Regeneration (Mad Swine Book 3) (6 page)

Justin examined the crude drawing for
a second. “Yeah, the same. Where did you see that before?”

Brian set the notebook down on the
table so that we could all see.

“On the day we first came to the
farm, I saw that tattoo on one of the dead bodies, about twenty
yards from old man Finnegan. The kid was young, probably not yet in
his twenties. He had that tattoo on his neck. I sketched it
thinking it might be a clue to figure out what had happened that
night.”

The story Cleona told of that tragic
night was that a large group of crazies had appeared out of
nowhere, without warning, and suddenly overran the farm. Finnegan
and his brother Seamus had gone out with weapons to engage the
creatures while the rest of the family retreated to the storm
cellar. She heard the blasts of their shotguns and when neither of
the men returned, she assumed they had succumbed to the creatures.
That didn’t explain the expended cartridges in calibers the
Finnegan’s did not own, or the other dead bodies, or the piles of
burning crazies, but no one questioned the story, wanting to put
that in their rearview mirror and move on with their new life.

However, Kieran told Brian a very
different story one night while making rounds of the main house and
the bunkhouse. Kieran told Brian that he went back into the house
after being ordered into the cellar. He thought he could snipe a
few of the infected from the window of his bedroom to cover his
father and uncle and still have time to retreat. He said he turned
out the lights in his room and as he watched from the windows, he
saw men out there, running amongst the creatures. They were firing
their weapons and he thought these men had come to help his father
and uncle, although he admitted then it was a foolish thought
because there was no one within miles.

As he watched, the men turned their
guns on Finnegan, shooting him down along with the crazies. At that
point, he fired a few rounds down into the mass of men and
creatures, and retreated to the cellar. He said he didn’t see
Seamus go down, so he couldn’t tell how his uncle was killed.

“My god,” Maureen said and grabbed
for Ian’s hand. “The poor boy.”

“Why didn’t he tell us?” Ian asked.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I
don’t know why Kieran didn’t tell you. I suppose he was ashamed
that he didn’t do more for his father and uncle. I imagine he was
worried what you might think of him, Ian.”

Tears formed in Ian’s eyes. He held
his sister’s hand and his other arm slid around his younger
brother. Joshua hid his face against his brother’s shoulders to
hide his tears.

“As for why I didn’t tell anyone
sooner, I made a promise to Kieran. The only reason I’m saying
anything now is because of this new information.”

Brian passed his notebook to me when
I extended my hand toward him. It was open to the page where he’d
sketched the tattoo. The 59 inside of a circle looked more like a
ball on a pool table than a road sign. “Are you sure this is the
same thing you saw, Justin?”

“Same, boss. It was right here on his
neck.” Justin pointed at the left side of his neck, in line with
his ear.

To Brian I asked, “The body you
found, the tattoo was in the same place?”

He nodded. I handed the notebook back
to him and turned my attention to the items on the table, hoping to
turn up some other clue. I studied the torn piece of map. It was a
hand-drawn map of Finnegan Farms, very crude and not to scale, but
it definitely ruled out the idea that there had been any mistakes.
The farm was definitely the dead man’s target.

Two men with identical tattoos, both
killed at the farm, was not a coincidence. The ambush of old man
Finnegan and his brother must have been a first attempt at taking
over the farm. This most recent attack was more likely a recon
mission gone awry. The farm was definitely a target, which made
sense. In this new world, those who could farm or live off the land
would find it easier to survive. The farm was a place that could
sustain many men and women for many years to come, if defended.

As I was about to share my suspicion,
Lara said, “They’re after the farm, aren’t they? These two men
showing up here with the same tattoo isn’t a coincidence. Whoever
they are, they want to take the farm from us, right?”

Her words hung over the group like a
thick fog. One by one, each of the men and women in the room nodded
their head, confirming they all believed what Lara voiced. We were
staring down at a puzzle and now some of the pieces were starting
to fit. However, we were a long way from completing the puzzle, and
the full picture had yet to be revealed.

* * *

It was a hard decision, but in the
end, we all agreed it was necessary, although we each rationalized
the decision in a way that made each of us feel good about it. I
held no illusions that my decision was biased. There were people I
left behind, good friends, and I wanted to get them back. Having
them back would also serve the greater good of our new home by
expanding our number and increasing our odds against the hordes of
crazies and those men and women out there who wanted to take what
was not theirs for the taking.

The leading argument among the others
for returning the remaining residents of Randall Oaks into our fold
was that Ravi had extensive medical knowledge and skills that we
did not posses. In this new world, those skills could be the
difference between life and death, and of the latter, we had
recently experienced too much. Kieran’s tragic death was on all of
our minds, and even I could not help but think that if Ravi were
here, the boy may have had a chance. Also, farm living was not an
easy life. Although it would be months before we would harvest, I
expected there would be plenty of minor injuries associated with
that labor.

On the down side, making the trip to
Randall Oaks would mean leaving the farm with less protection in
the face of the recent threat. With only speculation as to why the
man was scouting the farm, or why he had shot Kieran, there were
too many unanswered questions. Were there more men lurking out
there preparing to descend on the farm? How long before whoever
sent the man realized he was missing and would come looking for
him? Or was he only acting on his own and had killed the boy for an
unknown reason?

After several hours of discussion, we
agreed that Brian and I would take one of the horse-drawn
carriages, some weapons and a small cache of supplies for the
journey. We did not expect to be gone long and with only two of us
gone there were still enough capable men and women who would be
able to hold down the farm if trouble should arise. I had complete
faith in Lara and Justin to take the lead and organize a defense
and counter-attack. They were good soldiers and each experienced in
fighting the living and the dead.

