Zommunist Invasion | Book 2 | Snipers
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Snipers
Zommunist Invasion, Volume 2
Camille Picott
Published by Camille Picott, 2020.
Table of Contents
Title Page
SNIPERS | ZOMMUNIST INVASION | BOOK 2
Chapter 1 | Options
Chapter 2 | Round-Up
Chapter 3 | Plan
Chapter 4 | Sneak Attack
Chapter 5 | Bad Plan
Chapter 6 | Jock Face
Chapter 7 | Mutant
Chapter 8 | Resistance
Chapter 9 | Chessboard
Chapter 10 | Terms
Chapter 11 | Spies
Chapter 12 | Chess Club
Chapter 13 | Decoy
Chapter 14 | Trade
Chapter 15 | Lesson
Chapter 16 | Gordon Gambit
Chapter 17 | Hillsberg
Chapter 18 | Five Moves
Chapter 19 | Forks
Chapter 20 | Sisters
Chapter 21 | Snipers
Chapter 22 | Forever
Chapter 23 | Breakfast
Chapter 24 | Bases
Chapter 25 | Crash
Chapter 26 | Rescue
Chapter 27 | Airstream
Chapter 28 | News
Chapter 29 | Soldiers
Chapter 30 | Photos
Chapter 31 | Change of Plans
Chapter 32 | Road to Westville
Chapter 33 | Adventure Depot
Chapter 34 | Bridge
Chapter 35 | Bohemian Grove
Chapter 36 | Tell Me Something
Chapter 37 | Flight
Chapter 38 | Upstream
Chapter 39 | To Die A Hero
Chapter 40 | Battledress
Chapter 41 | Overlook
Chapter 42 | Asters
Chapter 43 | Infected
Chapter 44 | Change of Plan
Chapter 45 | Zugzwang
Chapter 46 | Drive-In
Chapter 47 | Trade
Chapter 48 | Petals
Chapter 49 | Black Knight
Author’s Note
Don’t miss what happens next!
Acknowledgements
Join the Zombie Recon Team
SNIPERS
ZOMMUNIST INVASION
BOOK 2
BY CAMILLE PICOTT
www.camillepicott.com
COPYRIGHT 2020
Chapter 1
Options
CASSIE KNEW EXACTLY what was going to happen.
a) Mrs. Nielson was going to die. The poison from the zombie bite on her shoulder had infiltrated her body. Her arms, neck, and face were criss-crossed with dark, infected veins.
b) When Mrs. Nielson died, she was going to turn in a homicidal killer. As evidenced by the six homicidal killers currently ringing the Nielson home.
When Mrs. Nielson died, Cassie had four options.
a) She could make a run for it. See how far she could get down the road before an infected caught her. Cassie was the antithesis of athletic, which made this the worst of her options.
b) She could attempt to lock herself in the bathroom with her friends and hope to God someone would eventually show up and rescue them.
This wasn’t much better than option A. They might be able to survive a few weeks on water, but the Nielson bathroom was tiny. Really tiny. Technically, it wasn’t designed for more than one person at a time. Sitting on the toilet meant you were close enough to turn on the shower. If Cassie called the toilet, Amanda would call the shower. They might be able to cram Stephenson between the toilet and the wall, but he’d complain until their ears bled.
c) She could attempt to barricade Mrs. Nielson in the master bedroom. That could work if she could get her friends and Mr. Nielson on board. The problem was they really needed to barricade the room before she died, and Cassie knew there was no chance of anyone buying off on that.
d) She could overdose on the Vicodin pills she noticed near the toaster on the kitchen counter. That was preferable to being bitten and turned into a monster. Or killed by a Russian.
At the moment, Cassie was vacillating between option C and D. Each had its pros and cons. She was leaning toward C, but only because she was notoriously bad at swallowing pills. Mrs. Nielson might get to her before she had a chance to down a sufficient number of Vicodins.
