A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) (7 page)

Tom found himself staring at the officer. The other man was speaking, his tone expressing concern. “Mr. DuPuis? Mr. DuPuis, are you all right?”

When his head did not clear quickly enough, the Shepherd bit down on his tongue. “I'm fine, Major. Thank you for asking. That was a lot to take in.” He smiled to conceal his discomfort and cleared his throat. “How long have you been out here?”

The Major frowned. “This trip? Nearly three weeks. We got the order to start looking for you four days ago.”

There's something he's not telling me
, Tom thought.
Probably more than one thing
. He directed another question to the marine. “You've undoubtedly made a threat assessment on the area around us and another for your proposed path of return. How much danger are we in?”

“
Good question. The threat-level in the immediate area is low. As far as our plotted return route, that will be a little higher. Overall, we're looking at a moderate-level danger. Blue or 'guarded', if you're still familiar with the color alert system from the Department of Homeland Security. We should be able to bypass most, if not all, of the known dangers between here and there, since we'll be keeping a low profile.”

“
Then there's something you should know, Major,” Tom felt obliged to share the danger he and his companions had recently escaped. “It may cause you to re-evaluate the situation. My companions and I,” he gestured to Janessa, Toby and Ben with a short sweep of his hands, “recently evaded a mob at a farm not thirty miles from here. That was two days ago.”

The marine appeared pensive for several seconds. “I have a feeling I know the answer to this question, but I'll ask anyway: a mob of what, exactly?” The question seemed only a part of what was on his mind.

“
Turned,” the Shepherd said.

The Major looked thoughtful. “'Turned'? That's your word for them?”

“
Yes,” Tom replied, almost askance. “Is something wrong with that?”

Vargas shook his head. “No. It's elegant. Accurate. Simple. Powerful, almost poetic. I like it.”

“
What do you call them?”

The officer smiled. “'Sorry'. 'Useless'. 'Liberal'. Or 'conservative', depending on who you talk to.” His smile faded. “Mostly, we refer to them as 'Ghouls', sometimes 'Infected' or 'Forgotten'. Never zombies though, however tempted we might be. Command frowns on people using the 'z'-word.” A hint of his earlier smile returned when he asked, “How many in a mob, then? Ball park it.”

Tom could only shrug. “At least fifty, maybe a hundred. Could be more. A lot, whatever the number.”

“
Roger that,” Vargas said. “A hundred is a lot. Funny you should mention the farm, though.” This time, the marine's smile split his face. He turned to Davis. “Think it's time for us to come clean about that, Corporal?”

Davis replied in a slow, pleasant drawl. “That's up to you, sir. But even if this isn't the right time... It's a hell of story. Has a 'feel good' ending and everything.”

Vargas felt more than saw the motion to his left, but the low whistle that preceded it told the marine he needn't fear an attacker. Peripherally, he saw another man in the digital mishmash of forest green camouflage slide into the ditch beside him.

Still looking through his binoculars, the Major addressed the new arrival. “Did we confirm ready-status on the set up?”

The reply, though hushed, had an unmistakable twang to it. “Yes, sir. Turner says it'll be loud and clear when we go live. If we can trust the new guy knows what he's doing.”

Vargas responded to the doubt in Davis' voice. “He's only new to us. Turner received the same training and certification that Robinson did, and from the same instructors, no less.” Sensing the other man's objection, the officer continued. “Robinson was due for rotation out and had nearly two months worth of leave to use, Corporal. I, for one, am glad he's finally out of the sticks and getting some time with his family. Turner is his replacement and we need to accept that. If he says we're good to go, then we're good to go. How about the others?”

Davis sighed. “Nadeau saw Dett and company less than a mile from the clearing and closing fast. We are ready to rock and/or roll on your say so, Major.”

The Major took one last survey of the open ground surrounding the farm, then lowered the field glasses. As tranquil as it seemed now, he knew it would be a vastly different scene in thirty minutes.
Give or take a few minutes
, Vargas thought.
If Dett got the right kind of lead on the pack he riled up, it should be more like thirty. Wouldn't be the first time he cut it close to make sure everything went according to plan, though
.

