by A. American
Thad turned and looked at the mailman—Marty—who began to babble incoherently. Thad did manage to make out, “He killed ’em, it was his idea!”
“Don’t worry, you’re next,” Thad said to Marty.
Thad turned back when he heard Chuck let out a little yelp. The pigs were nipping at his toes and, when Chuck didn’t push them away, they began to bite harder. Thad took the jar and, pushing the swine out of the way with his knees, made his way over to the hanging man. He brushed the dark, sweet goo all over Chuck’s feet and calves. The man began to cry, “Just kill me, you sick fuck, for cryin’ out loud, just fucking kill me!”
Thad looked the man in the eyes. “Oh, I’m going to, but you said they was alive in the house when y’all set the fire. That means they suffered, bad. So you gonna suffer too.”
Chuck began to whimper and cry. He tried to keep his feet from the pigs, but he simply couldn’t hold them up that long. Every time he dropped them a little, one of those damn animals would hop up off its front feet to get at his, biting his toes. As time went on, his toes turned into a bloody mess and Chuck began to howl in pain as the little appendages were ripped off and consumed by the swirling mass of pork below him. Thad stood and watched as the pigs slowly chewed and tore at the bloody feet.
The screams became louder. Chuck had found a renewed vigor from someplace and his cries grew louder and louder. He begged Thad to kill him and cursed him, asking what kind of sick son of a bitch does something like this. Thad stepped over to the man, making his way through the writhing swine, and said, “You want to die?”
In a low, whimpering voice, Chuck replied, “Yes! For the love of fucking God, yes!”
“All right, then,” Thad replied. Taking a step back, he flipped open the straight razor he had found on the bench in the shop. He had put it there to sharpen and forgotten about it till today. In one quick motion, Thad swung the blade at Chuck’s stomach. The blade went through the skin, tissue and muscle of Chuck’s abdomen. Chuck let out a scream as the blade went through him, but that was nothing compared to what followed.
Thad stepped back and punched Chuck just below his diaphragm. The force of the blow caused his lower GI, large and small intestines to fall out in a large mass, trailing down his legs. Chuck looked on in horror as he felt the tugs. The hogs were tearing at his insides. He hung there watching in stark terror as a pig grabbed a mouthful of small intestines and ran to the other side of the pen, a streamer of the small wet vessel trailing it. He let out a scream, a wail the likes of which no one present had ever heard.
Thad stood there watching as the pigs consumed the organs in a frenzy. Marty, still tied to his chair, began to scream, “Kill him, for fuck’s sake, just kill him!”
It didn’t last too long. One of the hogs pulled on a piece of Chuck’s innards and a blood vessel ruptured. Dark red blood began to pour down Chuck’s legs, his face started to go pale, and after a couple of slight tremors ran through what was left of his body, Chuck died. The only way Thad could tell was that he had stopped crying out. The pigs were still at work and his body still swung and twisted on the rope. Accepting that he was dead, Thad turned to look at Marty. Marty was sitting there with that wide-eyed slack-jawed expression he’d had since he came around. Looking at Thad he went into a fit, violently shaking and rocking the chair. He was screaming total nonsense with spittle flying from his mouth and tears in his eyes. Thad started toward him, and Marty managed to fall over onto his side.
• • •
Entering the mouth of the creek, the boat came under fire from the west shore. Ted yelled out, “Contact left!” and opened up with the SAW he still held. Sarge joined in with his SAW and Mike set down his M4 and picked up the 203 that Doc had and started lobbing high explosive rounds at the muzzle flashes. The sudden overwhelming response quickly silenced the two men firing at the boat.
Doc turned the boat toward the shack. When they arrived, Sarge launched himself out as it came up to the little dock and began shouting orders out to the guys as they secured the boat. He wanted all the radios packed up in the cases, the solar panels down and the ammo secured. They needed to move everything they could get to the truck as fast as possible; the boot was surely about to come down. To get to the truck they had to hump a little more that three hundred yards through the swamp.
They got everything packed, hauled to the truck and loaded up. Things went so well that they had time to go back to the nice-to-have pile and pack that stuff up as well. The last thing they did was to booby-trap the shack. One corner of a piece of plywood was pried from the floor and a pressure switch, sacrificed from one of the weapon lights, was placed under it. Ted adjusted the plywood until the circuit was open, wired it into a nine-volt battery and connected it to a claymore. He ran another wire under the floor to the kitchen area and a claymore was hidden behind the propane tank for the stove. That wire was then connected to the blasting cap of the claymore, creating a daisy-chain charge.
Another claymore was rigged to one of the boats outside. A piece of the inner braid of a section of 550 cord was pulled out and tied around the speedometer pickup tube on the stern on Sarge’s boat. The string was run over to the dock and connected to a small piece of wood that was holding a clothespin open. The clothespin had the stripped wire from the positive side of the circuit from another nine-volt battery wrapped around it, so that when the boat was moved, the string would pull the piece of wood out, closing the circuit. This claymore was suspended under the dock with an additional one-pound block of C4 pressed to its face.
