What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh

by Peter Carrier

  Before long, they arrived at another break in the pines. Stopping at the last row of trees, the small group surveyed the clearing before them. To their right, the creek continued on straight ahead some forty yards or more before returning to the shaded tranquility of the forest. To their left, a gentle slope blanketed in green grass climbed fifty feet to a solid wooden fence that stood nine feet high. The roof of a house could be made out above the top of that fence. Three pairs of eyes checked the fence, clearing and as much of the forest as could be seen from their vantage.

  “What now?” Tom asked in a hushed tone, still scanning the fence and clearing.

  Eric replied in similar fashion, his own eyes taking in every detail. “We should swing 'round the far side of the house. Fence'll hide us from view 'till we're right behind the garage. Still need to be quiet, though.” He looked skyward, shielding his eyes with a hand. “Pret' near noon. Made good time. Better get inside soon, though. Case we're still bein' tailed.”

  Eric glanced at the revolver in the younger mans hand. “If you need that here, we're dead already.”

  Tom made a sour face. “You'll forgive me if I wait to see that for myself.”

  Eric shrugged. “Just figured you'd want both hands free.”

  After another minute of watching and waiting, the coast still seemed clear. When they moved, they followed Eric's lead and remained in the tree line as long as possible. They crossed the clearing quickly, reaching the fence and stopping only long enough to ensure they were still together. Eric remained in the lead, keeping the stout wooden wall an inch from his left shoulder. They reached a break in the boards and Eric held up his right hand, signaling the others to stop. When they did, he pointed and waited for them to look.

  There was a building ten feet from where the fence ended. It appeared to be a two car garage that, while having seen better days, was still completely intact. Indicating a window near the closest corner, Eric checked the fence and wall before crouching and crossing to the garage. Several quick, duck-walking steps brought him to the wall beneath the open window. Looking back at the others, Eric pointed at his eyes, then to Tom and the fence. When the Shepherd nodded understanding, Eric pointed to himself and then to the far corner of the garage. Tom nodded again and waited for the other man to reach the new post. Once at the other corner, Eric slowly peered around and after a moment, signaled them to cross with a wave of his hand.

  Tom took Ben by the shoulder and looked around the end of the fence, searching along the interior of the wooden wall. Seeing nothing, he and Ben made their way to the near corner with quiet haste. They crouched beneath the open window as they had seen their guide do and waited for that man to rejoin them. Eric continued his silent signaling, pointing to Tom's long knife, then the window. The Shepherd slowly rose, just enough to see inside the garage.

  Boxes, bags, boards, wood and other sundries were arrayed within. Some were in piles and the rest in stacks. Some were in the middle of the floor but most were spread along the walls. Tom gave a thumbs-up to Eric before pushing the window open. He then reached over to Ben and hoisted the child up onto the sill. When the child had climbed through and disappeared on the other side of the portal, the two men looked at each other.

  Now it was Tom's turn to pantomime, pointing emphatically at Eric and then the window. Slowly taking his rifle from his back, Eric sent it through first and leaned it against the inside wall. He then entered the window less gracefully than Ben but no less quickly. The Shepherd gave him a three count to get clear before joining his companions.

  Once inside, Eric motioned for Tom to move away from the window. Doing so provided the older man enough space to reach a heavy wooden shutter above the open portal. Drawing it slowly across, Eric pulled the shutter along the runners framing the window until it reached the cross bar along the right pane of the sill. While the garage lost light, it was never fully plunged into darkness. Several smaller windows allowed sunlight to flow in from where the walls met the roof. Hidden from the outside world for at least a short time, the three finally allowed their collective breaths to be released.

  “This is holding?” Tom asked softly while continuing to scan the garage, noting the partial flooring on what seemed to be a second story over the rear portion of the structure.

  Eric shook his head. “Nah, it's the house on the other side.” He pointed to the wall opposite the window they gained entry through and motioned Tom over to it.

