After taking a knee and uncapping the can, Brian stood a couple of feet back and began to slosh the amber liquid into the openings, dousing the crazies. Their ugly moon faces, now glistened with fuel, turned and tracked Brian as he worked his way around the death trap container. Arms and hands reached out for my brother, their starving bodies working to grab a scrap of living flesh to fill their bellies.
Having used almost all of the fuel dousing the creatures, Brian poured the remainder down the side of the trailer, letting some pool on the ground near the hitch. He tossed the empty can and I cringed at the sound of the metal container as it struck the cold blacktop. Above the clamor of infected sounds, I could not hear if other crazies out there, alerted by the sound of the can, were closing in on us.
Turning in a circle, I scanned the area, but I saw no threat.
Beside me, Brian pulled out a crumpled pack of Doral cigarettes and tapped out a bent smoke into his hand, then stuck it into the corner of his mouth. After replacing the pack into the chest pocket of his coat, he produced a small box of wooden matches, and carefully selected one stick. Instead of lighting it, he rolled it softly between his fingers.
“Look at their stupid faces,” he said, not looking at me, but rather studying the infected. He looked on for a several seconds as the things continued to make their noises and reach out uselessly between the steel bars. Finally, he looked at me and asked, “Why don’t they eat each other, huh? Why doesn’t that stupid cow of a woman right there just turn to the guy next to her that looks like Gary Busey and just take a bite out of his stupid face?”
“They’re not cannibals,” I said. I started to rub my hands together; the temperature was beginning to drop again now that the sun had gone down.
Brian shook his head. “Don’t be stupid. They eat human flesh. They’re cannibals.”
I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t have an answer and I wasn’t in a mood to mess with my brother. I had enough of today and I wanted to get back to the farm, settle down beside a nice fire, have a decent meal, and spend some quality time with Lara. But that was still a day away, at least, perhaps longer. For right now, I’d settle on being back behind the walls of Randall Oaks and catching up with some friends I’d missed for the last three months.
“Stop asking questions and do this,” I said.
The night suddenly smelled like sulfur and burning wood when Brian struck the match. He touched it to his cigarette and puffed on it until the cherry burned bright red. He tossed the match toward the puddle of fuel, but it blew out before it landed.
“That was intentional,” he said and laughed when I punched him in the chest.
“Hurry up, dick, or I’m leaving without you.”
To further my bluff, I turned and started back towards the front parking lot where the horses were tied to a light pole, the very same one where I’d smashed the John Deere lawnmower the day I met Kappy. That seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had only been six months. As I walked, I heard the sound of the fuel igniting and suddenly my shadow sprung out in front of me as the light from the fire blazed bright behind me. I did not pause to look back. I’d seen enough carnage today.
Chapter 7
I Don’t Care Anymore
The damage caused by the attack was substantial. Thirteen dead. Twenty-seven wounded, eight of which were in critical condition and would most likely die before the night was over. Structurally, Randall Oaks was still strong, save for the gap in the outer perimeter where the truck had barreled through the barrier leaving it damaged beyond repair. Charred and bullet pocked shells of vehicles, patches of the road and walls scorched and sooty. The bodies of our fallen lined the road near Harper’s Knoll, while the remains of the crazies burned in the fields across, their burned flesh giving off a rancid odor and filling the sky with thick black smoke.
Men and women—all unfamiliar to me—rushed across the grounds, performing duties, pitching in where needed. Their faces, some covered in soot or blood, all looked exhausted, but they did not slow down or stop, not even for a break. I had not seen so much activity since we’d been attacked by Providence.
The triage center was a series of large outdoor tents, like those you might see at weddings. Cords with sheets or blankets hung over them served as walls, separating the patients and the operating areas. I sat on a wooden chair in what I dubbed the waiting room. I was awaiting news on Kat, but Ravi had yet to make an appearance. She was not doubt busy saving lives. Alone for the moment, I started to doze, but I found it difficult to sleep with the moans and cries of pain from behind the curtains.
After twenty minutes, I left the tent and went in search of Phil and Brian. Instead, I found Sam, or rather she found me. She was winded, as though she’d been running. Taking hold of my arm she said, “Come with me, I want you to see something.”
“What is it?”
“Just come, it’s important.”
Still in her grip, I followed her. Instead of leading me toward the trailer where I thought Brian and Phil might be, Sam led me in the opposite direction, past Harper’s Knoll, toward my old home. We stopped in front of another tent, this one a family size tent that could easily sleep eight. She held the flap open and I stepped inside.
A single folding table stood in the center of the tent. Sam led me to the table and smoothed out the large poster-like sheet. It was a map of the city and outlying areas. My eye immediately found Randall Oaks and Providence on the map. Providence had been circled in red with a large X through it. Randall Oaks was simply circled in red.
