What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh (2 page)

He opened the rear door slowly and looked within; the vehicle was empty save for dust and an odorous mix of mildew and rot. The Shepherd unslung his pack and tucked it behind the driver's seat. After a moment's thought, he placed his rifle along the back seat. If he needed to use it before he reached the group in the house, it would likely be too late and once inside the house, he wouldn't be able to use it as effectively. Lastly he covered the pack and rifle stock with his coat. Quietly closing the door, he waited to hear it latch before checking up and down the road one last time. Satisfied he was still alone, he resumed his trek.

Intending to approach the house from the east side, he crossed a lawn with knee-high grass. There, he saw that once he was out of the dead-end residential circle, he would be afforded no less than three avenues of escape. He glanced skyward and noted the deepening gray of the clouds. Not only was the afternoon wearing into evening, it might rain before sunset. Yes, he must be quick to reach those people with time enough to set up a proper shelter.

As planned, the last few hundred feet he traveled more carefully. He slowed and slid along the walls of houses, ducked beneath windows, followed rows of overgrown hedge and broken fences. He used every possible object to mask his visual profile from the house that was his destination. Depending on what lay within those walls, he might need surprise as his ally. At last, he approached the corner of the eastern most house and carefully peered around. He was unsurprised to find the sentry no longer at the door or in the front yard. Using this opportunity to enter unseen, he quietly made his way through the front door. Once inside, he stopped long enough to orient himself.

While the door of the house had long since been separated from its hinges, the walls cast the room in deep shadow. Even with the doorway completely open, the seeping stink of must and rot filled his nostrils as he moved further into the house. He stopped when he found the stairs, not knowing where the group might have gone. He suspected they were still together, whichever part of the house they had gone to. Here he would wait until some sign of their passage or location revealed itself.

Looking left, he saw what must have been a couch next to the remains of a coffee table with wood scraps piled nearby. A doorway to his right opened into a short hall with at least two doors. More he couldn't see, as the rest of the hall was lost in darkness. Ahead of him lay the kitchen. He had time to note most of the cupboards and cabinets had already been stripped away, likely in the stack beside the couch. That's when he heard it.

The heavy thump was followed by a cry and sent the Shepherd up the stairs two at a time. He kept one hand on the wall and watched his footing as best he could in the dwindling light. When he reached the top, he heard another two thumps in rapid succession. They were followed by a shout and crash. Moving in the direction of the sound, he moved down another hallway and stopped outside an open bedroom. The scene before him was only partly as he expected.

The sentry was here, but that man was at the window with his back to the room and the conflict within. Minimizing his profile to the outside, the sentry was leaning against the wall with his rifle pointed outside. At a glance, he appeared unhurt but paid absolutely no attention to the struggle occurring not five feet away.

A woman crouched in the corner, shielding a child. A pair of men, one with a carpenter’s hammer and the other with a chef’s knife, battled two of the Turned. They swung and stabbed with the wild desperation of those backed into a corner. This gave the Shepherd pause, but only for a moment. There would be time later to discover the trail of decisions that led this group into its current dilemma.

He grabbed the closest of the Turned by the neck and arm. Pulling and twisting to the left, he threw the creature out of the bedroom. Following to where it landed, the Shepherd freed his kukri from the sheath over his left hip. With proper room to work, the blade made quick work of the supine creature, cutting cleanly through a raised arm to sever the head from the body. He allowed the momentum of the swing to turn him back toward the room and quickly entered.

Once inside, he saw the two men dealing with the other Turned. One had his knife lodged in the things throat while the other man struck it in the temple with his hammer. While slowed, the blow to the temple did not drop the creature. It lurched forward and grabbed hold of the hammer-man's jacket, mouth open and tongue protruding grotesquely.
No choice
, he thought.
Nothin’ to it but do it.
Gritting his teeth, he raised the kukri over his head and brought it down in a violent chop. The curved blade bit deep into the skull of the horror before him. Properly felled, he let go of the handle and watched the thing collapse in a pile at their feet. With no other immediate threat, they now turned their attentions to each other.

