Mad Swine (Book 3): Regeneration

by Steven Pajak

  “Bullshit,” Kat said. She sat beside Lara, her arm around the grieving woman. “Give them nothing.”

  “This might be our opportunity—” Sam started.

  “Nothing!” Kat shouted. She stood up now and yelled loud enough to be heard by the enemy. “You’ll get nothing! You hear me! You only deserve to die you piece of shit!”

  “We don’t want any more death but we need food! We won’t survive out here!”

  “Starve you son-of-bitch!” Kat yelled.

  “If you make us take what we want we all suffer!”

  “Come and get it!” Justin yelled. “You die first!”

  No response. That was not good.

  Kat turned to the group, her scarred face dirty with silt. “We don’t let them pass her, you understand? No matter what, we stop them right here.”

  Lara slid Matt’s lifeless body gently to the cold ground. Taking up her rifle, she said, “I want them all dead. Every last one of them.”

  “Amen, sister,” Kat said. “Justin, you hold them here. Sam, Lara, you’re with me. You ready?”

  Sam pulled Kat close and kissed her deeply on the lips. “I love you Kat.”

  “I love you, Sam,” Kat said.

  At once, the three women charged the road, firing their weapons from the hip. Behind them, Justin and his crew provided cover fire. Looking on at the women, his heard sank as he waited for them to fall under a hail of bullets.

  The enemy were surprised by the bold attack and they lost precious seconds before they organized themselves for defense. They never had a chance, though. As they raised their rifles, suddenly gunfire erupted from the left flank. Men and women, at least eight or nine, came out of the wood, firing at the raiders.

  The three women stopped their advance and watched as one by one the enemy fell. In seconds the gunfire ceased and in the silence of the aftermath, they moved forward and gathered around the dead. Phil and the men who remained at Randall Oaks came forward to greet them.

  “We thought you were dead,” Kat said and embraced Phil.

  He shook his head. “When the first bombs went off, Brian sent to hide out in the east woods. He said he’d meet up with us and we’d wait there until they passed, then we’d follow behind and hit them from the rear. He never showed, but we followed the plan. Did he make it back here?”

  Everyone was silent while Justin told him what happened. As he talked, Phil slumped down until he dropped onto the dirt. “Jesus, if we’d only been a few minutes sooner we could have saved them. We could have saved them both.”

  “Don’t,” Sam said. “Don’t take this on you.”

  “I owe them my life,” Phil said.

  “We all do,” Kat said.

  Again, there was silence. After a while, Kat asked, “What do we do about the rest of them out there?”

  “Who?” Phil asked.

  “The rest of Alvin’s men. Should we regroup and muster our defense, or do we go on the offensive?”

  “Kat, there’s no one left out there. There’s just empty cars and motorcycles.”

  “He said he had a hundred men,” Justin said.

  Phil shook his head. “Maybe he had a hundred men. But they’re not out there.”

  “You mean it’s over?” Jessica asked.

  She came to Justin and he put his arm around her. “It’s never over.”

  Epilogue

  Regeneration

  “…but according to His mercy He saved us,

  by the washing of regeneration…”

  Titus 3:15

  Wesley sat in one of several rocking chairs that dotted the front porch of the main house, balancing Matthew on his left knee and the thick journal on his right. He rocked the boy gently, relishing the cool shade of the awning and the shadows cast by the thick boughs of the enormous elm tree.

  The morning was already a scorcher and would only grow hotter as the day wore on. He wouldn’t be surprised if the temperature peaked above ninety. There was a general concern around the community about how the heat wave of the last week might affect the crops, but Wesley paid little concern. There were smarter folks than he that would work that problem.

  “What happens next, Uncle Wesley? Tell about what happened to my dad?”

  Wes frowned. Reading this part of the journal was always difficult for him, not only because he had written it, but because it was still traumatic even with ten years of good memories between then and now.

  “You heard this story about a hundred times. You already know how it goes, buddy.”

  One hundred times was an embellishment, of course. In the ten years that passed since the battle for the farm, Wesley had read the stack of hand-written journals all the way through only nine times since Lara had given them to him. The first time, he read them alone. It took him a week to finish. He cried for a long time after. Then, he picked up a pen and finished the last chapter, finally ending the story.

  “But I like it when you tell it,” Matthew whined. “Please, Uncle Wesley! Finish the story.”

  “Okay, okay, relax. I’m going to tell it again, but let’s take a break, huh? The sun is out and it is a beautiful day. Let’s not waste it.”

  Pausing to sip from a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade, Wes turned back to the journal and put a marker on the page where he left off. Truth was, he did not need to read from the journal any longer; he knew the contents by heart or most of it anyway.

  Standing now, Wes stretched his body and then took a knee beside the boy. He was a spitting image of his father, except for the shock of red hair, which he’d gotten from his mother. He was fair skinned, but freckle-free. Wes felt the boy was tall for his age; perhaps that was just a misconception that arose from the fact that Wes had always been on the short side.

