A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) (27 page)

Doughty frowned in thought. “Well... it might have been two. Hard to say, with the rain. And the civilians moving around in our cover.”

Tom did not like where this was going. The situation was bad enough without adding another group into the mix. Especially one that was probably well-armed and antagonistic to his allies.

“
We brought the spark plugs with us. We'll put them in before we leave. In case we come back with friends, all we'll need to do is turn key and go.”

“
Roger that.” Doughty seemed satisfied with the suggestion. “Need a hand finding whatever you came for?”

Tom shook his head. “Stink bombs and noise boxes. Think we can find 'em.”

Doughty nodded. “Probably. Let me know if you can't.” The marine looked down at his leg. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to lay back down. I've got a healthy respect for this gunshot wound, but when I'm on my back, it's bark has a little less bite.” The marine popped the hood before he rolled up the window and laid down.

Tom went to the other truck, where he found Chris rooting around in the cargo area. A toolbox had already been pulled out and the old teacher was rifling through a crate with sectioned dividers. From the small compartments in the crate, the Hunter had removed a number of objects that were a few inches high, cylindrical and topped with something that looked like a small, metal cap. For all intents and purposes, they looked like over-sized shaving gel bottles with a large, metal ring stuck through the top.

“
Doughty thought he heard something on the road about ten minutes ago. One vehicle, possibly two. About the size of these trucks, he thinks.”

“
Balls,” the older man muttered under his breath. He continued his search, loading a pouch as he spoke. “Even if they stopped nearby, we really don't have the time to take a look. If there are two vehicles full of men, we also don't have the strength to mount an effective ambush. If they even know we're here.” Smaller, baseball-sized grenades joined the canister-shaped ones near the toolbox.

“
We have no reason to believe otherwise. Do we?” The Shepherd watched the Hunter.

Chris shook his head, removing the lid of another crate. “That we do not.” He removed two things about the size of a can of Spam, both completely black and with one side of each covered in something that looked like a cheese grater. “But, we know they're out there, which removes some of the element of surprise.” The objects disappeared into the pouch. “So the real question is: do you want to act against them now or later?”

Chris had been right, as he almost always was.

There was no time to scout for where the vehicles had gone, or if they had stopped or how many people they might have delivered. Tom and Chris couldn't afford to break for lunch, let alone wait for a group to approach the trucks on an unknown timetable. So, while Chris had replaced the spark plugs in the truck containing Ben, Toby and P.F.C. Doughty, Tom further concealed both vehicles. It was his hope that the trucks wouldn't be noticed until someone was only a few yards from them and at that point, it would be difficult not to see the vehicles for what they were. They also arranged a few surprises for anyone wandering into the small space where the trucks were hidden.

Then, the two men began their return to the house. Starting at a brisk walk, they retraced their steps. To the experienced survivors, this was a simple task; the prints in the mud, downtrodden brush and occasional bodies littered along the way made following the route back as obvious as traveling a paved road.

Before the trucks were out of sight, Tom asked Chris to continue the recounting of what had happened to their home.

“
I was just about at the end when we got to the trucks,” the older man said. “The observation team went back to wherever it was based out of, Sam and I went back to town. We told the other elders what happened, just as surely as that military team was making a similar report to their superiors.”

“
What did the elders decide?”

“
Each of us would meet with our own caste to consider the options. We knew we didn't have a lot of time, so deliberations were unusually brief. Each person decided, on his or her own, whether to stay or go.” Chris spoke this last bit with a strange cadence, as though considering the words with great care.

For a minute or more, the pair walked without talking. Watching the woods around them, listening to the sounds of the forest during a late autumn rain. Noon had come and gone, which meant the warm part of the day would be fading fast. Their brisk walk became a jog, which served as a reminder that their conversation must quickly come to an end.

Tongue loosed with that understanding, Tom asked his question. “How many went with you?” He was surprised by how strong and clear his voice was.

“
Just one: Carl Hutchinson. We didn't leave together, though. Haven't seen him since that meeting.” Chris took a few running steps, pacing himself with Tom. His former mentor sounded less pensive now. “The hunters nominated Brad Rand for my seat. I endorsed him.”

“
Rand was a good man.” It felt strange to Tom, to assume the man had met his demise without a shred of proof to that effect. “Why did you go?”

“
Hutchinson didn't want to fight. Can't say I blame him for that.” Chris took a few breaths. “I didn't want to watch it all come undone. I knew if I stayed, I'd fight. I also knew that they'd use every means at their disposal to take us alive, regardless of how hard we fought.”

The two men were slowly increasing their pace. “No matter what I did or how much damage I inflicted on them, I knew they'd take me alive. Debrief me. Press me back into service. Knew it beyond the shadow of a doubt.” A few more heavy breaths. “Former OpFor/Survival instructor, elder of the community... I was too valuable a prize to let go or kill. They'd take me, make me help them change it around or tear it down.” He shook his head. “Couldn't do it. Couldn't watch it happen. Not after everything we'd done, not after how much of our hearts and souls had gone into it. Not after seeing it work.” Chris looked up at the sky, covered in heavy, gray clouds that offered a visual manifestation of the misery in his voice.

“
I had precisely zero interest in going back. Sam felt the same and though I tried to convince him to come with me, he insisted on staying. I tried to convince him that if we left, they might not commit to occupying the place, might have to divide their forces between the community and searching for high-profile targets. If they weren't fully committed, we thought New Mont's wardens could wage a guerrilla war that would eventually force them out.”

