Zommunist Invasion | Book 3 | Scattered

by Picott, Camille

  Valentina was confused. Marcello talked circles around her.

  Could he be right? Could it be her fault that Luca was dead? The uncertainty left her feeling small and full of shame.

  Marcello straightened, once again towering over her. “Don’t force my hand, Valé. Let Luca be remembered as a hero.”

  He left her there, shivering and alone, in the snow.

  Stephenson didn’t know it, but Nonna held onto him like a lifeline.

  She’d helped Marcello cover up Luca’s murder. Her entire life had been compiled around one big lie.

  By the time she was old enough to realize how he’d manipulated her, Luca was a village hero. She could never bring herself to smash the perfect pedestal her parents had built for her beloved big brother.

  She was seventeen when Giuseppe asked her to marry him. It was a year after the war ended. Giuseppe was five years older. He was from the family of a wealthy merchant. His father had given him the money to immigrate and start a life in America.

  Had she been in love with Giuseppe? No. But the call of a life in a new country where she could escape the memories of Luca’s murder was stronger than the need for love.

  Giuseppe had been a good man. She’d been lucky in that respect. He’d been good to her all her life and she’d grown to love him deeply over the years.

  But not even a gentle life with a kind man could erase the shame of her childhood.

  “Nonna?” Stephenson sniffled, head resting on her shoulder.

  “Yes?”

  “Was your brother killed for being like me?”

  His words tapped into a long-buried well of emotion. “Yes.”

  “He wasn’t really killed by fascists, was he?”

  Nonna felt her eyes grow wet. They kept doing that around Stephenson. “He was killed by our cousin. I helped him cover it up.”

  It was the first time she had ever uttered those words out loud. It felt like a great, heavy darkness leaving her body. Her body shuddered from the exodus.

  “We told everyone a fascist had done it.” She didn’t make excuses. There was no excuse for what she had done.

  “How old were you when it happened?” Stephenson asked.

  “Fourteen.”

  “Just a kid.”

  Nonna sighed. “Just a kid. My brother was barely eighteen. Same for my cousin.”

  “What happened to him? Your cousin, I mean?”

  “He joined the partisans shortly after Luca died. Came back a war hero.” The entire village regaled in tales of Marcello’s heroics in the war against the fascists and their Nazi allies. She supposed they could be true.

  Could a thousand shiny deeds against the Nazis erase the darkest treachery? She’d long ago given up trying to answer that question.

  “What do you think would have happened if Luca had shown up one day dressed like a girl?” Stephenson asked.

  Nonna had asked herself this question a million times. There was only one answer. “He would have been disowned by the family and condemned by the church if he didn’t change his ways.”

  “You still think God didn’t make a mistake? When he made me and your brother, he didn’t mess up?”

  Nonna shook her head emphatically. “Hate didn’t end with World War II. It just mutated. People all over use hatred for a weapon. Maybe it’s not Jews being killed, but people are still dying for no good reason. People are killed over religion, skin color, or just for being different like you.” She gave him a squeeze, needing to hold him as much as Stephenson needed to be held.

  “I believe God makes people like you and my Luca on purpose,” she said, voice scratchy from a lifetime of buried sorrow. “You are here to help us all change. We can lay down arms and find a new way to live together, or we can stay at war.”

  “I—it never occurred to me that I might be part of God’s plan.” He licked his lips. “You really think my existence is part of something bigger?”

  She could hear how much this idea impacted him. “Of course. We are all part of God’s plan. Some of us just have bigger roles to play than others.”

  The trick, of course, was embracing your role in the divine plan.

  God did not always make things easy on his children. Luca never had a chance.

  Stephenson didn’t ask any more questions after that. He remained with his head on Nonna’s shoulder. She kept her arm around him, the stars growing blurry as she fought back tears.

  Caught up in her memories, she didn’t see the first mutant until it smacked into the rain gutter on the side of the house.

