Her late husband had built this cabin with his own two hands. He would turn over in his grave if he saw it now, and they hadn’t even been inside yet.
“What are we going to do with the bodies?” Juli asked. “Burn them?”
Nonna shook her head. “The smoke could draw attention to us. We’ll need to bury them.”
“Bury them? We’re going to need a really big hole, Nonna.”
They looked back and forth between them. They might be able to wield machine guns, but neither of them had the upper body strength to hack through tree roots and dig a hole large enough for all those bodies.
“We can get the boys to do it when they get back.” Those two soldiers who went with Leo were strong, sturdy young men. Nonna would put them to work when they returned from their mission to Luma. “In the meantime, we just need to get the mutants away from the cabin. They’re going to start stinking.”
“Okay. I’m going to let the horse out, then we can get these guys moved.” Juli headed to the storage room. The old mare could be heard, whinnying in distress.
Nonna stepped over a body and opened the front door. Even though she knew what awaited them, the sight of the destruction inside made her heart sink.
Bullets had shot up everything. The furniture. Food supplies. Dishes and pots and pans. There was grit and dust and dirt everywhere. It was sheer dumb luck they hadn’t accidentally shot the pile of homemade bombs sitting on the fireplace hearth.
Nonna pursed her lips. The Cecchino cabin wouldn’t clean itself. Time to get to work.
Outside, the mare burst from the storage room and bolted into the night. Poor thing. She hoped the animal didn’t get herself eaten by a mountain lion or a coyote.
“The mare took out an entire wall of shelving,” Juli reported. “The storage room is a disaster zone.”
Like the rest of the cabin, then. Nonna sighed.
“Grab and arm.” She gestured to one of the mutant bodies. “Let’s get them off the porch.”
Nonna ignored the puddle of blood surrounding the arm of the closest mutant. Blood would wash off of her hands. Her porch was another matter.
With Juli’s help, they lugged the dead mutant across the deck. The body thumped loudly as they dragged it down the stairs.
“I wasn’t wrong,” Julia said. “The mutant bodies are abnormally heavy.”
The body was no more than five-foot-eight. The man-turned-mutant wasn’t a waif, but he shouldn’t have weighed more than one-hundred-fifty pounds. It felt like they were dragging a two-hundred pound man.
“He’s heavier than he should be,” Nonna agreed.
They paused as they finally got the thing to the bottom of the stairs. She prodded at the distended muscles of one leg. “Feel him. His muscles are dense.”
Juli grimaced, pushing at the leg muscle with her shoe. “He’s solid. Maybe the muscles gain density as they grow.”
“It would explain why they’re so strong and fast.”
They resumed their task, stopping when they reached the edge of the clearing with the body. Juli panted from exertion, wiping sweat from the side of her face.
“Do you want to start cleaning the inside, or do you want to move all the bodies first?” she asked.
“Move all the bodies first.”
“Thought you’d say that.” Juli blew out a breath. “I’m secretly hoping some of our guys will return now so they can help us.” She realized what she had said and squeezed Nonna’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I wouldn’t complain if they showed up, either.” Now was not the time to break down over worry for her grandchildren.
They had a cabin to clean and repair. It was a welcome distraction.
It took them nearly thirty minutes to drag all the mutant bodies to a pile on the edge of the clearing. Nonna was bone-weary, but she didn’t let herself focus on that. She could rest after the inside of the cabin was spotless.
“Nonna, do you hear that?” Juli straightened, head tilted to one side.
Nonna’s ears weren’t as sharp as they’d once been, but she detected the sound. “Engines.”
“Yeah. More than one, I think.”
They moved in unison, hustling back to the porch. Their weapons sat in a tidy pile on the picnic table. As they grabbed machine guns, Nonna mentally traced the sound of the engines.
Someone was on their way up Pole Mountain.
Her mouth went dry when she thought of Anton and Tate in the hands of the Soviets. If those poor idiot boys had managed to get themselves captured, she had no doubt they would be tortured until they gave up the location of Pole Mountain. The location could just as easily come from Mr. and Mrs. Craig.
