The fucking Russians were turning people into zombies.
Except these zombies weren’t exactly like the ones in the movies. The shambling things depicted in George Romero movies looked like caricatures of these freakishly fast monsters with black-veined faces and bloodshot eyes.
The one thing these Russian zombies had in common with George Romero’s was the fact that they were driven to bite. Dal could have done without that detail. He tried not to think of the chubby kid who’d been bitten on the front lawn of the college.
The newly risen dead girl fell into step with her new pack. The group moved off at a lope, disappearing around a building. Only the one attacking the tree remained. It was still going apeshit over the squirrel which, as far as Dal could tell, had disappeared.
He made eye contact with Lena. He saw understanding in her eyes, but not surprise. She’d known. She’d probably overheard it in the quad when they’d eavesdropped on the Russians. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to stop and explain. How the hell was a person supposed to explain that dead bodies in the street might soon walk again?
Lena flicked a hand at him, indicating they should move. Staying in a low crouch, they scurried past the picnic benches. Twenty feet away was a metal trash can. They ducked behind it just as the squirrel zombie spun around, scanning the immediate area.
Lena pressed up against the side of the can. Dal was stacked right behind her, the transmitter heavy on his shoulders.
He strained his ears. The zombie boy continued to growl, but didn’t come in their direction. After a minute, he resumed his assault on the tree trunk.
Lena pointed. Fifty yards away was the next closest building.
A lot could go wrong in fifty yards.
Dal scanned the area one last time, making sure no other zombies were in sight. He hitched his thumbs into the straps of the backpack to adjust the transmitter.
Lena gave him the thumbs up and counted down on her fingers. When she got to one, they were off and running.
They were almost to the safety of the building when the squirrel nezhit noticed them.
He let out a howl and tore himself away from the tree. He charged at them like a demonic dog, barking up a storm.
“Go, Dal!” Lena swung around and lifted the machine gun. “Get the transmitter out of here!”
Oh, hell no. Dal stayed glued to her side. He’d promised Mr. Cecchino that he’d take care of Lena.
He and Lena opened fire as the zombie bore down on them. He moved with incredible speed. Bullets ripped up his body and into his head. The force sent him sprawling to the ground. He lay there, fingers scratching at the concrete as he died.
Dal and Lena resumed running. They reached the safety of the building just as another group of four zombies raced into the small quad. No doubt they’d been drawn by the gunfire and the barking of their fellow nezhit.
Dal and Lena cut past the social science building, around the fine arts department, then hit the edge of the road that separated the classrooms from the sports fields and ag area. The parking lot was on the north side of the field.
They’d taken two steps into the road when Dal saw movement in the corner of his eye. He spotted a group of Soviet soldiers. He grabbed Lena’s shoulder and hauled her back into the safety of the building.
“Russians,” he whispered.
“Where?”
“Parking lot.” The very parking lot they’d been targeting for a car.
They cautiously looked around the corner. The street lamps in the parking lot had turned on, pouring light onto the cars.
There weren’t just a few Russians. There were dozens of them swarming all over the parking lot. They broke into cars. Some were unlocked; those that weren’t had their windows smashed. One by one, cars hummed to life.
“They’re stealing cars.” Lena’s lips were pressed into a thin line.
“Come on,” Dal said. If the Russians were busy stealing cars, they wouldn’t notice them running across the road.
“We can’t.” Lena drew back from him when he tried to lead her across the blacktop. “It’s not safe to steal a car from that lot.”
“We’re not taking a car.” Dal pointed to the ag building on the far side of the sports field.
The agriculture department of Rossi Junior College was substantial. West County was, for the most part, a rural farming community. Not only did the campus boast several large greenhouses and several plots of cropland, their program also had a livestock component. Dal had some friends—Tate and Jim Craig—who’d taken the livestock management courses.
Most importantly, Tate and Jim had taken an equine health course. The college had no less than a dozen horses.
“How do you plan to get back home without a car?” Lena demanded.
“You ready to ride a horse?” The Cecchino’s didn’t have horses, but Lena had friends with horses. She’d spent her fair share of time riding them throughout her childhood, as had Dal.
“Horses,” Lena breathed. “Good idea.”
This time, when he took her hand to lead her across the street, he met no resistance.
Chapter 27Horses
UNFORTUNATELY, THE street lamps along the road had also turned on. They kept to the darkness between the lights, hoping the Russians would be too busy with their carjacking to notice two people running for their lives.
They ducked down beside a white El Camino parked next to the entrance of the baseball field.
“We’ll go around the back of the bleachers,” Dal said.
They dashed away from the car, across the sidewalk, and over the gravel that led behind the baseball bleachers. They slowed to a fast walk to catch their breath.
“I have to tell you something,” Lena said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you and Dad earlier.”
“Is it something you overhead from the Russians?”
Lena’s face was solemn. “It’s about the infected.”
“I already know. They’re zombies.”
“That’s part of it.” Lena eyes were large in the dark. “But there’s more. It’s a bioweapon that’s making them sick. A
