This a fictional web novel
All characters, living or dead, and locations or events in this web novel
are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental
This a fictional web novel
All characters, living or dead, and locations or events in this web novelAll characters, living or dead, and locations or events in this web novel
are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental
This a fictional web novel
are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental
Chapter 10
The bottom land forests offered solace to Damian Siegfried. Solace and escape from Dungpileton where life’s roll of the dice dumped him in that wretched town after he garnered a position with the Texas Gulf Coast Complex as a wild land firefighter and maintenance worker. The roll of the dice also gave him custody of his young daughter, Sonya, after the psychotic break down of his wife and subsequent divorce. His daughter gave him the will to tolerate the misanthropes in sector 4 where they resided but the seething anger endured, buried but always seeking a trigger point to emerge. Perhaps next week he would snap the neck of his neighbor, a gelatinous dullard who screamed into the night at his TV or strangle the next cart leaning ignoramus in line at Wal-Mart who couldn’t decide which brand of discount cigarette she wanted. Maybe he would kick the face in of the principle of his daughter’s school. The principal who skimmed so much from the school districts’ meager budget that children were taught not by teachers rather, they sat all day watching reel to reel projections of 1950’s era documentaries on the infiltration of communists in American society. No, the trigger point was today when he arrived at his daughter’s school to take her to tutoring lessons in West Columbia. He stopped his truck in front of a group of tourists whom the school allowed to visit in the hope of soliciting pity and more importantly, money after seeing the sordid results of a Dungpileton education. Screams gave him pause and sudden recognition within a faction of a second. They were the screams of Sonya. Damian exited his truck, barreling his way through the tourists to find the principal reassuring them the child who was dragged kicking and screaming by a man to a van was a commonplace occurrence; a sugar crazed side effect from allowing an Energy Drink company to sell its swill in vending machines within the school. Nearby, a Dungpileton police officer in his squad car was passed out in a food coma after binging on a box of donuts. The sight of Damian’s daughter, the girl attempting to kick the groin of her assailant, ignited a primal rage in him. The span of twenty meters was covered in a blur followed by a barrage of fists that turned the assailant’s face to bloody hamburger within seconds. Damian stood over the man, now incapacitated on the ground, confident he had beaten him to death but then saw body movement. A resounding kick to the face left the man unconscious. Then to the horror of the tourists, Damian unsheathed his hunting knife to cut away the cloth around the man’s groin. The man never felt the severing of his penis or saw the reluctance of the EMS technician, Vince Santiago, to remove it after it was crammed down his mouth. Damian was arrested later that evening for attempted murder however, numerous cell phone recordings followed by 500 million YouTube visits enabled him to walk away a free man but his daughter though had yet to return from Michigan in the care of her grandmother. Damian took advantage of his time off from work to hunt for hogs in the bottomlands albeit clandestinely. He knew where the hog's den was located, stalking silently with bow and arrow at the ready as their snorting and body odors intensified. Then a splash, a cacophony of squeals and the reports of a high caliber pistol sent him running to the den area. In route he heard silence again and then another round of squeals and gun fire, then silence followed by a single squeal. He arrived to the flank of the male hog. It was furiously snapping at someone beneath it in a large muddy hole. That someone was plunging a knife repeatedly into the hog’s neck to little avail. The act of observing and deciding what to do was one second. Reaching in his quiver, notching arrow to bow, drawing it back and letting it fly was a fraction of a second later.
What the fuck have you done now?
Even when encapsulated in mud, Damian recognized the botanist but recognition came partly from knowing no one else could possibly find themselves in this bizarre situation. Damian stepped back as the botanist and Race came to their feet. The botanist responded to Damian’s question.
Oh, we were just finding out why someone wants to kill me and then we're going to stop a zombie holocaust in Dungpileton.
Damian sighed. He had come across the botanist like this before in the woods but left him alone with his vision quests.
Either you are still tripping from peyote or these hogs found you and your gay-ass lover having sex in the woods.
Race clinched his fists, shifting towards Damian but stopped abruptly. The drawing of another arrow was barely perceivable. It was aimed at his chest.
Not so fast pretty boy. I just saved both your sorry asses and now I want some answers.
The botanist reiterated his story but with more detail followed by a final explanation from Race who also showed his NSA credentials. Damian still couldn’t fathom an assassination attempt or zombie holocaust but seeing what Race did to the hogs gave him pause.
Okay, I’m not buying this whole zombie and assassination shit but I’m willing to give you both another chance to prove that even half of what you say could be true. Something is going on and I want in. Race is it? I still think both of you are fucking nuts but true or not, this is better than sitting back and rotting away in Dungpileton.
He held out his hand to Race. They shook hands.
No hard feelings about the gay comment, Okay? It’s just that I think he (gesturing to the botanist) has had one too many vision quests. Nice shooting by the way.
The botanist looked at Damian, raising his hand to extend a middle finger. Damian laughed.
You’re number one with me too. Now let’s get you two hosed off at the refuge.
On the way to the refuge the men detoured to the oak for the botanist’s clothing. Before leaving he placed his hand on the oak and thanked it for the advice.
