Zommunist Invasion | Book 1 | Red Virus

by Picott, Camille

  He flashed her a grin, liking her train of thought. He kicked aside his trash can lid and grabbed a weapon of his own from a dead Russian: a machine gun. He’d never used a machine gun before, but he’d used plenty of rifles throughout his life.

  He’d never shot a Russian before, either, but he’d shot plenty of wild pigs. Killing Russians couldn’t be that different.

  Grabbing Lena’s hand, he let her out of the alleyway at a dead run.

  Chapter 7

  Pole Mountain

  ADJOINING THE CECCHINO apple farm were two hundred acres of wilderness. Grandpa Cecchino had believed in investing in land, even if said land had been too steep and hilly to convert into apple orchards. “Land is the only thing you can’t make more of,” he used to say.

  The steep, forested hillsides were covered with oak, manzanita, madrone, and bay leaf trees. Between the trees were clearings of yellow grass and late-summer wildflowers.

  Leo had grown up hunting in these woods with his family. Between deer and wild pigs, they kept the family freezers stocked with meat.

  That’s where Leo had gotten the idea to start offering guided hunts on the family land. After he lost the football scholarship senior year—which had been the same time apple prices took a hit in the market—he started running ads in newspapers up and down Northern California. They’d only done a dozen or so guided trips every year, but every one of them had been successful and lucrative.

  The “cabin,” as the family called it, was an old converted lookout station built in the early nineteen hundreds. Its original function had been a wildfire lookout tower. It sat on the tallest hill in the county, known as Pole Mountain, and was in the heart of the Cecchino property.

  The cabin sat on stilts. It had been a single room that Grandpa Cecchino had expanded over the years. It now boasted two bedrooms, a bathroom, a small kitchen, and sitting room. Each of the bedrooms had three bunk beds, meaning they had enough beds for twelve people. A lot of their hunting customers preferred camping and would pitch tents outside, but plenty of them used the bunk rooms, too.

  The road to the cabin wasn’t easy to find. It was at the very back of the apple orchard, the entrance hidden behind several large bay trees that had fallen down a hillside in a heavy rain a few years ago. Even if a person knew where to look, the living trees shielded the rest of the road from sight.

  Leo switched into four-wheel drive as he steered the truck up the twenty-percent grade. The road up to Pole Mountain was seven miles long and uphill almost the entire way.

  The land fell away around them as he navigated the dirt road, doing his best to avoid the potholes and long channels made by rain water. The sun was low in the horizon, bathing the land in lavender and yellow light. Frogs and other evening insects were already out, filling the air with forest sounds.

  It was odd to think that less than fifteen miles away, a different world existed. A world under attack by Russians. What was going on in the rest of the country? How big was the attack? Was the US Army on its way?

  “Those fuckers,” Lars said, voice drifting on through the open window of the back cab. “They can’t get away with this.”

  Leo slid a glance over at his grandmother. She didn’t tolerate bad language. Her mouth tightened, but to his surprise, she didn’t reprimand Lars. Leo took this as a bad sign.

  “They won’t get away with this,” Anton said. “This is America. People don’t get away with attacking us.”

  “Did Bruce manage to get in touch with any of your parents?” Leo called. There had been so much commotion that he’d lost track of the kid’s attempts to make phone calls.

  “No one answered,” Bruce said. “Every line was busy. It was like the phones were disconnected or something.”

  Leo didn’t say anything. Bruce, Lars, and Adam all lived in town, within walking distance of Bastopol High.

  “Do you think I should have tried to get back to my house?” Lars asked.

  “It was war zone in town.” Leo didn’t say that Lars likely wouldn’t have survived a trip back into town. “Your parents would want you to be safe.”

  No one said anything after that, a subdued air settling over them. Leo thought of Lena and Dal in Rossi. And his dad, driving into the city to find them both.

  “We need a radio.” Anton banged on the cab with his fist. “Leo! Turn on the radio. See if you can find out what’s going on.”

