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

floors. There was a drinking fountain a few feet to his left. Cork boards were stuck to the wall. Russian flags had been tacked to the boards. Fluorescent lights blared down on them.

Besides the invader flags stuck to the cork board, everything looked normal. Well, almost normal. There were the two dead Russians on the floor that sort of ruined the illusion.

Then again, Anton rather liked the sight of the dead Soviets.

There had been a time not so long ago when the sight of bodies had turned his stomach. He’d covered it up, of course; there was no sense in being a sissy about it. This was war, after all.

But now, seeing the dead was almost as pleasurable as watching a movie. Anton distantly knew this fresh perspective wasn’t entirely healthy, but he didn’t give a shit. It was easier this way. He needed something to be fucking easy.

The two Russians had been killed by vicious blows to the head. As Anton limped past them, staying on the heels of Kozlovovich, he saw their brains had been eaten.

Yep. Definitely the work of mutants. Only mutant zombies ate brains.

He thought back to the two soldiers who had eaten the brains of Tate and Mrs. Craig. Those guys must have been bitten by mutants out on the field. It was the only explanation. Unless they were just sick fuckers. It was a toss up, Anton decided.

They drew abreast of the bodies. Anton got a good look at their faces. One was a regular soldier. The bastard who had nearly drowned him in that fucking bucket, Anton realized.

The other body belonged to the KGB agent.

Anton had a visceral reaction to the sight. Rage filled him. Even though the side of the man’s head was caved in, Anton aimed the pistol.

He never wanted to see the face of that sick fucker ever again. In the back of his mind, he knew nothing could ever erase the memory of his tormentor, but he sure as fuck was going to give it a good, old-fashioned try.

Gripping the weapon, he slammed the butt down into the agent’s face. He smashed the dead man’s cheek bone. It felt good. Anton brought the gun down a second time, hitting so hard he felt a tooth give way.

He kept hitting. Over, and over again, pounding the hated agent’s face to a mashy pulp.

He felt like an animal. He didn’t care.

He didn’t stop until the agent’s face was eradicated and unrecognizable.

Anton’s chest heaved with emotion that threatened to burn him from the inside out. When he looked down at the wreckage he’d made, all he could see was the burning end of a cigarette. The scent of the smoke nearly choked him, even though there wasn’t a cigarette anywhere in sight.

Kozlovovich looked down at him with open sympathy. That made Anton almost as enraged at the sight of the agent’s dead body.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Kozlovovich held up his hands and took at few steps back, putting a healthy amount of space between himself and Anton. “Agapovovich.” He pointed to the dead agent. “Agapovovich. Keys.”

Up until now, Anton hadn’t known who the fucker was. He was a nameless, relentless demon who showed up at regular intervals to make his life a living hell.

Having a name to go with his tormenter turned his stomach. He put his free hand against the wall and vomited up bile.

Agapovovich. The name was like a chorus to a bad song. Anton wished he could un-hear it. He wished he could erase the name from his memory, along with his face and the smell of cigarette smoke.

The stutter of machine gun fire shook him out of his stupor. He spat on top of the body to clear his mouth, then pivoted on his bare feet.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He marched down the hall with Kozlovovich trailing beside him.

The scientist had a new gun in his hands. He must have taken it from one of the bodies.

“This way.” Kozlovovich led him through a series of intersecting corridors. They passed another two bodies on the way. They had been shot to death, their brains still intact.

Kozlovovich took him to a small loading dock where the jail received all its deliveries. The roll-up door was down, but Anton heard screaming and gunfire just on the other side.

Kozlovovich approached the roll-up door. The man knew how to handle a gun. Anton could see that much.

“Do they teach scientists how to use guns in Russia?”

Kozlovovich didn’t take his eyes away from the roll-up door. “I not always a scientist. I was first a soldier.”

He seemed to think it was a solid explanation. It sounded fishy to Anton. Since when did science nerds learn how to use guns?

His mind flashed back to just a few days ago, when he and Leo had taken Jennifer, Cassie, and Amanda out into the woods to learn how to shoot. Cassie and Amanda were as nerdy as they came. Maybe the guy’s story was solid. For the moment, Anton decided to continue trusting him. He could always kill him later.

Next to the roll-up was a solid metal door. There was no window in it, no way to see what was going on outside.

Kozlovovich pointed to the metal door and whispered, “Outside is tank.”

The screaming stopped. So did the gunshots.

The two men looked at each other. Kozlovovich held up three fingers. Anton nodded in understanding, adjusting his grip so he could hold his gun with two hands.

Kozlovovich lowered his fingers, counting down. Three. Two. One.

He jerked open the door.

Anton went through first, gun raised.

What he saw froze his feet in place.

On the ground were four dead bodies. That wasn’t the disturbing part.

What shocked Anton was the sight of two living Russians, both of them crouched over the dead like it was Thanksgiving. They feasted on the brains, scooping up great handfuls and cramming them into their mouths.

They looked up as Anton stepped onto the loading dock. Their eyes had gone completely red. Their hands