He’d never shot a Russian before, either, but he’d shot plenty of wild pigs. Killing Russians couldn’t be that different.
Grabbing Lena’s hand, he let her out of the alleyway at a dead run.
Chapter 7Pole Mountain
ADJOINING THE CECCHINO apple farm were two hundred acres of wilderness. Grandpa Cecchino had believed in investing in land, even if said land had been too steep and hilly to convert into apple orchards. “Land is the only thing you can’t make more of,” he used to say.
The steep, forested hillsides were covered with oak, manzanita, madrone, and bay leaf trees. Between the trees were clearings of yellow grass and late-summer wildflowers.
Leo had grown up hunting in these woods with his family. Between deer and wild pigs, they kept the family freezers stocked with meat.
That’s where Leo had gotten the idea to start offering guided hunts on the family land. After he lost the football scholarship senior year—which had been the same time apple prices took a hit in the market—he started running ads in newspapers up and down Northern California. They’d only done a dozen or so guided trips every year, but every one of them had been successful and lucrative.
The “cabin,” as the family called it, was an old converted lookout station built in the early nineteen hundreds. Its original function had been a wildfire lookout tower. It sat on the tallest hill in the county, known as Pole Mountain, and was in the heart of the Cecchino property.
The cabin sat on stilts. It had been a single room that Grandpa Cecchino had expanded over the years. It now boasted two bedrooms, a bathroom, a small kitchen, and sitting room. Each of the bedrooms had three bunk beds, meaning they had enough beds for twelve people. A lot of their hunting customers preferred camping and would pitch tents outside, but plenty of them used the bunk rooms, too.
The road to the cabin wasn’t easy to find. It was at the very back of the apple orchard, the entrance hidden behind several large bay trees that had fallen down a hillside in a heavy rain a few years ago. Even if a person knew where to look, the living trees shielded the rest of the road from sight.
Leo switched into four-wheel drive as he steered the truck up the twenty-percent grade. The road up to Pole Mountain was seven miles long and uphill almost the entire way.
The land fell away around them as he navigated the dirt road, doing his best to avoid the potholes and long channels made by rain water. The sun was low in the horizon, bathing the land in lavender and yellow light. Frogs and other evening insects were already out, filling the air with forest sounds.
It was odd to think that less than fifteen miles away, a different world existed. A world under attack by Russians. What was going on in the rest of the country? How big was the attack? Was the US Army on its way?
“Those fuckers,” Lars said, voice drifting on through the open window of the back cab. “They can’t get away with this.”
Leo slid a glance over at his grandmother. She didn’t tolerate bad language. Her mouth tightened, but to his surprise, she didn’t reprimand Lars. Leo took this as a bad sign.
“They won’t get away with this,” Anton said. “This is America. People don’t get away with attacking us.”
“Did Bruce manage to get in touch with any of your parents?” Leo called. There had been so much commotion that he’d lost track of the kid’s attempts to make phone calls.
“No one answered,” Bruce said. “Every line was busy. It was like the phones were disconnected or something.”
Leo didn’t say anything. Bruce, Lars, and Adam all lived in town, within walking distance of Bastopol High.
“Do you think I should have tried to get back to my house?” Lars asked.
“It was war zone in town.” Leo didn’t say that Lars likely wouldn’t have survived a trip back into town. “Your parents would want you to be safe.”
No one said anything after that, a subdued air settling over them. Leo thought of Lena and Dal in Rossi. And his dad, driving into the city to find them both.
“We need a radio.” Anton banged on the cab with his fist. “Leo! Turn on the radio. See if you can find out what’s going on.”
Nonna, who hadn’t said a word since they left the farm, leaned forward and flicked on the radio. She turned up the volume so Anton and the boys in the back could hear. The monotone blare of the emergency broadcast system washed over them.
“This is a message from the emergency broadcast system. All systems are down. This is a message from the emergency broadcast system. All systems are down.”
Nonna spent the next five minutes turning the dial, trying to find a live station.
Nothing. It was either static or the emergency broadcast message on repeat.
Leo exchanged a tight look with his grandmother as she switched off the radio. This wasn’t good.
The boys in the back must have been thinking the same thing.
“Shit,” Lars breathed. “We are so fucked.”
Anton socked him in the shoulder. “Don’t say that. We’re the fucking United States. Those Soviet rat bastards can’t get the better of us.”
“Language!” Nonna snapped.
“Sorry,” Anton said. “We are the darn United States. No one can mess with us.”
It was big talk. Leo wished he felt it. Inside, all he felt was dread.
He thought back to the last few years when their mom had been alive. She went through the newspaper every day, combing it for anything that had to do with Russia and the Cold War. She kept an envelope full of clippings.
Shortly before she was diagnosed with cancer, she’d purchased the Russian language tapes. “If the Russians make a move, this family will be ready,” their mom had said. “At least one person in this household will know how to speak
