“Why a TV antenna?” Jennifer asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to break into a radio or TV station and use their equipment?”
“Not possible,” Lena said. “The broadcasting stations were some of the first Russian targets. They’ll be crawling with Soviets.”
“Wait. Hold on.” Bruce’s eyes went round. “I think I know where we can find a mega TV antenna.”
“Where?” Lena demanded.
Bruce let the words fall like gold bricks. “Guy’s Electronic Super Store in Bastopol.”
Jim let out a long whistle. “Dude. You’re a genius.”
“Guy’s Electronic Super Store,” Dal breathed. “It’s perfect.”
“What’s special about Guy’s Electronic Super Store?” Nonna asked.
“It’s only the best television store in all of West County,” Bruce said. “People all the way from Rossi go there to shop. Guy has all the latest technology. He even sells satellite dishes.”
“Woah.” Tate socked Bruce in the arm. “No way. Really?”
Bruce nodded, eyes wide and reverent. “My dad was thinking about buying a big screen TV before ... well, before. We went to Guy’s every Saturday for an entire month to watch different screens. Guy had just installed a gigantic, state-of-the art TV antenna. He got shows people can’t get with regular antennas. It was radical.”
“It’s perfect,” Dal said. “We have to go to Bastopol.”
“But Bastopol has been zombified,” Anton said. “And it’s crawling with Russians.”
“So what?” Lena said. “Dal and I made it through Rossi. You and Bruce and Leo survived Bastopol. We can do this.”
“We barely survived,” Anton corrected. “We—”
“Enough.” Nonna stepped forward. “We are in a war. In war, information is the most valuable commodity. What we know could save lives. Hundreds or even thousands of lives.” She cast a stern gaze around the clearing. “It’s our duty to get the information out there. You will go to Bastopol and broadcast the message.”
Chapter 31
Plan
THERE WAS A LONG PAUSE of stunned silence as everyone stared at Nonna. She was barely five feet tall and probably didn’t weigh a hundred pounds, but at that moment, the look on her face gave Leo the chills. He was seeing the person who had survived hell on Earth when the Nazis invaded her childhood hometown.
“How—how?” Anton asked. “How will we get past the zombies and the Soviets? Not to mention the Russians will go postal when they realize someone is highjacking their airwaves. They’ll be on us like flies on—on manure.”
“We need a play to keep the Russians and zombies distracted while Dal sends broadcast.” Leo’s mind was already moving through football plays, working through various scenarios. “We need a real-life Statue of Liberty play.”
Jim let out another long whistle. “Yeah. A Statue of Liberty play is just the ticket.”
“It’s perfect.” Bruce’s mouth was set in a hard line. “It will totally work. The Russians will never see us coming.”
“What’s a Statue of Liberty?” Jennifer asked.
“It’s a fake-out play executed by the entire offensive line,” Leo explained. “The line charges forward to make room for the receivers. The receivers supposedly go long for the touchdown. The quarterback pretends to throw. Except the quarterback doesn’t actually have the ball in his throwing hand. The ball is in his other hand, behind his back. While the entire defensive team is looking one direction, the ball goes the other way with a player no one is paying any attention to.”
Jim, Tate, Anton, Bruce, and even Dal appreciated the analogy. They exchanged grim nods, all of them seeing the possibility of the play against the Russians.
Jennifer and Lena, however, frowned at one another.
“So basically,” Jennifer said, “half of us will make a distraction to keep the Russians occupied during the broadcast?”
“Exactly.” Leo’s mind formed the play in his head. “Dal and Lena will go to Guy’s. Dal, will you need a bigger team?”
“Smaller is better,” Dal said. “We’re going to have to sneak through downtown. A small group has a better chance of slipping through undetected.”
“Agreed.” Lena slipped underneath Dal’s arm. “We’ve already proven we’re a good team.” She kissed his cheek. Dal’s arm tightened around her.
There was an inevitability to the affection between them. Leo liked seeing it. It was the only good thing to come of the communist invasion. His father would no doubt approve.