Several quiet moments passed before the Shepherd bent to retrieve his long knife. Placing his foot upon the shoulder of the dead creature, he grasped the hilt with both hands and wrenched the kukri free. This he did without taking his eyes from the two men before him. He had expected it to be less tense at this point, but the others still regarded him with suspicion. All save the sentry, who seemed completely focused on the world outside the house.

Wiping his blade on the tattered shirt scraps stretched across the chest of the slain beast, the Shepherd addressed the others. “Are any of you hurt?”

The man with the hammer shook his head. “We’re fine.”

The Shepherd looked that man in the eye. “Can you travel?”

He seemed ready to reply when the sentry spoke. “Too late. They’re already here.”

The Shepherd watched the man with the hammer for another few seconds, waiting for more information. Before it could be offered, he heard thumping coming up the stairs. Even from inside the room, the groaning and splintering of the stairs could be heard. Boots.
Those are human steps
, the Shepherd thought. This realization was shared by the face of the men before him and he saw the woman clutch the child closer. Kukri in hand, the Shepherd stepped back into the hall.

“Don’t-“ began the man with the hammer, making to follow the Shepherd before being stopped by the man with the knife.

The Shepherd saw this peripherally as he stood ready to meet the people coming up the stairs. He had only seen those now in the bedroom enter the house, of this he was certain. Was the house a rally point for a larger group? That seemed unlikely, given the state of the property. A local community responding to the arrival of strangers? Possibly, but charging right at them with no announcement seemed too hostile and very dangerous. Chance? He didn’t believe in that kind of coincidence. These options took only seconds to consider and dismiss, while the people climbing the stairs finally reached the top.

Another idea came to the Shepherd as the first silhouette came around the corner. Before he could give it voice, he felt a sharp twinge in his stomach. While he was familiar with the brief stabbing pain, he was entirely unaccustomed to the tightening of his muscles that followed. He found himself pitching forward and rolling on the ground, in the midst of what he could only describe as a seizure.
What is happening to me?
 He wondered just before his world faded to black.

Much of the next few minutes were a jumbled blur; movement all around him, thumping sounds and panicked cries. He dimly remembered a tight pressure on his elbow, hauling him to his feet, then nearly falling down the stairs and feeling blinded by the light from outside. For some reason, he could not bring his hands up to shield his eyes. When he tried to stop and recover his sight, someone bumped into him from behind and pushed him through the open doorway. Once outside and in the fading light of day, the Shepherd felt his focus restored. Perhaps it was the feel of the wind on his face, or the scent of autumn it carried. However it happened, his senses returned and he was grateful.

He and the group he had sought to aid were being taken from the cul-de-sac along the road running east. His clarity of mind restored, he noted several things. First, his return to awareness had not been instantaneous. They were now several hundred feet from the house. Secondly, his hands were unresponsive because they were fastened tightly behind his back. Next, while his kukri, belt knife and sidearm were missing, a familiar weight in his boot told him his captors has missed the t-knife there. The others from the house group all seemed bound as he was and remained close together, trudging resignedly with heads down. Lastly, their 'escort' outnumbered them probably two to one and trailed a dozen or so yards behind. The Shepherd had time to note at least two had rifles before his head exploded in pain. Closing his eyes and grinding his teeth, he managed to avoid groaning out loud. He could not avoid stumbling on a break in the asphalt, however. Over the pounding in his temples, he heard a crude laugh.

“That's right, boy. Just keep on goin'. You young, you get over it.”

Another laugh and a different voice. “Walk it off, son. Just walk it off.”

The Shepherd stopped and closed his eyes.
So they were being followed
, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he waited a few heartbeats for the pressure in his head to lessen. As he began to appreciate the marginal relief, he heard steps behind him approaching quickly. So sudden was the contact, he could not have avoided it even if he had seen it coming. He pitched forward and landed on his shoulder, grunting at the abrupt impact.

