Zommunist Invasion | Book 3 | Scattered

by Picott, Camille

  Dal led the way, one hand firmly holding onto Lena’s. Amanda trailed behind them, fighting the panic that threatened to choke her.

  “Do you know how to get back to the cabin?” she asked.

  “We just have to head southwest,” Dal replied.

  Amanda took this to mean Dal knew which direction was southwest. Thank God. Amanda never had a great sense of direction. She may have even gotten turned around in a mall parking lot once or twice.

  They beat their way through the forest, making a ton of noise in the process. There was no helping it. Sticks and leaves crinkled beneath their feet. Twigs and branches snapped in their wake as they were forced to push through shrubs. How the heck did deer and other animals move without making noise? The three of them sounded like elephants crashing through the undergrowth.

  Their only saving grace was the distance they had on the Russians. They were far enough away that the Soviets wouldn’t be able to hear them. Hopefully.

  “Think they’ll assume we died in the attack on the truck?” Amanda asked.

  “I think they’re looking for our bodies,” Dal said grimly.

  “And when they don’t find them . . . ?” Lena’s question hung in the air.

  No one answered. They didn’t have to. It didn’t take a genius to figure the Snipers were wanted by the Russians. They’d raised hell among the invaders on too many occasions. These broadcasts were likely a particularly large thorn in the Soviet’s collective side.

  “We can’t get captured,” Dal said. “We avoid them at all costs. Lena, sorry to ask this of you, but can you move any faster?”

  “I’m okay,” she replied. To prove it, she picked up her pace.

  They continued their laborious push through the woods. Amanda’s only consolation was that it would be as hard going for the Soviets as it was for them.

  Down a ravine. Up the other side. Through dry streambed that swarmed with clouds of gnats. Around the thick trunks of oak trees and through ferns still wet with morning dew. Over a log covered with sticky spider webs that stuck to their hands. Through a thick stand of manzanita trees.

  Before the war, Amanda had always rather liked manzanita trees. Their peeling reddish bark was so vibrant and pretty. By the time she elbowed her way through the fourth or fifth cluster of them, she decided the only good manzanita was a felled one that had been converted into firewood. The twig-like limbs were pokey. She was covered with dozens of tiny scrapes.

  She worked up a sweat as they floundered their way through the forest. To her surprise, she noticed Dal and Lena sweating just as vigorously. As she processed the long sweat stain down the spine of Lena’s shirt, it occurred to her that she had no trouble keeping up with the two of them.

  Both Dal and Lena were fit, but maybe Amanda was in better shape than she’d given herself credit for. Who would have thought she’d have no problem keeping up with these two? All those months of working out with Jane Fonda had paid off. Heck, she probably owed her life to the freakishly peppy aerobic instructor.

  The temperature was picking up. It was going to be a hot one today. It was late summer, bordering on fall. This time of year in West County could be sweltering. They were going to need water.

  Which meant drinking out of a stream or creek if they were lucky enough to come across another one. That might be just as bad as dying of dehydration if they drank bad water.

  Don’t think of that, she scolded herself.

  Instead, she thought about the long miles that stood between them and the Cecchino cabin. Amanda quailed at the idea of bushwhacking fifteen miles all the way back to the cabin.

  They reached a large clearing. Dal and Lena paused, surveying the open grassland between them and the next stretch of woods.

  “Do we risk it?” Amanda would trade her pinky finger for that two hundred yards of open grassland.

  Dal and Lena exchanged glances before returning to their study of the clearing.

  “Too risky,” Dal said at last. “We don’t know where the Soviets are.”

  Amanda wanted to point out they could crawl through grass. It might destroy their knees, but it still would be faster than hiking through the trees.

  Then she pictured Soviets crouched on the edge of the clearing with their guns, just waiting for them to blunder into the open like amateurs. That was enough of a horror show for her. Definitely better to stick to the woods.

  The trees were spaced more widely apart in this area. They stuck to the thicker area of the woods, staying under cover.

