A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) (15 page)

The process was repeated until all teams had reached the assigned perimeter. When they had, the entire squad rushed to the trucks. The marines swarmed the vehicles, checking under, over, around and through the windows in a handful of seconds. When they deemed the area devoid of immediate threat, all save Dettweiler and Davis collapsed back a few yards from the trucks, taking up positions to provide over watch while the vehicles were examined.

After doing a head count to verify his companions were present and accounted for, Tom turned his attention to the vehicles. To this point, the trucks had been well concealed and his focus had been directed elsewhere by necessity. Now that the marines were moving around them, having unlocked and opened the driver's doors and hoods, Tom could see them clearly.

Two box-like trucks were parked at angles to each other. They each had four thick, wide wheels, four doors and a grill cover made of rolled, black bars. Each was painted the usual olive drab befitting a military vehicle expected to operate in a woodlands environment, with accompanying patches of greens, blacks and browns spread in splotches across the body, offering further camouflage. The trucks also had a number of thick black antennae that rose nearly a yard, straight up from the cab roof. Another, even thicker antenna rose from the back of the vehicles, near the payload gate. Through the windows and open door, boxes of supplies and cases of equipment were visible, as well as bucket and bench seats for at least six persons per vehicle.

Tom gave a wide berth to the men checking the vehicles. Even through the wet forest air and yards removed from the open hood, the smell of motor oil and fuel reached his nose. It was an odor at once foreign and familiar and roused a strange feeling in him and reminded him of a world he thought forever gone. A world lost to everything save the memory of those that had lived it, and even they thought of it less and less every day. Through his fascination and borderline disbelief, he took note of the scratches, dents and chips on and around the door handles, the cracks in thick glass of the drivers windows. Less obvious but still noticeable were the marks around the hood where someone or something made an attempt to pry it open.

Dettweiler stood from his examination. “How does yours look, Davis?”

A muffled grunt of affirmation came from the other truck. The man pulled himself out of the engine housing and offered a thumbs-up to the Staff Sergeant. “Only one way to be sure, Sarge.”

The large man nodded and called out in a low voice. “Both vehicles look okay, Major. We'll have to start them up to be certain, though.”

A quiet rustle of leaves was the only announcement of the Major's arrival. Walking over to join Dettweiler and Tom, Vargas had his carbine slung across his chest. “Let's wait on that. We're maybe a mile from a community that might not know we're here and we know there are U.N. forces in the area. We should be ready to go when we fire up the engines.”

“
Very good, sir. Something tried to get at the trucks, but didn't meet with much success. Tough to tell how long ago that happened.” The Sergeant wiped his forehead with his thick forearm.

The Major looked from the non-commissioned officer to the trucks. “Turner's making another scan for radio activity. He should be done in a few minutes. We'll move out after that. Do you mind babysitting our rides?”

“
Not at all, Major. Would you like us to put the spark plugs in, so we can roll out as soon as you get back?”

Vargas shook his head. “Best wait on that, too. I'm not planning on getting in any trouble on this stroll, so we shouldn't be coming back hot. Besides,” he smiled at his second-in-command, “can't risk you coming to your senses and bugging out before we're finished.”

The officer turned back to Tom. “Would you mind waiting for Turner to wrap up before you go? In light of what we found here, I'd rather be going beside you instead of behind you.”

The Shepherd nodded. “Certainly.” The Shepherd directed a query to the Hunter. “Anything we should know before we set out?”

The older man appeared to think. “Not that I'm aware of. It's just over a mile from here to the campground. Would you prefer to avoid the watch posts or check them along way?”

“
Let's check them along the way. We don't want to seem like we're up to no good and it might give us a feel for what we'll find when we get there.”

“
Good idea, Shepherd. I'll get our people together.” Chris moved off.

“
You seem ill at ease, Mr. DuPuis. Something on your mind?” Vargas watched the young man for a response.

