Zombies of Dungpileton

All characters, living or dead, and locations or events in this web novel
are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental.  

Chapter 6

The drive from Houston to Dungpileton was short, 45 minutes south on Highway 288, giving Race one last mulling over of this most dangerous mission.  Most dangerous in that the enemy was the organization he gave unquestionable loyalty to from day one for the last 22 years.   It wasn’t a matter of killing a traitor or double agent, he didn’t know if he and General Langford were the last stand against total domination of the federal government by the Family.  His closes allies in the agency were incommunicado in other countries and none of his encrypted communicates to the regional goners were answered except for the rouge botanist.  It was a fortuitous coincidence the botanist resided in Dungpileton.   Race wanted to believe the botanist stayed in that wretched town for him but the agency shrinks had their own explanations.

Loss of spouse has precipitated the consumption of cannabinoids, opiates and other phyto-alkaloids, resulting in self-destructive abandonment of reality, frequent schizophrenic bouts and pent up rage for local municipality and citizens.

No one saw this psychological assessment again after Race removed the file from the Pentagon’s vault and destroyed it.  The exit to Dungpileton was followed by a six mile stretch to the outskirts of the town.  Race looked at the welcome sign and smiled.

WELCOME TO DUNGPILETON

WHERE DREAMS COME TO DIE

Houston, Texas

This one is a little more slippery but in the end they all end up in hell.

Darya read the personnel file of the rogue botanist.  For a federal employee there were meager leads to discern a behavioral pattern to stalk and kill him in a way the local authorities would consider it a random, opportunistic death resulting from a mugging or burglary. There was basic information such years in service, a periodic accommodation or the details of his benefits.  Nothing more.  It was almost as if the record was sanitized to keep his activities a secret.  This struck Darya as odd considering his heavy involvement in subverting oil and gas drilling on his refuge.  But how did an ordinary employee manage to manipulate his record in this way?  Darya’s people inside the NSA used their Cray super computers for a week to hack into the botanist home computer; running exabytes of 24/7 brute force hacking to break his firewall encryption but it was getting them nowhere.  Then a break came from the mass arrests of Anonymous hacktivists last year by the FBI and Interpol. They were all low-level operatives and for all their bravado on the internet the suspects quickly wilted under the prospect of spending years in prison.  Since the September 11^th attacks all intelligence agencies were required to symbiotically share investigative data with each other.  Darya’s laptop was programmed to receive data which mentioned the word “botanist” and this turned up in a vague confession about the leader of the Houston Anonymous cell, a Tip Holmgreen, and his association with a rogue botanist in Dungpileton.  Darya insisted Tip was not to be arrested rather; she would follow up on the lead.  The death of the botanist began with Tip and to this end Darya relied on his most reliable tactic – the propensity for geeks and nerds to lose every bit of common sense around a beautiful woman.  

Ensnaring Tip was too easy.  One week of house surveillance showed predictable patterns, one of which was a visit to Fat Boys' Burgers every evening for dinner.  When Tip drove into the parking lot she was there standing by a dilapidated Ford Escort, looking distressed and helpless over its failure to start.  Tight fitting jeans and a t-shirt with an anarchy “A” stretched by her breasts sealed the deal.  Tip waddled over to her with an inquiry that lead to offers of help and a prolonged conversation over burgers.  Darya feigned interests over every topic concerning computers, outer space and video game.  She hid her revulsion of his gorging three double meat cheeseburgers and subsequent dripping of grease and saliva which joined the other stains on his t-shirt.  When she felt the time was right she suggested they go back to his house to play War of War Craft. 

Tip never saw it coming, the sudden pang of contracting muscles from Darya’s Taser as they entered his bedroom.  When the convulsing stopped he was injected with Propofol, an anesthetic that immediately induced sleep.  After an hour Tip awoke, noticing his arms and legs bounded to a chair with duct tape and likewise, his mouth was taped over.  He was sitting at a desk in front of his computer and as he turned to look at Darya was abruptly slapped across the face.  Darya’s voice was now sinister and direct.

Mr. Holmgreen, I know it would only take the threat of torture to make you divulge the passwords to access your computer and files but I prefer an alternative method. 

