THE WALKING DEAD…A SPY STORY

Emma sighed with a mothers pleasure as she hugged her children, she could never have imagined such joy! The killer she’d long dreaded  had turned up,  but he hadn’t succeeded in his mission. Just in time she’d seen him, and  her warning enabled her children to run over the ridge to where their landrover was parked, and  escaped. And now they had all entered a world where nothing bad ever occurred, where every moment of life was a pleasure. She’d  never imagined that such a place existed, she had to tell everyone of it, so all humanity could live a life free of pain,  misery and fear.
An immeasurably small amount of time before Emma discovered this joyful place two gun shots rang out.. The first hit her  nineteen year old daughter, Julie, in the back of the head, the bullet emerging from the forehead, scattering her brains over the ground, the second  strilking her twenty year old son, Thomas, in the same place, with identical effect. They’d almost escaped. Their parents had told them of the danger they were all in, so when Emma shouted her warning  they ran without hesitation, and were at the top of the ridge, seconds from safety, when the bullets hit them. And they fell, dead.
And there was nothing Emma could do now to save them. Except to turn back time, so that was what she did, and to her pleasure and surprise they all entered this new world, a world free of pain. And she was there for an eternity before the old world, what might be called reality, intruded. Emma sank to her knees, no longer having the strength to stand, as she looked at the bodies of her children. No longer people, just bodies, a meal for the birds and insects. And she turned to the killer,  such an ordinary looking man, of average height, average build, neither handsome nor ugly, casually dressed. And he was raising his gun to shoot her.

“No. You must listen to me first!” she screamed at him.
“I don’t do last requests,” he replied, in an unemotional voice..
“Do this one and it might save your worthless life!” Emma spat at him.

For a few seconds the man stared at her, “Go on,” he said.

Emma hauled herself to her feet. “Who are you?”
“My name is Frank Munroe.”
“Well Frank,” she spoke in a voice that trembled with her hate for him ,“You don’t know whats going on, do you? You don’t know why the CIA, or whoever it is, sent you to kill us. You don’t know why we left America to come here, to Khazakstan, why we gave up our life in the States.”
“Get to the point.” Munroe demanded.

“The point!” Emma threw her head back and laughed, laughed like a witch cackling over her cauldron. “The point is, Frank,  don’t except the next assignment from your masters. If you do you’ll die a death more horrible than anything you can imagine. Tell the world what I’m going to tell you about the work my husband and I were doing, why we left it and came here.And do it now, as soon the dead are going to walk, and they will attack the living.”

These were Emmas last words. Munroe was certain the sight of her children being shot dead in front of her had destroyed her sanity, so he shot her. One bullet, straight through her skull. And before leaving he looked at her body on the ground, smiled, and said, “If the dead are going to walk, see you soon”.
 

Though as he walked slowly to the farmhouse that Emma and her family had lived in he couldn’t help but wonder why they had left America, to come to this lonely place in the desert of Khazakstan. It was bleak, almost unbearably hot , and if they’d come here,  they must have had a good reason, he thought. But his attention was diverted by  a loud screaming, maniacal in its nature. He was walking by the side of the house now and as he reached the front the source of the screaming was readily apparent. Five people, one of them Emma’s husband Peter, the others locals they had employed as servants, were lying on the ground, their hands tied and a man was repeatedly striking them, each in turn, with an axe. Though the screams came not from them, they were all dead, but the man who was assaulting them. Animal, bestial screams as he hit them again and again with the axe, his face a diabolical expression of bloodlust. Two men, each holding an automatic rifle, were watching, laughing. Munroe took a small cigar from his jacket pocket, lit it and waited. It was only a few seconds later that the man with the axe noticed him, and on doing so stopped his bloody actions.

“Have you finished?” Munroe drily asked.

The man dropped the axe, “Hi there Frank, I take it you got the others.,” he said, speaking with an American accent. Munroe nodded, and  as he  used a towel to wipe his victims blood from his face and hands the other man continued. “ Frank, I’ve been thinking, and I don’t reckon you get enough fun out of your work. You know,  killing like you do it, so quick, your missing all the  fun.Oh I know your proud of your marksmanship, whats it they say of you, one bullet one body?  But you should enjoy yourself, like I do.” He motioned with one hand to his victims, laughed and added, “Maybe its your British self restraint holding you back from enjoying your work”.
“Maybe so.” Munroe replied, and looking around added, “Where’s Rose?”
“Oh, that little hottie from the CIA! I told her one of the family had escaped and sent her in the jeep with one of my men to find them. I figured she wouldn’t approve of the way I  carry out my work, so I got her out of the way for a while.”
At this point they heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. “Looks like we’re about to find out,” said Munroe .

Rose stepped from the vehicle, her face white with fury as she looked at the mutilated bodies. She spoke to Munroe, whilst staring at the other man. “Did you get the others Frank?” and as he nodded she continued, “How did you kill them?”

