, we’ll see. This part of the country gets snowplows out regularly, so that might be okay. We can’t stay here.”

  “Oh.” She absorbed this. “If we can’t drive, then what?”

  “I’ve been through this way before. There’s options.” His throat had gone dry, because the temptation to turn around and fill up his hands with her was well-nigh irresistible. “Put some clothes on. It’s cold, and you’re distracting me.”

  “Distracting?” It wasn’t fair, she sounded honestly baffled. Did she not get it? He’d done everything but hit her on the head and drag her into a cave.

  “Incredibly distracting.” He found the remote, clicked the television on, clamped down on his pulse. If you don’t want me tossing you in that bed a second time, get dressed.

  The sudden détente was still fragile, so he couldn’t say anything like that yet. But he could think it all he wanted, couldn’t he?

  Down, boy.

  The sound came on with a roar; he winced and turned it down.

  “—gripped by a sudden winter storm. The National Weather Service has issued a severe warning, asking you to stay home if you possibly can. With the forecast for tonight calling for freezing rain and two feet of snow reported in the metropolitan area—”

  He hit mute. The blonde reporter continued, blithely silent, her trained expressions flickering. School closures, power outages, all sorts of fun and games outside this calm little bubble.

  Damn.

  The percentages were bad either way. Staying here was risky; he wanted to be moving. Crawling along in the snow with a civilian to keep alive was bound to be worse, though, and the chance of a fender-bender or even getting stuck was uncomfortably high. Weighed against that was the persistent unease, lingering even now, when he was fully rested.

  He kept watching, hearing Holly move in the bathroom. No APBs saturating the airwaves. Of course, there could be one on the cop scanners, but the press would get hold of that. Which meant either they thought him dead—the gas, whatever it was, still might have some sort of effect—or they hadn’t halted the program and liquidated agents.

  If they hadn’t, well, guess who would be hunting him? Which made moving even more imperative.

  Most of the available options were bad. Time to pick one and hope for the best.

  “Holly?”

  “Hmm?” She peered out of the bathroom, a comb in her hand. Jeans again, and that same well-loved bra. No shirt yet.

  Christ. He told his hormones to settle down, hoped they’d listen. “Do you like camping?”

  “In this weather? Not really. But my dad used to take me out hunting with him.”

  Better than he’d hoped. “We’re not going to be in a tent, sweetheart.” Though that might be nice—you’d have to snuggle up to me.

  “Then where are we going to be?” A little defiance, as if she expected him to resist telling her.

  It was probably too late, but he could at least try to ease some of the tension. He tried for an easy grin, and found one. “Out with the wolves, little girl. Finish up, I want a shower.”

  * * *

  Fat, fuzzy flakes whirred down, clumping on the windshield wipers. Chains bit a layer of compacted and double-scraped snow, digging in—she hadn’t even asked why he had them in the back of the car. Being a bionic spy was being like a Boy Scout, maybe— always be prepared.

  In a whirlwind they had become a newly married couple from Hawaii, stuck in the storm and needing appropriate clothing. The concierge beamed at them and wrote down directions to a decent sporting-goods store in the same mall complex as a grocer’s. Reese put his arm over Holly’s shoulders and nuzzled her hair, and Holly’s confused blush was taken for something else entirely.

  The two-story hulk of sporting goods was full of camo—pink camo for the ladies—taxidermy displays, racks of guns behind a long glassy counter, tents, bicycles and everything else, and it was doing land-office business. She would have thought that the people in this part of the country would have already been prepared. She’d ventured to say as much to Reese, who had actually briefly smiled. “The locals are probably all getting toilet paper and French toast,” he’d said, glancing at a display of parkas before choosing a nice dark blue one with a fur-lined hood for her. “Eggs, bread, milk.”

  Her own laugh had taken her by surprise. He’d looked outright pleased for a moment before putting a pile of clothes in her arms and telling her to try them on.

  He paid with cash, and afterward the grocery store was pure havoc. Still, they made it out with six bags of supplies, and she was beginning to get the idea camping meant something different to him.

  Maybe she needed a lexicon to keep up.

  Finally, creeping away from the edge of the city along the freeway, Reese’s expression intent and serious, she decided to push a little more. “So you’ve been here before?”

  “Mmh.” Either neutral or affirmative, no way to tell. Concentrating on driving, he looked completely different from the smiling, obviously in love almost-klutz he’d shown the sporting goods employees. He’d done such a pitch-perfect imitation even Holly had fallen into the game.