Darya grabbed Tip’s jaw, jutting it up and jabbed a non-hypodermic syringe deep into his nostril. Pushing down the plunger, she released into his nasal cavity a fluid containing hundreds of cysts of the genetically altered toxoplasma parasite.  The fluid flowed down Tips’ throat and within two hours the parasites had emerged and were settled in his brain.  With vacant eyes, Tip looked at Darya and awaited his first command.  Questions were followed by answers for accessing his computer files and more importantly, his email conversations with the rogue botanist.  These were downloaded onto a flash drive for viewing at Darya’s leisure.  After this she paused a moment, deciding what to do with Tip now that his usefulness was over.  She reached into her purse, withdrawing a Smith & Wesson .357 Mag 8 shot revolver and placed it on the desk.  All her weapons were personally manufactured without serial numbers. 

She issued her last command.

Tip, when I walk out the door I want you to wait five minutes then take off your pants and underwear. You will sit in front of this computer and masturbate until you ejaculate.  You will then put the front of the barrel of this revolver to your forehead and pull the trigger until it fires.   

His only reply was a nod. 

Darya spent ten minutes wiping off fingerprints and adjusting the room to look like only one person was present in it.  Tips' Gmail account was closed and internet cookies erased.  She left his computer on with the monitor displaying a porn web site. Tip complied with her command after she departed for Dungpileton. 

Dungpileton

The email rapport between Tip and the botanist were silly to her – arguments about the best mind altering drugs, alternate realities and speculation of a future when space flight will take people to the farthest edges of the galaxy.  Finally there was a reference to the Houston Comicpalooza next week.  It wasn’t much but waiting for hours among geeks and nerds for one sighting of her prey was all part of the hunt.

Comicpalooza 2012
George R. Brown Convention Center

Houston, Texas

To fit in, Darya wore the trappings of Zena, Warrior Princes.  Her shapely figure drew hundreds of salivating gawks for several hours as she moved among vendors hawking posters, books, video games and every conceivable action hero figurine.  She studied the behavior of these attendees in internet chat rooms and web sites that catered to their taste in sword and sorcery, science fiction and horror films.  From this she surmised the botanist, at his age of 52, would be a collector of comic books and a Star Trek Fan with an old school interest in B movie monsters.  Knowing this was important to gaining his trust if he bothered to show up.  Her instincts told her the botanist would not be so gullible as to fall for a Maden in Distress ruse.  His physique suggested he didn't make Fat Boys' a routine dinner venue.  Taking him down would require a little more sophistication but in the end all geeks and nerds fell victim to her feminine wiles.  In the seventh hour she sighted the botanist looking through boxes of golden age Spider-man comic books.  Casually Darya moved in, pretending to look through comics beside him.  He pretended not to notice her at first because he was formulating a pick up line.  When ready he took a Spider-man # 32 from the box and showed it to Darya.

Thirty-two dollars for an Amazing Spider-man #32 in good condition, not bad. 

Darya turned to him, smiled and replied.  Oh, I love that issue!  The last time Doctor Octopus was seen was in Untold Tales of Spider-Man # 19.  And the way Aunt May was hanging on for life in the hospital had me on pins and needles until the next issue.

 

He was caught in her web.

Poison Ivy and my super power

My super power is that I cannot be harmed by poison ivy (Toxicodendron radicans).  I've read that 15-30% of people also have this super power.  Resistance can diminish with repeated exposure to poison ivy but after 12 years bushwhacking through it my super power is as strong as ever.  The "poison" in poison ivy is urushiol, a compound found in the sap.  Reactions to urushiol can range from itchy rash and blistering skin to anaphylaxis shock, even death.  People who react to poison ivy will have similar affects from mangoes and cashews which are in the same family - Anacardiaceae

I don't know how to use my super power for the greater good of mankind.  Perhaps if the United States is attacked by urushiol missiles and most of the government is disabled then I can take over and lead my band of urushiol-resistant super heroes to save the day.

                                                          Leaves of three, let it be!

                                  Tree hugging a water oak (Quercus nigra) with poison
                                   ivy creeping up its trunk.  Palm Unit, San Bernard NWR

                                  Biologist Roland Davis is a mere mortal who does not
                                  have super power resistance to poison ivy.

