The two men watched each other for the next few minutes, the only sounds those of Rujuan and his team eating. Tom noticed only a handful of others remained, clustered at one table in the far corner. The group didn't bother to hide that they were paying close attention to the Shepherd and those at his table. The other breakfast-goers had gone, no doubt filtering out when the conversation became more intense. It was during this most recent quiet spell that a man came through the doors of the cafeteria. He made his way straight towards their table and was twenty or so feet away before there was enough daylight on the figure to identify it as Summers.
“Been looking for you, boss.”
Lifting his eyebrows, Shane called over his shoulder, “You found me. What do you need?”
Summers slid his hands into his coat pockets, eyes on Tom. When Shane fixed Summers with a stare, the Old Man noticed where Summers was looking. “He's alright, at least for the time being. Out with it.”
“Alright,” Summers began, still clearly against his better judgment. “Night watch reported possible activity to the northeast, near the tower at Hillcrest.”
Shane shifted on the bench, turning more fully toward Summers. “That's over a mile from here. They saw this at night?”
Summers shook his head. “No, they didn't see anything. They heard something. Or thought they heard something. Jerry didn't think it warranted enough attention to send anyone out before sun up. Once the day team got up there to relieve them-”
“The day watch captain wanted someone to check it out,” Shane finished. “Suppose you volunteered?”
Summers grinned, face lighting up like a school boy. “Ab-so-lute-ly,” he emphasized each syllable. “Best defense is a good offense.”
“Ain't that the truth,” Shane agreed. “You headed out now?”
“Yes, sir. Taking Red and Dust with me, if that's alright with you?”
The Old Man nodded. Pinching his lower lip between thumb and forefinger, he looked at the Shepherd as though only now remembering he was there. “Got room for one more?”
1.8
Tom had been in no position to refuse: an elder of his host community required aid, so he was oath-bound to honor the request. Truth be told, he was just as curious as they to learn what the source of the commotion was. Hearing something over a mile away, and at night? Desperate times, for who or whatever made the sound.
Standing somewhat apart from the others while they examined the tracks, he thought back on Summers' words just after they'd left the school.
Dust and Red were already outside the fence, their respective teams equipped and ready for a patrol. Both of the team leads regarded Tom with obvious skepticism and looked to Summers for an explanation.
“What's his deal?” Red asked, the fingers of his left hand drumming along the handle of the machete at his side.
“He's coming with us,” was Summers' reply.
“You sure that's a good idea?” This from Dust, who adjusted the visor of his ball cap
Summers grunted, shook his head. “Wasn't my idea. That's not all, either.”
Summers took the pack from his shoulder, removed two objects very familiar to the Shepherd.
“Aw hell, no,” Red voiced his displeasure.
“I don't like it either, but the Old Man was very clear,” Summers had told the others. “He gets his equipment back and we treat him as one of our own.” That seemed to end the matter as soon as it had begun.
Summers first handed over the kukri, which Tom removed from the sheath to check before returning to his belt. With that done, Summers next handed over the pistol, a dubious expression on his face. Tom took the GP100 back, handling it with the same reverence he had the large knife. There was a pause before Summers handed over a pouch with the ammo. After opening the cylinder of the revolver and performing a brief visual inspection, the Shepherd kept his eyes on Summers the entire time he reloaded the weapon. He holstered it and replaced the speed-loaders and loose rounds in their respective pouches, pockets and loops.
“Lead the way,” he offered to Summers.
With that, they had been off. Even in the light of day, the school appeared no less sinister. Every window on the ground floor had been bricked over, every door chained or bolted or both. The only way in or out was through the roof or the windows on the second floor, some fifteen feet or more from the ground. The whole place, building and fenced-in playground included, exuded an almost ominous air. He was grateful to put it behind him, however briefly.
Tom watched the men he traveled with. He saw they maintained little discipline while in transit to their destination. The point and rear men appeared reasonably aware of their surroundings, but the rest were focused on making small talk in hushed tones. Unsurprisingly, those speaking made little effort to include him in the conversation and for his part, he made little effort to join. He had many questions, but figured the asking could wait a while longer. After all, they still had the walk back. If I'm still with them, he thought grimly. If they act against me, it will be after we've checked the site. They won't want to put themselves in danger from whatever unknowns could be there while dealing with me. The Shepherd took little comfort in this thought, but felt it to be true.
He lifted his face to the sky, took in the cloudless blue ceiling that stretched far as the eye could see. The dampness from last nights rain was all but gone, the only traces of it shrinking puddles in broken sections of asphalt. The wind was brisk, but only blew occasionally. It was the very image of a perfect autumn morning. So it was that this perfect autumn morning saw them traverse nearly a mile and half to the base of Hillcrest without event.
“They look like tire tracks. Big enough to be from a truck, maybe.” Red's voice called the Shepherd back to the present.
“Well, they can't be. Haven't been any vehicles out here for ten years. Hasn't been any gas to run one since.” Summers' reply seemed equally mystified.
The Shepherd let them debate for a minute longer before he offered his own observation. “What about the boot print?”
Dust looked back at him. “What boot print?”
