Mad Swine: The Beginning

by Steven Pajak

  I sat with her on the same bench overlooking the roses. At the end of each day I usually asked her how her day was, what happened at school, what she learned, what books she’d read. I asked her those questions now as I held her, and I heard her soft voice clearly in my head, answering me as she always did.

  After a while I laid her in the first grave. Her eyes were still open. I took off my gloves and using my thumbs, I closed her eyes, holding them for a moment. I kissed her on both cheeks and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Daddy loves you, cutie.”

  My voice trembled but I was determined not to break down again. I was on the border of being overwhelmed by emotions, but I still had business to attend.

  Weary in mind and body, and drained in soul, I unslung the SKS and made my way back to the rectory. This time I went to the main entrance. Instead of a normal door like you’d see at the entrance of any home, this door was glass, just like the doors to the main entrance. I did not have to break it, though. Father Thomas had left it unlocked.

  I stepped into the place. It was warm in there; that was the first thing I noticed. There was a hum from somewhere to my right. It reminded me of the old clocks in grammar school that they made a humming noise that drove you nuts when you were sitting silently in detention. I noticed a church- like smell, too, like incense.

  I’d never been beyond the lobby, so I wasn’t sure how to navigate through the place. But I didn’t need to. Father Tom seemed to materialize from the darkness beyond the doorway that led deeper into the rectory. He carried his rosary still, and he also held a small leather-bound bible between his hands.

  “I am very sorry for your loss, Mr. Danzig,” he said.

  “Come outside,” I replied, and turned. I had no doubt that he’d follow me.

  I walked to the fresh graves and stood at the foot of my daughter’s. When I looked up Father Tom stood opposite me, looking down at Katie.

  “May God have mercy on your soul, child”

  “I want you to give them last rites, Father.”

  He looked at me. “Last rites are for the dying,” he said, “not for the dead.”

  “Do it,” I said. “Just do as I ask, Father. Don’t deny me this.”

  His eyes did not waver from mine. We stared at each other for a long minute. Finally, Father Tom knelt before the grave and prayed.

  “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven, and the pains of hell; but most of all because they offended Thee, my God, Who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen.”

  “Amen,” I said and crossed myself. “Katie, Mark, I love you with all my heart. You were the best kids a dad could ask for. I’m going to be with you soon. Take care of each other. Go with God.”

  I reached down and lifted lose soil into my fist and let it fall softly onto my daughter’s chest. I did the same for Mark, Red and Ryan.

  I picked up the shovel and with trembling hands started the hard work of burying the innocent. I ground my teeth and pushed through the pain. I shoveled and shoveled until my shoulders ached and my back screamed.

  By the third grave my knees started to falter, yet from my knees I continued to fill the graves. When I could no longer lift the shovel, Father Tom put a heavy hand on my shoulder. He took the shovel and finished what I could not.

  I sat on the bench and watched as his long slender frame bent to the task. I don’t think he even broke a sweat. I sat on the cold stone, drinking greedily, finishing pints of water. After what seemed like a long time I actually began to close my eyes. I caught myself dozing and snapped my head from side to side.

  Suddenly, Father Tom sat next to me. “It is done.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  We sat on the bench for a few minutes in silence. He clutched his bible and his rosary on his lap. I sat exhausted. I couldn’t take my eyes off the four mounds of fresh earth.

  After another long moment Father Tom said, “There’s one more.”

  “Yes.” I looked at him. “It was for you.”

  He was stunned into silence.

  I stood up and shouldered the SKS.

  “It’s still yours if you want it. But I’m not going to be the one to decide your fate. I leave that to you and God.”

  I collected my go bag and stopped one more time at the four graves. “I’m so sorry,” I said to my children.

  It was almost midnight when I pulled the tarp off the John Deere riding mower, the nicer of the two that sat silently in the center of the garage. As luck would have it, the key was in the ignition. When I started it, and saw that the gas tank was full, I secured the SKS and my go bag to the back rack of the mower with heavy rubber bungees. I pushed the button that opened the garage door. It clattered and clanked and hummed as it rose.

  As I rode out of the driveway and turned east onto the access road, I saw Father Tom had not moved from the bench. His eyes remained fixed on the empty grave.

  CHAPTER 4:

  Pit Stop

  The John Deere made for good riding. The night was chilly and I certainly wasn’t dressed for it but the steady hum of the engine and the smooth ride of the well-built mower was hypnotic.

  The problem was, with a top speed of about 15 miles per hour, it was slow going. A few times I considered ditching the mower and trying to find another vehicle but most of the roads were clogged, especially the main roads, and required a smaller vehicle to navigate around. Plus it had gas and I just didn’t want to stop anywhere. I really wanted to get home and the John Deere beat walking.

  It was an exhausting day and an even more exhausting night. I never quite realized how out of shape I was until this evening. My back, neck and shoulders burned and ached. My biceps felt like jelly and my hands continuously shook even just holding the steering wheel.

