Scattered (Zommunist Invasion Book 3)

by Camille Picott

  Scattered

  Zommunist Invasion, Book 3

  Camille Picott

  Copyright © 2021 by Camille Picott

  www.camillepicott.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  This book is dedicated to all the awesome members of my Zombie Recon Team on Patreon. Your support means the world to me!

  Linda Huggins

  Amanda Pratt

  Larry Guevara

  Jenn Miola

  Julie Wyatt

  Jessica Stephenson

  Tanya Griggs

  Lisa Unciano

  Brian Spillane

  Nanciann Lamontange

  Lisa Lewis

  Jenyfer Conaway

  Contents

  I. Mission to Rossi

  1. Riders

  2. Damn Good

  3. Into Rossi

  4. Bodies

  5. Trap Run

  6. Bars

  7. Cigarettes

  8. Darkness

  9. Broken

  10. Family

  11. Alarm

  12. Doctor

  13. Tank

  14. Outbound

  II. Fifteen Miles

  15. Plan

  16. Mrs. Fink

  17. Bird of Prey

  18. Sample

  19. Log

  20. Boulder

  21. Ants

  22. Slog

  23. Possibility

  24. Trap

  25. New Zombie

  26. Home

  III. Survivors

  27. Snow

  28. Pink

  29. Practice

  30. Princess of Power

  31. The Boy with the Painted Face

  32. Shoes

  33. Absence

  34. A Brother Like You

  35. Footprints

  36. Exposed

  37. Memory

  38. Waiting

  39. Attack

  40. Apocalyptic Princess of Power

  41. Engines

  IV. Family

  42. Grandson

  43. Mirror

  44. Toughest Girl in the Village

  45. Microscope

  46. Weird

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Part I

  Mission to Rossi

  1

  Riders

  While Leo and his team embarked on their mission to Luma Bridge, the rest of the Snipers had missions of their own…

  Anger boiled in Anton’s blood as he leaned low over the back of his horse. In his mind’s eye, he kept seeing Mr. and Mrs. Craig in the back of the open-top jeep with the KGB and Russian soldiers. The memory made him want to simultaneously vomit and burn shit down.

  He could hardly believe his big brother had turned his back on the Craigs. Leo was so focused on blowing up a fucking bridge, he was willing to sell out friends in the name of the mission. Well, Leo could have his fucking bridge. Anton wasn’t turning his back on the Craigs.

  Anton was an orphan now. He, Leo, and Lena had lost their mom to cancer before the Soviet invasion. They’d lost their dad to the fucking Russians. Hell if he was going to let his friend Tate Craig end up an orphan, too.

  Beside him, Tate gripped the black mane of his horse. Stealth and Thunder were both retired stallions from the junior college. They galloped down the hand-picked dirt road that led away from Pole Mountain.

  The Cecchinos had been family friends with the Craigs forever. They’d grown up having sleepovers together. Mrs. Craig made the best pumpkin bread in all of West County and always gave them several loaves every Thanksgiving.

  They’d already lost Jim Craig—the oldest of the Craig brothers—to the communist bastards less than a week ago. They weren’t going to lose any more Craigs to this damn war. Not if Anton had anything to say about it.

  The horses hit the bottom of Pole Mountain and raced through the Cecchino apple orchard, heading toward the two-lane highway that bordered the family farm.

  “What are we going to do now?” Tate yelled over the thunder of the horse hooves.

  Anton had secretly been wondering the same thing. They wouldn’t be able to catch the KGB jeep. It had too much of a head start. That was the main reason Leo put the kibosh on the rescue mission to begin with; there was no way to catch the Craigs before their captors got them to Rossi.

  But football games weren’t always won with muscle. Strategy could trump muscle. He and Tate were going to have to outthink the Russians if they wanted any chance of rescuing Mr. and Mrs. Craig.

  Anton hadn’t been an ace at football strategy, but he wasn’t terrible. He sure as shit was smarter than Russian assholes. That much he knew for sure.

  “We find a Russian patrol and ambush them,” Anton said. “We steal their uniforms and use them to sneak into Rossi and find your parents.” That shit worked all the time in the movies.

  “Good idea.” Tate’s grip on the Stealth’s mane was white-knuckled. His expression was a stony mask of determination. “We’re bound to come across a patrol between here and Rossi.”

  Tate had changed since losing his brother to the Russians. The fun-loving guy who blew vodka fireballs after football games was gone. He was hard in ways Anton could hardly comprehend.

  The horses’ gait opened up along the highway. These animals were bred to run. This was probably the best time they’d had since retiring to the junior college.

  The countryside blurred by on either side of them. The apple orchards all sagged with fruit, much of it rotting on the ground. The ripe scent of the over-ripe fruit filled his nose.

