Zommunist Invasion Box Set | Books 1-3

by Picott, Camille

  “They keep shouting death and mayhem,” Lena whispered. “Can you see what they’re doing?”

  Dal shook his head, feeling helpless. He wanted to charge in there and find Mr. Cecchino, but that would only get him shot—either with a bullet, or a red dart.

  “Let’s try and get a better look.” Lena jerked her thumb at the Cantina.

  They backed away from the street corner. Like the news station, many of the windows had been shot out of the Mexican restaurant. A large window that led into the bar lay open to the street.

  Lena was tall and lean. She slipped easily through the jagged opening. Dal sucked in his ribcage before following her. He knocked a few shards of glass free with his chest, but the sound was lost in the roar of the machine gun fire.

  They crept through the bar, making their way to the east side of the restaurant for a better look into the plaza. Margarita glasses were smashed on the floor. Someone had dropped a burrito and stepped on it.

  They paused at the host stand. Dal strained his ears.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked in a soft voice.

  Lena nodded. She heard it too: Russian voices, coming from somewhere above them.

  “The owners live on top of the restaurant,” Lena said. “The Russians must have found a way up there.”

  Dal’s first instinct was to get Lena the hell out of the Cantina. But they’d have no chance of finding Mr. Cecchino if they ran now.

  He peeked around the corner into the main dining room, where there was a wall of solid glass that gave them a clear view of the plaza. Only two of the large windows had been shot out. The rest stood intact. An abandoned plate of enchiladas sat untouched on a table.

  “Over there.” He pointed to the stage at the back of the room. Live bands performed there on the weekends. The stage was stacked with several large speakers, all of them big enough to hide behind.

  Lena nodded. Crouching low, they scurried through the dining room, hopped onto the stage, and hid behind the speakers.

  They now had a front row seat to everything happening in the plaza. The gunfire had died in the last thirty seconds. Frightened murmuring had fallen over the gathered prisoners.

  Dal spotted dead bodies on the ground outside, along with a great deal of blood. The sight made his stomach clench. There were overturned tables from the anti-nuke rally and poster boards trampled underfoot. No doubt the Soviets had swept through here in the initial attack.

  The fact that Lena had escaped seemed like a miracle. She could have easily been one of the dead out there. As the thought came to him, he realized he had his arm around her. He tightened his grip protectively, relieved when she didn’t pull away.

  “American swine.” A thickly accented voice projected across the crowd. Someone spoke through a megaphone—possibly one of the megaphones that had been used in the anti-nuke rally. “This is now Russian soil. You are guests in a foreign nation. All guests must be inoculated.”

  At the word inoculated, the Russian soldiers lifted their dart guns. The sight of red darts resting in large cartridges filled Dal with dread. They had to find out what the hell was in those things.

  The people screamed as the Russians began firing darts into the mass. Lena’s hands latched around Dal’s upper arm, gripping him so fiercely he knew she’d leave bruises.

  The shooting lasted for what seemed like hours. In truth, it was no more than five minutes.

  “Return to your homes,” boomed the voice through the megaphone. “Tell your family and your neighbors that you all now reside on Russian soil. Spread the word, comrades.”

  In a synchronized movement, the Soviets dispersed, breaking the solid wall they’d made with their bodies. They moved into the crowd, firing their darts as people fled.

  “They’re letting them go?” A dent marred Lena’s brow. “That’s doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does if they want to spread mayhem,” Dal replied. “Or disease.”

  Booming laughter drifted through the dining room. Dal’s muscles went rigid with fear. The voice came from inside the Cantina. The distinct thud of boots on wooden stairs accompanied the laughter.

  The Russians on the second floor. They were coming downstairs.

  His eyes darted, gauging their chances of making it across the dining room and out one of the busted windows. They might be able to make it, but there were Soviets just outside. He didn’t want to risk getting shot with the darts.

  Lena, still with a death grip on his arm, yanked him sideways. They sank up against the wall in the shadow of the speakers.