  Which one was the real Reese?

  Or the real Holly? It would be kind of ironic if she was just finding out who she was now, with so little time left.

  “And we’re going where?” She fingered
the new gloves, lying in her lap. The car was jammed with supplies—where did the money come from?

  Money’s easy.

  She’d suspect he was some sort of con man if she hadn’t seen him move so fast. Almost blinking through space, and so quiet. He was heavier than a man should be, even a muscle-heavy one, and she had the bruises on the outsides of her thighs to prove it. High up, where he’d crouched over her, skin fever warm and his fingers clamped around her wrists.

  She bruised more and more easily nowadays. And this morning, combing her hair, more of it was falling out.

  Reese had a knife, and she hadn’t even known before she woke him up. Plus, the unsettling vision of two dark blots on her apartment floor, souls fled and that awful reek, sort of put paid to the notion of con man, too.

  Or gave it a more disturbing edge. Which would be better—con man or superspy?

  Jeez, Holly, you sure know how to pick them. First Phillip, now this. Except they were as different as night and day.

  Reese glanced at her, a brief flick of dark eyes, and returned his attention to the road. “There’s a cabin.”

  “A cabin.” She flipped the gloves over, ran her fingers along the stitching. “Okay.”

  “We should get there before the freezing rain hits. The approaches are pretty easy to cover out there, and there’s—”

  Just hold on a second. “Wait. Whose cabin is it?”

  “Mine.”

  “Yours? Then why were we—”

  “Or more precisely, one of my identities’. They trained us to stick our noses in, cover contingencies, make plans—”

  Us. “So there’s more like you.” Great.

  “Probably not nearly as nice as me.”

  “Or as charming. You outright flirted with that girl at the register.”

  “Which one?”

  The one with the nose ring. “Can you tell them apart?”

  “Are you jealous?”

  It was almost like trading wisecracks over the counter. At least he could keep up. “Well, we are supposed to be married.”

  A ghost of a smile. “Holly, I’m trying to drive. You’re distracting me.”

  “In what way?”

  “Pretty much every way.”

  Good. She tried not to feel pleased. “How many are there like you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t—”

  “The last thing they’d want was us comparing notes, especially with that casualty rate for the infection.”

  Now there was something new. “Infection?” And he’d said something about the little bastards.

  Was he...sick...too?

  “Holly, please.”

  No, I’m not going to let that one go. “What kind of infection?”

  “I’m trying to drive.”

  “What kind of infection?”

  He eased down an exit, a snowplow rearing in front of them and sliding away, heading majestically for what looked like a ditch. Miraculously, the huge machine labored and chugged over a bridge that looked built of stone matchsticks, and a gorge opened up on either side of it. Fortunately, Reese turned off on another scraped road, creeping around a long slow curve that was probably a lot of fun when it wasn’t snowing so fast the windshield almost clotted up. His mouth thinned a little. “I will tell you everything you want to know when we get to the cabin. For right now, just let me work. Please.”

  You didn’t mention “infection” before. “Are you contagious?”

  “What? Of course not, you think they’d let me live offbase if I was? Dammit, Holly, please.”

  At least he didn’t sound too irritated. Now she had a little more information, too. Infection. Little buggers. He changes the subject whenever it comes up, whatever they did to him. You don’t walk again after your spine gets broken, but he can go through metal detectors.

  It was like quizzing Phillip, trying to put together symptoms and coming up with a diagnosis.

  Was Reese sick? He seemed pretty healthy. Except maybe emotionally, but she was one to talk, right? As a coping mechanism, isolating herself hadn’t worked very well at all. People kept creeping in, even when you built yourself a shell.

  She decided to try another tack. “What do I smell like?”

  “Hmm? Oh. It changes. When I’m hungry, it’s food. When I’m not, it’s...other things. But always good. You smell...good.”

  “Like food?” Well, yeah, working in a diner will do that to you.

  “Not just any food. You know cravings, right? They hit, and all you can think of is how you want, oh, maybe a slice of pie. Cherry pie, not any other kind, you know?”

  “I smell like cherry pie?”

  “No, you smell like...” He feathered the brake as the car glided around a corner. The houses spaced themselves farther and farther apart, barns and barbed-wire fences hunching against the cold. It was amazing, how soon city fell away. Maybe they just built them smaller this far west.