  It was a normal smell that may have transported Anton back to the happy days of his childhood if not for the underlying scent of death. When the Russians invaded, they’d brought the nezhit virus with them. They’d infected hundreds of people all over West County, then sent them home to turn into zombies and spread the virus.

  Most of the zombies from the first wave of the attack had died. There were a fair number of people who lived out here in the countryside. They galloped by more bodies than Anton cared to count. Some had died on the side of the road. Others had died around their homes, their bodies rotting in front yards or near their cars.

  It was some fucked-up shit.

  “There.” Tate raised a hand. Less than a mile ahead of them was a freeway onramp. A tangle of cars dotted the top of the overpass. “We need higher ground. We can’t see anything from down here.”

  He was right. Anton wasn’t fond of exposing themselves on the overpass, but they couldn’t see shit down here.

  They let the horses trot to the onramp, pausing when they reached it. They sat for a minute, listening. Other than the whine of insects and the soft whisper of the wind, there was no sound.

  They rode onto the overpass. The freeway was a fucking mess. Dead bodies rotted on the road and inside cars. Anton shaded his eyes, scanning the road in both directions. It wasn’t impossible to navigate a car through this mess, but the congestion lasted for miles.

  “Do you hear that?” Tate’s attention snapped west.

  Anton strained his ears. After a beat, he heard the sound that had nabbed Tate’s attention.

  “Car,” Anton said. If they were within earshot, it meant they weren’t too far away.

  “Do you think it’s my mom and dad?” Tate’s voice took on a desperate edge.

>   “I don’t think so, man.” The disappointment in his friend’s eyes gutted him. “There’s no way we could have gotten out in front of them. They had too much of a lead on us.”

  Tate didn’t respond. Instead, he jumped off his horse and climbed on top of a minivan. He shaded his eyes, looking west.

  “Do you see anything?” Anton asked.

  “Yeah. A U-Haul van. It’s coming our way, but it’s moving slow.”

  “A U-Haul?” That was weird.

  “Yeah. Wish we had the binoculars. I bet it’s Soviets driving it.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Tate shot a frown in his direction. “Who else would be driving a U-Haul out here? I bet they’re taking supplies from Bastopol to Rossi. Remember that big cache Dal and Lena saw at the elementary school?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” Anton recalled his sister telling them about the big supply of food the Soviets stockpiled at Bastopol Elementary.

  “I bet those assholes are taking our stuff to Soviet troops in Rossi.” Tate jumped back to the ground. “Let’s ambush the assholes and steal their uniforms.”

  “We can cut them off at George’s,” Anton said. “Remember that big patch of eucalyptus trees by the fruit stand?”

  “Good idea, bro. That’s a perfect spot for an ambush.”

  “We can take them out with head shots from the trees.” Anton nodded eagerly. “Shoot them right through the windshield of the U-Haul. That way, there won’t be a lot of blood on the uniforms.”

  “Come on.” Tate kicked the black stallion into a gallop, sending the animal leaping through the carnage. The horse nickered in protest when Tate tried to lead him over a clump of dead bodies. Stealth side-stepped, then bolted past the bodies.

  The poor animals were as traumatized by the war as the rest of them. Anton kneed Thunder, taking off after Tate.

  Their horses raced down the freeway and took the next offramp. More farmland dotted this part of Bastopol. Anton and Tate galloped through orchards, taking a short cut across the land to George’s Fruit Stand.

  George’s was a converted barn that sat next to the freeway. The Russians would drive right by the barn on their way to Rossi. It was the perfect place for an ambush. The fruit stand was a popular place to buy local produce. Mrs. George, a renowned baker, made the best cookies in all of West County. Anton’s mother always bought cookies for the family when she came here to shop.

  Anton tracked the U-Haul with his ears. Determination tightened his chest. They could do this.

  Up ahead was the tall stand of eucalyptus trees that grew along the road next to George’s. In wordless agreement, Anton and Tate leaned over their animals and urged them straight for the trees at a dead run. The horses ran so fast Anton’s eyes watered.

  They were fifty yards from the trees when Anton slowed Thunder. The animal’s chest heaved from the exertion, his coat lathered with sweat. Anton gave him a pat before sliding to the ground. He and Tate left the horses behind several tall stacks of corn bins near the barn. Side by side, they raced toward the eucalyptus trees.

  Anton gripped his stolen Soviet machine gun and ducked behind a tall tree. God, it smelled like hell. Not even the pungent scent of the eucalyptus could cover up the stink of the dead. He glanced at the hulking wooden structure of the barn, thinking there must be a lot of dead inside those walls for the air to stink this badly.

  “They’re coming.” Tate ducked behind a second tree.

  The freeway was badly clogged here; George’s was a popular place. Anton had no doubt the place had been busy when the Russian bastards attacked. That worked to their advantage now. There would be no quick way through the cars for the Soviets, especially with the U-Haul.