Unless the Neilsons had a mortar somewhere in the kitchen. In that case, Cassie could grind up the Vicodin, dump it into a glass of milk, and voila—she had a perfect recipe for avoiding her fate as a homicidal maniac.
“How can you play chess at a time like this?” Stephenson demanded. “Mrs. Nielson is going to die any second now!”
Cassie didn’t look up. Her eyes were on the chessboard in front of her. “I’m practicing the King’s Indian Defense.” She’d lost a tournament last month to a freshman because she’d failed to deploy a proper King’s Indian Defense. It still rankled.
“You should be thinking about what we’re going to do when Mrs. Nielson turns.” Stephenson paced back and forth in the tiny living room of the Neilson home. Cassie had always found the knotty pine walls and ceiling cozy, especially in the winter with the wood burning stove.
“I am thinking about what we should do when Mrs. Neilson turns.” Cassie laid out the scenarios she’d been working out in her brain while she played chess against herself.
Stephenson gaped at her as she outlined their options. He was skinny with thick glasses and jeans that were always a little too short. The guy played the chess nerd stereotype to a tee.
Just like Cassie did with her frizzy hair and plain looks. Her parents had shot their entire load of good-looking genes into her older sister, leaving less than nothing for Cassie when it was her turn in the womb. She was taller than most boys in her class and she’d never, ever look good a miniskirt, while Jennifer was practically a poster child for them.
Their matching nerdy looks was the exact reason Cassie worked up the nerve to ask Stephenson to junior prom last year. In retrospect, she’d just been desperate.
At least their sloppy kiss at the end of prom hadn’t ruined the friendship. Cassie, for her part, pretended it never happened. Stephenson had spontaneously adopted the same plan, so it all worked out. Cassie wasn’t even sure he liked girls.
“You think we should grind up Vicodin pills and commit suicide?” Stephenson gawked at her.
Cassie played both sides of the board, studying it while she talked. She used a black rook to take a white knight, then used a white pawn to take a black knight.
“It’s not suicide. It’s self preservation. You don’t want to be like those guys, do you?” She jerked a thumb in the direction of the window that overlooked a yard filled with ferns and redwood trees.
Currently, the serene view was obstructed by a thick blue blanket tacked to the wall. It blocked the sight of the zombies prowling around like a pack of rabid dogs. Every window in the house was covered.
Cassie kept hoping the zombies would get bored and wander off, but that had yet to happen. Sometimes they got close to the house and sniffed around, but so far they hadn’t been smart enough to smash through the windows. Or open a door. Thank God they weren’t smart enough to open a door.
“I think we should try option C,” Stephenson said. “That’s our best chance. Which pieces of furniture should we use to barricade the Nielson’s bedroom door?”
Cassie used a black pawn to take a white pawn on the chessboard. “We can’t barricade the room until Amanda and Mr. Nielson are out.”
“Then let’s tell them to get out!”
Cassie finally looked up. “Would you leave the side of your mother or wife if she was dying?”
“But this is different,” Stephenson said. “Once she turns, they won’t be able to fight her off. We should try to convince them. Actually, you should try to convince them. I’m not very persuasive.”
That was pretty much the understatement of the year. Stephenson didn’t have any backbone.
“Okay. I’ll do it..” She’d known three moves ago that it was going to come down to this anyway.
She moved the black king to the b7 square, then headed out of the living room, through the kitchen, and into the tiny hallway where the home’s two bedrooms were. Stephenson trailed after her.
She found Amanda and Mr. Nielson in a heated argument at the foot of the queen bed. Amanda was dark-haired and big-boned like both her parents. She had her father by the hand, trying to pull him toward the doorway. Her face was streaked with tears and snot.
“Dad, we have to get out of here.” Amanda gave his arm another tug.
Mr. Nielson was a sturdy man and refused to budge. His eyes were wild with grief. “Your mother needs me. I’m not leaving.”
“It’s not safe, Dad!”
“You don’t know that!”