  Keep him talking, Holly. “How many identities do you have?”

  “A few.”

  “How many is a few?”

  He goosed the accelerator as they started to slide, chains making a hissing rasp. The car righted itself, as if it had never meant to stumble. “Enough to keep you safe, but I do need you to let me drive.”

  Well. It was more than she’d had before. Holly gazed out the window. The infinite sky that meant snow was changing, shading by degrees into a dull beaten-iron pall. It looked nasty.

  Enough to keep you safe. He kept saying things like that. It was enough to make a woman feel charitable.

  Waking up this morning, finding his arm around her and him stretched out on top of the covers, realizing just how strong he was...and that he hadn’t, well, done anything. He’d even still had his shoes on this morning, for God’s sake.

  I’m not a hero...the only time I feel real is when I’m looking at you.

  How could someone so competent be so inwardly shy and clumsy? Of course, if he had grown up in institutions, he was probably lacking a lot of Real Life Experience. She probably had enough for both of them, though. Who was really the naive one here?

  The houses became just dots, the barns more ramshackle. The road worsened, and they crept onto a two-lane highway behind a snowplow that lit the windshield with flashing amber. It wasn’t even noon yet, but the light was failing. That gray pall was moving in quickly. There was nothing to stop it but the mountains bunching up in the distance, and it occurred to her that maybe he’d been making for this place all along.

  “Were you heading here from the beginning?”

  “I chose this route because it had options along the way, and this weather’s been threatening for a couple days now. We’re going to get over the border, just not as soon as I’d hoped. This is the next best thing.”

  “Are you sure?” After all, you are the expert here. Her nose itched, and she was heartily tired of fast food.

  “Absolutely.” He sounded very definite, so she relaxed fractionally. The radio burbled softly, an AM weather station giving passionless reports with a list of unfamiliar place-names. Reese touched the volume knob, turning it up just a little, and Holly took a deep breath.

  There was, really, nothing else she could do.

  * * *

  His memory was still good; he stayed on the road more by feel than anything else. The place was defensible, and the road up to it was a bit dicey, but the sedan gave it a good shot. At least they didn’t have to hike in—after the freeze hit, he didn’t want to be trekking back and forth carrying supplies.

  They bounced to a stop just as the chain on the front left tire gave up and flung itself free with a metallic squeal that made Holly start, and the sudden jolt of fear through her glands was enough to make his stomach turn over
. Being so close for so long made him sensitive to every small change in her.

  So he tried to sound reassuring. “It’s all right. Just a chain. Doesn’t feel like it popped the tire. Stay here.”

  “Is that the cabin?” Did she sound disappointed? What had she expected?

  It was small, with a steeply pitched roof, and under a cap of heavy wet snow that was going to freeze solid soon its dark windows were empty holes. All glass intact, though, that was good. A shack of a shed would be leaning against the north side, ready to hide the car if he could get it back there. The pumphouse tucked in the angle right next to it was also hidden, and the cabin was longer than it looked, but still. Maybe she was disappointed. There was a whole lot for her to be disappointed about, starting with Reese and the mess he’d made of her quiet little life and beautiful apartment.

  Doesn’t matter. It’s safe, at least until the thaw hits. “It doesn’t look like much.” His shoulders were tight, and his neck ached from the tension. Driving in this mess was not his idea of a good time. “Once the fire gets going it’ll be fine. Better than a tent.”

  “It looks like a fairy tale.” She reached for the doorhandle. “I’ll help you—”

  His fingers closed around her wrist. Gently, but she froze. The engine was still humming right along, blowing warm air into the car’s tiny bubble of civilization. No need for her to get cold yet.

  “You’ll stay right here.” Very quietly. “Just in case.”

  “Just in case what?”

  “Just stay here, Holly. Okay?” He almost said trust me or even the crowning absurdity, humor me.

  “Fine.” She stared at the cabin as if it would turn into a billboard any moment, giving her a set of directions. “I should help you, though.”

  “You will.” Stay where it’s warm for right now, sweetheart. He couldn’t say that to her, though. It was entirely too...intimate.

  The trees up the hill had broken the force of the wind, and the snow wasn’t too bad here yet. He could taste the iron tang of more on the way, and the darkness of freezing rain would spread up as the system curled against the mountains. This hollow was pretty sheltered, and the fast-falling snow would drift up over the tire tracks. If a layer of ice accumulated, all the better.