  The older man moved to a couple beams that were connected by a smaller pieces of wood every foot or so. When Eric placed his boot on the first of those pieces and began ascending the beams, Tom recognized the ladder for what it was. When Eric reached the top, Tom had Ben climb up next and the Shepherd brought up the rear. Staying low at the top or risk banging their heads on ceiling beams, the two men crawled on all fours to one of the narrow windows at the base of the roof. Ben moved along beside them, ducking his head under the occasional rafter.

  From one side of the window, Eric indicated the house in question. It was so close, Tom marveled they had not seen it when they moved around the fence. It could not have been more than twelve feet away. Tom noticed a beam on either side of the window, which ran up to a window on the second floor of the house. The window on the other side of those beams was shuttered similarly to the one they had just come through and was currently closed.

  The Shepherd frowned. “So, you climb out across one of these beams and if you don't lose your balance on the way, hope you can hold the shutter on that window open long enough to get inside? Seems a little too James Bond for me.” He looked at Eric, saw the other man crawling over to something covered by a tarp in the middle of the floor.

  The older man rolled back just enough of the plastic covering to begin removing an extension ladder. Once exposed, Eric grabbed the first rung and looked back at the Shepherd. “You ready?”

  “For what?” Tom's frown deepened. “I still don't see why this is necessary.”

  “Look down, but don't stick your head out too far.”

  He did and was filled with dread. Equal parts rage, horror and disgust rose in the Shepherd, threatening to overwhelm his reason and send him flying toward Eric as ball of seething, white-hot, righteous judgment.

  Tom heard Ben ask a simple question. “Are they still there?”

  The boy's anxious curiosity instantly dispelled the Shepherd's frenzy and temporarily sedated the portion of him that demanded bloody vengeance. Not now, he thought. But definitely and soon. A reckoning will come. They cannot count any of worth among their number. No proven human would condone such a thing.

  Seeing Tom tremble with barely contained fury seemed answer enough for Ben. Noting the Shepherd's visible wrath, Eric arched an eyebrow. “Don't approve? The bottom of the house is buttoned up. There's no way in without some pretty serious tools. So we come and go through the window.”

  Through gritted teeth, the Shepherd hissed. “You have to feed them.”

  Eric nodded slowly, as though listening to a developmentally challenged person tell him the sky was blue. “Anyway, we need this to get in. Soon as I start moving it to the window, they're gonna get real interested in the front of the house. If we're lucky, they won't pay us any mind 'till we lock the ladder in place and start climbing across. So... ready?” This time when he asked, Eric tilted his head to the side, still regarding Tom as he would a 'slow' child. If it occurred to Eric that Tom was talking about the guardians outside as opposed to the occupants within, it seemed to make no difference.

  Seeing him unresponsive, Eric gave voice to Tom's thought. “You come this far. Might as well go a bit further. Be hesitant or pensive once we're in the house.” This was reasoning Tom could understand, so he swallowed his anger and nodded agreement.

  With that, the two men began moving the ladder, Eric dragging it across the floor and Tom running it up along the beams. It was just long enough to reach the window of the house and still have its textured feet remain firmly on the floor of the
garage's second story. There was a noticeable 'thump' when the ladder hit the side of the house, and the three in the garage knew their luck had run out. Groaning, howling and clinking sounds careened through the small window and made conversation impossible. Had Tom not been watching Eric lock the feet of the ladder, he would have entirely missed the other man tell him to go.

  There was no glass to bypass. Tom lay on his belly at the base of the ladder, grabbed hold of the beams and pulled himself through the window. It was awkward at first. He had never climbed a ladder at such a shallow incline, which required him to use his knees as an additional point of contact. That made it difficult to avoid looking at the ground.

  Seeing the ground twelve to fifteen feet beneath him was of little consequence. The Turned that ran, jumped, clawed and growled at him while he half-climbed, half-crawled across the ladder were a distraction, however. Tom even felt a rush of air as one of the creatures took a great, pouncing step and leaped, swinging its arms high overhead and grasping wildly with filthy hands. Those sickly, bony fingers came within a foot of Tom's knee before stopping. They seemed to hang in mid-air for a moment before plunging nearly straight down, the monster's body wrenched back to earth by the chain collared around its neck. Desperate, hungry eyes locked on Tom with singular purpose, staring accusingly at the Shepherd while it's mouth worked to restore air to its lungs.

