Zommunist Invasion | Book 1 | Red Virus

by Picott, Camille

  “Dal!”

  He ignored her.

  “Dal, what the hell? We could have gotten them. Three less Russians on the loose.”

  “I’m not risking your life so you can gun down Russians,” he snapped.

  “But it’s our duty,” she argued. “They’re on American soil.”

  “It’s not your duty,” he replied. “And my duty is to get you home to your dad.” If she wanted to fight Russians, she could clear it with Mr. Cecchino.

  “Chauvinist,” she muttered.

  Dal let the comment slide. He was all for equal rights, but not at the risk of getting Lena killed. She could take up the equal rights debate with Mr. Cecchino after Dal got her home in one piece.

  The freeway onramp finally appeared. They were no more than a hundred yards away when a blue Mustang shot out from an adjoining street. Dal slammed on the breaks to keep from crashing into the side of the car, halting in the middle of the road. He had just enough time to register the military fatigues.

  “Out!” Lena screamed. She threw open her door and rolled out of the car.

  Dal followed suit, punching his seat belt buckle. He hit the asphalt just as machine gun fire ripped into the Beetle.

  He heard Lena screaming from the other side of the car as she returned fire. Was the girl completely out of her mind?

  Bullets sprayed his beloved car. Steam hissed out of the back, telling him the engine had been hit.

  He rolled to a stop, only to find Lena squaring off against the Russians, machine gun on her shoulder. He grabbed her around the waist.

  The Beetle had rolled to a stop in the middle of the road, spewing stream. It wasn’t much in the way of cover, but it was the best to be found. He dragged a protesting Lena behind the back fender.

  “Dal, what the hell?”

  He yanked the gun out of her hands. “Stay down,” he snapped. He made a mental note to make her drive—if they were lucky enough to get a chance to drive out of here. No more guns for Lena.

  He checked the magazine. Two bullets left. “Where are the other magazines?”

  “Here.” Lena passed him one. The remaining one was in the waistline of her stretch pants. He wished she was dressed head to toe in Kevlar. The Russians remained inside their Mustang in the middle of the intersection, guns aimed in at them.

  A car appeared, roaring toward the intersection. It was on a direct intersect course with the Mustang fender.

  Dal recognized it instantly. He would know the beat-up front end of that brown Chevy pickup anywhere.

  It was his father’s car.

  Richard Granger sat behind the wheel, his favorite black hat pulled over shaggy hair. He looked just like he had a year ago when Dal had seen him at the cider mill.

  Mr. Granger drove the truck like an avenging demon. Even though they were separated by more than a hundred yards, Dal felt the moment when his father saw him. The sensation was like a spear going through his body.

  And just like last year at the cider mill, there was a brief moment when father and son looked at each other. It lasted no more than a second, but it felt like centuries.

  Then Mr. Granger jerked the steering wheel. His truck made a hard right. He zoomed past the Mustang and onto the freeway onramp, leaving Dal and Lena in the crosshairs of the Russians.

  Dal felt his breath leave his body.

  His father had left him to fend for himself.

  Just like he always had.

  It hurt. Even after all these years, it still hurt.

  Dal’s mouth tightened. Peering around the side of the Beetle, he spotted one of the Russians. That ’69 Mustang fastback was too fine of a vehicle for Russian scum.

  The one in the back had his gun propped in the open window. Dal took aim, pretending the Russian was nothing more than a big buck.

  He fired. The bullets tore through their attacker. The invader slumped, gun clattering to the pavement just outside the Mustang.

  Dal felt Lena tense beside him. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “That’s a perfectly good weapon.”

  “And that’s a perfectly good Russian in the driver’s seat.” Dal slapped in a new magazine as the Russian in the front seat opened fire. He sprayed bullets all around the Beetle.

  Dal threw himself over Lena, covering her body with his. For once, she didn’t fight him. She was too busy screaming as gunfire rained down on them.

