Regeneration (Mad Swine Book 3) (14 page)

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 reaching 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?”

“Let’s do it,” I said.

* * *

After using strips of the dead man’s
flannel shirt to tie up and gag the woman, we traded candle light
for darkness as we slipped quietly from Kappy’s office into the
corridor. With no windows, no light reached the confined space. To
our right was the rear exit, directly across from us were two small
bathrooms, and down the hall on our left was the kitchen, and
beyond that, the main dining room. Using hand signals, I indicated
my intention to check the bathroom on the right.

I crossed the corridor in two steps
and slowly pushed the door inward, stepping into the restroom. With
my flashlight cupped in one hand, the 1911 held out in front in the
other, I swept to the right and saw my own reflection in the mirror
above the double vanity. Turning away quickly, I scanned the
restroom. Two urinals, separated by a small panel. A fold down baby
changing station on the wall beside two hand driers. At the rear
the only stall, a large one, to accommodate the handicap. Of
course, the door was closed.

Only my breathing and the sound of my
boots broke the silence as they tread across the tacky porcelain
tile. To my own ear, these sounds were loud, exaggerated. If there
was anyone in the crapper, for sure they were aware they were not
alone. Yet I continued my approach in stealth mode, or as
stealthily as I could given I was a mouth breather with sticky
boots.

Standing now in front of the door, I
reached out with the hand that held the flashlight and pulled the
door, stepping back at the same time to move out of the way as it
swung. Instead, the door made a clacking sound as it bounced
against the frame, and then it opened slowly into the stall,
vibrating as it moved on its hinges. Shaking my head at my own
stupidity, I moved rapidly into the stall. My flashlight revealed
an empty toilet.

Trying to calm my nerves, I took a
deep breath, then gagged and almost coughed. In here, the smell of
stale urine and feces was pungent. Leaving the stall, I started
toward the door to the hallway then froze as it swung open and the
beam of a flashlight pinned me in place. I sucked in another deep
breath, this one caught in my throat, capturing the scream that
tried to rise up.

“What the fuck, dude?” Brian said. He
lowered the flashlight beam to the floor and I was able to see the
disappointment on his face. “I could hear you in the next room. Be
quiet for fuck sake.”

“Sorry,” I said, feeling like an
asshole. I shook my head, as if trying to shake off the stupid.

“Forget it,” he said. “For all they
know the dead dude or his lady needed to take a piss. Let’s get
moving while we still have the element of surprise.”

We moved out into the corridor and
Brian made an “after you” gesture, indicating he wanted me to take
the lead. After all, I knew the layout. Knowing Kat’s life was at
stake, I knew I had to get my shit together. No more foul ups. I
had to be careful, but we also had to be quick. In front of us were
two choices: the kitchen, where Kat was most likely being held, or
the main dining room, where the rest of the gang was probably holed
up.

The kitchen would be a deathtrap.
Once inside, we could easily be surrounded. With no doors or
windows, we’d never get out. We needed to scout the dining room
first, and take out any threats there before storming the kitchen.
There was no other way.

Having made a quick decision, I moved
now with a sense of urgency and a confidence I hadn’t felt in
months. I could feel the fear in my belly, but I also felt the
thrill of the mission coursing through my veins. The warrior within
was pushing through, rising to meet the challenge, with deadly
force, if necessary.