What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh

by Peter Carrier

  Several quiet moments passed before the Shepherd bent to retrieve his long knife. Placing his foot upon the shoulder of the dead creature, he grasped the hilt with both hands and wrenched the kukri free. This he did without taking his eyes from the two men before him. He had expected it to be less tense at this point, but the others still regarded him with suspicion. All save the sentry, who seemed completely focused on the world outside the house.

  Wiping his blade on the tattered shirt scraps stretched across the chest of the slain beast, the Shepherd addressed the others. “Are any of you hurt?”

  The man with the hammer shook his head. “We’re fine.”

  The Shepherd looked that man in the eye. “Can you travel?”

  He seemed ready to reply when the sentry spoke. “Too late. They’re already here.”

  The Shepherd watched the man with the hammer for another few seconds, waiting for more information. Before it could be offered, he heard thumping coming up the stairs. Even from inside the room, the groaning and splintering of the stairs could be heard. Boots. Those are human steps, the Shepherd thought. This realization was shared by the face of the men before him and he saw the woman clutch the child closer. Kukri in hand, the Shepherd stepped back into the hall.

  “Don’t-“ began the man with the hammer, making to follow the Shepherd before being stopped by the man with the knife.

  The Shepherd saw this peripherally as he stood ready to meet the people coming up the stairs. He had only seen those now in the bedroom enter the house, of this he was certain. Was the house a rally point for a larger group? That seemed unlikely, given the state of the property. A local community responding to the arrival of strangers? Possibly, but charging right at them with no announcement seemed too hostile and very dangerous. Chance? He didn’t believe in that kind of coincidence. These options took only seconds to consider and dismiss, while the people climbing the stairs finally reached the top.

  Another idea came to the Shepherd as the first silhouette came around the corner. Before he could give it voice, he felt a sharp twinge in his stomach. While he was familiar with the brief stabbing pain, he was entirely unaccustomed to the tightening of his muscles that followed. He found himself pitching forward and rolling on the ground, in the midst of what he could only describe as a seizure. What is happening to me? He wondered just before his world faded to black.

  1.2

  Much of the next few minutes were a jumbled blur; movement all around him, thumping sounds and panicked cries. He dimly remembered a tight pressure on his elbow, hauling him to his feet, then nearly falling down the stairs and feeling blinded by the light from outside. For some reason, he could not bring his hands up to shield his eyes. When he tried to stop and recover his sight, someone bumped into him from behind and pushed him through the open doorway. Once outside and in the fading light of day, the Shepherd felt his focus restored. Perhaps it was the feel of the wind on his face, or the scent of autumn it carried. However it happened, his senses returned and he was grateful.

  He and the group he had sought to aid were being taken from the cul-de-sac along the road running east. His clarity of mind restored, he noted several things. First, his return to awareness had not been instantaneous. They were now several hundred feet from the house. Secondly, his hands were unresponsive because they were fastened tightly behind his back. Next, while his kukri, belt knife and sidearm were missing, a familiar weight in his boot told him his captors has missed the t-knife there. The others from the house group all seemed bound as he was and remained close together, trudging resignedly with heads down. Lastly, their 'escort' outnumbered them probably two to one and trailed a dozen or so yards behind. The Shepherd had time to note at least two had rifles before his head exploded in pain. Closing his eyes and grinding his teeth, he managed to avoid groaning out loud. He could not avoid stumbling on a break in the asphalt, however. Over the pounding in his temples, he heard a crude laugh.

  “That's right, boy. Just keep on goin'. You young, you get over it.”

  Another laugh and a different voice. “Walk it off, son. Just walk it off.”

  The Shepherd stopped and closed his eyes. So they were being followed, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he waited a few heartbeats for the pressure in his head to lessen. As he began to appreciate the marginal relief, he heard steps behind him approaching quickly. So sudden was the contact, he could not have avoided it even if he had seen it coming. He pitched forward and landed on his shoulder, grunting at the abrupt impact.

