Zommunist Invasion | Book 1 | Red Virus Read online

  Red Virus

  Zommunist Invasion, Volume 1

  Camille Picott

  Published by Camille Picott, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  RED VIRUS

  First edition. October 1, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Camille Picott.

  Written by Camille Picott.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  RED VIRUS

  Prologue | Best Friends

  Chapter 1 | Breakfast

  Chapter 2 | Apples

  Chapter 3 | Ex-Ballerina

  Chapter 4 | Charter Bus

  Chapter 5 | Triage

  Chapter 6 | Invasion

  Chapter 7 | Pole Mountain

  Chapter 8 | Two Trucks

  Chapter 9 | Streets of Rossi

  Chapter 10 | Radio Station

  Chapter 11 | Inoculation

  Chapter 12 | Broadcast

  Chapter 13 | Detour

  Chapter 14 | Domestic Violence

  Chapter 15 | Visitor

  Chapter 16 | Inhuman

  Chapter 17 | Poker

  Chapter 18 | Reanimated

  Chapter 19 | Rage

  Chapter 20 | Campus

  Chapter 21 | Nezhit

  Chapter 22 | Trapped

  Chapter 23 | Neighbors

  Chapter 24 | Ambush

  Chapter 25 | Sniper

  Chapter 26 | Rising Dead

  Chapter 27 | Horses

  Chapter 28 | Homeward

  Chapter 29 | Dance

  Chapter 30 | Homecoming

  Chapter 31 | Plan

  Chapter 32 | Cookbook

  Chapter 33 | Apology

  Chapter 34 | Fifth Grade

  Chapter 35 | Bastopol High

  Chapter 36 | Choices

  Chapter 37 | Hammer to Fall

  Chapter 38 | Statue of Liberty

  Chapter 39 | Guy’s Electronic Superstore

  Chapter 40 | Time’s Up

  Chapter 41 | Deejay Sniper

  Chapter 42 | Kill Box

  Chapter 43 | Touchdown

  Chapter 44 | Antenna

  Chapter 45 | Not Special

  Chapter 46 | Not Forgotten

  Get Zommunist Invasion #2

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Join the Zombie Recon Team

  RED VIRUS

  ZOMMUNIST INVASION

  BOOK 1

  by Camille Picott

  Copyright 2020

  Prologue

  Best Friends

  DAL TAPPED ON THE DARK bedroom window with his finger. Rain sluiced down on his head in a cold barrage as he waited for his best friend to answer.

  The bedroom window remained dark. Dal knocked again, shivering from the cold and wet. Water pooled around his bare feet on the muddy ground. He should have grabbed shoes.

  The chilly water dulled the throbbing in his face. Unfortunately, it didn’t do shit for the pain in his ribcage.

  “Dal?” A pale face with dark, disheveled hair appeared. His best friend Leo threw open his bedroom window. “Dal, you okay?”

  “I couldn’t stay at home.” Dal had tried. He tried to go to bed with a throbbing body while the war between his parents waged in the living room. For over three hours, he’d tried. Their shouting was like scars in his ears.

  Dal wiped water from his eyes. It was water, not tears.

  Leo’s mouth tightened as his eyes took in Dal’s face. Dal had no idea what it looked like. Based on the amount of blood that had spurted from his nose, he probably looked like he took a header into a ditch. Except Leo would know it wasn’t a ditch that had connected with Dal’s face.

  “Come inside.” Leo popped out the screen.

  Dal pushed up on the window ledge, feet squelching in the mud as he jumped. Leo switched on the light as Dal climbed inside.

  In the bottom bunk of the bed, Anton, Leo’s little brother, muttered in his sleep and turned away from the light. Dal was thankful the younger boy could sleep through anything.

  He wanted to turn away from the light and hide his face. But Leo was his best friend. Leo knew the truth about Dal’s dad. He didn’t have to hide from him.

  Dal stood just inside the window, letting the lamp light illuminate him. His bloody nose, bruises, and the cuts were completely exposed. His ripped jeans and his muddy bare feet topped everything off. He let Leo see it all.