  Something rumbled in the distance. The helicopter lifted back into the air. It swooped low over the woods, circling a larger area. A Soviet gunman sat in the open doorway of the chopper, legs dangling over the air. A machine gun was in his hands.

  “They're still looking for us,” Amanda hissed.

  The helicopter had looped north, but it swung back around in their direction. Her eyes landed on the wide clearing they currently skirted around. It would make an ideal landing pad.

  “Um, guys? Do you think they might park the helicopter in that clearing?”

  Dal’s eyes were pinched with concentration. “It’s a possibility. We have to keep moving.”

  The whomp-whomp of the helicopter blades gained in strength. Minutes later, it flew into view—right over the clearing.

  But it didn’t land. Instead, it flew in wide circles overhead. No doubt about it, they were scanning the area.

  Amanda wished she had on camouflage gear, like the kind deer and pig hunters wore in town every once in a while. That would be a top priority when she got back to the cabin. Maybe she and Stephenson would go on a mission to the hunting shop in Westville so she could get a proper outdoor outfit. She just might live and breathe and eat in hunting gear for the rest of her life.

  They squashed themselves up against a trunk as the helicopter swung directly overhead, waiting in tense silence.

  As soon as it flew off, they made a mad dash through the foliage and hit another dry creek bed. The ground was muddy and smelled heavily of decomposing forest detritus.

  “Follow the creek,” Dal said. “Stay low.”

  It was a good plan. They were able to move more quickly through the streambed than they could through the forest. Amanda alternated between watching the sky and jumping over the large river rocks that lined the bottom of the bed.

  The helicopter zipped overhead, once again heading for the clearing. Through the trees, Amanda glimpsed enough of the meadow to see the golden brush flatten.

  No doubt about it. The Soviets were landing.

  “They know we escaped,” Amanda whispered. It would have been obvious when the Russians got the truck and found no bodies. “They’re trying to find us.” She was so scared she thought she might vomit.

  “We have to find a place to hide,” Dal said.

  “But where?” Lena never slowed as they rushed down the creek bed.

  No one answered. They all scanned the area as they moved.

  Amanda came up empty. Short of crawling up a tree, there was no place that provided solid coverage if the Soviets were on foot. None of the foliage was dense enough. They’d make way too much noise if they tried to make a run for it.

  The helicopter touched down. Half a dozen Soviets piled out as the chopper blades slowed. The engine clicked off. The Russians obviously planned to sweep the area thoroughly if they were turning off their ride.

  Amanda hadn’t thought it was possible to be any more frightened. You’d think having grenades practically dropped on your head would be the worst part of your day. Nope. This was definitely worse. Feeling like a deer with a swarm of Soviets hunting your butt was definitely worse.

  Her eyes landed on a tree that had fallen across the creek bed. The tangle of the crown completely blocked their path. The water, when it had been flowing, had cut a steep embankment around the remains of the trunk.

  “We can hide under here. Come on.” Dal dropped to his knees and crawled beneath the trunk.

 
It was a tight fit for Amanda. She dropped onto her elbows and army-crawled her way in, not even caring when the river rocks crunched against her stomach and hips.

  A hollow had formed beneath the log from the current. There was just enough room for the three of them. Damp mud of the riverbed poked through between the rocks, the fallen tree sheltering the earth from the worst of the summer heat.

  It wasn’t a great hiding place, but it was better than anything else they’d found.

  On one side, the hiding place was completely blocked by the tree trunk. But the opening to their hidey hole would be obvious to anyone diverting around the trunk.

  Amanda’s mind raced. She didn’t want to bet her life on the off-chance a Soviet wouldn’t explore the streambed.

  There were several large boulders up against the shoulder of the creek. Amanda licked her lips, wondering how much they weighed.

  She had helped lift that tree trunk off Lena. Could she move one of those boulders?

  Soviet voices reached her ears.

