Not for the first time, she wondered what had happened to Jennifer. Her older sister was supposed to pick her up the day the Russians attacked. Cassie had spent too much time staring out the window at the driveway, hoping to see Jennifer drive up.
That was before they’d hung blankets over all the windows. She refused to imagine all the awful things that may have happened to her sister. Since there was no way to know for sure, Cassie decided it was perfectly acceptable to fill in the blanks in a way that made her feel better. Therefore, she had decided Jennifer had been running late to pick her up and was still home when the invasion happened. She was with their parents in their house back in Bastopol, safely hidden from Russians and infected.
“Cassie?” Amanda entered the kitchen. She had her Converse on and a backpack over one shoulder. “Where are we going to go? When we get away, I mean? Based on what Dal said in his two broadcasts, it’s not safe to go into any of the towns.”
Cassie had been mulling over this question. Amanda was right. They had to avoid all towns until they had more information.
“I—I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t know where it’s safe.”
They all looked at one another. Cassie felt like she was failing them. She was always three to five moves ahead. All good chess players were. But in this instance, Cassie couldn’t see the board. She couldn’t plan.
“It’s okay.” Amanda gave her brave smile. “If we make it to the car, we can wing it from there.”
Cassie wanted to laugh, but was too stressed. Amanda was known for winging it in her chess games. She didn’t strategize like Stephenson and Cassie did. Sometimes it paid off for her in fabulous, unexpected ways. Other times, it cost her the game.
“Okay, you two get into the attic and open the air vent over the front porch. I’ll draw the infected around to the back of the house and let them inside. While they’re preoccupied with trying to get us out of the ceiling, we’ll slip out the front and make our getaway in the Gremlin.”
Amanda and Stephenson nodded at her solemnly.
This plan would look much more plausible if they were all jocks. For three chess geeks, it sounded like a suicide mission.
Chapter 4
Sneak Attack
LEO POSITIONED HIMSELF behind a large tree and counted the enemy below. Six Russians with dart guns, plus another twelve with machine guns keeping watch over the prisoners. Eighteen Russians against the four of them.
Bad odds. The thought skittered through his brain. If this was a football game, he wouldn’t bet on them. All they had was the element of surprise.
It would have to be enough.
Leo sighted on the first of his targets, a Soviet with a dart gun. He pulled the trigger without hesitation. His shot rang out, echoing through the trees. As soon as his first target dropped, he sighted on the next communist bastard with a dart gun. The invader fell as Leo fired a second time. Bombs whistled out of the trees as Jennifer and Anton attacked.
In the breath it took him to shift his sights to the third target, the Russian grabbed a prisoner. Leo recognized the prisoner. It was Alex, a guy he’d gone to school with. The tall, wiry basketball player was a year behind Leo. The Russian had likely grabbed him because he looked skinny and weak.
He was wrong about the weak part. Basketball was a rough sport. Alex elbowed the Russian in the nose so hard that blood spurted. In the chaos, he swung around decked the man in the temple.
“Nice,” Leo murmured. As Alex stepped back, Leo fired.
The Russian wouldn’t be getting up again.
By this time, Dal had successfully taken out his targets. The line of Soviets with dart guns was down. Anton and Jennifer had taken out two of the jeeps with Nonna’s bombs.
Pandemonium had broken out among the people. A few of them dashed forward to grab weapons from the downed soldiers. Some Russians fired into the trees, while others tried to maintain control of the prisoners.
One of the Soviets swung around and took aim at the trees. The bastard had a rocket launcher.
Before Leo could react, the missile slammed into the hillside above him. Rock and dirt and trees spewed outward.
Shit! He covered his head with his hands, scrunching down as debris slammed into him.
Gunfire was a burning rattle in his ears. He peered around his tree just in time to see a perfectly thrown homemade bomb arc out from the trees. It landed at the feet of the asshole with the rocket launcher and exploded.
