Zommunist Invasion | Book 1 | Red Virus

by Picott, Camille

  “Stealth,” Lena said.

  “What?”

  “How about Stealth for a name?”

  “I like it. What about mine?”

  “Let’s see.” She looked the horse up and down in the darkness. “How about Thunderhoof?”

  “Thunderhoof? That’s a little long.”

  “How about Thunder?”

  “Thunder. Yeah. That suits him.” Dal patted his horse. “Do you like it, boy?”

  Thunder nickered softly.

  Lena’s eyes found his in the dark. His throat closed. He should not be noticing how beautiful she looked in the dark. With just the two of them in the apple orchard with the horses, it was almost possible to forget they’d just escaped hell on earth.

  “Dal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you’re with me.”

  He broke eye contact. “Me, too.”

  The subdivision fell away and gave way to the high school. The apple orchard transitioned to an undeveloped field of yellow grass.

  Dal breathed in the smell of the summer. He loved this smell. He loved Bastopol High. There were a lot of good memories for him in that place. Sometimes he felt like his real life had begun freshmen year when the Cecchinos took him in.

  Thinking of freshmen year inevitably brought thoughts of Mr. Cecchino.

  Lena must have been thinking of him, too, because she said, “How are we going to tell them?”

  He knew what she meant. How were they going to tell Anton, Leo, and Nonna that Mr. Cecchino was gone? There was no easy way. “I guess we just have to say it.” There wouldn’t be a way to soften the blow.

  “I miss him already.”

  “Me, too.” Hell yeah, he did. Dal would miss Mr. Cecchino for the rest of his life.

  The football field came into view. Dal had often volunteered to work in the concessions stand so he could watch the games for free. He’d loved watching Leo and his friends kick ass on that field. They’d been division champions their senior year with Leo as team captain.

  “Dal.” Lena’s hand shot out to grip his arm. Her horse halted.

  Dal saw them. The football players. The kids Anton and Lena had gone to school with.

  There were at least a dozen of them wandering around the field in their jerseys. They were in a tight cluster near the fifty yard line.

  There were also bodies. Dal could pick out the lumps in the darkness. Unmoving lumps that were undoubtedly bodies. Either they hadn’t zombified yet, or they were really dead.

  “I guess that answers our question about Bastopol,” Lena murmured.

  Dal had known. Between his sixth sense and the eerie quiet that sat over the town, he had known.

  One of the horses wuffed. Another nickered in response.

  The nezhit on the field jerked, every last one of them turning to look in their direction.

  Dal felt the breath leave his lungs. “We gotta go,” he whispered.

  Lena dug her heels into Stealth. Her big black gelding leaped forward, breaking into a gallop. Thunder was right behind him. Dal gripped the animal’s mane with white knuckles, the transmitter thumping against his back. The other horses fell in around them, hooves rumbling against the ground.

  To his horror, several students began to howl. The undead football players streamed in their direction. To make matters worse, their howling alerted other nezhit on the campus. Infected students began to pour from around the buildings, all of them running.

  He and Lena exchanged looks of alarm. The horses, either cognizant of the danger bearing down on them or picking up on the panic of their riders, whinnied in alarm. Their hooves threw up chunks of dirt.

  In less than two minutes, they had a pack of at least fifty nezhit on their heels, many of them howling and barking as they pursued them.

  Dal leaned low over the neck of Thunder. “Come on, boy. You can outrun them.”

  Gravenstein Highway—named after the most popular apple of West County—appeared before them. It was the main road through Bastopol.

  In the middle of the road were two Russian soldiers. They stood beside a bright yellow Corvette convertible, which they’d no doubt stolen from someone. They were armed with dart guns—which were aimed right at Dal and Lena.

  Zombies behind them. Soviets in front of them. What the fuck were they supposed to do?

  “They don’t know we’re armed,” Lena called to him over the drum of the horses’s hoofbeats. “We have surprise on our side.”

