Regeneration (Mad Swine Book 3)

by Pajak, Steven

  “Kappy’s is just beyond this incline,” I explained. “We have to go the rest of the way on foot or risk being spotted. We don’t know what we’re walking into and we need the element of surprise.”

  “We don’t know what they’re doing to her in there—” Sam started.

  “Stow that shit!” Brian shouted, startling us both. He’d gone from grinning like an idiot to drill sergeant mode without warning. “Check your equipment and move your asses up that hill. Get your heads on straight and stop screwing around.”

  Without argument, we all followed his order. At the peak of the incline, we lay in the brush on our stomachs and surveyed Kappy’s. The sound of the rushing creek was loud in my ears. Phil passed up a pair of binoculars and I used them to glass the area. A line of motorcycles, about six or seven, stood parked against the east wall of the building. Two pick-up trucks and a horse trailer were parked against the fence that separated the parking lot from the drop-off of the creek. No sign of sentries patrolling the lot, nor posted on the roof.

  All of the windows along the front and east of the building were covered with newspaper and white butcher’s paper. I assumed that the windows to the west and south were likewise covered. We’d be going in blind, without knowing how many were in there. The only advantage was that I knew the layout of the interior of the restaurant.

  “Gather round and listen up,” I said. I pulled my knife from my sheath and used it to make a crude drawing of the restaurant. “The front of the house is all tables and booths and curves this way like an ‘L’. At the short end of the ‘L’ are two restrooms. Adjacent is a very small hallway that leads to the kitchen and a small office and a private bathroom. Beyond that is the rear exit.”

  “So what’s our plan for entry?” Brian asked. He stared intently at my drawing in the dirt, mulling over his own ideas. “Breaching from the front is off the table. That’s the largest area where the bad guys are most likely to be hanging out.”

  “Right. So that leaves the back door,” Phil said.

  “There’s one more option,” I said. “There is access from the roof into the main office from the closet. There is a ladder to the roof at the rear of the building. We could enter through there first. The office is small so there can’t be too many folks in there at one time. Once we’re in, we can work our way to the front.”

  “Can we all fit in there?” Sam asked.

  I shook my head. “No, but we’re not all going in. We’re going to need you and Phil to keep watch out here—”

  “I’m not staying out here while Kat is in there with those bastards. No way, I’m going in!”

  Brian reached across my dirt drawing and took a hold of Sam’s wrists. In his most gentle tone, which was seldom heard, he said, “Sam, you’re too emotional to go inside. You know that. Emotions lead to mistakes. We don’t want any mistakes. Matt and I will bring Kat out. I promise you that.”

  She stared at him for a moment then her eyes slid to the ground for a second, taking in the drawing for a few seconds before finally looking up at me. “Promise me you’ll get her out. I want to hear you say it, too.”

  “I promise, Sammy. We’ll get her out.”

  “What if something happens to you in there?”

  “If something happens inside and we can’t get out, you’re our backup plan.”

  “How long do we wait before we assume something is wrong?” Phil asked.

  “If we’re not out in twenty minutes, storm the place. Smash in the front windows and shoot anything that moves.”

  “What if you guys are in the cross-fire?” Sam asked.

  “Don’t worry about hitting us,” I said. “If you have to come in, it means we’re not coming out. At that point, avenge us.”

  Dragging her knees through my drawing, Sam came forward and grabbed me in a bear hug. “You better come out. You bring my Kat back to me.” She pulled back and took my face in her gloved hands. “You bring her back. I can’t live without her.”

  Brian stood and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go before we lose too much light.” To Phil he said, “You keep watch from up here. If you see anyone and need to engage, do it from here, then move your position north. Watch your flanks. You guys aren’t alone out here. Those creatures could be anywhere. Matt said they keep them around and use them so keep your eyes open.”

  We shook hands with Phil and then we each accepted another hug from Sam, then we were on our way. I followed Brian north about two hundred feet along the incline that circled around Kappy’s. After he glassed the area and was satisfied we were alone, we descended to the creek bed and crossed on several large stones that jutted above the surface. After a quick hop over the chain-link fence, we took cover behind a horse trailer parked closest to the fence, about forty feet from the rear of the building.

