Regeneration (Mad Swine Book 3) (15 page)

For a moment, I remembered the
disappointed look on Kappy’s face after I dispatched the crazies
that were milling around the front of the restaurant. He told me a
story about a man in his unit who was so focused on killing the
enemy that he’d begun to enjoy it. With all due respect, I pushed
the memory out of my mind. Right now, I needed to focus on the
enemy. Right now, they deserved killing. Right now, I was ready to
give them their just deserts.

We passed the kitchen doors on our
right and came to the end of the corridor, and the dining room
beyond. From memory, I knew there were tables and chairs to the
left where larger families or parties could gather, pulling the
tables together if needed. To the right were booths, fifteen or
twenty, if I remembered correctly. Also to the right was the host
station with registers, behind which the servers would wait for
their orders to be up in the two-foot opening from the kitchen.

Pausing at the end of the hall, I
crouched down beside the wall. The dining room on the left was
completely visible from this angle; I could easily see that no one
occupied the area, which I had hoped. Several tables strewn with
plates and cups, probably leftovers from a meal taken before the
raid on Randall Oaks. Piles of clothing and blankets thrown
haphazardly across other tables and chairs. More importantly, a
cache of firearms against the far wall, lined up like soldiers. My
hope was that anyone who might be in the building would be unarmed,
having lain their weapons down, feeling safe within their lair.

On hands and knees, I crawled
forward, keeping low, and poked my head out around the wall to get
a look behind the host counter. It was empty, so I crawled forward
a bit more and peeked around the counter, into the section of
booths. At a glance, I saw two men sitting at two booths, nearest
the counter. They sat across from each other and it appeared they
were playing a card game.

From my vantage point, I could not
tell if there were others. The backs of the booth seats would hide
anyone who might be laying down, taking a nap or resting after a
long, hard day of pillaging. The quiet way in which the men sat and
played cards made me think there were others, though, sleeping in
other booths.

Brian crouched beside me, taking in
the scene. After a moment, he said, “Stay here and watch my
back.”

Before I could ask what his plan was,
he was already on the move, crouch-walking toward the men playing
cards. I watched anxiously as he crossed the distance gracefully,
as though he were casually skating across a frozen pond. I expected
at any moment one of the men would spot him and jump up in
surprise, alerting all to our presence. Instead, both men died
quietly.

When Brian reached the booth, he
pushed his knife through the back of the neck of the man who sat
with his back to us, then quickly he sprung to his feet, dislodging
the knife from his first victim, and in one fluid motion, he jammed
his knife into the neck of the second man, who barely had time to
register a shocked look before the knife pierced his flesh and
severed his spine.

Although surprised by my brother’s
attack on these men, I sighed with relief, thankful he’d dispatched
them without raising warning. My relief was short lived when a head
popped up from the booth beside Brian, an older man in his forties
balding on top, but with long black hair streaked with gray hanging
down from the sides. He wore a thick handlebar mustache and I could
see his neck inked, but I could not make out the detail of the
tattoos at this distance.

“What the fuck is going on?” the man
asked. Sleep still clung to him, but his eyes quickly widened when
he saw the blood that flowed freely from the card players. He
started to rise up from his booth, but before he could get to his
feet, Brian fell upon him, grasping his neck with both hands,
pushing him back down onto the padded seat.

Just as I rose with the intention of
helping my brother, a voice startled me from behind.

“Hey Mikey, you still tapping that
ass?”

Whirling around, I raised my pistol
and pointed it at the man who stood in the doorway of the kitchen,
his body holding the swinging door open.

“Be cool,” I said, but the way his
expression quickly changed on his face, I knew he wasn’t going to
be cool.

“Who the fuck?” he asked as he
reached for a weapon tucked into his waistband.

I shot him in the chest point-blank
before I could find out what he was reaching for.

As his body fell backward and slid to
the ground, I rushed into the kitchen and stopped in my tracks when
I saw Kat. My heart raced suddenly in my chest; I could not tell if
she was dead or alive. Taped into a chair and naked from the waist
up, her hair, dirty and caked with blood, hung down over her eyes.
Her nose was bleeding and both of her eyes were already beginning
to swell.