It was the very reason she’d been so determined to teach Juli how to shoot and defend herself. Hell, it was the reason she’d prodded her into the pink shoes and women’s clothing; the girl had no hope of defending her life if she was afraid of herself. Only by embracing herself could she hope to make it out of this war alive.
Even then, there was no guarantee. There were never any guarantees in life.
“Trees,” Nonna said, voice low and urgent. She grabbed the backpack she’d packed for the rooftop. There wasn’t much left in it, but there was a little food. Depending on how many Soviets were on their way here, they might have need of it if she and Juli had to make a run for it.
Juli grabbed the pack with extra munitions, slung the extra machine guns around her neck, and hustled down the porch steps. She and Nonna hurried into the the tree line that surrounded the cabin, taking cover behind a big oak tree.
“What’s the plan?” Juli whispered.
“If there’s less than five, we take them out,” Nonna replied. “Any more than that, we take the game trail and high tail it out of here.” She didn’t like their odds of traveling on foot in the dark, even with a well-worn trail, but it was their best means of escape.
“Are you sure it’s Russians?” Juli asked.
“Who else would be bold enough to drive vehicles up here in the middle of the night?”
“Good point.”
Nonna rested her machine gun in the vee of the tree, positioning herself so she had a good view of the clearing in front of the cabin. She would rather die than let the Soviets have it, but she had Juli to think about. Four Soviets or less they could handle. Any more than that was too risky.
Lights appeared in the darkness as the whine of the engines grew louder. There were at least two vehicles on their way to the cabin, possibly more. Which likely meant there were more than four Soviets.
It made sense. The Snipers likely topped the Soviet’s most-wanted list. They wouldn’t send a small force to commandeer the Snipers’ home base. Likely they thought they’d find a full contingent of armed people here.
Which begged the question of why they were making no effort to mask their approach? That didn’t make sense. Nonna frowned, wondering if she’d misjudged the situation.
An ATV rolled into sight, the bright headlights throwing the rider into silhouette. It stopped beside the pile of mutant bodies, the engine switching off.
“Holy shit,” a voice breathed. “What happened here?” The voice raised to a shout. “Nonna? Nonna, Stephenson, are you here? Nonna!” The figure, still sheathed in darkness, ran toward the cabin as two other ATVs rolled into view.
Nonna’s heart leaped into her throat. She knew that voice. She considered Dallas Granger to be one of her own, a grandson as surely as Anton and Leo.
“Dallas!” Her throat, tight from tension, was scratchy. She swallowed to wet it and tried again. “Dallas!”
“Where’s Nonna?” Lena’s voice carried through the darkness. “Dal, where’s Nonna?”
“I’m here!” Grabbing her machine gun, Nonna pushed through the forest. Juli fell into step beside her, juggling the three machine guns that dangled from her neck.
“Lena, Dal, we’re here.” Juli put out an arm when Nonna tripped on a rock.
The two of them burst from the trees. L
ena and Dal raced across the clearing, Amanda on their heels.
They were filthy, looking as though they’d spent the last two days crawling on their hands and knees through the forest. Considering the fact that they were no longer in Giuseppe’s truck, perhaps they had done those very things. They were covered with dirt and what looked like dried mud. They smelled like they’d rolled in a barn.
Dal and Lena descended on Nonna, enfolding her into a group hug. She grabbed them both, reminding herself that Nonna Cecchino did not shed tears at reunions. This was a happy moment, not a time for tears. Tears were saved for moments that really counted.
Beside them, Amanda and Juli were in a teary embrace of their own.
“What happened to you?” Juli wailed. “I was so scared the Soviets had tracked you down and captured you.”
“What happened to me?” Amanda countered. “What the heck happened to you? There are five mutant bodies over there and you—what the heck are you wearing, Stephenson?”
“This isn’t Stephenson.” Nonna pulled herself away from Dal and Lena, planting herself beside Juli. “This is Juli Stephenson.”
