He grabbed his knife and charged. He buried the blade in the man’s back. The man tipped over and collapsed.
Fury pumped through him. Lena. This asshole had tried to hurt Lena.
The rage inside his body was like an inferno. Dal couldn’t control himself. He stabbed the man over, and over, and over again.
Something barreled into him from the side. Lena. The force of her body rocked him sideways.
It was enough to snap the spell. He tumbled sideways into the dirt beneath the apple trees. He lay there, panting, with Lena sprawled out on top of him.
He forced himself to release the knife. When he raised his hand, he found it coated with blood. His eyes jerked to the Russian.
The man was dead, his back and chest a bloody mess. Dal wanted to shred the bastard with his bare hands.
“Dal.” Lena held his face between her hands, eyes searching.
Their eyes mat. Dal felt sick. All the rage and fury boiling inside him drained away in an instant. All that was left was shame.
Shame that he had inherited the worst imaginable trait from his father. Shame that Lena had seen it.
And not just once. How many times had he lost his temper in the last twenty-four hours? This invasion was bringing out the worst in him.
He felt sick. He extricated himself, turning his back when Lena tried to put her arms around him.
She deserved better. Mr. Cecchino wouldn’t want a monster for his daughter.
He wiped his bloody fist on the pant leg of his jeans. The face of the slack Russian loomed large in his periphery. Dal didn’t—couldn’t—look directly at the damage he’d done, but he saw the mash of red from the corner of his eye.
He was a monster, no different from the nezhit. The asshole had been down as soon as Dal sank his knife into his back. There had been no need to keep stabbing him.
There had never been a need for his father to beat him or his mom, but he did it anyway.
“We have to go.” Lena dragged him toward the bikes. “I don’t think they heard us, but sooner or later someone is going to come looking for this guy.”
She was right. Dal numbly climbed onto his bike, careful not to look at her.
“Dal?”
He pushed his feet against the pedals, racing away through the dark.
Chapter 35Bastopol High
BASTOPOL HIGH.
Leo and his team pedaled silently toward the school. The cream stucco walls rose up before them. Nearby were the bleachers and football field.
Leo inhaled the familiar scent of the turf. It filled his nostrils, but mixed with it was the tang of death. There were bodies everywhere, both dead and undead. He could almost imagine the zombies scuttling around on the field were football players, not murdered teenagers. Almost.
It had been a bloodbath here.
The lost days of his youth came rushing back to him. Leo could almost reach out and touch the boy he had been. Eighteen years old and madly in love with the captain of the cheerleading squad. Eighteen years old and on top of the world with a football scholarship and a bright future. Eighteen years old with a mom still alive.
It was like looking at a stranger. The world had sculpted him into a new man.
For the first time, Leo was able to look at the lost version of himself without bitterness. They had been good days. He didn’t regret having lived them. Not for a second.
“I’ve been wondering about something.” Anton rode up beside him. “What were you doing there? At the field, I mean. When the Russians attacked. Practice wasn’t over. You weren’t due to arrive for at least another hour.”
“I like watching you play.” Leo briefly met his brother’s gaze. “Sometimes I came early to watch.”
“But I never saw you.”
“I know. I watched from underneath the bleachers.”
Anton’s eyes widened in surprise. Leo pedaled faster, pulling ahead. He didn’t mind confessing to Anton, but that didn’t mean he wanted to draw out the moment.
He stopped when they were fifty yards from the school. He waited for the others to catch up with him.
“You all know the plan,” Leo said. “Anton and Bruce attack from the bleachers. Jim and Tate from the cafeteria. Jennifer and I have the theater building. At two-oh-five, start throwing bombs. At two-ten, get the hell out of here. We rendezvous at the Goldschmidt apple orchard.”
He paused, remembering the times he’d spent in the Goldschmidt orchard. It had been a popular party spot back in high school. The owner lived in Colorado and only visited occasionally, leaving the land open for high school adventure and mischief.
Leo had his first taste of alcohol beneath those trees, courtesy of Jim. It was the first place he’d kissed Jennifer.
He glanced in her direction and found her looking at him. From the soft smile on her lips, he knew she was remembering their times in the orchard. They had been good times.
“We wait in the orchard until two-forty. Then we ride back to the cabin. If someone doesn’t show ...” He couldn’t finish the sentence. “We clear out and ride back to the cabin at two-forty. Dal and Lena will meet us at home. Everyone ready?” He scanned the faces of his companions, fixing their faces in his mind.
Jennifer was the first to move. “Let’s go.”
They left their bikes outside the school and dispersed, breaking into their separate teams.
Jennifer fell into step beside Leo. “How far we’ve come, Leo Cecchino,” she said. “Former high school homecoming king and queen turned guerrilla soldiers.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Sounds like a bad movie when you say it like that.”
“It is a bad movie, don’t you think?”
He tightened his grip on his rifle. “Yeah. Pretty fucking bad.”
His boot touched the blacktop of Bastopol High. The back of the science wing was in front of them. There were