Tom raised his left hand, pointed. Dust came to the Shepherd, stopped a yard away and looked where the young man was pointing. Then he saw the shape. Clear contours and sharp, textured lines, unmistakably pressed into the recently softened earth.
“Doesn't belong to one of yours, does it?” The Shepherd asked Dust, who shook his head in answer.
The Shepherd fixed Summers with a look. “Beautiful thing about rain and snow. They keep the trail warm a long, long time.”
Summers returned Toms look with one of his own. Frustration evident in his voice, he said, “Tell me what you see here, stranger. What do you see and what does it mean to you? The Old Man said you might be worth your keep. Time to see if he was right. Show us what you've got.”
Noting his proximity to Dust and how agitated Summers had become, the Shepherd let his right wrist drop a bit, so it hung just over the hammer of his gun. Maybe I was wrong about the when.
Dust must have felt the tension between Tom and Summers, because he looked up. Seeing where the Shepherd's hand was and how still he had become, Dust froze.
“Hold up, man. It doesn't have to be that way.” Dust spoke quietly, the handkerchief covering his face muffling his voice even more.
Without taking his eyes from Summers, Tom replied just as softly. “Your man over there is awfully worked up about something.”
“There's a very real possibility that the world as we've known it for the last twelve or thirteen years is about to be turned on it's head. That'll do things to people. Stress 'em right the hell out. He also might be thinking what I was thinking.” This he said to Tom in the same confidential tone he'd used a moment earlier.
“What was that?” Tom was still watching the man behind Dust.
“That these might belong to friends of yours.”
This gave Tom pause. “I see your point.” His tension began to dissipate, but he re
mained ready to act.
Summers had apparently tired of waiting for a response. He began taking quick strides towards Tom and Dust while asking, “Do I need to be beat it out of you, new guy? I asked you a question-”
He stopped mid-stride and mid-sentence when he saw how the two men were poised. He began reaching into his jacket very slowly. “You okay, Dust?”
“Fine, man. I'll be better if you don't go for your piece, though. Since you're both twitchy as hell right now, think it's for the best.” Dust shook his head as he answered Summers.
Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, Dust continued speaking to both men in the same quiet voice. “Everyone who doesn't wanna get shot, listen up: the Old Man wants to know what's going on out here. I recommend we do exactly that and spare ourselves the wrath of the most dangerous individual in this neck of the woods. Capice?”
Summers shook his head, his earlier frustration turned to anger. “Naw, man. He was ready to draw on you. I think he's gonna have an accident out here-”
“Wasn't me he was ready to draw on,” Dust clarified. As understanding came to Summers, Dust continued. “Seeing how you were acting, can't really say that I blame him, either.”
Summers seemed taken aback. “How I was acting? What are you talking about? I asked him a question, was all.”
Dust shook his head. “Man, I love you like a brother, but sometimes you can be a real dick.”
Dust turned back to the Shepherd. “The people who made that print and left those tracks: not friends of yours?”
Tom shook his head. “Haven't seen a vehicle move under it's own power since I was thirteen.”
“Alright, then. What's your theory?”
Tom looked from Dust to Summers, saw how the other half dozen men were watching this exchange with vested interest. Even if he felt it wasn't his place to offer Tracking 101 pointers to people operating in their own territory, he accepted that there could be more at stake here than his own well-being. Taking a breath, he offered his observation.
“See how there's only one set of tracks?” When Dust and Summers nodded, he continued. “That means one of two things; either the vehicle came in and went out exactly the same way, which is unlikely given the clarity and depth of the tread. Or-”
Dust finished the thought. “Or the vehicle was parked here before the ground got wet, then left after it started raining. But not long before it stopped, or the tread would be muddy and harder to see.”
Tom nodded. “Exactly. Given that there are at least two different sets of footprints around the treads, that indicates a small group was moving around in this general area before they decided to leave.”
“What would they have been doing?” Summers asked.
Tom shrugged in reply. “Your guess is as good as mine. Could have been looking for something. Stashing something. Who knows?” He did not mention, however remote the possibility, one or more of the vehicle's occupants might still be around. If Summers intended for him to have an 'accident' out here, Tom knew he would need every advantage he could get.
“Where these tracks go might give us a better idea of why they were here. But which do we follow; the boot prints or the tire treads?” The Shepherd hoped one of the other two men would make the suggestion.
Again, Dust seized on it first. “We could check both if we split up. Probably not going to get much out of the tire tracks, anyway. Looks like they pulled up onto the pavement pretty quickly. Still be fast if one of us follows the road a ways while the others backtrack the footprints. Sound like a plan, boss-man?”
Summers was studying Tom with the same calculating look from the day before. “Don't know if it's wise to separate with this guy in tow. Might make a break for it, try something else.”
Dust shook his head. “Think if he was gonna try something else, he'd a done it earlier. If he tries to make a break for it, we're the ones with the rifles. Let's get this thing done quick, man. Please? The lady was telling me how she couldn't wait for me to get back, you know what I'm sayin'? C'mon, man; help hook a brotha up.”
Summers considered and nodded finally. “Alright, we'll meet back here in an hour. You coming with me, new guy?”
