What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh

by Peter Carrier

  Tom felt himself in no danger of going soft here, so he listened to another of Father Jacob's directives, instead: make yourself heard. Speak from the heart and let your compassion give them pause. Once you have their attention, reason with them as best you can. Give each person every opportunity to prove their worth, especially those who disagree or react with violence. In this way, those who refuse to accept reason or grace will have only themselves to blame for their damnation. When that time comes, act swiftly and without remorse, taking relief in the knowledge you have done them the greatest good: merciful release from an unrighteous life. Walk the path of peace whenever you can, but never fear the road of war.

  “Far enough,” Tom rasped. If Greg couldn't hear the Shepherd's words, there was no misunderstanding the intent in his eyes and the revolver in hand. The Sentry stopped mid-stride and slowly raised his hands while placing his foot on the floor. Think I have his attention, the Shepherd thought.

  Tom stopped rubbing his throat long enough to point behind Greg, to the corner of the room where the woman and boy now watched. The Sentry walked slowly backwards, hands still above his head, until he reached the rooms other occupants. Tom let the other man put another yard of space between them, then kept pace with him until Greg had his own back against the wall. When the Sentry stopped, the Shepherd eyed him before speaking in a still husky voice. “I'd rather be civilized about this, so I'm going to put my weapon back in its holster. Understand something, though: the next time I draw on you will be the last. Then, because I believe in being thorough, I'll put you through the window so you can join Eric. Got it?”

  Greg nodded, then looked at Ben and the woman. Seeing them crouched in the corner, the Sentry sighed and let his head fall forward in defeat, much the same way as when the group had been captured yesterday. Seeing the large man cover his face with his hands, the Shepherd returned the GP to its holster. A silence settled over the room, broken by occasional interjection from the feasting beasts outside.

  Finally, the woman addressed Tom. While stroking Ben's hair, she looked up at the Shepherd and said, “Thank you for bringing back my boy.”

  Tom nodded. “Thank you for calling off the big fella. Guess that makes us even.” Looking around the room, he began cataloging its contents and lack thereof. Digesting this information, he asked, “What's your name?”

  “Angela, though everyone calls me Angie. 'Cept this guy,” she said and kissed the top of the boys head. “He calls me 'Momma'. What about you, stranger? What do they call you?”

  The Shepherd smiled and shook his head. Though the day had thus far been filled with one harrowing turn after another, he felt a levity here that buoyed his sense of purpose. Though these three had their own problems, they retained an unspoken feeling of hope that seemed to brighten the room as much as the noonday sun. He spoke and heard his voice improving, as well as his mood. “Tom, in most places. 'Son of a bitch' in others. I answer to both.”

  Tom looked to the Sentry, who still had his face buried in his hands. “That would make you Greg.”

  The large man nodded and lifted his head to return Tom's gaze. The Shepherd saw the other man still appeared driven but no longer desperate or angry. Given Greg's stature, Tom was relieved to find this was indeed the case when the Sentry inquired in his quiet rumble, “You're not here to hurt us, are you?”

  Tom shook his head. Before he had could expound further on the subject, Ben spoke up. With the same childish certainty the Shepherd had heard earlier in the forest, the boy stated, “He's here to help us.”

  That declaration hung in the air and Tom found himself speaking to its endorsement. “That's right,” he said. “If you'll let me.”

  “How?” Greg asked harshly. “I don't know how or why you have those weapons, but you came here with one of them. So you're working with them, using them for your own purpose or you're a captive just like us. In any case, why would you come to help us?”

  While Tom reigned in his temper, the boy interjected again. “He trapped Dust and another guy in a house full of monsters, then made the last one bring us here.”

  Angela and Greg were struck cold by Ben's revelation. They regarded the Shepherd with shocked silence.

  Tom opened his mouth to speak, closed it as he reconsidered his words. “That's not entirely true,” he began in a murmur. “They chose the house we used to hole up and they were the ones that didn't want to leave when things got bad. Eric led us to you because he thought the others might regroup here.” He glanced at the open window and the sunlight flooding in through it. “Though the more I think about it, the more I think he was just saying that to get us to go with him.”