  “Those horses smell dead,” Brian said. He pulled his scarf over his nose to mask the smell. He was right about the smell. It wasn’t the pungent aroma of manure, but rather the smell of rotting flesh.

  He slid up the side of trailer until his face was even with the barred windows. Suddenly, an arm shot out between two of the bars, the mottled hand came just inches from my brother’s face, the hand clawing at him, trying to grasp him.

  “Holy shit,” he blurted out and then fell backward onto his ass in an attempt to get away from the probing grasp of the crazy.

  Standing now, I stood face to face with what had once been a man. After six months, the thing truly did resemble a creature. The hair on his head torn out in sporadic patches. His skin color a light shade of split pea soup. The thing’s cheeks both torn away, his cracked and chipped teeth visible through the place where his flesh used to be. One eye was milky white and rolled up into his skull, but the other still functioned well enough. The arm that jutted through the bars and reached toward us was half skeletal from the wrist to the elbow, the exposed bone was cracked and yellowing.

  On his feet again, Brian stood beside me and we both stared at the crazy as it made low guttural sounds and strained to reach us with its skeletal hand. Two others now joined him, and several others stood now, alerted. More hands and arms appeared between the bars of the horse trailer, hungrily reaching for our flesh. Their unintelligible sounds, low growls of hunger, were louder in chorus, much louder. The sound reminded me of the sickening buzz of cicadas.

  “We have to move,” I said and pulled at Brian’s shirt.

  He stood his ground a moment, unable to take his eyes off the group of undead. “We can’t leave them here.”

  I looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. “We don’t have time for this right now, bro.”

  “Not now.” He turned his eyes to me finally. “After we get Kat.”

  “That’s a good boy,” I said and ran across the parking lot toward the rear of Kappy’s. I didn’t need to look back to know that Brian followed; I could hear the sound of his boots against the pavement.

  To the right of the rear door stood the ladder to the roof. The metal painted bright red, the same color as the roof tiles. The first two rungs of the ladder were exposed, but the next six rungs were covered by a grated fence that stretched up about seven feet, blocking the ladder to unauthorized climbers.

  Shouldering my weapon, I backed up a couple of steps then ran forward and jumped, gripping the first rung above the gate. With my feet scratching for purchase against the grated metal, I pulled myself up enough to grab the next rung, then the next, until I was finally able to get a foot on top of the gate. From there it was an easy climb to the roof.

  I hooked a leg over the side and then dropped down onto the blacktop. As I unslung my rifle, I couldn’t help but remember the last time I stood atop this roof, Kappy was alive. I had used my SKS to take out several crazies that were hanging out around the front parking lot. I remember the sad look in Kappy’s eyes when I climbed back down. He was concerned by the ease with which I killed, and feared that I took pleasure in the act. And he’d been right then, but I wasn’t that same man.
Not now. Not anymore.

  Behind me, Brian clambered over the edge of the roof and came down beside me. He squeezed my shoulder and I crossed the roof, about thirty feet before I dropped down to my knees in front of the square metal stack. I pulled the metal top off and set it down. From my hip pocket, I fished out a small flashlight and directed the pale yellow beam down into the stack. Although the battery was losing power and would need replacing, the flash produced enough light to see the ladder was in the folded position, just two feet down.

  Brian’s big head appeared as he bent over the stack for a better look. He felt around inside for a moment, then tilted his head up so he could look at me. “How the hell do we get this down without making noise?”

  I shrugged my shoulder and raised my eyebrows at him.

  He shook his head. “Good plan.”

  “Move,” I said and grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him out of the stack. “I obviously have to do everything myself.”

  Pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket, Brian poked it into the corner of his mouth. “I’ll just wait over here,” he said and scratched a wooden match across his pants zipper. He lit the cigarette, then crouched on one knee and puffed away.