“If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not have an 'accident'. No offense,” Tom held up his left hand, palm towards Summers. “Mind if I tag along, Dust?”
The ball-capped man shook his head, faded handkerchief billowing around his face. “Not as long as you understand we'll put you down if you so much as look like trying that quick-draw trick again.”
“Fair enough,” Tom agreed.
Dust turned back to Summers. “Tires or boots?”
“We'll take the boots. Might need the new guy to pick up traces of the tire when you get further along the road.” Summers grudgingly admitted Tom was proving useful, after all. Alternatively, he'll need someone to blame if this lead doesn't pan out, Tom thought.
“Right. See you in a bit,” Dust offered to Summers with a tip of his cap. To Tom, he said, “You're on point, new guy.”
1.9
The Shepherd began to follow the tire tracks. He stepped lightly beside them and always to the left, moving slowly and carefully so as to minimize any potential disruption. He gave a wider berth when he came close to the bootprints, so as not to distract Summers and Red. Only minutes passed before the groups were out of sight of each other; Summers and Red in the trees on Hillcrests southern slope, Tom and Dust along the scraps of road that curved around the west side of the hill.
It soon became apparent to the Shepherd that Dust entirely lacked any tracking ability. Fifteen or so minutes in, having covered less than a quarter mile, Dust sighed. “Trail cold or what?”
Tom had been squatting on the remnants of the road, studying a few pieces of blacktop. He replied to his traveling companion without looking up. “Not cold, just harder to read.”
Pointing directly in front of himself, Tom asked, “You see this?”
A few moments pause caused the Shepherd to look over his shoulder, where he saw Dust gazing up the hill, boredom clear on his face. He thought, why would Shane send these men to investigate this matter? Not a one of them can read sign and they all seem easily distracted. Why wouldn't he send a hunter or trapper with the group? Do the hogs they keep and vegetables they grow provide enough sustenance they need not seek game?
“Dust,” he called, a bit louder. When the other man blinked and looked at him, Tom again pointed to the asphalt in front of him. “See how these pieces are pressed down more than the surrounding ones? Our vehicle went this way and probably kept heading north for a while.”
Dust leaned closer, scrutinizing the black, broken shards of man-made rock that had once been a road. “How do you know?”
Tom shook his head. “I don't. Just a guess. The road here is still fairly level, but a hundred or so yards ahead looks washed out. Could check around it, see if there are more tread marks. Should be something on one side if they tried to steer clear of it.” It felt strange to the Shepherd to be providing so rudimentary an observation to a man easily ten years his senior.
“Let's do it,” Dust ordered. “New guy is still on point, Eric watch our tails. Mike left, I'll be on the right.”
Formation set, they resumed their trek down the road. After a few dozen steps in relative quiet, Tom called over to Dust. “Mind if I ask a question?”
Keeping his eyes on the tree line to their right, Dust replied. “You just did.” He glanced at the Shepherd briefly, chuckled and shook his head. “Go ahead.”
“Are there many women in your settlement? I only saw one at breakfast. Janessa, I believe her name was. With Rujuan's team.”
Dust paused before answering. Longer than necessary, Tom warranted, but not as long as he thought it would be. Finally, the team leader replied. “There are. You didn't seem 'em 'cause they eat first, with the kids.”
The Shepherd was quiet a moment. “A noble sacrifice your community makes on their behalf.”
&nbs
p; “No less than anyone else would do, given the circumstances. We might do some things differently than you and yours, but we're not savages.” Tom could hear the reproach in Dust's voice.
“Why didn't Janessa eat with the rest of the women and children, then?” Tom asked, hoping the conversation would continue a while longer.
“She's the exception to the rule. Got a fighter's rights, pay the fighter's price.” Dust seemed ready to say more, but was cut off by the man on the left side of the road.
“Hell of a fighter, too.”
Tom could hear Dust chuckle again as he called out to Mike. “I'm sure you'd be singing a different tune if she hadn't whupped your ass in recruitment.”
“Nah,” Mike replied. “Well, maybe.”
Tom allowed the conversation to lull temporarily before he pressed on. He wanted to ask more about their social system, but felt that should wait. “I noticed the school had no crops growing around it. If breakfast was any indicator, vegetables are a staple part of your diet. Would take several full fields to feed that many people, I warrant. Are they far from here?”
“Touchy subject, stranger.” Dust kept his tone level, but Tom could tell there would be little more in the way of explanation. “I will say this much: the farm isn't far from the school. We set it up for the farmers just after the badness. We keep them in meat and protection, they keep us in grain and veggies. Everybody wins.”
Twenty yards ahead, Tom could already make out tracks on the left shoulder. A few steps passed and no one seemed to speak up about them. Tom felt he had time enough for another question before the tracks became obvious to even the untrained eyes of his companions.
“The hogs take most of those vegetables, right? The corn especially?” Tom waited.
The team lead confirmed Tom's suspicion. “Most but not all. Enough left for us to stay healthy and not go hungry. Most days, anyway. 'Meat needs to eat', as the Old Man says.” Tom heard Dust stop behind him. “I'll be damned, stranger. Looks like you were right on the money.”
What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh Page 6
