Zommunist Invasion | Book 1 | Red Virus
Page 11
Two blocks ahead, a pack of soldiers came around the corner. Dal shoved Lena and Mr. Cecchino into the sheltered entranceway of a bookstore.
He counted six Soviets in total. Two had machine guns out. The rest had their dart guns raised. They turned down a connecting street and disappeared.
“Come on.” Dal led the way down the street. He paused at the next intersection, looking after the soldiers. They were in a tight group, making their way west down the street. They scanned the buildings and the road ahead of them, but not behind them.
Dal made eye contact with his companions and counted down on his fingers. Three, two, one.
They sprinted across the intersection. Dal kept his ears peeled, expecting to hear Russian shouting and gunshots.
It never came.They made it to the other side and kept running, not stopping until they hit the next corner. Breathing hard, Dal peeked around it to look in the direction of the police station.
This was the real reason he’d parked the car behind the burger joint. He wanted a look at the downtown police station. He hadn’t seen a single cop since all this had started, which had him thinking scary thoughts. He’d hoped his suspicions weren’t correct. He’d hoped the town officers had all fallen back to regroup somewhere, or possibly had gone to get reinforcements.
One look at the police station was enough for him to confirm his suspicions. There were bodies everywhere. It looked like bombs had gone off in and around the station. There were dead bodies everywhere. Flies and vultures were already congregating.
“They knew what they were doing,” Mr. Cecchino said softly.
“Should we go inside and see if we can find extra weapons?” Lena asked.
Dal scanned the bodies. Those that were intact had been stripped of weapons. He didn’t like the idea of going into the station to find more. If the Russians were smart—and so far they had shown themselves to be—they would’ve cleaned out all the weapons when they attacked.
“We should keep moving,” Mr. Cecchino said. “Let’s stay focused on the task.”
They crept past the station and kept moving in the direction of the college.
When they were a block away from campus, Dal took them down an alleyway behind the shops that bordered the front of the school. The back door to a Goodwill sat wide open.
“Let’s get a look at the school from inside here first,” Dal said.
With any luck, the place would be crawling with Soviets. Mr. Cecchino and Lena would be forced to give up this insane idea. They could go back to the farm and reunite with the rest of the family. Nonna could help Mr. Cecchino, who was looking worse by the moment.
Inside the shop, they crept through the racks of musty-smelling clothing. The Goodwill had come through the attack relatively unscathed. There were no bodies. Other than a tipped over shoe rack, nothing looked out of place.
In the front window was a large sofa set. Dal scuttled free of the clothing racks and dropped down behind the couch. Lena and Mr. Cecchino joined him.
Rossi Junior College looked like the site of a massacre. There were dead students everywhere. Dal’s mouth went dry at the sight. He could have very easily been among those dead. He’d gotten lucky. Very, very lucky.
“How in the hell did you make it off campus?” Lena whispered.
Dal just shook his head.
Shouting drew his attention to the brick classrooms that lined the front lawn of the campus. As they watched, a small group of students raced out from between the classrooms. There were over two dozen of them. They ran across the open lawn, dodging through the dead bodies.
Following them was a group of Soviets. Dal might not understand Russian, but no matter the language, he understood catcalling and hackling. The soldiers called after the students, firing round after round of darts at their backs. They didn’t give up the chase until they reached the edge of the front lawn.
Then they let the students go. The group scattered, breaking into smaller clumps. The Russians laughed, calling after them.
“What are they saying?” Mr. Cecchino asked.
Lena’s mouth was set in a hard line. “They said, ‘Have fun dying’ and ‘Have fun killing all your friends.’ ”
Dal heard the words, but they slid off him. If he thought too hard on what Lena just said, it would mean he’d have to apply those words to Mr. Cecchino. He turned his attention back to the street.
The Russians swaggered back toward campus, talking to one another as they gestured to the stately buildings that made up the junior college. It was like they owned the place.
