Zombie Infestation Read online

  “You’re probably talking about agents Chris Freestone and John Jones. They’re a running joke in the bureau. Always wearing the same suits,” he said, his voice considerably warmer than before. “Drive as fast as you are comfortable. However,” he continued in a more serious tone. “Please get here as soon as possible. I don’t know what’s happened, but they’re as antsy as a cat in a junkyard of bulldogs.”

  “I’m assuming ‘they’ are the ones who want me.”

  “You’re assumption is correct. I don’t understand why you wanted to drive. However, Freestone and Jones said you insisted and wouldn’t be deterred. I thought you left already. I need you here yesterday. So, please, no tourist stops on the way.”

  “I take my work seriously, Agent Connelly. There are certain aspects I won’t leave to the mercies of the airlines. And they won’t let me pack them on the plane as a carry-on.” Let him think I meant my whole damn PC or whatever he assumed writers needed.

  There was a pregnant silence on the other end. “I see,” he said quietly. “If all your paperwork is in order, you should be okay. If there has been no leak, you’ll be fine crossing the border. But,” he paused and I got the feeling he worried about the leak he mentioned. “In case everything isn’t perfect. I think you should stop somewhere and do a little arranging before you go much further.”

  Unexpectedly, I found myself impressed. He was good. “I hear you loud and clear.” I’d have to tread carefully around Agent Connelly.

  Not that I needed his advice. I never left the guns for easy, casual search. I had false boards, and guns and knives taped to the inside of the spare tire. The damn doughnut didn’t do me any good anyway. I’d hike if I had to. Survival gear—never leave home without it.

  Thirty-some hours later, I pulled into a Motel 6, tired and drained from the grueling drive. I’d slept for a total of six hours at rest stops on the way, but otherwise, I only stopped for triple shots of caffeine and food. I called Agent Connelly after I lugged my overnight bag into the hotel lobby.

  “I’m here in El Paso at a Motel 6.” I spouted off the address my phone had given me. “You want to see me, come here. I need some rest.”

  “No problem. I’ll be there in four hours, sweetheart.”

  I stopped mid-step. Sweetheart? His voice had a funny ring to it. One I didn’t like. Not to mention he called me an endearment. I turned around, threw my stuff back in the car, and drove to another Motel 6 my phone had shown when I’d looked for cheap rooms. I dug through my stuff in the back, and carefully pulled out a fake ID I started carrying about a year ago. I kept it sewn into the side of my survival pack, along with large amounts of cash and jewelry.

  I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail to give me a younger look and put on sunglasses. I was the walking epitome of a character I had created for one of my books. Different name, of course. My cover persona was a college student looking for excitement in Mexico before heading back next semester. I grabbed a piece of gum and chewed it brazenly. With a light bounce added to my walk, in I went.

  I checked in, and bounced to my room with my pack. Once there, I called the number Blue Suit had set up for me.

  “There’s a problem. Agent Connelly is being coerced in some way.”

  “How could you possibly know something like that?” Screw the black eye, Blue Suit’s incredulity earned him a punch in the nose next time I saw him.

  “I’m not stupid. You know why my mystery thrillers do so well? It’s because I know people. I understand nuances and can read them. Agent Connelly and I spoke on the phone before, when I left Washington. He was all business. Then when I called to tell him I’m in El Paso, he called me sweetheart. And he didn’t acknowledge what I said or say anything concerning the mission. That good enough for you, mister Fucking Bad Information?” Pissing off the FBI wasn’t the best move when doing a covert mission with them.

  But, damn it! If they were going to use me, they’d better quit questioning everything I tell them. Otherwise, there’d be no point in going in for them. I’d go in for myself. I wanted the antivirus. And let’s not forget about the knockout drug. Somebody had to know something. If not the FBI, maybe the terrorist group would be more forthcoming.

  I could hear Blue Suit’s breathing on the other end. Slightly erratic and a little on the heavy side. Good. He believed me. He still wasn’t talking, though. Shit. Now what?

  “Well, ya’ gonna sit there breathing in my ear, or do you have a contingency plan?” Snark. Don’t leave home without it.

