What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh (12 page)

Tom didn't know what to expect in that room and had little time to prepare himself. He certainly would not have anticipated the room to be occupied, given that this point of entry, however obtuse, was essentially the gateway to a containment area. Genuine surprise covered the Shepherd's face when a man moved into view from the right. Though he held a stout piece of wood in his hand, the Sentry did not brandish his makeshift club at the Shepherd. Instead, a look a recognition on his face, he raised a finger to his lips and motioned for Tom to come in. His voice a whisper paradoxical to his stature, he asked, “How many?”

“Myself, the boy and one other,” Tom murmured in response.

The Shepherd climbed through the window as if on auto-pilot, the head-spinning turn of events rendering him only dimly aware of his actions. Tom watched, dreamlike, as he stood in front of the window and waited for Ben. Pulling the boy through the portal, he stepped to the side just as the Sentry moved to the window, the bright midday sun blotted out by the larger man's great mass. Tom watched and sank further into the dreamlike stupor. He saw Ben's face light with joy as the boy saw his mother in one corner of the room and raced to her. The woman, eyes wet and arms wide, awaited the embrace with relief.

Turning back to the window, he saw the antithesis of a child's joy painted on the Sentry's face. His features were distorted by rage, bearing more resemblance to a force of nature than a man. Tom watched as the Sentry, having discarded his club, wrenched the ladder off the beams. Both hands on the top rung, he shook it violently at sharp angles until the final climber was dislodged. The wall hid Eric from view, so Tom did not see him lurch to and fro before pitching over the side. Nevertheless, a cry reached his ears as Eric fell and he heard the delighted yowls and grunts of the monsters as they welcomed their meal.

Finding himself suddenly in front of the window again and beside the Sentry, the Shepherd looked down. He was no stranger to watching animals eat, but watching the Turned do so never became easier. Seeing them pull arms or legs out of joint and raise those quivering, broken limbs to their split, swollen lips was disconcerting. Most troubling was the way they would regard each other mid-meal, as though offering a kind of silent congratulations. While some kind of social acknowledgment was to be expected from any animal while the group consumed its meal, those looks and touches seemed almost... human. It always brought a quiver to the Shepherd's spine.
Hunters enjoying their spoils
, he thought grimly.

Eric did not go without incident. He had landed on his side and immediately rolled into a crouch. While the Turned surrounding him slowed in surprise, they did not stop. They could not stop: on the ground between them was an end to their own pain and suffering, however brief that lapse may be. Eric sprang for the only open space available, that being the rock the small pack was chained to. He might have made it, too, were it not for the loop of cable coiled behind one of the horrors. When the man landed from his short jump and planted his foot to take another springing step, the creature attached to that cable moved, causing the cable to tighten on the foot trapped within. Eric fell onto his face and was swarmed by the creatures before he could even turn onto his side. One of the things was close to his head when he fell, so its teeth found purchase in his throat before the man could utter anything more than a frustrated grunt.

Tom was ready to turn away from the sight when he found his view of Eric's demise shifted. It seemed closer and nearly directly beneath him. A great pressure on his neck and rising heat in his face caused him to shift his gaze to the left, brought a hand up to his throat. His hand was stopped by a thick, muscled arm that held him at an extreme angle nearly entirely out of the window. The Sentry glared at him balefully.

“What do want from us?” The Sentry's grip on his neck intensified and his voice was a low growl.

Wrapping his left hand around the Sentry's wrist, Tom considered his options. He could manipulate the larger mans arm, looking for a break or dislocation, or instead use his legs to try for a choke. The Sentry would either realize what was happening and let go his grip, or would suffer fully from the intended form of injury. Alternatively, he could draw on the Sentry and fire. All these roads led to Tom plummeting from the window and landing in the midst of or on top of the Turned still devouring Eric. With the horrors distracted by their meal, it was possible he might have the time necessary to escape before they were fully aware of his presence. That escape had slim odds at best and provided him no answers to any of the questions that had arisen since meeting these people yesterday. He needn't look down to know Eric's still twitching remains were steadily disappearing as clawed hands fed gobbets of flesh into bloody mouths.
Still better off up here
, he accepted.

