Zommunist Invasion | Book 1 | Red Virus

by Picott, Camille

  Leo didn’t answer. It had never occurred to him that Jennifer might be armed.

  Gunfire had ceased. The only sound was the distressed lowing of the cows. Cow. One of them had been shot during the battle.

  “Anton,” Leo called. “Bruce! You guys okay?”

  “I’m okay,” Bruce called. “Dude, that was a radical throw. Cal shouldn’t have written you off for one stupid injury.”

  “Yeah, nice throw.” Anton came round the side of the truck, rifle propped on his shoulder. He gave his brother a critical look, but all he said was, “You should be nicer to Jennifer. She keeps saving your life.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jennifer said. She made a valiant attempt at being flippant, but Leo didn’t miss the way her hands shook.

  He approached her as she peeled off the black mesh top and dropped it to the ground. There was blood on it from the Russian. Now that he was closer, he saw she was covered in blood and grime. She must have rolled in the dirt covered with the man’s blood, because there were dirt and pebbles stuck to her tank, too.

  She grimaced down at her bloody tank top. He wordlessly pulled off his T-shirt and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She turned her back, stripping off the gory tank top, and pulled on his shirt.

  Anton was right. He needed to be nicer to Jennifer. It had been over two years, after all.

  “You okay?” He asked, making a valiant attempt not to be a jerk.

  In response, she turned and pressed her face into his chest. Both arms were criss-crossed over her stomach.

  He’d dreamed of moments like this. Of her coming back to him. Of holding her in his arms again.

  The reality did not measure up to the daydream. Not by a long shot. He patted her on the shoulder. Their embrace was awkward and stiff.

  The situation confused him. He should be loving this moment. Savoring it.

  He realized with a jolt of surprise that maybe he hadn’t missed her as much as he thought he had all these months. Maybe it had just been the memory he missed. With that came the realization that maybe he didn’t hate her, either.

  “I’m okay.” She backed up, drying her eyes with the corner of his shirt. “It’s just that—well, I didn’t wake up this morning and think this was the day I was going to kill my first Russian.”

  He knew how she felt. What she needed was a distraction. Hell, he could use a distraction, too “Come on. Let’s help Tate and Jim.”

  Chapter 25

  Sniper

  HIS TWO FRIENDS WERE still in the back of the truck with the dead cow. They’d been bound and gagged by the Russians. All the guys carried pocket knives. They got to work on the ropes. Even Jennifer joined in after she retrieved her knife from the back of the dead Russian.

  Jim and Tate were soon free.

  “Shit man, are we glad to see you guys,” Tate said. The tall and lanky running back exchanged shoulder slaps with Leo and the others.

  “How did you know we needed help?” asked Jim. As a high school right guard, Jim was stocky and well-muscled.

  Leo explained how he’d seen the Russians from the top of Pole Mountain. “Are your parents okay?”

  “Yeah.” Jim’s face darkened. “One of the Russians spoke English. He told my parents they were now subjects to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. They would be expected to turn over seventy-five percent of their production to USSR troops. Soldiers will come by every few days to make supply pickups.”

  “They took us for collateral,” Tate said. “To force our parents to comply.”

  “And to butcher the cows,” Jim added. “I think they’re planning a feast to commemorate the First Offensive.”

  “The First Offensive?” Leo frowned. “What’s that?”

  “From what I gathered, that’s the name of this attack. It’s only the first wave of their invasion. There are more troops coming.”

  Leo thought his eyes might pop from his head. Equivalent expressions were on the faces of Jennifer, Anton, and Bruce.

  “When?” Jennifer asked.

  “Don’t know. My guess would be soon,” Tate said.

  “We gotta get out of here.” Leo needed time to process this new information and what it might mean.

  In the back of his mind, he’d assumed the American military would beat the Russians back in a week or less. But with the zombies and more Soviets on their way ... “Guys, can we take the truck with the dead cow? We could use the meat.”

  “Only if you take us with you,” Jim said.

  “We want to go with you guys and fight Russians,” Tate added.