With the welcoming goodies set, Sarge and Ted headed for the truck for the last time. Doc and Mike were already there on watch. As they came out of the swamp, Sarge asked that one of them get on the military radio—the green gear—and try to make contact with their army contacts. He wanted them to know what had gone down and also find out if there was a safe place to run to.
Mike turned the radio on as soon as he got in the truck. He put the headphones on and started to tune the radio, and as soon as he was on the proper station he heard, “—calling Swamp Rat.” He sat and listened for a minute and heard the full transmission when it was repeated: “Clementine calling Swamp Rat.”
“This is Swamp Rat, go ahead Clementine, break,” Mike said.
“Swamp Rat, what’s your situation, break?”
“Swamp Rat is E&Eing out of our AO, break.”
“Roger, are you in contact, break?”
“Negative, Clementine, we broke contact and are looking for a new home, break.”
“Swamp Rat, are you feet wet or dry, break?”
“Swamp Rat is feet dry and mobile, break.”
“Swamp Rat, you need to move toward Dallas. OPFOR reaction force is en route to your location via Serpent, you need to exfil immediately, how copy, break.”
“Roger, Clementine, I copy. Heading for Dallas, OPFOR reaction force en route via Serpent, does OPFOR have air assets committed, break.”
Mike handed Doc their map case and said, “Find Dallas.”
“Unknown, Swamp Rat, assume assets are in play, notify Clementine when you reach Dallas, Clementine out.”
“Roger, Swamp Rat out.”
Mike thumped the cab of the truck. Sarge looked back and Mike leaned around so he could hear him. “Clementine says there’s a reaction force coming down the river. They want us to head for Dallas.”
“Where the fuck’s Dallas?” Sarge asked.
“I don’t know, Doc is looking for it on the map.”
“Give me the fucking map.”
Mike turned back to Doc. “Find it?”
“Not yet.”
“The old man wants the map.” Doc handed it over and Mike passed it Sarge, who immediately started scanning the map and the various rally points that were marked on it.
Chapter 20
I was sitting in the Suburban when Little Bit came trot
ting out of the house. She was carrying a little white plastic case with a red cross on the front of it. When she climbed up into the truck, I asked her, “What’s that for?”
“It’s my first aid kit. We might need it.”
I just shook my head at her. I sure wished a first aid kit would help Lance. I drove out the drive and made a left at the gate. As I passed the raider I had shot, she stood up in her seat to look and said, “Is that him?”
“No, that’s not him. That’s one of the bad guys.”
She turned and sat back down in her seat without saying anything more and we drove to the barricade. I backed up to where Lance was lying. Mark and Rick were still there, as well as a couple of other people from the neighborhood. Mark came around to my side as I got out. “Seen any others?” I asked.
“There were a couple of people way down the road, but they didn’t come up here.”
“Can you help me load him up?”
Mark looked back at the body. “Yeah, sure. You going to put him in the back?”
“Yeah, I brought some Visqueen to wrap him in, then we’ll load him up and I’ll take him home.”
I grabbed the plastic out of the back seat and walked back to where he was lying. Little Bit got out of the truck and walked back. She stood there watching as we laid out the plastic. Mark and I picked him up and set on the sheet of plastic film, and Little Bit came over and looked down at him.
“Looks like he’s sleeping,” she said.
“He is, forever,” I replied. Mark gave me a look asking why she was there.
I told him, “She’ll see it sooner or later.”
Little Bit was looking at the blood. There was a lot on the ground where we moved him from, and his shirt and coat were soaked. “Is that where the bullets hit him?”
“Yeah, remember those bullets you had in your hand earlier? This is what they do.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “How do they do it? Do they explode?”
That took me by surprise, and I tried to think of how to explain it to her. “No, they don’t explode, but the bullet is going very fast and it’s really hard; it just sort of cuts a hole.”
“I have some Band-Aids.” She opened her little first aid kit.
“No, sweetheart, a Band-Aid won’t fix it.”
She looked up at me and said, “Daddy, I’m gonna go wait in the truck.” She turned and walked around to the passenger side of the truck.
Mark asked, “Why in the hell did you bring her with you?”
“Look, man, she’s probably going to see more of it, the way things are going. She asked if she could come. I told her what I was doing and she still wanted to, so I brought her.”
“I don’t want my kids to see anything like this.” He was looking at her through the rear window.
“I don’t really want mine to either, but this is the world we live in now. Let’s load him up.”
I dropped the rear gate and we loaded Lance into the back. Mark asked, “Can you come help bury these guys later?”
I looked at the body in the road, then back down our road at the others. “I’m not going to bury ’em. I’ll drag ’em off into the woods if you want, but I’m not spending hours digging holes for ’em.”
Mark turned with a disgusted look on his face. “We have to bury them; we can’t just leave them here.”
“No, we can’t just leave them here, but I ain’t burying them. I say we just drag ’em into the field across the road and leave em there; the buzzards will make short work of ’em.”
“You are one sick bastard, you know that?”
“What the fuck do want from me? They just tried to shoot their way in here, and they killed Lance and Robbie. Fuck ’em, I don’t give a shit about ’em. I already have a grave to dig today.”