Dungpileton, Sector 6
The House of the Rogue Botanist
All three men sat around the only table in the house. It was scavenged from garbage piles within the neighborhood as were the two chairs. Damian sat on a cushion on top of two milk crates. They passed around the botanist’s prized paraphernalia – a ROOR “Dealers Cup” 7.0mm green ice bong. The discussion turned to Darya Rachmaninoff with Race protesting the botanist’s plan to deal with her.
Let me get this straight. You are going to dinner with the most deadly assassin in the world and whose sole purpose it is to kill you? All because you think she wants you bad enough to give you sex before she puts a bullet in your head? Are you fuckin’ nuts?
The botanist replied in a matter of fact tone. Makes sense to me.
Damian watched both men argue. He was thoroughly entertained by this polemic exchange of opinions and wondered if there was a psychotic condition where two people enabled their same delusions. He decided to humor them but first asked the botanist about food because he was getting the munchies.
What is there to eat in this place?
Just chicken and rice and my special free-range hamburger for the dogs and cats. It's in the freezer. Do you want it?
Sure.
Damian made a sandwich of two fried patties then returned to the conversation.
Damn! This is the best hamburger I've ever eaten! So, What if she doesn’t kill you? Race said she is Grigory’s number one assassin and he’s uses that zombie parasite. What if she makes you a zombie?
He barely contain his laughter when Race concurred.
That’s right, all she has to do is serve him dinner with parasites in the food. Two hours later she can tell him to jump in the Gulf and drown and he will do it without hesitation.
The botanist knew this dilemma would be brought up. He had an answer.
We’re dealing with parasites here. According to you they first enter the digestive system before ending up in the brain. I can kill them long before they reach the brain by drinking an elixir of wormwood (Artemisia absinthium) before I meet Darya. Those little guys will swim right into a toxic pool of thujone and isothujone that will not affect me much. As an added plus we can let the rest of the elixir ferment to make absinthe. It’s win-win but just in case I have a backup plan.
Dungpileton, Sector 1
The House of Darya Rachmaninoff
Time: 1910
Race, Damian and the botanist surveyed Darya’s house under growing darkness. According to city records it was rented to her by the mayor’s sister. The botanist was meeting Darya in twenty minutes, enough time for the men to go over their plan one more time. Race checked the botanist’s voice transmitter in his Timex watch. It was functioning properly.
Damian and I will stay in the vehicle listening to you and Darya during dinner. If you can’t get to your gun when she makes her move I need you to delay her until we get in there to save your ass. If in the billion to one odds she has sex with you I want you to use the code word for us to move in.
What is it again?
"I like bondage" but don't expect me to say that right away.
The botanist drank a liter of the artemisia elixir then gathered a bowl of garden vegetables before walking to Darya’s house. Race and Damian followed him with binoculars. They only had a few seconds to see Darya before she invited the botanist inside. He wore his favorite tee-shirt depicting Dr. Who’s Tardis time traveling spaceship. She wore tight jeans with a tee-shirt of the Starship Enterprise. Its two FIG-5 subatomic unified energy impulse engines jutted out in front of her breasts. Damian quipped.
Holy Shit! If she gave me sex I might just let her put a bullet in my head too!
The interior of house was sparsely furnished, giving it a utilitarian appearance. There were no pictures on the wall nor the presence of little doo-dads, mementos or keepsakes that would indicate the resident planned to stay for a time. A table and two chairs occupied the dining room adjacent to a living room with only a couch and flat panel TV on a stand. Darya guided the botanist to the table, offering him a chair. When she entered the kitchen he reached down to feel his glock 9mm pistol strapped to his lower calf under his trousers. Darya brought in their evening’s repast partitioned on separate plates. She served the botanist’s favorite meal; boiled chicken and rice but replete with thousands of parasitic cysts. He positioned his bowl of vegetables in the center of the table. Darya took notice.
These vegetables look very fresh. What are they?
The botanist identified each one.
These are from my garden. This is summer squash (Cucurbita pepo), these are lentils (Lens culinaris), this is eggplant (Solanum melongena) and my favorite here – parsnips (Pastinaca sativa) is a plant related to carrots. Highly recommended.
When she sat down to eat, Darya confirmed the position of her .38 caliber pistol in a slot under the tabletop. Its chamber held one round with nine more in the clip. As the evening drew on she feigned interests in every topic the botanist brought up. The research for this assassination was time consuming and nerve racking. From Tips’ emails she realized she must memorize every episode of the Star Trek genre to understand her prey - The original series to Star Trek: Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine; Star Trek Voyager and Star Trek: Enterprise. It didn’t stop there; she wisely foresaw the botanist’s ramblings about the X-Files, The Walking Dead, South Park and Dr. Who as well as a litany of characters from Marvel comic books. The banter was nearly intolerable and only the botanist’s partaking of the meal gave her a few brief moments of salvation. She thought to herself that aside from killing the botanist the only other redeeming reward was a new found fondness for parsnips. The rest of the meal made her feel queasy.
After two hours of nearly intolerable geek speak Darya noticed a slur in the botanist’s voice and minutes later he stopped talking altogether, staring at her with a blank expression on his face.