We figured our travel time would be
approximately an hour and half to two hours to make the 12-mile
trip with the current weather conditions. Even with the weight of
the buggy and our gear, the horses were strong enough to maintain a
10-mile an hour pace. Once there, we planned to stay the night at
Randall Oaks, giving us time to reunite with our friends, answer
questions, and get everyone prepared for travel the following day.
Given the extra weight, I estimated the return trip would take
about three hours with the horses pulling at a slower pace. All
told, we would be away from the farm for about twenty-eight
hours.

A lot could jump off in that time; I
was well aware of that. Less than twenty four hours ago Kieran was
alive and well, a vital young man with his best years ahead of him.
I felt it would not be prudent to leave so soon after. If there
were others out there, they may be planning another attack. More
than likely, that would happen within 24-72 hours, so I decided we
would wait a few days. If all remained quiet, we would follow our
plan.

Time of Your
Life

The following three days were
uneventful, although busy. Lara and I spent as much time together,
doing chores, standing posts and security patrols during the day,
and then making love quietly in the ranch house in the evening. We
were trying to keep our bodies and minds occupied.

It was clear that we all deeply felt
Kieran’s loss and each person mourned the boy in their own way.
Wesley was taking it harder than most. Kieran had taken the younger
boy under his wing soon after our arrival. He took to teaching
Wesley about farm living, as well as all those other things teenage
boys should begin to learn about life; girls. The last several
weeks the two had become practically inseparable. The morning
Kieran was shot, Wesley pouted because I wouldn’t let him tag
along. He said Kieran and he were a team.

At the time, I almost caved and
allowed him to come. I could remember what it was like to be young
and have a best friend you wanted to do everything together. I
remembered Lara’s voice, telling me I had to start treating him
like a son and not a friend, that I needed to be an authority
figure, to teach him the things he needed to know, whether he liked
it or not. So, I made him stay. Looking back three days later, I
was glad I stuck to my guns and left the boy back at the main
house.

No one had told Wesley or the younger
children about how Kieran really died, or what we learned about
Kieran’s killer; not much at all. We also didn’t tell Wesley that
Brian and I would be leaving the farm to return to Randall Oaks. I
wanted to tell Wesley everything. I thought he had a right to know.
He was young, yes, but he was also growing up in a different world,
one that required he lose his innocence at a young age and become a
man too soon. But Lara suggested that telling Wesley would only
further depress the boy and that I should wait until the day
before.

Personally, I didn’t feel waiting
would make hearing the news any easier. And I hated keeping things
from the boy, even if keeping secrets was to protect him. In the
end, I did as Lara suggested. She had been right about so many
things and in this I trusted her judgment.

It was difficult making preparations
while keeping secrets. Around here, everyone helped with the
day-to-day activities, including the younger children, who each had
a list of chores they had to finish before sunset. They were
naturally inquisitive, especially Wesley who was trying to learn so
many new things, and not much slipped past their curious minds.
However, their minds were preoccupied and although they went about
their tasks, they did so with a heavy heart.

Deirdre and Nora, the two youngest of
the Finnegan clan—normally full of questions—were silent as they
helped Ian hitch their horses—Meredith and Beauty—to the hay track
wagon. He’d expected them to wonder why they were hitching the
horses to the hay track when there wouldn’t be hay to gather until
spring. And perhaps they noticed, but they were too busy missing
their brother to wonder about it. When they finished up, they both
excused themselves to the main house rather than running off to
play while there was still daylight.

While Lara finished packing my ruck,
I went outside to search for Wesley. It was time to talk to the
boy. I expected to find him feeding the livestock, one of his
chores, but instead I found him behind the barracks, sitting on a
set of old tractor tires that were no longer fit for duty. In the
field, Cody scouted for rabbits or other critters that he could
chase down. Cody took well to farm life and he was happy here.

When I sat next to Wesley, he paused
from his whittling project—something Cleona had started him on the
day after Kieran was laid to rest—then he was back to working the
piece of wood with the knife the old woman had given him. Normally
talkative, inquisitive, this morning he was quiet. I knew he was
thinking about Kieran.

After his parents died during the
battle with Providence, Wesley had retreated into himself. He
became quiet, reclusive, wanting to be alone. He did not want to be
consoled. Sam and Kat were beside themselves with worry; they felt
helpless. They boy did not want their company and they just wanted
to hold him and hug him and take his pain from him.

Eventually, the boy began to open up
again. He just needed time and the ability to grieve in his own
way. I knew he’d come around again, just like he did then, as he
also did when Ray died. We just needed to give him his space and
let him grieve his friend the way that was best for him. If he
decided he wanted comfort or needed contact, he would seek it out.
As I said, he was a boy, but he was also a man in many ways.

So sitting on the edge of the hard,
cold rubber of the giant tractor tire, I just watched him for a
moment as his small hands worked the stag handled knife—a gift from
Kieran—against the soft wood. Although Wesley had only started the
project a day ago, I could see the beginnings of a horse head. The
ears, eyes, and nostrils carved in intricate detail. He was
currently working at one side of the mane; carving curls that
brought dimension to the piece.

Several minutes in silence while he
continued to shave life-like details into the block of wood. In the
field, Cody made his way along a stretch of fence, no longer
tracking prey, but instead stopping every several yards to lift a
leg and relive himself, to mark his territory.

Finally, I broke the silence. “What
are you making there, Wesley?”

The hand that held the knife stopped
and he settled it against his thigh, palm up with the knife
pointing away from his body. With his other hand, he held up the
block of wood so that I could see it.

“It’s a knight,” he said, his voice
so soft I almost didn’t hear him.

“Like Sir Arthur and his knights of
the round table?” I asked.