  “Why would he want to bring you here?” Angela seemed genuinely confused.

  “I think Greg hit the nail on the head. Eric wanted to make Ben and I prisoners, just like they'd done to you two. Probably meant to leave everyone here and then get help dealing with the lot of us.” Tom frowned as he considered where this conversation was taking them.

  The Sentry rejoined the conversation. “You said 'the others'. Who else was out there with you?”

  Tom squinted as he studied the window frame and the visible portion of the beams supporting the ladder. “Summers and Red, each with a three-man team. I don't think we'll need to worry about them, or anyone else, for a little while.”

  “Why's that?” Impatience was evident in Greg's voice.

  Tom sighed before replying. “Eric said they might come here, not that they would come here. That means they didn't have a set rally point for when they got separated. Summers seems like a real piece of work, but he doesn't strike me as stupid. Why would he come to a less defensible place with insufficient supplies and no idea of when he could expect reinforcements or relief? Not to mention that he'd have the additional burden of overseeing his captives. No, I think he headed straight back to the school and trusted that Dust and his team would do the same.” Cunning plan, Eric, the Shepherd thought. If it had worked, they might have given you a team of your own. Instead, it made you meat for the beast.

  Greg snorted. “Even if you're right, none of that stops them from coming back for us eventually. We're still going to the farm. Maybe later, but we're still dead.”

  Tom responded to Greg's statement quickly. “Of course they'll be back, but later than they thought. Much later, most likely. Believe me, they have their hands full for now. That gives us time to figure a way out of here and where to go next. Now-”

  The wild look had returned to the Sentry's eyes. “Go? We can't go. There's nowhere for us to go! We have no weapons, no outdoor gear-

  “So you wait here for them?!” The Shepherd roared and the others in the room shrank away from his anger. “Is that your plan? Wait for them to come back and do whatever they want?” Pointing at the club Greg had dropped near the window, he continued his tirade. “Were you going to beat them when they came through the window? That might work on the first one. You think the next person wouldn't be ready for you? Even if you did manage to keep them from coming in, you can't remain here indefinitely. They could find a way to let in the Turned surrounding the place, they could starve you out, they could just burn down the house if they really want you dead.”

  The Sentry laughed bitterly. “No. They won't do any of those things.”

  The Shepherd clenched his jaw. “Why not?”

  The large man replied, his eyes mocking Tom. “We wouldn't be any good to them.” A tittering lilt made its way into Greg's laugh, similar to what Dust and Eric had shared in the house just after they saw Mike in the kitchen.

  Tom pursed his lips and turned to Angela. “Please tell me you're the brains of this operation.”

  She shook her head nervously, holding Ben close.

  Head falling, Tom asked her, “Well, would you do something for me, anyway?”

  Angela watched the Shepherd for a few moments while they listened to Greg laugh himself into a wheezing stupor. She nodded when she realized he was waiting for her to res
pond.

  “Since the big fella seems to think I'm the one devoid of reason, maybe you could tell me what I'm missing?”

  The woman's face paled and her eyes went wide as she brought one hand to her mouth. Her shoulders began to bounce in small convulsions and tears streamed down her cheeks while she pressed the boy even closer. As before, it was Ben who offered the answer. With the open, naked honesty of a child's truth, he said simply, “There wouldn't be enough of us left for them to eat.”

  2.3

  Stupefied, Tom could only stare at Ben. Several heartbeats later, he turned his head, eyes still on the boy. “Excuse me. Did you just say they wanted to eat us?”

  Ben nodded, his youthful exuberance masking whatever distress he had about the situation. While the boy's head moved energetically, Angie's nod was much slower and more resigned. Tom found himself nodding, too. “Hunh,” he said, mostly to himself.

  Tom felt something in himself shifting, as though a switch had been thrown in some distant, far-removed part of his soul. His mind far afield, a single need dominated his thoughts: we can't stay here. Get them out, now. The rest will come later. Giving voice to this thought, the Shepherd asked these new companions to show him their provisions and quickly.