  “You’re a dick,” I said and leaned into the stack.

  With the end of the flashlight in my mouth so that I would retain the use of both hands, I examined the ladder. It was folded in exact equal sections; each section was about five inches thick. Although a rung was at the center of each section, I was still able to see the plywood door below that would swing down into the closet, allowing the ladder to then be stretched down.

  Sliding further down over the edge of the stack, I reached through the rungs and placed my palm flat against the trap door and started to apply pressure. At first, the door didn’t budge, not even an inch. I tried again, applying more pressure than I originally thought necessary. The door suddenly gave way, opening about three inches. The spring hinge made an unexpected noise then that caused me to pull back. The door made a pretty loud sound as it snapped closed below.

  “Good job, dude.”

  Pulling back out of the stack, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, I grabbed the flashlight from my mouth and whizzed it at my brother. I struck him in the chest just as he was taking a drag. Although I hadn’t thrown it hard enough hurt him, he dropped his cigarette and almost lost his balance. When he put his hand down to catch himself, he burned his palm on the cherry of his cigarette.

  “Are you serious right now?” The surprised look on his face was enough to get me laughing, which pissed him off even more. He squinted his eyes and puckered his lips like he always did when he’s really upset. He reached down, picked up the flashlight, and in one fluid motion sailed it across the roof back at me.

  Knowing it was coming, I easily caught it. “Sorry, dude,” I said, trying my best not to laugh, but not really.

  “Don’t be stupid. Get serious, man. Kat’s in there, remember?”

  “I know,” I said, now feeling like a jackass. Like an idiot. Like a screw-up. Before I could belittle myself even more, I clamped my teeth down on the barrel of the flashlight and perched over the edge again.

  Now prepared for sound, I again applied pressure to the trapdoor in a steady downward motion. I heard the spring protest, but continued to push down, at the same time leaning further in to extend my reach. The door continued to push back at me until I had it opened about ten inches, then the tension on the spring went out and the door fell inward. I cringed for a moment, expecting to hear it strike the wall. Instead of swinging backward, it fell stiffly open, exposing the dark closet below.

  Holding my breath, I quickly pulled the flash from my teeth and hooded the light. Time ticked as I hung silently over the edge, waiting for someone to call out from below, having heard the sound of the spring and the door opening. Sweat trickled from my brow, down into my widow’s peak, tickling my scalp. Suddenly I felt a hand on my back, pulling me up from the confined space.

  Brian took the flashlight from me when I came up for air, then his upper half disappeared as he ducked in to inspect my handiwork, no doubt. Wiping the sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my shirt, I could hear the rattling sounds of him feeling around the ladder, trying to figure out how to deploy it. My instinct was again to push him aside and take control of the situation, but the cool air was refreshing after being in that enclosed space. Besides, he was the older brother, perhaps I should let him act like it for a change.

  After only slightly more than a minute, I heard a small ping sound, and then a steady stretching spring sound, followed by Brian saying, “Got you, bitch.”

  Pulling back out of the stack quickly, he rocked back onto his heels and snapped his finger. “Let’s do this.”

  And with that cue, we both started to grab our gear. As I slung my rifle I realized that there was really no room for it or my bag down there. We’d have to move quickly and through narrow spaces. These rifles were meant for field use, not CQB, not for clearing rooms. We had to lighten our load.

  Setting my rifle down, I unslung my messenger back. “Pistols only,” I said and Brian nodded, understanding immediately. Sometimes we were so coordinated that we could operate as one, sharing the same thoughts, ideas, and strategies. We would need that mojo right now if we had any hope of getting Kat out alive.

  From my bag I pulled three magazines for my 1911 and pushed them into my pants pockets. Pulling the pistol from the waistband at the small of my back, I performed a press-check, confirming I had a round in the chamber. Although the .45ACP was a man-stopper, I found myself wishing I had opted for a 9mm, allowing me to carry more ammunition.