Tom offered one, politely. “Nothing I'd care to talk about. Thank you for asking.”

“
Very well. I'll collect my team and be right back.” Then the marine left.

Five short minutes later, Tom and company left the vehicles, escorted by Red team. They followed Chris, who was a short distance ahead and stopped at intervals to ensure no one became lost or separated. Tom followed his old teacher, with Vargas and Turner trailing a few yards to Tom's left. Behind him were Ben and Toby, with Janessa just behind them. Nadeau and Davis brought up the rear, some yards behind and out of sight of the young woman.

They moved through the forest in this order for a while, winding around browning buttonbush and dogwood. During one of their stops, Chris had murmured a reminder to watch their step before ranging ahead again. Sound advice, since the checkerberry and creeping juniper covering much of the ground made it difficult to tell where exactly the plants ended and the mud began.

Ten minutes later, Chris was waiting for them beside an enormous chokecherry shrub. He indicated a white spruce nearby, the evergreen towering nearly seventy feet high.

Tom looked at it. “I don't see anything out of the ordinary.”

“
That's one of the watch posts,” his former mentor said. “There's always someone in that one, since it's so tall and the branches are thick with pine needles. Easy to see for a long way in any direction, not so easy to be seen inside.”

“
How do you know there's no one in it?” Ben asked.

“
When I got here, I climbed up to the perch.” Chris made some motions with his hands, pantomiming climbing. “No one's on it. No supplies, either. That's the second one that's been unmanned.”

“
Where was the other?” Tom and Vargas asked simultaneously.

“
The little cousin of this one, a black spruce about a quarter mile back.” Chris looked squarely at Tom. “I've got a bad feeling about this.”

The Shepherd felt the same. “Then let us make haste.”

The Shepherd, his companions and the marines surveyed the of structures Chris told them was Respite. A dozen buildings, most two-stories tall, spread across a series of lots just over a hundred yards away. Each dwelling had a path that led to a dirt driveway, which connected to a dirt road of sorts. The road divided the lots more or less evenly and cut across the middle of the clearing Respite was situated in. At the far end of that clearing was a decent-sized lodge, also two stories tall. The lower floor of the lodge was closed off, all visible doors and windows boarded up. Close to the lodge, four cabins were separated from the rest by a tall wooden fence. All things considered, it bore more resemblance to a suburban neighborhood than a campground.

Though the camp was set in a depression and they watched it for some time, the group saw no signs of activity. No one moved about the grounds. There were no sounds of animals or smell of cook fires. No people patrolled around the houses, mindful of what might be lurking in the trees. The fields alongside the lodge, where bushels of vegetables grew in clumps, were empty of harvesters. Clothes, soaked and loose, lay strewn across lawns or flapped on lines between buildings and trees.

Tom spoke to Chris. “Is this normal?”

The older man continued to look through the scope of his rifle. “No. It's not mid-morning yet. Plenty to do; crops and animals to tend, buildings and fences to maintain. Even in this weather, folks should be out and about.” Tom heard his friend's frown. “Something happened.”

The marines finished conferring with each other, and Nadeau and Davis moved away. When this happened, the Major addressed Tom and Chris. “No bodies visible from here, but we can't see inside the fence around those four houses by the main building. If you're planning on getting closer, checking the grounds and maybe going house to house, Turner and myself will join you. The others are going to set up just east of here and keep an eye on us while we look around.” Hearing no objections from either the Shepherd or the Hunter, the marine waited, crouched beside his radio operator. “On your say so, gentlemen.”

Tom glanced at the others, saw Janessa and Toby with their rifles up and ready to move. Even though he was looking, it took Tom a moment to find Ben. The boy was crouched behind Toby, huddled with his knees pulled close to his chest, making him seem even smaller. With narrowed eyes, Ben stared ahead, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Tom.

Moving up to his old teacher, Tom shrugged his shoulders to settle the straps of his backpack. “You should probably stay close to Ben.” Readying his rifle, the Shepherd broke from the tree line and made his way to the cabins.