  Dal felt a sting across his shoulder blade. He sucked in a breath at the hot pain that ripped across his back.

  “Dal? Dal, are you okay?”

  He didn’t respond, instead gritting his teeth. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a tiny trickle of blood. A graze, not a gunshot wound.

  “Dal!”

  “I’m okay.”

  The gunfire ceased. He heard the door of the Mustang swing open. Boots crunched on broken glass.

  Dal rolled off Lena and peered beneath the Beetle. The boots of the Russian continued on a trajectory straight for them. Dal fired at the attacker’s feet.

  The invader went down. More gun fire spewed through the air. Dal crawled sideways, poked the gun around the front bumper of the Beetle, and fired in the general direction of the Russian. The machine gun vibrated into his shoulder socket.

  Silence.

  He glanced over his shoulder to check on Lena. She was still flat on the pavement, watching him with wide eyes. Drawing a breath, he peeked over the top of the car.

  The Russian lay dead before him, sprawled in a puddle of his own blood in the middle of the road.

  Their immediate surroundings were eerily quiet. In the distance was the wail of sirens and machine gun chatter.

  Lena was the first to move. She darted to the Mustang, snatched up a second machine gun, and slung it around her neck.

  “I should have grabbed one of these earlier.” She opened driver’s side door and popped the seat forward. Grabbing the dead Russian’s belt, she dragged the body out of the car. “Come on, let’s go.” She jerked a thumb at the Mustang and simultaneously grabbed the extra magazines off the dead Russian.

  Dal took one last look at his smoking Beetle. The Mustang was a superb car in all arenas. Still, he loved his beat-up blue bug.

  “Dal.” Lena was by his side, squeezing his arm.

  She knew what the car meant to him. He felt it in the gentle pressure of his fingers.

  He turned his back on the Beetle. Taking a page out of Lena’s book, he grabbed the machine gun and magazines from the Russian he’d killed. He paused, observing the dart gun strapped to the man’s waist. Dozens of tiny red darts lined the magazine.

  “What do you think those are for?” he asked.

  Lena shook her head. “Soviet poison. Don’t touch them.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s get out of here, Dal.”

  He spun on his heel, running for the car.

  Lena beat him to the driver’s seat. He expected her to move over and let him drive, but she slammed the door and buckled herself in.

  Shit. Apparently, she planned to drive. Dal didn’t like it, but arguing would only cost them time. They had to get back to the farm.

  He barely got the door closed when Lena floored it. He was slammed backward into the seat as she peeled up the onramp

  They hit the freeway just as a Volvo station wagon sped past with three Russians inside. Two invaders hung out the windows, spraying bullets across traffic.

  Lena screamed, but her grip on the steering wheel never wavered. Not even when a bullet pinged off the front hood. She downshifted and slowed down, letting the Russians get ahead of them.

  “What the hell?” Dal watched the Russians weave in and out of traffic. One car spun off the road; another barreled across the margin and smashed into oncoming traffic. “They’re everywhere.” How were they going to get home?

  “Mayhem and death,” Lena replied, swerving around a car that was going even slower than they were.

  “What?”

  “I heard the Russians say it. Reap de
ath and mayhem. Those are their orders.”

  “You heard them say that?”

  “Yeah. They’re using the machine guns for death and—”

  “—and the darts for mayhem.” Dal ground his teeth. “They’re doing a damn fine job on both accounts.”

  Dal took in Lena’s profile. All he wanted to do was shield her from whatever was going to come. Thank God she hadn’t been hit with one of those darts.

  Ahead of them, the Russians in the station wagon had disappeared around a bend of trees. Not good. The last thing they needed was to drive into an ambush.

  “Take the next exit,” he said. “We can take frontage roads—”

  He broke off at the sight of a familiar blue pickup that zoomed past them on the southbound lane. The vehicle was moving so fast that it was no more than a blur in his periphery. Even so, Dal would know the truck anywhere. After all, Leo had driven him to school in their junior and senior years.

