Zommunist Invasion | Book 1 | Red Virus

by Picott, Camille

  Dal and Lena resumed running. They reached the safety of the building just as another group of four zombies raced into the small quad. No doubt they’d been drawn by the gunfire and the barking of their fellow nezhit.

  Dal and Lena cut past the social science building, around the fine arts department, then hit the edge of the road that separated the classrooms from the sports fields and ag area. The parking lot was on the north side of the field.

  They’d taken two steps into the road when Dal saw movement in the corner of his eye. He spotted a group of Soviet soldiers. He grabbed Lena’s shoulder and hauled her back into the safety of the building.

  “Russians,” he whispered.

  “Where?”

  “Parking lot.” The very parking lot they’d been targeting for a car.

  They cautiously looked around the corner. The street lamps in the parking lot had turned on, pouring light onto the cars.

  There weren’t just a few Russians. There were dozens of them swarming all over the parking lot. They broke into cars. Some were unlocked; those that weren’t had their windows smashed. One by one, cars hummed to life.

  “They’re stealing cars.” Lena’s lips were pressed into a thin line.

  “Come on,” Dal said. If the Russians were busy stealing cars, they wouldn’t notice them running across the road.

  “We can’t.” Lena drew back from him when he tried to lead her across the blacktop. “It’s not safe to steal a car from that lot.”

  “We’re not taking a car.” Dal pointed to the ag building on the far side of the sports field.

  The agriculture department of Rossi Junior College was substantial. West County was, for the most part, a rural farming community. Not only did the campus boast several large greenhouses and several plots of cropland, their program also had a livestock component. Dal had some friends—Tate and Jim Craig—who’d taken the livestock management courses.

  Most importantly, Tate and Jim had taken an equine health course. The college had no less than a dozen horses.

  “How do you plan to get back home without a car?” Lena demanded.

  “You ready to ride a horse?” The Cecchino’s didn’t have horses, but Lena had friends with horses. She’d spent her fair share of time riding them throughout her childhood, as had Dal.

  “Horses,” Lena breathed. “Good idea.”

  This time, when he took her hand to lead her across the street, he met no resistance.

  Chapter 27

  Horses

  UNFORTUNATELY, THE street lamps along the road had also turned on. They kept to the darkness between the lights, hoping the Russians would be too busy with their carjacking to notice two people running for their lives.

  They ducked down beside a white El Camino parked next to the entrance of the baseball field.

  “We’ll go around the back of the bleachers,” Dal said.

  They dashed away from the car, across the sidewalk, and over the gravel that led behind the baseball bleachers. They slowed to a fast walk to catch their breath.

  “I have to tell you something,” Lena said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you and Dad earlier.”

  “Is it something you overhead from the Russians?”

  Lena’s face was solemn. “It’s about the infected.”

  “I already know. They’re zombies.”

  “That’s part of it.” Lena eyes were large in the dark. “But there’s more. It’s a bioweapon that’s making them sick. A virus. You see what it does to them on the outside. On the inside, they are overcome with the need to procreate.”

  “The need to procreate?” Dal frowned at this. They’d seen dozens of nezhit and none of them had been procreating. All they did was wander around in search of humans ... and it suddenly hit him. “That’s why they bite, isn’t it?”

  He replayed the scene on the front lawn of the college. The girl nezhit had jumped on the chubby boy, taken a big bite out of his neck, then left him to die.

  No. That wasn’t right. She’d left him to live. As a nezhit. As a zombie.

  Lena watched his face as he processed this new piece of information. “That’s what will drive them for the next seven to ten days. They will hunt down humans and spread the virus with their bite and make more nezhit.”

  “What happens after seven to ten days?”

  “They die.”

  “They die?”

  “Yeah.”

  It was mass murder. Genocide.

  The weight of the transmitter on his back felt heavier than ever. But something wasn’t adding up.

  “They could have just dropped nukes on us,” Dal said. “Saved themselves a trip. It’s not like they don’t have the weapons. Why go to all the trouble to come here and turn us all into zombies?”

  “Think about it,” Lena said. “Dropping nukes would effectively wipe us out, but it would also make the land uninhabitable. This is one of the richest nations on the planet.” She held her arms out on either side of her for emphasis. “Get rid of the Americans, and America—”

  “And America becomes the property of Russia. With no one to stand in their way, taking over will be a snap.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Holy shit,” Dal breathed. This was even worse than he’d realized.

  “We have to make sure this information gets out,” Lena said. “No matter what. We are the only two people who know the truth about the infected. And the fact that the Russians are immune.”

  Dal peered through the bleachers, his eyes traveling past the baseball field to the parking lot beyond. The Russians had drawn a lot of nezhit with all the racket they were making. The infected prowled around the perimeter of the lot, watching the Soviets but not attacking.

  “We need to get our hands on their vaccine,” Dal whispered.

  Lena gave him a tight look. “Yes. But not until we get this information out. We have to focus on one thing at a time.”

  They resumed their run along the back of the bleachers. The gravel crunched under their sneakers. Dal kept up a constant scan on the area, hoping the Russians were doing a sufficient job of drawing the attention of all the nearby nezhit.

