Zommunist Invasion Box Set | Books 1-3

by Picott, Camille

  The clearing went deadly quiet. Leo searched the road for his father. There was a third horse who had come with Lena and Dal, but the animal didn’t carry anyone.

  Then he saw the stricken expressions on Lena and Dal.

  “Where’s my Giuseppe?” Nonna repeated, her voice rising to a shout. Her fists were bunched at her side, her face white. “Where’s my son?”

  “I’m sorry, Nonna.” Lena turned to her grandmother. Her voice hitched as tears spilled out of her eyes. “He—he—”

  “What are you saying?” Leo demanded. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He didn’t make it,” Dal said softly. He squeezed Lena tight, grief etched into his face. “He … he died so we could get away.”

  Silence. Leo could hear nothing beyond his own ragged breathing. The world tipped beneath his feet. He grabbed the stair railing to keep from collapsing.

  His father couldn’t be gone. No way. It must be a mistake. Giuseppe Cecchino was the strongest, most steadfast man in the world. Soviets couldn’t get the better of his dad.

  “Nonna, I’m sorry.” Lena broke free of Dal and went to her grandmother.

  The older woman enfolded Lena into an embrace. Her chest shook with unspoken emotion. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, but she made no sound. Lena clung to her grandmother, weeping openly.

  It nearly broke Leo to see their grief. He slumped to his ground, struggling to push down the howl of despair that rose in his throat. His chest heaved. Tears leaked out of his eyes. He slammed his fist into the ground.

  Pain radiated up through his knuckles, but it didn’t help. He beat the ground a few more times and let out a garbled roar of pain and sorrow.

  Dal slumped down next to him. His shoulder rested against Leo’s in shared brotherly grief. Leo knew he felt this as deeply as the rest of them did.

  The fucking communist bastards had done this. They’d terrorized his town, murdered countless innocents, and stolen their father.

  They had to pay. Leo was going to make sure every last one of those fuckers paid for what they’d done.

  “Tell me how it happened.” It took Leo a second to realize he’d been the one to speak. His voice was strained. “Tell me.”

  Dal drew in a breath and told him. Leo closed his eyes. Leaning his head back against the stair railing, he listened while Dal relayed the events of Rossi.

  Halfway through the story, he opened his eyes. Anton sat across from him, hunched on the stump they used for splitting wood. His little brother’s head hung low, knuckles white around his rifle while he listened to Dal. Tears dripped off the end of his nose. His shoulders shook with quiet sobs.

  The rest of the group was there, too. Jennifer, Bruce, Jim, and Tate. They stood in a loose semi-circle, also listening.

  It didn’t feel like their dad was gone. It felt like he’d come up the road any minute now.

  When Dal at last finished, the only sound was that of the whirring cicadas and the chirp of birds.

  “So Dad was going to turn into a zombie.” Anton scrubbed a hand over his face. “He made his death count for something.”

  Leo was suddenly exhausted. He felt like he’d barely gotten through the pain of his mother’s loss, and now he had to deal with his father’s. It wasn’t right.

  “Thanks for getting Lena home,” Leo said to Dal. “I know that’s what Dad wanted. Lena was always his favorite.”

  “She’s his little girl,” Dal agreed. He squeezed Leo’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, man.”

  Now that Leo knew the full story, it was shocking Dal and Lena had managed to make it out of Rossi. Their journey home was nothing short of a miracle.

  He also knew his best friend. He knew without a doubt that Dal carried the loss of their father on his shoulders.

  “It’s not your fault, you know,” Leo said.

  “It feels like it.”

  “Screw that.” Anton got up, stalking over. “You went through hell to get our sister home. The Russians killed our dad. It’s their fault.” He bit off the words.

  “Lena helped get me home.” Dal glanced in her direction, where she and Nonna still held each other. “Your sister is scary with a Russian machine gun.”

  “Dad knew what was in store for him. He made his death count for something,” Leo said. “We lost Adam and Lars to the virus, too.” He and Anton relayed the tale of all that had befallen them since the invasion.

  When they were finished, Dal regarded everyone in the clearing. “There’s something else we need to tell you guys.” He looked to Lena. “Tell them what you overheard.”

  She kissed Nonna on the cheek before speaking. “You guys know how I’ve spent the last two-and-a-half years studying Russian? Well, I overheard some stuff when we were in Rossi.”

  She shared everything she’d gleaned in their brief encounters with the Russians. Dal explained about the transmitter they’d lugged back from the junior college, which Leo had been too numb to notice before now. Tate and Jim also shared what they knew about the First Offensive, which aligned with the little Lena knew.

  “We have to get this information out there,” Dal said. “It’s what Mr. Cecchino wanted. It’s the reason we went to the college to get the transmitter. It broadcasts on FM waves, which are compatible with what a television antenna uses. If we can find a big one, we can get the broadcast out to thousands of people. Someone around here must have one.”

  “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.”

  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.”

  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 making 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.