  A few times I caught myself dozing off but luckily I never actually fell asleep. I was zoned out, my mind and body operating the machine on auto pilot. After about an hour of driving, I finally decided to pull over and find something in my bag to eat. I’d only reached Arlington Heights, still less than the halfway point. I chose an empty Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot to rummage through my go bag. I pulled in behind the building and selected a parking space with the best vantage point to see anything that might come at me. I situated myself within easy access of both entrance and exit in case I needed to make a speedy get-away, not that it would be too speedy on the John Deere.

  After a moment of idling nothing came to get me so I turned the mower off. My butt immediately felt numb and my torso felt weird now that the constant vibration had ceased. There were no other vehicles in the lot. There was dim illumination from inside the structure. This was obviously not a family friendly 24-hour job like most of the DD establishments were these days. Either that or the employees had pulled up stakes early and got the hell out to be with their families while whatever the hell was going on continued to go on.

  The village of Arlington Heights was quiet and that started to weird me out a bit. In the past sixteen hours I had seen more crazies than people. It seemed like everyone knew something I didn’t and they were smart enough to stay indoors.

  I found that really hard to believe. There were bound to be others, like me, away from home when this shit-storm came down and were trying to get back home. I couldn’t believe that they would all just hunker down for the night and wait while their loved ones were at home or school or God knew where else.

  I decided for the moment that the quiet was a good thing, but then I wasn’t so sure. Quiet meant no people but it also meant no crazies. Come to think of it, I expected to see more crazies in the street during my trip. I mean, in my travel from work to the kids’ school I’d encountered at least seven or eight. More if I counted those I spotted from a distance and chose to go around.

  Where the hell were they?

  I su
ppose there could have been only a certain number of these crazies that had been infected by whatever drove them crazy and they’d either all been killed or captured by civilians or LEO’s.

  But if that was the case, where were all the people? Wouldn’t they be out on the streets? Surely they’d be coming to get their cars or check on their business, right? There’d at least be people from the local government agencies picking up the bodies of both the people and the crazies, wouldn’t there? Surely there would be.

  This was all just too damn crazy. I needed to stop thinking about this shit right now. I needed to get some food into my body and then get the hell home. I’d figure out the rest of the shit later.

  Turning slightly in the seat, I unhooked the ends of the bungee cords and grabbed my go bag. It seemed heavy as hell in my weakened state. I dropped it onto the fuel hump in front of me, opened it up and started to rummage through it.

  I was completely out of water; I’d drank the last of it outside of the rectory and hadn’t been smart enough to replace it with water from the hose that was neatly rolled up in the rectory garage. As far as food, I had two MRE’s, but without water, those were pretty useless. I might find some crackers or something inside them, but not enough to sustain me.

  I’d have to raid the Dunkin’ Donuts. I felt bad about it but I’d leave enough money to cover whatever I took. If I had enough I’d leave extra cash to cover the lock or window or door I’d have to break to get inside.

  Reaching behind me again, I snagged up the SKS. I opened the bottom of the fixed magazine and dumped out all of the rounds onto my lap. I pulled back the bolt and also removed the loaded round. I took a quick count; eight rounds. I replaced all eight and then grabbed two of the loose rounds from earlier that I stored in my pocket and added two more to make the magazine full. I disengaged the bolt and then pulled it back and released it to load a round. The safety was already disengaged. My finger was my safety for the time being.

  I dismounted the mower and stood on shaky legs. They, too, felt as numb as my ass. Pins and needles burst all over, especially in the back of my thighs. I had to just stand a moment while my blood got re-circulated and my leg muscles became re-accustomed to holding my body weight.

  When I felt ready enough to move I took my bag, slung the strap over my head and put one arm through. I carried it on my left side so that I could easily dip in for more ammo if that became necessary. I didn’t think I’d need to, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Also, I’d be able to drop food and drinks into it once I got inside.

  I approached the rear door. It was orange-pink in the dim light and was made of steel. Most of the lock housing was covered by a steel plate and only the key hole showed through. I had no tool that I could use to punch it out and I didn’t want to take a chance on shooting it out; I didn’t want the sound of the gunshot attracting any attention. Also, it was such a small target I feared I might miss and have the bullet ricochet.

  I moved around to the right, passed the drive through window—which proved to be locked when I pushed it a little with my left hand—and the main door. It was locked, too, but it was made of glass and I could easily get through that, same as I did at the school. But again, that would cause a lot of noise and make a big mess.

  I went back to the drive through window and studied that for a minute. It was pneumatic, so it operated through electricity and air. It was secured with a small metal bar that swung down on a hinge and latched between two handles. There was a very small gap between the two doors where the rubber weather strip did not quite seal. If I could get the edge of my knife in there, I could probably pry it open.

  I set the SKS against the side of the brick building and searched around for my LaRue tactical knife. I found it near the bottom. I removed the knife from the sheath but before I even tried it I could see the blade was going to be too thick to fit between the two doors. I tried it anyway and proved myself right. I put the knife away and went to plan B, my Gerber multi-tool.

  Although the multi-tool was much thinner and would definitely fit, I was worried that it might not be able to handle the pressure that might be needed to lift the metal bar. I would find out soon enough, though.

