The Pig Thief
A farmer in a post-apocalyptic world discovers a missing pig from his colony's farm and sets out to find the culprit.
Good Evening My Readers!
Welcome to another issue of The Boom Room! Here’s another horror suspense short story for you! I wrote this story for a flash fiction contest a few years ago.
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AUDIO RECORDING TO FOLLOW!!
Ali
THE PIG THIEF
A pig had gone missing.
Eamon had begun his morning counting animals, just like he did every day in this post-virus colony. Two. Four. Six. Nine. Sixteen large spotted pigs. He stopped abruptly, then counted again. Yes, sixteen. Last night there were seventeen. He looked around frantically. No signs of damage to the fencing. He checked the pigs. They were not infected. If they had been, the entire colony would have heard the squeals and screams and killed them before they could infect a human. The colony might not survive another lurching undead on the loose. Eamon scratched his scruffy, black beard, which he realized desperately needed a trimming. So much for putting the big guy in charge of protecting the livestock, he thought. How did he let another get taken? he chastised himself. Someone was stealing pigs, and they were getting bolder.
Eamon hadn’t imagined that at age twenty-six he would be raising pigs on the edge of the world, at the end of humanity. The wooden pigpen sat nearest to the Watchtower alongside the wall that surrounded the colony, which had been fortified with metal, a palisade, and razor wire. It took them years after the undead finally began to die off from natural decay, but the founders discovered an abandoned gated community in what used to be Northern California, with a hundred homes, a town hall, and several commercial buildings. The community sat yards away from cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean and came with its own lighthouse, red and white spirals beneath a once crystal-clear lantern room. No colony had ever activated the light for fear of attracting the undead. Instead, they used it as a Watchtower over the Ocean to the West and the Redwoods towards the East.
Samone had warned him that if he lost one more pig, she’d have him removed from the farming group and put directly into sanitation. A short woman in her late sixties with long white hair, Samone managed the colony rations and communal dining hall. Eamon knew she hid extra rations, although he didn’t dare accuse her without proof.
He had to get those pigs back. But who took them? he wondered. And why? Sure, food rations had been tighter lately. But everyone got fed. And where was this thief keeping the pigs? Outside the walls?
The morning passed and Eamon tended to the remaining pigs, the chickens, the rabbits, and a few bearded goats. They didn’t have the space to raise sheep or cattle, even if they could get uninfected livestock. Who was stealing his pigs? Eamon worried. He had managed the farm for more than a year, a trust that once lost would not be returned. But more than that, he knew how little food the colony had. He didn’t want to be responsible for another ration reduction.
Around midday Eamon sat down to eat his lunch, which he wasn’t interested in at all. . He hadn’t taken more than a few bites of his food when Aden came skipping along.
“Hi Eamon. Can I sit with you?” asked Aden. The child’s bright red hair glittered in what little sunlight the rain clouds allowed to pass through.
“Sure,” Eamon shrugged. A few months back Aden began coming around the farm, asking for extra work. He was twelve years old and had lost both parents, his mother most recently when she went out on patrol but never came back. Eamon felt bad for the kid and didn’t have the heart to turn him away, even when he didn’t need the work or desire the company.
“What’s the matter Eamon?” Aden asked. “You look distracted.” Aden paced in front of him, kicking around a rock that looked like it came from the coast. Eamon didn’t think much of it, although he knew that only patrols could go to the beach.
“Another pig’s gone missing,” Eamon replied, wiping the sweat off his brow.
Just as Aden began to reply they both heard a noise from the Watchtower overhead. They looked up and saw old Ned, the daylight sentinel, looking in their direction. Ned was even older than Samone. He looked like he walked off a fishing boat wearing a waxed olive cap and trench coat. No one knew much about Ned’s past. He kept mostly to himself, always sitting up in the tower. But it was rumored that he almost killed a man in a barfight just before the outbreak. Eamon figured it wasn’t hard after that for Ned to become a loner.
“Another one?” Aden asked. “How are they getting out?”
“I think the question is who,” Eamon replied, never looking away from Ned.
“You don’t like him?” Aden asked.
“He makes me feel uneasy is all,” Eamon said. He often felt Ned on the back of his neck, watching him from the lantern room. He also knew that Ned vocally opposed the recent ration reductions. But would he steal a pig? Eamon didn’t think that even old Ned would take from the colony like that.
“He’s really not a bad guy. Remember when my dog died last month? Ned tried to find me another one. But there weren’t any dogs around, so he gave me a rabbit. But you said I couldn’t have it because we needed the food. That was really nice of him.”
“Sure was,” Eamon replied, keeping his eyes locked on Ned. He must have lost track of time, because when he looked back Aden was gone.
In that moment Eamon decided that he would catch the pig thief in action. That night Eamon staked out in an empty house immediately opposite the Watchtower. He watched Ned descend from the panopticon and disappear between the houses.
Eamon dozed off.
Hours passed before Eamon woke abruptly, startled. He still had nightmares about the undead attacking him in his sleep. He looked to the Watchtower. No sentinel. Then he remembered the pigs. He counted. Three, six, nine, fifteen. There were sixteen earlier. How could he have missed it?