  The second voice, from above and behind: “Are you deaf or willfully stupid? “Walk it off” does not mean 'stop and take a break'.”

  A strong hand closed on his left bicep and wrenched him up to a standing position. A second hand grabbed his face tightly. The sudden change of position and squeezing at the front of his head was too much; this time, the Shepherd groaned. The man before him spoke tersely. “Open your eyes.”

  He did. Disoriented as he was, it took a moment for his vision to swim into focus. When it returned, the Shepherd found himself staring into the face of middle-age man regarding him carefully, almost critically. There was something else about the way the man studied him. The Shepherd could not quite put a finger on why, but it was... unsettling.

  Finally, the man released him and spoke. “You seem alright. The headache, disorientation and sluggishness are normal side-effects of the taser. You'll be fine in half an hour or so. We need to keep moving, however. It's been several weeks since we were able to sweep this part of town, and there are probably more Muppets around.”

  As if punctuating the man's statement, they heard a low whistle from a short distance ahead. From the manner in which everyone else responded, there could be no doubt the captives and captors had a shared history. The captives, even the child, raised their heads and became alert. The Shepherd fought past his discomfort to scan not only the houses lining the road, but also watch the other captives and their 'escort'.

  The captives acted similarly to how they had in the house. The three men surrounded the woman and child while looking for the approaching threat. The woman kept the child as close as her bound hands would allow. While anxiety was clear on every face, every face was devoid of fear. Even the child. They watched placidly, listened and waited for something to react to.

  The captors acted quickly, as well. They surrounded the captives in a rough square, three men to a side. In each group, two watched the road and one watched the captives. To the Shepherd, it seemed unnecessary to have that many armed men watching so small a group of people that were already restrained. The captives were ready to bolt at the earliest opportunity, like prey detecting a predator. The captors surrounding them, ready to defend the find from competitors. There was something animal about it. He suppressed a shudder.

  One of the men in the rear most group pointed. “Two on the road.” Glass shattered. “At least three behind.”

  Another new voice, this time from the group to the Shepherd's left. “Green house at the tree line, more than four.”

  The man who had pulled the Shepherd to his feet looked along the road, in the direction the group had been traveling only moments earlier. “We still clear ahead?”

  A voice replied from the group at the front. “For now. We better move, Summers.”

  At last having a name for the face, the Shepherd watched as Summers gave orders quickly. “Jay, your guys are on point. Keep it clear for us.” He turned to speak over his shoulder to the group at the rear. “Rujuan, watch our ass. Red, Dust: stagger for cover. Go!” With that, the group surged down the road.

  As the captives began to move, Summers grabbed the child by the arm. Ripped from his mother, the child jerked around to face Summers. The Shepherd watched the child's confusion give way to fear when Summers removed a knife from his belt. “Too many to clear without a distraction.”

  No, the Shepherd thought simply and reacted accordingly. He stepped forward and kicked Summers square in the chest, pushing the othe
r man from the boy.

  Summers tumbled backwards, releasing the child in an effort to remain standing. With a wheezing gasp, Summers lurched back another step to steady himself. “Dust,” he managed to croak.

  One of the men in the group to the right turned toward Summers. His eyes were visible beneath a threadbare ball cap and above the faded handkerchief that covered the rest of his face. Those eyes widened when they saw what had happened. Dust pointed a pistol at the Shepherd, his other hand tightening on a crowbar. “Step back.”

  The Shepherd did so and saw the woman scramble over to her son. Near sobbing, she took the boy and fled in the direction of the others. She spared only a parting glance at the Shepherd and offered nothing in the way of acknowledgment for what he had done to save her son. The boy, on the other hand, watched the Shepherd for several moments before turning away and running with his mother. The Shepherd watched them go but made no move to join their retreat. Rather, he waited to see what would happen next and heard Summers speak to Dust.