Dal didn’t get angry very often. Ever since childhood, he’d made it a point to check his temper. The last thing he wanted was to end up like his dad.
But every once in a while, it was impossible to suppress his anger. Like right now. Watching those swaggering Russians made Dal want to break something.
Something moved in the shop behind them. It sounded like a piece of furniture being moved. Dal shot up straight, momentarily forgetting that he was exposed in the front window.
Mr. Cecchino raised his gun, indicating the northwest corner of the Goodwill. Dal nodded.
Since Mr. Cecchino and Lena had the guns, Dal picked up a metal poker from a fireplace set on display next to the sofas. Mr. Cecchino nodded to him in approval.
They inched their way to the back of the store in a tight group. As they did, a growl rippled through the room.
Dal let out a breath. A dog. It was just a dog. Nothing to worry about. Poor thing was probably scared shitless with all the stuff going on around them. It pro—
Something flew between the racks, coming straight for them. Dal had a half second to register a petite girl wearing a Rossi junior college sweatshirt over stretch pants. Her teased bangs gave her an extra five inches. Her face and neck were criss-crossed with black veins.
She charged straight at Mr. Cecchino like a wild animal, hissing when she struck. Mr. Cecchino fell backwards, gun clattering to the ground.
The girl growled, snapping at his face like a rabid dog. Mr. Cecchino barely had enough time to slam both hands against her sternum to keep her from biting off the end of his nose.
Dal reacted on instinct, delivering a sharp kick to the girl’s ribcage. He kicked her so hard that she rolled sideways. But instead of staying down or running away, she bounded up onto all fours. Lips pulled back to expose teeth that were red with ... was that blood? Seeing gore framed in a face laced with black veins was one of the most terrifying moments of his life.
Dal didn’t have time to work out all the strange details before the girl attacked a second time. She lunged.
This time, Mr. Cecchino was ready. He swung a fist and clocked her in the side of the head. He hit her so hard she flew sideways.
It should have knocked her out cold. Dal had been hit like that more times in his life than he could count, and most times he blacked out for at least a few seconds. Mr. Cecchino was a large, strong man. The blow had been suitable for a drunken bar brawl.
But the blow barely phased the girl. Once again, she sprang onto all fours and charged—this time, straight at Lena.
Lena didn’t even have time to raise her machine gun. The black-veined girl tackled her to ground.
Dal’s nerves were frayed. He’d already been on the verge of anger. Seeing Lena’s life in danger yet again made him snap.
Rage boiled up. He was so mad he could hardly see straight.
Dal had played baseball for a few years when he was a kid. He’d been a pretty good hitter. Then the coach started asking about the many bruises Dal showed up with at practice. His parents pulled him off the team shortly after.
But Dal still remembered what it felt like to hold a baseball bat. Raising the fireplace poker, he gripped it like a bat. He wound his torso and swung with all his might, aiming for the head with a wordless roar.
He felt the blow through his entire body. The crack of the girl’s skull was nothing like hitting a baseball.
The sound
of shattering bone took him all the way back to his eighth birthday, when his dad got roaring drunk. He’d pushed Dal’s mom so hard from the front steps of the porch that she’d broken her arm. Dal had never forgotten that sound. That had been the first time he’d heard that awful sound, but not the last.
He’d always known he had the capacity to make that sound. To be just like his father.
He couldn’t stop himself. He swung the poker, then he swung it again, all the while roaring at the black-veined girl in wordless rage.
He saw his dad hit his mother over, and over, and over again. His father’s enraged face still followed him around, even after all these years.
Dal knew he looked just like his dad right now. He was his father.
And now Lena and Mr. Cecchino knew the truth about him.
Even knowing he was exposing his deepest, darkest secret wasn’t enough to still his hand. He hit the girl over and over again. Blood splattered his face, the floor, and Lena.
He couldn’t stop.
Chapter 18
Reanimated
AS EVERYONE PILED INTO the cabin around him, Leo absorbed the sight of Adam rising to his feet. Blood dripped down his neck. Black veins completely encased his face. His eyes were crazed and bloodshot, just like Lars had been.