  Nonna, who hadn’t said a word since they left the farm, leaned forward and flicked on the radio. She turned up the volume so Anton and the boys in the back could hear. The monotone blare of the emergency broadcast system washed over them.

  “This is a message from the emergency broadcast system. All systems are down. This is a message from the emergency broadcast system. All systems are down.”

  Nonna spent the next five minutes turning the dial, trying to find a live station.

  Nothing. It was either static or the emergency broadcast message on repeat.

  Leo exchanged a tight look with his grandmother as she switched off the radio. This wasn’t good.

  The boys in the back must have been thinking the same thing.

  “Shit,” Lars breathed. “We are so fucked.”

  Anton socked him in the shoulder. “Don’t say that. We’re the fucking United States. Those Soviet rat bastards can’t get the better of us.”

  “Language!” Nonna snapped.

  “Sorry,” Anton said. “We are the darn United States. No one can mess with us.”

  It was big talk. Leo wished he felt it. Inside, all he felt was dread.

  He thought back to the last few years when their mom had been alive. She went through the newspaper every day, combing it for anything that had to do with Russia and the Cold War. She kept an envelope full of clippings.

  Shortly before she was diagnosed with cancer, she’d purchased the Russian language tapes. “If the Russians make a move, this family will be ready,” their mom had said. “At least one person in this household will know how to speak Russian.” They were the same tapes Lena now carried everywhere.

  He remembered how sick the chemo had made his mom. How all her hair had fallen out and how she’d been reduced to skin and bones. Near the end, she almost stopped eating entirely. Nonna’s pureed chicken noodle soup was the only thing she could keep down.

  “My baby boy.” It was one of the last things she’d ever said to him. “I hope they don’t institute the draft again.” She had grabbed his hand. It was frail and thin and bony.

  Leo would never forget the way her hand felt in his. That had been two weeks before she died. It had been like holding a pile of sticks.

  My baby boy. I hope they don’t institute the draft again.

  Despite the illness that devastated her body, her mind remained sharp until the end. She read those damn newspapers every day. She never stopped adding clippings to her envelope.

  He missed his mom. Most days, he avoided thinking about her altogether. That was easier than remembering how much he missed her.

  Today, for the first time since she'd died, he felt relief—relief that she hadn’t lived to see her worst fear become a reality. No nukes had been launched yet, but an invasion on American soil was just as bad.

  The cabin came into view. Leo pulled the truck to a stop in front of the dark brown wood building. He felt a sense of finality as he set the break and switched off the car. He jumped out of the truck in time to see Anton prodding Lars.

  “Lars?” Anton patted his friend’s shoulder. “How you doing, man?”

  Lars turned his head to look at Anton. Shit. In the twenty minute drive, Lars had become worse. His pupils were dilated, the irises streaked with red. The front his shirt was dark with sweat.

  “Nonna,” Anton called, “Lars is sick.”

  Nonna hustled around the side of the pickup. She took one look at Lars and pursed her lips. Her hand touched his forehead and the back of his neck. “He’s burning with fever.”

  “He was hit with Russ
ian darts,” Anton explained. “Some of the Russians had machine guns, but lots of them had these dart guns—”

  “Russian poison,” Nonna spat. “Get him inside. I’ll do what I can for him.”

  Anton jumped off the truck to help Adam. With Bruce’s help, the two boys half dragged, half carried Adam up the stairs that led into the cabin.

  “Both linebackers down,” Leo murmured. He helped Lars off the back of the truck, slinging an arm around his neck to keep him upright.

  Lars doubled over coughing. His legs nearly collapsed when he slid off the back of the truck. He was looking worse by the second.

  Leo tightened his grip on Lars. They were both over six-feet tall, but Lars had an extra seventy-five pounds on him. They made a slow trek across the hand-packed dirt and paused below the dozen steps leading up the cabin. Lars looked at the steps like they were a sick joke.

  “Remember that workout Coach Brown made you guys do on Labor Day?” Leo asked. He’d heard all about it from Anton. He’d pretended not to listen even though he’d filed away every detail.