My attention now piqued, I studied the map more thoroughly; lots of blue circles with red X’s crossed through them. The circles and X’s seemed to follow Randall Road from the east, moving westward, then moving slightly north, stopping at Providence, and then heading west again. The trail of circles continued northwest leading up to a relatively large red circle, much larger than the rest.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
“Phil found it at that place,” she said. I knew she meant Kappy’s. “What is it?”
I did not answer. That large red circle. I did not have to read the small black text to know it was Finnegan Farm. There was a series of smaller circles within the larger circle, and they each were labeled: corn, squash, apples, cabbage, pumpkin. The main house, stables and barn were circled on the map. Beside the main house three dates were written: January 2014? February 2014? March/April 2014?
At the top of the map, I saw something that made my stomach drop. A circle around the number 59.
Standing quickly, I turned to Sam. “Where do they have the woman?”
“They have her in the trailer. She’s with Brian and Phil right now. Why?”
With shaking hands, I tried to fold the map, but almost succeeded in tearing it.
“Here, let me help you,” Sam said and took the map from my bumbling hands. “Will you tell me what’s happening?” she asked and held out the rolled map.
“Not now,” I said, snatching the map from her grip. I turned and bolted out of the tent and dashed across the road to the trailer. In less than thirty seconds, I slammed up the wooden steps and burst in, taking Phil and Brian by surprise.
I pushed past both men, ignoring them, and I knelt down in front of the woman who was seated in one of the wooden chairs. Her wrists were bound to the chair with shoelaces, as were her ankles. She wore a pair of filthy jeans that were a size or two large. The gray pullover sweater was soiled, torn in places. Her dark brown hair was greasy and smudges of grime dotted her left cheek and chin.
Without a word, I grabbed her face with my right hand, my thumb and fingertips digging uncomfortably into her flesh. She struggled at first to break free of my grip, not knowing what I was trying to do, but I was stronger than she was, and I managed to turn her head slightly and tilt it back, exposing the tattoo I knew would be there.
“Recognize that?” I asked my brother.
Brian leaned in for a closer look, although I was sure he knew what he
was looking at from where he stood. He did not need the journal to help him remember.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” he said.
“What am I missing?” Phil asked as he crowded in behind Brian to get a look at the mysterious tattoo.
Brian turned to him and put a hand on his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was low, “That’s the same tattoo the dude who shot Kieran had on his neck. Same place.”
I released my grip on the woman’s face, and now I roughly gripped her thighs tightly with both hands. Applying pressure, not enough to cause real pain, but hard enough to let her know that I would hurt her if she didn’t cooperate, I said threateningly, “Tell me about the maps. Tell me what the circles mean. Tell me what the dates mean.”
“What maps?” Phil asked.
Ignoring him, I said to the woman, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
For a moment the woman simply glared at me behind her brown eyes. My fingers tensed, ready to apply pressure, but fortunately, hurting the woman was not necessary.
When she spoke, there was no tension or bitterness in her voice. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but only if we do this the right way.”
“I’m all ears,” I said.
Tammy looked casually around the room, taking in each of us, her eyes holding on my brother longer than the rest. “Can I have a cigarette, darling?” she asked Brian.
Brian pulled out his crumpled pack of Doral’s and gingerly tapped one into his hand. He approached Tammy and slipped the filtered end of the cigarette into the corner of her dry lips and then lit it for her.
She took a deep drag of the cigarette and blew out the smoke in a harsh sign. “Thank you, darling.” Her eyes rolled to me now. “Do you mind?” she asked and wiggled her wrists against her bonds.
From my pocket I pulled out my pocket knife and flicked it open. As I touched the sharp edge to the string that held her to the chair, I looked at her and said, “Do something stupid—”
“Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m going to behave just fine. I’m not into pain,” she said. Then she addressed Brian, “Unless you want me to be.”
Brian stared at her, his face emotionless, as I cut her bonds. True to her word, she did not attempt to escape. She took another drag on the cigarette, and then plucked it from her lips between the two fingers on her right hand.
“So, I was telling these gentlemen about how the five-niner’s operate before you barged in here like a boss. Shall I continue, or do you want to talk about the maps? This is your show, darling.”
“Start at the beginning,” I said. I pulled up the other chair and sat in front of her, our knees touching.
“Well ain’t this cozy?” She winked, tilted her head back, and let out a cloud of smoke. “It’s quite simple actually. Alvin said it just came to him one night when we were lying in bed.”
“Who is Alvin?” I asked.
“He’s our leader. Crazy as bat-shit, but smart like a fox.”
* * *
Alvin Stone, a successful executive who owned one of the largest construction companies in the Chicagoland area, was also, as Tammy described him, bat-shit crazy.
He was diagnosed while in his mid-twenties with a chemical imbalance of the brain. Although treated by a psychiatrist and prescribed antidepressants, Alvin often found himself wanting to end his own life and in fact threatened to kill himself on several occasions, both at work and at home with his family.
One year ago, just prior to his diagnosis, Alvin was arrested for threatening to kill a neighbor whom he swore was a demon hiding in human skin, but the charges were dropped when the neighbor found out about his illness.
