Zommunist Invasion Box Set | Books 1-3

by Picott, Camille

  “Directions,” Kozlovovich called up to him. “Where I go?”

  “Freeway onramp, dead ahead. Head west.” Anton stayed where he was. If there was even a remote chance to killing another Soviet, he wasn’t going to risk losing out.

  They rolled out of town. The tank nudged aside any cars that blocked their path, mowing them aside like they were nothing more than matchsticks.

  Anton decided he liked having a tank. It might not be as fast as a car, but it was practically indestructible.

  “We took out a supply truck outside of Bastopol,” Anton said. “We need to stop and load up on food.”

  “Is a good idea,” Koz called back.

  As he was carried away from the town of Rossi, Anton felt the weight of his wounds rush back to him. He hurt all over. He was exhausted. Hell, only sheer will power kept him from collapsing into the tank and falling asleep for the next thousand years.

  He glanced down at the dried blood that crackled across his skin. The star and sickle made dark, lumpy scabs. The puckered red skin around the wound stood out like an infection. That fucker hadn’t even been able to draw a straight line. It looked like Anton had been carved on by a Kindergartener.

  Remembered pain spidered through his chest. It was like the knife was still in him. Cold sweat broke out along his back as the stench of cigarette smoke hit him, even though the air around him was clear and cool.

  It was a beautiful morning in West County, California. He was free, but Anton still felt the cold floor of the prison cell. He still smelled the stench of dried urine. The taste of fear was sour in his mouth.

  His heart raced. He could hardly breathe. Dropping into the tank, he crouched on the floor, struggling to get himself under control.

  He couldn’t afford to freak the fuck out. Not know. Not ever.

  Even if he did feel like he was coming apart at the seams.

  He owed it to Tate. He owed it to the entire Craig family. He had to hold his shit together, if only so he could avenge their deaths. He had to be tougher than death itself.

  Anton made a silent promise to himself: he wouldn’t stop until every last invader was driven from American soil. He would fight until his home was free, or he was dead.

  His heart rate slowed to normal. He realized his ribcage hurt like a motherfucker. Did he have cracked ribs? Possibly. The cigarette burns across his jaw, neck, chest, and torso itched. The skin was tender and blistered around the wounds.

  He was so fucking tired.

  Kozlovovich watched Anton in knowing silence from the tank’s driver’s seat. “They kill my wife,” he said when Anton met his gaze. “They kill my son. They are scum.”

  Anton digested this. He could tell by the look in the other man’s eyes that he wasn’t bullshitting him. Maybe he and Kozlovovich weren’t so different.

  “Can I call you Koz?” he asked the massive Russian. Even Leo would look small next to this guy.

  “Yes. Koz is good. What I call you?”

  “I’m Anton.”

  “Sniper Anton. Nice to meet you.” He pointed back in the direction of Rossi. “The new infected. They are sentient.”

  “Sentient. Yeah. I noticed. The vaccine turned them?”

  “Yes. I warn them. No one listen.”

  “Why did you try to warn them if they killed your family?”

  Koz’s eyes hardened. “They kill my family when I try to warn them.”

  Oh. It was too much for Anton to process. He changed the subject. “Where did you learn English?”

  Koz shifted in his chair. “I am from a merchant family. My father got me good education. I very smart. I always had top grades. I was conscripted as a teenage boy to assist in virus research. There was a … prison at the lab where I worked. That’s where I train with guns.”

  Anton grimaced, reading between the lines. Koz was admitting to working at a place that tested on human subjects.

  "I stole bread for prisoners who spoke English. They teach me English. It’s good, no?”

  “It’s good.” Anton did his best to banish thoughts of human test subjects in a lab that developed a zombie virus. That had to have been a hellhole much worse than the one from which he’d escaped.

  “My friend gave up the location of the Sniper base,” Anton said. “Do you think my people are in danger?”

  “Assume the worst,” Koz replied. “That is always best plan.”