  “Why don’t we take a walk and go see your dad? How’s that sound?” Wes asked and ruffled the boy’s auburn hair.

  “Can Cody come?” Matthew asked. He cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, another characteristic he got from his mother.

  “If he’s up for it,” Wes said and started down the porch.

  Matthew followed and at the bottom of the stairs, he looked over his shoulder and called out to the dog. “Come on, Cody. Come on boy!”

  The shepherd’s head rose and he regarded the boy and man from his place in the shade beside the rocking chair. Slowly, he rose and with some effort, he descended the porch, his nails clicking softly against the wood as his arthritic paws tread slowly down the risers.

  “That’s a good boy,” Wes said and scratched the dog’s head.

  “He’s a good old dog,” Matthew said. “Is he going to die soon?”

  Others might have been shocked by the question, but Wes was not. The boy was smart and inquisitive. It was an innocent question asked without malice and in the spirit of understanding life.

  “Nah,” Wes said. He started to walk and the dog followed. “Cody still has a few good years left in him.”

  Together they walked, man, boy and dog. Wes carried no weapon as they walked casually down the dirt road. In fact, it had been several years since he had raised a weapon against the creatures. The last crazy spotted within the safe zone was more than four years ago. That had been miles away to the north, at the furthest reaches of the community.

  Matthew never saw the creatures with his own eyes and for that, Wes was grateful. After the boy was born, Wes prayed Matthew would never experience the horror, live the nightmare he once lived. For Matthew, the creatures were just things described in his father’s journals. Ghost stories. Legends told around the campfire.

  As far as the eye could see, great fields of corn, squash, soybean, wheat and many other vegetables and fruits stretched across the land to the north. Men, women and children of all ages, races and denominations worked these fields, some strangers to Wes and Matthew, but many old friends.

  The men and women in the fields were survivors from the early years, travelling long distances in search of salvation from the crazies
, moving to stay ahead, to search for food, and to stay alive. Eventually, they found Finnegan Farms and they were all welcome.

  During the early years, before they pushed the undead back, before the walls went up, the newcomers lived on the farm, filling the remaining beds in the ranch barracks. After only a few months, a second ranch quarters had to be raised in the field behind, where Wesley and Matt once sat upon a large tractor tire so many years ago.

  In time, as the living took back what was once theirs from the creatures, many more travelled to the farm; it had become a beacon in the darkness, a legend among survivors. People came from all over in search of this oasis. Some came from as far as Pennsylvania and Ohio, others from the surrounding states like Missouri, Wisconsin, even Kentucky.

  They were blessed with fertile land and the skills necessary to sustain them all year after year. Food was plentiful, however, housing for the refugees was not. The land on which crops were grown was precious and they could no longer build living quarters on the farm without encroaching on crops or livestock.

  It was Lara who began to place the refugees in the outlying homes around the farm, including the home once owned by Ian’s uncle Seamus. When those rooms filled, she oversaw the erection of other living quarters on Seamus’ property, maximizing the living space before moving on to the next.

  Maureen and Stanley were eager to follow in Lara’s footsteps, to come to the aid of these strangers who had come from so far. Together they taught the newcomers how to work the land, to plant crops and raise livestock. Everyone worked the land and in return, reaped the bounties.

  Day after day, month after month, year after year, the community expanded. Each foot, yard, and mile fought for and earned by determined men and women who realized that alone they would perish, but together they were strong and could survive.

  In 2016, five years after the beginning of the Mad Swine outbreak, walls were erected around the fifteen square miles of community now referred to as the Finnegan Farms Township. Lara was elected the first Township President, a position she retired from six years later when she felt she had done all she could to secure a future for her family. Now, she could rest; let others help carry the burden.

  After a few minutes, boy, man and dog came to a fork in the road, and took the path to the south, which lead to the greenhouse, the gardens, and the family cemetery just beyond.

  Wes looked on at the gardens as they passed, remembering how Maureen and Stanley spent most of their day tooling around and gathering fresh herbs and vegetables for dinner. Now, the two youngest Finnegan’s, Nora and Deirdre were in the garden. They waved to Wes and Matthew before getting back to their chores.

  Maureen had passed in her sleep two years ago. Stanley took the loss hard. Over the next month, Stanley spent more and more time away from the main farm, making long trips to outlying farms, keeping up with his teaching responsibilities. He found peace in his work, but he could not find peace on the main farm. He could not face staying in the room he once shared with his beloved wife.

  After a month, he sent word that he would be permanently relocating to one of the larger farms to the north. He felt he could be much more effective to the community, helping the continued expansion by remaining on location.

  Three years passed before Stanley returned to Finnegan Farms, and only stayed long enough to pay his respects at Cleona’s funeral. The matriarch of the Finnegan family, Cleona lived a full life, having survived her husband and most of her children during the early years.

  One evening, after dinner, she retired to the front porch to watch the stars from her rocking chair. After an hour, Wesley brought out a shawl for her, because the evening had gotten chilly. To the teen, the woman looked as though she were sleeping.