  She was right. It was their best chance. Turning around wasn’t an option. All they could do was charge the Russians and hope to get lucky.

  Hanging onto the mane with one hand, Dal fumbled the machine gun into his other hand. Lena did the same.

  He was a damn good shot in the forest, even when he had a moving target. But he’d never fired a weapon from the back of a galloping horse.

  He didn’t even bother to aim. He propped the machine gun against his shoulder so that it would fire over the top of Thunder’s head. Then he pulled the trigger, spraying the barrel back and forth in the general direction of the Russians.

  He caught one of them across the torso. The invader collapsed in a spray of blood. The second one dove for cover on the other side of the car.

  Lena’s horse spooked at gunfire. The big animal reared. Lena screamed as she was thrown from his back.

  “Lena!” Dal instinctively turned toward her, but bullets thudded into the ground right in front of Thunder. The animal reared. Dal grabbed the mane with both hands, the machine gun swinging from around his neck.

  The weight of the transmitter unbalanced him. As Thunder crashed back down to his forelegs, Dal felt himself slipping.

  He decided not to fight it. If he got thrown, the transmitter could be wrecked. He released the mane, simultaneously swinging his left leg around.

  He hit the ground and dropped low. He shrugged out of the backpack and flattened himself to ground as the Russian fired again. He shouted at Dal and Lena, the rough Russian language mixing with the gunfire. The horses scattered.

  One of them, a stocky female bay, was hit as she bolted too close to the yellow convertible. She cried out as she was hit.

  Dal looked wildly around for Lena. She was okay, crawling in his direction. She flattened herself to the ground as more bullets came in their direction. The Russian continued screaming and firing in their direction. Lena cried out, covering her head with her arms.

  Rage exploded through Dal’s chest. It came all at once, tunneling his vision and gripping his throat so hard he could barely breathe.

  No fucking way was this fucker going to hurt Lena. He crawled forward, closing the distance between him and the invader. He wanted to strangle the fucker, but he’d have to settle for shooting him.

  The Russian hid behind the front driver’s side tire. His gun was on the hood and he fired indiscriminately in their direction. Dal was able to move beneath the bullets as they zinged by over his head.

  Fury made him reckless. When the gun clicked empty, the Russian dropped back to reload.

  Dal seized the opening. He popped up and sprinted at the car. He leaped on top of the Corvette’s hood and opened fire.

  He caught the Russian just as he snapped in a replacement clip. Screaming, Dal emptied his own clip into the head of the invader.

  But he didn’t stop there. Even as the body tipped over, Dal jumped to the ground on the other side. He flipped the gun around and swung the butt at the body. He brutally smashed the side of the man’s face, still yelling. The gun butt came down a second time, smashing down so hard across the chest he heard the sternum snap.

  “Dal!” Lena grabbed his arm just as he hauled his arm back to hit the body a third time. “He’s dead, Dal. He’s gone.”

  Her voice stabbed through the fog of rage. Hands suddenly shaking, he dropped his gun, horrified by the violence that had gripped him.

  He felt sick. How much had Lena seen?

  Did she know he was like his father?r />
  “Are—are you okay?” he gasped, trying to get his breathing under control.

  “I’m okay.” She looked him up and down, assuring herself that he was in one piece. “That was some crazy kamikaze shit you just pulled.” She threw her arms around him and squeezed. “You scared the hell out of me. I thought for sure you were going to die when you jumped on top of the hood.” She smacked him in the shoulder. Hard. “Don’t do that again.”

  He sagged, all the adrenaline rushing out of his body. He gave himself to the count of ten, resting his cheek against Lena’s head and inhaling the scent of her. Then he broke away.

  “We have to keep moving.” The nezhit students had covered a lot of ground during their short battle with the Russians. “Grab any weapons you see. I’ll get the car.”

  “We’re not taking the car.”

  “We’re not?”

  “No.” Lena shook her head. “We need to stay off the roads and stick to the fields. It will take longer, but it’s the safest way home.”