  Fuck. The man was right. Just because one half of the Soviets was busy eating the other half didn’t mean the Snipers were safe. That was the best case scenario, but only an idiot banked on a best case scenario.

  He and Tate and learned that the hard way.

  His family had received a brief stay of execution. With any luck, it would be long enough to clear everyone out of the family cabin and get them to someplace safe.

  Surely by now, Luma Bridge was gone. Leo and his team had to be home. Anton couldn’t afford to consider any other option. Leo would be waiting for him at the cabin. They would pack up and get everyone to safety.

  Anton clung to this thought as the tank rolled west along the freeway, carrying him back to his home.

  Everyone would be okay. Leo. Lena. Dal. Nonna. Bruce. Stephenson. Amanda. Cassie. Jennifer. Spill. Griggs.

  Everyone would be okay.

  Everyone, except him.

  Anton knew he wasn’t going to be okay for a long time.

  The blisters, cuts, bruises, abrasions, and burn marks on the outside of his body didn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

  Part II

  Fifteen Miles

  15

  Plan

  The Cecchino cabin felt empty without Cassie. She and Amanda had been best friends since freshmen year in high school. They did everything together: studied together, panicked over PE tests together, ate lunch at school together, and competed in chess tournaments together.

  The world had gone into the crapper. They were in the middle of a war and a zombie apocalypse combined. Both of Amanda’s parents had been killed.

  Through it all, Cassie had been there. Every. Single. Day.

  Amanda hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to see her best friend disappear down the road from Pole Mountain on a bike with her hot boyfriend. Or how lonely she would feel without her. The idea of Cassie going off to blow up a bridge in enemy territory was a chess game Amanda did not want to play, let alone think about.

  She wished she had gone with them. When Leo asked for mission volunteers, she’d wanted to raise her hand.

  But what could she add to a group of trained soldiers, varsity football players, and an ex-gymnast? Heck, Cassie didn’t even fit so well within the group, except that she could outthink all of them combined.

  And if Cassie barely fit, Amanda knew she stood no chance.

  She was acutely aware of her lack of athletic abilities. She was from a big-boned family. No one ever wanted the big girl on their team. Ever since she’d been a kid, she was always the last one picked for PE teams.

  It had been even worse in high school, where looks mattered more than ever. Mrs. Fink, their PE teacher who competed in triathlons on the weekend, had taken one look at Amanda on her first day of freshman PE. From that day, she’d been sentenced to right field in both the literal and the figurative sense. She might not be into sports, but everyone knew right field was reserved for the useless players.

  Amanda had known better than to volunteer for the mission to Luma. It just would have made everyone uncomfortable. Leo would have been forced to figure out a way to let her down gently. He had enough worries on his mind; he didn’t need to be bothered with her.

  So Amanda had kept her hand down—and now regretted it. That regret piled even higher on her shoulders with every minute that passed without Cassie.

  She did her best not to think about it.

  On the bright side, it wasn’t like she had a lot of spare time on her hands. She, Lena, and Dal were scheduled to go on another broadcast mission bright and early tomorro
w morning.

  They had important information to share: there were several busses of Soviet invaders on their way to West County. If Cassie and the others didn’t get to the bridge in time, a new wave of invaders would hit their home. The few survivors out there needed to know what was happening.

  Dal and Lena never looked at her the way Mrs. Fink did. They treated her like a valuable member of the team. She tried not to bask in their kindness or look too desperate for their approval.

  Amanda had a side project she’d been stewing on for several days now. When Nonna went to use the bathroom, she slipped into the kitchen and swiped a Ziploc from a drawer. Ziplocs were a prized commodity these days and she didn’t think Nonna would approve of her taking one.

  “What are you doing?” Stephenson frowned at her from where he washed dishes.

  In a drastic effort to avoid participating in missions, Stephenson had thrown himself into the kitchen work with gusto. He was often up early and late, prepping food or cleaning up.

  Tonight was no exception. He was up to his elbows in suds as he scrubbed a big pot.

