What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh (19 page)

While the larger man watched in disbelief as his right hand rained its thumb and fingers onto the floor, the Shepherd dropped into a crouch. Hips completing the turn they had begun when he blocked Rujuan's strike, Tom spun low and took a step forward. This brought him under the outstretched, mutilated arm and behind the large man, safely out of his adversary's reach. Rujuan was still moving forward with the stupid slowness of someone unable to register the gravity of the situation, or refusing to accept the severity of his injuries.

Tom finished the turn and stood facing his opponent's back, long knife over his left shoulder and poised to deliver the coup-de-grace. Even with this advantageous placement, the Shepherd was not in a position to deliver a killing blow. Rujuan was simply too tall. So rather than swing the knife parallel to the floor in a flat arc that would have hewn the neck of a smaller man, Tom adapted. He instead brought the knife down in a deep arc, throwing his weight behind the vicious chop. The curved blade found purchase between Rujuan's neck and left shoulder, sinking through muscle and bone with equal ease. The were several wet snaps as the knife traveled, first through the large man's collar bone, then ribs and began to slow near the bottom of the shoulder blade.

The giant crashed to his knees, the impact powerful enough to rattle the pots, pans and plates in the cupboards and cabinets on the other side of the kitchen. His head rolled forward, only stopping when his chin came to rest on his breastbone. A gurgling wheeze issued first from his open mouth and again, louder, from the great rent in his chest. The sound continued sickeningly as his bulk shifted to the left and came to rest against the panels of the island. At last, the bubbling hiss slowed and stopped like some kind of pathetic balloon, sputtering its last before completely deflating. With a last ticking tremor against the kitchen island, Rujuan shook and was no more.

The Shepherd watched the passing of his fallen foe.
He was no proven human, but he wasn't Turned. A beast, yes... but of a wholly different breed
, he thought. He regarded the body before him and took a moment to consider how best to wrest his blade from it. Remembering Janessa was no doubt watching him, he felt no good would come of her seeing Rujuan's corpse further mutilated while he recovered his weapon.
Hearing the Passage for the Departed may help her find a brief peace, but seeing the rest may be too much.

Instead, he called over his shoulder quietly. “You know this house well?”

“Well enough,” she answered, her voice soft.

“Think you can find some clothes, packs, medical supplies? Light sources wouldn't hurt, either.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod. While still unsettled, some of her unease seemed abated by her newly appointed task.

She turned to begin her search when Tom called to her again. “Could you leave my rifle?” Nodding mutely, she leaned his long arm against the wall and was gone.

Stepping forward, Tom entered the expanding puddle of crimson. The spread of red seeped along the cracks between boards and pooled around the island. Standing over the dead man, the Shepherd ensured his footing was sound as he bent to retrieve his knife. Much as he had a day and a half earlier, he placed a boot on the body of his felled adversary and freed his kukri with a couple of wrenching twists. Having done so, he retrieved a towel from the top of the island.

He was still wiping his blade when he heard a series of abrupt thumps from the porch. The door flew open and banged loudly against the wall as two men entered the kitchen, one directly behind the other. Greg stumbled in first, having been pushed ahead by Shane. The large man stumbled to the side and managed to land against the counter so he wouldn't fall. The Old Man followed him in, skinning knife still in hand, but stopped short in the doorway when he noticed the condition of the kitchen. While red tendrils spread across the floor to greet him, Shane's gaze came to rest on Tom standing on the far side of the island.

The Shepherd watched the Old Man's face, confusion turning to anger in the blink of an eye. Making one last pass on the steel of his long knife, Tom placed the now stained towel on the island's surface. “I was hoping we might have a word.”

Shane's eyes narrowed. “'Hope' is a weak word for weak people.” The Old Man took in the state of his enforcers body, bent and broken in defeat, and his countenance wrinkled in disgust.

“Amateur,” he spat at the Shepherd.

“Was that the butcher talking, or the second-rate handyman?” Tom asked.