The Brazoria Palms

by Bob Harms 

The Brazoria Sabal Palmetto (Sabal × brazoriensis)

San Bernard National Wildlife Refuge, Brazoria County, TX

Until recently the palmetto population in SW Brazoria County remained a taxonomic puzzle. Botanists, even those specializing in palms, either tended to ignore this population or present speculations without compelling evidence. New genetic research by Douglas Goldman provides strong evidence that it is "a hybrid, but an old one, with clear genetic distinctiveness," with a validly published name, Sabal × brazoriensis. Goldman's work seems to confirm unpublished earlier work of Mark Brunell (Origin and relationships of the Brazoria palmetto (Arecaceae: Sabal) based on AFLP data), and suggests:

a closer affinity of the putative hybrid with S. minor and S. palmetto than with S. mexicana, excluding the latter species from possible parentage.

The possibility of Sabal hybrids had been around for a long time and was noted in Scott Zona's [Flora of North America Sabal article.]
The Brazoria palmetto is easily distinguished from S. minor (dwarf palmetto) by its often strongly costapalmate leaves^* and, when mature, by its trunk; from S. mexicana (Texas palmetto) by its small fruits (cf. fruit comparison). Evidence from juvenile ontogeny would seem to distinguish it from S. minor, S. palmetto and S. mexicana. The possibility of a connection with the wild Sabal population in Fayette County - never studied - cannot be ruled out.
^*Goldman notes that blades vary from "relatively flat to strongly costapalmate, the latter unlike S. minor."
The images below are of a Brazoria Sabal palmetto grown from seed from Brazoria County at the Rare Plants Study Center by Marshall Johnston and Anders Saustrup. The small palm from a 1-gallon container was planted in N. Hays County in the Texas hill country, in a constant seep with full sun in 1977. After that it received no care.


      S. mexicana —                       S. minor —                                    Sabal × brazoriensis
      strongly costapalmate         weakly costapalmate                         — strongly costapalmate

Abaxial (bottom side) view of the midribs of Texas Sabal species

The costa (midrib) is an extension of the leaf stalk (petiole), clearly visible here. Viewed from the top (adaxial) side S. minor, with its short midrib, typically appears to be palmate, since all leaf segments radiate from the immediate area of the hastula.

 Brazoria Palm (Sabal x brazoriensis)

Palm Unit, San Bernard National Wildlife Refuge

Dwarf Palmetto (Sabal minor)

Palm Unit, San Bernard National Wildlife Refuge 

                                                              Cabbage Palm (Sabal palmetto)

Zombies of Dungpileton

All characters, living or dead, and locations or events in this web novel are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental.  

Chapter 5

 Texas Gulf Coast Refuges.  Complex Office. 

Brazoria County, TX

But directional drilling one mile from the site will cost us another two month and over ten million more dollars!

Abigail Cheavers, the representative from Deliverance Oil and Gas, was panicking now, unsure where to go with negotiation between herself, her lawyers and the staff of the refuges.  They wouldn’t budge now that they were armed with biological and botanical assessments of the drilling site.  Assessments which determined the proposed drilling would severely impact breeding grounds for black rails (Laterallus jamaicensis) and dozens of flora conservation species.   Biologist Jessica Walters and the Rogue Botanist glanced at each other and could barely contain their snickering.  After two hours of negotiations Julia Sandoval, the complex project leader, was going in for the kill.  Ms. Cheavers, there is nothing more I can tell you.  If our biologists say the drilling site will harm critical habitat then you have to reach it by directional drilling from a mile away.  I might add that further delays through litigations could delay drilling for years.  With that Julia bid Ms. Cheavers a good day and closed the meeting.  Cheavers walked out to her vehicle in the parking lot, waving off her lawyers to make that dreaded phone call to the thin man as she drove onto a county road. 

Sir, I’m sorry to report that we could not gain access to the drilling site unless we directional drill.  There was a pause on the other side then...

What is the cost and time setback?

Ten to fifteen million dollars and 2 months.