  Anton’s brows shot up. He gave Leo a look, but said nothing.

  Leo had to admit, he liked the idea of fighting Russians and defending his home. A lot. He felt more alive than he’d felt in years. Like he had a purpose beyond mere physical survival. And they had been a pretty good team. As evidenced by the fact that they were alive and the Russians were all dead.

  He and Anton were the sharp shooters. Quarterbacks, if he were using a football comparison. Bruce wasn’t a great shot, but the teenage tight end was two-hundred pounds of muscle. And Jennifer was the stealth gunner no one saw coming.

  And now they had Jim and Tate. The right guard and the running back. Leo could work with this. He’d designed plenty of plays with Coach Brown in high school.

  Of course, he’d have to clear all this with his dad when he got back to the cabin. But he was pretty sure his father wouldn’t want to sit and hide with this new information on the First Offensive.

  “We need to get your parents,” Leo said. “It’s not safe for them here.”

  “They won’t leave the farm,” Tate said.

  Leo frowned. “But you said the Russians—”

  “The cows have to be milked every day,” Jim explained. “If not, they risk getting mastitis or some other disease. At the very least, their milk will dry up. Dad will never leave, even if that means he has to give most of his production away.”

  Leo turned this over in his mind, wondering if there were a way to talk Mr. and Mrs. Craig into leaving. He realized Jim and Tate were right. If he were the one who owned a dairy farm, he wouldn’t leave, either.

  He didn’t like leaving the Craigs behind, but there was no way around it.

  “If your parents won’t come, we need to make sure they aren’t blamed for what happened here tonight,” Leo said. “Release the cow. We’ll put all the bodies in one truck and set it on fire. That way they won’t know if you guys are dead or alive. We’ll take the truck with the dead cow. Make it look like an ambush.” Which it had been, technically.

  No one argued with his plan. It was like being captain of the football team. These guys were his players. Only, this wasn’t a game. It was a fight for the fate of their country.

  Soon, the cow was freed and the dead Russians were heaped into the back of the pickup.

  “Leo, remember those post-game parties in the Goldschmidt orchard?” Jim asked.

  “When you and your brother used to light a match and spit vodka fireballs?"

  “Dude, those are legendary.” Bruce’s eyes were wide.

  “Time to recreate our childhood glory,” Jim said grimly.

  To Leo’s surprise, the guys pulled a short hose out of a glove compartment and began siphoning gas from the truck. After sucking up a mouthful, they spit it out all over the truck, then repeated the process.

  “Is that sanitary?” Jennifer leaned close to Leo, keeping her voice low as she watched the operation.

  Leo was pretty sure it wasn’t, but he would never disrespect his friends by saying so. “It’s not like they’re swallowing it.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think it’s sanitary.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tate said. “We’re not swallowing it.”

  Leo couldn’t stop the chuckle that rose in his throat. He couldn’t believe how alive he felt.

  Anton cocked a head to him. “I haven’t heard you laugh in ... well, not in a long time. It�
�s sort of creepy.”

  Leo just shrugged.

  Tate and Jim continued covering the truck with gasoline. When they were finished, Jim fished a Zippo lighter out of his pocket. “You guys ready to send a big fuck you to these Soviet assholes?”

  “Wait. I want to leave a message for mom and dad. So they know we’re okay.” Tate retrieved a can of orange spray paint from the back of one truck. It was the sort of thing farmers kept around to mark areas of a field for various treatments.

  “What sort of message?” Leo asked. “You said one of these guys spoke English.” He gestured to the dead Russians. “We can’t leave anything that might give us away.

  “And we’re setting the truck on fire,” Jim added. “Where are we going to spray a message if we plan to burn up the truck?”

  “Duh. The ground, guys,” Tate said. “We spray the ground all the time.”

  “But what message are you going to leave?” Leo asked.

  Tate didn’t answer. He bent over the ground and sprawled a single word in orange. Leo and the others crowded in to get a good look. When he read what Tate wrote, pride surged through him.