“It’s settled,” Leo said. “Dal and Lena will go to Guy’s. The rest of us will cause the distraction. We’ll do it at the high school.”
“The high school?” Anton said. “It’s crawling with infected.” There was a shadow behind his words as he said this.
Leo knew he was thinking of the varsity football friends he’d lost in the initial invasion. He felt for his brother. They had a homeland to defend.
“Yes, the high school,” Leo said. “The more infected, the better. They’ll add to the chaos. We know the high school better than the Russians ever will. We can use that to our advantage. Plus, the school is on the edge of town and close to the apple orchards. It’s ideal for slipping in and out.”
He picked up a stick and began sketching on the ground. He drew the various buildings, as well as the football field, pool, and tennis courts. Everyone gathered around him.
“Three teams of two at the high school,” Leo said. “We take up positions on the buildings where the zombies can’t reach us. Jim and Tate, you take the cafeteria.” He stabbed the cafeteria with his stick. “Anton and Bruce, you guys will take the football bleachers. Jennifer, you’re with me on the theater building.”
He didn’t look at Jennifer when he spoke, not wanting her to guess he was teaming up with her because she didn’t know how to shoot. If shit went sideways, he wanted to make sure he was there to keep her safe. Thank God she didn’t argue when he cast the assignments.
Leo traced his stick down the line that represented the narrow street that separated the main campus from the football field and the other sport areas. “We draw the Russians onto this road and give them hell from both sides. We’ll have the upper ground and the advantage of surprise. They won’t know what hit them.”
“There’s just one problem with your plan,” Lena said. “Besides the two machine guns Dal and I brought back from Rossi, all we have are rifles and a few hand guns. That’s not enough for what you’re planning. High ground or not, the Russians will show up and overwhelm you guys. They have more firepower and more men.”
Nonna surprised everyone by saying, “I can take care of that problem. Leo, take the boys and go downstairs. Get the emergency supplies and bring them in the cabin. Girls, grab your aprons.”
“What are we doing?” Anton asked.
Nonna paused on the foot of the stairs. “We’re making bombs.”
Chapter 32
Cookbook
LEO WAS PRETTY SURE he hadn’t heard his grandmother correctly. Or that she was so consumed with grief that she wasn’t thinking straight.
Despite this, he dutifully went into the storage room beneath the cabin. It was nothing more than wooden walls and a cement floor. Leo and Anton had been given the task of insulating the room a few summers ago. They kept a lot of hunting supplies in here, including spare ammo and guns.
Tucked in the far corner were large burlap sacks his father had brought up here around the same time he’d made the brothers insulate the room. The words Emergency Supplies were written with a bright red permanent marker on each sack.
Leo never paid much attention to sacks, assuming they were filled with rice or beans or something along those lines. But now that his grandmother had declared they were going to make bombs, he wasn’t so sure.
She didn’t really want to make bombs, did she? Did she even know how to make bombs? She’d spoken of surviving the Nazis as a little girl in Italy, but she’d never once talked about ma
king bombs.
“Which ones does she want?” Jim asked, surveying the large burlap sacks.
“All of them, I guess,” Leo replied.
Jim gave Leo a sidelong look. “Hey man, I’m sorry about your dad. He was a great guy.”
“Me, too, dude.” Tate’s jaw was set. “Those assholes all need to die.”
“Yeah,” Bruce said. “We’ll make the Soviet bastards pay.”
Leo’s throat went tight. Anton blinked rapidly.
“Damn straight.” Leo wasn’t sure what might happen if he said anything else, so he grabbed the nearest emergency sack and hustled outside with it. If he were busy and moving, he didn’t have to think about his dad.
The other guys followed, all lugging the big fifty pound sacks.
“What’s in here?” Jim called. “Salt?”
“Don’t know.” Leo’s sack didn’t feel like it contained salt. Whatever was inside was a finer grain, like flour.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Bruce asked. “This is your place, man.”
