What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh (15 page)

Once downstairs, the Shepherd watched the yard and street beyond through the small octagonal window set deep in the thick wood. Some time passed with no sign of activity, so he quietly opened the door and let it slowly drift open a few inches. Another period of watching with a similar lack of activity. Opening the door another few inches, just enough to slip through, Tom made his way out and down the steps. Staying low, he crossed a small swath of grass to the cracked driveway and stopped beside the car. Though he was certain as could be that he and his small troupe were alone here, he nevertheless acted as though they were not.
Learning that habit gets you ahead
, he could hear Sam say.
Staying in that habit keeps you alive.

Tom slowly lifted the handle on the rear passenger door. Minimizing noise and visible motion, the Shepherd retrieved his belongings one by one. His coat was first, and was placed on the leaf-covered driveway while he reached for his backpack. This joined his coat next to the car's flat tire as, using both hands, he pulled his rifle from bench seat. He briefly touched his forehead to the weapon's stock before resting it beside his other effects, careful not to bump the scope mounted along the weapon's top.

Reaching in for the last object, Tom felt complete as he removed his hat from the cab floor. He brushed hair from his forehead and took a moment to rest the cover atop his head. The relief he felt rivaled that of when his gun belt and kukri were returned to him. Pulling the front brim of the floppy boonie hat tighter on his crown, Tom slung his pack and picked up the rifle and coat. A glance up, down and across the road confirmed he was still alone, so he crept back to the front door of the house.

As promised, he found the others in the den. When he entered, it was clear to the Shepherd he had interrupted a discussion. Knowing better than to get involved, he instead went to the window nearest the rear door. Placing his pack against the wall and laying his folded coat atop it, Tom crossed his feet and slowly sank into a seated position beneath the window, rifle across his lap. He removed his hat and placed it on his coat, then let his head rest against the wall. No sooner had he done so than his stomach renewed it's insistence to be filled.

The young man sent his left hand in search of food. Sliding beneath the coat and around the cover flap of his rucksack, Tom's questing digits found their goal. Pulling out a small, tightly wrapped item, the Shepherd slowly released the knots keeping the pouch closed. Tom was aware of three pairs of eyes watching him bring a pod of peas to his mouth. Looking up at Angie first, then Greg, he bit the pod in half, causing it to snap. Chewing as they continued to watch, he told them, “Don't stop on my account.”

“We were just about done, anyway.” Angie said, clearing her throat as Greg scowled at her.

The Shepherd nodded. Swallowing the peas, he produced a strip of jerked venison. Before tearing off a chunk, he looked at the woman and the larger man. “Alright. Since I have your attention, what can you tell me about the farm?”

The grounds were exactly as Greg described. A farmhouse was situated at the north of a several acre parcel, with smaller outbuildings around a large barn that had seen better days even before the End. Being just after sunrise, he expected the place to be bustling and he was not disappointed. Between the chicken coup and the corn field behind the barn, Tom counted half a dozen individuals, but it was the figure on the roof of the barn that held his attention.

The man there alternated position on the uneven shingles, at times sitting, at times laying. While he would occasionally turn to face this way or that, he remained in the same place on the roof, never straying far from a tall ladder. Twice, the Shepherd saw the other man raise binoculars; once turning away to check the northern half of the farmland and minutes later, turning back towards Tom to check the southern portion. Occasionally, the man would use his field glasses to check west, but the majority of the time he spent facing north or south.

It made sense that some manner of guard would be posted here. After all, this seemed where the bulk of the community's food was grown and stored. Something about it did not sit well with Tom, however. It wasn't just the fact the man had a rifle within arms reach. What would be the point of posting a guard if he were not armed? But why was the man so focused on those two directions? The Shepherd could not determine the source of his disquiet, but had long ago learned to trust his instincts on these matters.