  40

  Apocalyptic Princess of Power

  Stephenson jumped as the mutant slammed into the side of the Cecchino cabin. The monster latched onto the rain gutter, his roar vibrating across Stephenson’s body. He froze in shock.

  Nonna bolted into action. Rolling onto her knees, she snatched the machine gun that rested on the rooftop beside her. As the mutant scrambled into view, she fired.

  The mutant’s head exploded. Nonna was a killer shot, even in the dark.

  Stephenson recovered from his shock. “Move your butt, Princess of Power,” he muttered. Scooping up his machine gun, he jumped to his feet.

  Growls materialized out of the darkness, drifting up around the cabin. With a sick sense of dread, Stephenson realized they were surrounded.

  They’d only seen four mutants on the road with the cyclists. “Does it sound like there are more than four down there?” he hissed.

  “Yes,” Nonna said.

  Oh, God. Stephenson gritted his teeth, hands tightening on his gun. He’d been an idiot to assume there had only been four mutants. Just because he had only seen four didn’t mean there weren’t more—as evidenced by the growling around them.

  If ever there was a time to transform into a Princess of Power, it was now. No more shrinking. If he wanted to live, it was time to fight. The Soviet machine gun in his arms might not be She-Ra’s Sword of Protection, but it would do.

  “If I don’t make it through the night, make sure my real name is carved onto the wall of Not Forgotten,” he whispered.

  Nonna’s nostrils flared. Her eyes narrowed. “There will be no need to carve any name on the wall of Not Forgotten. You’re going to survive.”

  He sure as hell hoped so.

  A mutant pounded loudly up the steps to the cabin porch and slammed into the cabin. Nonna and Stephenson turned at the same time to see a pair of bloody hands curl around the edge of the roof.

  Defying every survival instinct, Stephenson shimmied down the sloped roof. He headed straight toward the emerging mutant as he fired. He kept his knees bent to counterbalance the angle of the shingles.

  The monster’s head was out of site, but one leg had found purchase on the ledge.

  Stephenson marched right to the edge and fired ruthlessly into the leg. Simultaneously, he stomped on the fingers of the mutant hand, daring to lean over the side of the roof. A snarling mutant zombie growled up at him, the face crisscrossed with infected veins.

  The mutant swiped, free hand closing around his ankle. Stephenson fired into his face.

  The mutant dropped, but the hand was still around his ankle.

  Stephenson went down, landing hard on the backside. He slid down the shingles, yelling as he dug his fingernails into the wood.

  Nonna dove for him. Seeing the little old lady throw herself across the rooftop was almost as eerie as being dragged by a mutant zombie. She landed with a grunt, latching both hands around his wrist.

  “Juli!”

  “Nonna!” he flailed, not wanting to drag her over the side with him.

  The grip around his ankle slackened, the dead mutant sloughing away. Stephenson dangled half on, half off the side of the roof.

  Never in his life had he appreciated being a wiry bean pole. But as Nonna heaved herself backwards, her nails digging into his wrist, Stephenson was glad for every bone that protruded from his skinny frame. If he’d been a big beefy guy like Bruce or Anton, it wou
ld have been impossible for Nonna to drag him away from the edge.

  As it was, she couldn’t do more than lug him up a mere six inches. But it was enough.

  That six inches gave him the balance he needed. Stephenson scrambled the rest of the way back just as three more mutants rushed up the porch steps. In their haste to get to him, they trampled the body of the one Stephenson had just killed.

  He got his feet beneath him just as the next mutant jumped and grabbed the roof.

  Thank God the Soviets put neck straps around their machine guns. Otherwise, he would have dropped it for sure when he fell. Stephenson snatched his gun and fired.

  The mutant hissed and fell out of sight, landing heavily on the porch below.

  “Nonna, are you okay?”

  She was on her feet, eyes steely. “Takes more than that to finish me off.” Inching down the roofline, she took aim with her machine gun.

