What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh (20 page)

Tom nodded to Greg, keeping his eyes on Shane. “People like Greg?”

The Old Man took a moment to respond. “Threat to me and mine. You told us your community had it's own forms of punishments for that sort of thing.”

Tom stiffened. “Torture and mutilation are not counted among them.”

Sarcasm returned to Shane's voice. “Of course, Holiness. I'm certain they're limited to censure and the like, guided by a deeper understanding of compassion and mercy.”

The Shepherd shook with indignation. “Is nothing sacred to you?”

“Seeing the next sunrise. Everything else is subordinate to that need.”

“Existence alone is not enough, it never has been. Without purpose, it's simply distilled to an equation. Survival becomes the sum of various portions of rote actions; eat, sleep, grow old and die. There must be something more.” The Shepherd knew, as he was certain the Old Man did, that their conversation was coming to a close.

Shane arched an eyebrow. “Somebody's reaching. That, or just can't deal with how things are now. If you must cling to an antiquated notion of a world gone by, so be it. But remember: men like you had their time before the End. Better or worse now, it's different. Now is time for the strong to survive. Now is our time.” He smiled, wicked and savage and full of promise. “And a damn good time it is.”

The Shepherd shook his head and spoke with a heart heavy as he offered Condemnation. “You turned on your people just as surely as those that Turned came after the rest of us at the End. For your admission of cannibalism, torture and imprisonment, I find you guilty-”

“Spare me the sermon, son,” the Old Man snarled, stalking around the island as he spoke.

The Shepherd didn't miss a beat, merely raised his voice over the interruption and continued. “...Of crimes against humanity and beyond redemption. Your violations of both spirit and flesh are deplorable and must be punished swiftly and completely. While you are beyond absolution, you are not beyond retribution. May your God have mercy on your soul, whatever remains of it.”

Shane rounded the corner of the island just as the younger man finished. Tom took a step back and turned the kukri around his hand, so the back of the knife would make contact when he struck with it. The Old Man continued to close, pausing only long enough to sweep up the bloody towel with his free hand. Tom wondered what he meant to do with it and found out almost immediately.

The Old Man quickly wound it to a twist, then snapped it around the Shepherd's own long knife. Tom had time enough to appreciate the action while he considered the new danger he was in. With the blade wrapped, he must either contest or relinquish control of the knife. He decided to hold his grip just long enough to convince his opponent he meant to retain the weapon.

As Tom expected, Shane jerked the towel away from Tom and towards himself. The Shepherd let go his grip and allowed the kukri to be pulled away. While the weapon sailed through the air, Tom stepped directly toward the Old Man. With both hands free, he easily grabbed hold of Shane's right wrist. While the Old Man was strong, he had not anticipated Tom's action or speed. Thus, he offered little resistance as the Shepherd pushed Shane's hand back towards his own chest. The two men watched the skinning knife slide between the Old Man's ribs.

Tom was just wrenching the blade up against Shane's ribs in an effort to finish the job when his head exploded in white pain, black stars and awful ringing. He had the presence of mind to keep his hands on the knife buried in Shane's ribs.
Whatever happens, I can't let go of the knife before he dies. If I do, he'll use it on me
, Tom thought with certainty. He thought something else, as well.
Sam was right: power is the last thing to go. The Old Man packs a punch for someone just stuck like a pig.

Two heartbeats passed between the drubbing on the side of his head and when Tom felt his focus return, but it felt like two hours. In addition to the throbbing in his head, he felt a hand on his face, pressing against his mouth and nose, preventing him from breathing. Tom opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the heel of Shane's palm. While doing this, he put his weight on the knife lodged in the Old Man's body. Even through the pounding in his ears, Tom heard his adversary's ribs give way to the metal of the blade, felt the bone buckle. It started with a slow creek and became a series of rapid snaps that were blocked out by Shane's groan.

The Shepherd's mouth had nearly filled with blood and flesh before the hand covering his mouth and nose finally cleared away. Dimly, he wondered how much the movement owed to slippage from fluid and loose skin as opposed to pain from the bite. He spat a mouthful of red into the face of his opponent before drawing a great breath into his burning lungs.

It seemed Shane was not yet finished, however. Releasing his hold on the skinning knife, he brought his right hand up to join his left on Tom's neck. Intent on bringing the Shepherd with him, the Old Man closed his hands like a vice. He squeezed and Tom, who had been leaning down to put pressure on the knife, quickly found himself on one knee.

The young man would have been able to end the matter quickly if he'd had the knife. Unfortunately, Shane shifted as he began to wring the Shepherd's neck and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter, just out of reach. Grabbing Shane's wrists, Tom felt his knee become warm, then wet.
This can't be my end
, he thought.
On my knees in a pool of another man's blood.

The Shepherd heard a noise behind him and for one terrible moment thought someone else had entered the house. Heart competing for space in his tightening throat, Tom took his right hand from Shane's wrist and put it on the grip of his revolver.
So much for getting out of here without firing a shot
, he thought. Better put down the Old Man so I can deal with whoever that is. He was ready to draw when he saw a change of expression on the face of his foe. The chain reaction gave him pause, so his gun remained in its holster even when he heard quickened steps coming up directly behind him.