“Would it make a difference?” Shane asked after a pause, and Tom shook his head. “Didn't think so.”

From the corner of his eye, Tom saw Greg begin to back away from the island.
Can't blame him
, Tom thought.
If I were him, I wouldn't want any part of what's about to happen, either.

Shane walked to his side of the island and put his hands on the surface. Now, his position and stance mirrored Tom's own. After another look at Rujuan, the Old Man fixed Tom with a level stare. “So much for coming in peace.”

“He swung. His mistake, not mine.” The Shepherd's face darkened. “As badly as that ended for him, it was better than what would have happened to me. Right?”

“Possibly,” Shane lied. “Is that what you wanted a word about?”

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It felt to him that every breath he'd drawn since first seeing Angie, Greg and the others had led to this moment, this confrontation. And now that he was here and the conversation was to be had, he had no idea what to say. He was frustrated with himself, but not entirely surprised.

The Old Man waited several seconds before making a proposal. “Why don't I start, then?” Seeing no objection, he continued. “What are your intentions?”

Tom cocked his head to the side. “To release your captives, for starters.”

“Mmm,” Shane nodded, frowning. When the Shepherd offered nothing further, the Old Man leaned forward to emphasize his next question. “And then what?”

Tom sputtered. “What do you mean, 'and then what'? After that-”

Shane interjected. “Yes, after that. After you broke their bonds, cast off their chains or whatever other poetic terminology you'd use to describe it. After you opened the doors and let them out into the world. After you told them they could go, that their freedom had been restored to them. What then?”

Tom blinked, still at a loss. This silence lasted only a second or two before the Old Man resumed his rant, waving his hand as though to brush aside any refute Tom might offer. “Let's assume no complications so we can get to the heart of the matter.”

“Such as?” Once again, Tom could not see quite where this was going, but felt he would not like where it lead.

“We both know you can't leave myself or most of the others alive or able-bodied. Otherwise, what's to stop us from chasing down those captives and beginning the process anew?” Shane shook his head. “No, you'd need to kill us or lock us up. That way, you would know that whatever ill befell those you mean to free, it was not by our hand. Right?”

Tom nodded but still said nothing. Shane watched him with growing malice and shortening patience. “Well?” The Old Man asked after another brief pause.

The Shepherd's own patience was thinning. “Well, what?” He snapped. “Why don't you just say it?”

Shane half-bowed mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Very well, your Grace. I'll take you by the hand and lead you to it.”

Tom took exception to this, but held his tongue.
Let him have his say
, he thought.
Just in case I missed something. I didn't, but this way I can have a clean conscience.

“After you've put every man, woman and child in this community to the sword and liberated their former prisoners, what will you do with the former captives?” This question seemed rhetorical, as Shane pressed on. “Most of them can't offer meaningful contributions; physically invalid, mentally challenged or socially incapable of getting along with others. In short, they lack the abilities necessary to survive without assistance, even if they work together. Can't leave them on their own, then. Man like you is always on the move and a man on the move can't be burdened by people who can't keep up. So, they can't come with you.” He paused a moment before posing the question, “What, then, do you do with them?”

Tom could not conceal his incredulity. “So you eat them?”

The Old Man shrugged. “We're not talking about what I do with them. We're talking about what you do with them once you release them. Or what happens to them after we're not in the picture, anymore.”

“What matters what happens after I free them? It must be better than waiting to be cooked for dinner or reheated for a midnight snack-”

“Of course it matters!” Shane roared, slamming his fist against the island top. “You may not agree with the reason, but surely you can agree that they are cared for until the end. After all, they'd be just as dead out there on their own.”

Tom was baffled he was still discussing the matter. “Care? You only care for them because they'll end up on your plate, not because they're people. They deserve to be treated as-”

“As what? Extra mouths to feed? Some of them can't even chew properly.”

Now Tom leaned forward, face red with anger. “As human beings. Every person has a right to live their own life on their own terms, provided they don't do it at the expense of another.”

“So you're saying that it's on us to care for those who can't care for themselves?” Shane asked.