  Just as the realization hit him, Lena screamed, “Dad!”

  Dal turned in the seat, staring in horror. There was a long moment when time slowed. Mr. Cecchino and Leo’s blue pickup were suspended in a droplet of time, perfectly framed between a wrecked Datsun and a speeding Corvette. A mere one hundred yards separated them from him.

  And then he was gone, the blue bumper disappearing down an offramp.

  What were the odds that both fathers would pass them by in a matter of minutes? One left them to die while the other drove into the eye of the storm.

  “What’s he doing?” Lena gasped. “What—”

  “He’s looking for you,” Dal said. Mr. Cecchino had come all the way to Rossi to find Lena. Of course he had. Dal cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. He should have tried to call. If he had just thought to find a pay phone, he could have called the Cecchino house—

  Lena made a hard left, the Mustang veering off the road and into the middle divide.

  “Lena—”

  “Shut up, Dal. We’re going after him.” The Mustang bumped over the dried, rutted grass of the margin before hitting the road on the other side. A car honked as it flew by, narrowly missing the front end.

  Dal knew without a doubt that Mr. Cecchino would want him to get Lena to safety. He would not want his daughter coming after him. He searched for words to convince Lena to turn around. He opened his mouth.

  “Save it, Dal,” Lena ground out. “I’m not losing Dad.”

  He heard what was left unsaid. Lena had already lost her mom. She was hell bent on saving her dad.

  Lena tore toward the offramp her father had taken, swerving around cars in her haste. More cars honked as Lena cut them off.

  Dal resolved to do everything within his power to protect Lena, even if that meant jumping in front of a machine gun to do it. He’d help her find Mr. Cecchino, and he’d keep Lena alive.

  Whatever it took.

  Chapter 9

  Streets of Rossi

  LENA INCREASED PRESSURE on the accelerator, speeding through the streets. There were so many people fleeing town that quite a few cars had moved into the oncoming lane—her lane.

  Dal gripped the seat as she laid into the horn and swerved around a car. “Stay in your own lane, asshole,” she yelled out the open window.

  “Dammit, Lena, save your energy for driving.”

  “Like you didn’t think he was an asshole,” she shot back.

  “I—shit!” Dal leaned out his window, nestling the machine gun against his shoulder.

  There were three Soviets perched on top of a convenience store, firing into the traffic of an oncoming intersection. Brakes squealed. Horns blared. Several cars had already crashed.

  Dal would never brag, but he was a damn good shot. He’d taken down wild pigs running downhill through the forest on Cecchino land.

  He sighted down the barrel at the closest of the invaders. Two shots. The Russian fell. He sighted a second time.

  Another two shots. Another Russian fell.

  “Nice,” Lena breathed.

  As she tore through the intersection, Dal got off one last shot. He missed the chest of the Soviet, but his bullet hit the guy in the leg. That would do. With any luck, he’d bleed out.

  The Mustang rumbled loudly down the road. Dal felt like it was a giant beacon alerting everyone to their presence. He wished the could have stolen a quieter car. Not that VW Beetles were known for quiet engines.

  They neared the building of the local radio station where Dal worked as a janitor at nights. As Lena raced toward the buildings, he felt as though he were moving through two realities.

  There was the reality of this morning, where he’d been focused on his studies and determined to figure out a way to leverage his janitorial position into an internship at the radio station.

  Then there was the reality of now, in which he was driving through a war zone. The sidewalks and road were littered with bodies and wrecked cars.

  The two worlds meshed in his brain in a swirl of color. He suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  Or maybe it was the sight of Leo’s blue truck lying on its side in the middle of the road that stole his breath away.

  Lena slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the Mustang. Dal was right on her heels.

  “Dad?” Lena tore around the side of the car with no thought of her own safety. Dal followed, machine gun braced against his shoulder. He scanned the surrounding buildings and cars much the way he would scan the forest for a moving animal.

