The Shepherd (19 page)

Marcus watched as the two cars sped down the lane, the outline of light racks visible on their roofs.
How did they find me?
He had disabled the radio at the crash scene and smashed the cop’s cell phone. It didn’t matter now, but it still gnawed at him. The cop finding him along the road had seemed like a coincidence, but he wondered if there was more to it. Coincidence or not, he had put innocent lives in danger.

Still, the Sheriff couldn’t be sure that he was in that house. He could have just kept walking or abandoned the roads entirely. There would be no way for his hunters to track him to this point beyond a shadow of a doubt. If they played their cards right and put on a good show, they might convince the Sheriff. But that meant asking Allen to walk right into the Sheriff’s sights.

How could he ask Allen Brubaker to walk out there, greet the Sheriff like an old friend, and convince the man that everything was business as usual? If the Sheriff held any suspicions and the rumors that Allen had heard were true, his new ally would be a sitting duck.
How can I ask a man I’ve just met to put his life on the line like that?

He turned toward Allen, and their gazes locked. Allen nodded, and he knew that he didn’t have to ask. Allen knew the score and would do what had to be done.

The older man reached into his pocket, removed the FNP-9, and handed it to Marcus. “Charlie, run up to my bedroom. The case for my gun is lying on the bed. Bring it down here, quickly.” The boy bolted from the room. “There are two more loaded magazines in the case—sixteen shots per magazine. Hopefully, you won’t need any of them, but…take care of my family…if…”

“Allen, I—”

“You just be the good man that your aunt knew you’d become. The rest’ll work itself out.”

The two cruisers came to a stop in front of the old Victorian home. The Sheriff, Lewis Foster, and three other deputies exited the vehicles.

Allen crossed the threshold of his front door, leaving the safety of his sanctuary and venturing into the cold unknown of the world beyond. He walked down the steps, smiling at the Sheriff and his men. “Good evening, Sheriff,” he said. “Is there some kind of a problem, or something I can do for you?”

The Sheriff was calm and confident, and he spoke in a way that was friendly and yet demanded attention. The man was intelligent and collected in a way that made Marcus uneasy. “Good evening, Allen. We’re just stopping by all the homes in this area to make sure that everything’s okay. There’s a dangerous fugitive on the run somewhere in this vicinity, and we just wanna make sure that everyone is safe and secure. Have you seen or heard anything unusual tonight?”

Allen pursed his lips. “There was some strange, metallic disc hovering over the field, and I think I saw it beam one of the neighbor’s cows up into its belly. But other than that, it’s been a pretty quiet night.”

The Sheriff laughed. “That problem falls beyond the realm of my jurisdiction. If you do see anything unusual that’s a bit more my speed, be sure to let me know. In the meantime, lock yourself and the family up tight and don’t open the door for any strangers. Do you have a weapon in the house?”

“No, I don’t believe in guns,” Allen said.

Marcus wondered if Allen’s pistol was registered. He wasn’t familiar with the way things worked in Texas, but he knew that the Sheriff could probably run Allen’s name and discover that Allen did own a gun.

The Sheriff nodded. “If you do see anything, just barricade yourself in the house and contact us. Don’t try to be a hero. I know that you’ve got more sense than that, but I’m telling everyone the same thing—just in case. There are a lot of people that think they’re gonna save the day like some scene from a movie, but what ends up happening is that they get themselves or others killed.”

“Alright, Sheriff. If we do see anything, trust me, you’ll be the first to know. Good night and good luck catching your fugitive.” Allen waved and walked back toward the porch.

“We’ll need all the luck we can get. He’s a slippery one. Good night, Allen.” The Sheriff and his men began to pile back into their vehicles.

Marcus couldn’t believe his eyes. They had actually pulled it off. If he had the power to give Allen an Oscar for his performance, he would have done so without hesitation. Since he had no Oscars to give, he would instead reward the burly, old English teacher with a big hug and kiss—whether he wanted them or not.
Finally, some good luck for a change.

Just as the Sheriff was about to get back into his cruiser, he rested one hand on the open car door and said, “Allen, one more thing.”