  “Still need a decoy.”

  The Shepherd saw the man with the ball cap nod and raise the crowbar. He watched in disbelief as Dust used the tool to strike down Knife-man, who had the misfortune of being half a foot closer to Dust. Knife-man screamed when the metal tip tore through muscle and bone. Crashing to one knee, he tried to raise his hands to the wound. Dust planted a foot in the back of his victim and wrenched the crowbar free, snapping bone in the process. Knife-man's scream became a shriek. Stunned, the Shepherd watched helplessly as Dust delivered two quick strikes to Knife-man's spine. Knife-man finally collapsed and when he did, Dust dropped a devastating swing to the left knee of the beaten man.

  The Shepherd had not anticipated Summers being so determined to follow this course, nor had he been prepared for the men with Summers to so willingly follow those instructions. Must be some kind of contingency plan, he reasoned. Even as the Shepherd stepped toward the man in the ball cap, uncertain what he could do with his hands bound, he saw Summers raising a weapon. He would recognize the curves and contours of that stainless steel revolver in the dark: the bastard had his own gun pointed at him.

  “Down the road. Now.” Summers waited for the Shepherd to move.

  It took only a moment. The Shepherd was filled with rage at how this man and his group treated the captives, but there was no undoing what had already been done. Weaponless and with hands bound, he was in no position to make a difference. Escape was unlikely, given the number of Turned coming up the street and out of the nearby houses. Even if he gave his life, the captives would not be freed and if they were, where could they go? Remaining served no purpose, so he must move on.

  He ran, following the other captives. In turn, he was followed by Summers and Rujuan's group. He looked over his shoulder long enough to see half a dozen or more of the monsters begin ripping into Knife-man, mercifully silencing his screams. He also noticed Summers watching him with a calculating look.

  The river is just ahead, the Shepherd realized during their run. Now that he remembered, he was surprised he hadn't heard it earlier, even if its roar was competing with the blood thumping in his ears. The Shepherd saw Jay's group surge ahead toward a wall of vegetation. Thick, tall trees the color of golden fire connected by dense, deep green hedge spread a hundred feet or more in either direction. Slipping between the trees and hedge as quickly as they could, they found themselves atop the bank of Salmon Falls. Just down the bank, near the water's edge, were six canoes. In addition to Jay and his group, there were two other men working to put the canoes in the water.

  Hastily descending the riverbank, the Shepherd made to catch the woman and child. He had only moved a few steps in their direction when he heard a quick step from behind him and felt a heavy, dull smack against the back of his head. He lurched another step forward before bringing himself to a halt. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a man with a shotgun pointed at him.

  Summers, standing beside the man with the shotgun, shook his head. “Uh-uh. You're with me.” Using the Shepherd's revolver, Summers pointed to the canoe at the far end.

  The group, swollen to nearly two-dozen men and woman now, piled into the canoes and began making their way into the water. It took nearly ten minutes to cross and though they had angled their approach, the current still managed to carry them down river considerably. The captives seemed a different breed, once on the other side. Their heads were bowed, faces pale and they dragged their feet. Taking a key from his pocket, Summers moved among them and freed their hands. When he reached the child, he stopped.

  Looking to the Shepherd, Summers asked, “Will you behave?”

  No doubt thinking the middle-aged man was talking to him, the boy nodded. It was only after the Shepherd nodded that Summers unlocked the boys cuffs, however. Returning the key to his pocket, Summers looked at the woman and waited for her to collect her son.

  The mother, Hammer-Man and the Sentry made way to one of the canoes and began carrying it along the rocky river bank. The speed with which they acted spoke to how quickly they had embraced their roles as captives. It seemed to the Shepherd as though they were resuming a familiar station, and that disgusted him every bit as much as his own feeling of uselessness. Frustration mounting, he could only watch as their spirits continued to falter.