  The transmitter was like a boulder on his back. So much depended on them getting it back to Pole Mountain.

  Gunfire went up from the parking lot, followed by laughter. Dal and Lena never slowed. He glanced through the darkness and glimpsed Russians playing target practice on some of the nezhit.

  They reached the far end of the bleachers, then followed the gravel road as it meandered between the ag buildings. Lights were interspersed at larger intervals among these classrooms, leaving pools of darkness in between.

  Dal nearly missed the two zombies stalking in their direction. It was only when they passed beneath a light with their loping gait that he saw them.

  They had the bloodshot eyes and the eerie, loping gait of the others they’d seen. But unlike the groups they’d seen roaming the campus, these two were soaked with blood. It made dark stains across the fronts of their plain tees and blue jeans.

  Lena sucked in a breath, automatically firing her gun. The bullets ripped through the two zombies. The smaller of the zombies—a girl no older than Lena—fell as her legs were shredded. She continued to crawl forward, dragging herself like a seal.

  The second one kept coming. If anything, the gunshot wounds across his torso only enraged him. With an inhuman howl that made Dal’s blood run cold, the zombie charged.

  “Get out of the way!” Instinct took over. He shoved Lena. He had only a few seconds to adjust his stance and raise his gun.

  Then the monster was on him. The young man leaped at him. Spittle dripped from his mouth. The tips of his fingers were coated in blood.

  Dal fired right into his face. His head exploded. Blood was everywhere, pouring out of the severed neck like a waterfall. The zombie listed to one side and collapsed.

  Dal’s breath rasped. His heart pounded against his sternum. He listened, hoping they hadn’t drawn the atten
tion of the Soviets back in the parking lot. Gunfire and laughter still filled the night, carrying from the direction of the lot. How ironic that this was a good sign.

  Pursing his lips, he adjusted the machine gun and grabbed Lena’s hand. They raced past the buildings and finally reached the edge of campus where the animals and crop fields were.

  It was eerily quiet. The only sound was distant gunfire from the Russians. Dal didn’t like it.

  “There’s the barn.” Lena pointed to the large wood building straddling the gravel road. It was no more than thirty yards away.

  “It’s too quiet.” Dal might not be an ag major, but he’d been to this part of the campus often enough to see Jim and Tate. And there were always, always animal sounds. Chickens. Cows. Pigs. Horses.

  And right now, there was nothing. Not a snort, a moo, or a whinny.

  They crept toward the barn. They stuck to the darkest patches of the road, avoiding the light when they could. The building to their right ended, giving way to a large outdoor animal pen that was connected to the barn.

  Dal stopped dead. Beside him, Lena sucked in a breath.

  Animal carcasses were strewn across the pen. Chicken feathers were everywhere. Half-eaten pig and cow carcasses spilled blood and innards. Dal even spotted a dead horse.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed.

  These animals hadn’t been gunned down by the Russians. Machine guns didn’t leave gaping body cavities or strew entrails across the open ground. Machine guns didn’t rip legs off animals or leave half-eaten heads on the ground.

  Lena pressed her free hand to her stomach, her face going white. “I guess we just figured out what the infected eat.”

  Dal took her by the arm, steering her away from the animal pen. They approached the barn. Dal’s back itched. He did not like the idea of going inside there. If that was where they had to go to find a horse, maybe they were better off traveling on foot.

  “Dal, over there.” Lena gestured to the tall corn stalks growing on one of the school plots. “Is that a horse?”

  Sure enough, standing in the shadow of the cornfield was a horse. A living horse.

  “There’s more of them,” he whispered. Now that he was looking, he saw the silhouettes of several horses hiding on the edge of the corn field.

  “They must have jumped the fence when the zombies attacked,” Lena said. “None of the other animals could get away.”

  They crept toward the horses. Dal was relieved they’d avoided the necessity of going into the barn, but it wouldn’t do any good to spook them. The poor things were probably scared after all they’d experienced.

  The closest of the horses watched them warily, exhaling sharply as they approached.

  “Hey, boy.” Dal extended a hand to the tall bay, letting the animal smell his hand. “It’s okay, boy.”

  “You wanna get out of here?” Lena approached a second horse, this one even taller. He was all black, his coat gleaming like fresh ink in the night. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” The horse nickered softly, allowing Lena to approach.

  None of them were saddled. Lena patted her horse, running a hand along his side. He snorted as she sprang onto him, her powerful dancer’s legs propelling her upward. She dangled awkwardly before getting her leg around his hind quarters.

  With the weight of the transmitter, Dal knew he couldn’t jump like Lena. He grabbed a handful of weeds growing at the base of the corn. Using it, he led his horse toward a school bench on the edge of the field. The bay followed, nickering in annoyance when Dal held it just out of his reach.

  As soon as they got to the bench, he released the greens to the animal. He scrambled from the bench onto the back of horse.

  Dal had never ridden bareback before. He clucked his tongue, nudging the animal with the heels of his Converse shoes.The horse took a few steps forward, but he was going the wrong way. How the hell was he supposed to steer without a bridle and bit?

  “Dal, do you hear that?”

  Lena’s voice made him jerk. He strained his ears, listening.

