Zommunist Invasion Box Set | Books 1-3

by Picott, Camille

  The flashlight and keys fell to the floor in a clatter. Shots rang out on either side of his head. The barrels were so close that he felt the shock of the recoil against his skin. The inside of his ears were stabbed with needles of pain. Dal saw one nezhit fall from a bullet to the head, but the other two kept coming.

  This time, instead of swinging the poker like a baseball bat, he stabbed forward.

  He was still raw from the rage that had gripped him earlier. A small part of his mind railed at what he did. You’re killing people. You’re murdering innocents.

  But a larger part of his mind was engulfed in fear—fear for his own life, but even more than that, fear for the two people on either side of him.

  It was this emotion that powered his arm and sent the poker right through the throat of a young man with crazed eyes and snapping teeth. Blood sprayed out from the force of Dal’s blow.

  As the nezhit died on the end of the poker, the third and final infected broke past him. The machine gun fired again, but the monster didn’t stop. Mr. Cecchino yelled as he went down.

  “Dad!” Lena swung her gun. The butt connected with the side of the infected’s head, but the blow wasn’t hard enough to phase the creature. The nezhit sunk his teeth into Mr. Cecchino’s shoulder.

  “Daddy!” Lena’s voice went up several octaves.

  Dal yanked his poker free and spun around. He shoved Lena to the side with his free hand, swinging the poker with the other. The end tore off skin and half of the infected’s ear.

  The nezhit hissed, releasing Mr. Cecchino and spinning in the air like a cat. He hit the floor and launched himself at Dal.

  Panic hammered through Dal’s body. His poker spun in a frantic arc. He hit the creature so hard he heard bone crack, but still it kept on coming. The blow barely slowed it.

  He stumbled back with a shout and swung again. The poker arched up and smacked the nezhit in the bottom of the chin. His head whipped back. Blood flew.

  Lena jammed the barrel of her machine gun against the nezhit’s temple and fired. Blood and brain matter sprayed the wall as the infected collapsed to the floor.

  “Dad!” Lena raced to her father.

  Mr. Cecchino sat up, pressing a hand to the blood that bubbled out of his shoulder.

  Dal’s breath sawed over dry lips. Shock welded his feet to the floor. All he could do was stare at Mr. Cecchino and the blood that welled up between his fingers. Dead bodies of the infected surrounded them. He’d never seen so much blood in one place, not even when he went hunting and butchered animals with the Cecchinos.

  “Dal, help me!”

  Lena’s voice snapped him out of his stupor. He dropped the poker, looking around for something to staunch the bleeding. He tore the sleeve off his light-weight jacket and tied it around the wound.

  “I’m okay, son.” Mr. Cecchino smiled weakly.

  Dal’s eyes strayed to Mr. Cecchino’s shoulder, to his bloodshot eyes and clammy skin. To the forearm that was now entirely laced with infection. His mind refused to process what all those things meant. He couldn’t apply the knowledge in his brain to Mr. Cecchino.

  “Help me, Dal,” Mr. Cecchino said. “We have to get to the studio.”

  Dal didn’t argue. He and Lena got on either side of Mr. Cecchino and helped him stand. He had to put a hand against the wall to steady himself.

  “Dad?”

  “I’m okay, honey. Just a bit dizzy. Lead the way, Dal.”

  This time, by silent agreement, Lena took up the rear. Dal didn’t like her being exposed at the back, but there was nothing he could do about it. They had to get to the studio and get the hell out of here as fast as possible.

  Lena recovered her tiny flashlight, illuminating the way as they climbed the stairs. There was blood smeared on the walls, but no bodies here.

  How the hell did they end up in a horror movie? It was hard to believe they’d woken up to a normal world this morning. His biggest worry had been a statistics test. Now every step sent a jolt of fear through his bloodstream and he had no idea if he’d live to see another five minutes.

  As they neared the top of the stairs, Dal heard the soft scrape of shoes against the floor. Even worse, there was more than one pair of shoes. No doubt the racket they made on the first floor had alerted other nezhit in the building.