He bolted towards the pigpen and found fresh footprints in the mud leading straight to the Watchtower. He ran over and threw open the door. The room stood empty save for a ladder up to the next level and another door opposite where he stood. Eamon crossed the room, opened the door, and walked out to find himself just feet away from a 150-foot drop.
Eamon gazed in wonderment at the vastness of the Pacific Ocean for what seemed like forever. He had forgotten how close they were to the water. Several yards along the wall, which hadn’t been built to encircle the Watchtower, Eamon noticed stairs built into the cliff leading down to the shore. He began his descent, one stair at a time, when he noticed Aden’s head. Why was he outside the colony?
He continued to descend, then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the pig. But whatever relief Eamon felt quickly dissipated. He watched in horror as the living corpse of Aden’s mother tore the pig apart, ripping limbs and organs as it shoveled pig flesh into its undead mouth. Eamon heard the crackling of bone between the creature’s jaws. Her blood-spattered, snowy skin glistened under the moonlight, revealing missing chunks of flesh from its bare arms and legs. Eamon could smell the putrid toxicity oozing from her rotting meat.
“Eat up mama,” Aden said smiling. “There’s more where that came from.” Aden continued to watch his mother decimate the animal, not noticing Eamon behind him. Nor did the boy seem aware of the pack of wharf rats scurrying around him, brushing their brown, sodden fur along he ankles of what used to be his mother.
Eamon felt overwhelmed with disgust and sadness at the spectacle unfolding before him. He knew Aden’s mother well. She was a nice woman, and pretty, at least before now. He wondered how she became infected. There didn’t appear to be any other infected around. He had heard stories of the undead walking out of oceans onto beaches across the world. People who had been infected while on ships were tossed overboard, only to be reanimated on the ocean floor. Those whose bodies had not been torn apart by animals or whatever else is at the bottom of the ocean walked, lurching forward with no end in sight until they reached sandy beaches. This is why the colony patrolled the beach. Perhaps the infected was still in the water, Eamon thought.
“Aden,” Eamon said to the boy, who quickly turned around. “Come away from there right now.” It occurred to Eamon that the infected hadn’t yet attacked Aden. This wasn’t the first time Aden had fed it a pig. Eamon looked more carefully at the former woman, who laid on her side. He noticed that one foot was missing, and the other appeared twisted, like it had been snapped in two.
“No, it’s okay, Eamon. It’s just mama, see,” said the boy. “She’s okay. She’s eating the pig. She won’t hurt us.”
“Aden, step away from her. That’s not your mother anymore. She’s one of the infected. And she’s dangerous.”
“No, she’s not,” Aden protested, his cheeks becoming red with anger. “She’s getting better. See, she is only eating the pigs. Not people.” Eamon couldn’t blame Aden for wanting his mother back, or for believing that she could be cured. Everyone, including Eamon, wished for that at some point since the outbreak. He still caught himself daydreaming about a world with a cure, a world without the infected or the fear of becoming one.
“Aden, please,” Eamon said. “Step away from her and come to me.” He held out a hand to the boy. The other hand hovered above the gun strapped into his side holster. As he prayed that Aden would take his hand, Eamon felt silence creep over him. He realized that he no longer heard the crunching and gnawing of the infected.
“Ahhhhhh!” Aden screamed, jolting Eamon out of his silent daze. The undead had army-crawled up behind Aden and then grabbed onto his jacket, pulling him back.
Eamon pulled out his gun but before he could aim it at the creature’s head when he heard a loud bang! A large hole appeared in the undead’s forehead, sending it flying backwards. Eamon turned around and saw Ned. He appeared cold and detached, holding a rifle against his shoulder. White smoke smoldered at the end of the muzzle. The old man nodded to Eamon, an unspoken acknowledgement that everything was now okay.
But it wasn’t okay. Eamon felt his stomach drop.
Aden lay next to his mother screaming and holding his hand against his neck. His mother’s corpse had bit into his neck right as Ned shot her. Her jaws clenched and tore a piece of Aden’s shoulder when she fell back. Blood flowed rapidly out of his neck. He caught Eamon’s eye and mouthed the word “help” to him, unable to speak the words.
Eamon looked back at Ned, who had lowered his rifle. Ned shook his head and Eamon knew what he had to do. He walked over to Aden and knelt beside the boy. “I’m sorry,” he said as tears poured down his cheeks and through his beard. Then he with unsteady hands he unsheathed the hunting knife on his belt and jammed it into the boy’s head.
A few painful minutes passed. “Finally,” Ned said. “Leave them. Either the crabs or the tide will clean this up.” He paused. “Guess we found our pig thief.” Then he walked away.
Nice how the suspense builds. The characters are relatable in their collective struggle. How do you choose your locations?
I can't wait to hear the audio recording of this one! You have a knack for vividly crafting your worlds and this story is a great example of that! I love the ending. Did you have it plotted this way from the get go or did anything change while you were writing it?