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

4

Bodies

Anton had been experiencing the Russian occupation and the zombie apocalypse for almost two weeks now. Despite this, nothing prepared him for the sight of Rossi.

It was the pile of bodies mounded in the middle of a dirt lot that said it all. It looked like the dead had been rounded up with a bulldozer.

Anton was glad it was dark. Even so, the moon was big enough that he could see various body parts. Black veins of infection showed on many of the bodies, indicating death-by-nezhit-virus, but there were plenty that had been straight-out murdered.

The abandoned dirt lot had been home to a pumpkin patch in the autumn and a Christmas tree lot in the winter. The overlay of his memories against the slaughter was like a punch in the gut.

He’d seen the slaughter in Bastopol. Hell, if not for Leo, he’d have been infected or gunned down like most of his varsity football friends. Conceptually, he’d known what things must have been like in Rossi, where there were ten times more people.

But seeing that pile of dead bodies changed something inside of him. He knew he’d carry it with him for the rest of his life.

That pile was the reason they were fighting so hard against the Russians. It was the reason Leo was leading the mission to Luma Bridge.

For the first time since running away from Pole Mountain with Tate, Anton felt like a stupid, impulsive teenager. He’d been so caught up in his friend’s pain—in his own grief over being an orphan—he hadn’t been able to see the long game.

Leo had seen the long game. Leo always saw the long game.

What the hell are we doing here? Anton thought. We should be with Leo. We should be fighting to stop this war and save our country.

His mouth was dry. Shame welled up in his throat. He shoved it down. There was no going back in time. He and Tate had made their play. All they could do was run it out.

“Remember, man,” Tate said. “Our mission is to get Mom and Dad. That’s it. We break them out and get the hell out of Rossi.”

“What’s our play?” Anton asked. “To get to the jail, I mean.”

“I delivered pizzas in Rossi when I went to the junior college,” Tate said. “I know every back alley and shortcut in town. Come on.”

They hustled across the dirt lot, skirting the bodies. The smell was almost enough to make Anton lose his dinner.

Past the former Christmas tree lot were several blocks of run-down, two-story apartments with peeling brown paint. Tate led them through the maze of buildings. The parking lots scattered throughout the complex were eerily clear of bodies, though Anton saw plenty of blood stains and more than a few stray body parts that had been missed by the clean-up crew.

There was an arm that had rolled beneath the back bumper of a car. A little further on, Anton spotted a half-eaten leg sticking out from a bush.

Lena and Dal had told the story of their narrow escape from Rossi. Seeing the remains of the carnage drove home the fact they’d been damn lucky to get out of here alive.

He hoped he, Tate, and the Craigs would be able to say the same thing. He wished he could shake the doubt gnawing at him from the inside.

Go home, a small voice whispered. Get the hell out of here.

Anton ignored it.

They reached the far end of the apartment complex and popped out onto a main boulevard. This, too, had been cleared of carnage. All that remained of the invasion were pools of dried blood on the ground.

What had it been like at the height of the nezhit virus? It wasn’t a stretch for Anton to imagine infected people running through the streets like rabid animals, hunting anything and everything that moved.

The abandoned and wrecked cars had been pushed to one side of the street. They looked like they’d been shoved aside with a bulldozer. Long scrapes and dents marred the sides of the cars, evidence of the equipment that had been used to move them.

“The fuckers are getting Rossi ready for the arrival of the Second Offensive and their families,” Tate said. “They think they’re just gonna waltz in here and take over our home. Leo will make sure he blows them to smithereens when they get to Luma Bridge. Fuckers will never know what hit them. Come on.”

Tate peered left and right before stepping into the open. Just because they had on Russian uniforms didn’t mean they could risk being seen. The uniforms would keep them out of trouble if they were spotted from a distance, but they’d be made in seconds if they came face to face with a patrol; Lena was the only one of them who could speak Russian.

They moved at a brisk walk toward a line of store fronts. This was the seedier part of Rossi where drug dealers and gangs members had hung out. All the shops had black iron bars over the windows, but not even that had been enough to stop the Russians. Glass had been shot out of just about every window. Most of the doors hung from their hinges. The Soviets had been nothing if not thorough.

“Look over there.” Tate nudged him.

Anton followed his gaze. At the end of the shop row was a dead mutant. The distended muscles of his arms and shoulders made him unmistakeable.

“I hope we don’t run into any more of those bastards,” Anton murmured. They’d barely survived the last encounter.

Tate pursed his lips. “We stick to the shadows and stay quiet. If we see any mutants, we go the other way.”

His friend hustled away, leading the way around the back of the shops. Anton followed, the liquor bottle bouncing against his tailbone with each step.

He reasoned this served as a good recon mission. They would have lots of intel for Leo when they got back to the cabin.