What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh (8 page)

Summers had apparently tired of waiting for a response. He began taking quick strides towards Tom and Dust while asking, “Do I need to be beat it out of you, new guy? I asked you a question-”

He stopped mid-stride and mid-sentence when he saw how the two men were poised. He began reaching into his jacket very slowly. “You okay, Dust?”

“Fine, man. I'll be better if you don't go for your piece, though. Since you're both twitchy as hell right now, think it's for the best.” Dust shook his head as he answered Summers.

Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, Dust continued speaking to both men in the same quiet voice. “Everyone who doesn't wanna get shot, listen up: the Old Man wants to know what's going on out here. I recommend we do exactly that and spare ourselves the wrath of the most dangerous individual in this neck of the woods. Capice?”

Summers shook his head, his earlier frustration turned to anger. “Naw, man. He was ready to draw on you. I think he's gonna have an accident out here-”

“Wasn't me he was ready to draw on,” Dust clarified. As understanding came to Summers, Dust continued. “Seeing how you were acting, can't really say that I blame him, either.”

Summers seemed taken aback. “How I was acting? What are you talking about? I asked him a question, was all.”

Dust shook his head. “Man, I love you like a brother, but sometimes you can be a real dick.”

Dust turned back to the Shepherd. “The people who made that print and left those tracks: not friends of yours?”

Tom shook his head. “Haven't seen a vehicle move under it's own power since I was thirteen.”

“Alright, then. What's your theory?”

Tom looked from Dust to Summers, saw how the other half dozen men were watching this exchange with vested interest. Even if he felt it wasn't his place to offer Tracking 101 pointers to people operating in their own territory, he accepted that there could be more at stake here than his own well-being. Taking a breath, he offered his observation.

“See how there's only one set of tracks?” When Dust and Summers nodded, he continued. “That means one of two things; either the vehicle came in and went out exactly the same way, which is unlikely given the clarity and depth of the tread. Or-”

Dust finished the thought. “Or the vehicle was parked here before the ground got wet, then left after it started raining. But not long before it stopped, or the tread would be muddy and harder to see.”

Tom nodded. “Exactly. Given that there are at least two different sets of footprints around the treads, that indicates a small group was moving around in this general area before they decided to leave.”

“What would they have been doing?” Summers asked.

Tom shrugged in reply. “Your guess is as good as mine. Could have been looking for something. Stashing something. Who knows?” He did not mention, however remote the possibility, one or more of the vehicle's occupants might still be around. If Summers intended for him to have an 'accident' out here, Tom knew he would need every advantage he could get.

“Where these tracks go might give us a better idea of why they were here. But which do we follow; the boot prints or the tire treads?” The Shepherd hoped one of the other two men would make the suggestion.

Again, Dust seized on it first. “We could check both if we split up. Probably not going to get much out of the tire tracks, anyway. Looks like they pulled up onto the pavement pretty quickly. Still be fast if one of us follows the road a ways while the others backtrack the footprints. Sound like a plan, boss-man?”

Summers was studying Tom with the same calculating look from the day before. “Don't know if it's wise to separate with this guy in tow. Might make a break for it, try something else.”

Dust shook his head. “Think if he was gonna try something else, he'd a done it earlier. If he tries to make a break for it, we're the ones with the rifles. Let's get this thing done quick, man. Please? The lady was telling me how she couldn't wait for me to get back, you know what I'm sayin'? C'mon, man; help hook a brotha up.”

Summers considered and nodded finally. “Alright, we'll meet back here in an hour. You coming with me, new guy?”

“If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not have an 'accident'. No offense,” Tom held up his left hand, palm towards Summers. “Mind if I tag along, Dust?”

The ball-capped man shook his head, faded handkerchief billowing around his face. “Not as long as you understand we'll put you down if you so much as look like trying that quick-draw trick again.”

“Fair enough,” Tom agreed.

Dust turned back to Summers. “Tires or boots?”

“We'll take the boots. Might need the new guy to pick up traces of the tire when you get further along the road.” Summers grudgingly admitted Tom was proving useful, after all.
Alternatively, he'll need someone to blame if this lead doesn't pan out
, Tom thought.