  I opened the saw blade as it was the thickest of the edged tools and would probably take the greatest licking. I locked it into place with the slide lock and dipped it in between the two windows. It fit great. Even better, the small pronged tip at the end caught perfectly under the metal bar and I was able lift it immediately with little force.

  “Yippee ki-ya mother fucker!” I said to myself, proud of my achievement. I folded the multi-tool and put it back into its black sheath. Once again, that little bad boy proved its weight in gold.

  My celebration was short-lived though when I pulled the two windows apart and the damn alarm system activated. The piercing bleet-bleet-bleet pause bleet-bleet-bleet sound of the burglar alarm scared the shit out of me and I jumped back a couple of steps and fell flat on my ass. I got up quickly and grabbed my SKS. I froze in the crouched position for a moment, stunned by the turn of events and not quite sure what to do.

  I stood now and looked around. No one had yet responded to the alarm, but it had only been a few seconds since it started. I pushed the two windows shut, hoping that the alarm would cease, but no such luck.

  “Do I go in, or leave?” I asked myself aloud.

  I turned back to the window. It would take some time to maneuver my slightly rotund body into that window. I’d have to drop the bag and the SKS in first which I really did not want to do. But I really needed food and drink.

  “Damn it, go in or leave?”

  I heard the shriek—that’s the best way I can describe the noise—to my right, coming from the street. A second shriek arose from the same direction just a second later.

  Instinctively I dropped to my left knee and turned in that direction. I spotted two of the crazies approaching quickly from the gas station across the street. I had no idea they were there; I hadn’t seen them at all when I drove past the place just minutes ago.

  They didn’t see me at first. They were just running blindly toward the sound, probably hoping to find some people that they could munch on. It wasn’t until they came up the curb that one of them saw me.

  He was a pretty big guy, about six-one and a couple of hundred pounds. His cheeks were dark with dried blood and he had blood all down the front of his Old Navy T-shirt. He didn’t miss a beat and he stepped up onto the curb and switched directions toward me. He was actually pretty graceful for a man of his size.

  I fired quickly without actually lining up a shot. His left pectoral burst as the shot struck him, spraying blood into the air. His forward motion stopped and he fell to the ground, landing on his left side.

  The woman he was with hadn’t noticed me yet, but the shot alerted her to my presence. This crazy was a blond girl in her early twenties. She was actually quite pretty. She wore tight jeans that showed off her sexy figure quite nicely and her tight T-shirt accentuated her other assets.

  I shot her center mass, a quick double-tap that sent her flying off her feet and backward onto the pavement. The big guy was starting to get to his feet so I fired quickly again, scoring a shoulder hit that knocked him back to the ground.

  I turned and ran for the John Deere. I got about halfway to the mower when I saw another crazy coming toward me from the other exit.

  Where the fuck were they coming from? Just moments ago the streets were deserted.

  I shot from the hip as I ran, missed the first shot and winged him with the next. He stumbled a bit to his right and it gave me enough time to get onto the mower. I turned the key and thanked the Lord when it started right up.

  The John Deere was too slow to make a great escape like they do in the movies. There would be no tires screeching as I peeled rubber out of the lot, probably taking one of the crazies out with the rear end of the John Deere as it slid gracefully out of the lot.

  Instead, I would have to kill them quick
ly before more crazies showed up and I became overwhelmed.

  Now seated, I turned toward the last crazy to join the party because he was the most immediate threat. He was moving too fast for me to attempt a headshot so I shot him in the chest. He went down, as expected. While he tried to get up, I shot him in the head. He didn’t get back up.

  I turned back to the original pair. The girl was lagging behind, moving very slowly. The double-tap to the chest had really taken the wind out of her sails. But the man had closed the distance nicely, and was just several feet away from me. Way too close for comfort.

  I pulled the trigger twice in quick succession, scoring hits, but the bastard lunged at me. Instinctively I fell backward and to my left off the mower. I felt the thing’s hand touch my foot as I went down but he wasn’t able to get a grip on it.

  Frantically, I squirmed backward on the pavement to get some distance between me and the crazy. I made it to my knees but he was already on his feet. Apparently, he was so focused on me he didn’t notice that there was a John Deere between us because he lunged forward again and fell face first over the mower and onto the ground. I heard the wonderful sound of bone thudding against the pavement and was rewarded with the sight of blood flowing freely on the ground from busted lips and an obviously broken nose.

  When the dude looked up at me with those dullard eyes, probably wondering what the hell just hit him, I put a bullet almost perfectly between those stupid eyes and he fell silent.

  Still kneeling, I turned toward the former hottie. She was still about twenty or so feet away, grunting and wheezing and walking toward me holding both hands to her breasts. I aimed and fired, hitting her in the neck, and she staggered a bit to the right. I adjusted my aim and fired again but there was no report. The bolt was out of battery. I was empty.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  I rested the front of the SKS on my knee, digging into my bag for a stripper clip. My fingers touched everything but any of the loaded clips. I reached into one of the outside pockets, already having forgotten where I put the extras. This was taking far too long.