I see.  As Cheavers waited for more orders the thin man punched in four numbers on his cell phone which sent a command to a microchip in her phone.  The chip commanded the battery to to send an electrical pulse to a tiny blasting cap.  This provided the necessary charge to explode one quarter ounce of clotrimethylene trinitramine aka C4 plastic explosive. The resulting blast completely blew off Cheaver’s head, sending scattered brains and bones through the shattered driver window.  Cheaver’s vehicle veered off the road and into a large oak.  The air bags deployed as expected, keeping the rest of her body intact for the coroner to identify later. 

The thin man dialed again, reaching a waiting man and woman in West Columbia, TX. 
Mr. Alexandrov, you and Ms. Rachmaninoff are to proceed with the mission.

Victoria National Wildlife Refuge, Texas

There he is, hacking away.

Jessica Walters honked and waved to the botanist from her government vehicle. She was towing a boat on her way to monitor piping plovers (Charadrius melodus) on the shores of the refuge coastline.  He paused to wave back then continued with his relentless extermination of tallow trees (Triadica sebifera), an introduced species from China that has overrun and smothered other plant species over thousands of acres of habitat on the Texas Gulf coast.  His preferred method was individually notching the bark with a machete then spraying in the cut a formulation of the herbicide Garlon 4 and a surfactant to promote uptake by the tree's phloem and xylem to the roots.  This ultimately caused rapid cell expansion and rupture.  During this time the botanist was in his own world, disparaging the tallows with taunts of seeing them in hell.  The summers were always oppressive with heat indexes well above 100 degrees.  This left him drench in sweat within thirty minutes.  It was not a job for a man his age but he mitigated it with chewing on leaves of the coca plants (Erythroxlum coca) he grew in his backyard.  The alkaloids in the leaves gave him the energy to cut hundreds of tallows in an afternoon. 

Jessica found an area to deploy her tunnel boat.  She was in the process of guiding the trailer and boat into the water when her phone ranged.

Hello, this is Jessica.

A male voice replied.  Hello, Ms. Walters, this is Apex security.  A lineman with Excel Energy has called in to say there are periodic power outages in your neighborhood which explains the triggering of the alarm system we monitor for you.  He’s working on the damaged line in your yard right now.

Should I go to my house?

Probably, because your air conditioning may not be running right and the rising temperatures in your house may affect your dog.

OK, thank you.

You’re welcome replied Vladimir Alexandrov.

Jessica walked back to her truck and drove to the complex HQ to pick up her personal vehicle.  Her paranoia has hardly abated since moving from Dungpileton to West Columbia.  Her black belt in Brazilian jujitsu and Glock pistol offered little solace considering the growing infiltration of criminals from Dungpileton.

Why did the security company only mention one dog?
 
A year ago she informed them she had two dogs that may set off her house alarm and they did not know of the recent passing of her beloved Buck.  Now there was only Maggie, her twelve year old medium size mix breed.  This thought faded as she reached her house and noticed a van parked along the curb in front of her house.   Seeing its Excel Energy logo she assumed the lineman was working nearby.  He was.  On an utility pole in the open lot adjacent to her house.  Sighting her, he climbed down.  He was a large, clean cut handsome man, easily 6’5 and nearly a foot and a half taller than her petite frame.  Jessica scanned his muscular frame through her sunglasses, noticing the company badge clipped to his shirt pocket.  His physique was easy on her eyes and he spoke with a southern accent reminiscent of her childhood home in east Tennessee.

Ma’am, I’m with Excel Energy and will be working on that pole to fix a blown transformer.

How long do you think it’ll take?

I reckon another hour.

That’s fine, I’ll be inside if you need me.

Again, her passing paranoia made her wonder why the lineman’s voice and accent was identical to the Excel rep who phoned her.  Inside the house Jessica greeted Maggie and turned on the radio to a country music station.  Her plans for today were a bust until her home power was restored.  Might as well clean the pile of dishes in the sink she thought.  She let Maggie out in the backyard to take care of business in the grass with the backdoor left open for her return. Her barking was attributed to the lineman on the utility pole who now was silently entering through the front door.
 