  He didn’t like the idea of making more noise, but after two encounters he knew just how dangerous the nezhit were. If they wanted to live, it was better to kill them from afar.

  He nudged Mr. Cecchino, gesturing to the machine gun. Mr. Cecchino shrugged off the strap and passed it to him.

  Dal held his breath and peered around the corner. His eyes had adjusted well enough that he could see.

  Shit. There were two on the left side of the hall and two on the right.

  At least they had two guns. He’d hoped to keep Lena out of this fight, but there was no way around it. If they wanted to reach the studio alive, they have to fight together. Mr. Cecchino was too weak to fight.

  He held up two fingers and pointed left, then another two fingers and pointed right. Lena nodded in understanding. She shouldered her gun and waited for his signal.

  He counted down on his fingers. Three, two, one—

  They attacked in perfect synchronicity.

  On Dal’s side was a man in his thirties with a receding hair line and a girl who didn’t look much older than Lena. They had the same bloodshot eyes and gnashing teeth as the other nezhit they had seen.

  His heart clenched. He walled off the doubt clawing at him and pulled the trigger.

  The man went down as machine gunfire ripped into his leg. He howled, pulling himself down the hall with his fists.

  Dal shifted his attention for a split second. The girl rushed him with the ferocity of a football player on steroids. She bounded down the hall like a wolf, covering the twenty feet separating them in a matter of seconds.

  Dal fired. His first shot grazed her ear, which only enraged her. She was less than a foot away when he got the second shot off.

  Her head exploded.

  She hadn’t even hit the ground when the crawling nezhit reached him. As the infected grabbed his Converse, Dal fired again—another head shot.

  The nezhit slumped to the ground, dead this time. Blood and brains gushed out over the top of Dal’s shoe.

  He spun around just in time to see Lena take out her second attacker. She shot the nezhit no less than six times in the chest before he finally died.

  Dal leaned against the wall, trying to hold back a queasy stomach. What the hell had he just done? He gunned down innocent people like they were cattle.

  How in the hell had this day happened? This was America, for crying out loud. How had Russians managed to infiltrate their country and turn the world upside down in a few short hours?

  “Do you think … are we murderers?” Lena’s voice trembled.

  “No more than any other soldier in any other war.” Mr. Cecchino folded his daughter into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “You did what you had to do, Lena. I’m proud of you.”

  She sniffed and nodded.

  Mr. Cecchino turned to Dal. “Good work, son.” He wheezed as he spoke. “Take us to the broadcast station.”

  Dal nodded. He tried to hand the gun back, but Mr. Cecchino shook his head. “It’s more effective in your hands, Dal.”

  They crept north along the upstairs corridor. Unlike the first floor, this floor was mostly empty. Besides the four they’d killed, there was only one dead body up here. Dal figured the four infected had all come up here to hide when the Russians attacked the campus, then subsequently turned into monsters straight out of a horror movie.

  The broadcast room was empty. In the middle of the floor was an open backpack, contents strewn across the floor.

  “Um, there’s no way we can carry all this stuff.” Lena gestured to the array of equipment around the room.

  “We just need the transmitter, the microphone, and a few cables,” Dal said.


  The transmitter was the largest item. It was roughly the size of an oversized briefcase. Dal set about pulling the cables out of the wall. Mr. Cecchino took up watch in the doorway, keeping an eye on the hall.

  “Grab that backpack off the floor and put the microphone inside,” Dal said to Lena. He handed her a wad of cables. “These, too.” It was a minor miracle they had two backpacks to spread the load. The transmitter was going to be heavy.

  “You know how to hook all this stuff back up?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Dal didn’t bother to tell her how much time he’d wasted during his janitorial hours in the radio station. How he had poured over the equipment in the broadcasting rooms, studying everything with the hope he’d someday get to work with that equipment.

  He stared at the transmitter. This had seemed like a daunting task when they cooked it up. It seemed twice as daunting now that the transmitter was staring him in the face. It was too large for a backpack he’d nabbed from the Mustang. If they had to run, there was no way he could hang onto the damn thing.