  Boots crunched on broken glass. Dal glimpsed the flash of several uniforms as Russians entered the dining room. His hands flexed around his stolen machine gun. He didn’t like the odds of trying to shoot their way free, but if that was their only option he wouldn’t hesitate.

  The same voice from the megaphone spoke, filling the room with a deep baritone. He sounded like he spoke with a megaphone even when he didn’t have one. Dal realized he must have been addressing the crowd from the second floor of the restaurant.

  “He’s asking for a drink,” Lena whispered in his ear.

  Dal blinked, once again impressed that she could understand the words so well.

  There was more talk from the dining room and the scurrying of boots. Dal tried to focus on the words. He kept hearing the word nezhit. Lena’s eyes were unfocused as she listened. Her lips moved without sound as the Russians conversed. Glasses clinked, like they were toasting their success. Laughter followed.

  The sound made Dal’s blood boil. He’d never considered joining the military, but at that moment he would have signed his name on enlistment papers with his own blood.

  Dal tracked the sound of boots on broken glass. Someone moved in their direction.

  To his horror, one of the communist bastards sat on the edge of the stage. The boards creaked under the soldier’s weight.

  Dal risked a glimpse around the edge of the speaker with one eye. Lena yanked him back, but not before he caught sight of the broad back displaying the red star, sickle, and hammer.

  All he wanted to do was lay into the bastard with his machine gun. Only Lena kept him in check. He couldn’t do anything that would put her in jeopardy.

  The Russians talked for a few more minutes, laughing and enjoying their drinks.

  And then they left. One second they were there. The next, they dropped empty glasses onto a table and strode out. Dal listened to the sound of their footsteps recede, then disappear altogether.

  He and Lena remained where they were, frozen in place.

  “You okay?” He gave her a soft squeeze.

  Lena ignored him. “Nezhit.” She said the words several times to herself, as though tasting it on her tongue.

  “What does it mean?” Dal asked. Of all the things the Russians had said, it was the only word that stuck in his brain. Something in the way they had said it made his skin crawl.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I need my Russian dictionary. But it has something to do with the red dart. They called it a virus. A nezhit virus.”

  “What else did they say?”

  “You know how those soldiers in the radio station said they’re taking over all the radio and TV stations?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Apparently, they’ve been tasked with taking over all broadcasting stations on the west coast.”

  Dal’s mouth went dry. “The entire west coast?”

  “Yeah.”

  Soviets were famous for their propaganda campaigns. It was a known fact they lied and terrorized their own people. Now they were going to use American broadcast stations to do the same thing here.

  But the entire west coast? How widespread was this attack? Were Soviets all over the county, or just on the west coast? What was the government doing? If they were aware of the attack, surely they’d be readying nukes by now. Maybe they’d already fired on Russia.

  Dal shook himself. He had more immediate concerns. Nukes were defin
itely above his pay grade.

  “Come on.” He rose slowly, checking the dining room to be sure it was clear. “Let’s go find your dad.”

  12

  Broadcast

  “I’ve got something,” Anton yelled.

  Leo dropped his box of food on the steps and rushed into the cabin. His little brother crouched in front of the coffee table, fiddling with the dial of their small portable radio. It was the one their father used to listen to baseball games.

  Up until now, nothing but the monotone blare of the emergency broadcast system sounded on all stations. As Leo charged into the cabin, a familiar voice filled his ears.

  “I’m broadcasting live from KZSQ in Rossi, California. West County is under attack by Soviet forces. Repeat, West County, California, is under attack by Soviet forces. Russians arrived in Greyhound busses. They’re dressed in fatigues with the Soviet star, sickle, and hammer on the back. Many of them have machine guns, but they’re also armed with dart guns. They’re shooting people with darts. At this time it is unknown what substance is in the darts. Avoid the Russians at all costs. Use extreme caution if leaving the area. If you have the means, board up your doors and windows. Keep your guns loaded. Protect your families.” A long pause. And then: “America isn’t going to stand for this shit. Kill any communist bastard you see.”