After washing dishes Jessica moved to her computer/hobby room.  On a small table was a half-finished stain glass project.  Picking it up, she admired her handiwork then noticed in the reflection a distorted figure moving behind her.  She spun around, flinging the glass towards Vladimir.  It shattered on the wall beside him, throwing off the aim of his pistol as he fired at her.  The bullet whizzed by her head, embedding in the wall.  From here on she was in pure adrenaline and instinct mode, rushing without hesitation towards him with another piece of glass.  She slashed his pistol hand, forcing it to drop the weapon.  In one continuous movement she kicked the pistol under the computer desk and spun around to land a punch fully into his groin.  As he bent forward she swung upwards with the end of her elbow into his nose.  Blood flowed profusely from the ruptured cartilage.  Vladamir's surprise from this retaliation was short lived.  He countered with a back hand to her face that sent Jessica sprawling back and falling to the floor. She shook off the grogginess and quickly crawled under the table.  He followed, stooping down to see the heel of her shoe smash into his jaw.  As he fell back, spitting out broken teeth, Jessica crawled out from the table and ran for the doorway only to slip and lose her footing on a pool of blood.  Vladimir was upon her quickly and once again a well-placed heel met his jaw.  Jessica knew she could not match his strength.  If he grabbed her he would snap her neck like a twig.  It was unlikely she could get outside to retrieve the Glock under her vehicle’s seat so the alternative weapon would have to be a knife. Regaining her footing she ran to the kitchen and withdrew a large carving knife from the drawer.  Turing around, she saw Vladimir in the kitchen doorway, brandishing a dagger with a 6 inch fixed blade.  He smiled, speaking through a bloody mouth and broken teeth.

Это заканчивает здесь Вас маленькая сука! (It ends here you little bitch!)

Jessica didn't understand Russian.  She frantically search for an explanation to this nightmare but none of it had any basis in reality.  She was not a knife fighter and didn’t have the angle to escape to the other door to the backyard. It was either fight or reason with this animal.  She was nearly hyperventilating but had to know why this was happening.

Why are you trying to kill me?

He arrogantly replied, It is the will of the Lord!  You and that devil botanist will burn in hell and a new kingdom of God will rule America.

So this was it, a fight to the death with a madman.  The combatants circled each other, thrusting their knives, searching for an opening at several kill points on the body.  Vladimir continued to smile, knowing size and speed was to his advantage.  He would toy with her for a bit more.  Now every missed thrust by Jessica was countered with slices to her arms and torso until her clothes were stained red and dripping blood on the floor.  She thought to herself, if this is the end then he is going down with me. With her knife she swiped blood from her trousers then licked it off and and called out to her assailant - Come and get me you bastard.  We’ll die together!

Vladimir was taken aback.  So much that he didn’t see Maggie lunge for his calf, sinking her teeth through trousers and deep into muscle.  Vladimir howled in pain, swinging his leg out with a snap that released Maggie’s grip and sent her flying into the kitchen wall.  The impact knocked her unconscious but the distraction was all Jessica needed.  As he turned around Jessica plunged her knife into his chest and through the heart. A look of horror accompanied his last breath as he dropped to his knees and fell face first on the floor.  Jessica immediately ran to Maggie who had regained consciousness and was limping but otherwise fine. 

Five patrol cars were at Jessica’s residence within minutes of calling 911.  The police were stymied as to why she was attacked and could only speculate it was another derange citizen of Dungpileton.  What Jessica left out in her statement at the hospital was the connection between this attack and the botanist.  It all happened so fast.  She would try to sort it out after her cuts were sutured.

Dungpileton

The conversation with the thin man was brief between he and Darya Ivakov.

No sir I won’t fail you.

Darya knew there was a problem with Vladimir's mission when he didn’t rendezvous with her in Dungpileton.  The police scanner confirmed her suspicions.  He was betrothal to her as decreed by the thin man but she was not in love with him.  She believed her two missions in life were to give birth to followers of Jesus Christ and assassinate the followers of Satan.  No matter this heathen atheist botanist didn’t believe in the Devil. He didn’t believe in God either so killing him would be especially delightful. 