Cassie surveyed poor Mrs. Nielson. All she’d wanted to do was take out the trash.
Word of the Russian invasion had first come over the radio three days ago from a radio station in Rossi. It had been a broadcast by Dal Granger, a guy who’d been best friends with Leo Cecchino, Jennifer’s ex-boyfriend.
Mrs. Nielson, something of a neat-freak, had restrained herself from taking out the trash for two whole days. Then, on day three, she’d convinced herself it was safe to dash out to the trashcans. This was after Dal’s second broadcast, which revealed Russians were turning Americans into zombies.
That should have been enough to convince everyone that staying inside was the only way to go.
Should have.
As luck would have it, there had been a pack of zombies lurking in the trees near the house. Six of them, to be exact, all with black veins and red eyes and gaping mouths. Mrs. Nielson had been bitten three times before Mr. Nielson came out with his shotgun and killed two of them. That had distracted the infected long enough for Mrs. Nielson to get away.
And now Mrs. Nielson was back in the house, dying and transforming into a zombie right before their eyes. Mr. Nielson was in complete denial.
“There must be something we can do,” Mr. Nielson was saying. “Maybe we should give her more Tylenol.”
Tylenol.
Cassie had no words for this proclamation.
Someone had to make the tough call. This wasn’t unlike sacrificing the queen for the greater good in a chess game. It sucked big time, but there were those rare instances where it had to be done.
“Amanda, I need your help.” She gestured to her friend from the doorway of the room, keeping one eye on Mrs. Nielson. She would revert to option B—barricade herself in the bathroom—if all hell broke loose before she could get her friend to safety.
“Not now, Cassie,” Amanda snapped. “I—”
A growl rippled through the tiny space. Mrs. Nielson sat up on the bed, narrowing blood-shot eyes in the direction of her husband and daughter.
Everyone froze. Everyone, except Cassie. She lunged through the doorway, grabbed Amanda by the arm, and yanked her out of the room.
She pulled so hard that Amanda was pulled off-balance. She crashed into Cassie, sending them both into the hallway wall.
“Door!” Cassie screamed. “Stephenson, door!”
Stephenson’s eyes were huge as he backed away from the open door. Dammit. He often caved under pressure. Cassie should have remembered that. She’d seen it happen enough in chess.
“Mom!” Amanda screamed.
Mrs. Nielson shot across the bed. She barreled into Mr. Nielson and latched onto him. They both crashed to the floor. Mr. Nielson screamed as his wife bit down on his shoulder, her teeth tearing through his shirt and skin.
Heart pounding, Cassie shoved Amanda aside. Option C. She still had a chance to make option C work.
Unfortunately, that now meant locking Mr. Nielson in the bedroom, which hadn’t been part of the original plan.
She jumped to her feet, lunged across the hallway and into the bedroom. She grabbed the door handle just as Mrs. Nielson turned bloodshot eyes in her direction.
Cassie hauled back on the door. Mrs. Nielson leaped when she only had it halfway closed. By sheer dumb luck, Mrs. Nielson hit the back the door. The force of it slammed the door shut.
“Mom! Dad!” Amanda rushed forward.
Cassie blocked the way. “No! Stay back.”
“But—!”
“It’s not safe. Stephenson, grab the sideboard.”
Stephenson had retreated to the end of the hallway, which led into the kitchen. There was a sideboard in there where Mrs. Nielson kept all her linens. It was skinny enough to drag down the hallway, but large enough to block the door.
Stephenson gaped, eyes blinking rapidly behind his glasses. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. He didn’t move.
Cassie realized she was going to have to move it herself, but she couldn’t leave Amanda here. She was likely to do something stupid, like go in after her parents. Her mother was currently slamming her body against the door, growling and snarling.
“Come on, Amanda.” She grabbed her friend’s arm with both hands and pulled.
Amanda stumbled blindly after her, tears streaming down her face. Sobs broke free from her chest.
