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

the backside. He slid down the shingles, yelling as he dug his fingernails into the wood.

Nonna dove for him. Seeing the little old lady throw herself across the rooftop was almost as eerie as being dragged by a mutant zombie. She landed with a grunt, latching both hands around his wrist.

“Juli!”

“Nonna!” he flailed, not wanting to drag her over the side with him.

The grip around his ankle slackened, the dead mutant sloughing away. Stephenson dangled half on, half off the side of the roof.

Never in his life had he appreciated being a wiry bean pole. But as Nonna heaved herself backwards, her nails digging into his wrist, Stephenson was glad for every bone that protruded from his skinny frame. If he’d been a big beefy guy like Bruce or Anton, it would have been impossible for Nonna to drag him away from the edge.

As it was, she couldn’t do more than lug him up a mere six inches. But it was enough.

That six inches gave him the balance he needed. Stephenson scrambled the rest of the way back just as three more mutants rushed up the porch steps. In their haste to get to him, they trampled the body of the one Stephenson had just killed.

He got his feet beneath him just as the next mutant jumped and grabbed the roof.

Thank God the Soviets put neck straps around their machine guns. Otherwise, he would have dropped it for sure when he fell. Stephenson snatched his gun and fired.

The mutant hissed and fell out of sight, landing heavily on the porch below.

“Nonna, are you okay?”

She was on her feet, eyes steely. “Takes more than that to finish me off.” Inching down the roofline, she took aim with her machine gun.

Another mutant jumped, both hands closing on shingles. Nonna and Stephenson fired in unison. The mutant shrieked as bullets tore her hands to shreds.

Stephenson and Nonna stood side by side, a mere foot between them and the edge of the roof. They could just see the heads of the three mutants circling below. From the storage room, the frantic cries of the old mare could be head.

His mind flashed to the last two days he’d spent with Nonna in the forest clearing. He imagined the mutant heads in the center of the target she’d drawn on the side of the rotting tree trunk.

This is what she’d been preparing him for. Somehow, she’d foreseen this situation. He would make sure her efforts to keep his butt alive weren’t wasted.

Sighting on the first of the mutants, he fired. He let out a cry of triumph as his shots connected. The head exploded and the mutant slumped to the porch, dead.

Grinning, he glanced at Nonna—only to jump when another mutant threw himself at the roof.

This one had massive forearms and the neck of a professional wrestler. The distended muscles had torn his shirt sleeves to shreds. The black, infected veins bulged as the zombie yanked himself onto the roof. The thing moved incredibly fast, dragging his torso onto the roof in one smooth move.

Nonna and Stephenson jumped back, both of them firing. Bullets sent up spurts of red, but the thing had his massive arms in front of his face; they caught the shots meant for his head. He kept coming for them, a leg appearing on the side of the roof as he pulled himself the rest of the way up.

Nonna’s gun made an odd clicking sound. “I’m jammed,” she barked. “Keep firing!” She hurried away to the munitions pile they had at the top of the roof.

In a rush of fear and adrenaline, Stephenson dug in his heels and screamed.

The mutant shifted into a crouch, but Stephenson refused to move. He couldn’t let anything happen to Nonna.

A distant part of his mind marveled that he found the courage to hold his ground. Maybe the machine gun really was his magical sword.

Just when he thought the mutant would launch himself across the distance, Stephenson got a clear shot at his face. Nonna’s target appeared around the mutant’s head.

“Die, asshole!” He fired until his gun clicked empty.

The mutant tottered on the edge of the roof. Nonna reappeared by his side, new gun in hand. She sent bullets into the mutant, sending him crashing over the edge.

“Reload,” she barked at him.

Stephenson scrambled to their supplies, snatching up two magazines. He shoved one into the gun and another into the waistline of his Jordache jeans.

Holy hell, but he loved these pants. If he survived this battle, he promised himself he would never take them off.

Something moved in his periphery. He looked up just in time to see a dark shape crawl onto the east side of the roof. It sprinted toward Nonna with frightening speed.

“Nonna, look out!” He dropped to one knee, taking aim at the new mutant. How many of these darn things were out there?

It was a woman, her body lumpy and misshapen from the virus mutation. He swept his barrel across the monster’s legs, shooting her through the kneecaps. She fell to the roof but kept coming, dragging herself and her ruined legs across the shingles.

“Juli!” Nonna’s shout cut through him. He glanced over his shoulder to see her taking on two more mutants as they crawled onto the roof.

He sent a stream of bullets in the direction of the crawling mutant, this time sweeping her across the arms and face. She flopped around on the rooftop. She wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t moving very fast anymore. If he spent anymore time trying to kill her, he could lose Nonna.

He turned his attention to the two threatening her. Sparks from the end of her machine gun illuminated her face. She was tiny, old, and wrinkled, but at that moment, she was the fiercest thing Stephenson had ever seen. He adored her with every fiber of his soul.

He jumped to her side. In silent agreement, they split their defense. Nonna took the mutant on the left. Stephenson took the one on the right.

Nonna’s mutant was