KISS/Motely Crue Concert

I purposely arrived late to this concert at the Mitchell Pavilion  in The Woodlands to miss Motley Crue but not late enough and still the band play too long.  Their guitar riffs were amateurish and the singing was laced with excessive vulgarity.  Rock and vulgarity can work when it's done right but this was on the level of a 10 year old boy trying to impress his peers.  About 30 minutes of the concert was filler with gibberish rap or something akin to it.  It was as moronic as it came when lead singer Vince Neil lead the crowd in an insipid reply :

When I say Fuck, you say You

Fuck

You

Fuck 

You 

I can't begrude them though because this type of performance has made them millions since the 1980's.  Whatever works I guess.

In contrast, KISS gave the crowd a solid hard rock performance albeit short.  Probably because they were playing in Dallas the next night.  They opened with Detroit Rock City and closed with Rock and Roll All Night and Party Every Day.  Very little vulgarity and great guitar solos.  Just the great rock and roll showmanship that you'd expect from Gene Simmons and the band.   I noticed a generational difference in the crowd when KISS played.  The thousands of boomers stood up and rocked and the teenagers sat disinterested in the very back of the lawn to get high with their backs to the band.

I really love you baby
I love what you've got
Let's get together, we can
Get hot
No more tomorrow, baby
Time is today
Girl, I can make you feel
Okay
No place for hidin' baby
No place to go
You pull the trigger of my
Love gun, (love gun), love gun
Love gun, (love gun), love gun

You can't forget me baby
Don't try to lie
You'll never leave me, mama
So don't try
I'll be a gambler, baby
Lay down the bet
We get together, mama
You'll sweat

No place for hidin' baby
No place to go
You pull the trigger of my
Love gun, (love gun), love gun
Love gun, (love gun), love gun
Love gun, love gun

Love gun, (love gun), love gun
Love gun, (love gun)
Love gun, (love gun), love gun
Love gun, (love gun), love gun
Love gun, (love gun)
Love gun, (love gun)
Love gun, (love gun)
Love gun, (love)

Rock On!

 

Zombies of Dungpileton

Chapter 4

All characters, living or dead, and locations or events in this web novel are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental. 


General Langford looked down into the pit, helpless with the barrels of two AR-15s nudged against his back.  Beside him, the thin man smiled as the battle progressed below.

Race had the advantage of martial arts skill and free will over his approaching assailants, each wielding a machete and axe in their hands.  He thought speed would be on his side also until unbelievably, the Samoan was quickly upon him. He barely evaded the machete slicing down towards his skull.  Race hoped the brute would slow down if he could evade him for a few more minutes. But there were two of them now upon him.  He backpedaled, contorting, ducking to avoid a buzz saw of flaying weapons until his back was against the wall.  When he crouched to avoid another arcing death blow by the farm boy, the axe instead glanced off the concrete wall and sank deep into the thigh of the Samoan.  No howls of pain emanated but it was sufficient to hobble him, exposing his other leg to a thrusting kick from Race.  It buckled inward, shattered bones cutting into arteries and forcing the Samoan to the floor.  Race quickly snatched the machete from his hand, moving to the table to put it between him and the farm boy.  This zombie was slowing down but remained deliberate and had an arm length that could reach across the table.  His blows were parried with flying sparks but with a force that sent Race staggering backwards.  Again he was assailed with both axe and machete, blocking one, side-stepping the other but never getting the leverage to retaliate with a kick or close enough to use his machete.  The relentless assault threw him off balance and on the floor.  The farm boy charged Race, axe raised for a disemboweling blow.  Race sprang up to meet him in half swing, thrusting his machete deep into the man’s upper torso and out his back.  The farm boys’ momentum still sent both men forward until the lummox lost his footing and fell to the ground.  Race fell to his side, rolling into a crouch but the farm boy was now lifeless, a stream of blood flowing from his body towards the Samoan, now crawling towards Race with his hacked leg leaving a trail of blood across the floor.  Approaching him, Race picked up the axe and with a grunt swung it down with all his strength into the zombie’s skull.  It cracked open followed by a jerk of the body, then death. Panting, Race looked upwards at the thin man.  “Bravo Mr. Banner” was his first words to Race.  He ordered the scientist on the stairwell to release the stairs to the floor.  Race calmly joined the group at top level, dispelling thoughts of strangling the thin man when he saw the guards having him at a disadvantage. 