Finally! You finally shut up. I was ready to scream if I heard another story about that insufferable Dr. Who. Now my little botanist, before you die I want you to tell me why your personnel file was void of so much information and why you are using the same security protocols as the United States security agencies.
The botanist complied.
Race Banner had most of my personnel files deleted from the mainframes at the Department of the Interior. He also helped me secure my computer's firewall to NSA security specifications.
Darya was astounded by this revelation. Here in front of her was a person directly tied to the man she chose not to kill in North Korea in her first year as an assassin. She was prevented from hunting him thereafter because Grigory deemed him an ally despite his assassination of dozens of her country’s spies and scientists. Now her insatiable need to stalk and kill her prey cloaked her fear of the thin man. Race was a traitor and here was the instrument of his demise by the hand of someone he trusted. She immediately formulated a new plan despite a nagging nausea.
Is Race at your house?
Yes.
Darya removed her pistol from the slot and placed it on the table in front of her.
You will take this gun and walk back to your house. When you see Race you will point this pistol at his chest and discharge it eight times. When he is on the ground you will discharge another round into his head. Next you will point the gun to your head and pull the trigger. Do you understand?
The botanist nodded then replied.
Before I leave, can we have sex? I like bondage.
The botanist’s face now revealed a coherent expression. Darya was stunned. She stammered, more from the pain in her abdomen than from shock and confusion.
Wh… wh… why are you not a zombie?
I drank an antidote before coming here that killed the parasites in my body. Now how about that sex?
Darya was now furious. She picked up her gun and pointed it at the botanist.
You will have sex with Satan for all eternity!
The botanist looked dismayed.
Not even a hand job?
Before Darya fired her gun a sudden, horrific pang in her gut cause her to double over and fall to the floor. The botanist rose from his chair, kicking Darya's gun away before sitting beside her. He stroke her long red hair as he explained why she was in pain.
One plant I always grow is poison water hemlock (Cicuta maculata). It’s in the carrot family with roots similar to parsnips and smells exactly like them. I don’t know what it tastes like but you do.
Darya writhed in agony. Her eyes were dilating and blood poured from her mouth as the involuntary chattering of her teeth chewed her tongue to shreds. The botanist calmly continued to described the biology of the plant and its other poison symptoms.
Don’t die yet my love; I’m not finished with our botany lesson. The main toxic alkaloids in water hemlock are cicutoxin and cicutol. They are neurotoxins that makes the body initially go into convulsions due to short-circuiting of yours brains’ activity. Your teeth chattering will stop soon because your muscles will become paralyze including the ones involved in breathing. The only known cure is consumption of activated charcoal or putting you on a respirator until the toxins wear off.
The botanist gave her a kiss on the cheek then stood up.
Now if you’ll excuse me it’s time for Dr. Who on PBS.
He walked over to living room, sitting on the couch to watch Dr. Who while turning up the TV volume to drown out the screams and moans of Darya. At this time Race crashed through the front door. He rolled, staying on the floor with his desert eagle drawn. Damian stood in the doorway aiming his bow but finding their target near death on the floor. Both men approached Darya, watching her laborious breathing for a moment until her lungs ceased to function. Her vision of the two men faded to black. They walked over to the botanist who by now was enthralled in his TV show. They wanted no part of his obvious sexual arousal by the site of the Doctor’s companion, Amy Pond. It was pointless to converse with him in this state therefore they spent the next hour pilfering through Darya’s personal effects for any knowledge that would give them an advantage in the upcoming battles. There was little to show for it. At this point Damian was starting to worry this delusional game of Race and the botanist had gone too far. He thought about killing both of them when Race called to his attention Darya’s Ipad. Race plugged a small device the size of a cigarette pack into its 30-pin power connector. It bypassed the Ipad's security , allowing him to access email of the thin man’s last instructions to Darya.
Darya, it is imperative that you eliminate the botanist tonight and Jessica Walters within the next few days. Failure will force me to expend too many resources and time to rectify this problem. We lack evidence to suggest he has the same martial arts skills as Jessica therefore, it is incumbent of you to make sure he consumes the parasites as a precaution. When he is a zombie I want you to reframe from killing him outright. There are questions that must be answered about the omissions in his personnel file and his extraordinary computer skills. His skills bare too much similarities to the protocols used by this country’s intelligence agencies. You may kill him after you obtain these answers.
Damian looked down at the floor then met Race’s gaze. His expression was that of a man who realized his world was about to change forever.
Okay, I get it. This shit is real so what now?
You stay put until I come back from tomorrow’s meeting with the Family’s representatives. I think most of my allies in the intelligence agencies are dead or in hiding and I’ll need all the capable help I can find to shut down this project and take out all the leaders.
Race and Banner returned to the botanist who by now was coming down from his sexual high over Amy Pond. Race knew he wasn’t finished.
Alright horny toad, go get your hooker fix because the biggest mission of our lives starts tomorrow.
The botanist concurred. He stopped to look at Darya before exiting the house.
What a shame. I think I’ll tell my hooker to call herself Darya instead of Amy Pond.
