Adam groaned as Anton and Leo flipped him over. His limbs were loose from the grappa.
“This is just a scrape,” Nonna told him. “You’ll be fine. I’ve seen much worse.”
Nonna never spoke about her childhood in Italy during World War II. Leo resolved to ask her about it. Someday. When he wasn’t busy holding down the ankles of a teenage boy on the kitchen table.
“There. He’ll be fine.” Nonna made the last snip of her scissors. Across the front and back of Adam’s shoulder were neat lines of stitches. Nonna poured the grappa over the skin, washing away the last of the blood. Then she grabbed a roll of gauze out of the first aid kit. “Help him sit up, boys.”
Leo and Anton could do very few things without arguing. This moment turned out to be no exception.
“Leave his feet on the table,” Leo snapped as Anton attempted to rotate the teenage linebacker.
“It will be easier for him to sit if his legs are over the side.”
“Don’t you know anything? You have to keep legs elevated when someone is hurt.”
“What are you talking about? His—”
“Boys.” Nonna’s voice cracked. “Sit him up. Now.”
Anton grudgingly moved beside Leo. They levered Adam into a sitting position.
Nonna wrapped the wound in gauze. When she finished, Leo and Anton moved Adam to the sofa in the living room.
There was a brief moment of silence. Anton and Leo stared at one another. The weight of the Soviet attack hung between them.
“Dad said to get to the cabin,” Leo said at last. “Pack a bag. We leave in twenty.”
Anton nodded. “I’ll tell Nonna.” He paused, halfway back to the kitchen. “What about Adam, Lars, and Bruce?”
Leo hesitated. “We take them with us.”
Twenty minutes later, they loaded a half-conscious Adam into the cab of the pickup truck. Nonna sat in the front with him, a small suitcase between her feet.
Anton, Bruce, and Lars headed into the back with all the gear. It was packed full of supplies for the hunt: plenty of guns, ammo, food, and camping supplies.
Lars’s foot slipped on his first attempt to climb up the back. Leo grabbed the back of his shirt to keep him from landing on his ass.
“You okay, man?”
Lars blinked. His eyes were red. His skin was pale and damp with perspiration. “I feel like shit,” he muttered.
That’s when Leo noticed the puckering welts along the back of Lars’s neck. It’s where the Russian darts had hit him. The edges of the wound were black with the beginning of an infection.
Leo weighed the wisdom of telling Lars what he saw. He decided to keep the information to himself until they reached the cabin. They couldn’t do anything for him until they got there anyway.
Anton sprang into the back of the truck, holding out a hand to Lars. “Come on, man.”
Lars grasped his hand and let Anton help him up. He sprawled on top of the gear bags, groaning.
“What’s wrong with him?” Bruce asked, frowning as he settled into place.
“He’ll be fine.” Leo hopped into the cab and fired up the truck. “You guys ready back there?”
Anton slapped his hand on the top of the cab. “We’re good. Roll out, man.”
Chapter 6Invasion
DAL WAS JUST ENTERING the Rossi junior college campus when he saw the first armed soldier. Dressed in military fatigues, the man stepped out of a sleek Greyhound bus at the front of campus. He moved onto the vast lawn area between the street and the classrooms, a weapon in either hand. The students lounging on the grass didn’t give him a second thought.
Dal was the only one who stopped dead at the sight of him. Unease hit him, a persistent tug deep in his belly. The same feeling overcame him throughout his childhood. It was a sensation that preceded one of his father’s violent rages. Dal had long ago learned not to question the feeling.
Once, in his senior year, he’d woken in the middle of the night bathed in a cold sweat. Dread had settled in the pit of his stomach. Unable to sleep, he’d crept through the apple orchards back to his parents’ house.
He’d found his mom asleep on the porch, locked out of the house. She was curled up in the thin blanket his father gave her when she was “bad.”
He’d wanted to go to her, to help her. To get her the hell away from his father.
But she didn’t want his help. Leave him alone, Dallas, do you hear me?
She’d been the one who’d kicked him out of the house for trying to protect her. How dare you hit your father. Get out, Dallas! Get out and don’t ever come back!
A second armed soldier stepped out of the Greyhound. Then another, and another, and another.
Logic told Dal they were probably just regular US Army guys. Everyone knew President Reagan was beefing up the military in case they went to war against Russia. Maybe these guys were here to recruit kids from the campus. Maybe.
Whatever the case, the physical sensation in the pit of his stomach told him something was off. He didn’t know what it meant, just that something was wrong.
The protective instincts of his childhood kicked in. He turned on his heel and hurried back the way he had come. His only thought was to get back to his car.
When he heard the first gunshot, he flattened himself to the ground. Screams assaulted his ears. A glance over his shoulder showed him students streaming away from the lawn area. The soldiers moved into their midst, opening fire.
Dal didn’t wait to see more. He crawled around the corner of a building. Out of sight of the soldiers, he jumped to his feet and sprinted toward the parking lot.
Lena. Her name flashed through his brain. Lena.
He had to get to her. She was at the rally, exposed in the open with no one to watch her back.
Green flashed in his periphery. He looked up to