Tom continued to listen. Part of him felt like he was swimming against an incredibly strong current, fighting to keep his head above water. The rest of him felt he was merely floating atop the surface, moving in the direction of the flow. He ran on, his steps seeming to lack their customary spring and readiness.

Chris laughed, the sound harsh due to his ragged breathing. “Sam told me one of us needed to stay and it made more sense for it to be him. Said it would be more convincing if they found one of us on site, in with the community. There was a reason
he
was the Warden.” He shook his head again. “I know that son of a bitch made them pay in blood. Probably made it like trying to take trenches in the first World War. I wonder how much it cost them; in lives, ammo, gasoline, ordinance. Wonder if it was worth it, in the end.”

They ran, side by side, for several minutes before the last spurt of their conversation was had. Since they were drawing closer to their destination, Tom lowered his voice.

“
So, that was it, then?”

Chris nodded. “Pretty much. Less than a dozen of us left, all told. We trickled out over the course of a week while the others increased defensive preparations. I was last to go, and did what I could to cover everyone else's tracks.” The older man paused before finishing. “Aside from the battle, it seemed to end as democratically as it began.”

Tom took a moment to glance at his former mentor, wanting to watch his face. “But you didn't see it? The battle?”

Chris shook his head, his breathing shallow and a bit harder: this run, coupled with the marathon of running, hiding and fighting that had concluded not an hour earlier, was finally taking it's toll on the outdoors-man. “No,” he gasped. “I did not.”

“
So it might not have happened. Or,” he mused aloud, “New Mont might have won. It's possible, right?” Tom knew it was sheer fantasy, and dashed his own hopes as quickly as his old friend did.

“
Possible, I guess. It's equally possible we'll wake up tomorrow and these last many years since the End were just a bad dream.” The Hunter paused, as though he wanted to say more. “It's gone, Tom. I'm sorry.”

Tom said nothing. Somehow, he had always known it would be this way.
Another thing you were right about, Father Jacob
, Tom thought.
You really never can go home again.

The pair ran on in silence, the discussion over. Two of the last men of New Mont made all possible haste to where others waited and depended on their arrival. They made little noise, only an occasional squelch of boot in mud, or the gasp of a costly misstep before returning to the proper running rhythm. They kept up the pace for as long as was prudent, since they eventually began to encounter Turned that had failed to follow them further back to the trucks.

Slowing and moving with even more stealth, Tom and Chris dispatched the beasts as quickly and quietly as possible. Tired limbs and aching lungs struggled to perform the tasks of cutting and crushing with maximum efficiency. Neither man had the energy of mind or body to spare overmuch on the Turned, not when there were still people to save and very possibly another group of soldiers to deal with. Otherwise, the conversation about the inevitable fall of their homeland might have led them to hunt the monsters in the area, visit some portion of their own pain on the savage horrors. Instead, they dealt only with the beasts necessary.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they had arranged the pheromone canisters and speakers. They went over the plan a second time, Chris showing Tom how to use the smoke grenades and Tom making sure he knew how long Chris would need to get in position. When they were both clear on how things were supposed to happen, they parted ways. As the two men moved off in different directions, Tom had a strange feeling and turned back to Chris. Watching his former mentor go, he couldn't help but wonder if that were the last time he would see the Hunter: a shrinking, hunched form, receding in the trees.

If he lived through what happened to New Mont, he'll survive this
, Tom thought. He shook his head and with it, meant to shake away his reservations, misgivings and other distractions. Approaching the barn from behind, he took a deep breath and centered himself.

Focus restored, he took in the sight before him. A few of the Turned were close to the large structure, but most of those close to it simply milled about or shuffled through the clearing. In fact, only a pair seemed to be actively searching for a way to get in. It was possible he would need to deal with those two.
Well, those and any see me before they pass
, he thought ruefully.

Most of the rest, even those surrounding the other buildings in the clearing, should be drawn away by the distraction they had arranged. The position of the house relative to the barn, and the sheer number of Turned in the vicinity, left them with one option for placement: the back of the barn. So, fifty yards behind the barn was where they had made the set up.

Chris would activate the speakers first, drawing some of the stragglers. When the fiends noticed some of their brethren were moving, Chris would activate the canisters. In theory, the pheromones should pull even more, possibly the rest, in that direction. Once the horde had begun to converge on the new location, Tom would be able to approach the barn. When he was close enough, he would use the grenades Chris had taken from the trucks to smoke out the men inside.

While the building had other doors and windows along its length, they were completely covered over by boards and sheets of wood. Only two points provided entry or exit to the barn; the large main doors and the loft window. Since both were in the front of the building, it would be easy to see who was leaving the structure. With Chris providing covering fire from the trees across the clearing, it should be a simple matter for Tom to get the marines. If everyone in the barn came out in one group, Tom would recognize the military men and pull them away. If the marines did not emerge with the others, or no one came out, he would enter the barn and locate the missing men. In any case, the rescue ended with Tom leading the men of Blue team to the house, where additional covering fire could be provided by Vargas and Turner. Once rejoined, the entire group would leave the area together, make for the vehicles, and get the hell out of Dodge.

Unfortunately, due to the facing of the barn, the only place Tom could make his approach to the structure was from the rear. Otherwise, he risked being shot at from anyone watching within that building. The arrow that brought down Davis was evidence that at least one armed person was in the barn, keeping an eye on the yard.

So, in his own roost atop an ash tree behind the barn, Tom waited. His eyes were fixed on the wooden edifice in front of him, and he noted a small window just beneath where the roof peaked. Though he was twenty feet off the ground, that window had to be at least another ten feet up. It was so small that he doubted a child Ben's age could fit through.