“Nonna and Dad used this place for extra storage. I don’t know what they brought up here.”
When he entered the kitchen with the other guys in tow, he found Nonna, Jennifer, and Lena all with aprons on. Nonna had passed out glass mixing bowls and wooden spoons.
“I always thought it would be Nazis who came to America,” Nonna said. “Turns out it was Russians, but we’re ready for them.” She slapped a large black book onto the table.
The room went quiet.
Leo’s jaw sagged open. Anton swore, something he rarely did in front of their grandmother (which earned him a slap on the back of the head). Dal squinted at the book as though he couldn’t register what he was seeing. Everyone else looked equal parts shocked and confused.
The large black book had bold white letters marching across it. It read: The Anarchist’s Cookbook.
Lena was the first to recover. She beamed at Nonna. “Where did you get that?”
“Like I said, I always thought it would be Nazis who’d attack America.” Nonna shrugged. “I made sure your parents and I prepared for it.”
“Is that legal?” Dal asked, unable to take his eyes form the book.
“Of course it’s legal,” Nonna replied. “Just because you have to use a little creativity to get your hands on a copy doesn’t mean it’s not legal.
“We are going to blow up some Russians.” Tate cracked his knuckles, nodding in approval. “I thought you were being metaphorical.”
“I don’t believe in metaphors,” Nonna said. “Metaphors don’t save you from evil.”
“I’ve always wanted one of these.” Jim picked up the book, reverently opening it. He gasped. “Oh, my God. This is a first edition from 1971. This is the real deal.”
Tate leaned over the book with his brother. “This is going to make Craig fireballs look like kitten’s play.”
“Will someone please tell me what the big deal is?” Jennifer said at last. “Why is everyone so freaked out over a book? And how is a cookbook supposed to help us make bombs? It’s not like we can turn rice into explosives.”
“First of all, it’s not just a book.” Tate frowned at Jennifer, like she’d said something offensive. “This is the cookbook.” He took the book out of his bother’s hands and flipped through the pages. He found what he was looking for and plopped it down on the table in front of her.
“This,” Tate said, “is a recipe for black powder. Also known as gun powder.” He flipped to another page. “And this is a recipe for nitroglycerin. Another explosive.”
“What ...?” Jennifer’s eyes bugged. “That’s not a cookbook!” she spluttered.
“It’s a cookbook for bombs,” Leo clarified, finally having recovered himself. He could hardly reconcile his tiny, wrinkled grandmother to the book on the table.
“Look at this,” Anton said. “It even has instructions on how to blow up a bridge. Oh, my God.”
“Let me see that.” Bruce grabbed the book. “Holy shit, guys. This not only has info on how to blow up bridges, but it’s broken down by bridge type. I didn’t even know they had this many different kinds of bridges—ow!” He rubbed the back of his head as Nonna smacked him.
“Language,” Nonna said with a glare.
“Sorry,” Bruce said, still rubbing his head.
“Time to get cooking.” Nonna wrapped on the tabletop with her wooden spoon. “We are making bombs. You will take them into Bastopol and rain hellfire on the Russians while Dal and Lena make the broadcast. Everyone understand?”
“Yes, Nonna,” everyone murmured.
Under Nonna’s direction, the guys hefted the big burlap sacks onto the counter. It turned out they contained ordinary farm products, sulfur and potassium nitrate—which were also ingredients in black powder.
“You mean we were sitting on bomb ingredients at the farm and never knew it?” Anton asked.
Nonna gave him a feral smile. “You’d be surprised how household products can be transformed with the proper recipe.”
Leo leaned in for a better look at the gun powder recipe. Or, to be more precise, recipes. There were no less that eleven different explosive recipes contained in the book. Many of the ingredients were common in crop management. Who knew he could have been mixing bombs all these years?