  Amanda shifted her body, wedging her sneakers against the side of a boulder. Bracing herself against the rocky ground, she pushed.

  And pushed. Sweat beaded her temples from the exertion.

  She didn’t let up. Her muscles strained.

  The boulder slid, pushed free of the mud that had congealed around it. Amanda paused, gasping for breath. Dal and Lena watched in shocked silence.

  She readjusted, pressing her back up against the embankment so she could get better leverage. Scrunching up her knees, she once again wedged her feet against the boulder.

  She counted down in her head, taking in several gulps of air as she readied her muscles. Three, two, one—!

  Amanda shoved with everything she had. The boulder inched across the streambed. She didn’t let up. Her muscles screamed in protest. Her thighs burned and her stomach shook. Rocks dug painfully into her tailbone. She pushed with everything she had, bunching her hands into fists from the effort.

  The earth gave way under her pressure. The boulder slid forward, blocking the tree-tangled entrance.

  They were hidden, completely concealed from the Soviets.

  21

  Ants

  Amanda slumped to the ground, panting for breath. She stared at the rock, exhilaration pounding in her temples. She, Amanda Nielson, had just moved a boulder.

  That was stuff wrestlers did. Not biology nerds.

  A few tears leaked out of her eyes. Relief mingled with awe. She hadn’t felt this good about herself since acing her honors chemistry final last year.

  No, that wasn’t accurate. Getting an A in honors chemistry had been radical, but it was nothing compared to the feat of raw strength she had just exhibited. How much did that boulder weigh? Two hundred pounds? More?

  No wonder all the varsity sports guys were into themselves. Amanda wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so into herself as she did at that moment.

  Someone squeezed her hand. She looked up to see Lena beaming at her. The other girl gave her a wide smile and a big thumbs up. Dal added his own thumbs up, giving Amanda an approving nod.

  She thought she might burst with pride. As they huddled together in the cracked dirt with nothing but a tangle of branches and a boulder separating them from the Soviets, it occurred to Amanda that if she’d been born a boy, her life would have been different.

  Her body would have been viewed as an asset. She could have been popular like Leo and Anton and Bruce. She could have played varsity football.

  This realization rocked her to the core. She would not have been more shocked to see a unicorn trot out of the trees.

  Her body was a deep, secret shame she carried close to her heart. Not a day passed where she did not yearn to look like the skinny girls in the MTV videos. People like Mrs. Fink just made it all that much worse.

  If she’d been born with a penis instead of a vagina, she would have been viewed as a worthy specimen. Amanda digested this as she lay in their hiding spot, pondering her genitalia. One little thing—well, one big thing, really—had changed her fate. A stupid chromosome had swept in and played a dirty joke.

  The world was really fucked up. So what if she had a vagina? She was an amazon. Dal had said so. If she survived and made it back to the cabin, she was going to start acting like one.

  No, scratch that. She could move trees. She could move boulders.

  Amanda was going to start acting like an amazon right now. An amazon could survive the Russians who hunted them. Amazons didn’t shrivel up like raisins in the sun. They lived to fight another day. That’s what she would do: survive.

  There were loose leaves and sticks in their tiny hollow. Lena gathered them up, covering their bodies as best she could. Luckily, they all wore plain jeans and boring button-down work shirts. They practically blended into the creek bed already, but extra camouflage couldn’t hurt.

  Lena didn’t stop there. She scooped up a handful of mud and smeared it all over her face, gesturing for Amanda and Dal to do the same. Soon, all three of them had mud covering the exposed parts of their skin.

  Somewhere nearby came rustling. Amanda’s heart leaped into her throat. She sat very still, barely daring to breathe.

  She, Lena, and Dal sat shoulder to shoulder, machine guns across a soft bed of leaves that covered their jeans. The fresh mud made her skin itch. God, she was going to get an acne breakout from this, she just knew it. Although acne seemed a small price to pay to avoid having your head shot off by enemy invaders.

