Mad Swine: The Beginning

by Steven Pajak

  “Holy shit!” I let out a trembling breath.

  I stood in amazement. All told, it took six shots to put the woman down. Mentally unstable, crazed and out of her mind, the first shot should have mortally wounded her. The second should have just been a nail in the coffin. But six shots? My God, how could she have kept coming after her throat was blown open?

  I took a deep breath trying to regain my composure. I was shaking inside and my mouth was dry as hell. After a brief moment, and ignoring the pleas for help from the young mother in the red Honda, I turned toward the next crazy who’d attacked the teenage girl only moments ago. I felt terrible for ignoring the frightened mother in the Honda, but right now I had to deal with the other crazies first. The mother would have to wait.

  The crazy guy still had the girl pinned down in the street. He straddled her from behind and in the minute or so it took to deal with the unstoppable woman, he’d gone from biting her back to munching on her right wrist. Even from this distance I could see white bone beneath the sheets of red blood that poured down.

  The girl was screaming at the top of her lungs. Trying to block out her screams before they frayed my nerves completely, I lined up my shot, and with little hesitation, blew the right side of the crazy man’s temple wide open. He collapsed immediately to the right and did not move. Unlike the woman, he actually stayed down with just one shot.

  Ignoring everything else now, I started to move forward, only peripherally taking note of all the people running panicked around me. I had tunnel vision; I locked my sights on the next psycho. He was up and moving now, having ditched the unlucky bald guy—maybe dead or maybe alive, but certainly messed up. The crazy had moved on to new prey and was chasing down a young black man. The kid was obviously terrified; his eyes were as big as saucers and his mouth worked up and down, as though he was screaming. I couldn’t hear anything. I blocked out everything that would distract me for the moment.

  The young man ran as fast as he could with his pants sagging down, impeding the length of his stride. In a pretty nice move, though, he jumped over the hood of a parked car, Dukes of Hazard style, and then with another quick hop he leaped up onto the chain link fence of the nature center on the south side of the street and started to climb. He almost made it, too, but before he could get completely over the fence the crazy man grabbed his foot and started to pull. The kid held on tightly and screamed, trying to kick the bastard off, but the pursuer held firmly.

  I stopped beside a cream-colored Cadillac and got down on my right knee. Snuggling the SKS comfortably against my shoulder I fired another shot and splattered the crazy’s brain all over the back of the kid’s sagging pants. The psycho immediately loosened his grip on the kid’s foot and dropped to the ground, and a second later the hysterical kid fell to the ground on the opposite side of the fence, hopped up like he had springs in his legs, and ran like mad. He never looked back.

  Still in my shooter’s stance, I pivoted on my knee and scanned for the last crazy. I didn’t see him. I stood and started moving again, westbound. I took no more than two steps before a man grabbed my arm from behind and screamed for me to look in the other direction. I turned and saw the crazed bastard. He was wearing charcoal gray dress pants and a lavender dress shirt. The back of his pants was stained with blood, as though he’d been sitting in a pool while he munched on some poor soul. In midst of all the chaos he had moved past me and was now dining on an elderly lady. He dipped his head and took a chunk out of her forehead, just above her left orbital socket.

  The SKS barked again and the crazy keeled over, the front of his head blown wide open.

  Now that I’d dealt with all threats, I was suddenly again aware of the rest of the people all around me. Some were hiding behind their cars, peeking over fenders or from behind wheels while others pressed against their floorboards, not daring to venture out. Others still continued to run pell-mell through the streets, not sure what was going on but the instinct to get away strongly driving them along.

  After a quick scan, I detected no more crazies. I took the opportune moment to open the SKS magazine and dump the remaining rounds into my hand. Without thinking about it, I dropped the loose rounds into my pants pocket and loaded another ten rounds from a fresh stripper clip.

  I returned to my Santa Fe. Standing beside the open driver’s door I realized the car would be useless in this gridlock. Cars were scattered all over the boulevard and left little room to drive and maneuver. Most drivers had ditched their vehicles and were nowhere to be found. Even though I’d dealt with the threat, I didn’t think they’d be back any time soon. If I wanted to get my kids, I’d have to hoof it.

  At the hatch of my car again, I grabbed my ‘go bag’, a medium sized canvas bag with a shoulder strap. I opened it up and took a quick inventory: a poncho, LaRue tactical battle knife, small first aid kit, magnesium fire starter, two pints of bottled water, two MRE’s, multi-tool, foldable jacket, pair of gloves, and some water purifying tablets. In one of the outside pockets I found the Zero Tolerance 300 folding knife and a Surefire flashlight. There were also more odds and ends in the bag but I confirmed all that I really needed already.

  I pulled out the packable jacket, unzipped it from its self-containing sleeve, and opened it up. In my haste to get out of the office when the alarm sounded, I’d forgotten my vest. Although not the best garment to protect me from the cool November air, the jacket had pockets. After I shrugged into the jacket, I did some load distribution, moving the stripper clips into its pockets, stuck the Zero Tolerance into my front right pant pocket, and clipped the Surefire into my left pant pocket.