When Mad Swine infected most of the populace, Alvin saw the apocalypse as an opportunity. After running out of his medications, his eyes were suddenly open, and for the first time, he saw the new world that had emerged, and he knew that with it must come new rules. This new world would require violence—vicious and gratuitous at times—to make the masses fall in line and to survive the demons that lived within human skin.
The first time he killed a man was two days after the outbreak. He killed his neighbor—the same one that had not pressed charges when Alvin threatened his life—by stabbing him to death with a hunting knife. He told his wife that he could see the demon beneath the man’s flesh and he was simply ridding the world of evil.
From that point forward, killing had become a way of life for him, as easy as slipping on a coat. He killed men who spoke against his ideas; he raped women who stole scraps to feed their children. He created monsters from men who had never done harm to another person before the outbreak; he showed them the fun side of the new world.
Within a short period, his ranks grew and so did their need for supplies to keep up with the demands of new recruits. Alvin organized groups of raiding parties and attacked other surviving pockets of uninfected humans, taking what they wanted and leaving death behind.
Alvin studied the demons and learned to use them to his advantage. It took long months for him to eventually perfect his methods, but he had lots of practice and he did not give up easily. Each time he failed, his desire to succeed would become even greater.
They corralled the demons, put them in pens, and then transferred them to small vans or trucks that they used to ram through the defenses of other communities. The demons would distract the men and women who came forward to defend the community against the infected, while Alvin and his men would watch, biding their time.
When the moment was right, Alvin and his platoon would swoop in, killing men, women, and demons without remorse. While they killed, another group would pillage the community, taking whatever they wanted, including any men or women who chose to join their group rather than be slaughtered.
After six months, Alvin’s army spread south, deploying their teams and methods upon every group of survivors they found, killing demons and capturing new ones when needed. They stayed out of the areas heavily populated by the demons, skating along the outskirts where humans had a chance at survival. Eventually, they turned north toward the Route 20 corridor. They took Kappy’s restaurant as an outpost where they rallied before they first attempted to take Providence.
Providence was the largest community Alvin had yet attempted to take; he failed at his first attempt and was forced to pull back his men. However, failure was not an option for Alvin. He had taken casualties on that first attempt, but so had Providence. But he had replacements which they did not. He regrouped his army, brought in more men and women from surrounding outposts, and armed them.
After two days, Providence fell. As it turned out, though, the sprawling community was a flop, yielding very little for Alvin’s men. He had expected vast riches from the community, enough to give him a breather for a couple of months, to last him them through the colder months. Hell, the way Providence had fought Alvin completely expected they had something worth fighting for.
After scouring every home in the community, Alvin finally turned his group back to the outpost where they planned their next wave of attacks. They would shift to the west, moving through the more populated areas, then circle up north. At the time, Alvin did not realize that if he’d headed just a mile or so north beyond Providence he would have come upon Randall Oaks, where he would have discovered the remaining residents of Providence had retreated with all they could carry during the two days that he restocked his army.
So Alvin moved west, splitting his army, sending half to the northwest. He also sent out advance parties, often one or two men who could move quickly and undetected to reconnoiter. They could spy on communities or often join and spy from within and then disappear into the night, only to return at some point in the future with an army of men.
* * *
We all sat in silence, taking in Tammy’s disturbing description of Alvin Stone, his rise to power, and his demented use of the infected against people who were only trying to survive, to make sure their loved ones might have a chance to grow old.
“Do you w
ant some water?” I asked. She had been speaking for twenty minutes.
She nodded her head. “And I could use another smoke, if you don’t mind.”
While I retrieved a canteen, Brian got another cigarette going for Tammy. He took the seat in front of her now and watched as she smoked.
“You’re doing great,” he told her.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
I set the canteen on the table and Brian started to rise from the chair, but I put a hand on his shoulder and he sat back down. We all needed a break. Brian tapped out a cigarette of his own and lit it. He watched Tammy as she gingerly drank from the canteen.
“That’s nice and cold,” Tammy said, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. “I haven’t talked this much in a long time. Usually if I talk this much, I catch a beating.”
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Brian said. He reached out to touch the left side of her face, but pulled his hand back when Tammy feinted away. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I wish I hadn’t hurt you before.”
They both smoked their cigarettes while I studied the map with Phil. Although he found the map at Kappy’s, this was the first time he had a chance to look at it. I could tell he had questions, but he didn’t ask, knowing I didn’t have all the answers. At least not yet.
After a couple of minutes of awkward silence, Tammy reached out, took my brother’s hand, and brought it up to the side of her face. She put his palm softly against the bruise that started to form where his fist struck her back at Kappy’s. His fingers moved gently over the purple-pink flesh. She closed her eyes and her head tilted back slightly.
I caught Phil watching them. Clearing my throat, I got his attention. He raised an eyebrow but I just shrugged my shoulders. Several more minutes passed before I walked back to join them. Moving the canteen, I took a seat at the edge of the table.
Regeneration (Mad Swine Book 3) Page 12