  A quarter mile upriver, the large group stopped near a shack at the end of what had once been a boat ramp. Several wooden posts stood half a dozen yards from the water, each with a length of rope tied around the middle. Dust called to those carrying the canoes, breaking the silence that had fallen since crossing the river. “Tie 'em off.”

  The task took less than a minute and no sooner was it done then the boy wrapped himself around his mother. He spoke, muffled and quiet, into her well worn sweater. His chest began heaving and the woman smoothed his hair, patted his back. He spoke again, louder and the woman's breathing began to hitch, as well. Noting this, Summers tilted his head. He watched the mother and son a moment, then strode to where they stood. The woman watched him approach and shook her head. The closer he got, the more vigorous her shaking until the tears streaming from her eyes fairly flew from her face.

  Summers stopped a couple feet from them. He looked at the woman for a long moment, face hard and unreadable as she stilled. Then he crouched by her feet, so he was of closer height to her son. He put his left hand on the boy's shoulder and shook him, gently. “What did you say, buddy?”

  Turning from his mother, the boy revealed his red, wet face long enough to loudly cry, “I don't wanna go back!” He then returned his face to the comfort of his mother's drab gray sweater and resumed convulsing.

  Summers patted the boy on the shoulder a couple times. “Well, that's too bad. Sun's setting and we don't want to be out here after dark. After all,” he added while standing and looking at the mother, “that's where you guys belong. And I'm sure your momma will see you're takin' care of.” This last he offered with an insincere smile.

  The woman's eyes widened and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, but the mewling sound of fear escaped before she could stop it. The Shepherd heard that sound and found himself several steps closer to Summers before seeing the other man point the revolver at the back of the child's head. Summers watched the Shepherd with an expression that seemed to say, please. Give me a reason.

  The Shepherd stopped to consider this and fell to his knees. By the time he realized his legs had been kicked out from under him, he felt a strong arm wrap tightly around his neck. Heavy pressure was applied by a long, measured squeeze and the Shepherd groped with bound hands for something, anything, to grab hold of. A gurgle passed his lips when he heard Summers' voice, as though from far away. “Rujuan, stop. We need him ambulatory. Besides, we're almost there and the Old Man will want to talk to him.”

  1.3

  The group resumed the formation they had used when the left the house; captives in front, captors behind. They traveled east along the broken road leading up from the boat ramp and a
way from the river. To the Shepherd, there seemed something different about this part of the town. With daylight disappearing by the minute, it was hard for him to note the difference at first. Then he noticed the lack of debris. Comparatively few leaves danced on the wind and there were virtually no fallen branches. While there were several vehicles visible, most of them were on the sidewalk or on the lawns of nearby houses. All of them were devoid of tires and those with visible panels had an 'x' on at least one door. While he saw no rubbish, that didn't lend a sense of cleanliness to the area. Instead, it had more a feeling of being picked over.

  Their silent march had taken them a mile from the river when they arrived at a tall, chain link fence surrounding a large, brick building. Summers tucked the revolver into the waist of his faded, patched jeans and moved directly to the gate. The Shepherd could just make out the chain wrapped around the gate doors, keeping them closed. While Summers fished around in his pocket, the Shepherd studied the structure before them. The building was huge; two stories tall and shaped like a pair of capital 'E's' stuck together at their backs. The one he attended was shaped differently and was no doubt very far from here, but he was certain this structure had been a school. Before the End, that is. He wondered how recent an addition was the tower in the middle of the roof.

  The clinking of the chains brought the Shepherd back from his speculation. Quick, practiced motions from Summers unwound the chain and opened the gate. It was hardly open when Jay and his team went through, Summers ushering in the captives. Had his hands been free, the Shepherd might have made an effort to retrieve his gun. Perhaps thinking the same thing, Summers moved to the other side of the gate, placing the chain-link door between himself and the Shepherd. When everyone else was through, Summers came in and swung the door closed behind him. He quickly and quietly wrapped the chain around the gate before sliding the lock back in place.