Anton. Leo spotted him through the trees. Jennifer crouched by his side, lighting bombs and passing them to him. His little brother unleashed a relentless attack on the vehicles, cutting off all forms of escape.
The Russians and civilians scattered as bombs rained down. People screamed. Guns fired. Dal burst onto the scene below him, charging like a maniac into the melee.
Leo tore down the hillside, slipping and sliding in the dirt and loose debris. As he ran, a series of explosions tore through the now-empty trucks. Leo felt a rush of adrenaline a hundred times more powerful than anything he’d ever felt on the football field. He roared in wordless satisfaction as Anton and Jennifer rained down hellfire.
Leo burst out of the trees and joined Dal in the fight. Alex and over a dozen other prisoners fought with Dal. They’d taken guns and now fired back at the Russians, who’d fallen back to take cover behind a wrecked jeep. There were bodies everywhere, both American and Russian. The rest of the living prisoners had fled, running for their lives in all directions.
“Over here!” Leo grabbed Alex by the collar and hauled him toward the bombed remains of a truck.
“Leo?” Alex gaped at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass.” He shoved Alex behind the cover of the truck, waving for the others to follow.
“Stay down,” Leo ordered.
“What are you doing?” Dal asked, peering around the truck to fire at the Russians.
Another rocket launcher sped toward the hillside where Anton and Jennifer hid. Panic spiked through Leo as plants and debris spewed through the air. He had to get rid of these Soviet fuckers now.
He pulled two of Nonna’s bombs from his jacket pocket, lit the fuse, and threw. They sailed through the air and detonated behind the jeep where the Russians hid. Leo lobbed another two for good measure, then covered his head as shrapnel rained down.
Silence descended as the dust settled. Leo panted for breath. Every muscle in his body was tense as he anticipated return fire.
It never came.
“Everyone, stay down,” Leo ordered. He cautiously peeked out, peering in the direction of the jeep. Except for some burning debris, nothing moved. The only sound was that of the cicadas whining in a nearby tree.
“Anton,” he shouted. “Jennifer!”
“We’re okay!”
Anton’s answering shout sent the air whooshing out of Leo’s lungs. “Thank God,” he said to himself.
“Are they all dead?” Anton called.
“I’m checking. Stay where you are and cover me.”
“On it,” Anton replied. “I’ve got your back.”
Leo picked his way through the people crouching behind the truck with him. There was Dal and Alex, his neighbor Mr. Gonzales, plus a handful of others he didn’t recognize. Seeing his fellow Americans clutching Russian guns made his chest swell with pride. They may have been caught with their pants down, but they weren’t going to go quietly into the night.
He sobered at the sight of a puckered, red wound in the neck of Mr. Gonzales. Already Leo could see a small vein of black ebbing out from the wound. His mouth went dry with anger.
“Everyone, stay down,” he said. “Don’t move unless I give the all clear.”
Dal gave him a tight nod. Leo slipped out from around the truck, running to the next closest vehicle. It was the truck they’d followed here.
There were dead bodies everywhere, many of them American. Blood stained the road, running in rivulets through the gravel.
A shot cracked across the road. Leo threw himself behind the ruined remains of a second truck.
“Clear,” Anton said. “I got him.”
Leo remained crouched behind the rear wheel of the truck, straining his ears for any sign of the Russians. There was nothing to be heard but the whining of the cicadas.
He knelt, lowering his head to the ground. Looking past his hiding place, he had a clear view of the jeep. The vehicle was torn to shreds from Nonna’s bombs. Glass was everywhere. A door had been ripped free and most of the interior was destroyed. The bodies he saw on the other side were motionless, but that didn’t mean they were dead.
He crept toward the jeep, the gravel crunching under foot. His scooped up a discarded machine gun and settled it into the crook of his arm.
He closed the distance around the jeep in a rush.
The bodies on the other side were one-hundred percent dead. They’d been ripped to shreds by the bombs. Blood and gore was everywhere.
