Zommunist Invasion Box Set | Books 1-3

by Picott, Camille

  “Is he … is he really dead this time?” Bruce asked.

  “Yes.” Nonna let out a long sigh.

  Leo fit the pieces together in his mind. Lars had been shot with poison. He’d gotten sick and turned into a mindless monster.

  No, that wasn’t accurate. He’d turned into mindless monster who bit his friend. And then said friend—Adam—also turned into mindless, homicidal monster.

  It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.

  Leo wasn’t much into science fiction or horror, but one year he and his football buddies had gone to see George Romero’s Day of the Dead. Someone had come up with the idea of dressing up as zombies for Halloween after seeing the movie. Half the football team had been in on it. It’s the only reason the current madness made any sense.

  “Zombies.” Leo let the word drop like a stone. “The Russians are turning people into zombies.”

  19

  Rage

  Dal brought the fireplace poker down yet again, shredding the Rossi junior college sweatshirt with the impact. Lena had crawled away to safety. Dal was distantly aware of her calling to him, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the threat.

  “Dal!” Mr. Cecchino clamped his arms around Dal, pinning his arms to his side. “Dallas!”

  He couldn’t escape the rage. It clouded Dal’s thoughts, narrowing his entire world to a dark tunnel that consisted only of the threat to Lena. He struggled to swing the poker yet again.

  Mr. Cecchino refused to let go, his grip like iron. Dal snarled, struggling to break free—to obliterate the threat to Lena.

  “She’s safe, Dal. Lena is safe! She’s safe, son.”

  The words reached him, but sanity still eluded him.

  Dal’s chest heaved. He flexed his arms, trying to break free. Mr. Cecchino’s grip never wavered.

  “She’s okay, son. You did it. Lena is safe.”

  The world abruptly snapped back into focus. Dal sucked in a long, loud breath, as though just resurfacing from a deep dive. His legs wobbled beneath him. The fireplace poker fell from his hand, clanging loudly to the concrete.

  “There you go.” Mr. Cecchino eased him to the floor. “You’re okay. Everyone is okay.

  Dal’s breath rasped in his ears. The silence in the Goodwill shop was thunderous. They’d knocked over no less than three racks in the scuffle, plus several mannequins.

  He forced himself to look at the girl he’d killed. Her face and body were a mashed-up mess. Blood spilled across the floor.

  Dal thought he might be sick.

  Lena crawled across the floor to him. She had bits of blood spattered all over her face and clothing. She squeezed his arm. “It’s not your fault, Dal.”

  He shook her off. Lena was not to be deterred. She looped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “You saw her, Dal. There was something wrong with her. She would have killed us.”

  Dal shook free of her a second time. She should hate him for what he’d just done. She should loath him for what he was.

  “Lena.” Mr. Cecchino looked up from where he knelt on the ground beside the dead girl. “What was it those Russians said when they shot the students with darts and then let them go?”

  She took Dal’s hand, refusing to give him space. “They said, ‘Have fun dying’ and ‘Have fun killing all your friends.’ ”

  “Look.” Mr. Cecchino turned the girl’s head. Even through the blood spatter, Dal saw the red dart marks on the back of her neck. The black veins seemed to have originated from there. “Do you think the Russian poison made her like this?”

  Dal had assumed the red darts carried some kind of illness, like a bad flu or something. But what if Mr. Cecchino was right? What if the Russians had cooked up a bioweapon that turned people into homicidal maniacs?

  “We may have alerted the Russians with all the noise we made. We need to go.” Lena pressed a soft kiss to Dal’s cheek.

  The gesture froze him with shock. He didn’t deserve her kindness. He didn’t deserve the Cecchino family.

  But for whatever reason, they accepted him. When Lena and Mr. Cecchino looked down at him, he didn’t see a hint of loathing in their eyes. He swallowed and climbed to his feet, reluctantly retrieving the poker. The end was coated in gore. He did his best to wipe it clean on the back of the sofa.

