A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) (22 page)

Tom finally stood facing the man. He could see Darrow was not looking at the Major, but instead staring at a spot on the floor between Vargas and Tom. The young man could make out something glinting beneath the collar of Darrow's chamois shirt. Studying his face, Tom put the man at Vargas' age: late forties, early fifties. Also like Vargas, he had a mix of gray in his short, dark hair and a five o'clock shadow on his otherwise clean face. Something about his face that stood out, however: another cross, this one on his forehead.

“
Mr. Darrow?” The Major repeated.

Darrow turned his eyes back to Vargas, studying the marine's uniform and kit, noting the dark complexion of Vargas' face before looking the officer in the eye. He blinked before he spoke. “You're not Russian.”

The marine seemed momentarily dumbfounded. Vargas pursed his lips when he replied. “No, Mr. Darrow. I am not.”

Another pause from the branded man. His eyes flicked to Tom, then back to the officer. “And you're not a Peacekeeper. Not with the U.N. at all, are you?”

The Major shook his head. “We are not part of the U.N.'s Occupational Peacekeeping force.” Pointing to Tom and Chris, he said, “Mr. DuPuis and Mr. Farr are on their way to Quebec.” Indicating Turner and himself: “We are United States Marines, working as part of a N.A.T.O.-led I.S.A.F. task force, as were the men we have followed here. Men captured by individuals known to you and held on these very grounds.”

Upon hearing this, Darrow's head fell and his shoulders sagged. “For nothing,” the man said, brooding. “All of it, for nothing.”

The Major's eyes narrowed. “Where are my men?”

Darrow seemed suddenly weary. He wavered in place for several heartbeats but said nothing until Vargas drew his sidearm. “We'll search the grounds on our own,” the Major began.

Before the officer could raise the weapon, Darrow waved a hand at him. “There's no need for that. Your men are in the barn. I'll take you to them.”

With that, Darrow rose, turned and slowly left the room. He didn't spare a glance at Chris, even when the Hunter moved from the doorway to stay ahead of the man. When Tom felt Darrow was out of earshot, he turned to the Major.

“
That change of heart was awful sudden. Think you can trust him?”

Vargas holstered his weapon. “Not as far as I can throw him, but I don't have a choice. I can take him at least as far as the barn. We'll see what happens when we get there, though. We're running out of time.”

Tom agreed. Blowing open the doors, the flash-bangs, the gunshots... all those sounds would carry for miles. While there might be only a few Turned coming to investigate the noise, there was no way to know how many would answer the call or whether they would arrive en masse or in small groups.

Tom, Vargas and Turner left the small worship room. They found the other men at the rear of the house, in the room Chris and Turner had cleared a short while ago. Darrow knelt on the floor, crisscrossed with streams of blood flowing from the three bodies that lay at the far end of the room. Chris was just inside the doorway, watching the other man carefully. For his part, Darrow finished a prayer of some kind, making the sign of the cross before him. He rose and went to the bodies, closing each man's eyes in turn and whispering quiet words as he did so.

The Major leaned into the room as Darrow knelt by the third body, a man about Tom's age. “Come on,” Vargas said. “Time's wasting.”

Darrow offered a baleful glare at the officer, which seemed all the more sinister given that his brow was furrowed and bore a branded cross. He made no move to leave, merely continued his slow and deliberate motions. “Though we were mistaken, my brothers deserve proper recognition for their sacrifice-”

The Major exploded through the doorway, three quick, heavy thumps carrying him across the wooden floor. Before anyone knew what was happening, Vargas had both hands on the front of Darrow's hide vest, the material bunched up in his fists. The officer slammed Darrow into the wall between two windows, holding him bodily nearly a foot off the floor.

“
Deserve
?” The Major snarled. “Like Eby
deserved
to be strung up in your backyard as some kind of goddamned trophy? That's your idea of recognition, right?” Vargas shook Darrow violently, banging him against the wall again before throwing him to the floor.