  Tate had spray painted a single word: SNIPER.

  Sniper was the direct translation of Cecchino.

  “My parents will get the message, but it will confuse the hell out of the Russians,” Tate said. “Take that, communist bastards.”

  “Good idea.” Jim nodded his approval. “Mom and Dad will know we’re with the Cecchinos. They know the family story about the great-great so-and-so who fought against Napoleon.”

  Leo liked it. A lot. “Save that spray paint,” he told Tate. “We might be able to use that in the future.”

  “You guys ready to see a Craig fireball?” Jim asked.

  “Oh, hell yes,” Bruce said.

  “Everyone, stand back,” Leo ordered. The last thing they needed was for one of them to get their asses or eyebrows singed in the operation. “Jim, stand as far back as you can.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Jim gave him a mock salute as the rest of them made a wide circle around the truck. He held up the Zippo and flicked it on. A tiny flame danced on the end.

  “Fuck you, assholes,” Jim said.

  The silver Zippo arched through the air. It tinked into the back of the truck.

  The gasoline ignited with a whoosh. Jennifer squealed in surprise as heat and flames ballooned outward. Leo just grinned.

  “Best Craig fireball ever,” he pronounced.

  They slapped high fives with one another before heading to the remaining truck. Jim and Tate jumped into the back with the cow. Bruce joined them while Jennifer hopped into the cab.

  Anton intercepted Leo as he headed for the driver’s seat. “I saw that rock you threw,” he said.

  “What about it?”

  “Tell me the truth. Did you really injure your shoulder that badly? Dr. Cain said you’d never regain full movement.”

  Leo sighed. He supposed there wasn’t any reason to keep it a secret anymore. He was going to be using his arm a lot if they continued to fight the Russians, which he fully intended to do.

  “No. I was never injured at all.”

  “But ...” Anton’s brow furrowed. “Why did you pretend? I know how much you wanted to play for Cal.”

  “I did it for Dad. For the farm. For you and Lena.” Leo mentally went back to that day he’d snooped through his father’s things and found the bills.

  Ever since that day, he’d wished he could unknow all that he’d learned while rifling through the desk. It had changed the course of his life.

  “Dad was close to losing the farm,” he said. “He mortgaged everything to pay for Mom’s chemo. How could I help if I was off playing football at Berkley? Dad would never have agreed to let me stay. So I ... faked my injury. Dr. Cain played along when I explained the situation. I hoped that if I could get the hunting business off the ground, we’d bring in enough extra money to pay off the banks and save the farm.”

  Anton just stared at him. “I—I didn’t know.”

  “Sorry I’ve been such a royal dick to you.”

  Anton’s mouth fell open.

  The moment was almost too much for Leo. He turned his back on Anton, striding to the truck where the others waited. “Come on,” he called. “Nonna will be worried about us.”

  Chapter 26

  Rising Dead

  HAND IN HAND, DAL AND Lena ran.

  Nezhit seemed to be multiplying by the second. Everyone who had been infected with the initial attack was now turning into a monster.

  It wasn’t enough that they wanted to kill. The fuckers were fast.

  He and Lena had dodged a large pack of them outside the foreign language department by sheer dumb luck. A stray dog ran by just ahead of them and drew the attention of the pack by barking. If not for that poor dog, Lena and Dal would be dead.

  They now hugged the perimeter of the campus, hoping to avoid all large groups in the interior. Dal could still hear them. They growled and snarled. Sometimes they even barked or howled.

  He wasn’t stupid enough to think they could survive a run-in with a large group of the infected. They’d barely survived an encounter with a scant handful. Their only hope of making it off the campus was to get through undetected.

  They ducked behind a picnic table as a group of six infected came around a corner. Dal tightened his grip on his machine gun. He’d discarded the fireplace poker in favor of the weapon back in the science building. Lena positioned her machine gun on her shoulder. In tense silence, they waited.