Shocked silence followed this statement. Dal, Lena, and Amanda gaped at Juli.
The skinny, awkward boy who been afraid of his own shadow had transformed in the two days they’d been gone. The girl before them had no less than three Soviet machine guns around her neck. Her skin and clothing was smudged with dirt, grime, and blood. The five mutant bodies were testament to the fact that she’d fought to defend the Cecchino cabin.
No one spoke. Juli swallowed, shifting back and forth between her feet. Nonna saw fear creep into her eyes.
“She saved my life,” Nonna said, breaking the awkward silence.
“Did you—did you learn how to shoot?” Lena’s wide eyes traveled up and down Juli’s body.
“You bet she did,” Nonna said. “We’ll tell you about it over a cup of hot tea. And you can tell us what happened to you.” Cleaning the cabin would have to wait. Integrating Juli was more important.
She slid her arms through Dal’s and Lena’s, pulling them to the cabin steps. Amanda and Juli followed, leaning against one another. The awkward tension dissipated.
It was a start. It would not be an easy road for Juli, but Nonna was determined to do whatever she could to smooth out the bumps.
Part IV
Family
42
Grandson
They sat around the scarred kitchen table, drinking warm chamomile tea. Since it was nearly dawn, Nonna and Juli whipped up some fresh biscuits. They didn’t have ingredients for fresh gravy, but Nonna kept a few instant packets tucked in the back of the cupboard. Not that she usually made gravy from a packet, but they’d been on sale. It was impossible to pass up a good bargain at the grocery store.
Everyone was ravenous. They devoured a triple batch of biscuits, two packets of gravy, and half a jar of her sour cherry jam.
Amanda stared openly at Juli, but there was no hostility. Lena looked nonplussed, but attempted to address Juli and draw her in to the conversation. Of the three, Dal was the most uncomfortable. Nonna saw him throw covert looks in Juli’s direction, attempting to wrap his brain around her transformation.
Nonna kept the gravy flowing, knowing a good meal was a solid remedy for just about everything. Even the strangeness of a teenage boy turning into a teenage girl. The meal was a small step to help integrate Juli into the group.
Over the meal, Amanda, Dal, and Lena shared all that had befallen them over the past two days. It was nothing short of a divine miracle they’d survived.
The most disturbing part was their story of Soviets turning into high-functioning zombies. This was a new development. Nonna had no doubt the war was taking a turn for the worse. Sentient zombies with a hunger for human brains could be nothing less than a full-scale disaster.
“Your turn, Nonna,” Dal said when he and the others had finished their story. “Tell us how there came to be five dead mutants outside. And how—why—?” His gaze jerked to Juli.
Uneasiness stole through the room as all attention shifted to Juli.
“You tell them.” Nonna patted her shoulder. “Tell them how we saved those cyclists and took out the mutants.”
Juli launched into the story. It was very different from the story Nonna would have told.
She wove a story about a cartoon warrior princess who rode a flying horse. She got very animated comparing her machine gun and pink Converse to a magical sword, which had the others laughing. The tension thinned as chuckles flowed.
Nonna did her best to follow the story, but she was distracted by the bullet holes embedded in the old family table. In her mind, she worked out how to best get rid of them.
Wood putty and a little wood stain would do the trick. The table might be old and beaten from years of use, but no way on God’s green earth was she going to have Soviet bullet holes staring back at her for however many years she had left in this world.
“Thanks for looking after Nonna,” Dal said when Juli finished the story. “I’m glad you’ve gotten comfortable with a gun.”
Juli shook her head, smiling affectionately at Nonna. “Nonna looked after me.”
“We looked after each other,” Nonna corrected.
“Any word from Anton or Leo?” Lena asked.
Juli flicked a glance at Nonna before shaking her head. “No word from either of them.”
Fatigue hit Nonna with the force of a freight train. As she swallowed the last of her chamomile tea, she felt her age.