It was an awful sound. Cassie blinked back her own tears. She adored the Nielsons. She’d taken countless road trips with them to various chess tournaments up and down the state all through high school. She was at their house so often she was practically their surrogate daughter.
Cassie plowed into Stephenson and shoved him the rest of the way into the kitchen. He fell back against the sink, fumbling at the kitchen knives that sat in a wooden block on the counter.
“Stephenson, help me move this!” Cassie positioned herself on the far side of the sideboard.
Other than to grab a rather long knife, Stephenson didn’t move.
“I can do it.” Amanda, still choking on sobs, got the other end of the sideboard.
Fear and frustration made Cassie want to scream. Amanda had just lost both parents to a Russian virus, yet she was able to pull it together. Stephenson, on the other hand, stood at the kitchen sink like a useless fish.
Cassie and Amanda dragged the sideboard down the hall and positioned it in front of the door.
“Amanda?” It was Mr. Nielson.
“Dad?” Amanda leaned against the wall, brushing stray wisps of brown hair out of her eyes.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?” he called through the wood door. Growls from his wife punctuated his words.
“Yeah. Are you?”
A brief silence followed this question. Poor Amanda couldn’t stop crying.
“I’m sorry, honey. I ... I didn’t think your mother would actually bite me.”
“What’s she doing now?” Cassie asked. She half expected Mrs. Nielson to eat her husband.
“She’s not paying any attention to me now,” he said. “It’s like ... she just needed to bite me.”
In yesterday’s broadcast, Dal Granger had told them this was how the virus spread: through bites. All organisms had an internal directive to procreate. After what Cassie had just seen, she was pretty sure she’d just witnessed Mrs. Nielson following the virus’s need to replicate. And now that she’d done that, she was finished with her husband.
Pretty soon, Mr. Nielson would succumb to the virus. He, too, would become a virus replicating machine. Just like the monsters outside ringing the cottage. Mr. Nielson had only a few hours.
Mrs. Nielson continued to pound and scratch at the door. Stephenson at last came back into the hallway. He carried the knife in one hand and dragged a chair with the other.
He was trying. That was better than nothing. Cassie took the chair from him and wedged it beneath the sideboard.
>
“Can you grab another one?” she asked Stephenson.
He nodded numbly and headed back toward the kitchen.
“Dad, what are we supposed to do?” Amanda asked. “We need to get you out of there.”
“No, sweetie. That’s not an option.”
Silence again. Cassie took advantage of the moment to shove a second chair beneath the sideboard. It wasn’t bad, as far as barricades went. Although she’d feel better if there was another mile between them and the Nielsons.
Amanda and her father continued to talk through the door while Mrs. Nielson tried to batter her way through it. Cassie retreated to the kitchen with Stephenson.
“What are we going to do?” Stephenson asked in wail of despair.
Cassie didn’t answer. The truth was, she hadn’t given them good odds of making it this long. She’d hadn’t plotted out their next moves yet.
She went back into the living room and sat in front of the chessboard. Chess was her happy place. She could think better when she had her chessboard in front of her.
“What are you doing?” Stephenson followed her into the living room. “Can you stop playing chess for five minutes?”
Cassie resisted the urge to scream. Didn’t he understand that chess was the only thing keeping her from totally losing it right now?
She resumed her game, playing against herself. Black pawn advances to d4. White bishop takes black pawn.
Her hands moved rapidly as she played. She wasn’t thinking about the King’s Indian Defense anymore. She was thinking about the hard facts and listing them out in her head.
a) The house was surrounded by zombies.
b) There was one zombie in the house with another on its way.
c) The Nielsons loved to buy things on sale. They had enough canned food and other shelf-stable things to feed Cassie, Stephenson, and Amanda for at least a month if they rationed.
d) That shelf-stable food wouldn’t do them a damn bit of good if they didn’t figure out what to do about points A and B.
e) If Stephenson didn’t stop pacing and asking her how she could play chess at a time like this, she might stab him through the eye with a bishop.