  “What are you doing?” he asked again as she shoved the Ziploc into her back pocket.

  “I keep thinking about the zombies.” Amanda absently fiddled with the hilt of her hunting knife, a gift from the Cecchino family. Most days, she tried to pretend it belonged on her belt, though she secretly worried about slicing off her finger with the darn thing. “We need to get a good look at the bodies.”

  A look of horror overcame Stephenson’s face. He stopped mid-scrub, soap bubbles popping delicately around his elbows.

  “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re being disgusting.”

  “Please.” Amanda snorted. “I mean we need a scientific look at them.” She scooted closer to Stephenson so Dal and Lena wouldn’t overhear. The two of them sat on the couch, snuggled into each other and talking quietly. “Who knows what we might learn if we can get a piece of one of them under a microscope?”

  Stephenson gave her a soft look. “I know you miss Cas. I miss her already, too. But I think you’re being a little extreme with this carve-up-a-dead-zombie plan.”

  “I don’t want to carve up a zombie. I just want to get a tissue sample. Sometimes we see bodies when we go out for a broadcast.” Sometimes they saw live zombies, too. “I might get a chance to get a sample tomorrow.”

  Stephenson resumed his scrubbing. “The Cecchinos have a lot of stuff in their basement, but the last time I checked, there weren’t any microscopes.”

  “I know.” Amanda had been mentally working on this minor setback. “But I have an idea.”

  “An idea, huh? Do I want to hear it?”

  “Duh. Of course you do.”

  “You’re going to have to dry dishes if you’re going to take up space in Nonna’s kitchen.”

  “Okay.” Amanda grabbed a towel from a drawer and began drying silverware. “The way I figure it, there’s eventually going to be another mission to Bastopol. When that happens, I just have to convince them to make a detour to the science lab at the high school. Remember all those great microscopes Mr. Dillon got last year?”

  “You’re crazy.” Stephenson heaved the huge pot out of the sink and plunked it down on the counter. “First of all, you have no idea when anyone is going back to Bastopol. Second of all, no one is going to risk their life to get you a microscope.”

  “Mr. Dillon’s microscopes were top of line. He wrote a grant to get them.”

  “The science lab is probably a pile of dust,” Stephenson said. “In case you forgot, Leo and the others blew up half the high school.”

  “Their attack was by the football field. The science lab is on the other side of the school.”

  “Why get zombie samples now anyway? Shouldn’t you wait until you actually have a microscope? I mean, where do you plan to store it?”

  “In the freezer.”

  “You think Nonna is going to let you store a piece of zombie in her freezer?” Stephenson’s eyebrows nearly climbed off his forehead. “Good luck with that.”

  Amanda opened her mouth to retort, but Nonna returned from the bathroom. Amanda continued to dry dishes so she wouldn’t look suspicious.

  “You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.” Nonna gave Amanda an affectionate pat on the cheek. “You should get some sleep. Stephenson and I will finish up.”

  “That’s okay, I can help.” Amanda didn’t really want to go to bed. She and Cassie shared a bunk. Climbing into bed would be a reminder that her friend was out there on a dangerous mission, risking her life for their country.

  16

  Mrs. Fink

  “Amanda.” Lena touched her on the arm. “It’s time to go. Meet you outside. Make sure you grab a machine gun.” She gave Amanda a kind smile before heading out the door.

  Amanda patted her back pocket to make sure the Ziploc was still there. The plastic crinkled under her fingers. She paused on her way outside, surveying the rack of various weapons just inside the door.

  It was still hard to reconcile herself to lugging around a machine gun. She felt like an imposter. Lena and the others were badasses. She was just a nerdy girl who sucked at gym class and geeked out in biology class.

  She tried to feel like she belonged to this group of guerrilla soldiers who had made it their mission to fight the zombies and Russian invaders. Cassie had proven chess nerds could be a part of this group.

  For starters, she had managed to snag Leo Cecchino. Amanda found that fact even more startling than the fact they both carried around machine guns. Chess nerds weren’t supposed to nab former high-school quarterbacks. No one wrote love stories about that.