Shifting as best he could, the Shepherd managed to get his right foot onto the windowsill. He was contorted awkwardly, hips and shoulders poorly angled to act at all properly. Gasping, he sought to give the Sentry something, anything by way of reply, but could offer only a choking wheeze.

“Well?!” The Sentry snarled. His darkened countenance was in great contrast to his eyes, burning bright above a fierce beard and beneath wild, bushy hair.

Tom realized something about himself in that moment, as his field of vision began to collapse in darkening, concentric circles centered on the Sentry's visage. What motivated him at this moment was not a purity of spirit that sought to offer aid to a fellow human being. It wasn't a desire to assert dominance over this strange man who threatened him. It wasn't even a strong instinct for survival, however desperate. No, in what could very well be the last few moments of his life, he found his motivation was simple, hateful spite. Knowing he had only a second or two left to act before passing out, Tom moved his right hand to the gun on his hip.
You're coming with me
, he thought darkly, then heard a voice.

“Greg, what are you doing?” He heard the question as though shouted from a distance, and his oxygen-starved brain understood it involved him without being directed at him.

It was the last thing Tom heard clearly. When the blood pounding in his ears joined the rapid tunneling of his vision, it all brought him to the brink of unconsciousness and carried him just over the edge. Waking with a start, the Shepherd found himself falling to the floor. He realized he actually had blacked out and was woken when his shoulder crashed into the wall. Crumpled in a corner of the room, he blinked rapidly and rubbed his neck, lungs heaving to drink in air between coughs. Hurriedly scanning the room, he found the woman and the boy huddled in the opposite corner. He had eyes only for the Sentry, however, as the larger man was now bearing down on the Shepherd with malicious intent.

Pushing himself up against the wall, Tom lurched to his feet. His right hand immediately went to his hip, feeling the familiar grip of the pistol there. Tom did not find himself relieved to be in possession of his sidearm. Instead, he felt frustrated that it was still in its holster after he had commanded his hand to retrieve and fire it while being dangled from the window. His frustration was further compounded by the wave of dismay that followed. He should be grateful no one was yet hurt, not angry about how things could have gone but didn't.
Most spiteful savior ever
, he mused before burying the recent insight into his character deep in the back of his mind.
Something to ponder another time.

Tom waited until the Sentry was two steps away before pulling. It was the second time today he had drawn without firing, and he was loathe to act against his training in such a fashion again. Chris and Sam, his firearms instructors, had drilled into all of them that their weapons were not decorative items or props for providing emphasis. They were tools to be used with the utmost care, precision and purpose. One must be willing to use the tool and the more often one held the tool on the target, ready for use but did not fire, the more likely one would be to hesitate when use became necessary.

Tom felt himself in no danger of going soft here, so he listened to another of Father Jacob's directives, instead:
make yourself heard. Speak from the heart and let your compassion give them pause. Once you have their attention, reason with them as best you can. Give each person every opportunity to prove their worth, especially those who disagree or react with violence. In this way, those who refuse to accept reason or grace will have only themselves to blame for their damnation. When that time comes, act swiftly and without remorse, taking relief in the knowledge you have done them the greatest good: merciful release from an unrighteous life. Walk the path of peace whenever you can, but never fear the road of war.

“Far enough,” Tom rasped. If Greg couldn't hear the Shepherd's words, there was no misunderstanding the intent in his eyes and the revolver in hand. The Sentry stopped mid-stride and slowly raised his hands while placing his foot on the floor. Think I have his attention, the Shepherd thought.

Tom stopped rubbing his throat long enough to point behind Greg, to the corner of the room where the woman and boy now watched. The Sentry walked slowly backwards, hands still above his head, until he reached the rooms other occupants. Tom let the other man put another yard of space between them, then kept pace with him until Greg had his own back against the wall. When the Sentry stopped, the Shepherd eyed him before speaking in a still husky voice. “I'd rather be civilized about this, so I'm going to put my weapon back in its holster. Understand something, though: the next time I draw on you will be the last. Then, because I believe in being thorough, I'll put you through the window so you can join Eric. Got it?”