  She was right. They had to avoid the roads. If nothing else, this latest confrontation had shown them that.

  “I’ll get the horses,” Dal said. “You grab their weapons.”

  Chapter 29

  Dance

  IT TOOK THEM SEVERAL hours to make their way through the farmland of Bastopol. They not only had to dodge other Russian patrols, but they also had to evade roaming clumps of zombies.

  When the Cecchino farmhouse at last came into the view, with the weathered barn and the brimming orchard, Dal could hardly believe it. They rode the horses down the gravel road and drew to a halt before their home. It was sometime in the middle of the night, the partial moon sitting low in the sky.

  Everything looked just like it had when he’d left. Except for the missing Cecchino vehicles, nothing looked out of place. If Mr. Cecchino hadn’t told them the family had evacuated to the cabin, Dal would have thought everyone was asleep inside.

  “Whose car is that?” Lena drew up short, eyeing the white Crown Victoria parked in front of the house.

  Dal shifted uncomfortably atop Thunder. He recognized that car. More specifically, he recognized the University of Riverside bumper sticker and license plate frame.

  “That’s Jennifer’s car.”

  “Who?” Lena frowned at him.

  “Jennifer.”

  “What?” Lena’s frown deepened into a scowl. “You mean, Jennifer Miola?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you know that’s her car?”

  “She was in a summer school class with me in Rossi last year. I saw her driving it.”

  “You had a class with Jennifer and never thought to mention it?”

  “She’s not worth mentioning.” Dal didn’t have much regard for the girl who had broken Leo’s heart. His best friend had always been too good for her. Besides, Jennifer was a taboo subject in the Cecchino household.

  “You have a point.” Lena’s shoulders relaxed, though her scowl remained in place. “What the hell is her car doing here?”

  Dal could imagine several scenarios that might bring Jennifer to the Cecchino farmhouse in current circumstances. He didn’t list any of them out loud.

  They dismounted, leaving the horses to graze near the barn. Leo turned on a hose and filled up several five-gallon buckets so the horses could drink. They only had three of them now. They’d lost one to gunfire. Another had bolted and disappeared in the commotion.

  They should go straight to the cabin. Dal knew this. But he couldn’t help stepping onto the beloved wooden porch of the farmhouse. He pressed his forehead against the front door and inhaled.

  “Dal.” Lena nudged him. He shifted to one side as she opened the front door.

  Dal felt like he was stepping through a time machine. Outside the Cecchino farmhouse was a world turned upside down. Inside, it was like nothing had ever changed. Like if he walked into the kitchen, he might see Mr. Cecchino at the table sipping coffee and reading the paper.

  Except Mr. Cecchino would never sip coffee again.

  He stepped into the house he loved with all his heart and closed the door behind them, turning the dead bolt. He couldn’t ever remember locking the front door. Not ever.

  So much had changed in less than a day.

  Lena went past him. “I’m going to take a shower. Keep an eye out for Russians and zombies.”

  He dropped the transmitter onto the sofa and wandered through the house in a daze. Everywhere he looked were signs of Mr. Cecchino. His coffee cup was still in the sink. His hat had fallen off the coat rack and sat on the floor of the entryway. Dal picked it up and reverently returned it to the coat rack.

  He showered when Lena was finished, relieved to wash away the blood and the grime of the day. After changing into fresh jeans and T-shirt, he walked through the house in search of Lena.

  He found her in Mr. Cecchino’s bedroom, curled up in the middle of her father’s rumpled bed. Her face was buried in his pillow. Her shoulders shook with tears.

  Dal’s legs gave out. He knew he should comfort her, but he didn’t have the strength. He slumped to the floor against the door jam. A pair of Mr. Cecchino’s work boots sat just beside him, covered with dry mud from the orchard.

  The room still smelled like him. A mix of tobacco and dirt and soap. Two-thirds of the closet was still filled with Mrs. Cecchino’s clothes.

