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

a left calf muscle that had swelled to nearly three times its normal the size. One arm had grown longer, hanging almost to her knee. Her gait was uneven, but freakishly fast.

Anton took her down with two bullets to the head. Stealth screamed in terror and kept running.

The second mutant spared a single glance for Anton. Red eyes, feral and calculating, locked on him. In a single stride, the mutant changed gears. He forgot all about the fleeing horse and raced straight toward Anton.

This mutant had been nothing more than a kid when he’d been killed. Based on the acne speckling his face, Anton guessed him to be twelve or thirteen. His chest and arms were swollen with increased muscle mass. He dropped forward onto his hands as he ran, moving like an animal.

Anton exhaled and fired. The mutant kid dropped in a spray of blood. Anton didn’t wait to see him hit the ground, spinning back around to focus on the U-Haul.

The second Russian was dead, laying in a puddle of his own blood outside the open passenger-side door. Dammit. So much for having a clean uniform.

But the battle wasn’t over. The roll-up door of the U-Haul had been thrown open. Boxes of supplies spilled out onto the asphalt. Jars of broken tomato sauce glistened on the pavement. Cans of corn and pees rolled among the shattered jars of sauce.

In the middle of the supplies were two more Soviets. Fucking shit. They must have been riding inside the U-Haul. The assholes had taken cover behind the van and now sprayed bullets into the clump of trees where Anton and Tate hid. He felt the bullets thud into the front of his tree.

Tate recklessly exposed himself, leaning around the tree to return fire.

Another whinny had Anton whipping back around. Thunder staggered around the side of the corn bins, two mutants attached to his flanks. Blood and gore was everywhere.

Anton felt his chest seize. He fired, but this time not at the mutants. He brought Thunder down, sparing the poor animal a painful death. Killing such a beautiful animal hurt as much as knowing they’d just lost one of their rides out of here.

The mutants bore the carcass to the ground. Anton had destroyed the head when he killed Thunder, but that didn’t stop the mutants. They scraped at the dirt, pulling up mashed remains of brain matter and shoving them into their mouths. The sight made Anton sick.

The only saving grace was that the mutants were momentarily distracted. Anton took advantage of the moment to take them out.

He spun back around to the road. Shouting from the Russians had gained intensity. Anton saw why. Two mutants had emerged onto the road. They bounded over vehicles, closing in on the battle scene.

They were going for the Russians. Good. Let the fuckers have Soviets. Between Tate and the zombies, the assholes didn’t stand a chance—

A mutant woman leaped over the hood of the car nearest to Anton. She was on him before he had time to jerk his gun around.

She hit him so hard they both rolled across the ground. Tree roots crunched against his spine and rib cage. The machine gun flew from his hands.

The mutant rolled to a stop only a few feet from him. Anton lunged for his gun.

The mutant was faster. She sprang across the distance and tackled him a second time. They rolled.

Somehow, she ended up beneath Anton. This should have meant he had the advantage, but the mutant had both hands locked around his neck.

She squeezed, nostrils flaring with anticipation as he choked for air. She looked to have been in her mid-twenties when she was infected. There was dried blood all over her face and neck.

Red irises locked on him. Anton felt like he was caught in the crosshairs of a demon.

Her grip was crushing his windpipe. Anton tried to pry her hands away, but her fingers were too strong. Panic overtook him. He forgot all about the hunting knife strapped to his belt and instead shoved his index finger straight into her eye socket.

If he hadn’t been on the verge of choking to death, he would have cringed at the slick feeling of the eyeball popping beneath his finger. As it was, he could barely breathe. He was too desperate to do anything more than distantly register the sensation.

The mutant shrieked. She released his throat and tossed him aside. Air flooded back into his lungs as he smacked painfully into the ground.

All he wanted to do was lie there and savor the feel of oxygen pouring into his throat. But the mutant was still alive. Even worse, she was alive and pissed.

Anton just managed to roll to the side when she lunged for him again. Her face was a mess, blackish blood oozing from the ruined socket. His gun was too far away. Tate was still locked in a shootout with the Russians. If Anton was going to survive the next ten seconds, he’d have to pull a rabbit out of the hat.

His mind flashed briefly to his brother. Leo had been a genius at pulling rabbits out of the hat on the football field. Even as a young kid, Anton had been aware of how all the other kids—even the older ones—looked to Leo for leadership. Everything always came so goddamn easy to his big brother. He’d had the hottest girl in school and a football scholarship to one of the best college teams in the country. He even had decent grades.

Anton didn’t have the same magic as Leo. He could never throw as far. He could never lead the way Leo did. And he had girls, but it wasn’t the same as having a girlfriend. He never had the knack for turning around a game like Leo could.

But he wasn’t incompetent, either. Hell, if not for always standing in Leo’s shadow, Anton would have looked pretty damn good.

Damn good was all he had to work with. It would have to be enough