  Something stung her hand. Looking down, she spotted an ant crawling across her skin.

  Not just one ant. Several of them. Wrinkling her nose, she squished them.

  Another sting flared on her back, then several more across her hip. Horrified, she scanned the ground and realized the ground crawled with ants. Thousands of the little black things tracked across the ground.

  And they were sitting right in a pile of them.

  Dal and Lena realized the situation just as Amanda did. She saw them pinching the ones they could reach.

  They were covered in mud, hiding in a ditch, surrounded by ants and enemy Soviets.

  Wow, there really was a way for things to get worse. Who would have thought?

  Amazon, she reminded herself. You’re an amazon. Amazons didn’t get weak-kneed over ants. They were just bugs, for crying out loud. Yes, getting bitten sucked big time, but on the scale of insect encounters, this was pretty mild. It would have been much worse to sit in a cluster of ticks. Or, even worse, a black widow nest.

  This wasn’t so bad. Just ants. No big deal.

  A swarm of bites broke out across her lower back. Amanda didn’t react. She was too busy listening to the sound of approaching soldiers.

  There were two of them. They spoke softly to one another. Lena had her head cocked, listening intently. Amanda would have given just about anything to understand Russian.

  The soldiers crunched through the bed, moving slowly through the terrain.

  Amanda saw the tip of a machine gun before she saw the soldier attached to it. The first man came into view. His form was obscured by the tangled branches in front of them, but the red star, sickle, and hammer on the breast of his uniform practically glared at her through the tree limbs.

  The ants had made their way under her shirt and bit their way up her back. She swallowed, not daring to move. It seemed a small thing to endure in light of the current situation.

  The two men surveyed the land on either side of the fallen tree. They spoke softly to one another, likely weighing their options on which way to go.

  To her horror, they came straight toward the embankment where she and her friends hid. She tensed, shifting her finger to the trigger of her machine gun. Dal gave her a warning look as he pulled out his knife.

  She nodded in understanding. Shooting was a last option. It would bring high hell into the stream bed with them. She did her best to melt into the ground. It was time to become one with the ants.

  The first of
the Soviets slung his machine gun over his shoulder, pulling at the exposed roots that stuck out of the earth. Grit showered down into their hiding place. Amanda blinked rapidly as dust landed on her eyelashes.

  The man scrambled up the side of the bank. He was so close, Amanda could see the leaves and mud sticking to the soles of his boots.

  His partner was so busy looking up that he never glanced their direction. The guy started up the side as soon as his comrade finished scrambling up.

  His foot slipped, breaking through loose earth. His leg dangled right in front of Amanda.

  Dal’s grip tightened on his knife. The muscles along his arm and neck tensed. He was ready to pounce.

  The soldier flailed, calling to his friend. Sharp laughter answered him. Amanda knew what it sounded like to be ridiculed. The two men exchanged words.

  The biting from the ants itched to high hell. The loose leg above her continued to kick, trying to find purchase. Amanda had to lean to one side to avoid being booted in the face.

  After a long, tense minute, the leg rose and disappeared from sight. Amanda and the others sagged with relief.

  They listened as the soldiers tromped off and jumped back into the riverbed on the other side. Amanda kept her back pressed against the bluff, only her eyes moving as she watched the soldiers.

  Even after the Russians disappeared from sight, none of them so much as shifted position. They stayed right where they were, afraid the slightest movement would give them away.

  22

  Slog

  The Russians continued to comb the area. Another patrol came near to their hiding place, but nowhere near as close as the first.

  Amanda was miserable. The stinging of the ants was slow torture. The thin layer of mud had dried and itched like crazy. A banana slug had found its way onto her sneaker. No less than two gnats had flown up her nose.

  She took heart in the fact that real amazons probably endured stuff like this on a regular basis. Heck, they were from South American jungles, for crying out loud. There were more bugs in a square mile in jungle than in all of California. This was pretty much kitten’s play.