  Angie led Tom through the house. The sleeping quarters contained the entirety of their meager provisions. He had Ben collect the blankets and pillow cases while he assessed the rations. Two gallon jugs of water, one nearly empty. An oversized purse with a couple apples, four decent sized carrots, some green beans and a few sugar snap pea pods. A small towel contained the crumbled remains of a slice of corn bread.

  When the boy brought him the blankets, the Shepherd divvied up the food as evenly as he could into three equal portions. Two went into the pillow cases and the third remained in the purse. Even before he asked Angie if there was anything else of value in the place, the Shepherd knew he would need to make that determination himself. He left them to fold the blankets into slings and make ready to leave while he made a pass through the rest of the house. While he found nothing that would be of use to them, he still made good use of the time. When he returned to the bedroom, his plan had taken solid shape.

  Picking up the near empty jug, he sloshed the water around before popping the cap and sniffing the contents. Glancing at Angie, he lifted the container and asked, “May I?”

  When she nodded, Tom took a long pull. It was warm, but it was wet and he'd not had anything to drink since breakfast. Breakfast, he thought with disgust. He swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. You couldn't have known, he told himself. And you're taking action against them now, aren't you?

  Handing the container to Ben, he told the boy to drink. After he'd had some, Tom gestured for him to hand the jug to Angie. “You should finish it,” he told her. She nodded and did so. When the water was gone, she made to set the empty object on the floor, as though intending to leave it. Tom shook his head. “We're taking it with us. 'Waste not, want not'.” The woman seemed puzzled but accepted the Shepherd's requirement.

  Tom handed the purse to Angie, then one of the pillow cases to Ben. “Mind grabbing the blankets, Ben?”

  Angie moved to the pile, but stopped when the Shepherd shook his head. “I can carry those,” she said. “They'll be less awkward for me. He can carry the empty water bottle.”

  Tom spoke softly. “That's true, but the blankets won't be heavy for him: he'll be wearing them on his shoulders. That's why I asked you to fold them that way.” Seeing her ready to raise another point of contention, Tom again shook his head and continued. “We all pull our own weight from now on, even Ben.”

  “Still,” Angie began, “the bottle is better for him-”

  “Is it?” He arched an eyebrow. “I think you're a lot less likely to use it as a drum once we're back in the woods.”

  Seeing the woman accept at last, Tom stooped for the full water jug and the other pillow case. Leading Angie and Ben back to the entry room, he walked straight over to Greg and put the jug and sack of food at the large man's feet. The Sentry looked up and returned the Shepherd's gaze with one of similar intensity.

  “We're leaving,” Tom said, his voice flat. He thought he could hear an echo in the room that wasn't there before. Strange, he thought, how a place can feel so much emptier when you're ready to leave it. “You coming or staying here?”

  “What's it to you?” The timbre of Greg's voice made it difficult to determine if the question had been asked with consideration or menace.

  The Shepherd waited before replying. “The life you save is the life you keep.” But that's not all, is it?

  The Sentry seemed puzzled. “What does that even mean?”

  “For now, it means the three of you are my responsibility.” So saying, Tom felt as though an invisible weight settled over his heart.

  “Why?”

  “It's part of the Shepherd's Creed.” Seeing Greg's brow furrow, he explained. “A code we live our lives by.”

  “A code.” The large man spoke the words dubiously.

  Tom nodded. “One that's seen me to your doorstep and through worse than this.”

  “Worse than this? Somehow, I doubt that.” Greg's timbre carried a jovial note despite the reservation he voiced.

  Tom considered the other man's words. “Well, you might be right about the 'worse' bit. Couple stretches were at least this bad, though. Believe it or not.”

  The Sentry shook his head. “What are the odds we'd meet someone like you?”

  Tom locked eyes with Greg. “I call it providence. You'd probably call it chance or luck. Either way, it's no coincidence I found you yesterday or that we were rejoined today. Why it happened is less important: it did happen and that's good, because we're stronger together than separate. We'll figure out the rest along the way. Now, let's go.” This last he said while offering his left hand down to the large man.

