Zommunist Invasion by Picott, Camille (ebook reader ink TXT) 📗

“What if your parents aren’t in there?” he whispered.

Tate didn’t look at him. “They are.”

“But what if they aren’t?”

Tate turned a narrow-eyed gaze on him. Anton almost didn’t recognize his friend.

“If they aren’t in the jail, then we keep looking until we find them.”

Anton studied the scene. What would Leo do?

His brother had called this a suicide mission. There was a reason he wasn’t here.

Screw that, Anton chided himself. He and Tate could figure this out. They’d helped Leo take on the Russians in Hillsberg. They could do this. They—

“Oh, shit,” he breathed.

“What?” Tate demanded.

Anton grabbed his rifle. Resting the butt on his shoulder, he peered through the scope for a better view. He scanned the nearest section of the perimeter, following the flood of lights.

There. On the edge of the fencing was a hydraulic lift, the platform raised above the lights. The top of of the lift was smudged with shadow, but Anton had keen vision.

He’d always taken pride in his eyesight. Tonight was the first time he’d ever wished he was as blind as a bat.

“What is it?” Tate hissed beside him.

Anton didn’t answer. His mouth was too dry. He couldn’t take his eyes off the two figures who had been lashed to the top of the lift.

It was Mr. and Mrs. Craig. Their legs splayed out in front of them, their arms secured to the back of the lift. Even half obscured by darkness, Anton recognized them. It was impossible to tell if they were dead or alive.

He heard Tate shift as he raised his own machine gun to look down the scope. Anton knew the moment his friend spotted his parents. Tate jerked, nearly dropping his gun. Breath rasped in and out of his nose.

“No fucking way.” Tate’s voice was strained.

Anton heard the tears that threatened to explode. Emotions raged within his own chest.

“No fucking way,” Tate said again. “We have to get them down. We—” He started back toward the ladder.

Anton’s stomach flip-flopped. He grabbed Tate by the shoulder and spun him around. “We can’t go down there, man.”

Tate blinked at him in confusion. “What are you talking about? Mom and Dad are—”

Anton felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. “It’s a trap run.”

“What the fuck, man? This isn’t a football game,” Tate said, referring to Anton’s use to the phrase trap run. “Those are my parents down there—”

“Tate, we can’t go down there.” Was this how Leo felt when they watched the KGB drive off with the Craigs? When he’d faced Tate and told him they could do nothing for them?

For the first time, Anton had an inkling of what it must have been like for Leo. Maybe his brother wasn’t such an asshole after all.

“Are you saying we should leave them?” Tate’s incredulous expression morphed into one of rage.

“It’s a trap, man,” Anton said. If Tate wasn’t such a wreck, he would see that. Anton was no genius, not by a long shot, but even he could see it was a trap. “Why else would they put them up there? It’s a trap to catch the Snipers. They probably have their own snipers in the buildings nearby.”

As soon as the words were out of is mouth, he dropped into a crouch and peered around. Were they being watched right now? What the fuck had they been thinking?

Surely if they were in the crosshairs of a Soviet sniper, they’d already be dead. Dread filled Anton’s stomach as he scanned the nearby buildings.

As though to prove a point, Tate remained standing. “You’re being paranoid. They don’t even know we’re here—”

“Get down,” Anton hissed.

Tate glared at him, but dropped into a crouch.

“The KGB suspected your parents had a connection to the Snipers,” Anton said. “Your parents are bait. For us.”

It was the only explanation. Why else would Mr. and Mrs. Craig be on display for all to see on the edge of the Soviet compound? They should be locked up in a KGB prison cell.

“We have the uniforms.” Tate tugged on his Soviet fatigues for emphasis. Even in the darkness, the star, sickle, and hammer were bright. “The whole point of getting these was so we could infiltrate.”

“The whole point in getting them was for camouflage,” Anton argued. “They aren’t going to save us if we walk straight into their trap. We’ll be made in seconds if anyone tries to speak to us.”

“You’re saying we should just leave my parents up there to be eaten by crows?” Tate stabbed a finger in the direction of the lift.

“I’m saying …” Anton’s throat went dry as emotion threatened to overcome him. “I’m saying we’re going to end up dead or in a KGB cell if we go down there.”

The look Tate gave him was like nothing Anton had ever seen. He’d been by Tate’s side when Jim had been killed in battle against the Soviets. This was different. There was no grief, only rage. Tate’s eyes burned with fevered fury. He looked ready to dismantle the Russian occupation zone with his bare hands.

“Fine. We’ll just turn our backs and abandon my parents.” Tate stormed over to the ladder and disappeared over the side.

They didn’t even know if Tate’s parents were still alive. For all they knew, it could be two dead bodies on top of that lift.

Anton kept his mouth shut. Pointing that out would help nothing.

As he dropped back to the ground in the alleyway, Anton laid a hand on Tate’s shoulder. “Look man, I’m sorry. I really am. I know—”

Tate’s fist came out of nowhere, striking Anton hard in the side of the jaw. He reeled backward, trying to make sense of the attack when Tate punched him a second time. This time, the blow landed near his temple.

Anton staggered and fell to his knees. The world dipped and swayed. “Tate, what—?”

“Go home, man.” Tate loomed in front of him.

The world still spun. Anton raised his hands in feeble defense. When Tate hit him a third time, he dropped