A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) (12 page)

The Corporal nodded. “Will do, Sarge.”

Dettweiler left them at the stream bank, a wet, sucking sound issuing from his boots when he pulled his feet free of the mud. He went to the faded door and checked the handle. It held fast and, rather than continue pulling on it, he disappeared around the far side of the moss-covered bricks.

No sooner had the large marine vacated the front of the building than Toby moved to where Dettweiler had stood only moments earlier. He checked the door handle and found it equally unwilling to admit him. Tom approached the young man, watching as he stepped back from the faded wood.

“
What do you think's in there?” Toby asked Tom, still looking at the door.

Tom shrugged. “Don't rightly know. A well, a toilet, pipe access? Hard to say. So, you're afraid of open water?” He offered this with a smile.

Janessa's brother spoke flatly. “Yeah. Petrified of it. Good thing that was just a stream, right?” He looked Tom straight in the eye. “Learn something new every day.”

The Shepherd nodded. “Thanks for making sure he got across okay.”

Toby tried to cover his own smile with a yawn. “Wasn't gonna let him go by himself.”

By this time, the rest of the marines had returned to the bridge and each crossed over. When the last of them was across, Dettweiler made his way to Vargas. The two men spoke briefly, the Sergeant pointing into the trees behind the brick building. When the two men nodded to each other, the Major called for Turner. He spoke to the radioman quickly, then the Corporal and Staff Sergeant left, headed in the direction the large man had pointed in earlier.

The Major pointed to where the other two marines had gone. “Nadeau, Davis, Doughty: set-up a watch point overlooking the road east-northeast.”

The men named by Vargas left. As they did so, the Major walked over to where Chris and Ben sat. Tom thought he saw the marine look at the boy with something akin to discomfort or disbelief, but it was gone so quickly he wondered if he'd imagined it. He watched the Major remove his pack and crouch between the older man and the boy. Retrieving the magazine-sized computer, he powered up the device, then tapped and swiped on it a few times.

Vargas offered the object to Chris. “Could you show me where you're thinking our camp will be?”

Chris shook his head at the device. After studying it a moment, he tapped the smooth surface with a finger. “Wondrous piece of technology you have there.”

The marine grunted. He made a few more swiping motions, followed by another couple taps of his own. “That's close to eight miles from here.”

The Hunter nodded. “If we leave within the hour, we can definitely make it before sundown. How long did you want to stay here?”

Vargas tapped the computer before powering it down and returning it to his pack. “Long enough to set up a R.O.P., at the very least. Thought we'd wait a few extra minutes to see if the Blue Bonnets came marching along.”

Tom had arrived where the men sat, so he decided to join the conversation. “Since 'Blue Bonnets' seem to be off the discussion menu, could I ask a bit more about what happened at the farm?”

The Major smirked. “You can ask.”

Once again, Tom suppressed the urge to sigh. “You mentioned 'stink bombs' and a 'box'. I suppose the 'box' could have been one of your Remote Observation Posts, but the 'stink bombs' are still a mystery to me.”

“
Ah, the 'box and bomb' combo. The 'box' in question was not a R.O.P. Good guess, though. What I had been talking about was a repeater. It's a transmitter that emits a localized, subsonic pulse. Kind of like a dog whistle for ghouls. Early on, a few recon teams noticed the Turned, as you so eloquently termed them, have acute hearing and seem to react strongly to sounds that are inaudible to us. So, why try to predict where the hostiles
might
be when instead, you could draw them to a specific location? It was one of the first 'low-impact' counter measures F.E.M.A. approved for use. One of two that actually worked. Nearly as advertised, too. I say 'nearly' because while it has good range, it doesn't work so well once the ghoul sees or smells something else.”

Vargas took a drink from his canteen. “That brings us to 'stink bombs': they were the other device that worked. Aerosolized pheromones kept under pressure in a hand-held canister. Basically a gas grenade with stuff that smells like one part raw meat and ten parts ode-de-locker room. Those things provoke an
immediate
response, but disperse very quickly and offer less stimulation to Infected that have fed recently. Either is effective on its own, as long as you work within it's limitations. They work together incredibly well.”

Tom furrowed his brow. “So, they don't impede or impair the Turned in any way?”

The marine shook his head. “No, Mr. DuPuis. They do absolutely nothing to impair the creatures they are designed to affect. That would violate the Fourth Geneva Convention, which is something the U.N. considers customary international law. Even the parts the U.S. didn't sign.”

“
They'd still be actionable as far as Peacekeeping forces are concerned.” Chris looked at Tom, the teacher explaining an implication to his student. “So the Turned are considered non-combatants?”

“
Correct.” Vargas sighed and glanced to where Turner and Dettweiler had gone. “Our friends at the World Health Organization convinced enough of the General Assembly that, until proven otherwise, the Infected should be treated as though they could be restored to a fully cognitive state. Russia cited American law as the precedent: innocent until proven guilty. China seconded the motion.”

Chris chuckled. “The Turned have more rights than we do.”

It seemed the Major would say more on the matter, but the radioman and Sergeant came back into sight. Vargas returned to the previous topic of conversation. “Quite a potent one-two combination, the 'bomb and box'. Once you know the range. And gauge the wind properly.” He shrugged sheepishly.

“
That's all they are, though?” Tom sought confirmation. “Just a distraction?”

The Major smiled. “Never underestimate the power of a good distraction.”

Dettweiler called out, “It's up, Major.” He jabbed a thick finger at the man with him. “This one's been making noise about checking the radio again.”

“
Maybe he's got a point. If you'll do the honors, Corporal.” Vargas gestured to an empty patch of green near himself and Tom.

Turner made his way to the spot his commanding officer has indicated, removing his pack and radio in the process. “On it, sir.”