  Another mutant jumped, both hands closing on shingles. Nonna and Stephenson fired in unison. The mutant shrieked as bullets tore her hands to shreds.

  Stephenson and Nonna stood side by side, a mere foot between them and the edge of the roof. They could just see the heads of the three mutants circling below. From the storage room, the frantic cries of the old mare could be head.

  His mind flashed to the last two days he’d spent with Nonna in the forest clearing. He imagined the mutant heads in the center of the target she’d drawn on the side of the rotting tree trunk.

  This is what she’d been preparing him for. Somehow, she’d foreseen this situation. He would make sure her efforts to keep his butt alive weren’t wasted.

  Sighting on the first of the mutants, he fired. He let out a cry of triumph as his shots connected. The head exploded and the mutant slumped to the porch, dead.

  Grinning, he glanced at Nonna—only to jump when another mutant threw himself at the roof.

  This one had massive forearms and the neck of a professional wrestler. The distended muscles had torn his shirt sleeves to shreds. The black, infected veins bulged as the zombie yanked himself onto the roof. The thing moved incredibly fast, dragging his torso onto the roof in one smooth move.

  Nonna and Stephenson jumped back, both of them firing. Bullets sent up spurts of red, but the thing had his massive arms in front of his face; they caught the shots meant for his head. He kept coming for them, a leg appearing on the side of the roof as he pulled himself the rest of the way up.

  Nonna’s gun made an odd clicking sound. “I’m jammed,” she barked. “Keep firing!” She hurried away to the munitions pile they had at the top of the roof.

  In a rush of fear and adrenaline, Stephenson dug in his heels and screamed.

  The mutant shifted into a crouch, but Stephenson refused to move. He couldn’t let anything happen to Nonna.

  A distant part of his mind marveled that he found the courage to hold his ground. Maybe the machine gun really was his magical sword.

  Just when he thought the mutant would launch himself across the distance, Stephenson got a clear shot at his face. Nonna’s target appeared around the mutant’s head.

  “Die, asshole!” He fired until his gun clicked empty.

  The mutant tottered on the edge of the roof. Nonna reappeared by his side, new gun in hand. She sent bullets into the mutant, sending him crashing over the edge.

  “Reload,” she barked at him.

  Stephenson scrambled to their supplies, snatching up two magazines. He shoved one into the gun and another into the waistline of his Jordache jeans.

  Holy hell, but he loved these pants. If he survived this battle, he promised himself he would never take them off.

  Something moved in his periphery. He looked up just in time to see a dark shape crawl onto the east side of the roof. It sprinted toward Nonna with frightening speed.

  “Nonna, look out!” He dropped to one knee, taking aim at the new mutant. How many of these darn things were out there?

  It was a woman, her body lumpy and misshapen from the virus mutation. He swept his barrel across the monster’s legs, shooting her through the kneecaps. She fell to the roof but kept coming, dragging herself and her ruined legs across the shingles.

  “Juli!” Nonna’s shout cut through him. He glanced over his shoulder to see her taking on two more mutants as they crawled onto the roof.

  He sent a stream of bullets in the direction of the crawling mutant, this time sweeping her across the arms and face. She flopped around on the rooftop. She wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t moving very fast anymore. If he spent anymore time trying to kill her, he could lose Nonna.

  He turned his attention to the two threatening her. Sparks from the end of her machine gun illuminated her face. She was tiny, old, and wrinkled, but at that moment, she was the fiercest thing Stephenson had ever seen. He adored her with every fiber of his soul.

  He jumped to her side. In silent agreement, they split their defense. Nonna took the mutant on the left. Stephenson took the one on the right.

  Nonna’s mutant was the first to topple backwards off the roof. Stephenson’s was seconds behind. As soon as that side of the roof was clear, he spun around.

  The female mutant was no more than six feet away. Blood gushed from her wounds, but still she came, dragging herself toward them.

  “Get her, Juli.”