Not far away were the bodies of two kids, no more than age nine or ten. Their backs were riddled with bullet holes. Leo’s jaw tightened. Dirty Soviet fuckers had no mercy.
Growling cut through the whine of the cicadas. Leo whipped around just in time to see a group of seven zombies round a corner in the road. They were half a mile away and closing in fast.
Thank God they were in the middle of farm country and not closer to Bastopol. With the commotion they made attacking the Soviets, they’d have drawn the entire city of undead upon them. Not to mention Soviet reinforcements.
Leo raised the Soviet machine gun, grateful for something to distract him from the carnage. Anton began firing from his position on the hillside. Dal joined him.
The zombies were all down in under thirty seconds. Leo waited. This time, there were no more growls to disrupt the cicadas. But that didn’t mean there weren’t more zombies on the way. They needed to clear out of here.
“All clear.” His voice was crisp when he spoke. “You can come out.”
Dal and the others rose from behind the truck. Leo counted them. Seventeen in all. Of the fifty or so who had been taken captive, only seventeen remained. The rest were either dead or had fled. Of those who had had stayed to fight, several had been infected with the nezhit virus.
As Jennifer and Anton joined them, Leo surveyed the battleground. There was a gold mine of weapons among the bodies. They would be idiots to leave them here.
“Anton, I need you to stay behind and collect all the weapons,” Leo said. “Make sure the survivors get what they need. Load everything else onto Stealth and get them back to the cabin.”
“What about us?” A woman stepped forward. An inch-long black vein adorned her forearm where she’d been hit with a dart. Four others clustered with her, Mr. Gonzales among them. These were the people who had been infected.
There was no way to sugar coat this. These people deserved the truth.
“Have any of you heard the Sniper broadcast?” Leo asked.
To his surprise, all of them nodded. Dal’s face brightened with the knowledge his message had been received. It was a small consolation.
“Then you know what’s happened to you,” Leo said. “You’ve been infected with the nezhit virus. When it reaches your brain, you’ll turn into a zombie. The only thing you’ll want to do is bite as many people as you can, as fast as you can. In a few hours, you’ll all be part of the Russian’s plan to wipe us out and take over American soil.”
“But—what are we supposed to do?” the woman asked.
Mr. Gonzales stepped forward. “We make our deaths count for something. Do you have any more of those bombs?”
“Yeah.” Jennifer held out her hands, clutching three bombs. “We made them.”
Mr. Gonzales looked to the other infected. “I’m going to Bastopol. I’m going to find some Russians and take them out. If I have to die, I’m going to make sure I take as many of them with me as I can. Who’s with me?”
“Mr. Gonzales, here.” Anton stepped forward, eyes somber. He picked up a machine gun off the ground and passed it to the older man. Jennifer and Dal handed their remaining bombs to the group of infected people.
“My farm isn’t too far from here,” Mr. Gonzales said. “We’ll take my truck and go to Bastopol.”
“The elementary school,” Leo said. “That’s where the Soviets are stockpiling supplies.”
Mr. Gonzales nodded, eyes flinty. “Consider it done.”
“Good luck,” Leo said, his throat was tight. He’d known Mr. Gonzales his entire life. “Dal, come on. It’s time for us to go. Jennifer, I need you to stay with Anton and help him with the weapons.”
“No,” Jennifer began. “I’m coming with you—”
“No.” Leo glared to let her know this was not up for discussion.
She glared right back. “She’s my sister.”
Leo was running out of patience. “The situation has changed. These guns are important. We need them. And Dal is a better shot. If we run into trouble getting Cassie, two good shots will be better than one.”
Jennifer’s mouth tightened with resignation. She knew he was right. “You better bring her back to me, Leo.”
“We’ll meet you back at the cabin after we get Cassie.” Leo turned his back on her, sweeping his eyes over the survivors. “The rest of you, find someplace safe to hole up until help comes. Anton. Did you bring the spray paint?”