  Leo heaved a small, sad sigh, his shoulders sagging as he took in Dal’s busted form. “What was it this time?”

  “Mom undercooked the rice.” Thinking about his mom made him feel useless. He tried to defend her. He really did. The sound of her shouting—Leave him alone, Dallas, you hear me?—still echoed in his head.

  His father’s drunken fury came between Dal and his mom. Every. Single. Time.

  Leo went to his hamper. Pulling out a still-damp towel, he tossed it to Dal. Even though it was used, Dal pressed it to his face and inhaled the clean scent of the detergent.

  It smelled like the Cecchino house. Happy. Cheerful. Safe.

  He didn’t know what it was like to live in a house that smelled like those things.

  “Here.” Leo tossed him a pair of flannel pants and a T-shirt. “Your sleeping bag is under the bottom bunk. You want anything to eat?”

  In truth, Dal was starving. He hadn’t eaten since lunch. He’d only gotten two bites of rice into his mouth before his old man went ape shit. But the memory of the bruise forming on his mother’s right cheekbone and the darkening circle around her left eye left him with an upset stomach.

  “Nah, I’m fine.”

  Leo switched off the light and climbed onto the top bunk. “Should I set the alarm clock for five?”

  “Yeah.” That would give Dal enough time to get home and back into his bed before his old man woke up. It would also get him out of the house before Anton woke up, and before any of the other Cecchino family members barged into Leo’s room. He didn’t want them to see him like this. Not ever. Especially Lena. He didn’t want Mr. Cecchino, Mrs. Cecchino, or Nonna to see him either, but most especially Lena.

  Dal changed into the dry clothes and returned the towel to the hamper. Then he draped his wet clothes on Leo’s desk chair. He’d have to put those back on in the morning when he went home. Then he pulled the sleeping blanket out from under the bunk bed and crawled inside. It smelled just as good as the towel.

  “Night,” Leo said. “Sorry your old man is an asshole.”

  “One day, I’m going to kill him,” Dal whispered back.

  “You will. When you’re older and bigger, you’ll kick his ass.”

  Dal’s throat tightened with emotion. Leo always had his back, no matter what. “Thanks, Leo.”

  “Anytime. Night, man.”

  “Night.”

  Chapter 1

  Breakfast

  TWELVE YEARS LATER.

  It was still dark when the alarm clock blared in his ear. Dal groaned and smacked the top of the clock to shut it off.

  He stared at the dark ceiling, blinking grit out of his eyes. It was four-thirty in the morning. He’d been up late studying for his statistics class. What time had he gone to bed anyway? He couldn’t remember.

  As tired as he was, the day’s long to-do list hit him like a splash of cold water. It scrolled through his brain.

  Wake up. Finish studying for his statistics test. Get Lena and Anton to school. Hit the apple orchard with Leo and Mr. Cecchino. Drive to the junior college for his math, English, and communication classes. Hustle over to the radio station for his janitor
ial job and possibly devise a way to bump into the studio president and introduce himself. Then home to study.

  Someday, when he was finished with school and he had a morning show deejay job, he wouldn’t have to cram thirty-six hours into a twenty-four-hour day.

  His feet hit the cold floor of the converted utility room. Across from his bed was a chest of drawers and a bookshelf stacked with school books. Besides his car, everything he owned was in that dresser and on the bookshelf.

  He shucked off his T-shirt and changed into his black jeans and blue denim work shirt. The long sleeves would protect him from the bugs and sharp branches in the orchard.

  He pushed back the curtain sewn for him by Nonna Cecchino. The thick cotton separated his tiny sanctuary from the rest of the utility room. Shoving his feet into his Converse, he walked past the washer and dryer and into the kitchen.

  Dal was satisfied to find the kitchen empty. It was hard to beat Nonna Cecchino into the kitchen. He had to get up at four-thirty if he wanted Nonna to have hot coffee when she woke up.

  Once the coffee pot was brewing, he straddled a kitchen chair and spread out his statistics book and notebook in front of him. He flipped to a page of problems and began to work through them.