“Right. See you in a bit,” Dust offered to Summers with a tip of his cap. To Tom, he said, “You're on point, new guy.”

The Shepherd began to follow the tire tracks. He stepped lightly beside them and always to the left, moving slowly and carefully so as to minimize any potential disruption. He gave a wider berth when he came close to the bootprints, so as not to distract Summers and Red. Only minutes passed before the groups were out of sight of each other; Summers and Red in the trees on Hillcrests southern slope, Tom and Dust along the scraps of road that curved around the west side of the hill.

It soon became apparent to the Shepherd that Dust entirely lacked any tracking ability. Fifteen or so minutes in, having covered less than a quarter mile, Dust sighed. “Trail cold or what?”

Tom had been squatting on the remnants of the road, studying a few pieces of blacktop. He replied to his traveling companion without looking up. “Not cold, just harder to read.”

Pointing directly in front of himself, Tom asked, “You see this?”

A few moments pause caused the Shepherd to look over his shoulder, where he saw Dust gazing up the hill, boredom clear on his face. He thought,
why would Shane send these men to investigate this matter? Not a one of them can read sign and they all seem easily distracted. Why wouldn't he send a hunter or trapper with the group? Do the hogs they keep and vegetables they grow provide enough sustenance they need not seek game?

“Dust,” he called, a bit louder. When the other man blinked and looked at him, Tom again pointed to the asphalt in front of him. “See how these pieces are pressed down more than the surrounding ones? Our vehicle went this way and probably kept heading north for a while.”

Dust leaned closer, scrutinizing the black, broken shards of man-made rock that had once been a road. “How do you know?”

Tom shook his head. “I don't. Just a guess. The road here is still fairly level, but a hundred or so yards ahead looks washed out. Could check around it, see if there are more tread marks. Should be something on one side if they tried to steer clear of it.” It felt strange to the Shepherd to be providing so rudimentary an observation to a man easily ten years his senior.

“Let's do it,” Dust ordered. “New guy is still on point, Eric watch our tails. Mike left, I'll be on the right.”

Formation set, they resumed their trek down the road. After a few dozen steps in relative quiet, Tom called over to Dust. “Mind if I ask a question?”

Keeping his eyes on the tree line to their right, Dust replied. “You just did.” He glanced at the Shepherd briefly, chuckled and shook his head. “Go ahead.”

“Are there many women in your settlement? I only saw one at breakfast. Janessa, I believe her name was. With Rujuan's team.”

Dust paused before answering. Longer than necessary, Tom warranted, but not as long as he thought it would be. Finally, the team leader replied. “There are. You didn't seem 'em 'cause they eat first, with the kids.”

The Shepherd was quiet a moment. “A noble sacrifice your community makes on their behalf.”

“No less than anyone else would do, given the circumstances. We might do some things differently than you and yours, but we're not savages.” Tom could hear the reproach in Dust's voice.

“Why didn't Janessa eat with the rest of the women and children, then?” Tom asked, hoping the conversation would continue a while longer.

“She's the exception to the rule. Got a fighter's rights, pay the fighter's price.” Dust seemed ready to say more, but was cut off by the man on the left side of the road.

“Hell of a fighter, too.”

Tom could hear Dust chuckle again as he called out to Mike. “I'm sure you'd be singing a different tune if she hadn't whupped your ass in recruitment.”

“Nah,” Mike replied. “Well, maybe.”

Tom allowed the conversation to lull temporarily before he pressed on. He wanted to ask more about their social system, but felt that should wait. “I noticed the school had no crops growing around it. If breakfast was any indicator, vegetables are a staple part of your diet. Would take several full fields to feed that many people, I warrant. Are they far from here?”

“Touchy subject, stranger.” Dust kept his tone level, but Tom could tell there would be little more in the way of explanation. “I will say this much: the farm isn't far from the school. We set it up for the farmers just after the badness. We keep them in meat and protection, they keep us in grain and veggies. Everybody wins.”