Adam should be dead. Adam was dead. The amount of blood on the floor proved it. Besides that, Leo had seen his dead body. There was nothing left in the body stretched out before the fireplace.
Yet here he was. Reanimated and staring out at them like they were nothing more than rabbits.
Bruce was the first besides Leo to notice Adam. The kid was frozen in place, mouth working in silent terror.
Adam’s lips peeled back from his teeth. His gaze settled on Jennifer as she entered the cabin. She was too busy talking to Anton to notice what was going on.
“Jennifer!” Leo shouted.
She jerked, stopping just beside the kitchen table. Her eyes registered Adam as he zeroed in on her. She squeaked and leaped onto the table. As Adam rushed her, she jumped.
Several things happened at once.
Jennifer grabbed the ceiling beam and flipped herself on top of it. She swung her legs out of reach and crouched atop the rafter beam, balancing in her red heels as Adam hissed in frustration.
Anton grabbed Nonna, attempting to hustle her back outside while she struggled to reach her rifle.
Leo snatched up a piece of wood from beside the stove. Adam spun just as Leo swung the piece of wood. It connected with the side of Adam’s face.
The blow barely stunned him. He sprang straight at Leo.
Leo brought up the chunk of wood and slammed it into Adam’s nose. He heard the bone break.
The force of the blow slowed Adam, but it didn’t deter him. He just kept coming. He was like a bionic man on steroids.
His hands snagged the front of Leo’s shirt, tearing at him. Leo didn’t have room to swing the wood. Instead, he slammed it repeatedly into Adam’s face. The kid would not back down—not even when his skin was torn and several of his teeth were smashed in.
“Get back,” Nonna ordered. In his periphery, he saw her raise the rifle. Apparently she’d won the scuffle with Anton and gotten her gun.
Leo couldn’t get away. Adam had him by the front of the shirt. His nails tore through the fabric and ripped into his flesh.
The piece of wood was the only thing between Leo and Adam. The kid’s grip was like iron, latching onto Leo like a leach. Panic gripped Leo. He threw all his strength into pushing against the log and trying to shove Adam back.
“Move!” Nonna barked. “Leonardo, get out of the way!”
Leo wanted to move, but couldn’t. Adam was too strong.
Jennifer swung down from the rafters. Her foot clocked Adam in the side of the head.
Back in their high school days, Jennifer had been like a dancer on the parallel bars. Leo had been to several of her gymnastics meets. She could spin around the high bar like a helicopter. She would spin, and spin, and spin. Leo could never figure out why she didn’t puke her guts out afterwards.
Seeing her hanging from the rafter like it was a gymnastics bar wasn’t much of a stretch. Except instead of swinging back up, her stiletto got stuck in the side of Adam’s head. She yelped and went down. She landed on the back of the sofa and flipped off with a shriek.
Bruce had finally shaken free of his stupor. He and Anton joined Leo, both of them picking up pieces of firewood. Leo wielded his piece of firewood like a club. All three of them were ready to club Adam to death with it.
Except Adam wasn’t moving. He was in the puddle on the floor.
Sticking out from the side of his head was the four inch heel of Jennifer’s red stiletto.
Nonna approached, rifle cocked. She prodded the side of Adam’s head. Leo nudged his foot.
Nothing.
Jennifer ran across the small room and threw up in the kitchen sink. Leo glanced her way only for a second before returning his attention to Adam. Jennifer wasn’t his problem. Anton gave him a scathing look before crossing the room to check on her.
“Is he ... is he really dead this time?” Bruce asked.
“Yes.” Nonna let out a long sigh.
Leo fit the pieces together in his mind. Lars had been shot with poison. He’d gotten sick and turned into a mindless monster.
No, that wasn’t accurate. He’d turned into mindless monster who bit his friend. And then said friend—Adam—also turned into mindless, homicidal monster.