  Amanda was a closet expert when it came to love stories. She used to steal romance books from her mom’s pile and read them at night after her parents went to bed. Leo might look like the guys on the cover of those books, but there were no women in those pages who were like Cassie.

  Which was why her friend inspired her so much. If Cassie could ride off on a mission with her hunky boyfriend, it meant Amanda’s preconceived reality could be altered. It meant she, Amanda Nielson, could be a guerilla. It meant she could wield a gun and fight for her country.

  It also meant she could figure out a way to get a tissue sample from a zombie. Preferably, from a regular zombie and a mutant.

  She just had to get Dal and Lena to buy off on the idea.

  Grabbing a machine gun, she slung it around her shoulder before grabbing an extra magazine. Then she headed outside to where Dal and Lena waited for her in the broadcast truck.

  The old brown pick-up had belonged to Mr. Cecchino. Stephenson had helped them rig the broadcasting antenna and the transmitter to the engine. Amanda liked to think of it as a mobile, guerrilla news station.

  Lena and Dal, always together, sat in the cab. It would have been a tight fit for all three of them with the transmitter, especially with Amanda coming from a big-boned family. She climbed into the back, like she always did when she went out with them.

  “Amanda.” Stephenson waved at her from the porch. “Be safe.” He gave her a meaningful look as Nonna came out to stand beside him. The two of them waved goodbye as Dal drove away.

  “Where are we headed to today?” Amanda asked through the open cab window.

  Lena held up a map. “We’re heading northeast.” She pointed to a spot on the map. “There’s a good peak about fifteen miles from the cabin.”

  “Do you know the owner of the land?” On one of their missions, they’d been forced to face off with a zombified land owner.

  “It’s the boundary of Armstrong Woods.”

  Amanda frowned in concern. “We’re not going to be close to any of the campgrounds, are we?” Most of the zombies from the first wave of the invasion had died off by now, but there were still mutants out there.

  “We’ll be miles from the nearest campground,” Dal replied.

  Amanda took the map Lena held out to her, absorbing the tight row of topographic lin
es between them and their destination. They were in for a long ride.

  Dal and Lena always picked remote locations for the broadcasts; there were often no legitimate roads, which meant the old truck had to roll along at a very sedate pace if they didn’t want to break an axel.

  That was okay. Amanda didn’t mind. The scenery was always nice and it felt good to be doing something.

  She handed the map back to Lena and Dal and did her best to get comfortable in the metal truck bed. Officially, she was on watch. It was a good way to pass the time.

  The truck bumped along, rolling through open grassland. They passed stands of oak and bay trees. Amanda recognized the dry stream bed that marked the edge of the Cecchino property.

  Where was Cassie now? It had been hard to sleep last night, knowing her best friend was out there on a mission. It had taken a concerted effort not to obsess over all the terrible things that could happen to her.

  It was weird to think that only a few weeks ago, her biggest concern in life had been getting an A in PE. Two quarters of B-minuses in her junior year of physical education had tanked her GPA. Technically, she’d still had a 4.0 because of her honor classes, but Stanford, UC Berkley, and Cal Poly weren’t interested in 4.0 students.

  Amidst nightmares of getting stranded at junior college due to her abysmal PE grades, Amanda’s mom made a New Year’s resolution to lose weight. She bought a stack of Jane Fonda videos, some hand weights, and an aerobic step.

  After a month of dedicated exercise, her mom went down an entire pant size. That had been enough evidence for Amanda. If she could get herself in shape, maybe she could squeak out an A- in PE.

  She threw herself into the workouts the same way she threw herself into learning Spanish, biology, and trigonometry: with one-hundred percent commitment.

  By the time the third quarter of her junior year rolled around, she pulled out a solid A in PE. This had been a particularly epic feat because that had been the quarter of the timed mile. Amanda had knocked out a nine-minute mile, which had been enough to tip her grade from a B+ to an A.