  Satisfied with my distribution of gear, I moved back to the driver’s door and reached into the car to grab the keys from the ignition. Although I wouldn’t be driving, I needed them to get into my house and unlock my gun safe. I noticed a half full bottle of water from this morning’s drive into the city, and stuck that into my go bag. I grabbed up my cell phone, too, while I was at it.

  I took one last look around at the chaos on the street and then started walking. The kids’ elementary school was nearly nine miles away. I needed another egress plan, one that included improvised transportation, to get my kids and make our way out of the city and back to my wife.

  It was going to be a long day.

  CHAPTER 2:

  School’s Out Forever

  A trip that would have normally taken me forty to forty-five minutes by car during the early morning rush took me about six hours by foot. It was dusk when I reached St. John’s Catholic school.

  Although I was walking, I could have made the trek an hour sooner, except I kept running into distractions along the way. Twice I had to stop to take out a couple of crazies that were wreaking havoc on my route. I hadn’t done it to be a hero, or because I felt sorry for the people who were the targets of those crazies, but because those things were in my way. My mind was set on getting my children and getting out of the city, back to my wife.

  Hiking down Peterson Avenue, I came across a viaduct that was crammed full of cars involved in a pretty bad pile-up. On the south side of the street, the eastbound movement halted when an oversized pickup truck smashed into a taxi and then flipped. More vehicles immediately smashed behind them, causing a massive tangle of steel and plastic. On the north side, the westbound traffic was blocked by a CTA bus that had fishtailed and wedged itself perpendicularly into the opening of the viaduct. By the time I came along, most of those lucky enough to survive the collisions had taken refuge in the bus, while a small group of crazies clamored around, smashing their limbs and bodies against it, trying to get at those inside.

  Crossing this path was the quickest way to my children. There was no way to skirt them on the south side of the street. The moment I tried to navigate around or over the wrecked vehicles those crazy bastards would be on me. Moving north or south to find alternative routes would delay me further, and was not an option. I needed to get to my kids now. With that thought in my mind, I leaned ag
ainst an abandoned car, raised the SKS and steadied it by planting my elbow for support. Taking aim, I shot each one through the head.

  After dispatching a crazed group who was terrorizing the bus driver and his load of passengers, I immediately got pinned down by some cops who were probably responding to the pile-up. They returned fire on me with their pistols. The twang and thud of the nine millimeter rounds slamming or ricocheting off the vehicles alerted me to their arrival. Luckily, I had good cover from the abandoned vehicles.

  I really didn’t want to get into a firefight with a couple of LEO’s. I did not want to kill a couple of guys doing their jobs, protecting and serving. But at the same time I had no intention of surrendering to them and spending the rest of the day in a cell while things got straightened out. I wasn’t going to be stopped by anyone or anything until I knew my kids were safe and out of this crazy city.

  With little patience for a stand-off, I was able to convince them that I had them out-gunned. I did this by displaying my marksmanship when I head-shot another crazy who’d come at them from their flank while they were worrying over me. When I had their complete attention, when the fear of death finally crept into their minds and they could think of nothing else, I strongly suggested it was best for them to stay alive and move on and check on their families. After seeing my shooting abilities and listening to their radios which were constantly sparking to life with dispatch calls for officers that needed assistance, they were finally persuaded to leave me alone and move on. I was glad I did not have to kill them, but, God forgive me, I would have. I don’t think they really knew how close I was to ending them.

  Now, six hours later, I came upon St. John’s church from the north, having had to skirt around the southern route to avoid further conflict with the largest group of crazies I’d seen yet. An eerie feeling crept over me as I cautiously approached the sacred place; goose flesh broke out over my arms and the nape of my neck felt like there were spiders crawling on my flesh. Something did not seem right. The streets in the small Niles suburb were far too quiet, too empty, by comparison to the gridlock I experienced on the Chicago streets.

  For a moment I was extremely relieved. I thought that maybe whatever the hell was going on in the city hadn’t happened here, at least not yet. My relief was short-lived.

  The church parking lot was empty save for three vehicles. The church itself was dark, an ominous foreshadowing; there were always lights on, even when it was closed. A quick tug on the side entrance confirmed that the doors were locked. I knocked on the solid wood door and cupped my hands against the glass and looked inside. In the dim light that filtered in through the skylight I could see the church was barren. I saw no movement among the pews, the nave or narthex.

  My heart pumped faster now, and I tried to swallow the fear that formed a lump in my throat. I unslung the SKS from my shoulder and trotted toward the school. In my approach I saw only three or four other vehicles in the school lot. This was a bad sign. I stopped in my tracks when I saw what looked like a body lying prone near the north entrance to the school. Instinctively I crouch-walked, moving closer, trying to present as low a profile as possible without slowing my approach too much.

  I continued to scan the parking lot, but I only saw the one body. No one else moved around the school grounds. Upon closer inspection, the body turned out to be one of the principal’s office assistants, Nancy I think was her name. A little on the plump side, Nancy was cute, bubbly and pleasing to the eye, though you wouldn’t know it looking at her now. Her neck was ravaged, most of the flesh on her left shoulder was gone and her back had also been torn and gouged. I did not care to turn her body over. I’d seen enough.