The second voice, from above and behind: “Are you deaf or willfully stupid? “Walk it off” does not mean 'stop and take a break'.”

A strong hand closed on his left bicep and wrenched him up to a standing position. A second hand grabbed his face tightly. The sudden change of position and squeezing at the front of his head was too much; this time, the Shepherd groaned. The man before him spoke tersely. “Open your eyes.”

He did. Disoriented as he was, it took a moment for his vision to swim into focus. When it returned, the Shepherd found himself staring into the face of middle-age man regarding him carefully, almost critically. There was something else about the way the man studied him. The Shepherd could not quite put a finger on why, but it was... unsettling.

Finally, the man released him and spoke. “You seem alright. The headache, disorientation and sluggishness are normal side-effects of the taser. You'll be fine in half an hour or so. We need to keep moving, however. It's been several weeks since we were able to sweep this part of town, and there are probably more Muppets around.”

As if punctuating the man's statement, they heard a low whistle from a short distance ahead. From the manner in which everyone else responded, there could be no doubt the captives and captors had a shared history. The captives, even the child, raised their heads and became alert. The Shepherd fought past his discomfort to scan not only the houses lining the road, but also watch the other captives and their 'escort'.

The captives acted similarly to how they had in the house. The three men surrounded the woman and child while looking for the approaching threat. The woman kept the child as close as her bound hands would allow. While anxiety was clear on every face, every face was devoid of fear. Even the child. They watched placidly, listened and waited for something to react to.

The captors acted quickly, as well. They surrounded the captives in a rough square, three men to a side. In each group, two watched the road and one watched the captives. To the Shepherd, it seemed unnecessary to have that many armed men watching so small a group of people that were already restrained. The captives were ready to bolt at the earliest opportunity, like prey detecting a predator. The captors surrounding them, ready to defend the find from competitors. There was something animal about it. He suppressed a shudder.

One of the men in the rear most group pointed. “Two on the road.” Glass shattered. “At least three behind.”

Another new voice, this time from the group to the Shepherd's left. “Green house at the tree line, more than four.”

The man who had pulled the Shepherd to his feet looked along the road, in the direction the group had been traveling only moments earlier. “We still clear ahead?”

A voice replied from the group at the front. “For now. We better move, Summers.”

At last having a name for the face, the Shepherd watched as Summers gave orders quickly. “Jay, your guys are on point. Keep it clear for us.” He turned to speak over his shoulder to the group at the rear. “Rujuan, watch our ass. Red, Dust: stagger for cover. Go!” With that, the group surged down the road.

As the captives began to move, Summers grabbed the child by the arm. Ripped from his mother, the child jerked around to face Summers. The Shepherd watched the child's confusion give way to fear when Summers removed a knife from his belt. “Too many to clear without a distraction.”

No
, the Shepherd thought simply and reacted accordingly. He stepped forward and kicked Summers square in the chest, pushing the other man from the boy.

Summers tumbled backwards, releasing the child in an effort to remain standing. With a wheezing gasp, Summers lurched back another step to steady himself. “Dust,” he managed to croak.

One of the men in the group to the right turned toward Summers. His eyes were visible beneath a threadbare ball cap and above the faded handkerchief that covered the rest of his face. Those eyes widened when they saw what had happened. Dust pointed a pistol at the Shepherd, his other hand tightening on a crowbar. “Step back.”

The Shepherd did so and saw the woman scramble over to her son. Near sobbing, she took the boy and fled in the direction of the others. She spared only a parting glance at the Shepherd and offered nothing in the way of acknowledgment for what he had done to save her son. The boy, on the other hand, watched the Shepherd for several moments before turning away and running with his mother. The Shepherd watched them go but made no move to join their retreat. Rather, he waited to see what would happen next and heard Summers speak to Dust.