  Mr. Cecchino squeezed Dal’s shoulder. “We need to get that transmitter on campus. Everyone needs to know about this.”

  “Amen to that,” Lena said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  No one addressed the obvious. No one said a word about the fact that the black veins had spread another two inches across Mr. Cecchino’s arm, or that he might very soon become a raging homicidal monster. The very thought almost bent Dal in half.

  Their best hope was to get the broadcasting equipment, then figure out a way to get the message out. It was their best hope of saving Mr. Cecchino. They needed doctors. Scientists. People with more know-how than the three of them had.

  They hurried out the way they had come, slipping back into the alleyway behind the Goodwill. The sky outside was a dark purple, stars speckling the sky.

  Even before they reached the far end of the alley, Dal heard the strange sound. It was grunting and growling, not unlike the sounds the girl in the Goodwill shop had made.

  He pointed to his ear, then to the far end of the alley. Lena and Mr. Cecchino nodded. They heard it, too.

  They cautiously peered around the corner.

  There, in the middle of the street, were three people. Their faces and necks were covered in black veins. Their eyes were bloodshot. They growled and gnashed their teeth. They moved in a group, scanning the buildings around them like a hunting pack.

  Dal sucked in his breath. They looked just like the girl who had attacked them in the store.

  “Infected,” Lena breathed. “They’re all infected with the Soviet poison.” She threw an anguished look in her father’s direction.

  The three infected moved down the street in their direction. They entered the mouth of alley just as Dal, Lena, and Mr. Cecchino ducked behind a dumpster. Dal pressed his cheek against the brick building so he could see through the narrow gap between the dumpster and the wall.

  The monsters sniffed around the edge of the alleyway, barking and growling to one another like a pack of dogs.

  Dal felt pressure on his forearm. He glanced down to find Lena’s hand clamped around it. One look at her face told him everything she was feeling. She was terrified of the crazed sick people, but she was more terrified for her father.

  Mr. Cecchino didn’t look good. The front of his shirt was soaked with sweat. His breath came in short gasps. Red glazed the edges of his eyes. The infection in his arm was spreading before their eyes.

  Dal refused to imagine Mr. Cecchino like the woman in the Goodwill shop, or like these three in the alleyway. He squeezed Lena’s knuckles with his free hand.

  Somewhere in the distance came the sound of breaking glass. A collective growl went up from the infected. They turned and loped away, disappearing from sight.

  Dal’s mind raced. Thousands of people had been hit with those darts. They could not rule out the possibility of thousands of homicidal maniacs roaming the streets within the next few hours.

  “Let’s go,” he said. They had to move now, and they had to move fast.

  20

  Campus

  They hurried to the mouth of the alley. The street beyond was empty except for the dead bodies. The infected had disappeared in search of the sound that had captured their attention.

  The junior college campus was just past the storefronts and across the street. They jogged to the street corner in a tight group. Dal made sure Lena was always within reach.

  As they paused to survey the campus, shouting erupted. Three students sprinted out from between the buildings, shouting as they raced across the lawn. A pack of four infected tore after them.

  Now was their chance, while the infected were distracted. “Come on.”
Dal grabbed Lena’s hand and yanked.

  They dashed across the street with Mr. Cecchino, dodging through the cars parked along the sidewalk and the dead bodies littering the road. They reached the campus lawn and cut across it. Dal led them toward the auditorium near the front of the campus.

  Just before they reached it, he glanced back. The shouting of the students had drawn other figures. They were now being chased by no less than seven infected.

  “Should we help them?” Lena asked.

  “We can’t.” Mr. Cecchino pulled his daughter into the recess of the auditorium. “We have a job to do. We can’t get distracted.”

  “But …” Lena’s eyes flicked to her father’s face. Argument died as she took in the clammy skin and bloodshot eyes. It was clear to all of them that Mr. Cecchino was getting worse by the minute. Getting the transmitter was the best way to help him and everyone else who was infected.

