Zommunist Invasion | Book 3 | Scattered Picott, Camille (best ereader for pc .TXT) 📖

lie when I looked in your eyes. Too bad for you. There is no fast death for you now.” He turned to his lackeys and spat out a string of Russian.

One solider grabbed Anton by the hair, hauling him toward the open cell door. Anton scrambled to get his feet beneath him, if only to keep the Soviet from ripping his hair out by the roots.

He and Tate were dragged down the hall, which was lined with other cell doors. The KGB strolled along behind them, his head wreathed in a cloud cigarette smoke.

The boys were flung into a new cell. It was larger than their previous one. Based on the bunk beds, it looked like it had been built to hold four prisoners.

The cell wasn’t empty. There were two other Soviet soldiers in the cell. Both had grayish bruises all over their faces, just like the two with Anton and Tate.

Anton barely noticed. All his attention fixated on the prisoners in the cell with them. Tied to two chairs, looking as fucked up as Anton felt, were Mr. and Mrs. Craig.

Even though he’d been pretty sure they were prisoners, seeing them was still a shock. They’d been stripped of shoes and shirts, just like Anton and Tate. Beholding Mrs. Craig’s bare, saggy breasts wasn’t the worst of it. The two of them looked like they’d been subjected to the same grisly shit that Anton and Tate had endured.

The sight of them turned Anton’s insides to mush. In that moment, he would have gladly taken all their suffering on himself. He would have done anything to spare them the torture they’d endured. Tears pricked his eyes, but he blinked them back.

The four of them stared at each other. No one spoke. They didn’t have to. Their eyes said it all.

The KGB agent observed them. “You know each other. It is as I suspected. You are all Snipers.”

No one said anything. Anton didn’t have the strength to deny it. Besides, what good would that do? The Soviets were going to grind them to blood and entrails no matter what they said.

“Tell me what I want to know.” The agent flicked his fingers at Anton and Tate.

Two soldiers loomed up before them. Anton braced himself as the first blow fell.

He endured. It was all he could do. He locked onto the mental image of Nonna, Lena, Leo, and Dal, clinging to them with the sanity he had left.

Blows rained down. His head. His back. His crotch. His ribs. His face. His stomach.

Everywhere. There was no part of his body that was spared.

But even worse than the blows was the sound of Mrs. Craig’s crying. It was like a file to his bones. It was the first time since he’d been captured that he began to pray for spontaneous death.

The blows stopped. Anton struggled to catch his breath. His vision blurred. He lay on the floor, limp and panting.

Mom. He silently called to her, summoning the image of what she had looked like in the weeks before she had died. The cancer had eaten her up from the inside, reducing her to skin and bones.

But she had never given up to the disease. She told Anton and his siblings every day that she loved them. She spent her waking hours combing through newspapers and studying everything she could find on the Soviets, one of her favorite pastimes. Dad used to joke that she had missed her calling as an investigative reporter.

She had a smile for each of them every day. Even in the face of death, she had been strong.

Mom, help me.

He clung to his memory of her. Mom’s body had folded under the weight of the cancer, but her spirit had stayed strong.

He remembered the last thing she had said to him before she died. “You will do great things in this world, Antony. I feel it in my bones. I love you, my son.”

Do great things. Holding out under the battering of the Russians felt like the singular greatest feat of his life. He would do it. He would hold out for Mom.

The world swam back into view. He became aware of two soldiers standing beside the Craigs. One had a gun pressed to the side of Mrs. Craig’s head. The second one held a gun against Mr. Craig.

Against the backdrop of this horror, Anton noticed something. The eyes of the soldiers looked red. Was it a trick of the light? Or had he been kicked in the head one too many times?

One of them even looked like he might be getting sick; the front of his uniform was stained with sweat. Or maybe he had just over-exerted himself beating the shit out them.

“I grow weary of this game.” The KGB agent stood over Anton and Tate, puffing like a chimney on his cigarette. “You have until the count of ten to tell me what I want to know. Refuse to answer me and I’ll kill your friends.”

Tate’s eyes bugged. He gaze shot between Anton and his parents.

“We’re ready to die.” Mr. Craig’s voice was pinched with pain, but his words were firm. “We—”

One of the soldiers smacked him hard in the back of the head.

“One.” The embers ignited in the end of the agent’s cigarette. “Two.”

Anton stared wildly at the Craigs. This was an impossible choice. He was being forced to chose between his family and the Craigs. It wasn’t right.

“Three.”

Mr. Craig met his gaze and gave Anton the tiniest shake of the head. The message was clear. He wanted them to hold out. To stay silent.

Even if it meant his death.

Anton shot a quick look at Tate. His friend looked on the verge of being sick.

“Four.”

“Long live America,” Mrs. Craig burst out, tears steaming down her eyes. She cried out when she received a hard blow from her captor.

“Five.”

“Stop.” A sob tore free of Tate’s chest. “Stop.”

“No!” Mr. Craig yelled. He received another vicious blow to the head. His captor looked sicker by the second, but that didn’t stop