“It does if they want to spread mayhem,” Dal replied. “Or disease.”
Booming laughter drifted through the dining room. Dal’s muscles went rigid with fear. The voice came from inside the Cantina. The distinct thud of boots on wooden stairs accompanied the laughter.
The Russians on the second floor. They were coming downstairs.
His eyes darted, gauging their chances of making it across the dining room and out one of the busted windows. They might be able to make it, but there were Soviets just outside. He didn’t want to risk getting shot with the darts.
Lena, still with a death grip on his arm, yanked him sideways. They sank up against the wall in the shadow of the speakers.
Boots crunched on broken glass. Dal glimpsed the flash of several uniforms as Russians entered the dining room. His hands flexed around his stolen machine gun. He didn’t like the odds of trying to shoot their way free, but if that was their only option he wouldn’t hesitate.
The same voice from the megaphone spoke, filling the room with a deep baritone. He sounded like he spoke with a megaphone even when he didn’t have one. Dal realized he must have been addressing the crowd from the second floor of the restaurant.
“He’s asking for a drink,” Lena whispered in his ear.
Dal blinked, once again impressed that she could understand the words so well.
There was more talk from the dining room and the scurrying of boots. Dal tried to focus on the words. He kept hearing the word nezhit. Lena’s eyes were unfocused as she listened. Her lips moved without sound as the Russians conversed. Glasses clinked, like they were toasting their success. Laughter followed.
The sound made Dal’s blood boil. He’d never considered joining the military, but at that moment he would have signed his name on enlistment papers with his own blood.
Dal tracked the sound of boots on broken glass. Someone moved in their direction.
To his horror, one of the communist bastards sat on the edge of the stage. The boards creaked under the soldier’s weight.
Dal risked a glimpse around the edge of the speaker with one eye. Lena yanked him back, but not before he caught sight of the broad back displaying the red star, sickle, and hammer.
All he wanted to do was lay into the bastard with his machine gun. Only Lena kept him in check. He couldn’t do anything that would put her in jeopardy.
The Russians talked for a few more minutes, laughing and enjoying their drinks.
And then they left. One second they were there. The next, they dropped empty glasses onto a table and strode out. Dal listened to the sound of their footsteps recede, then disappear altogether.
He and Lena remained where they were, frozen in place.
“You okay?” He gave her a soft squeeze.
Lena ignored him. “Nezhit.” She said the words several times to herself, as though tasting it on her tongue.
“What does it mean?” Dal asked. Of all the things the Russians had said, it was the only word that stuck in his brain. Something in the way they had said it made his skin crawl.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I need my Russian dictionary. But it has something to do with the red dart. They called it a virus. A nezhit virus.”
“What else did they say?”
“You know how those soldiers in the radio station said they’re taking over all the radio and TV stations?”
“Yeah.”
“Apparently, they’ve been tasked with taking over all broadcasting stations on the west coast.”
Dal’s mouth went dry. “The entire west coast?”
“Yeah.”
Soviets were famous for their propaganda campaigns. It was a known fact they lied and terrorized their own people. Now they were going to use American broadcast stations to do the same thing here.
But the entire west coast? How widespread was this attack? Were Soviets all over the county, or just on the west coast? What was the government doing? If they were aware of the attack, surely they’d be readying nukes by now. Maybe they’d already fired on Russia.
Dal shook himself. He had more immediate concerns. Nukes were definitely above his pay grade.
“Come on.” He rose slowly, checking the dining room to be sure it was clear. “Let’s go find your dad.”
Chapter 12Broadcast
“I’VE GOT SOMETHING,” Anton yelled.
Leo dropped his box of food on the steps and rushed into the cabin. His little brother crouched in front of the coffee table, fiddling with the dial of their small portable radio. It was the one their father used to listen to baseball games.
Up until now, nothing but the monotone blare of the emergency broadcast system sounded on all stations. As Leo charged into the cabin, a familiar voice filled his ears.
“I’m broadcasting live from KZSQ in Rossi, California. West County is under attack by Soviet forces. Repeat, West County, California, is under attack by Soviet forces. Russians arrived in Greyhound busses. They’re dressed in fatigues with the Soviet star, sickle, and hammer on the back. Many of them have machine guns, but they’re also armed with dart guns. They’re shooting people with darts. At this time it is unknown what substance is in the darts. Avoid the Russians at all costs. Use extreme caution if leaving the area. If you have the means, board up your doors and windows. Keep your guns loaded. Protect your families.” A long pause. And then: “America isn’t going to stand for this shit. Kill any communist bastard you see.”
“That’s Dallas.” Nonna stood over the coffee table, pride in her eyes as she stared at the radio. “That’s our Dallas.”
Dal’s message was looped. The family listened to it play another three times before Bruce came into the cabin with an armload of logs. At the sound of Dal’s voice, he nearly tripped in surprise before depositing the firewood next to the wood-burning stove.
“Son of a bitch.” Bruce slapped his knee.
“Language!” Nonna slapped Bruce on the back of the head.
“Ow.” Bruce frowned down at the tiny, wrinkled woman who was less than half his size.
“No foul language under this roof.”
“Sorry.”