  Still crouching, I made my way to the north doors of the school’s main building and pulled. Of course, the doors were locked. Although a locked door at the church was unusual, locked doors at the school were not. The administration at this school took safety very seriously.

  Feeling like an idiot, but with no alternative plan, I rang the buzzer, which was the usual procedure to enter the building. After an intense minute of silence, feeling extremely exposed in the openness of the main entrance and huge parking lot, I used the butt of the SKS to smash in one of the glass doors. It took a few blows before the glass spider-webbed and then a few swipes with the butt of the carbine to remove the excess glass from the frame. My actions made far too much noise.

  With the SKS at my shoulder, I spun in a semi-circle to see if there would be any response to my vandalism. At this point, even the police would have been welcomed. Instead, a tall silhouette that I recognized as Father Thomas approached quickly from the rectory. I hadn’t considered checking the rectory and I cursed myself. I should have been more careful, more watchful, and more considerate in my planning. If anything happened to me my kids would not make it alone.

  My finger tensed on the trigger and then eased off only after I could see Father Tom’s face clearly in the light. He wasn’t one of the crazies.

  “Mr. Danzig, what are you doing?” he asked. His eyes dropped down, took in the broken glass, widened at the sight of my SKS and locked on my own eyes.

  “What happened here, Father?” I asked. “Where the hell is everybody? What happened to Nancy?”

  I wish I’d had the foresight to pack a transistor radio in my go bag. I was starved for information. Since leaving my Santa Fe on the road, I had no idea what else may have transpired in the many hours that I’d been walking. I felt lost and confused and even more anxious to get my kids and go home.

  “There was chaos,” Father Tom said cryptically and then he nervously looked away. He put his right hand in his pocket and took it out immediately, then starting rubbing both hands together. “It happened just shortly after pick-up time, thank the Lord,” Father Tom continued. “But the police did not respond to our initial call or our subsequent calls for assistance. I even pulled the fire alarms, but no help arrived.”

  He looked up again and we locked eyes. “You’re the first person I’ve seen since we evacuated. All those children whose parents were here to take them were evacuated. Some were not as lucky.”

  “Where are my kids, Father?” I asked, standing now. My fear was at the point where it was about to overwhelm me and take over. In the hours I spent on the road I kept telling myself that my children would be fine, that my kids were all right. Even when I saw the empty parking lot, the dark locked church and poor dead Nancy, I still told myself everything would be fine. Now his words flooded me with fear and I came suddenly to the realization that things truly were messed up, that everything was not going to be fine.

  “Mr. Danzig, please come with me to the rectory.” Father Tom reached out with one long, thin hand. “Give me your weapon and let me counsel you.”

  “I just want to take my children and go home, Father,” I said and stepped in through the new doorway I’d made.

  I was probably close to shock at that point, although I didn’t know it. My mind was a complete blank. I had no idea what I intended to do, where I intended to go; I just needed to move and find my children. The priest halted me with one hand on my shoulder. When he lifted his left hand and I saw the rosary; he hadn’t been rubbing his hands together, but instead he’d been praying on his rosary.

  “Mr. Danzig, I pray for them. And if you insist on going in there, I will pray for you, too.”

  “Fuck off, Father.” I turned on him quickly, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it around and behind his back. My fear quickly turned to blind rage by his insinuation that my children were dead and needed his prayers. “My children are fine, you fucking coward. And if they’re not and you didn’t do anything about it, you had better say a prayer for yourself because I’m coming back for you.”

  I could no longer control myself. I kicked him in the seat of his pants and sent him sprawling through the broken door frame. “Go hide in your rectory, Father, and wait for my judgment you fucking coward,” I yelled.

  Now emboldened by my rage and the need t
o see my children alive, to hold them in my arms and tell them to not be frightened, that everything would be okay, I stormed boldly into the bowels of the school. Although only the emergency lights lit the halls, I did not take out my flashlight. I did not have time for that.

  I stalked down the hall toward my daughter’s second grade classroom, which was nearest the school’s north entrance. I was at the door in seconds and I furiously pulled it open and stepped into the room with the SKS raised, expecting to see a horde of crazies and carnage. Instead, the room was silent and untouched. Each of the small chairs was turned up on top of each the desks, which meant that the day here had been normal, at least up until five minutes before dismissal when the kids cleaned up. I checked in the coat room and was confronted with more emptiness. Not wanting to waste time, I stormed back into the hall and ran quickly south with my shoes slapping loudly against the vinyl tile floor.

  At the first cross-section of the hallway, I turned east and then south again at the next main hall. The kindergarten room was midway down. Winded, I burst into the kindergarten classroom, again with the SKS at the ready. Although not as tidy as the second grade class, it was obvious that nothing out of the ordinary transpired here. Some of the toys were out of place and some of the school supplies lay out on a couple of the miniature desks, but there was no sign of foul play.

  “What the fuck?”

  The last obvious place for me to check was extended day care, where children were sent if their parents were running late or if they did not have child care providers between when school let out and when they got out of work. Beyond that, I’d have to check every classroom, one at a time, which I was determined to do, but I felt like I was losing too much time.