  Stephenson braced the machine gun on his hip and advanced, firing as he went. The mutant screamed, throwing bleeding hands in front of her face.

  He didn’t stop advancing until his pink Converse touched the widening pool of blood that spread from her body. She was finally dead, her body pulverized by bullets.

  He stopped firing, but there was screaming in his ears. Several seconds passed before he realized he was the one screaming.

  A hand came down on his shoulder. His scream dissolved into deep gulps.

  “We got them.” Nonna’s voice was full of pride.

  Stephenson spun around to face her. When she looked up at him, he felt like the person he really was: Juli Stephenson.

  For the second time that night, he burst into tears. Nonna pulled him into a hug, patting him on the back while he cried.

  “Ju—Juli did that.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the dead female mutant. It was hard to believe he had killed mutants.

  And not just one. A lot of them.

  “Juli did that.” Nonna leaned back to look at him. Stars shone all around her head in the dark sky.

  Stephenson looked down at himself. From the pink Converse, to the skin-tight Jordache jeans, to the strappy tank, to the black mesh shirt. The person in these clothes was not the same person he’d been two days ago. He was a new person. A person who could fight mutant zombies and survive.

  Tears still ran out of his eyes, but he threw back his head and laughed. He’d never felt this amazing in his entire life.

  He was Juli Stephenson. He was a fucking apocalyptic Princess of Power, and he was going to wear these clothes until they were threadbare and fell off his body.

  41

  Engines

  At that moment, Nonna Cecchino was convinced that Juli Stephenson was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen in her life. She knew—she just knew—her brother’s soul was looking down on her from heaven, clapping with pride.

  She had done right by Luca Trione today. It had taken her a lifetime to make amends for what she’d done, but today she stood in absolution.

  She beamed at Juli, who stood beside her on the roof, laughing. Her head was thrown back, her arms outstretched as the night sky stood in silent witness to her transformation.

  Nonna retrieved the bottle of whiskey she’d stashed in the backpack. Pulling out the stopper, she took a long swig. Then she passed the bottle to Juli.

  “Drink up,” Nonna said. “You deserve it.”

  The girl threw her head back and drank. She almost immediately started coughing. Nonna chuckled, returning the stopper to the bottle.

  “Let’s get rid of this thing.” Juli toed th
e dead female mutant on the roof.

  It took two of them to roll it over the side and onto the dirt below.

  “God, that thing was heavy,” Juli said. “I think mutants might be heavier than regular people. Maybe it’s the mutated muscles.”

  “Maybe.” As Nonna took in the bullet holes that riddled the roof, she sighed inwardly. The cabin inside would be a disaster. There would be no sleeping tonight.

  “Think it’s safe to go down now?” Juli asked.

  “We made enough racket to bring mutants all the way from Bastopol,” Nonna replied. “If there were more of them out there, they’d have shown themselves by now.”

  They’d used a ladder to get onto the roof, but Nonna had purposely kicked it over once they were up so the mutants couldn’t use it.

  “I’ll go first and get the ladder for you,” Juli said.

  Pride swelled in Nonna’s chest as she watched Juli grab the eave gutter and swing over the edge. Juli might not be the strongest in their group, but she had twice the strength of Stephenson.

  “Watch out for the bodies.” Nonna counted no less than four mutant bodies on the porch.

  The blood was going to present a problem. The cabin deck was old, the wood faded and dry. Without a doubt, the blood would soak in and stain.

  When this was all over, Nonna would make Leo repaint the wood. Dal and Anton, too.

  If they ever returned.

  Juli positioned the ladder beneath the roof. Nonna lowered herself onto it, glad for her lifetime of hard work. She might be old, and she might not have the strength of her youth, but she wasn’t a weakling.

  She stepped down onto the porch, careful to avoid the blood.

  “We have to get rid of these bodies.” Nonna frowned down at them in disapproval.

  They had ruined her porch. Up close, she could see even more blood. There were not only big pools of it, but it had splattered everywhere.