Ten years ago, she would have bustled everyone into action in the early dawn hours and cleaned the cabin from top to bottom. She always could work harder and longer than everyone else in the family.
But soreness was beginning to set in. Her body ached from the rooftop battle. It was the dive she’d taken across the roof to save Juli. That maneuver was for someone ten years—no, twenty years—younger.
She wasn’t the only one who was exhausted. Lena looked like she was half asleep on Dal’s shoulder. Amanda kept blinking and rubbing her eyes.
The cabin could be cleaned as easily later as it could be now. As much as it irritated her to admit it, sleep was more important now.
“Let’s get some sleep.” She rose from the table, collecting a pile of plates. “Everyone can have a three minute shower.”
Since their water heater was powered by propane, hot showers were highly allocated. But they’d all earned a hot shower today, herself included.
“Really?” Lena sat up, eyes rounding as she looked at Nonna. “I figured you’d want to clean this place till it was spotless.”
“Oh, I do,” Nonna replied. “And we will. After a hot shower and some sleep.”
It was the sound of water hissing in the pipes that woke Nonna from a deep, dreamless sleep. She sat up, listening.
Someone was in the shower. She heard water hitting the tile walls. A glance at the window told her it had to be near noon.
Everyone in the cabin had showered after breakfast. So who was in the shower?
Her heart leaped into her throat. Grabbing her bathrobe, she got out of bed. Her body protested, but she ignored it and rushed into the main room.
Anton stood beside the coffee maker, his back to her. He wore nothing but a pair of bloody, filth-encrusted fatigue pants. Even from across the room, Nonna detected the scent of piss clinging to him.
His feet were bare. He wore no shirt. Nonna froze mid-step, her eyes tracing the wounds on her grandson’s back. Her eyes might not be what they used to be, but she knew cigarette burns when she saw them. Alongside them were bruises, cuts, and scrapes.
She must have made a sound because Anton turned. Her throat constricted at the sight of him.
The boy who stood before her wasn’t Anton. At least, not the Antony Cecchino who had snuck away from the cabin with his friend on an impulsive, pointless mission.
The Anton who stood before her was almost a stranger. It wasn’t the cigarette
burns on his face, neck, chest, and ribcage that made her heart nearly stop. It wasn’t the Soviet insignia that had been carved onto his chest with a knife, either. It wasn’t even the bruises that covered every square inch of his body that broke her heart.
It was his eyes. The eyes that stared out at her from her grandson’s face were the eyes of a young man she was meeting for the first time. They were flat, humorless, and vacant.
He looked at her, face as expressionless as his eyes. It took all of Nonna’s willpower not to break down at the sight of him. But she had not survived the World War II because she was weak.
Nonna was strong. She had always prided herself on that. Even when she had buried her brother and covered up the facts around his death, she knew she had the strength to continue living.
She would not cry for her grandson. He deserved better than that. It was clear he had gone through hell to make it back here. His body said he had been captured and tortured. By some miracle of God, he had escaped and survived. She would not disgrace his strength by bursting into tears.
“Surprise.” He made an attempt to smile, failed, and resumed looking at her. “Bet you never thought you’d see me again.”
She didn’t ask about the Craigs. Their absence was enough. If they were still alive, they would be here.
Tate must be in the shower. She could hardly comprehend what she might see when he came out.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Antony. You missed breakfast.”
“Sorry I’m late, Nonna.”
The bloody carving of the Soviet insignia on his chest blared out at her. The sight of it threatened to buckle her knees. The blistered lumps of cigarette burns on his jaw, neck, and body told a story she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear. The rank smell of piss was stronger than ever.
“I’ll make lunch for you boys. A nice venison pasta is just what you need.” She bustled across the room to her pantry.
Looking at the neat row of homemade spaghetti sauce gave her a moment to stuff down the wail of despair that wanted to burst from her throat. She would not cry for her grandson. No matter what, she would not cry.
Zommunist Invasion | Book 3 | Scattered Page 21