  Anton aimed the machine gun at the freeway, mouth dry with anticipation of the ambush. The U-Haul came into view, threading its way through the vehicles. Anton’s focus narrowed. He sighted down the barrel of the gun, tracking the vehicle.

  Sure enough, he saw Soviets sitting in the front seat of the U-Haul.

  “You get the driver,” Anton said. “I’ll get the guy in the passenger seat.”

  “Come to papa, Soviet scum,” Tate murmured.

  The U-Haul came within range just as a scream went up from the horses. Anton’s shot went wide, hitting the driver’s side mirror instead of the Soviet.

  Tate was rock-steady. Two shots punched through the front windshield. The U-Haul careened sideways and crashed head-on into an abandoned Datsun.

  Another shrill of panic went up from the horses. Anton swore, ducking behind the tree trunk to see what was going on behind him.

  Stealth, the black horse, bolted out from behind the corn bins. On his heels were two zombies. Not regular zombies, which were bad enough, but mutant zombies. Mutant zombies, with their distended, enlarged muscles and black-veined skin, were easy to recognize.

  There was no sign of Thunder, but Anton heard the animal screaming.

  “Fucking shit, we have mutants!”

  2

  Damn Good

  “You take out the mutants,” Tate yelled back. “I’ll take care of the last Russian.”

  Bullets ripped through the air. Anton pressed his back against the eucalyptus and took aim at the mutants.

  It took a lot of shots to kill a mutant zombie. The only sure-fire way to bring them down fast was with a head shot.

  “Stay away from my sister’s horse,” Anton snarled. He fired at the first of the mutants, who was dangerously close to taking down the black stallion. It was a woman with a left calf muscle that had swelled to nearly three times its normal the size. One arm had grown longer, hanging almost to her knee. Her gait was uneven, but freakishly fast.

  Anton took her down with two bullets to the head. Stealth screamed in terror and kept running.

  The second mutant spared a single glance for Anton. Red eyes, feral and calculating, locked on him. In a single stride, the mutant changed gears. He forgot all about the fleeing horse and raced straight toward Anton.

  This mutant had been nothing more than a kid when he’d been killed. Based on the acne speckling his face, Anton guessed him to be twelve or thirteen. His chest and arms were swollen with increased muscle mass. He dropped forward onto his hands as he ran, moving like an animal.

  Anton exhaled and fired. The mutant kid dropped in a spray of blood. Anton didn’t wait to see him hit the ground, spinning back around to focus on the U-Haul.

  The second Russian was dead, laying in a puddle of his own blood outside the open passenger-side door. Dammit. So much for having a clean uniform.

  But the battle wasn’t over. The roll-up door of the U-Haul had been thrown open. Boxes of supplies spilled out onto the asphalt. Jars of broken tomato sauce glistened on the pavement. Cans of corn and pees rolled among the shattered jars of sauce.

  In the middle of the supplies were two more Soviets. Fucking shit. They must have been riding inside the U-Haul. The assholes had taken cover behind the van and now sprayed bullets into the clump of trees where Anton and Tate hid. He felt the bullets thud into the front of his tree.

  Tate recklessly exposed himself, leaning around the tree to return fire.

  Another whinny had Anton whipping back around. Thunder staggered around the side of the corn bins, two mutants attached to his flanks. Blood and gore was everywhere.

  Anton felt his chest seize. He fired, but this time not at the mutants. He brought Thunder down, sparing the poor animal a painful death. Killing such a beautiful animal hurt as much as knowing they’d just lost one of their rides out of here.

  The mutants bore the carcass to the ground. Anton had destroyed the head when he killed Thunder, but that didn’t stop the mutants. They scraped at the dirt, pulling up mashed remains of brain matter and shoving them into their mouths. The sight made Anton sick.

  The only saving grace was that the mutants were momentarily distracted. Anton took advantage of the moment to take them out.

  He spun back around to the road. Sh
outing from the Russians had gained intensity. Anton saw why. Two mutants had emerged onto the road. They bounded over vehicles, closing in on the battle scene.

  They were going for the Russians. Good. Let the fuckers have Soviets. Between Tate and the zombies, the assholes didn’t stand a chance—

  A mutant woman leaped over the hood of the car nearest to Anton. She was on him before he had time to jerk his gun around.

  She hit him so hard they both rolled across the ground. Tree roots crunched against his spine and rib cage. The machine gun flew from his hands.

  The mutant rolled to a stop only a few feet from him. Anton lunged for his gun.

  The mutant was faster. She sprang across the distance and tackled him a second time. They rolled.

  Somehow, she ended up beneath Anton. This should have meant he had the advantage, but the mutant had both hands locked around his neck.

  She squeezed, nostrils flaring with anticipation as he choked for air. She looked to have been in her mid-twenties when she was infected. There was dried blood all over her face and neck.

  Red irises locked on him. Anton felt like he was caught in the crosshairs of a demon.