  Dal’s head drooped as grief overtook him. The sadness was deep and heavy, settling around his shoulders with an oppressive weight. Tears dripped down his face.

  This was the first real pause they’d had all day, their first spare moment to grieve the loss of the man they both adored. Dal almost wished they were still on the run. He didn’t have to think when they were fighting and running for their lives.

  They remained like that for a long while, together yet separate in their grief. Dal felt sorrow move through him with every sob that shook Lena.

  After a while, she rose. She paused on her way out the door, one hand resting on his rumpled hair. Then she was gone, disappearing into another part of the house. He heard her moving around in the living room.

  The room was unbearable without her. He couldn’t shoulder the weight of it alone. Forcing himself back to his feet, he went in search of her.

  As he exited the hallway, shock froze him in place.

  Lena had changed into plain jeans and a soft long-sleeve shirt. But that wasn’t what was strange. What stalled him was the sight of her feet.

  She didn’t wear socks and her customary Converse. In their place was something he never thought he’d see her wear again: her ballerina slippers.

  They’d hung untouched for over two years on the coat rack in the entryway. Mr. Cecchino moved them around to make sure they weren’t completely covered with coats, but Lena hadn’t touched them after her mother died.

  Now the satin pink slippers covered her slender feet.

  Dal had seen Lena dance. He’d been to her recitals with the family. He remembered every one.

  Every. Single. One.

  Even as a pre-pubescent kid, Dal had a crush on Lena. She was his best friend’s wild and sometimes annoying little sister. He was a punk to her a lot of time when they were kids, going along with whatever Leo or Anton came up with to antagonize her.

  He was thirteen the first time he’d seen her dance. She’d been a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  It had been impossible to take his eyes off her. She’d moved like water. Like air. Like part of the earth itself. The world could have ended in that moment and he wouldn’t have cared. He’d had to cover his crotch with his jean jacket.

  It was only during intermission that he’d been able to catch his breath. That’s when he noticed Mr. Cecchino watching him.

  The look had been long and knowing. Dal broke eye contact, flushed with embarrassment. Lucky for him, Mrs. Cecchino was preoccupied reapplying her lipstick. Anton was busy reading a comic book. Leo had fallen asleep in the chair.

 
But Mr. Cecchino had seen. Dal wanted to melt into the floor.

  After that day, he kept his crush tightly under wraps. No covert looks at Lena when she wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t even allow himself to entertain thoughts of her. He moved her to a place in his mind where other forbidden things went, like his hatred for his father and the knowledge that he was just like him. He kept her there out of adoration for a man who had made him hot chocolate when his own father beat the shit out of him.

  The dam had been purposefully and meticulously constructed over the years. Dal had been sure it could withstand a nuclear blast.

  He’d been wrong.

  The wall came crashing down in a matter of seconds as he watched her dance. The living room fell away. Lena was once again on the stage, dancing front and center where she belonged.

  She danced in front of the coffee table. On it she had placed the wedding portrait of her parents. She spun and leaped and twirled for them in the light of a single lamp. She cried softly as she did, her pink slippers twirling in the worn, dark brown carpet of the living room.

  Dal drifted into the room, unable to take his eyes off her. Her hair was still damp, loose strands hanging around her face.

  She leaped, her legs stretching into a perfect split. He could almost imagine away the jeans and see the wispy pink ballerina skirt around her legs.

  She landed in front of him, balanced perfectly on the toes of her left foot.

  Her eyes met his. It was impossible for him to pretend. His wall was a wreckage around his feet. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he stared into her dark eyes. He saw his grief for Mr. Cecchino reflected back at him.

  But there was something else there. Something magnetic.

  Her next leap brought her to him. His arms closed around her. Her mouth found his in a kiss.

  He couldn’t think straight. Every brain cell fell out of his head as he drank her in. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, wanting to taste her.

  Without breaking the kiss, she tugged on his shirt to lead him across the room. Dal followed her lips, his hands tightening on her waist.