Darrow landed beside the body he had been tending moments before. “If you want to do right by your men, then get me to mine. The sooner I have my people, the sooner you can tend yours. On your feet.”

Darrow looked up at the officer standing over him. “Or what?”

Vargas crouched, face only inches from Darrow's. “Or I leave you for what's coming.” The officer's voice became softer. “All that noise we've been making, all the blood that's been spilled and dragged around since my people were taken earlier today. Everything, right up to this house being stormed. It's all been drawing attention. Sooner or later, and it's almost always sooner, every ghoul with an appetite and a working pair of ears will come to see what's going on.”

The Major stopped when he saw Darrow smile. He smiled back. “But you know that, don't you? Probably planned on it. Had a plan for everything else that's happened so far, so it stands to reason you'd have something figured out for when a mob descends on you. There's just one problem,” Vargas pointed out.

“
What's that?” Darrow sat up.

“
Your plan probably involves your front door being intact. If not that one, then you'd certainly need the one at the top of the stairs in good shape.” The Major let these points sink in before he continued. “You might be able to hide in the barn, but only if it's still standing. Even if we don't have enough explosives to level it, we can light off enough of it that, even as wet as it is out there, it'll burn for hours.”

“
You'd endanger your own men.” Darrow sounded skeptical.

“
Only if they're actually in it,” the Major countered, referring to the barn. “They could be dead already. If you haven't killed them and they're not in the barn, they could be killed by the ghouls that are already on the way here. The point is: there is no version of this where you come out on top. Not by keeping my men.” Vargas stood. “Enough stalling. Time to go.”

Darrow stood and made his way to the stairs, this time with Tom staying a few steps ahead of him. The man with the cross markings stopped short when he saw Janessa, who had already began descending the stairs. He watched the young woman without following her.

“
What's the hold up?” The Major's voice had a note of irritation.

Darrow glanced back at Vargas. “There is a woman ahead of me. I must wait-”

“
Mr. Darrow, I will kick you down the stairs and roll you out the front door if you do not resume your course.” When the man only blinked stupidly, the officer leaned forward and bellowed, “MOVE.”

The man moved down the stairs, Vargas directly behind him. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the Major pushed Darrow against the wall and called for Turner.

When the radio operator arrived, Vargas provided his instructions. “Keep an eye on this man, Corporal. Do not let him move.”

The Major went into the front room, to the hole in the floor that had swallowed Nadeau. Tom remained on the stairs, keeping an eye on Turner and Darrow. He could see Janessa back on guard at the front door and could feel Chris slide past him in the stairwell. Tom watched his former mentor join the Major, then grab the handle on the back of the marine's L.B.E. so the officer could lay on the floor and lean into the hole where his teammate had disappeared. Tom could hear Vargas' calls, muffled and distorted, through the floorboards.

Half a minute passed before the officer clapped Chris' arm. When the old teacher pulled him out, the Major stood and shook his head. To no one in particular, the Major said, “We'll have to rope down and take a closer look after we check the barn.”

“
After we check the barn?!” Turner objected. To his credit, he did not turn from the man he had been ordered to guard. “Nadeau could be dead by then-”

The Major cut him off. “He could be dead now, Corporal. Finding out is going to take time, and time is something we don't have. Every second we spend here is a second we're not actively looking for the rest of Blue team-”

This time, it was Turner who cut off Vargas. “Sir, I can't believe you're willing to put a man's life at risk on the
chance
that we'll find the rest of our squad and that they
might
still be alive.”

“
And all things being equal, I can't believe you're willing to put one man's life ahead of the lives of three men. I haven't given up hope on anyone, Nadeau included. We're not leaving him behind; we're checking on the others, first. I'm the one that makes that call, Turner. Let's go.”

Vargas looked at the radioman and gestured to the door. The Corporal pulled Darrow from the wall and pushed him along, making sure to follow closely. When Darrow was within arm's reach of Vargas, the Major took him by the shoulder and directed him through the door. The others followed.