“As I usually do, a single bullet through the head.”

Rose stared at the other man, no emotion showing on her face as she spoke.“Mr Morton, it seems you  were wrong about one of the family escaping. “
“Yea,” he replied,  making little effort to hide his smile,“Sorry about that.” Rose was aware that Mortons men were smirking at having fooled her, got her out of the way so Morton could kill in the bloody, violent way he preferred.  She remembered the words of her ethics tutor when she was a CIA trainee, ’Sometimes people who don’t deserve to die have to, for the greater good. We must do all we can to make sure such deaths are as quick and painless as possible.” Rose made up her mind to report Mortons sadism, and not to worry about the embarrasment that would cause her at having to admit he’d deceived her, as hopefully it would stop the CIA employing him again. “Thankyou for your work Mr Morton,” she said, turning to face him, “If we need you again we’ll be in touch.”
Morton smiled, “I’ll look forward to it.” He turned to Munroe, “That scientist guy, you know he went crazy before I killed him.”
“Not unusual when people know their about to face violent death.” Munroe replied.
“Yea,” said Morton  “But he went really weird, saying something about ‘the dead walking’.” Munroes head jerked round to look at him so quickly Morton paused.
“And attacking the living?”said Munroe, ”The woman said that to.”
“Yea, that was it,” Morton responded “ Does it mean anything?”
Mumroe looked at Rose.  “Does it?”
“No.” she said firmly.
Niether man was convinced but didn’t press her on the subject, not being told anything they didn’t ‘need to know’ being normal.

Morton picked up his axe, motioned  his men toward their cars, and said “See you all soon,” as he  walked away, Rose staring intently at his back , her face expressionless.

 “People call Charlie Morton the rabid dog.” Munroes words broke her concentration for a second, then she looked again at the departing Morton.
“That’s an insult to rabid dogs.” There was no trace of humour in her voice.

Munroe relit his cigar “Oh well, time to go home, get out of this darn heat.”
“Not for us Frank,” Rose turned to face him “we have another job to do”.
“Oh. Where?”
“Brazil”.
“Great. After desert, jungle. Whom do I kill this time?”
“It’s a different sort of job this time.” Rose had started to walk toward their car, while Munroe spoke with a slightly raised tone of voice.
“Its never different, The CIA or MI5 tell me who to kill, I kill them. Its as simple as that.”
“Not this time,” Rose continued as she opened the car door “we have a long flight. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”
Munroe looked back at the house and the bodies lying on the ground in this bleak place. “You coming?” Rose enquired.
“Tell me Rose, what did these people do?”
“Emma and Peter Thompson? They were professors of biorobotics, and don’t ask me what that is.”
Munroe joined her at the car. “The woman,” he said “she told me not to accept my next job. She said if I did I would die.”
“Was that before or after she was talking about the dead walking?”. Rose smiled slightly. “You seem a bit apprehensive Frank,” she continued “And I thought you were a hard man. Your CIA file describes you as a merciless killer, and good at it. It actually says of you, and I quote, possibly the most skilful and lethal gunman in the world.”
“Lets hope I don’t have to be,” Munroe replied.

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

What Rose  told Munroe on the flight across the Atlantic was that somebody  was commiting bloody murders among isolated communities in  the Amazon forest. To Munroes query as to who it was she  told him she didn’t know, and to his next question of why was the CIA interested she  told him he didn’t need to know.  So after they arrived in Rio, were driven to a military base and then flown by helicopter to what Rose described as ’somewhere in the jungle’ Munroe had little idea what to expect, and he could never have anticipated the scene that greeted them when they alighted  in the rain forest.
The first thing  that got his attention was the number of people, at least thirty, and most heavily armed. He  saw an army jeep crashed into a tree, and another, overturned on the dirt track that it would have been travelling on. He was about to ask Rose what had happened when a man called to him.
“Hi Frank. What brings you here.?”
The man was American, in his early thirties, lean and muscular.
“She does,” he replied, pointing at Rose, “Rose, meet Al Nixon. He’s CIA like you..” There was a handshake and brief exchange of greetings between Rose and  Nixon, then Munroe, assuming that the latter would have more knowledge of the current situation , asked him  what had happened here.