“We must be precise in our work. No shortcuts,” Nonna said. “Leo, you and Anton are in charge of measuring and mixing. Move over to the kitchen counter so you’re not in the way. Jim and Tate, you’re in charge of measuring and cutting the fuse wire.” Nonna surprised the hell out of Leo by producing a spool of wire. “This is fuse wire. One day I’ll tell you what it took to acquire this, but not today. Cut them three inches long. There’s a ruler and wire cutters in the bottom left drawer of the kitchen. It’s important that you be precise. Two inches of the wire will go into the powder. The one inch that sticks out will give you exactly ten seconds to light the fuse and throw it.”
Tate and Jim beelined to the kitchen, taking the fuse wire with them.
“What about me?” Bruce asked.
“You’re with me and the ladies. You too, Dal.” Nonna grabbed a long roll of oil cloth that had been leaning against the wall. Leo hadn’t noticed it until now. It was the same red-and-white checkered material she used to make tablecloths.
Nonna rolled the cloth out on the kitchen table. “The black powder has to go into water proof casing,” she explained. “We’re going to be cutting eight-inch squares. Then we’ll measure out the powder and tie them up in little bundles with the fuses.”
“Dynamite sachets,” Lena exclaimed.
“Correct,” Nonna said. “Now let’s get to work. There’s no time to waste. You ride out tonight to Bastopol. Lives depend on us.”
Chapter 33
Apology
LEO LAY IN THE TOP bunk, his mind whirling. His blood hummed with anticipation, like it used to before a big game.
It was well past ten o’clock. They planned to leave at midnight for their mission into Bastopol. They’d spent the rest of the afternoon making explosive sachets, as Lena liked to call them.
Nonna had sent them all to bed after an early dinner, ordering them to get a few hours of sleep before their mission. There was steely-edged hardness to his grandmother that Leo had never seen before. Truth be told, he found it unnerving.
Dal snored softly in the bunk beneath Leo. His friend had been asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.
Anton and Bruce had the bunk across from them. Tate and Jim had the third set of bunks that sat in front of the window.
This was the bunk Leo had used since he was a kid. He kept a notebook and pencil stuffed between the mattress and the side of the bunk, along with a small flashlight.
He pulled them out, holding the flashlight between his teeth so he could see. He flipped through the tiny notebook, which was filled with page after page of football plays. Even as a kid, he had enjoyed designing plays.
He sto
pped on an empty page and sketched out the plan for tonight. Even though he’d been over it a hundred times in his head, seeing it on paper helped cement it in his brain.
The Russians might have the upper hand, but the Snipers had the ultimate sneak play. They had the Statue of Liberty. And they had Nonna’s bombs. The Soviet bastards would never see them coming.
He had everyone up and moving a little before midnight. They dressed in plain jeans with dark shirts and jackets. Nonna was waiting for them in the kitchen with cups of espresso.
Those who knew how to handle a gun—which was everyone except Jennifer—grabbed weapons. Leo gave Jennifer a small .22 caliber, just in case.
“Just make sure you’re close to your target if you fire,” he said. “And make sure none of us is nearby in case your bullet goes wide. Okay?”
Jennifer gave him a hard stare. “I’m going to hold you to your promise to teach me how to shoot.”
“Later. After the mission.”
She nodded and took the .22 from his hand, her fingers grazing his palm during the exchange. For once, he wasn’t pulled back to the shiny days of his youth when he was near her.
He was learning it was pointless to dwell on the past. Leo wasn’t going to do it anymore. He’d spent the last two and a half years angry and resentful. It was time to look forward. He had a new team to lead and a homeland to defend.
He threw a rifle over his back and grabbed a few extra magazines, shoving them into his belt. “Headlamps for everyone, then grab a bike,” he called. It had been decided they’d take bikes. It was easier to travel quietly that way, whereas horse hooves would clomp on the paved streets. Besides, the animals might spook in battle.
Leo was the first to ride out, lighting the way for the rest. He kept his eyes and ears peeled as he rolled down Pole Mountain.
Zommunist Invasion | Book 1 | Red Virus Page 19