The thin man spoke.  Mr. Banner, your reputation has indeed preceded you.  Please, have a seat.  Race and Langford sat adjacent to each other, facing the thin man with his guards behind him.  The scientists had left the room.  Mr.  Banner, you must understand there was a need to judge your capabilities and loyalty to our operation.  You have exceeded my expectations and now I will inform you where we intend to go from here.  The thin man retrieved from his briefcase a folder of papers which he slid across the table to Race.

Race, if I may call you Race?  Race didn’t say a word.  Race, in that folder are your mission orders.  I’ll briefly touch on the background.  Our parasite variant is ready for dispersal in Dungpileton.  Your mission will be to facilitate it throughout the population and monitor the results.  Of course, due to the imprinting of the zombies on such a massive scale it will be necessary for you to work with other operatives to ensure they are present when infection takes hold.  Therefore, it is incumbent upon you to infect the citizens in a manner where they will imprint only in small groups.  Those two men you dispatched imprinted on me within two hours however, our labs have a prototype variant that will infect an individual within ten minutes.  You are to arrive in Dungpileton in two days to meet our operatives and devise a way to infect the population in a steady, controlled manner.  Any questions? Race stared back at the thin man.  He was successful in gaining some measure of trust with him but in this business trust was a weakness.  It made you let your guard down and more often than it resulted in permanent termination.  He could count on one hand the people he trusted with his life and that, more than anything had kept him alive.  His only reply was “no questions” and with that the thin man said good day and left the room followed by his guards.Race looked at Langeford.  Both were aware they were still being monitored.  In situations such as this they used benign, coded sentences which indicated where to securely meet. Well sir, I have my orders and only two days to prepare.  I wanted to take in a hike at Big Bend National park but that will have to wait. 

Good luck, the general replied.

Big Bend National Park.  Texas

There were five sites throughout the United States which Race and Langeford agreed upon to rendezvous without fear of surveillance.   One was Mt. Emory, the tallest peak in Big Bend National Park.  The day following Area 51, Race drove a rented vehicle from El Paso to the park.   Hiking seven miles into the Chisos Mountains, he waited for Langford to arrive two hours later at the top of Emory Peak, 7825 feet above sea level.  Still winded, the general sat down among the boulders, pinon pines (Pinus edulis) and mountain mahogany (Cercocarpos montanus).  You know Race, I’m no longer a spring chicken so can’t you find an easier place to meet?  Race replied with a smile.  Sir, with technology the way it is now this may be the only place left but in thirty minutes the geosynchronous orbit of our satellites will be able to zero in on our location.   With that the men quickly coordinated their plans.

Race, I’m afraid there is only one person you can trust when you are working in Dungpileton.  The thin man’s operatives are aware of the rogue botanist but only as a thorn in the side of their intentions to convert the nearby wildlife refuges into oil drilling facilities.  He and his biological coworkers have thus far kept the drillers confined to isolated sites but only after intense persistence and with the help of friends at the upper echelons of the Fish and Wildlife Service.  However, one by one those friends have retired or met an untimely demise.  The Family has its tentacles in every level of the government.   It’s up to you to ensure this operation doesn’t come to fruition.  At this point we are taking one step forward for every two steps back.  We need this victory and will work from there to take out the Family’s influence in other agencies but it starts now. The two men shook hands, departing on separate paths to their respective vehicles at a parking lot near the trail head. 

Texas State Capital.  Austin

Governor Rich Parry looked out his window several stories above the bustling activity of Congress Avenue.  It wasn’t the matters of governance on his mind, rather it was a certain young man he noticed working for the state speaker of the house.  His informants revealed the man was gay and with this was a golden opportunity to blackmail him into doing whatever sexual indulgences the governor fancied.  The nightmare that was the republican campaign for president was not without its consequences.  The facade of his political invincibility was laid bare for the country to witness and ridicule.  It was embarrassing but something that will past with the next big news cycle.   He mused, "I'm still a king in Texas so that smug, rich Mormon bastard can have his presidential campaign.   The country will be done with him after his defeat in November.  After that he can go back to his dressage horses and car elevators and offshore bank accounts.  No use getting worked up over it, I'm back to doing what I love best - exploiting the office of the governor for profit and debauchery".  