Greg nodded, then looked at Ben and the woman. Seeing them crouched in the corner, the Sentry sighed and let his head fall forward in defeat, much the same way as when the group had been captured yesterday. Seeing the large man cover his face with his hands, the Shepherd returned the GP to its holster. A silence settled over the room, broken by occasional interjection from the feasting beasts outside.

Finally, the woman addressed Tom. While stroking Ben's hair, she looked up at the Shepherd and said, “Thank you for bringing back my boy.”

Tom nodded. “Thank you for calling off the big fella. Guess that makes us even.” Looking around the room, he began cataloging its contents and lack thereof. Digesting this information, he asked, “What's your name?”

“Angela, though everyone calls me Angie. 'Cept this guy,” she said and kissed the top of the boys head. “He calls me 'Momma'. What about you, stranger? What do they call you?”

The Shepherd smiled and shook his head. Though the day had thus far been filled with one harrowing turn after another, he felt a levity here that buoyed his sense of purpose. Though these three had their own problems, they retained an unspoken feeling of hope that seemed to brighten the room as much as the noonday sun. He spoke and heard his voice improving, as well as his mood. “Tom, in most places. 'Son of a bitch' in others. I answer to both.”

Tom looked to the Sentry, who still had his face buried in his hands. “That would make you Greg.”

The large man nodded and lifted his head to return Tom's gaze. The Shepherd saw the other man still appeared driven but no longer desperate or angry. Given Greg's stature, Tom was relieved to find this was indeed the case when the Sentry inquired in his quiet rumble, “You're not here to hurt us, are you?”

Tom shook his head. Before he had could expound further on the subject, Ben spoke up. With the same childish certainty the Shepherd had heard earlier in the forest, the boy stated, “He's here to help us.”

That declaration hung in the air and Tom found himself speaking to its endorsement. “That's right,” he said. “If you'll let me.”

“How?” Greg asked harshly. “I don't know how or why you have those weapons, but you came here with one of them. So you're working with them, using them for your own purpose or you're a captive just like us. In any case, why would you come to help us?”

While Tom reigned in his temper, the boy interjected again. “He trapped Dust and another guy in a house full of monsters, then made the last one bring us here.”

Angela and Greg were struck cold by Ben's revelation. They regarded the Shepherd with shocked silence.

Tom opened his mouth to speak, closed it as he reconsidered his words. “That's not entirely true,” he began in a murmur. “They chose the house we used to hole up and they were the ones that didn't want to leave when things got bad. Eric led us to you because he thought the others might regroup here.” He glanced at the open window and the sunlight flooding in through it. “Though the more I think about it, the more I think he was just saying that to get us to go with him.”

“Why would he want to bring you here?” Angela seemed genuinely confused.

“I think Greg hit the nail on the head. Eric wanted to make Ben and I prisoners, just like they'd done to you two. Probably meant to leave everyone here and then get help dealing with the lot of us.” Tom frowned as he considered where this conversation was taking them.

The Sentry rejoined the conversation. “You said 'the others'. Who else was out there with you?”

Tom squinted as he studied the window frame and the visible portion of the beams supporting the ladder. “Summers and Red, each with a three-man team. I don't think we'll need to worry about them, or anyone else, for a little while.”

“Why's that?” Impatience was evident in Greg's voice.

Tom sighed before replying. “Eric said they might come here, not that they would come here. That means they didn't have a set rally point for when they got separated. Summers seems like a real piece of work, but he doesn't strike me as stupid. Why would he come to a less defensible place with insufficient supplies and no idea of when he could expect reinforcements or relief? Not to mention that he'd have the additional burden of overseeing his captives. No, I think he headed straight back to the school and trusted that Dust and his team would do the same.”
Cunning plan, Eric,
the Shepherd thought.
If it had worked, they might have given you a team of your own. Instead, it made you meat for the beast.