  “I’m thinking. Only a few people knew he was our contact. Your contact. This is big. I’ll get in touch with you later.” He hung up.

  Damn! I wished I’d called them on the hotel phone so I had something to slam. Instead, I pushed the End button. Not nearly as satisfying. I wondered what Blue Suit would say if he knew I’d changed hotels and identity. Too bad he wasn’t going to find out.

  I went out to the car and brought in a couple more bags. I’d prepaid on the hotel room for two weeks. I needed a place to keep my real identity safe. After hiding my real wallet in an air vent above the bed, I pulled out some of my business type clothes usually reserved for book signings, and put them in the clothes cubby beside the bathroom. I needed it to look good in case anyone legit—or not so legit—came snooping.

  I grabbed my survival pack and left again, putting the do not disturb door hanger on as I left. Sunglasses firmly in place, I resumed chonking the gum, and bounced out the front doors. I jumped in my car and moved like a college kid on her way to a frat party.

  I relaxed and drove more carefully once out of sight of the motel. Likely, no one paid attention to me as I left, but it didn’t hurt to be extra cautious in wake of Agent Connelly and the odd call. I pulled into a McDonald’s drive thru and grabbed a super-sized Quarter Pounder meal, no cheese. Sorry, Kinsey Millhone, but the cheese is gross.

  After I’d eaten enough to refuel, I called Agent Connelly back.

  “Hey honey,” I started, not waiting for hello. “I really want to see you. It’s been so long. Can I come see you now? I don’t want to wait four more hours,” I said, pure honey flowing through my voice.

  “Let me check with my boss and see if I can get away, babe. Just a sec,” he replied.

  I had to hand it to him. He was quick on the draw. I heard the muffled sound of a hand being put over the mouthpiece and a muted conversation. Sounded mostly male. I’d no doubt they’d let me come. They’d see it as a chance to get a helpless hostage. My lips spread in a not-so-nice smile. Wait until they got a load of my kind of helpless.

  I got out of the car, began retrieving my weapons from their hiding places, and stuffed them in my pack. Taking a peek around, I went into McDonald’s, heading straight for the bathroom. Time to change.

  “Uh, honey?” The agent’s voice broke through my mental checklist of where I’d wear what weapons today. “I can get off a bit early. Can you meet me at the McDonald’s on East Palsano Drive in an hour?”

  “An hour? That’s so far away.” I did the pretty, feminine pouty voice pretty damn good.

  “I know, but I have to finish up some paperwork on an old case before I can leave. Love you, sweetheart,” he said warmly.

  “Love you, too. Kisses,” I replied sweetly and hung up.

  I locked myself in the bathroom’s handicap stall and began changing clothes—leather pants, and jacket with their built in weapons holsters. My choker necklace with the knife carrier, a definite must. I desperately wanted to wear my main gun, but it was too bulky for hyper-sensitive kidnapper asshole types not to notice.

  I settled for a long Bowie knife down the inside of my leg, and a .22 in my inner coat pocket with my cigs and lighter. I had various other knives. Including one in my purse that I dug out. I wanted them to find it. The folding knife had a multi-blade and looked like the type of thing a woman with no real fighting skills would carry, as along with the can of pepper spray in the bottom of my bag.

  I had everything
I could carry on my person. I doubted they’d let me pack my whole bag into wherever they ended up sending me. Since they had a hostage, the McDonald’s was too public and I assumed my route would be changed at last minute to make it easier on them.

  I stepped out of the stall and ignored the stares of two teenage girls who looked at me in awe. Okay, not completely ignore. “You, too, can be like me if you stay in school,” I said in a deep voice. Me and my flippant mouth.

  They weren’t the only people in the restaurant whose mouths dropped open, their eyes bugging out. I couldn’t tell if it was merely my new look, or if they knew me and gum chonker were the same person.

  I drove to the other McDonald’s as instructed. At the appointed time, Agent Connelly, or anyone who looked remotely like the picture I saw of him back in Washington, was nowhere to be found. Surprise, surprise. A few people sat in their cars—young teens with ear buds on, a mother with a screaming baby apparently waiting for their order—but no FBI or terrorist types. None of them sat at attention or looked remotely alert. My phone rang.

