He wasn’t stupid enough to think they could survive a run-in with a large group of the infected. They’d barely survived an encounter with a scant handful. Their only hope of making it off the campus was to get through undetected.
They ducked behind a picnic table as a group of six infected came around a corner. Dal tightened his grip on his machine gun. He’d discarded the fireplace poker in favor of the weapon back in the science building. Lena positioned her machine gun on her shoulder. In tense silence, they waited.
The nezhit snarled their way closer, sniffing at the ground. Overhead, a squirrel darted through a tree. One infected broke away from the group and attacked the tree, hitting the bark so hard Dal heard something crack. He was a twenty-something kid, probably Dal’s age. Hell, that could have been Dal if he hadn’t gotten lucky.
The kid kicked and bit and scratched at the tree until there was blood on his fingernails and all around his mouth. When the squirrel jumped to the next closest tree, he attacked the next trunk with equal vigor.
The strength and ferocity made Dal sick with fear. They had to get out of here.
The rest of the group had gathered around a dead body on the ground. Dal squinted through the gloom, trying to get a good look at what they were doing. Though he’d seen a nezhit bite, he hadn’t actually seen them eat a human. Maybe they were into dead bodies instead of living ones, like vultures.
The thought made him queasy.
There was a light post ten feet away from the group of nezhit. Their constantly shifting bodies made it possible for Dal to see the dead body in their midst. They prodded at it, sniffing and grunting. A few of them even whined.
The body stirred. At first Dal thought it was just the effect of being poked by all the nezhit. Then he noticed the black veins on the head, neck, and arms of the body. Gooseflesh prickled the back of his neck.
The dead body slowly sat up, blinking as it looked at the ring of nezhit. It was a girl in plain jeans a flowered blouse. Dal waited to see if the infected would attack her.
They didn’t. They moved in closer, prodding until the dead girl rose to her feet. She hunched with the rest of them, bloodshot eyes scanning the area.
Holy shit. Dal’s mouth hung open.
That girl had been dead. Flat out dead with enough blood around her to fill a bathtub.
Yet there she was, upright and walking with her fellow nezhit.
There was only one word to describe a reanimated corpse. That word beat inside his head like a gong: zombie.
The fucking Russians were turning people into zombies.
Except these zombies weren’t exactly like the ones in the movies. The shambling things depicted in George Romero movies looked like caricatures of these freakishly fast monsters with black-veined faces and bloodshot eyes.
The one thing these Russian zombies had in common with George Romero’s was the fact that they were driven to bite. Dal could have done without that detail. He tried not to think of the chubby kid who’d been bitten on the front lawn of the college.
The newly risen dead girl fell into step with her new pack. The group moved off at a lope, disappearing around a building. Only the one attacking the tree remained. It was still going apeshit over the squirrel which, as far as Dal could tell, had disappeared.
He made eye contact with Lena. He saw understanding in her eyes, but not surprise. She’d known. She’d probably overheard it in the quad when they’d eavesdropped on the Russians. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to stop and explain. How the hell was a person supposed to explain that dead bodies in the street might soon walk again?
Lena flicked a hand at him, indicating they should move. Staying in a low crouch, they scurried past the picnic benches. Twenty feet away was a metal trash can. They ducked behind it just as the squirrel zombie spun around, scanning the immediate area.
Lena pressed up against the side of the can. Dal was stacked right behind her, the transmitter heavy on his shoulders.
He strained his ears. The zombie boy continued to growl, but didn’t come in their direction. After a minute, he resumed his assault on the tree trunk.
Lena pointed. Fifty yards away was the next closest building.
A lot could go wrong in fifty yards.
Dal scanned the area one last time, making sure no other zombies were in sight. He hitched his thumbs into the straps of the backpack to adjust the transmitter.
Lena gave him the thumbs up and counted down on her fingers. When she got to one, they were off and running.
They were almost to the safety of the building when the squirrel nezhit noticed them.
He let out a howl and tore himself away from the tree. He charged at them like a demonic dog, barking up a storm.
“Go, Dal!” Lena swung around and lifted the machine gun. “Get the transmitter out of here!”
Oh, hell no. Dal stayed glued to her side. He’d promised Mr. Cecchino that he’d take care of Lena.
He and Lena opened fire as the zombie bore down on them. He moved with incredible speed. Bullets ripped up his body and into his head. The force sent him sprawling to the ground. He lay there, fingers scratching at the concrete as he died.
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.
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 attention 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.”
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.
Zommunist Invasion Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 16