  Having placed the shawl over her shoulders, he gently shook her to wake her, to bring her inside. When she did not wake, he put his head against her chest, listening for her heartbeat. For a moment, he remained with his head against her chest and hugged her, before finally standing and going back into the house.

  He found Lara and asked her to come outside with him. At the doorway, he stopped. When Lara asked him what was wrong, he whispered into her ear. Lara merely looked at the boy for a second before realizing what he had whispered was the truth. She stepped slowly out onto the porch and approached Cleona. Kneeling beside the woman, Lara lifted her wrist first, and then placed two fingers against Cleona’s throat.

  Wesley watched as Lara bowed her head, her forehead against Cleona’s arm, and cried silently. He watched Lara’s back hitch slightly with each sob, feeling he warm sting of tears in his own eyes.

  The morning following the service, Stanley travelled north again, leaving Finnegan Farms for the last time. Ian, the eldest surviving member of the Finnegan family moved his mother’s rocking chair from the porch into her bedroom, and then locked the door with an old skeleton key, preserving her memory.

  And as it tended to do, life went on.

  As they approached the cemetery, Matthew spotted his mother, called out to her, and then ran into her waiting arms. Wes watched as he walked slowly, giving Cody a chance to catch up. Lara wore a straw sunhat, fashioned by one of the girls. He couldn’t remember if Krista or Karrie made it. She smiled as she hugged her boy and planted kisses on his cheeks, which he immediately wiped away saying, “Ugh, mom!”

  Laughing now, Lara used her thumbs to wipe the boy’s cheeks. “There, mom cooties are gone, you happy now?”

  “Whatever,” Matthew said. “Look mom, Cody came to see dad.”

  Raising her arm to block the sun, she turned and saw Wes and Cody. “Good morning, boys, I’m so happy you could join us.”

  Seeing Lara must have lit a spark in Cody as he traded his slow gait for a lumbering trot. Lara bent to rub his thick, golden body. “That’s our good Cody, that’s our good boy, yes it is.”

  “You spoil him too much,” Wes said.

  “At least I got him moving,” Lara said and stood to kiss Wes on the cheek. She turned her attention back to the dog. “Right, Butterball? You haven’t had that much exercise in a long time.”

  Cody wagged his tail and panted heavily; actually, his entire thick body seemed to wag, not just his tail.

  “Honey, pour Cody some water, he’s parched.”

  “Mom, dogs don’t get parched,” Matthew said, picking up a bottle of water from the picnic table and dumping orange peels from a bowl. “They get thirsty. Duh.”

  “Don’t be a smartass, honey.”

  “Yeah,” Wes said. He smiled when Matthew threw him a look of betrayal. “Honor thy mother or I’ll have to kick your butt, little man.”

  After pouring some water for Cody, Matthew set the bottle down on the table and then said, “Can we see dad now?”

  “Of course,” Lara said. “Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

  They watched the boy as he skipped through the wrought iron fence that surrounded the small group of plots. Once inside, just to the left, he stopped at the second marker and knelt down in front of it. He crossed himself, and then recited the Lord’s Prayer, as Reverend Reggie taught him.

  Lara and Wes joined the boy. Now he sat cross-legged in front of the stone marker that read:

  MATTHEW DANZIG

  1974 – 2012

  OUR SAVIOR

  For the next twenty minutes, they stood over the grave while Matthew shared his latest adventures with his father. He told him about Wes teaching him to ride a horse and about how Krista taught him to knit so that he could make a scarf for his mother for Christmas.

  Lara visited each of the graves, leaving a bouquet of fresh cut flowers on each as she and Wesley paid respects to the fallen members of their extended family.

  After a while, Sam and Kat brought out a tray with iced tea and ham off the bone sandwiches and they sat at the picnic table and shared their meal. Soon, Reggie and Ravi joined them, as did the rest of the family.

  When evening came, Wes started a fire and sat next to Jenna. They cl
asped hands and watched their friends and family as they gathered. Later, Justin brought out his guitar and started to play Rocket Man by Elton John, then switched to some Billy Joel tunes. Beneath the stars, they talked and laughed, sang and danced well into the night.

  Soon, the sun would rise, but first a new dawn. And after that, a regeneration, a new world of their making.

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Steven Pajak was born in Chicago and raised in the city’s Near Northwest Community. He also lived in Wartrace, Tennessee and Dallas, Texas before moving back to Illinois where he now resides in a Chicagoland suburb.

  Visit Steven’s official website at www.stevenpajak.com.

  For information about the Mad Swine series visit the official Facebook page at www.facebook.com/MadSwine

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: In My Time of Dying

  Chapter 1: Friends

  Chapter 2: My Immortal

  Chapter 3: Time of Your Life

  Chapter 4: Enemy of my Enemies

  Chapter 5: One

  Chapter 6: No Quarter

  Chapter 7: I Don’t Care Anymore

  Chapter 8: Fortunate Son

  Chapter 9: How Many More Times

  Chapter 10: Battle of Evermore

  Epilogue: Regeneration

  About The Author