  “That’s Dallas.” Nonna stood over the coffee table, pride in her eyes as she stared at the radio. “That’s our Dallas.”

  Dal’s message was looped. The family listened to it play another three times before Bruce came into the cabin with an armload of logs. At the sound of Dal’s voice, he nearly tripped in surprise before depositing the firewood next to the wood-burning stove.

  “Son of a bitch.” Bruce slapped his knee.

  “Language!” Nonna slapped Bruce on the back of the head.

  “Ow.” Bruce frowned down at the tiny, wrinkled woman who was less than half his size.

  “No foul language under this roof.”

  “Sorry.” Bruce waited for Nonna to turn away before he grinned at Leo. “Dal pulled a fast one on the Russians bastards.”

  Leo grinned back. If Dal was alive, he’d be with Lena. The news station was right next to the downtown plaza where Lena had gone for the anti-nuke rally.

  Somehow, Dal had made it from the junior college campus to the radio station. Lena was safe with him. Leo felt the truth of this in his bones. Dal was with Lena, and his best friend would protect his little sister with his life.

  That didn’t answer the question of where their father was. Thinking of Mr. Cecchino left Leo with a dry mouth.

  “Dal said all of West County is under attack,” Anton said. “Not good. And it sounds like Rossi is overrun, just like Bastopol.”

  “They’re okay,” Leo said. “They’ll be back soon.” He had to believe that. Otherwise he’d lose his fucking mind.

  With Dal’s message playing on repeat on the radio, he returned outside and hefted up a box of cooking supplies. Nonna had planned on cooking for eight full-grown men from San Francisco for two-and-a-half days, which meant this was the first of many food boxes.

  “Over here, Leonardo.” Nonna gestured to the kitchen table. “Let me see what I have to work with. I’ll have to change the menu to stretch our supplies.”

  Leo set down the box and unpacked it for his grandmother. He made several more trips to the truck and brought up the remaining food boxes. By the time he was finished, the kitchen table and most of the narrow countertop was filled with food.

  There were canned tomatoes and other canned vegetables. Cartons of eggs and several containers of flour. Jars and jars of homemade chicken stock. Two jars of bacon grease. Several loaves of fresh-baked bread. Bags of dried beans. Fresh slabs of bacon from a pig Mr. Cecchino shot only two days ago. There were even several fresh apple pies Nonna had baked that afternoon. Fresh balls of pasta dough were tucked into a row of Ziplocs.

  It looked like a feast. In reality, they had four teenage football players in the house, plus Leo. The five of them ate like machines. And there would be Dal, Lena, and Mr. Cecchino when they made it back.

  They’d have to ration. If they were sparing with their food, they might be able to stretch it for ten days. Leo’s family could hunt. Nonna knew a lot about the plants in the forest. They might be able to forage for other food if needed. They could sneak back down to the house and grab more supplies if the coast was clear.

  “This will have to do,” Nonna announced. “I—”

  Dal’s message on the radio abruptly cut off.

  “What the hell?” Anton shouted at the radio.

  Static. Then the blare of the emergency broadcast station returned.

  Leo felt his stomach sink into his feet. He had to remind himself that Dal had looped his message, which meant he probably wasn’t in the station when the person who shut off the message showed up.

  Dal was smart. He’d survived the hell of his childhood. He could survive a few fucking Russians. At least, this is what Leo told himself.

  It was the only thing keeping him from tearing back down the road and driving to Rossi.

  “Dammit!” Anton smacked the coffee table in frustration.

  “Language, Antony,” Nonna barked. “I will not have filthy mouths in my house.” Leo knew she would have smacked the side of his head if Anton wasn’t on the other side of the room.

  “Sorry, Nonna,” Anton said automatically. He turned to Leo. “We need to know what’s going on out there. One of us should drive back to Bastopol and have a look.”