While Tom moved quietly around brush and trees to his next vantage point, he thought back on the early morning trek that had brought him here. It had taken little convincing to get the Sentry, the woman and the boy to accompany him. Whatever reservations they had about going to the farm of their own volition dissolved when they realized they had only one more meal. There were other concerns to allay, but those had been reasonable.

“But why at night? Why can't we wait until morning?” Angie's concern seemed genuine, borne form anxiety or fear rather than inconvenience.

“We need to be quick,” Tom replied. “If we wait until morning, we could be more than half a day behind them. Not to mention we'll need to travel slower so we aren't spotted. They might have reinforced the farm already, which'll make it that much harder to get what we need and do what we must. At the very least, they'll have had time to figure out what they want to do.”

Greg countered in his baritone. “So it's better for us to travel through the ruins at night, when we know the Muppets are more active. Safer for us to cross the river in the dark, when we can't see the rocks until it would be too late to turn away from them. Besides, didn't you say earlier that they would have their hands full, for a while?”

“That I did. If you saw the size of the horde barreling down the road toward the school, you'd have said the same thing. But their leaders are crafty. You know this. You also know they have a lot of hands to get things done quickly. We do have an advantage in time, but we need to keep going if we're to make the most of it.” The Shepherd spoke firmly, but not without patience.
These people have forgotten their drive, if they'd ever had it to begin with. Maybe they just got soft. Knowing you have another meal coming will do that, he thought.

Tom saw the fatigue and reluctance on each of their faces. He sighed. “I didn't say it would be easy. I said it would be our best chance.” He looked at his companions as he continued. “Nothing we do now will be easy. Nothing we've done since the End has been easy. The easy thing to do would be to curl up and wait to die. If that's your inclination, I see a corner over there.”

Greg's face darkened. “How dare you-”

“How dare I what? Call you out for getting cold feet when things get rough?” Tom watched the larger man clench and unclench his fists. “You angry?”

The Sentry glowered, his voice a quiet hiss. “What do you think?”.

The Shepherd nodded. “Good. Anger is a gift. Let's use it to finish what you started.”

Tom found a suitable place to make the next observation, so he got down on his belly and raised his binoculars. Since he'd come around to the east side of the property, he was afforded a well-lit view without needing to shield his eyes. He scanned for several minutes, paying particular attention to the buildings between the house and barn. It made sense that they would have repaired the damaged pen as quickly as possible, which would explain why he had yet to notice it. His plan didn't require the pen to still be damaged, at any rate. Besides, he would have time to take a better look when he was closer, even if that examination would be hurried.

As he considered his possible courses of action, Tom saw someone appear from the trees on the western edge of the property. Raising the binoculars to his eyes again, the Shepherd found he recognized the figure jogging towards the farmhouse.
Isn't that Toby?

The runner disappeared into the house only to exit less than a minute later, with another person in tow. The Old Man was pulling on a light coat to ward off the early morning chill as they stepped off the wrap around porch and began crossing the yard. They moved with purpose to another group that emerged from the same trees that produced Toby. Tom turned his field glasses to the new group and nearly swore aloud when he counted two large men among it's number, one ebon, one alabaster. In order to curb the impulse, he bit down hard on both lips and let the physical pain meld with his frustration before washing both away.

“The Lord will offer you no burden you are unable to bear.”
Father Jacobs voice spoke soothingly from the past. Sighing explosively, Tom shook his head.

There was a brief exchange when both groups finally came together, near one of the outbuildings. Shane and Rujuan shared a few words before the Old Man turned to Greg. The Sentry shook his head slowly, more intent on his bound hands than meeting Shane's eyes. Something about Greg's bearing or answer displeased the Old Man, as Shane quickly grabbed a fistful of Angie's hair and jerked her head back violently. Greg took a step toward Shane, no doubt to free the woman, but instead fell to his knees when Rujuan struck him in the back of the head with the butt of the shotgun. Undeterred, the Old Man stormed to the large, sliding doors at the front of the barn, dragging Angie behind him by her hair.