The two men with her looked up,
surprised by the gunshot. The first person, the younger of the two
men, stood behind Kat. He held a fist full of her blonde hair, as
though he were in the middle of yanking her head back when I came
in. His face was pale in contrast to his black, unruly hair. The
second man stood beside Kat leaned forward, a cigar in his right
hand. Even from this distance, I could see the angry burn marks
that pocked Kat’s breast and stomach, so many I could not count the
red welts of flesh.

Blood and brain fragment exploded
onto the wall behind the young man as the bullet I fired struck his
face, caving in his nose, and destroying his right eye. Calmly, I
reached out and lay my pistol on a stainless steel rack to my
right. The man slowly stood as I approached him. He watched me with
cool eyes and let the cigar fall from his grip.

“All right, then,” he said. “Do your
worst, bro.”

No sooner the last word came out of
his mouth, I struck a devastating blow to his larynx, severely
damaging the Vagus nerve, impairing his ability to create sound.
His hands rose reflexively to his neck; his eyes were no longer
cool, but instead ringed with sudden panic. I delivered a heavy
front kick to his hip, knocking him off balance and onto the floor.
Before I realized what I was doing, I brought the heel of my boot
down onto his head and face, once, twice, repeatedly, not stopping
until his face was an unrecognizable, gelatinous mess.

Suddenly sickened by my actions, I
turned and wretched, vomiting yellow liquid onto Kappy’s black and
white tile. I wretched again, this time only a dry heave and
nothing came out. I sucked big gulps of air into my nose and out of
my mouth, trying to keep myself from throwing up again.

When I looked up, I noticed Brian
standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He stared at me for a few
long seconds before finally moving toward Kat. He crouched down in
front of her and gently brushed the matted hair out of her face. He
gently caressed her cheek as his fingers slid down to her neck. He
checked her pulse.

“Well?” I asked. “Is she…?”

“She’s alive,” he said.

I nodded my head and suddenly went
down to one knee. I felt like all of the energy had suddenly left
my body and I could not support my own weight. Brian started to
come to me, but I put up a hand, stopping him.

“I’m fine. Go get Sam and Phil in
here.”

He remained for a few seconds, as
though he were contemplating ignoring my order, then he turned and
left the kitchen without a word of protest. My brother understood I
needed to be alone and I was grateful he gave me the space.

After cleaning my lips with the
sleeve of my shirt, I spat a few times trying to rid the bile taste
from my mouth. After about half a minute, I stood up. I grabbed my
pistol from the shelf where I’d left it and returned it to my
holster. I went to Kat then and knelt down in front of her. I took
off my coat and let it drop to the floor beside me. After
unbuttoning my shirt, I slipped out of it and gingerly lay it over
Kat’s exposed torso. I could not stand to look at what they’d done
to her, not right now. I was afraid something inside me would
snap.

Using my knife, I cut the tape that
secured her arms, legs and torso to the chair, but did not remove
the tape from her body, afraid I might tear her skin. I could not
bear the thought of causing her any more pain. She slumped forward
in the chair when I severed her bonds. I caught her, and eased down
onto the floor, maneuvering Kat into my lap, letting her head rest
against my shoulder and neck.

I stroked her hair and rocked her.
“I’m so sorry, Kat. I’m so sorry,” I repeated. Finally, tears fell
and I let them pour.

* * *

“What do we do with the girl?” Brian
asked. He hopped onto the cashier’s counter and slid back from the
edge.

The girl Brian had knocked
unconscious earlier was now awake and tied to a chair in Kappy’s
old office while we decided her fate. “What are our options?” I
asked.

“We take her with and pump her for
information or we throw her into that horse trailer out back.”

“Hold on a minute,” Phil said. A
moment ago, he’d been leaning on the counter massaging his temples.
Now he stood up and took a step back. “You’re not really
considering letting those things kill her, are you?”

Brian hopped down from the counter
and walked over to Phil. “Take a look at what they did to Kat,”
Brian said. When Phil didn’t move, Brian grabbed his face and
turned it in the direction of the booths in the main dining room.
“Look at her damn it.”