I turned and climbed into the truck, started it up and was about to pull off when Mark came up to the window. I put it down and looked at him. He said, “I almost forgot, the doc says Don is ready to come home. Can you go pick him up later?”
“Yeah, after I do this, I’ll go get him.” I put the truck in gear and then put it back in park. I said, “Look, Mark, you have to decide who I am. Am I some sick bastard, or am I the guy who’s going to pick up Don? The guy who brought food to Miss Janice, the guy who came running when the shooting started? The guy who volunteered to tell Lance’s wife that he’s dead? Here’s a thought: why don’t you get some of those people who want my food, the same people who weren’t here to defend the barricade, and put them on grave detail? Then maybe they’d appreciate what the rest of us are doing for them.”
Mark looked at the ground and then back at me. He said, “Yeah, maybe.”
I put the truck in gear again and pulled out. I looked over at Little Bit. She was looking out the window and being quiet—very unnatural for her. “You okay, kiddo?”
She turned and gave me a weak smile, then looked at my carbine lying on the seat between us. “Yeah, Daddy. Is that going to happen to you? Is a bullet going to cut a hole in you?”
I reached out and took her little hand in mine. “Well, Monkey, I sure hope not, but there’s bad people out there and we have to try and protect ourselves. If bad people come, then we have to try and stop them.”
Her little face contorted and she started to cry. “I don’t want you to get shot with a bullet. Can’t we just run away? Why do bad people have to come? Can’t you just stay home with me and Mommy?” She was crying hard and I felt horrible.
I stopped the truck and she climbed over into my lap. I hugged her hard and she wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed with all her might. “I’m going to be okay. You don’t think I walked all the way home just so someone could shoot me when I got here, do you?”
She sat up and looked at me. “No, but I’m worried. I’m scared that someone will try and shoot you.”
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll be okay. No one is going to shoot me.” She didn’t know I had already been shot once, and I was damn glad of it. I asked if she wanted to drive. Just as quickly as the tears had started, they stopped. She sat in my lap and steered the truck. As we approached the gate to our house, she asked why we were going home and not to the man’s house. I told her I wanted her to stay home and not go there with me. She started to protest, but I told her that it would be sad and she had already seen enough sad things for the day, and she didn’t say anything after that.
Little Bit hopped out of the truck. I told her to tell Mommy I would be back soon and waited for her to go in the house. She stopped in the door of the house and gave me a little wave.
I drove to Lance’s house, which was off a little spur road from the main road into our little neighborhood. As I pulled into the driveway I suddenly realized I didn’t know his wife’s name.
I honked the horn and saw a young woman look out the window. I stepped out of the truck and waved to her. The door opened and she looked around the side of it. “Can I help you?”
“Ah, yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, but does Lance live here?”
“Yes, but he isn’t here right now.”
“I know. I’m Morgan. I live on the main road.”
“I know who you are.” She stayed behind the door.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” I was trying to figure out how to do this, but there was no easy way to do it.
“I’m Tina, what do you want?”
“Tina, can you come outside so I can talk to you?”
“We can talk right here; don’t come toward me.”
I had no doubt that she had a gun behind the door. I said, “I don’t know exactly how to say this, but Lance was killed earlier.”
She didn’t say anything. She just stood there staring at me.
“He was shot by a group of people who were trying to get in to steal food.” She still hadn’t move
d. “Tina, did you hear me?”
“You’re lying,” she said flatly.
“I wish to God I was. I’m so sorry to have to tell you. I have his body in the back of the truck. I thought he should be brought here to you.”
She told me I was wrong and called me a liar again. I tried to get her to come out so I could show her, but she refused and eventually she told me to go away and she shut the door. I didn’t know what to do. I had envisioned crying and wailing maybe, but not a flat refusal to accept it. Finally I did the only thing I could. I carried Lance up to the front of the house and laid him out, then pulled the plastic off so she could see him. I could see her in the window, but when I bent over to set him down and straightened back up, she was gone.
I sat in the truck for a few minutes waiting to see if she would come out, but I never saw so much as the curtain move. After about half an hour I started up the old Chevy, backed out of the drive and headed down the road. I turned left toward Danny’s house and drove down. Danny met me on the porch with a “Yo.”
“You get the boy to Reggie’s?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s pretty tore up. I gotta go tell his sister that her son is dead now too.”
“Damn, first the girl and now him. I can’t even imagine it.”
I asked him if he would come and help me bury Lance. I told him how Tina had reacted and he just shook his head. He suggested we go get Mark and have him go with us, being as he was the one that everyone looked to. I agreed it was a good idea, and Danny went over to the shed and grabbed a couple of shovels. Mark was still at the barricade talking to a couple of the guys from the block and we motioned for him to come over.
He agreed to help and went back to the barricade. He asked one of the guys there to stay at the barricade and back up Rick, handing the man his carbine. Mark returned and climbed in, and we went back to Lance’s house. His body was still lying in the yard and looked just as I had left it. Danny and I stayed in the truck and Mark went to the house.
He knocked on the door a couple of times and there was no response. He called out several times, still nothing. He tried the door, but it was locked. He waved for us to come up and we met him at the door, not sure what to do.