  “Dallas.” Nonna Cecchino shuffled into the kitchen a few minutes later, pink curlers in her gray hair. Pink flannel pajamas covered a lean figure. She was the matriarch of the Italian Cecchino family. She surveyed Dal at the kitchen table through the black-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose.

  “Morning, Nonna.”

  “What are you doing up so early?”

  “Studying. I have a test today.”

  “But you studied until one in the morning.”

  Dal shrugged without reply. Nonna beamed at him. “If only my Anton had your work ethic.”

  Dal did his best not to react to the compliment, even though it filled him up more than a warm meal ever could.

  “I’ll cook you breakfast.” Nonna poured two generous cups of coffee, plopping one in front of Dal. The creamer and bowl of sugar followed the coffee cup. “A young man who works as hard as you do needs a proper breakfast.”

  “Thanks, Nonna.” Dal dropped two lumps of sugar into his coffee, followed by a healthy pour of cream.

  He loved when Nonna Cecchino cooked for him, though it made him self-conscious. She treated him like one of her grandkids, even though he was technically a guest in the Cecchino house. Not only did they let him live here for free, but they never thought twice about letting him eat their food, either.

  Within minutes, bacon was frying in Nonna’s cast iron pan. The crack of egg shells filled the quiet morning as she dropped them into a pan beside the bacon. A minute later, slices of bread went into the toaster.

  By the time Dal finished two pages of practice math, Nonna set steaming plates of eggs and bacon onto the table.

  “Morning, Nonna.” Mr. Cecchino yawned as he entered the kitchen. In his mid-fifties, the man was lean like his mother from a lifetime of hard work. His dark hair and mustache were streaked with a generous amount of gray.

  Like Dal, he was already dressed in his work clothes. The orchards were bursting with apples. There was a long day of labor ahead of them.

  “Get your breakfast before it gets cold,” Nonna replied by way of greeting.

  Mr. Cecchino winked at Dal. “Yes, Nonna.” He grabbed a plate and sat down across from Dal. “How’s the studying going, son?”

  “Good.” Dal closed the book and set it on the floor with his notebook. “I just wanted to get in one more study session before my test today.”

  “You know it’s okay to skip a day in the orchard if you need more study time.” Mr. Cecchino heaped a generous portion of eggs and bacon onto his plate, along with a few slices of toast.

  No way would Dal ever, ever skip a day in the orchard. He knew the orchard didn’t bring in the money it used to. The proliferation of apple farms in the area had driven down prices in recent years. Dal’s own family—his biological family—suffered from the glut as much as the Cecchino family.

  “Nah.” Dal shot a mischievous grin at Leo as his best friend stomped into the kitchen. “Who will keep Leo from slacking off if I’m not there?”

  Leo, still blinking sleep from his eyes, had enough wherewithal to register the insult. “Did someone order a pot of coffee poured in his lap?”

  Mr. Cecchino chuckled and helped himself to another scoop of eggs. Nonna added a platter of toast to the table as the twins, Anton and Lena, appeared in the kitchen.

  Lena’s dark brown hair was pulled into a side ponytail. Friendship bracelets woven by her friends adorned both wrists. She wore tight black pants with neon-colored leg warmers that were all the rage these days. Her baggy fluorescent pink T-shirt, which was the same color as her leg warmers, was knotted on one side. She might not dance anymore, but it was impossible to miss her dancer’s legs in those tight pants. Dal did his best not to notice.

  “Morning, Nonna.” Lena gave Nonna a hug before sliding into a chair at the table. She elbowed Dal. “You look like you got a good night’s sleep.”

  He elbowed her back. “Were you planning to walk to school today?”

  She grinned good-naturedly at him before filling her plate with food.

  Anton had the same dark brown hair as his twin sister. Sheathed in his letterman’s jacket, he sauntered into the kitchen and made straight for the food.

  “What, no kiss for your grandmother today? You gettin’ too good for us now?” Nonna waved a butter knife in Anton’s direction.