  “Yeah,” I said sharply. Obviously, the put out girlfriend.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, honey. Can you meet me at this hotel instead? Here’s the address.” He rattled off the address and I wrote it down, as well as the room number. “That okay, sweetheart?”

  “Darling, I’m anxious to see you.” I lowered my voice, putting in a hint of sex for those listening. “A hotel is great. Be waiting for me, sexy eyes.”

  I heard more than one intake of breath. Good. I was on a speakerphone.

  I swore I heard amusement in Agent Connelly’s husky voice as he replied. “I’ll be waiting, with nothing but bells on.”

  I felt a skip in my stomach. He had a sexy voice. Nothing but bells on? Could he be naked? Not a good thing. Torture? Shit. I jumped out of the car and retrieved my Magnum surreptitiously out of my bag, no longer caring if they saw the bulge as I approached. There was a good chance it would be in my hands if I didn’t like what I saw when I arrived at the hotel. I preferred to be safe. Easier than being sorry.

  With great trepidation I left the parking lot and headed for the new destination. Maybe I’d overreacted and there wasn’t a captured FBI agent being held naked somewhere.

  I pulled up in front of a seedy hotel. Adrenaline rolled through my system. I double-checked the address against the one I’d written down. Yep. This was the right place.

  Gun out, I took a moment to scope the layout of the hotel and surrounding area. Two story, low-slung hotel in an average neighborhood. Convenience store, gas station, a couple of ma and pa shops, and an espresso stand. The parking lot wasn’t overly full, but still had too many people for my liking. I read the room numbers and found what I was searching for.

  I moved the car to street parking nearby. Walking with purpose, I went to the lower level hotel room and knocked on the door. I turned, looking at the road as a lover at a secret tryst might. I grabbed my semi-auto out of the coat and held it down at my side, a little behind my thigh. Ready or not, here I stand.

  The door opened a few inches. A woman looked out. She was beautifully dark haired—blue-black and the luster so strong, it screamed sex. And I don’t like women sexually, as a rule. Infected or Immune, that’s the question. Then again, if she held Agent Connelly hostage and tortured him, it didn’t matter if she was Immune. Zombie or not, I’d defend myself—and him.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said in my chipper college girl voice. “I must have the wrong room. I’m meeting my boyfriend here.” I turned, keeping the gun out of the line of sight of anyone from the front door’s angle.

  “What’s his name?” she asked in a deep, yet feminine, voice.

  I turned back to encounter the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen in person. I smiled wide, startling the other woman. Infected. Definitely Infected. The eyes of those with the Ultimate form of the Zombie Virus became luminescent. Not innocent and collaborating in the torture of an FBI agent. If I had to shoot her, it wouldn’t be collateral damage. Now the only person I had to worry about accidentally killing was Agent Connelly. I liked things easy. In. Kill. Out.

  I looked down and scuffed a foot against the stained concrete. Nonchalantly the toe of my boot landed on the door jam. It brought me closer to the woman. “His name is Joseph.” Head lowered shyly so it appeared I stared at my feet, I watched the woman through my eyelashes. I was tempted to shoot this gorgeous zombie in the gut. However, I needed to get more information before killing off the players, no matter how tempting I found it.

  “You have the right place.” The woman smiled. “Come in, my dear.”

  I smiled back. “What’s your name and why are you here?”

  “I’m Andrea. You could say I work with Joseph.”

  I could say a lot of things. That didn’t make it true. “Oh really?” I replied with a touch of feigned interest mixed with anger. “What kind of work requires a hotel room,” I added, a little—okay, a lot—facetiously. I stepped inside, working it so my back stayed by the doorjamb, hiding my Magnum.

  Once my eyes adjusted from the glaring sunlight to the dim hotel light, I didn’t have to pretend shock. Joseph sat tied to a chair, his eyes swollen nearly shut, his hands tied behind his back.