Kneeling in the grass, the radio operator went to work. He removed the handset from it's socketed cradle and pressed it to his ear, pushed a few buttons on the receiver and waited. Half a minute passed and Turner pressed more buttons, adjusted a knob. Another minute went by and the Corporal shook his head. He sounded frustrated as he offered the handset to Vargas. “Sir, it sounds like something, but I can't make out what.”

Taking the device, the Major listened for several seconds. He slowly shook his head. “I know your ears are better than mine, but the only thing I hear is dead air with an occasional 'pop'. Background noise, feedback, something like that.”

Vargas made to return the handset to the radio operator, but Turner shook his head. “There's something there, sir. Listen again, please.”

“
Corporal, I don't hear anything.” The officer pushed the handset to Dettweiler. “What do you hear?”

The large man bent low, stooped with the device pressed to his ear a bit longer than Vargas had. While he listened, his eyes narrowed, as though he were focusing very intently. Eventually, he returned the handset to the radioman.

“
I didn't hear anything, sir.”

Turner began to reply. “Sarge, there's something-”

“
We heard you the first time, Corporal. Neither the Major or myself can tell that there's anything resembling a signal out there. In light of that information, what are you recommending we do?” Dettweiler's tone was curt, almost clipped. “I know you don't have a lot of time in the field-”

The Major broke in. “I believe he heard something, Dett. Since reception here seems poor, let's make another check later. Maybe when we have the trucks in sight?”

The officer looked at his second in command, then the radioman. They nodded.

“
Good call, Major.”

“
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“
Now that's settled, let's rejoin our boys on the road.” Vargas motioned in the direction Nadeau and the others had gone.

“
Dettweiler, Preston: you're the rear guard. Turner and I will be with our V.I.P.s.”

The Major looked at Tom. “Ready?”

When the groups were rejoined, they ate a cold lunch. The Major had them hold position for the best part of an hour, waiting to see if the U.N. troops would make an appearance. Just as they were beginning to resume their march, Nadeau reported visual contact.

Vargas returned to where the sniper was positioned. “What do you see?”

Nadeau adjusted his optics and spoke slowly. “One vehicle. Looks like one of the trucks we saw at the bridge.” The Sergeant was quiet for a few breaths. “Blue Bonnets disembarking... looks like a few setting up security around the vehicle. Another group heading into the woods, but nowhere near where we passed through.”

The Major frowned. “Can you tell how many?”

“
No, sir. Not at two miles. This a hell of a scope, but we're talking about individual distinction at pretty serious range.” The sniper glanced at the officer. “Still think they're not looking for us, sir?”

Vargas shrugged noncommittally. “Whatever they're after, it's time for us to be on our way.”

The Major split the group into two teams. Vargas, Nadeau, Davis and Turner were 'Red team', while Dettweiler and the rest were 'Blue team'. Tom and his small band remained in the company of Red team, which pressed forward. Blue team followed some distance behind.

Hours later, with the sun beginning a rapid descent toward the forested hills to the west and the crispness of the afternoon becoming a chill, Tom resumed a conversation he and Vargas began earlier. From where they stood, the two men could see the cabin Chris had mentioned. They studied it and their new surroundings closely, since this would be where they would bed down for the night.

“
Is it usual for you to have so few encounters when you're... 'in the field'? That's how you put it, right?” The Shepherd watched the parts of Vargas's face that were visible around the other man's field glasses.

The Major grunted. “Not really, no. The last few days have been a bit quieter than normal, but some of that is to be expected. Like we talked about at the fire house, we want to be as low-profile as possible. Our priority is getting you and yours back to safety. Even if that weren't the case, we'd still need to be careful about how aggressive we were. We're kitted out for recon, not seek and destroy.”

Vargas lowered his binoculars and looked at Tom. “In general, we have noticed fewer encounters with Infected on each rotation into the field. My team hasn't been the only one to report that observation, either. That more what you were getting at?”

Tom nodded, then looked through his own optics. “About how long ago did you first notice the reduced activity?”

“
Two and a half, maybe three years ago. Could've been earlier than that, but no one was checking the reports for recorded activity until then.”

“
Any ideas why that might be?”

“
No shortage of theories.”

“
But you can't discuss them.”

“
Correct, Mr. DuPuis.” The Major gestured to the object of their scrutiny. “What do you think?”

Tom looked at the cabin. From this vantage, it resembled a giant face made from varying pieces of wood: the recessed windows on the second floor were dark, sunken eyes; the covered porch against the wall its beard and mustache; with the door in its center as a small, puckered mouth. The windows to either side of the entry portal could have been dimples. It was even balding, if the missing shingles were any indicator. It was a weathered face, its best days long gone. But it was still standing and there was no real damage he could discern.
Old and tough
, Tom thought.
One often accompanies the other
.

“
It doesn't appear occupied. The outbuildings are too run down, there's no apparent woodpile or work area. The grass is too high near the porch and there's no sign of recent passage through it. If the inside is as sound as the outside seems, it should hold up to a night with a dozen bodies inside. Plenty of places to post sentries, for when we bed down.” He pointed to the ridge. “We'll be able to make a fairly discreet approach, since there are plenty of trees and shrub between here and there. It should do the trick.” His statement finished, the Shepherd nodded.

“
I'm inclined to agree. Just have to make a sweep of the immediate area and we can set up shop. Would you prefer to accompany me on that errand, or would you rather join Blue team in clearing the cabin?” As Vargas spoke, Chris and Turner climbed down from the nearby ridge to join them.

“
We're waiting for the other team to catch up before we do this, right?” When the Major nodded, Tom answered. “I'll take the rest of our people to the cabin, then.”

Chris spoke quickly. “Shepherd, if you'd allow it, I'd like to take part in the sweep. Even giving the marines their due, I still know the surrounding area pretty well.”