When they were out on the porch, the officer let go of Darrow's shoulder. Tom stepped forward, intent on walking beside the captive man. As he did so, Tom felt a firm hand on his own shoulder. Looking back at his old teacher, Tom raised an eyebrow.

“
Best to let him go first. Just in case.”

Looking from Chris back to Darrow, Tom saw the hint of a smirk fade from the captive's face. Something in his gut told him to listen, so he fell back a step.

When the small posse reached the corner of the house, they rounded it to see an open expanse of lawn, grass cut at ankle level, that stretched all the way to the barn. A single lilac bush, halfway between the buildings, interrupted their view of the faded brown structure they were moving toward. In the light of the raw, wet autumn morning, viridian grass clashed with the muted, faded boards that made up the bulk of the barn. The trim of the loft window that told Tom something wasn't right; the peeling white paint made it easy to see the black metal tube protruding from the portal. Without thinking, he grabbed Darrow by the arm and threw both of them back toward the house.

Less than a second later, the corner of the house was blasted and frayed at chest height when several rifle reports rang out. Bits of wood, paint and siding clouded the air and littered the wet grass at their feet, a testament to their good fortune.

Tom had Darrow against the wall, forearm across the man's chest. For his part, Darrow had Tom by the shoulder and front of his peacoat. The resistance Darrow put up stopped nearly before it began and seeing Darrow staring at something, Tom followed the man's gaze. During the scramble for cover and the ensuing scuffle, Tom's rosary had slipped from beneath his shirt collar. Only the cross and the first few beads were exposed, and only for a moment, before the shifting rustle of clothing hid the object from view.

The two men locked eyes. “You are a fellow-” Darrow began.

“
No,” Tom said. He shook his head and added, “Somehow, I don't think so.”

Before they could continue, Janessa called from the porch. “Guys, we got company.”

Everyone looked, even Darrow. On the south side of the tree line, where Tom and the others had entered the clearing earlier, a lone figure emerged. Long and lanky, an unclothed, ashen colored body moved low to the ground. The Turned swiveled its head like a dog on the hunt: it's rangy limbs served only to push its nose forward. It's head, a lumpy sphere supported awkwardly on a thin neck, was just a vehicle by which it's eyes were allowed to scan the surroundings. While this was the first to be seen, it was not the only one to have arrived. Other shapes moved in the forest, shadows just behind the vegetation. Some were seen as fleeting shapes, others were heard by the snapping of branches left in their wake, while several announced themselves with grunts and growls.

They're beginning to converge. In the middle of the day,
Tom thought.
This is NOT what we needed
. “We'd better get inside,” he said.

Tom watched Chris and Janessa go back into the house, but not before taking their packs from under the porch. Keeping hold of Darrow, Tom went to join the others, pulling the captive with him. “There's no way to the barn without being shot or torn apart,” he said to Vargas. “You know that.” Having reached the door, he waited for Darrow to step around the hole inside the doorway.

The Shepherd looked at the marines, still braced near the corner of the building. “We have to weather the storm. Let us pray that your men are still alive and able to do the same.”

With that, he retrieved his own pack. He took up Nadeau's pack and rifle bag, as well. Then he stepped into the house and climbed the stairs, Vargas and Turner at his heels.

“
What are they waiting for?” Turner asked. “Why don't they just rush us?”

“
Mob mentality, perhaps. Maybe some part of them remembers there's strength in numbers. Whatever the reason, it's what they're doing. We can figure out the 'why' after.” The Shepherd moved past the marines, into the room Chris and Turner had cleared. He found his former mentor already there, pulling the mattress from one of the beds.

Darrow was leaning against the wall, near the window furthest from the door. The branded man spoke when Tom entered the room, looking him in the eyes. “They're determining who's the strongest. The strongest will lead them. Once they know who that is, they'll come in force.” He paused. “Well, the pack-oriented ones. The lone wolves will test us while the others are sorting out the pecking order.” He smiled knowingly.