Allen turned back to the Sheriff.

“I’m truly sorry.”

“For what?”

As soon as the words left Allen’s mouth, the Sheriff raised his gun. Marcus counted seven pops. Seven bullets into Allen Brubaker’s chest. Allen’s lifeless husk fell to the steps of the porch with a dull thud.

His eyes widened with horror and anger. He wanted to run from the house like a madman and strangle the Sheriff with his bare hands, but he tried to keep his emotions in check. He had a responsibility to Allen’s family.

Loren ran toward the door, but he blocked her.

He took aim at the Sheriff. He knew that he could end the man with a single pull of the trigger. The red shroud descended over his eyes.

A voice in his head urged him to squeeze, to kill. The man had just murdered Allen. He had every right to strike him down where he stood.

The alleyway back in New York, the scream, the blood…No. I can be better than this. I’m better than him. I’m not a murderer.

He had always been amazed at how books and movies sensationalized cops gunning down the bad guys without a second thought. Everyone thought that taking all that someone was and would ever be was an easy thing to do, if it was justified. Maybe it was for some, but not for him.

The Sheriff moved toward the house.

He lowered his aim and fired two shots in the dirt at the Sheriff’s feet. He swung the gun toward the deputies and placed a bullet in close proximity to each, driving them back to cover and stopping any advancement.

Loren fell to the floor, screaming and crying. The children just stared out the window, probably trying to wrap their minds around the finality of what they had just witnessed.

Allen Brubaker’s life had been cut short by the same type of injustice that he had spoken out against. A good man had been slain for no reason. In death, Allen had become a testimony to the injustice that he knew plagued the world.

Marcus knew that bad things sometimes happened to good people, but if it was the last thing that he ever did, he would make sure that bad things happened to the bad people as well.
Not vengeance—but justice.

Alice was one step shy of insanity.
How can I choose?

She could turn the gun on Ackerman, but what if he didn’t load the gun this time either. They would all be dead for sure. Her mind was a hurricane of questions for which there were no answers, a maelstrom of confusion that thrashed with such violence that it threatened to rip her apart from the inside out.

“Excuse me, Alice,” Ackerman said, as if he were asking her to pass the salt. “I don’t mean to convey the impression that I’m not thoroughly enjoying our little game or watching you sit there trying to bring order to all this chaos, but can we please speed this up a bit? I do have a few other things I planned on accomplishing this evening.” In the same calm, nonchalant manner, he added, “And if you don’t hurry up, I may do something that you’ll regret.”

She dropped the gun and wept.

“Shut up!” Ackerman pounded his fist against the table.

She could see his anger rising, hellfire creeping into his eyes.

“You’re going to pick up that gun and play the game. Do you want to know the true meaning of suffering, Alice? If you don’t pick up that gun, I’m going to show you. Now pick it up.”

Out of pure fear, she reached down and retrieved the gun.

“Good. Now I’ll save you the trouble of your next decision. Your son goes next. Point the gun at him and pull the trigger.”

She pointed the gun at her son.

She put her finger on the trigger.

She tried to numb the horrible sensations that crept over her consciousness and convoluted her capacity for coherent thought. Once again, she tried to rationalize the situation and tell herself that the only hope of saving any of their lives was to do as she was told. But like almost every other difficult decision faced in life, there was no black-and-white, clear-cut answer.

“Pull the trigger. Death is not the execution. It’s the pardon. Murder is an act of mercy. It’s the amnesty granted to spare someone the burden of living a life of pain and anguish. The world is chaos. Life is pain. Release him, Alice. Pull the trigger.”

She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. There has to be a way out of this.
There has to be. Then, it came to her.

The devil that had violated her world required a sacrifice of blood and would not be appeased until the debt had been paid.
So, I’ll sacrifice myself.

Her only hope was that her death would not be in vain and that, by her actions, her children would be spared.

She pointed the gun at her own head and pulled the trigger.