Tom watched another man pull one of the doors open before Shane and Toby entered the darkened barn, bringing the boy and the woman with them. They were inside perhaps half a minute before returning to view, without the mother and son. Shane looked at Rujuan and gestured to the house. He seemed to say something to Toby, who nodded before stepping back into the barn and pulling the large door closed.

The Shepherd had heard no gunshots or screams since Angie and Ben were brought into the barn. While they might be hurt, they were most likely still alive. He would need a way to free them and Greg, as well. This in addition to the original tasks of getting enough food for the start of their journey and releasing the remaining 'stock' being held here. Time was of the essence, but all of those things took a back seat to the most immediate priority. During the 'reunion' between Shane and Greg, Tom had seen Rujuan and Toby, but not Janessa.
These are not circumstances to further divide your numbers
, Tom thought.
So, if Rujuan is here with his team, where does that put her? Probably looking for me.

As if on cue, he heard a branch pop softly ten or so yards to his left. Turning his head a fraction of an inch, Tom could just make out the form of a person moving slowly through the trees. While it moved in his general direction, it did not move directly toward him. After a moment, he realized she was looking down, trying to follow his tracks and trail sign.
She hasn't seen me yet
, he thought.
If I can keep this pine between us, I might be able to get the drop on her.
Tom knew better than to expect it to work. After all, it was the sort of thing he'd seen in movies when he was a child. But a slim chance of avoiding detection was better than the guarantee of it if he remained where he was.

Quietly as he could, the young man set his binoculars atop the pack resting beside him. Watching Janessa closely, he waited for her focus to return to the ground. When it did, Tom pushed himself up and pulled his body into a crouch against the tree trunk, painfully aware of the noise he made in the process. Each shift of muscle, every scrape of skin against low-hanging leaves, the rustle of his clothes as they stretched or folded: every sound an auditory explosion seeking to give away his position.

He suddenly found himself grateful that these people did things differently than he had learned. While he had been critical of Dust's allowance for Mike to go off on his own, Tom recognized that if Rujuan had not done the same here, his number might be up. Two pairs of ears to hear his movements, two sets of eyes to read the ground for his trail sign, two armed persons to deal with. That situation would likely end much differently than this one.

He listened intently, picking up every sound of Janessa's slow, measured steps; the rustle of her clothing, the creaking of her boots as she shifted her weight, the whisper of the leaves and pine needles sliding underfoot with her every step. Tom heard Janessa stop, or more precisely, registered the silence and interpreted the lack of noise as her cessation of motion. He found his mouth suddenly dry and his eyes resting on the rucksack only a few feet in front of him.
She sees it
, he thought.
She knows I'm close.

Several long breaths passed as Tom waited for her to make her decision. Eventually, he saw the barrel of her weapon appear from the other side of the pine. Creeping into view less than a foot away from his right shoulder, he waited to see it bounce before he acted. Nearly six inches of it were revealed before he saw the tell-tale wobble of the front sight as she took a near noiseless step. 

She's good
, Tom thought as he moved. He crossed his left hand over his chest and grabbed the cool metal directly ahead of the wooden stock. He did this so he would be able to face her squarely as he turned his hips and stepped away from the tree. Applying pressure down and away from the two of them, the Shepherd emerged from behind the tree as the rifle was pushed gently but insistently away by the force of his step. As he came into view, Tom raised a finger to his lips and looked Janessa in the eyes.

She didn't panic or flinch, nor did she twitch and pull the trigger. Like him, she seemed to be waiting for something. They stood in the dwindling shade of the forest at sunrise and watched each other for a few moments. Tom moved the finger from his lips and opened his hand, slowly bringing it to his side with the palm out toward Janessa. His other hand retained its grip on the barrel of her rifle, but he pushed it no further away. Quietly, almost casually, the young man posed a question to her. “What were you going to do when you found me?”

Just as quietly, she answered. “Hadn't figured that part out, yet. Suppose it depended on how I found you.”