  The first of the infected caught up with the students. It was a young woman with red hair. She sprang through the air like an animal, tackling a chubby student at the back of the pack. She dragged him down and sank her teeth into his neck. She was like a lioness cutting the weakest gazelle from the herd.

  The sight momentarily paralyzed Dal. He was close enough to see the gory detail. The infected woman tore a chunk of flesh from the chubby boy, then leapt away and continued to chase after the other fleeing kids. The boy sat on the grass, screaming while blood poured out of him. The entire attack took no more than fifteen seconds.

  “We have to go,” Mr. Cecchino said softly. “We need to get the word out. That’s our best way to help them.”

  Dal forced himself to turn away. Mr. Cecchino was right. They had to get to the broadcasting studio. He didn’t turn around when more screams peppered the air.

  He led the way into campus. There were dead bodies everywhere. Blood made dark puddles in the gathering dark. Dal felt sick. He recognized some of the bodies they passed. They’d been shot down like cattle.

  The sight of it hardened something inside of Dal. The Russians had caught them off-guard. He didn’t know how they’d managed it, but he would do everything he could to fight them.

  The broadcasting studio was in the center of campus in an unassuming second-story classroom. Dal had taken an introduction course last semester. The modest studio had two small transmitters and a handful of microphones. Nothing fancy.

  Dal had always dreamed of sitting behind a large transmitter that could be heard all over the county. Today, he was glad for the simple studio. It meant the equipment was small enough to be portable. Once they had that, it was just a matter of finding an antenna large enough to transmit their broadcast.

  They had almost reached the studio when the sound of Russian voices reached them. With all the tall buildings, it was difficult to tell where the sound came from. Dal scurried toward a hedge fence that concealed the cafeteria garbage bins. It reeked of rotting food.

  They crouched behind the hedge, listening. Lena’s head was cocked, her eyes wide as she listened to the Russians talking freely. Dal watched her face, trying to gauge what she might be overhearing. From the look on her face, it wasn’t good.

  One of the Russians raised his voice and called out. He was somewhere near the astronomy building.

  Someone answered him. That voice came from a different direction, from the language arts wing.

  Within the next thirty seconds, Russian voices rang out all over the campus.

  Dal barely dared to breathe. Thank God the sky had transitioned from dusk to nighttime. The pocket behind the cafeteria where they hid was inky black. They were well hidden.

  Peering through the hedge, he had a clear view of the small quad beyond. Half a dozen picnic tables filled the area. As he watched, nearly two dozen Russians sauntered into view, all of them congregating around the tables. They talked in jovial tones, laughing and passing out cigarettes.

  Lena poked him in the arm to get his attention. She pointed to the far side of the quad, in the direction of the Language Arts building.

  Something moved in the dark. There was just enough light from a lamppost for Dal to make out a black-veined face. An infected man eased out of the shadows, stalking toward the Russians. Four others followed him, their black-veined faces eerie in the darkness.

  Dal’s pulse kicked in his chest. He wanted to see those Russian fuckers attacked and killed by their own creations. It would serve them right. He and the others could slip away in the confusion.

  The lead infected was only five feet away from the Russians when he was spotted. Dal expected the Soviets to pull out their guns and start shooting.

  The men only laughed, smoke from their cigarettes puffing up into the night. They gestured in the direction of the infected, chuckling.

  What the hell? Dal exchanged looks of confusion with Lena and Mr. Cecchino.

  The five infected spread out in a semicircle. They snarled and growled, nostrils flaring as they regarded the Russians. The invaders laughed, a few of them flicking cigarette ashes in their direction.

  Why weren’t they attacking? Why were they just standing there? Why—

  The answer hit Dal like a sledgehammer. It was Russian poison that had turned these people into monsters. Was it really such a stretch to imagine the Russians had engineered a vaccine that made them immune?