  He heard it. A soft chorus of growls and hisses and the crunch of many feet on gravel.

  Nezhit.

  The horses seemed to have heard it, too. Dal’s bay lurched sideways, nearly unseating him. He grabbed a handful of mane and clamped his legs as the horse leaped. With a distressed whinny, it bolted into the field.

  Lena’s black gelding fell into step beside Dal’s, both horses frantically putting distance between them and the zombies.

  They weren’t alone. Another three horses joined them, all five animals streaming through the open field. They ran through corn, tomatoes, string beans, zucchini, and lettuce. The smell of smashed plants filled Dal’s nose.

  Barking erupted behind them. Dal glanced over his shoulder.

  Behind them was no less than a dozen zombies. They ran in a tight pack, streaming across the field—straight toward them.

  Chapter 28

  Homeward

  DAL LEANED LOW ACROSS his horse. The transmitter bounced painfully against his back.

  Luckily, the nezhit virus didn’t give their pursuers super speed. His horse thundered through the field with the others, quickly outpacing the zombies. Dal lost sight of them in the darkness.

  The west side of Rossi was a patchwork of farms. Apples, plums, and cattle were the most common, though at the moment the horses ran through a popular local strawberry patch. When they reached the far side of the field, they slowed to a canter and remained in a group.

  “I guess they believe in safety in numbers, too,” Lena said.

  “I think we lost them.” Dal twisted around, staring back into the dark.

  “Maybe.” Lena looked doubtful. “They could still be following.”

  “Do you think the Soviets just attacked the west coast?” Dal asked. “Or do you think they attacked other parts of America?”

  Lena shook her head. “I don’t know. That would take a lot of resources, but ...” She heaved a sigh. “If they’re aiming to claim America, or at least a big part of it, my guess would be that what’s happening here is happening everywhere. Look, there’s Bastopol.”

  A mile away sat their quaint hometown. It was a tiny bedroom community with a few sub-divisions and a lot of farmland. There were no towering city blocks like there were in Rossi.

  The fastest way home was to go straight through Bastopol. But if there were Russians there—and Dal had no reason to assume it was safe—that would be a bad idea.

  They’d been experimenting with their mounts for the last few miles. Lena discovered if she leaned back, the horse stopped. Dal did this now so he could get a good look at Bastopol.

  Lena stopped beside him. The rest of the horses also stopped, all of them munching on the weeds that grew in the apple orchard where they currently stood.

  Dal felt that familiar sense of foreboding, like he had as kid before his father flew into a rage. It was the tug in his stomach that had saved his life in Rossi.

  He turned to Lena. “I don’t think we should go through Bastopol.”

  “It would be faster than going around.”

  It would be a lot faster. Dal heaved a breath. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  He hitched his shoulders, not wanting to tell her about his innate barometer for trouble. “It’s just a feeling.”

  “Can we go a little closer before we decide?”

  Dal shifted. He didn’t want to argue with Lena, but he really, really didn’t want to get any closer to Bastopol.

  “Another half mile,” he said at last. “Then you’ll go around with me?”

  “Okay.”

  They nudged the horses forward. As soon as Dal and Lena’s horses moved, the other three joined them.

  A cozy subdivision bordered this part of Bastopol. They were craftsman bungalows built in the early fifties. Dal wished he had a pair of binoculars. Shit, he just wished there were a little more light to see. Bastopol
was nothing more than a black silhouette.

  When he gauged them to be about a half mile away, he shifted his weight backwards to stop the horse. He patted the animal.

  “It looks so ... quiet,” Lena said at last. “Are you sure we shouldn’t risk it?”

  At the question, the weight in his stomach intensified. He decided to be honest with Lena. It’s not like his childhood was a secret to her.

  “I used to know when my father would beat me.” His throat went dry and scratchy. This was a subject he didn’t like thinking about, let along talking about. “It was like ... I could feel it, you know? Like the static and humidity in the air before a thunderstorm. It was like that.” He shifted, not looking at her.

  “Is that what you feel now?”

  “Pretty much.” He wanted to tell her about the attack at Rossi junior college, about how that sense of foreboding had saved his life. But his throat was too dry. The words lodged in his aching stomach.

  She reached across the distance and squeezed his hand. “Okay. We’ll go around.”

  The air whooshed out of his lungs. Partly because he was relieved she’d agreed to go around Bastopol, but also because she held his hand. Her touch sent a ripple through him, which he did his best to ignore.

  Over the years, he’d become adept at shutting off the way she made him feel. It was practically habit by now, though there were times like this when she still got to him.

  They turned north, cutting through the orchard with their small pack of horses. Dal kept his eyes and ears peeled for signs of danger.

  “What should I name him?” Lena patted the flank of her horse affectionately.

  “I don’t know. Blackie?”

  “That’s so boring.”

  “Licorice?”

  “Not regal enough. This fellow is majestic, don’t you think?

  He was a majestic horse. There was a race track in Rossi where they held horse races a few times a year. The junior college sometimes got track cast-offs, animals that were either injured or had aged out of their prime and were no longer racing candidates. He guessed Lena’s tall animal was one of those.