  I tucked the 1911 back into my waistband and climbed into the stack, lowering myself down until my foot touched the top rung of the ladder. Slowly I descended, trying to avoid sudden moves that would make the ladder creak or moan. In just seconds, I set both feet down on to the vinyl tile of the closet. I pressed as far back against the wall as I could, making roof for Brian. With both of us shoulder to shoulder, the room felt as though it was closing in on us. I hated small places, hated them so much.

  Hooding the flashlight, providing just enough light for us to see that the closet was empty save for a few wire hangers, I reached out and put my hand over the doorknob. Turning it slowly until I heard the soft click of the latch clear the strike, I started to push the door slowly outward, no more than an inch before Brian grabbed my arm and halted me. When I looked at him, he had a finger raised to his lips. When I raised my eyebrows in question, he pointed to his right ear, and then pointed at the door.

  Holding the door steady, opened just a crack, I closed my eyes and listed intently for a moment, trying to hear what Brian had heard. For a few seconds there was only silence and the sound of our breathing. Then I heard a woman’s soft moan, then heavier, rhythmic breathing coming from inside Kappy’s office.

  When I looked back at Brian, he was holding his fixed blade knife. He pointed at the flashlight, and then gave me a sign to shut it off. For a moment, we were in pitch-blackness before I slowly noticed the soft glow from the edges of the door. The pale orange-yellow glow was not steady; I could tell by the flickering that the source was either candles or lantern. From the sounds behind the door, candles would be more appropriate.

  Brian squeezed my shoulder, indicating he was ready, but I wasn’t sure that I was prepared to kill a guy and girl in the middle of making love. Yes, it didn’t sound forced; in fact it sounded as though they were both enjoying themselves equally.

  Again, the squeeze on my shoulders, this time his fingers dug deeper and held longer before releasing. It didn’t matter, I told myself. These people had just killed innocent folks less than an hour ago. They raided a community whose only crime was they were trying to survive, to thrive in this hostile new world. They had taken Kat, for what horrible purposes I could only imagine. Suddenly the horse trailer full of crazies sprung into my mind, the half-skeletal arm with mottled, pea-colored flesh reach
ing out.

  The door swung open easily, without protest, and I stepped into the room, moving to the left so that my brother could slip quietly past me. Directly in front of us, the man stood at the desk, naked from the waist down. His pasty white skin took on a jaundiced tone in the candle light. His pants pooled on the floor at his feet, and the red and black checked flannel shirt flapped out behind him like a cape each time he thrust himself back and forth. The woman’s legs stretched out on either side of him and bounced up and down in time with his movement. They were alone in the room, except for us.

  As if in a dream, Brian seemed to float on the air as he ethereally crossed the room as silent as an angel. Cat-quick, my brother reached around and covered the man’s mouth with his hand, while at the same time pulling his face toward the left, exposing the neck to the blade, which he jammed in and twisted. Blood shot out in a loping spurt that seemed to reach at least six feet, where it splattered onto the wood panel wall and metal file cabinet.

  The woman didn’t realize what was happening until Brian let the man’s body fall to the floor with an awful thud. The woman—a fake blonde in her early thirties—tried to scream then, but even as she inhaled deeply, Brian swung a left hook that landed squarely across the woman’s jaw, rendering her unconscious before the scream could even form in her throat. Her head fell back against the desk, and her limp body lay exposed to us.

  After cleaning his knife on the dead man’s shirt, Brian replaced it into its sheath and pulled out his pistol. He looked over at me, and took a few steps toward me, taking care not to step in the puddle of blood that was forming on the tiles. Standing in front of me, he looked into my eyes.

  “I can’t do this alone, Matt,” he said.

  I shook my head.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  I nodded my head.

  “Take out your gun,” he said.

  I reached behind and grasped the 1911.

  Brian took another step closer. He reached out, cupped the back of my neck, and pulled our faces close, so that our foreheads touched. “Let’s get Kat and then get the hell out of here. We’ll get on those horses, pick up Sam and Ravi and whoever else wants to go with us, and then we’ll head back to the farm. Back to Lara and Wesley. Back home. How’s that sound, little brother?”