  Lars tried to laugh. The sound turned into a wheeze. “The one where we all almost died of heatstroke?”

  “Yeah. I know you feel bad right now. But you can’t feel any worse than you did after that Labor Day workout.” Anton had puked his guts out when he got home.

  Lars wheezed again. A trace of a smile pulled at his mouth. Leo saw determination crease his brow. Good. There was still fight in him.

  One step, then another. Leo grabbed the railing as Lars swayed. He kept them both from tumbling down the stairs. He hunched forward, dragging Lars up another few steps.

  “Six more, man,” Leo murmured. “There’s the end zone. Time to clear the way.”

  Lars turned his head, coughing. He surged forward, taking the last six steps in a rush. He nearly collapsed at the top. Leo locked his knees, keeping him upright.

  “Sick kids in the south room.” Nonna had the first aid kid open on the long kitchen table.

  Leo obeyed, dragging Lars into the south bunk room. Adam was already there, flopped on his back and sound asleep. Anton was in the tiny closet, pulling out extra blankets.

  Leo eased Lars into the second bottom bunk. He ripped off the boy’s dirty shoes while Anton heaped blankets onto his shivering form.

  “He needs a doctor,” Anton said.

  “I know.” Leo shook his head. “But we can’t risk taking him into a war zone in this state.”

  “Sit him up.” Nonna bustled into the room with two Aspirin and a glass of water. Anton helped her administer the medicine. Lars let out a soft growling sound as he swallowed the pills.

  Leo, who stood behind Lars while he downed the Aspirin, felt his chest constrict as he got a good look at the back of Lars’s neck. “Nonna.”

  Nonna took one look at his face and shifted to stand beside him. Leo pointed to the back of Lars’s neck. The black welts from the dart wound had grown to the size of a large coin. Several veins around the wound had also turned black, snaking up into his hairline and across the back of his neck.

  Nonna shook her head, lips pursed. “We watch him. It’s all we can do now.”

  She moved away and roused Adam. The other boy was drunk from the grappa and the pain, but Nonna managed to get two Aspirin down his throat.

  She hustled Leo, Anton, and Bruce out into the main room, quietly closing the bedroom door behind them.

  “Lars looks bad,” Leo said.

  “Rest is the best medicine for the two of them,” Nonna replied. “We’ve done as much as we can.”

  Anton and Bruce flopped into a worn leather sofa, looking like they’d been run over by a truck.

  Leo didn’t feel any of his normal animosity toward this little brother. The poor kid had gone from a routine football practice to a Soviet invasion. Lars was sick and Adam had been shot. How many of his friends on the team had been killed?

  Leo gripped his shoulder. “You okay?”

  Under normal circumstances, Anton would have bristled at this. But today wasn’t a normal day.

  “I’m worried about Dad and Lena,” he said. “And Dal.”

  Leo flopped into the chair across from him. “I’m worried about them, too.”

  There wasn’t anything else to say. Leo wanted to say his family would make it back from Rossi; that they were strong and capable. And they were, but this was a Russian invasion. Nothing was a guarantee. As evidenced by all that had happened to Lars and Adam

  “You think it’s time to put your feet up?” Nonna marched over to them. “There’s a truck to be unloaded, boys. Move.”

  Leo flashed a wry grin at Anton and Bruce before levering himself up. He led the boys outside to unload all the gear from the truck.

  Chapter 8

  Two Trucks

  DAL HAD DONE IT. HE’D found Lena and gotten her back to the Beetle.

  It had been a terrifying sprint through the chaos of downtown. He’d had to shoot two Russians with his stolen machine gun. They’d almost been hit by those red darts more times than he could count. But they’d made it.

  He yanked open the passenger-side door of the Beetle. “Get in,” he screamed at Lena.

  She dove past him into the car. Dal slammed the door after her, relief washing over him.

  Now what? The question pulsed in his brain as Dal jumped into the driver’s seat and locked the door. Now what? After leaving the coffee shop, he hadn’t thought past getting Lena safely back to his car.