  It didn’t help that these were the very words running through Leo’s brain. He knew it was an idiotic idea. They’d barely made it out of Bastopol. But not knowing what the hell was going on was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

  Thankfully, it made it easy to shoot down the idea simply because Anton had suggested it. “No,” he told his little brother. “No one goes anywhere until Dad gets back with Lena and Dal.”

  “We could ride bikes,” Anton began. “That would make it easy to get off the road and hide if—”

  “No one goes anywhere until Dad gets back with Lena and Dal,” Leo repeated.

  “But—”

  “Antony.” Nonna gave him a fierce look. “There are supplies to bring inside. Now.”

  Anton shot a dark look at Leo before stomping out the front

  “Two more armloads of firewood,” Nonna told Bruce. “Then you can start a fire.” Her eyes narrowed. “You do know how to start a fire?”

  “Yes, Nonna.” Bruce ducked back outside.

  Nonna waited until the two younger boys disappeared out the door before turning to Leo. “I’m worried about the sick boy,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t know what the Russian poison is doing to him. His fever is too high. We need a way to cool off his body.”

  “We need ice,” Leo said.

  “There is no ice.” Nonna pointed to a stack of towels that Anton had dropped onto the sofa. “Take the truck down to the creek with Anton. The water there is always cold. Soak those towels in the water and bring them back. We’ll pack the towels around his body.”

  “Okay, Nonna.” Leo snatched up the stack of towels, grateful for something constructive to do. Even if he did have to do it with Anton. At least arguing with his little brother would keep worry at bay until the rest of their family got back to the cabin.

  13

  Detour

  Dal and Lena hustled through the streets of Rossi, joining the crowd of people fleeing from the plaza. Most of them were unharmed except for the dart punctures. The few exposed punctures he saw were red and puckered, some of the skin already edged with black.

  Dal kept them in the center of the crowd, where they would blend in. He and Lena scanned the people, searching for any sign of Mr. Cecchino. He had to be out here somewhere.

  Dal’s machine gun was hidden under his loose button-up shirt. The butt was beneath his armpit, the barrel tip tucked into the waistline of his jeans. He
kept his arm clamped firmly to his side, holding the gun in place. The two extra magazines had been shoved into the crotch of his pants. It wouldn’t fool any Russian looking closely at him, but lucky for him, they were camouflaged among the hundreds of people fleeing the plaza.

  Lena tried to conceal her weapon in a similar fashion. She didn’t have Dal’s height, which meant the barrel hung halfway down her thigh. Her extra magazine was tucked into the waistline of her stretch pants. Luckily, the loose tee she wore concealed most of the gun.

  He spotted Russians along rooftop buildings, many of them smoking cigarettes and casually watching people stream by below them. There were also Russians on the streets, strolling around in large packs. They let them everyone pass unmolested.

  Dal’s shoulders itched as they passed half a dozen Soviets. The men smiled smugly at them, machine guns propped on their shoulders. Cocky bastards.

  “One minute they’re shooting at us, and now they’re letting us walk away,” Lena murmured.

  “They’re not just letting us walk away,” Dal replied. “They shot everyone up with whatever is in those darts.” He was pretty damn sure it was an illness of some kind. A bacteria or virus cooked up in some underground red army lab. “Letting everyone go might be as good as shooting them dead.”

  “And they’ll spread whatever they have,” Lena said grimly.

  “Exactly.”

  “We have to find my dad.”

  Dal nodded. They passed another group of Soviets. A few of them chuckled at something one of their comrades said.

  Beside him, Lena stiffened.

  “What?” he asked.

  She gave him a tight look but shook her head. He understood. Whatever she’d heard the Russians say, it wasn’t safe to repeat here.

  The crowd steadily dispersed as they went along, people hurrying away in different directions. Dal and Lena hustled up the road that led back to where they had left the Mustang. Dal hoped it was still there. Otherwise, they might be hoofing it back to the farm.