  The Sentry stared up at the Shepherd before taking the outstretched hand and pulling himself to his feet. The large man took the pillowcase and jug with him to the window and checked that the ladder was resting firmly against the beams. Satisfied that it was soundly seated, Greg navigated his way down to the garage, followed by Angie, then Ben. Tom watched them go, mindful of the creatures beneath the ladder. While the beasts seemed temporarily sated, there was no telling when one might feel the urge to lunge up at the person on the makeshift bridge.

  Being the last to cross also gave the Shepherd more time to think. In the quiet moments while he waited his turn to descend the ladder, he reflected on what precisely he meant to do and every bit as important, his motivation to do so. Taking in the cloudless, azure sky and warm, bright sun, he thought to himself this was too beautiful a day to be unmarred by some misfortune. To every dark cloud, a silver lining; to every thing of beauty, a trace of ugliness. This is nature, this is perfection. Ben's revelation only drove home the Shepherd's sense of purpose: to make the world a better place, free of fear and ignorance. His commitment made, the only thing left to determine was the severity of the recourse. He saw the woman and the boy waving to him from the window of the garage. Snapped from his reverie, he climbed through the window to join them.

  Once in the garage, Tom stopped himself from retracting the ladder. Whoever comes in will see Eric's remains in front of the house. If we leave the ladder out, they might think he simply fell and not that he was the target of foul play. Could buy us some time.

  Tom looked from Greg to Angela while asking, “Do either of you know if there's anything worth taking here? Food, water, clothes, tools?” He knew better than to hope, but the possibility was worth at least asking about.

  Angie shrugged, but Greg was more certain. His wild mane waved from side to side as he shook his head. “Just boxes of trash, old paper, broken parts and the like. If there was anything of value here, they probably took it after they locked us in.”

  Tom nodded, knowing there was no time to stay and search. “Best be on our way, then.”

  M
otioning to the exit, Tom led the group to the portal. The Sentry went first, sliding out to the corner of the building just as Eric had earlier. Eyes glued to the front of the house, Greg bade them move to the fence one by one. Tom went next, checking up and down the fence before rounding the corner and sweeping the clearing and tree line beyond. Angie sent Ben and emerged soon after, closing the window as she left. Greg moved with her to the fence, where the four of them quickly crossed to the trees on the south side of the clearing.

  Once within the relatively safety of the treeline, the small group stopped. Crouched at a copse of small birch and arrowwood, Tom looked at Greg and Angie. “This creek runs straight to the river, right?”

  Again, the woman shrugged while the Sentry nodded. “It does,” he rumbled.

  Looking downstream and beginning to plot a course, Tom inquired further. “Unless I miss my guess entirely, if we follow this all the way out, we should be half a mile or so upriver from where we crossed last night?”

  Greg nodded again. “Give or take.”

  The Shepherd continued. “Didn't look like there was a guard posted around the canoes. That normally the case?”

  Understanding crept in to the large man's deep voice. “It is. What do you have planned, Tom-who-is-sometimes-Son-of-a-Bitch?”

  The Shepherd smiled. “Putting us on better ground, for starters. Getting the rest of my gear while we're at it.” He paused before finishing. “And if it's in the cards, perhaps a little reckoning.”

  2.4

  With that, they were on their way. Tom in the front, Greg bringing up the rear, Angie and Ben sandwiched between them. At the Shepherd's insistence, they kept conversation to a minimum. Though he expected otherwise, the silence didn't seem to bother the boy. While he was obviously bored, Ben made no effort to draw undue attention to the group. Tom wondered if the reason for his compliance stemmed from the proximity of his mother or a better understanding or appreciation for their position. So, their travel passed in relative quiet, broken only by the occasional rustle of clothing against shrub or the soft popping of a branch underfoot. The afternoon wore on as they first reached the river, then followed it back to the site of their crossing the previous day.