Zommunist Invasion Box Set | Books 1-3 Read online

  Zommunist Invasion

  Books 1 - 3

  Camille Picott

  Contents

  Red Virus

  Prologue

  1. Breakfast

  2. Apples

  3. Ex-Ballerina

  4. Charter Bus

  5. Triage

  6. Invasion

  7. Pole Mountain

  8. Two Trucks

  9. Streets of Rossi

  10. Radio Station

  11. Inoculation

  12. Broadcast

  13. Detour

  14. Domestic Violence

  15. Visitor

  16. Inhuman

  17. Poker

  18. Reanimated

  19. Rage

  20. Campus

  21. Nezhit

  22. Trapped

  23. Neighbors

  24. Ambush

  25. Sniper

  26. Rising Dead

  27. Horses

  28. Homeward

  29. Dance

  30. Homecoming

  31. Plan

  32. Cookbook

  33. Apology

  34. Fifth Grade

  35. Bastopol High

  36. Choices

  37. Hammer to Fall

  38. Statue of Liberty

  39. Guy’s Electronic Superstore

  40. Time’s Up

  41. Deejay Sniper

  42. Kill Box

  43. Touchdown

  44. Antenna

  45. Not Special

  46. Not Forgotten

  Author’s Note

  Join the Zombie Recon Team

  Acknowledgments

  Snipers

  1. Options

  2. Round-Up

  3. Plan

  4. Sneak Attack

  5. Bad Plan

  6. Jock Face

  7. Mutant

  8. Resistance

  9. Chessboard

  10. Terms

  11. Spies

  12. Chess Club

  13. Decoy

  14. Trade

  15. Lesson

  16. Gordon Gambit

  17. Hillsberg

  18. Five Moves

  19. Forks

  20. Sisters

  21. Snipers

  22. Forever

  23. Breakfast

  24. Bases

  25. Crash

  26. Rescue

  27. Airstream

  28. News

  29. Soldiers

  30. Photos

  31. Change of Plans

  32. Road to Westville

  33. Adventure Depot

  34. Bridge

  35. Bohemian Grove

  36. Tell Me Something

  37. Flight

  38. Upstream

  39. To Die A Hero

  40. Battledress

  41. Overlook

  42. Asters

  43. Infected

  44. Change of Plan

  45. Zugzwang

  46. Drive-In

  47. Trade

  48. Petals

  49. Black Knight

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Scattered

  I. Mission to Rossi

  1. Riders

  2. Damn Good

  3. Into Rossi

  4. Bodies

  5. Trap Run

  6. Bars

  7. Cigarettes

  8. Darkness

  9. Broken

  10. Family

  11. Alarm

  12. Doctor

  13. Tank

  14. Outbound

  II. Fifteen Miles

  15. Plan

  16. Mrs. Fink

  17. Bird of Prey

  18. Sample

  19. Log

  20. Boulder

  21. Ants

  22. Slog

  23. Possibility

  24. Trap

  25. New Zombie

  26. Home

  III. Survivors

  27. Snow

  28. Pink

  29. Practice

  30. Princess of Power

  31. The Boy with the Painted Face

  32. Shoes

  33. Absence

  34. A Brother Like You

  35. Footprints

  36. Exposed

  37. Memory

  38. Waiting

  39. Attack

  40. Apocalyptic Princess of Power

  41. Engines

  IV. Family

  42. Grandson

  43. Mirror

  44. Toughest Girl in the Village

  45. Microscope

  46. Weird

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Join the Zombie Recon Team

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Red Virus

  Book 1 of Zommunist Invasion

  Copyright © 2020 by Camille Picott

  www.camillepicott.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  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.”

  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 janitorial 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 ja
cket, he sauntered into the kitchen and made straight for the food.