The manner of scene he encountered was not unknown to him. On the road for years now, he'd encountered this scenario several times in a dozen different places. Regardless of how it happened; drought, famine, pestilence, over run by the Turned, or any number of other countless possibilities, they had all ended the same way. Whatever the reason, they all petered out. It was more difficult to bear when, like now, there were signs that whatever ill had befallen the place was very recent.
Harder still knowing it was the home of some who travel with me,
Tom thought.
And one so young
.

They reached the closest cabin after walking only a few minutes. A quick search revealed it to be unoccupied, though it seemed to have come to that state recently. Clothes, worn and patched, lay in the drawers of battered bureaus; some articles were neatly folded while others were arranged in haphazard piles. Pots, pans, dishes, glasses and even a few pieces of silverware were scattered about the kitchen, a few in open cupboards and others spread across the counters. It was as though someone had begun to pack up the place but left without everything they had intended to take.

The next few cabins told a similar story; places that had been homes to several people for a long time, each family vacating the premises quickly and recently. The narrative only began to change when Tom and company arrived at the last small cabin, this one positioned near the lodge and across the makeshift road from the tall wooden fence that hid four other structures.

The door of that small building had clearly been forced open, it's knob hanging loosely from the front panel. The door shivered a few inches back and forth in the doorway. Though the wind would gust occasionally and push the door inward a bit, the damage to the hinges caused it to swing back toward the door frame. The frame, though broken and splintered where it would meet the doorknob, was swollen with moisture from hours of slow, wet drizzle. As such, the door could only move a few inches along its arc before some edge of wood brushed another and brought a halt to the tenuous motion. When the next gust of wind came, the process began anew. The portal of the house was only seen in darkened, intermittent glances and was always accompanied by a slow, whining creek.

Though the initial appearance of the cabin was ominous, the inside bore a resemblance to the others they had checked. Tom noted the kitchen table had been pushed into a cabinet and that one of the table chairs had been knocked over. Upstairs, every door was opened but nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. These were definite indicators that the house been swept by outsiders, but offered no clues as to why this building had been forced open or what the aggressors had been looking for. There were also no signs of what had happened to those previously living there.

It was within this cabin that Vargas instructed Turner to begin recording. While the corporal seemed hesitant, Tom felt he could understand the marines reluctance. The Shepherd heard his own sentiments given voice in the Major's explanation.

“
I know we might find something ugly, Corporal. Believe me, I've got no more desire to see it than you. If we're asked about this place during our debriefing, I'd like to have some evidence of what we saw and how we found it.”

The next clue came only a minute later, when the group was crossing the 'road' to the walled off houses. Softened and swollen in the mud, deep ruts ran from between the houses to the lodge. Closer inspection revealed them to be tire tracks.

The Shepherd turned to the marines, watched them as they looked at the tracks. “These aren't from your vehicles, are they?”

“
No, Mr. DuPuis. They are not.” Vargas offered a reminder to the radio operator: “Make sure you're getting this.”

“
Yes, sir.”

Only yards from the last four isolated houses, Tom paused to make a more thorough examination of the wall that surrounded them. Twelve feet tall and topped with wire, it was made of eight foot sections, each section consisting of two by fours anchored to posts of four by eights. Though smooth, each panel bore evidence of attempted scaling or breach. A smattering of dents, cracks, scratches and chips were spread unevenly across the surface of the imposing barrier, some rising to within inches of the wire at the top.

These signs did not alarm him. In fact, they were to be expected, especially if the wall had been up for any length of time. They were a testament to it's strength and a sign of both it's character and that of the people who had erected it. In fact, standing before it with his kukri at his side, he allowed himself a momentary indulgence. He wondered if what he felt now were at all similar to how those knights in his childhood stories felt when they stood at the gates of a castle in a foreign land. This fantasy of sorts was interrupted by a more telling scar in the wall's formidable countenance.