Disclaimer: I own none of the Matrix.
A/N: The phrase 'The Dead Zone' is not mine, I borrowed it, it's a title of a Stephen King book, but I thought it was very appropriate. Also, I meant to say before that 'fear in a handful of dust' isn't mine... it belongs to T.S Eliot.
A chill raced down her spine, making her shudder briskly as she walked slowly against the wind, her long coat flying out behind her, flapping and cursing at the gale which tried to fling it from her shoulders.
Zephyr glanced around her, and what she saw chilled her heart.
This must be hell. Got to be. Surely no place such as this can exist outside of that child's nightmare. She thought, as her eyes scanned over the towering, crumbling wrecks which at one point, had been prosperous business and warm family homes. This place was desolation. There was simply no other word for this skeleton of a community. There was no sign of life; the only sounds were the howling, angry wind and the sound of paper and other materials scraping over the dead ground as they flew in the gale.
The Dead Zone. Zephyr thought, and shuddered.
She carried on fighting with the wind for a while longer, her head down, and her long, platted, raven hair flying and snapping behind her, but this wind was viscous, it was biting relentlessly at her cheeks with ice pick teeth, but they would soon be as numb as the rest of her.
Got to find shelter. She thought distantly, clenching her eyes shut as the wind howled and tried to push her away.
She looked around her, trying to spot somewhere that looked as if it wasn't going to fall down on her and crush her with its crumbling plaster in the dead of night.
Finally, after a few more moments, she saw a building that seemed to be sturdy enough, and made her way towards it. Unknown to her, she was heading deeper and deeper into Ka's shadow.
-
When she entered the building, and made her way to the dimly moon-lit corner, she saw a figure, sleeping silently in the shadows. She stopped cold, regarding the shadowy figure with growing anxiety.
It's Death. He's finally come for me. After all these years of avoiding his curse, he has come for me. He will make me pay my dues. She thought, as her feet unconsciously carried her towards the sleeping shadow.
The figure mumbled in it's rest, and slowly began to rise, but Zephyr's feet did not halt, they relentlessly carried her towards the man, her terror slowly rising inside her.
When the figure stepped into the light, what she saw was not Death, or her image of him, although this man had represented Death to many, for he hand killed many, and his hands were black with spilled blood.
Smith.
He had been found.
Dues would be paid tonight, but they would not be hers.