  All told, six of the beasts loped and stalked beneath the ladder, each one determined to reach the men and boy above them. Each one unaware or unconvinced of the continued futility of their actions. All of them were tethered to a large stone in the front of the yard between the house and garage. Some were tied with chain, others with what looked to be heavy cable of some kind. Coupled with the placement of the stone, the leashes gave each of the Turned complete coverage of the front and one side of both buildings.

  If the grunts and cries coming from the other side of the house were any indicator, a similar set-up existed over there. The very idea physically sickened the Shepherd, but he continued in spite of the angry knot in his stomach. Finally reaching the window, Tom looked back over his shoulder. Seeing Ben already halfway across urged him to open the window with great haste. Noting two bolts at the top and bottom of the window, Tom worked them both loose and then flung the shutter to the side. While he was more concerned with getting clear of the ladder so the boy could make his own climb unimpeded, the Shepherd still gave a thought to what lay in the room beyond the window.

  Tom didn't know what to expect in that room and had little time to prepare himself. He certainly would not have anticipated the room to be occupied, given that this point of entry, however obtuse, was essentially the gateway to a containment area. Genuine surprise covered the Shepherd's face when a man moved into view from the right. Though he held a stout piece of wood in his hand, the Sentry did not brandish his makeshift club at the Shepherd. Instead, a look a recognition on his face, he raised a finger to his lips and motioned for Tom to come in. His voice a whisper paradoxical to his stature, he asked, “How many?”

  “Myself, the boy and one other,” Tom murmured in response.

  The Shepherd climbed through the window as if on auto-pilot, the head-spinning turn of events rendering him only dimly aware of his actions. Tom watched, dreamlike, as he stood in front of the window and waited for Ben. Pulling the boy through the portal, he stepped to the side just as the Sentry moved to the window, the bright midday sun blotted out by the larger man's great mass. Tom watched and sank further into the dreamlike stupor. He saw Ben's face light with joy as the boy saw his mother in one corner of the room and raced to her. The woman, eyes wet and arms wide, awaited the embrace with relief.

  Turning back to the window, he saw the antithesis of a child's joy painted on the Sentry's face. His features were distorted by rage, bearing more resemblance to a force of nature than a man. Tom watched as the Sentry, having discarded his club, wrenched the ladder off the beams. Both hands on the top rung, he shook it violently at sharp angles until the final climber was dislodged. The wall hid Eric from view, so Tom did not see him lurch to and fro before pitching over the side. Nevertheless, a cry reached his ears as Eric fell and he heard the delighted yowls and grunts of the monsters as they welcomed their meal.

  Finding himself suddenly in front of the window again and beside the Sentry, the Shepherd looked down. He was no stranger to watching animals eat, but watching the Turned do so never became easier. Seeing them pull arms or legs out of joint and raise those quivering, broken limbs to their split, swollen lips was disconcerting. Most troubling was the way they would regard each other mid-meal, as though offering a kind of silent congratulations. While some kind of social acknowledgment was to be expected from any animal while the group consumed its meal, those looks and touches seemed almost... human. It always brought a quiver to the Shepherd's spine. Hunters enjoying their spoils, he thought grimly.

  Eric did not go without incident. He had landed on his side and immediately rolled into a crouch. While the Turned surrounding him slowed in surprise, they did not stop. They could not stop: on the ground between them was an end to their own pain and suffering, however brief that lapse may be. Eric sprang for the only open space available, that being the rock the small pack was chained to. He might have made it, too, were it not for the loop of cable coiled behind one of the horrors. When the man landed from his short jump and planted his foot to take another springing step, the creature attached to that cable moved, causing the cable to tighten on the foot trapped within. Eric fell onto his face and was swarmed by the creatures before he could even turn onto his side. One of the things was close to his head when he fell, so its teeth found purchase in his throat before the man could utter anything more than a frustrated grunt.