Nixon smiled wrily, “What happened here? A group of soldiers, in pursuit of slave traders, a big problem in this country, were killed. Annihilated. By whom, well, I’m glad you’re here to help us find out .“ There was a noticaible aggression, even anger in his voice. He continued “I heard about your last job Frank.”
“In Kazakstan?” Munroe responded.
“No, your last private commission, when you gunned down a couple of youngsters. How much did you get paid for that?”
“Enough for a few beers. Is there no more you can tell me about what happened here?”
“What happened here! Why don’t you tell us about your killing of innocent people!” Nixon turned to Rose, “Do you know what he does for a living? Tell her about your last job Frank.”
Rose tried to think of a way to divert the conversation, but before she could Munroe sighed, and began to speak. “If you insist. It was a young Malaysian man from a rich family who got involved with a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. His father was so offended he told him to finish with her or be cut out of the will. Instead he eloped with his girlfriend, having first relieved the family bank account of a couple of mill. Daddy was so upset he decided  that they both needed to be taught the error of their ways, and  I got the job. They died in each others arms. It was so romantic.”
“Alright guys”, Rose interceded.“We’re on the same side, remember”.
Nixon relaxed a little, “You may have to work for your keep this time Frank, we haven’t arranged any helpless innocents for you to slaughter.” With that he walked away.
Rose smiled slightly, “Now that we’ve got the pleasantries over with, walk around Frank, talk to whoever you like.”

There was no shortage of choice about who to talk to, most being stern faced young men wielding guns. Munroe approached one who sat on a jeep, resting his arms on a heavy duty machine gun. As Munroe gazed at the weapon  the man addressed him, “Can I help you sir?”
“That’s a pretty formidable piece of artillery you’ve got here,” Munroe replied.
“Yes sir,” the man said, “This can bring down a helicopter”.
“Umm. It looks impressive.” With these words Munroe moved away, reflecting that it was a long time since anyone had called him sir. His eyes scanned the people around him until he saw an older man, sixty at least, and his darker skin meaning he was probably a local, Brazilian, and he was  extracting something from a tree. Munroe approached and saw it was a human arm, severed at the shoulder. He watched as the man placed the arm in what looked liked a box designed to freeze it.
“If you’d arrived earlier,” the man said, “It was much worse. There were bits of human bodies all over the area.”
Munroe paused before replying, “I’m glad you speak English, my Portuguese isn’t brilliant.”
The other man smiled, “Carlos Santos. Pleased to meet you. And you are?”
“I’m Frank Munroe.”
“Ah, I’ve been told of you. You’re the gunslinger.”
Munroe smiled slightly, “I’ve been called worse. Whats your role here?”
Santos described himself with some scientific sounding words Munroe did not understand, “Are you speaking Portuguese now?” he enquired.
Santos laughed, “Lets say I’m a doctor, of sorts. Someone with medical expertise and I’m trying to find out what I can of what happened to these men.”
“And what have you found out so far?”
Santos sighed heavily, “Not much, and what I have discovered doesn’t make sense. They all died by being literally pulled apart by something with hands like a person, only claw like, and obviously of immense strength. Its not the first killing of this type, there have been several before, the victims being local farm labourers and the like. What makes this incident different is that these were eight armed soldiers, and they fired many shots , the trees are full of bullets, but evidently that didn’t save them. And the samples of blood I’ve taken from the undergrowth are, I think, all from them. It will need laboratory analysis before I can be certain but it does appear that whatever attacked them doesn’t bleed, even when shot.”
Munroe felt a pang of fear and looked around at the dense jungle that could be concealing whatever was responsible for the events here. The man on the jeep with the big machine gun caught his eye, and he noticed another, and two men wielding what he thought was a grenade launcher.  Slightly reassured he turned back to Santos. “A werewolf.”
“Sorry?” Santos looked quizzically at Munroe.
“A werewolf,” Munroe repeated. “Its got sharp claws, immense strength and its immune to bullets. Unless they are made from silver.”
Santos  laughed again, “That’s as good a theory as any I’ve been able to think of.”

Rose joined them and after acknowledging Santos she turned to Munroe. “Everything ok Frank?” she enquired. “Couldn’t be better” Munroe responded. He turned back to Santos, “Did the previous killings give any clues to the murderers identity?”
“No,” was Santoses brief reply.
Munroe turned back to Rose. “What next?”
Before she could respond Santos spoke again. “Though there is one other matter, I don’t know if its connected to this, but there are tales among the locals of the walking dead. Some claim they have seen,” he paused to think of appropiate words, “animated corpses, for want of a better way of putting it.”
Munroe stiffened, then looked Rose directly in the eyes. “The walking dead. Why does that phrase keep coming up?”
 “I would guess its because there are some madmen going round committing bloody murders. Its perhaps spooked some people, caused wild stories to gain momentum,” was her reply.
“Like with the Thompsons?” Munroes tone showed his scepticism. “Is it possible to speak to someone who claims they’ve seen these walking dead?”
“There’s that man being held by the police, its only a few miles away,” Santos said, “He says his wife returned from the dead and attacked him.”
“Then I’d like to meet him,” Munroe replied.
“He’s already been thoroughly questioned Frank,”said Rose, “ I’ve read the transcripts of the interviews,he’s just somebody whose balance of mind has been disturbed, possibly by some personnal tragedy.”
“Like his wife returning from the dead, perhaps?” said Munroe, “ Humour me Rose, let me meet him.”
Rose sighed. “OK, I’ll drive you over there.”