The marine found his gaze settled on a birch tree a dozen yards away. Nestled in the crook of two branches joined at the trunk rested a grisly reminder of his purpose here. Sunlight caught on the rounded curves of its top, but even the hopeful, chaste light of dawn could not illuminate the sunken, black sockets in its center. An orange glow flashed on yellowed teeth and Vargas felt the unwelcome twitching of revulsion crawl across his neck and shoulders.

Was it human or Forgotten? Could a ghoul tell the difference? I sure can't. What does it matter, at any rate? What civilized person makes an ornament out of someones skull? If you could even consider this display 'ornamentation'. Does this kind of territorial marking even work on them? I could see it being successful when predators are strictly demonstrating or considering their role in the natural world. Since the bone would be from its own species, self-preservation might convince it to stay away from whatever killed a fellow hunter. But the bone could be from their prey, as well. A sign that food was here. Couldn't it lure as many of them here as it scares away? Isn't it possible some of the Infected might see this trophy and understand that something like them must have put it there?

The marine ground his teeth until his temples pounded. Tearing his gaze from the hollow sockets of the skull, Vargas returned his attention to the farm.
Whoever made a spectacle out of that skull sealed the fate of all those on that farm. I'm only sorry we didn't figure this out sooner
.

Perhaps sensing the officer's demeanor, Davis spoke quietly. “Box is up, stink bombs are good to go. Ready when you are, sir.”

The Major spoke quietly into the microphone running along his cheek. “Red Two, this is Red Actual. Over.”

The small bud in his right ear cast a whisper into his ear canal. “Red Actual, this is Red Two. Go ahead, over.”

“
Red Two, activation is a 'go'. Say again, activation is a 'go'. Notify Blue team to meet us at rally point two. After you've done that, sound the cattle call and start the timer on the canisters. Meet en route. Over and out.”

Vargas secured his binoculars in their belt case and adjusted his carbine for the jog ahead. “Let's move.”

The officer watched his fellow marine push up out of the ditch and begin moving away. Before joining him, Vargas took one last look at the skull in the tree.

Now you'll have your comeuppance
, he thought. Somehow, it didn't seem enough.

A short run brought them to the rendezvous. Half a mile in, Davis and Vargas were joined by Turner and Nadeau. Half a mile after that, they were gathered at the tree-shrouded boulder. The men of Red team had just caught their respective breath when Dettweiler and the rest of their companions, who comprised Blue team, could be heard circling around from the far side of the large stone.

“
Nice of you to join us, Dett,” the Major greeted the Staff Sergeant, calling down from the top of the large rock.

Dettweiler smiled, recovering his own wind as he replied. “Apologies for the hold-up, sir. Had to take the long way.” He took a breath and gestured to the dark skinned Corporal beside him. “Looks like Preston was on the money with that proximity theory. Had a hell of a time losing the ghouls once we'd popped the canisters.”

The Major looked at Preston. “Is that so?”

The Corporal nodded. “Yes, sir. Made sure enough of them saw us at the outset, before we started running. Stink bombs went off and it was all we could to stay ahead of 'em.” He huffed before continuing. “After that, we just made sure they didn't lose sight of us for more than a few seconds at a time. 'Till we got to the clearing. Then we broke off and took a roundabout way back here.”

Vargas was pleased. “Nice work, Preston.”

“
Thank you, sir.”

Dettweiler seemed to have regulated his breathing. “Things went much smoother this time, Major. At least we learned from the other attempts. Better late than never, right?”

The officer acknowledged this statement with a grunt while scanning the trees for signs of activity. On
the outskirts of Portsmouth, we were too far from the school. We simply outran the group at the cell tower too quickly. There's risk in everything, so I shouldn't expect this to be any different. It means we'll have to be very selective about where we choose to do this, and to whom.