“Of course! Especially in a place like this. You have such a bounty, here. Plenty of space to shelter and grow things and live in peace.” Tom wondered if they were still speaking the same language. How else could someone question the rightness of the Shepherd's intention, or the wrongness of the Old Man's history of action?

Shane pursed his lips. “I see. And at what point do their rights supersede ours?”

Tom leaned back. “What do you mean?”

“It's clear that those of us who are able owe some greater responsibility to those unable to care for themselves. We agreed to that earlier. Since we've already asserted that those unable to care for themselves have more value than those of us who can care for ourselves, it stands to reason there is a point-”

Tom interrupted him. “I didn't say they had greater value, just that we have an obligation to care for them.”

Shane glared. “What is it with you and semantics? Obligation, service, responsibility: those are all prettier ways of saying 'indebted', which means 'owe'. I think we can both agree that 'owe' has a connotation of value, even if it doesn't do so by definition. Your line of reasoning suggests our purpose should be caring for them. The strong tending the weak. Right?”

The Shepherd nodded, as this was a central philosophy of New Mont. It was only after he did so he realized the trap he had been drawn into.

“When does it end? When have you or I done enough for the man who can't do so for himself? And how do you figure the extra time we take to grow the food and build the shelter isn't happening at our expense? How is it acceptable for me to risk life or limb for my supper while some silly bastard passes the time knuckle deep in one nostril, waiting for someone else to provide? If there is a limit, who makes that decision? Who empowered that person-” The Old Man was cut off before he could give voice to the thought.

“We each of us make that determination and live with the consequences. However we choose to discharge that responsibility, it does not begin with a predetermined end in sight. Especially one as ultimately selfish and blasphemous as cannibalism.” The Shepherd had more to say on the matter, but was cut short by the Old Man.

“Of course it does, you self-righteous little prick. What do you think any of us are doing? Building walls, growing food, surviving the winter: what does it do? Delay the inevitable, that's all. How many of us will die of old age? Or hunger? Or thirst, or exposure or disease? Some, but not all. Not even most. You've traveled and seen some of the world. You know how most of us check out.”

Shane pointed at the door to the porch. “Most of us become meat for the beast. How they get us is irrelevant; when we're hurt, or sleeping or hunting. However we go, we're taken by things that used to be human. Maybe they're different now, but they used to be human. They exist for one purpose: to feed. On us. To pull us down, rip us apart and eat us piece by piece.” Still glowering, the Old Man finally leaned back. “If the new natural order sees fit for me to become food for something else, regardless of how I struggle and toil and rail against it, how is what's happening here anything other than a microcosm of our brave new world?”

Tom's frustration bordered on helplessness. It was clear that Shane had rationalized his sin. That wasn't the worst of it, though. The former butcher truly believed what he was doing was not only acceptable, but right. Justified. In his own eyes, the Old Man was merely making the best of a bad situation.

With a shudder, Tom said, “What they do to us is not cannibalism. It can't be, as they are no longer people.”

Shane shrugged. “An animal consuming another of the same species. Pretty sure that's how the dictionary saw it.”

Tom's eyes shone with renewed anger. “They don't plan their target or schedule when that person falls.”

“Neither do we. Besides, who knows how long any of us has? Each day could be our last, especially when we leave the comparative safety of our shelters. Nobody is guaranteed another day, even if they work to make it happen. However entitled to it we feel, we're simply at the mercy of other beings. Now, I understand your motivation, even if I don't agree with it. Belief is a powerful primer for emotion, and emotion doesn't often wait for the right moment. It simply demands action.”

The Old Man pointed at the Shepherd. “Case in point: your belief moves you to free people you have neither the time or inclination to care for and who cannot provide for themselves, simply so they are not at the mercy of others. To this end, you will feel that you have served your belief.” Shane gestured to himself. “I believe that while we're all dead men, I am strong enough to live another day. I take action to do so, knowing that as long as I'm this side of the dirt, the people around me are more likely to survive, as well.”