Twenty yards ahead, Tom could already make out tracks on the left shoulder. A few steps passed and no one seemed to speak up about them. Tom felt he had time enough for another question before the tracks became obvious to even the untrained eyes of his companions.

“The hogs take most of those vegetables, right? The corn especially?” Tom waited.

The team lead confirmed Tom's suspicion. “Most but not all. Enough left for us to stay healthy and not go hungry. Most days, anyway. 'Meat needs to eat', as the Old Man says.” Tom heard Dust stop behind him. “I'll be damned, stranger. Looks like you were right on the money.”

This close, it would have been difficult to miss the signs; tire tread in the mud to the right of the road, mud on the road proper where the vehicle regained the asphalt, some smaller pieces of black top nearly buried in the earth where the vehicle had ridden over. It was clear that the driver of the vehicle had swerved right to avoid the softened shoulder. In the dark and with the rain, he probably didn't see the dangerous slope of mud until the vehicle was nearly on top of it. All of those elements combined for the obvious signs of passage. But that wasn't all he saw.

The group had fanned out across the road. Approaching the tire tracks, the Shepherd crouched on the black top. Examining the tread, he saw something else that made his heart leap into this throat. More footprints, some of them barefoot and one of those clearly pointing to the tree line. He looked up along the road, saw the prints continue around a fairly sharp corner another ten or twelve yards ahead. Gesturing for the team to remain where they were, he quietly moved to the break point of the turn.

Stopping at the corner, he saw the broken, black asphalt scar continue on at least a mile before it dropped out of sight. Nowhere along the road or shoulder did he see a vehicle parked, crashed or otherwise stopped. Strewn across the road in thick clumps or spread thin from shoulder to shoulder, the Turned milled aimlessly. Fortunately, their attention seemed elsewhere, as they made no immediate movement toward the Shepherd when he came into view.
It stands to reason they would have heard it, too,
Tom thought as he turned back toward the team. That was when he heard something else: a quiet rustle in the trees, then a twig snapping.

Tom retreated back around the corner, hearing the rustle grow louder, closer. By the time he had rejoined the rest of the team, it was clear the others had heard it, as well. Seeing Dust begin to raise his pistol toward the tree line, Tom warned against using the firearm. “Don't. It's just one. We'll have bigger problems if you fire.”

Dust cocked his head to the side, but kept his pistol pointed at the ground. “Whaddya mean?”

The Shepherd freed the kukri from its sheath, pointed the curved, metal blade toward the bend in the road. “There's a horde not half a mile down the road. I'll take care of this one, but we should be going.”

“A horde?” Dust sounded genuinely confused as the creature finally shambled out from the trees.

Gritting his teeth, the Shepherd took quick steps towards the horror, closing with it before it could offer more than a rumbling growl. Arms outstretched, fingers grasping desperately, it reached for Tom with animal savagery. A final, angled step and the kukri flashed in two arcs; first up in a bright glint, then down in a darkened blur. The Turned staggered another step before pitching forward to lay on the road, it's head and left arm rolling in the sand beside the still twitching body.

Looking from the felled creature to Dust, Tom spoke. “Dozens, maybe hundreds of these. Muppets, I think you call them. And probably more stragglers than just this one.”

As if on cue, another rustling, much louder this time, issued from the trees on the opposite side of the road behind them. Two things happened, then; a group poured onto the road and gunshots sounded from the top of the hill. The near simultaneous occurrence of events gave pause to the men as they processed what was happening.

It only took a heartbeat for Tom to determine the gunshots were not linked to the Turned racing up the road towards him and the others.
None of them are getting hit, so if that's Red and Summers firing, they're shooting at something else.
This realization, while noteworthy, was not the one that took priority for the Shepherd. That distinction fell to the quarry of this particular pack of devils. With snapping jaws, they called forth obscene, frightening growls and grunts. Flowing fingers clawed longingly at their prey. The child ran doe-eyed to the men before him, bare more than pace ahead of the monsters that lapped like wolves at his heels.

“That's the kid-” Mike began, but the observation was cut short by his team lead.

“Take 'em out!” Dust ordered.