  The nezhit snarled their way closer, sniffing at the ground. Overhead, a squirrel darted through a tree. One infected broke away from the group and attacked the tree, hitting the bark so hard Dal heard something crack. He was a twenty-something kid, probably Dal’s age. Hell, that could have been Dal if he hadn’t gotten lucky.

  The kid kicked and bit and scratched at the tree until there was blood on his fingernails and all around his mouth. When the squirrel jumped to the next closest tree, he attacked the next trunk with equal vigor.

  The strength and ferocity made Dal sick with fear. They had to get out of here.

  The rest of the group had gathered around a dead body on the ground. Dal squinted through the gloom, trying to get a good look at what they were doing. Though he’d seen a nezhit bite, he hadn’t actually seen them eat a human. Maybe they were into dead bodies instead of living ones, like vultures.

  The thought made him queasy.

  There was a light post ten feet away from the group of nezhit. Their constantly shifting bodies made it possible for Dal to see the dead body in their midst. They prodded at it, sniffing and grunting. A few of them even whined.

  The body stirred. At first Dal thought it was just the effect of being poked by all the nezhit. Then he noticed the black veins on the head, neck, and arms of the body. Gooseflesh prickled the back of his neck.

  The dead body slowly sat up, blinking as it looked at the ring of nezhit. It was a girl in plain jeans a flowered blouse. Dal waited to see if the infected would attack her.

  They didn’t. They moved in closer, prodding until the dead girl rose to her feet. She hunched with the rest of them, bloodshot eyes scanning the area.

  Holy shit. Dal’s mouth hung open.

  That girl had been dead. Flat out dead with enough blood around her to fill a bathtub.

  Yet there she was, upright and walking with her fellow nezhit.

  There was only one word to describe a reanimated corpse. That word beat inside his head like a gong: zombie.

  The fucking Russians were turning people into zombies.

  Except these zombies weren’t exactly like the ones in the movies. The shambling things depicted in George Romero movies looked like caricatures of these freakishly fast monsters with black-veined faces and bloodshot eyes.

  The one thing these Russian zombies had in common with George Romero’s was the fact that they were driven to bite. Dal could have done without that d
etail. He tried not to think of the chubby kid who’d been bitten on the front lawn of the college.

  The newly risen dead girl fell into step with her new pack. The group moved off at a lope, disappearing around a building. Only the one attacking the tree remained. It was still going apeshit over the squirrel which, as far as Dal could tell, had disappeared.

  He made eye contact with Lena. He saw understanding in her eyes, but not surprise. She’d known. She’d probably overheard it in the quad when they’d eavesdropped on the Russians. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to stop and explain. How the hell was a person supposed to explain that dead bodies in the street might soon walk again?

  Lena flicked a hand at him, indicating they should move. Staying in a low crouch, they scurried past the picnic benches. Twenty feet away was a metal trash can. They ducked behind it just as the squirrel zombie spun around, scanning the immediate area.

  Lena pressed up against the side of the can. Dal was stacked right behind her, the transmitter heavy on his shoulders.

  He strained his ears. The zombie boy continued to growl, but didn’t come in their direction. After a minute, he resumed his assault on the tree trunk.

  Lena pointed. Fifty yards away was the next closest building.

  A lot could go wrong in fifty yards.

  Dal scanned the area one last time, making sure no other zombies were in sight. He hitched his thumbs into the straps of the backpack to adjust the transmitter.

  Lena gave him the thumbs up and counted down on her fingers. When she got to one, they were off and running.

  They were almost to the safety of the building when the squirrel nezhit noticed them.

  He let out a howl and tore himself away from the tree. He charged at them like a demonic dog, barking up a storm.

  “Go, Dal!” Lena swung around and lifted the machine gun. “Get the transmitter out of here!”

  Oh, hell no. Dal stayed glued to her side. He’d promised Mr. Cecchino that he’d take care of Lena.

  He and Lena opened fire as the zombie bore down on them. He moved with incredible speed. Bullets ripped up his body and into his head. The force sent him sprawling to the ground. He lay there, fingers scratching at the concrete as he died.