  He dropped his backpack to the floor and pulled out his Swiss Army knife. He sliced a few holes, then held up the backpack to survey it.

  “What are you doing?” Lena asked.

  Dal shook his head, too focused to answer. He ripped a few plugs out of the walls and threaded them through the holes in the backpack. Then he set the transmitter on top and lashed it into the place with the cords.

  He slung it across his back, testing his contraption. It was heavy, but appeared secure.

  “Could we hot wire one of the cars in the parking lot?” Lena asked. “That would be faster than going back to the Mustang. I don’t suppose you know how to hot wire a car?” She directed this question to her father.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dal said. “The Russians attacked the parking lot. I barely made it out. It could be crawling with infected.”

  “What about the ag department?” Mr. Cecchino hunched over as a cough wracked him. His hands shook. He tried to hide it by bunching them. “There’s another parking lot over there.”

  He was right. Dal hadn’t thought about that. Mr. Cecchino had gone to Rossi junior college and gotten his associates degree in business farming. It was where he’d met Mrs. Cecchino, also an ag major.

  The ag department was on the west side of campus, separated from the the rest of the buildings by the football field. There was a parking lot over there that was tucked in behind the buildings and didn’t get a lot of use.

  Dal crossed to the window, looking west toward the ag department. What he saw made him start to sweat. “Um, I don’t think we’re going to the ag lot.”

  “Why not?” Lena joined him at the window. The sight outside made her pale. “Oh.”

  Stalking through the campus below them were several dozen nezhit. Dal realized they had likely drawn them with the gunfire. The infected were everywhere, the black-veined faces blending in with the night. They stalked the campus like animals, growling as they scanned their surroundings.

  And they were right outside the only door in and out of the building.

  22

  Trapped

  “Could we go out a window on the other side of the building?” Lena asked.

  Dal shook his head. “The classroom windows on the first floor are all small and high up. They don’t even have latches that open.”

  Mr. Cecchino doubled over with a fit of coughing. He coughed so hard that bits of blood flew from his mouth. Dal saw the tips of several black veins were already edging up along his neck.

  “Dad?” Lena put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m fine, sweetie.” Lena just stared at him. Mr. Cecchino sighed and ran a hand over his damp face. “I’m not fine, honey. We both know what’s in store for me.”

  Lena’s eyes overflowed with tears. Her grief was silent, unaccented by sobs or crying.

  Dal felt his rage beginning to rear its head. He struggled to tamp it down.

  They’d lost Mrs. Cecchino only two years ago. Dal wasn’t ready to lose the second half of the equation that had given sanity to his childhood.

  “No,” Dal said. “We’re going to get help.” He hefted the transmitter, swinging the backpack across his shoulders. Thank God for all those years working in the orchard. His broad shoulders and back muscles could handle the weight of the equipment, though he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t heavy. “We’re going to get help and you’re going to be okay, Mr. Cecchino.” His chest heaved with emotion. He fought the urge to break something.

  “Dal.” Lena stretched a hand in his direction. This time, he didn’t fight her. He gripped her hand and squeezed. She kept him grounded.

  Mr. Cecchino joined them. The three of them stood in a tight circle, holding tightly on to one another. Lena’s eyes never stopped streaming tears. Dal’s chest heaved with fear and frustration that threatened to burst out of him.

  “You’re both going to be okay,” Mr. Cecchino said after a long pause. “I’m going to help you get to the ag parking lot.”

  “No—” Dal began.

  “Dallas.” Mr. Cecchino cut him off. “If I have to go, at least let my last moments have some meaning. I’ll rest easy knowing I helped you and Lena get away.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Rage swirled in Dal’s chest. The desire to smash something was so strong it made his chest hurt. He held onto Lena’s hand, focusing on the feel of her fingers. It was like holding onto a single thread of sanity.

  Is this how his father felt, when he lashed out at his mother? When he’d beaten Dal?

  Dal had always known he’d inherited the invisible beast of rage from his father. It was an ugly secret he carried around. The knowledge scared him almost as much as the thought of losing Mr. Cecchino. Most days, the monster never reared its head. It was only in times of stress and sorrow that it clawed its way to the surface.