Parry's ascension to the highest office in the state relied on two factors: his rugged good looks and the sheepish Texas electorate.  Like his predecessor, Rich lacked an innate intelligence but knew when to defer to advisers for political gain.  The republicans in this state were no different than elsewhere - conditioned from birth to crave a patriarch, someone to reassure them their race was chosen by God to lead humanity.  It was almost too easy to get this far.  Throw in a platitude here and there about Mexicans storming over the border to have their anchor babies and vehemently profess his love for God and the witless voters will send him to Austin every time.  "Like shooting fish in a barrel".  The presidency of Barack Obama was a godsend to him, a wellspring of Caucasian paranoia he would exploit time and again.   The democrats were his bitch, impotent and spineless, unable to galvanize the Hispanic dominated population to vote for them and unable to finance credible opponents against GOP candidates statewide or in the U.S. Congress.  Oil and gas production was up throughout the state thanks to fraking and unimpeded by a toothless Texas Commission on Environmental Quality.  Yes there was still going to be a deficit in the billions next year but another bailout from Washington will cancel it out and the state media will be too scared to report this.  It would be a trivial matter to convince the majority of voters that he and his cronies in the statehouse had once again made Texas an economic powerhouse despite ranking with the highest high school dropout rate, the the worst health care availability and still, the most polluted state in the nation.  The billion dollar Enterprise Fund to corporations was an endless quid pro quo pipeline of money to his campaign coffers.  Yes, life was good he thought until the daydreaming was interrupted by a buzz from his desk intercom.  It was his secretary, reminding him he had a fund raising engagement with his wife this evening.  Dammit, he growled to himself.  His willingness to have a wife for political gain struck a raw nerve in him and festered more with every year they stayed married.  Only his periodic tryst with young men made his situation with her bearable.   He resigned himself to the evening’s events when the secretary again buzzed him.  Governor, there are also two gentlemen here who would like to speak with you and insist they don’t need an appointment.  A look of dread fell upon the governor’s face for only certain individuals would be so brazen as to visit without prior authorization.  They were representatives from the Family.  “Send them in” the governor glumly replied, his facial features quickly changing to a faux inviting expression.

“Gentlemen, welcome”.

Two men entered his office, one portly in stature and the other a very large body guard.  The portly man wore a black three piece suit with a gold crucifix around a barely discernible neck.  He sat down without invitation and began speaking.  Rich, my boy, how are you?  He said this in a manner that didn’t expect a reply and the governor complied.  Rich, I’m here today because of distressing news that oil production on wildlife refuges in this state is far behind forecaster output.  The governor protested meekly. But sir, those are federal lands.  Oil companies have no jurisdiction to increase oil production other than to take advantage of the mineral rights.  It was true.  The refuges in Texas had imminent domain above ground but they didn’t hold the mineral rights below the surface and that included oil and gas extraction.  However, drilling production was slowed due to regulations dictating where to drill depending on the damage to critical wildlife habitat.  The Family believed that oil was a God given right to extract and no production-impeding regulation was going to usurp the word of God.  The portly man grew incensed at the Governor’s excuse.  His rotund head took on a hue of red as his once jovial manner was replaced with a sinister demeanor. 

Listen hear, Rich.  There is no difference between Federal and State lands as far as God is concerned.  The Family fully intends to profit from this oil boom to fund our mission to make this country once again bow to the word of the Lord.  To assist you, we’ve sent our two best assassins to take care of the two biggest troublemakers at the Victoria and San Bertram wildlife refuges outside Dungpileton.  Once the biologist and botanist are removed, your people will have free reign to put oil wells anywhere on those refuges.  From there, oil and gas production will snowball on wildlife refuges across the state.  That is all I need on this Rich. 
"Yes sir, thank you sir"

The governor was grateful he didn’t incurred a more serious wrath from the Family.  The assassins will do the job for him and he would be back on track to fulfilling his agenda with that young man.  He assumed their business was finished and walked to the door to show the two men out but the portly man had one more matter to attend to.  Are you forgetting something Rich?  The governor, with his back to the men, grimaced then turned around.  He walked over, knelt in front of the man and unzipped the fly of his trousers.