“Damn right I did.” Anton pulled out the can of orange paint from where it was secured against the small of his back with his belt.
“Make sure those assholes know who hit them.” Leo strode away without another word, Dal at his side.
Chapter 5
Bad Plan
CASSIE WISHED SHE HAD joined the basketball team. Jennifer always said she had the height of a basketball player. It had been her sister’s way of trying to make her feel good about her six feet of height and the full figure that went with it. If Cassie had taken her advice, she’d be in shape and have a better chance of outrunning the infected when she let them in the house.
Using her index finger, she pushed aside the blanket that had been nailed over the living room window. Her eyes took in the infected that prowled around the yard. Two were within eyesight. They circled around a garbage can, snarling and kicking at it.
Stephenson and Amanda had made it in the attic. Cassie heard them moving around overhead as they made their way to the front of the house. It was time for her to let the infected inside.
At least the zombies didn’t have higher thought. If higher thought had been combined with those freakishly fast, cannibalisitic tendencies, America would be well and truly screwed.
There were at least two other infected out there. The idea of all four of them rushing into the house made Cassie want to throw up all over her shoes. Thank God Mr. Nielson had killed a few of them already. Cassie would probably hyperventilate on the spot if she had to contend with more than four.
As it was, she was so scared she couldn’t see straight. She was seriously reconsidering the Vicodin plan. Was it really such a bad idea? It would bypass pain and panic. That seemed like a pretty good option at the moment.
What the hell had she been thinking? This was the worst plan in the history of bad plans. And history was chock full of bad plans.
Battle of Waterloo under Napoleon. Invasion of Moscow during World War II. Battle of Hattin that led to the loss of Jerusalem during the Crusades. Those were all bad, bad plans.
Cassie was pretty sure her plan would go down in flames just like those. She would be the first to go when the zombies caught her. Stephenson and Amanda would likely be right behind her. There would be no one left to pen an account that could be analyzed by historians of the future.
But what else could they do? They were destined to be zombie food if they sat around and did nothing. Her plan might have terrible odds, but terrible odds were better than no odds at all.
Use your brain, Cassie. You can do this.
> She released the blanket and turned to survey the room. It was a straight shot from the back door, through the living room, to the kitchen entryway. The zombies were radically fast. She’d seen them streak across the yard when they attacked Mrs. Nielson.
Cassie grabbed a recliner chair and dragged it into the egress between the back door and the kitchen. Then she did the same thing with the coffee table. There. That provided two obstacles for the zombies.
Of course, they would also be obstacles for Cassie when she opened the back door. She snorted at the momentary mental vision of herself flying over the furniture like an Olympic hurdler. Who was she kidding?
She frowned, her mind working as she took in the details of the Nielsons’ back entrance. There was a plain wooden screen door on the outside. The infected would plow through that in less than a second.
But the main door had a dead bolt and a door chain. Cassie licked her lips. How long would the door chain hold? Thirty seconds? A minute?
Long enough for her to make it into the attic?
It was a plan. And not a bad plan, if she did so say herself. So long as it worked the way she hoped it would.
In chess, this situation would be considered a zugzwang—a situation where a player is forced to move into a disadvantageous situation simply because it’s his turn.
She’d fought her way out of zugzwangs on numerous occasions. It hadn’t been pretty. The last time it happened, she’d had to sacrifice a bishop to get out of the mess.
Hopefully, the door chain, recliner, and coffee table would be sufficient sacrifices. Hopefully, Cassie wouldn’t end up as dead meat like her bishop had.
She was burning daylight. If she didn’t want to have to run for her life through the dark, she had to move now.
She tiptoed to the back door and double checked the door chain. It looked solid.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered.
She turned the dead bolt. It made a soft, distinct snick. Holding her breath, she turned the door knob. The door squealed loudly on un-greased hinges.
Zommunist Invasion | Book 2 | Snipers Page 3