  His theory proved correct as, one by one, the infected slunk away into the dark. The Russians jeered at them as they disappeared.

  Dal gripped the poker so hard his hands ached. The soldiers hung around and finished their cigarettes. Then they dispersed, breaking off into groups of three and four. All that remained was the cloud of cigarette smoke.

  “What were they talking about?” Mr. Cecchino asked Lena.

  She hesitated before answering. From the look on her face, Dal could tell she didn’t like delivering the news.

  “The . . . infected don’t die like normal people,” Lena said. “They’re like drug addicts. The poison amps up their systems. Sometimes it takes multiple blows to kill them.” She held her breath. There was more, but she wasn’t speaking.

  “Lena?” Dal asked.

  She shook her head. “I’ll tell you later. We should get out of there.”

  The fact that she didn’t want to say anything else meant the information she had was either bad, or complicated. Or possibly bad and complicated.

  They dashed through the quad and past the astronomy building. Just on the other side was the science building. The second floor was where the communications classes were held. Dal tested the door, sighing with relief when it opened.

  As it swung closed behind them, he wished it was still daytime. None of the hall lights had been turned on; it was even darker inside than outside. Unable to see more than the dim shape of the hallway, it was impossible not to hear Mr. Cecchino’s ragged breathing. He wasn’t doing well.

  “We need light.” Lena rustled beside him. A second later, a tiny beam illuminated the space in front of them. It was a keychain light on her house keys. “It’s better than nothing,” she said.

  “I’ll go first.” Dal exchanged a look with Mr. Cecchino, who slid in behind Lena to bring up the rear. He looked worse than ever, but when he shouldered the Soviet machine gun, Dal knew he was ready to fight.

  Dal raised his poker and advanced toward the stairwell, which was in the middle of the hall. Lena stretched her arm out, doing her best to shine the light in front of him.

  The science wing was a mess. Many of the classroom doors were open. Inside were unmistakeable lumps of dead students and teachers. The dark made it easy not to look too closely at the bodies.

  Books and other debris were scattered up and down the hall. Dal stepped over them. His Converse crunched on something. Were those crackers?

  A growl echoed down the hall.

  Shit. Dal froze, blood hammering in his head. His hands were sweaty.

  “Nezhit,” Lena whispered.

  “What?”

  “Nezhit.
That’s what the Russians are calling the infected people. It’s the name of the virus in those darts.”

  “Nezhit.” Mr. Cecchino made a sound of disgust. “Fucking Soviet bastards.”

  It was a measure of the situation that Mr. Cecchino was resorting to foul language. Dal could count the number of times he’d heard the other man swear on one hand.

  “Can you tell where the growl came from?” Dal whispered.

  “Step on the crackers again,” Lena said.

  He didn’t like the idea, but he liked the idea of stumbling into a nezhit even less. He ground the heel of his shoe into the crackers.

  The growl sounded again. It was somewhere in front of them, from one of the classrooms on the left.

  Dal gestured with his poker. The others nodded in agreement.

  They crept down the hall. Dal paused in front of each open doorway. The needed to find the nezhit and get rid of it. They couldn’t risk it sneaking up on them. He’d seen how fast they moved. If they weren’t careful—

  A dark shape barreled out of a room two doors up. And it wasn’t alone.

  Two more were with him.

  21

  Nezhit

  The three forms flew at them through the darkness like demons. Dal held his ground, doing his best to shield Lena and Mr. Cecchino with his body.

  They don’t die like normal people. Sometimes it takes multiple blows to kill them.

  Lena’s pathetic flashlight beam danced over red eyes and snarling faces. That was all Dal saw before the nezhit were on them.

  Dal swung his fireplace poker as the first of the infected reached them. He smashed the infected in the face. Dal heard the hollow sound of bone snapping as the poker caved in the young man’s cheekbone. The nezhit staggered back a few steps, then charged again.