  2.2

  Tom was ready to turn away from the sight when he found his view of Eric's demise shifted. It seemed closer and nearly directly beneath him. A great pressure on his neck and rising heat in his face caused him to shift his gaze to the left, brought a hand up to his throat. His hand was stopped by a thick, muscled arm that held him at an extreme angle nearly entirely out of the window. The Sentry glared at him balefully.

  “What do want from us?” The Sentry's grip on his neck intensified and his voice was a low growl.

  Wrapping his left hand around the Sentry's wrist, Tom considered his options. He could manipulate the larger mans arm, looking for a break or dislocation, or instead use his legs to try for a choke. The Sentry would either realize what was happening and let go his grip, or would suffer fully from the intended form of injury. Alternatively, he could draw on the Sentry and fire. All these roads led to Tom plummeting from the window and landing in the midst of or on top of the Turned still devouring Eric. With the horrors distracted by their meal, it was possible he might have the time necessary to escape before they were fully aware of his presence. That escape had slim odds at best and provided him no answers to any of the questions that had arisen since meeting these people yesterday. He needn't look down to know Eric's still twitching remains were steadily disappearing as clawed hands fed gobbets of flesh into bloody mouths. Still better off up here, he accepted.

  Shifting as best he could, the Shepherd managed to get his right foot onto the windowsill. He was contorted awkwardly, hips and shoulders poorly angled to act at all properly. Gasping, he sought to give the Sentry something, anything by way of reply, but could offer only a choking wheeze.

  “Well?!” The Sentry snarled. His darkened countenance was in great contrast to his eyes, burning bright above a fierce beard and beneath wild, bushy hair.

  Tom realized something about himself in that moment, as his field of vision began to collapse in darkening, concentric circles centered on the Sentry's visage. What motivated him at this moment was not a purity of spirit that sought to offer aid to a fellow human being. It wasn't a desire to assert dominance over this strange man who threatened him. It wasn't even a strong instinct for survival, however desperate. No, in what could ve
ry well be the last few moments of his life, he found his motivation was simple, hateful spite. Knowing he had only a second or two left to act before passing out, Tom moved his right hand to the gun on his hip. You're coming with me, he thought darkly, then heard a voice.

  “Greg, what are you doing?” He heard the question as though shouted from a distance, and his oxygen-starved brain understood it involved him without being directed at him.

  It was the last thing Tom heard clearly. When the blood pounding in his ears joined the rapid tunneling of his vision, it all brought him to the brink of unconsciousness and carried him just over the edge. Waking with a start, the Shepherd found himself falling to the floor. He realized he actually had blacked out and was woken when his shoulder crashed into the wall. Crumpled in a corner of the room, he blinked rapidly and rubbed his neck, lungs heaving to drink in air between coughs. Hurriedly scanning the room, he found the woman and the boy huddled in the opposite corner. He had eyes only for the Sentry, however, as the larger man was now bearing down on the Shepherd with malicious intent.

  Pushing himself up against the wall, Tom lurched to his feet. His right hand immediately went to his hip, feeling the familiar grip of the pistol there. Tom did not find himself relieved to be in possession of his sidearm. Instead, he felt frustrated that it was still in its holster after he had commanded his hand to retrieve and fire it while being dangled from the window. His frustration was further compounded by the wave of dismay that followed. He should be grateful no one was yet hurt, not angry about how things could have gone but didn't. Most spiteful savior ever, he mused before burying the recent insight into his character deep in the back of his mind. Something to ponder another time.

  Tom waited until the Sentry was two steps away before pulling. It was the second time today he had drawn without firing, and he was loathe to act against his training in such a fashion again. Chris and Sam, his firearms instructors, had drilled into all of them that their weapons were not decorative items or props for providing emphasis. They were tools to be used with the utmost care, precision and purpose. One must be willing to use the tool and the more often one held the tool on the target, ready for use but did not fire, the more likely one would be to hesitate when use became necessary.