It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.
Leo wasn’t much into science fiction or horror, but one year he and his football buddies had gone to see George Romero’s Day of the Dead. Someone had come up with the idea of dressing up as zombies for Halloween after seeing the movie. Half the football team had been in on it. It’s the only reason the current madness made any sense.
“Zombies.” Leo let the word drop like a stone. “The Russians are turning people into zombies.”
Chapter 19
Rage
DAL BROUGHT THE FIREPLACE poker down yet again, shredding the Rossi junior college sweatshirt with the impact. Lena had crawled away to safety. Dal was distantly aware of her calling to him, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the threat.
“Dal!” Mr. Cecchino clamped his arms around Dal, pinning his arms to his side. “Dallas!”
He couldn’t escape the rage. It clouded Dal’s thoughts, narrowing his entire world to a dark tunnel that consisted only of the threat to Lena. He struggled to swing the poker yet again.
Mr. Cecchino refused to let go, his grip like iron. Dal snarled, struggling to break free—to obliterate the threat to Lena.
“She’s safe, Dal. Lena is safe! She’s safe, son.”
The words reached him, but sanity still eluded him.
Dal’s chest heaved. He flexed his arms, trying to break free. Mr. Cecchino’s grip never wavered.
“She’s okay, son. You did it. Lena is safe.”
The world abruptly snapped back into focus. Dal sucked in a long, loud breath, as though just resurfacing from a deep dive. His legs wobbled beneath him. The fireplace poker fell from his hand, clanging loudly to the concrete.
“There you go.” Mr. Cecchino eased him to the floor. “You’re okay. Everyone is okay.
Dal’s breath rasped in his ears. The silence in the Goodwill shop was thunderous. They’d knocked over no less than three racks in the scuffle, plus several mannequins.
He forced himself to look at the girl he’d killed. Her face and body were a mashed-up mess. Blood spilled across the floor.
Dal thought he might be sick.
Lena crawled across the floor to him. She had bits of blood spattered all over her face and clothing. She squeezed his arm. “It’s not your fault, Dal.”
He shook her off. Lena was not to be deterred. She looped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “You saw her, Dal. There was something wrong with her. She would have killed us.”
“Lena.” Mr. Cecchino looked up from where he knelt on the ground beside the dead girl. “What was it those Russians said when they shot the students with darts and then let them go?”
She took Dal’s hand, refusing to give him space. “They said, ‘Have fun dying’ and ‘Have fun killing all your friends.’ ”
“Look.” Mr. Cecchino turned the girl’s head. Even through the blood spatter, Dal saw the red dart marks on the back of her neck. The black veins seemed to have originated from there. “Do you think the Russian poison made her like this?”
Dal had assumed the red darts carried some kind of illness, like a bad flu or something. But what if Mr. Cecchino was right? What if the Russians had cooked up a bioweapon that turned people into homicidal maniacs?
“We may have alerted the Russians with all the noise we made. We need to go.” Lena pressed a soft kiss to Dal’s cheek.
The gesture froze him with shock. He didn’t deserve her kindness. He didn’t deserve the Cecchino family.
But for whatever reason, they accepted him. When Lena and Mr. Cecchino looked down at him, he didn’t see a hint of loathing in their eyes. He swallowed and climbed to his feet, reluctantly retrieving the poker. The end was coated in gore. He did his best to wipe it clean on the back of the sofa.
Mr. Cecchino squeezed Dal’s shoulder. “We need to get that transmitter on campus. Everyone needs to know about this.”
“Amen to that,” Lena said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
No one addressed the obvious. No one said a word about the fact that the black veins had spread another two inches across Mr. Cecchino’s arm, or that he might very soon become a raging homicidal monster. The very thought almost bent Dal in half.
Their best hope was to get the broadcasting equipment, then figure out a way to get the message out. It was their best hope of saving Mr. Cecchino. They needed doctors. Scientists. People with more know-how than the three of them had.