  Home. Somehow, he had to get her home.

  But how? He stared at the anarchy around him. Soviets were everywhere. The streets were in uproar. Dead bodies were piling up. Cars had smashed into one another, clogging up the road.

  “The Beetle is small.” Lena’s eyes flicked up and down the street. “We can get through.”

  She was right. The Beetle was small. If there was any car that could maneuver the tight streets, it was this one.

  Lena surprised him by leaning over and hefting the machine gun that lay across Dal’s lap.

  He grabbed her hand to stop her from taking the weapon. “What are you doing?” It was impossible not to imagine Mr. Cecchino’s face if he saw his daughter wielding a Soviet machine gun.

  Lena gave Dal a look before yanking the gun out of his hands. “I’m going to shoot any Russian that tries to stand in our way.”

  “You don’t know how to use a machine gun,” he protested.

  Her gaze was scathing. “You never used one until a few minutes ago, but you did alright.”

  Lena knew her way around guns. Mr. Cecchino had taken her hunting with his sons plenty of times. Still, there was something disturbing about seeing the ex-ballerina hefting the machine gun in her lithe arms.

  “You don’t get to be the knight in shining armor, Dal. It’s going to take two of us to make it out of Rossi.” She rolled down the window, propping the machine on the ledge. “Give me those extra magazines.”

  Dal had swiped two forty-five round mags off the bodies of a Soviet. Lips tight, he passed them to her. “Put your seat belt on.”

  She huffed. “Okay, Dad.” She buckled the belt. “Drive. Get us out of here.”

  “Fuck me,” Dal growled. Worry for Lena made him sick, but he fired up the blue Beetle and rolled forward.

  The freeway onramp. That’s where they had to go. From there, it was a straight shot to the country road that led to the farm. The onramp was no more than eight blocks away.

  They just had to get there.

  He weaved through the traffic. There were plenty of people still trying to drive, which made the road even more hazardous.

  Ahead of them, two Russians chased several teenage kids down the sidewalk, firing darts at them.

  “Lena—”

  She fired. The recoil of the machine gun punched her back into the chair. The bullets went wide and shattered an office window. “Dammit,” she muttered.

  Dal swerved around two cars that had crashed into a telephone pole. Lena ad
justed her stance, waited for Dal to clear the wrecked cars, then fired again. Her bullets ripped into the men, felling them like rag dolls. The kids fled, racing away down the street.

  Dal knew Lena was a good shot. But it was one thing to see her shoot a deer and another thing to see her gun down Soviet invaders. What would Mr. Cecchino say when he found out?

  Lena leaned back, satisfaction on her face. Until she caught Dal looking at her.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t tell dad.”

  This statement didn’t make Dal feel any better. But it wasn’t just the mental image of Mr. Cecchino’s horror when he learned his daughter had gunned down Russians that made him uncomfortable. It was the realization that Lena looked pretty damn beautiful gunning down enemy soldiers.

  It wasn’t that he was blind. He knew Lena was a beauty. Dal just didn’t allow himself to look at her that way. He would never disrespect the family that had taken him in by doing that. She was practically his little sister.

  Mouth dry, he refocused on the road. A bullet glanced across the roof of the bug. A Russian ran through a drug store parking lot on Dal’s side of the street, firing at the Beetle.

  Lena didn’t hesitate. She ejected the seat belt buckle and hopped up, sticking her torso out the open widow. She rotated in the direction of the Russian and delivered a string of answering bullets. The man fell.

  “I wish Mom was here to see this.” Lena dropped back into the car, dark hair in disarray around her face. “She always knew this day would come.”

  Dal had no words. He swallowed and kept driving.

  They made it a few more blocks, moving away from downtown. The road had cleared, the concentration of the attack centered in the heart of Rossi. Only another two blocks to the onramp.

  “There’s three more.” Lena settled the machine gun against her shoulder, aiming the barrel out the window. “We can get them. Turn right at the next street.”

  He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Turning right would take them away from the freeway. He ignored her instruction and drove straight through the intersection.