  “Joseph! You’re hurt, darling.” I kept up the sweet act with a tinge of anger. “Why don’t you take a shower? It’ll help immensely.”

  A quick smile flashed across his dimpled face—which had to hurt—white teeth shining against his tanned skin. “As soon as our guests leave, darling. I don’t want to be rude.”

  I turned to assess the other three in the room more closely, my back facing the wall as I made sure my ass kept the gun out of eyesight, . Two men and the woman. The men looked military. Crew cuts, at-ease stance, weapons at their sides holstered. Interesting. Unless I was mistaken, and it rarely happens, they were clean. No exposure, no immunity. Straight humans.

  I almost felt sorry for them. Until I looked back at Joseph’s face. “I’m sorry.”

  I adjusted my stance so Andrea stayed in direct eye contact with me. “My boyfriend needs a shower and medical attention. I don’t mean to be rude.” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “But can you do this work you never elaborated about later?” Whatever this thing was they were up to, I doubted they’d take me up on my offer. I mentally shrugged.

  Andrea gave me an unpleasant smile. Her eyes were flat. “We don’t mind if he cleans up. However, we must get what we came for first. Such a long trip to make for nothing.”

  “We’d hate to have you go away with nothing to show for it.” I jerked my .357 up and shot Andrea in the knee. The barrel of my gun shifted to the men. I stepped to the side, closer to them.

  I had to hand it to them. Their weapons were out, but they waited. For what, I couldn’t be sure. Andrea shrieked once, yet motioned her men back.

  “Our pussy cat has claws,” she said to Connelly before turning back to me. “You hit me in the knee on purpose?”

  “Yes,” I said without an iota of inflection in my voice.

  “Then I applaud both your self-control and choice of hits. If you were a man, I might suspect you shot me to distract the others. But I suspect you shot me because you deduced I’m the strongest. Who are you, really?”

  “Really? I’m a writer. I believe you asked for me?” I added, making a guess.

  The shock on Andrea’s face almost made the extra stress worth it. Almost.

  “You’re the writer? We said no agents.” The fury on her face was a sight to behold.

  “I’m not, nor will I ever be, an agent.” I let my contempt for the Suits come through in my voice. “I’m a writer who deduced early on that creeps come in all shapes and sizes, and took self-defense courses to be prepared.”

  “Unfortunately, this means I won’t kill you—today.” She jerked her head at the men still pointing their weapons at me. The men put their guns back in the holsters. “Be at the prearranged place tomorrow. I suggest you don’t try any
of your surprises once there. My boss isn’t nearly as nice as I am.” She signaled the men to leave before limping after them.

  I kept a wide berth and my weapon ready. As soon as our company left, I rushed over and cut Joseph from his bonds. He fell onto me. I gently pushed him up and took another look at him.

  “Grisly sight, I bet,” he said, a note of embarrassment coloring his voice.

  I appreciated his attempt at bravado. I liked strong men. “I’ve seen worse. Do you need help getting to the shower? And, in case you’re wondering, it’s going to sting. What did they want with you?”

  “You. Well, they wanted to know who the writer was, when said writer would be here, and why the FBI was taking so long.”

  I gasped. “I’m sorry. They did this because they thought the FBI was stalling?”

  “Partly. The FBI has a bad history of not keeping their promises with this group.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” I replied sarcastically. “Why did they want the FBI to procure a writer anyhow? I’ve yet to come up with a good reason.”

  “They’re military. Civilian contacts are trusted even less than we are by this group,” he said. “But, more importantly, I think the FBI is where they have the most powerful contacts to pull on outside of the military.” His last words were breathy. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I gently helped him up, using all my strength to support him.

  “Ouch,” he grimaced. “Two days on a chair put pins and needles in my legs.”

  “Humor noted and appreciated. Now into the shower.” I knew how embarrassed I would be if our roles were reversed. He covered it up well. I had my arm under his shoulder and he leaned on me as he walked. He pushed away to walk on his own too soon and nearly collapsed us both.

  If I hadn’t been altered, we would’ve went down. “Hey, tiger. Lean on me. You’ll get your strength back soon enough.”