  The interior of the car was empty. Dal wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or panicked.

  At least Mr. Cecchino is still alive, he told himself. Alive and missing was better than found and dead.

  “We have to find him,” Lena said. “If he’s looking for me, he’ll head to the downtown plaza.”

  “Okay.” He wanted to find Mr. Cecchino as much as Lena did. “We should go on foot. The Mustang draws too much attention.” Besides, it would make a better getaway vehicle if they didn’t crash it or get the tires shot out. Better to leave it behind for now.

  Lena nodded in agreement. “Let’s go.”

  The street was quiet. A family of five scurried past them on the opposite side of the street. The father had a baby strapped to his chest. The mom had two toddlers in a stroller, pushing them at a slow run.

  He and Lena stopped when they reached the next street corner. The plaza—where the nuke rally had been—was three blocks east of them. That’s where Mr. Cecchino would be headed.

  Directly across the street from them was the radio station where Dal worked. Many of the windows had been shot out. It was eerie to think that he was scheduled to clean the building that evening.

  They peeked around the corner. Soviets patrolled the street. Dal watched as more than a dozen people were herded into a tight group. As they watched, the Soviets fired darts into everyone. People screamed under the onslaught.

  He dropped back behind the corner with Lena. When she pressed her back against him, he sensed her fear. He squeezed her shoulder with his free hand.

  “I have an idea,” he whispered. “Think you can make it to the station over there?” He pointed across the street.

  “To the radio station?”

  “Yeah. I know my way around the building.” One of the perks of being a janitor. “I can get us through there. It will get us two blocks closer to the plaza without being in the open.”

  Lena nodded eagerly. “Good idea.”

  When they peered around the corner a second time, they were greeted with an odd sight: the group of people who had been shot with darts were now free. The raced down the street while the Soviets shouted after them and fired their weapons—into the air.

  It made no sense. Why were they firing into the air? They could mow down that entire group with a few sprays of their machine guns.

  The answer was simple. Whatever poison was in those darts was being dispersed throughout the city.

  Dal decided he couldn’t worry about that right now. What mattered
was the fact that he and Lena had a dozen people between them and the Russians. What mattered was the Mr. Cecchino was probably in the plaza looking for Lena.

  Heart pounding, he grabbed Lena’s hand and sprinted in front of the fleeing people. As soon as they hit the sidewalk on the other side, Dal leapt through the shattered glass of the radio station’s front door. His grip on Lena’s hand never slacked. She jumped through after him.

  As they landed inside the building, the group of terrified people raced past them. They split off in different directions.

  Inside the station, the only sound was Dal and Lena’s harsh breathing. Dal dropped Lena’s hand and gripped his gun in both hands.

  “This way.”

  The door behind the reception desk was unlocked. Normally, a person needed an employee badge or an appointment to get through that door. Now, it was wide open.

  “Stay behind me,” he said to Lena.

  For once, she didn’t argue with him—although she did shoulder the machine gun like she meant to blast anything that so much as twitched.

  All the lights were on, but the station was deserted. They entered an open-ceilinged area lined with office cubicles. In the middle of the floor was an overturned microwave lunch. He stepped over raviolis.

  A chair sat in the middle of an aisle, tipped over on its side. Someone had left a purse with all its makeup sitting in the middle of a desk where anyone could go through it. There was a shattered glass of milk farther down the aisle.

  Dal and Lena crept through the cubicle area and came to the hallway that led to the executive suites. The door was wide open.

  A single high heel shoe lay in the hallway beyond. That undoubtedly belonged to Sue, the executive assistant of the station’s president. It was only yesterday that Dal had been working out ways to accidentally bump into the president so as to introduce himself.

  Past the executive offices was another door that led to the broadcasting room. This was the place Dal really itched to be. He always envisioned himself behind the morning show microphone. That was the sole reason he’d taken the janitorial job at the radio station. Well, that and because he needed cash to pay for gas and school books.