Surveying the grief stricken world that surrounded him, there was only one way Marcus could describe what he saw—
darkness
. In the absence of the light of Allen’s life, darkness had descended upon the home of the Brubakers.

The children and Loren huddled together in the corner, swaying back and forth and sobbing. He wanted to comfort them in some way. He wanted to tell them that everything was going to be alright, but he couldn’t. Number one, things would never be the same for them. Number two, they were all well on their way to joining Allen.

He looked back out the window and saw the Sheriff and his men appraising the situation from behind the cover of their vehicles. He had to keep them pinned down, so they couldn’t circle around the house. So far, they hadn’t tried to return fire, but that fact didn’t fill him with any false hopes. He knew the Sheriff had a plan, and even as he formulated his own plan of attack, he had to assume that the Sheriff’s plan was already in motion.

He should have shot the Sheriff dead where he stood, but he had vowed to never do such a thing again. If it came down to their survival, he hoped that he would be able to break his pledge. But in all honesty, he wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to pull the trigger. He had to find a way to make sure that it didn’t come to that.

A voice called out from behind the cover of one of the cruisers. “Come on out, kid. Let’s not make this any more difficult or bloody than it has to be. You’re the one we want. If you come out peacefully and surrender, we’ll let Loren and the kids live. Nobody else has to die tonight.”

“You’re right, Sheriff. Nobody else has to die tonight. All you have to do is turn yourself in, and I’ll let you live. I’ve got you surrounded, and I’m ready to accept the terms of your surrender. Throw out your guns and come out with your hands up.”

“Don’t play around now, kid. This is the only chance you have, and it’s the only time I’m going to offer it.”

In response, Marcus took aim and fired. He placed two rounds in the vehicle’s hood, a foot in front of the Sheriff. Then, he fired two rounds into each of the four tires visible from his position, crippling both cruisers.

An icy silence hung in the air. “If that’s the way you wanna play it, kid. Then, that’s the way we’ll play it.”

He ejected the spent magazine and slammed a fresh one into the weapon. As he chambered a round, he said, “If you or any of your men make a move toward this house, you’ll find out exactly how I’m gonna play it.”

The Sheriff didn’t respond.

He hoped that his actions would make them hesitate for a few minutes, but it wouldn’t be long before they tried something. The officers were too exposed, though. Their vehicles were too far from any type of cover. They were probably waiting for backup. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it soon. The longer he hesitated, the more their chances of survival decreased. He had to do something that the Sheriff wouldn’t expect. He always felt that the best defense was a good offense, so that’s what he would do. He would go on the offensive.

“Loren, I know it’s hard, but I need your help if we’re going to get through this.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes and pulled herself up from the floor. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked like a strong gust of wind would blow her over. But he knew that she would do what needed to be done. She was tough. He had seen her in action earlier.

“Where’s your car parked?”

“In the barn, right there behind that row of cop cars.”

He looked out at the barn. There was no way they could make it, none he could think of anyway.

From across the room, Charlie said, “My car’s parked around by the back door.”

His wheels began to turn.

If they made it to the car, the Sheriff wouldn’t be able to follow with flat tires. The Sheriff wasn’t stupid, though, far from it. The elder cop could have had the entire perimeter covered in one way or another, even if it was just one sentry. They might have dropped one man off in the dark before approaching the house.
But maybe not?
Regardless, Marcus knew that he had to play it as if they had.

For some reason, the Sheriff seemed to want them alive. Otherwise, the vigilante could have just burned the house down with them in it. He tried to quell a lingering sensation in the back of his mind that the Sheriff was one step ahead of him and had been since the beginning.

Adapt, improvise, and overcome.
“Do you have any other weapons in the house?”

Loren thought for a moment and then said, “My husband has an old double barreled shotgun. He used to go hunting. He hasn’t been in years, but I think he has a few shells left. Other than kitchen knives, those are the only real weapons we have.”

He looked out the window and checked on the Sheriff. “It’ll have to do. We need to hurry. I need the shotgun, an old T-shirt, a can of hairspray, a coffee can or a small trash can or something like that, a lighter, some matches, and all the bullets you can find.”