Sam and Kat sat in a booth nearest
the front door, and furthest away from the bodies Brian had left in
his wake. Sam had one arm around her partner. In her other hand,
she held a wet cloth and was gently wiping away the dried, caked
blood from Kat’s face. The poor woman had been through unthinkable
torture and there was no way to know yet whether she could come
back from the trauma.

Phil tried to pull away, but Brian
held his face firmly. “Do you see her?”

“Yeah, damn it, I see her,” Phil said
in a harsh but hushed voice. This time when he tried to pull away,
Brian let him go. “What they did to Kat makes me sick but that
doesn’t mean we can just feed that woman to those creatures.”

“We absolutely can,” Brian said.

Phil let out an exasperated sigh. He
stepped around Brian so that he was facing me. “Matt, I know you’re
not seriously considering this, right? You’re not like that.”

“Like what?” I asked.

For a moment, he was silent, trying
to consider his words carefully. Finally, he said, “You’re not like
them; you’re not a monster.”

“You don’t know me, Phil. Maybe I am
a monster. Perhaps we’re all monsters now.”

Exasperated, Phil turned and walked
toward the other half of the dining room and started sorting
through the weapons.

“So it’s your call, bro, but we need
to make it quick. We’re wasting daylight and we have a ride ahead
of us still.”

I nodded my head, knowing it was on
me, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. What Phil said was true;
I was not a monster, although sometimes I acted the part. But only
when I had reason, when my anger clouded my judgment. There was no
way I could kill the woman in cold blood, though I had no doubt
Brian would volunteer readily for the assignment.

Truth was, the woman could prove to
be of value. Although she had not been cooperative earlier when we
tried to get some answers from her less than half hour ago, while
tied naked in a chair that did not mean things wouldn’t change if
the circumstance changed. Once we got her back to Randall Oaks,
provided her with food and water, and had Ravi look her over, she
might be more forthcoming.

“Help Phil gather whatever looks
useful,” I said. As Brian turned away, I said, “And do me a favor;
don’t mess with Phil too much. He’s a good guy. He means well.”

Brian raised his hand in salute, then
gave me the middle finger and grinned.

* * *

A half hour later, we gathered around
the dusty blue Ford F-150. Phil and the woman sat in the rear bed
of the truck amongst weapons, clothing, blankets, canned food and
other items that he and Brian looted. He sat across from the woman;
he could reach out at any moment should she try to jump and run.
Sam and Kat sat in the cab of the truck: Sam behind the wheel and
Kat in the passenger seat, looking out at the main road.

I reached into the open window and
dangled the keys in front of Sam who accepted them. I noticed a
smudge of blood on the key fob that must have gotten there when I
retrieved the keys from the pocket of the man with no face. Sam
didn’t notice. Instead, she jammed the key into the ignition and
fired up the engine.

“You go on ahead,” I said. “Brian and
I will follow on the horses.”

Sam nodded her head.

“Go straight back to Randall Oaks.
Don’t stop for nothing, you hear.”

“I won’t,” Sam said. “I want to get
back home; Kat needs a nice hot shower and she’ll be fine, right
baby?”

Surprisingly, Kat turned her head and
smiled. “A hot shower sounds nice.” She turned her eyes toward me,
the smile still on her face. She said, “I’m so happy to see you,
boss. I can’t wait to catch up with you. Wesley must be growing
like a weed, huh?”

“He sure is,” I said. “We’ll catch up
soon. Get on home now. I’ll see you all soon.”

I backed away from the pickup as Sam
shifted into drive and slowly eased the gas. As they drove out of
the parking lot, I waved at Phil and he waved back. I continued to
watch as they pulled onto Route 20, turned left, and then drove out
of sight, beyond the curve in the road.

The light of day had faded and for a
moment, I stood relishing the quiet, cool evening. The sky was
cloudless and not a breeze stirred. Suddenly, I missed the farm.
Lara and I watched many a sunrise and set across the beautiful
landscape, sometimes forgetting that those creatures were out there
and the world as we knew it no longer existed.