Breaking from his thoughts, Vargas spoke to both teams. “The transmitter is broadcasting, so we should be able to check the live feed when we get back to the vehicles. That would be just before noon, if we start now.”

With that, the Major dropped from his perch atop the boulder. “We still think he'll be headed to the fire station near South Sanford?” The officer directed this query at his second in command.

Dettweiler nodded. He indicated that Preston should take point, while Davis and Eby would bring up the rear. That left Nadeau and Doughty on their flanks. The marines had begun to move even as they fell into the formation. After the military men had traveled for a few minutes, the large Staff Sergeant spoke in his soft, deep voice.

“
It's highly probable he's encountered the woman who left the survivor community outside Sanford. Even if they're not traveling together, they most likely crossed paths. Given what we know about him, odds are she would have offered that location as a safe place to stay. His trajectory had him headed in that direction, so it's a pretty safe bet.” He paused to step over a tangle of roots.

“
Highly probable?” “Most likely?” “Odds are?” Vargas arched an eyebrow at his second in command. “Couple that uncertain language with your tardiness just now and the fact that it took someone to actually shake you awake this morning, and it all adds up to no good. Can only mean one thing.” The Major shook his head.

Dettweiler blinked, his face a blanket of neutrality for the reproach he no doubt thought was coming. “What's that, sir?”

“
Someone's gunning for brass on his collar. Keep it up and you just might get it, Dett.” The officer grinned.

“
Are you threatening to promote me, Major?” The Sergeant asked.

Vargas ducked under a low-hanging branch. “I'm saying there are consequences for every action.”

Dett kept his tone level, but faked a brief shudder by shaking his shoulders. He could not keep the smile out of his voice when he said, “God forbid, sir.”

The two marines walked in silence for a bit before resuming their conversation. When they did, it was the Major who spoke. “I agree with your assessment. The odds of us catching him at random in the field are slim to none. Camping a place he's likely to visit seems a better alternative. That structure best fits his desired criteria for shelter, especially if the woman and the boy are with him. So that's the one we'll watch.” Vargas paused while the two men separated, moving around either side of a tree. “We'll see if there's any other actionable intelligence our 'adviser' can offer, take another look at the file, and come up with an alternative. Just in case. But I've got a feeling we're on the right track, here.”

The Sergeant nodded. “We'll keep our fingers crossed then, Major.”

“
I'd rather you didn't,” the officer said.

“
Why's that, sir?” The larger man sounded confused.

“
Can't shoot with crossed fingers.”

Tom saw Toby trembling with barely contained fury. His sister looked none too happy, either. Chris and Ben were listening with what appeared to be rapt attention; appreciation on the face of the older man, anticipation on the face of the boy. Tom had empathy enough to understand the situation needed to be diffused, and soon.
Now
, Tom corrected himself.
Soon will be too late
.

He interrupted, raising his left hand as he did so. “Forgive me, Major. What I said earlier, about us having evaded a large group at that farm... It was only part of what happened. We escaped the farm and the Turned attacked it shortly thereafter. Immediately after we left, in fact.” He paused for effect. “Did you know we were clear of the area before you set the horde upon it?”

Tom saw Vargas' face tighten at the words, “escaped the farm”. Two things occurred to him, then. First, the Major had not known Tom and the others were safely away.
He might not have known we were there at all
, Tom thought. Secondly, the marine had
wanted
the farm to fall. Desperately. Perhaps passionately. The officer had not gloated, but he did sound very satisfied during the recounting. The same kind of satisfaction that had been in Davis' voice when the Corporal had all but encouraged his commanding officer to tell the story.

When the Major made his reply, Tom knew there was no stopping what would happen next. What must happen next. There was a terrific twist in his gut and his eyes began to throb. It seemed he watched everything from outside of his body, at a point just above the top of his head, and that he saw it a heartbeat before everyone else. Dread mounted with terrible weight in his throat and on his shoulders as he thought,
The only thing to do now is wait. It's all over but the crying
.