  He had to focus on Lena. He had to focus on keeping her safe. It was the only way he could survive what was about to come.

  “Come on,” Mr. Cecchino said. “I don’t have much time.” This statement was followed by another fit of coughing.

  The three of them trooped back down the stairs to the first floor. Dal lugged the transmitter on his back. He was so focused on Mr. Cecchino that he didn’t notice the weight.

  They picked their way over the infected people they’d killed. Dal blocked out the feelings that churned in his gut at the sight of the bodies. He couldn’t afford to lose focus.

  At the door to the science building, Mr. Cecchino turned to them. Dal could see through the window in the door. The walkways outside teemed with nezhit.

  “I’m going to draw them away,” Mr. Cecchino said. “You guys wait until the way is clear, then run like hell. Don’t stop until you get back to the farm.”

  “Here.” Dal tried to pass him the machine gun.

  “No, Dal. You keep it. You need it more than I do.”

  “Dad—”

  Mr. Cecchino put his arms around his daughter. This time, Lena did sob. Her shoulders shook as she cried into her father’s plaid farm shirt.

  “You’re in charge of your brothers.” Mr. Cecchino stroked her back. “Don’t let them do anything too stupid.”

  Lena nodded without looking up.

  “Tell Nonna I love her.”

  Lena nodded again, still keeping her head buried in his shirt.

  Mr. Cecchino took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. “I hope you dance again one day, honey. For your mother. You are the most beautiful ballerina.” He kissed her forehead before releasing her.

  Then he surprised Dal by seizing him in an embrace and slapping him on the shoulder. “Take care of my little girl. I’m counting on you.” The words were soft and desperate in his ear.

  Dal’s throat was tight. “I’d die to keep her safe.”

  “I know, son.”

  Dal couldn’t bring himself to release Mr. Cecchino. There were no words to convey the gratit
ude he felt for the man who had taken him in when he had nowhere else to go. Even when he turned eighteen and assumed he’d be forced to look for an apartment, Mr. Cecchino said he could stay as long as he was going to school.

  There were too many words and not enough time.

  “Thank you,” was all he could manage.

  “I always considered you one of my own boys.” Mr. Cecchino gave him one last squeeze. “Our country needs you and Lena. Get back to the farm and figure out a way to broadcast Lena’s information.”

  Dal blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. The rage, for the moment, was stifled beneath the grief. Lena sniffed, wiping her nose and eyes on her sleeve. But when she shouldered her machine gun, Dal saw steel in her eyes.

  Mr. Cecchino handed Dal a last spare magazine. And then he was gone. The door swung shut behind him with a soft hiss.

  Mr. Cecchino sprinted away from the building, shouting as he went. “Over here! Come and get me!”

  Lena’s breath hitched as every head turned in the direction of her father. The horde—at least three dozen on them—bolted after him.

  The walkways were emptied in mere seconds.

  In wordless unison, Dal and Lena raced outside. They tore west, running as fast at they could. Dal’s shoulders already ached from the weight of the transmitter, but Mr. Cecchino’s sacrifice made him strong.

  Mr. Cecchino’s voice painted the night as he drew the nezhit. “Over here! Hey, over here!”

  Dal’s mind flashed back to one of the earliest memories of the his childhood. He’d been three or four at the time. He’d climbed so high into one of the apple trees that Mr. Cecchino had been forced to fetch the ladder. Come on, son. Give me your hand.

  And there had been the first time Mr. Cecchino realized he’d been sneaking into Leo and Anton’s bedroom after beatings from his father. Mr. Cecchino found him in there in the morning, curled up on the floor. Dal had been horrified. Mr. Cecchino responded by making him a cup of hot chocolate. Here you go, son. Chocolate makes everything better.

  That night of his freshman year when his dad had broken two of his ribs and his mother had thrown him out, Dal thought he’d be living under the freeway. But Mr. Cecchino had taken one look at him and given Dal a kind smile. You can stay with us, son. You don’t ever have to go back to that place.