  Anton made a show of rolling his eyes as he obediently kissed Nonna’s cheek.

  “Did that group confirm their reservation?” Leo asked his father. These days, his friend was all business.

  Mr. Cecchino nodded. “Group of eight. They’ll arrive on Friday. We need to go to the cabin to get things cleaned up.”

  A silent current of relief ran through the breakfast table. No one said anything, but everyone knew a hunting party of eight was a good thing. On top of helping his dad with the apple farm, Leo ran guided hunting trips on the family property. They supplemented the depressed prices of apples.

  “We’ll go up this afternoon after we get finished in the orchard.” Leo slid a narrow-eyed look of irritation at his younger brother. “You can help. I’ll pick you up after school.”

  “What?” Anton was indignant. “You know I have practice.”

  “Please.” Leo rolled his eyes with disgust. “You need to focus on real-world stuff, not high school games.”

  Said the former high school star quarterback and football captain. Dal exchanged a look with Lena before shifting his attention to his food, silently preparing himself for the inevitable argument between the two brothers.

  “High school games?” Anton’s voice went up several decibels. “You didn’t think it was a simple game when you were team captain senior year.”

  “I’ve grown up since then,” Leo replied. He ignored Lena’s abrupt coughing fit. “Football was a distraction. I—”

  “You’re such a hypocrite. Just because you messed up your arm and lost your scholarship—”

  “That was for the best,” Leo said coldly. “Football was a childish dream. I should have been focused on important things, like helping Dad grow our hunting business. That’s what puts food on this table.”

  “Oh, now you’re a business expert? You—”

  “Enough.” Mr. Cecchino silenced the argument with a single word. “Anton goes to football practice. We’ll head up to the cabin when he gets home. There’s enough work in the orchard to keep us busy until then.”

  Anton flipped a piece of toast in the air, throwing a look of triumph at Leo. Leo narrowed an angry scowl at his little brother before returning to his breakfast.

  Dal suppressed a sad sigh. This angry version of Leo had been in place ever since Jennifer dumped him and Mrs. Cecchino had died. Both had happened at the end of their senior year, two-and-a-half-years ago
. It all happened right before Leo was supposed to head off to Cal Berkley with a full-ride football scholarship. His life had been turned upside down in a matter of weeks and he’d never fully recovered from it.

  “Well.” Nonna added a slather of apple jam to her toast. “I for one am excited about the hunting group. I’ve been working on some new recipes.”

  “Your recipes don’t need work, Nonna,” Lena said. “Everyone loves your beef stew.”

  “Who wants to make the same thing all the time?” Nonna replied. “That gets boring. I’m going to make venison stew one of the nights.”

  “Venison?” Leo frowned at Nonna. “Beef stew is everyone’s favorite.”

  “They’ll get beef stew,” Nonna said. “But they’ll get venison stew, too. We’ve got that buck in the freezer that needs to be eaten.”

  Tension leached out of the table as Nonna continued to rattle out the details of the things she planned to cook for the hunting group.

  Dal was just polishing off the last of his eggs when Lena leaned in his direction.

  “Do you have class in Rossi this afternoon?”

  Even though Lena’s voice had been pitched for his ears, talk at the table immediately ceased. Everyone looked at Lena.

  “What’s in Rossi?” Nonna said.

  “Got a hot date?” Anton asked.

  “Please,” Lena scoffed. She popped a piece of bacon into her mouth. “There’s an anti-nuke rally in the downtown plaza.”

  “God.” Anton rolled his eyes. “You and your stupid anti-nuke stuff.”

  Lena’s hackles went up. “Mom didn’t think it was stupid. She knew the Russians might make their move any day.”

  “It’ll never happen,” Anton proclaimed. “We’d turn their whole country into a nuclear waste zone if they ever tried.”

  “Have you even read the news?” Lena stabbed a finger at the pile of newspapers stacked on the empty chair at the head of the table. That had been Mrs. Cecchino’s chair before cancer had taken her. “Our president is making jokes about dropping nukes on Russia. Chernenko is dying. Gobachev is next in line, and he—!”