Enmity became surprise, turned to disbelief. Then the face above him was unreadable, as a worn, wooden rifle stock blocked it from view. Janessa had to hit the butcher twice before he would relinquish his grip on Tom's throat. But she didn't stop there. Even after Shane let go of the Shepherd and slumped against the island, the young woman continued striking him with the butt of her rifle. She followed him to the floor, kneeling beside his body, driving the stock with savage fury. She had smashed his face into a flat, unrecognizable sheet when Tom squatted down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Holding her tightly, he spoke quietly. “Hey, hey. You got him. Save your strength.”

Janessa glared at him and Tom took his reproach in stride. “Alright,” he said. “At least give your rifle a rest.” He squeezed her once more before releasing her and standing up. Looking down at her, he smiled.

“Thank you.” He offered his hand, which she accepted after wiping her eyes.

When she had regained her feet, she blinked her eyes a few times. “You know, if you hadn't taken my bolt, I could've shot him. Would've been faster.” She looked at him deadpan for a heartbeat before cracking a slight smile.

Tom picked up his kukri and cleared his throat. “Yeah, but that was more satisfying. At least, it seemed that way to me.”

She held out one hand, palm up and cleared her own throat. After a couple of seconds, she arched an eyebrow.

Tom made a clicking noise with his tongue and pointed at the young woman. “Right,” he said.

He reached inside his coat and removed that vital piece of her weapon. He looked at the shaped metal rod, then at Janessa. Placing the bolt on her outstretched palm, he held onto it a moment longer. He waited for appreciation to light on her features. When he was satisfied she understood there was more than a physical object passing between them, he spoke without a trace of his earlier playfulness. “Don't make me regret this.”

She nodded once and seated the bolt as Tom returned her ammo. While she reloaded her rifle, he retrieved his pack and hat. While crossing back to Janessa, he finally remembered the Sentry. The large man had watched the entire exchange from one corner of the kitchen, still as a statue. The Shepherd looked from him to the pile of haphazardly stuffed packs Janessa had brought from upstairs.

“Think you could carry those packs to the barn after we cut you loose, Greg?”

The large man nodded more vigorously than Tom would have thought, given the extent of his injuries. Retrieving a cutting implement from a knife block on the counter beside the Sentry, the young man cut the ties on Greg's wrists. While the large man rubbed the marks the ties had left on his arms, the Shepherd appraised the knife in his hands.

Almost absently, he asked Janessa, “There still a couple lanterns upstairs?”

“Yeah,” she replied while combing a drawer for small cooking accessories. “Master bedroom and hallway bathroom.”

Tom went to the cook stove, which he found still warm. Picking up an insulated glove from the small wood stack beside the brick base, the young man opened the stove door. Picking out a piece of kindling, the Shepherd placed it inside and waited for it to catch. He left it in long enough to ensure it would keep burning for a few minutes. As he left the kitchen, he spoke to his companions. “Alright, let's be ready to leave when I get back downstairs. We won't want to be around any longer than necessary.”

He rounded the corner into the sitting room when he called out to Janessa and Greg. “Could one of you take Bob out to the back yard? He won't want to be in here, either.”

Against the insistence of his companions, Tom had them walk out of the house and back to the barn.

“The house is on fire. Someone will see the smoke!” The Sentry spoke with the same quiet intensity from the day before, seemingly undaunted by the treatment he had received at the hands of Shane and Rujuan.

Tom shook his head. “Won't be able to tell it from stove smoke for a while longer. That's why I started it in those rooms on either side of the chimney. Fifteen or so minutes and it'll be a different story. With more sunlight and thicker smoke, there'll be no hiding it. We'll need to be finished in the barn, at that point.”

Janessa started and Tom cut her off. “No. If we're running, even with you behind us acting like you're taking us somewhere, it'll look suspect. Why would you need to get two people to the barn in a hurry by yourself? Should have another set of hands in that kind of situation.” Tom shook his head again and picked up his rifle, handed it to the young woman. “Let's do this.”

While she slung the extra rifle over her shoulder, Greg adjusted the straps of his pack. The Shepherd considered his companions as he opened the door. Janessa watching him with anxiety that bordered on guilt, and the Sentry seemed almost frantic to be gone from the house. Moved by their sense of urgency, Tom released his held breath in a quiet sigh as he stepped on to the front porch of the farmhouse. Seeing the guard on the roof of the barn scanning back across the house, the Shepherd found himself tense until the binoculars swept over him without pause to continue a visual check of the north end of the property.

“Onward and upward,” he murmured, more to himself than either of those following him.

Tom could not help but marvel after their safe passage. Not once, but twice he had effectively hidden in plain sight from someone who, for all intents and purposes, was looking for him. Strange, certainly. Auspicious, perhaps. Lucky?
There are no coincidences when you walk the path of the righteous
, Father Jacob had said. He may have been on to something. Still, it was not until regaining the relative safety of the barn that they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

The large front area of the barn was exactly as Tom and Janessa had left it earlier, so they set about the tasks they'd prearranged before leaving the house. Janessa remained by the door, watching the front yard through the four inch opening they had left when they entered. Greg went to the tables and began gathering food, stuffing as many vegetables as possible into the pack he carried.

Greg seemed to be taking interest in a few eggs left on the table closest to the stalls. On his way to the barrel that hid Toby's rifle, Tom saw the Sentry crack one. The Shepherd watched delight spread across Greg's face as he discovered it was hard-boiled. The veggies temporarily forgotten, the large man began feverishly peeling the egg, casting the flecks of shell all around his booted feet. No doubt pieces of shell were still on it when the white oval disappeared into Greg's mouth, all in one piece. The Sentry regarded the two younger people with an impish grin as he chewed a few times and swallowed. Even though it looked like it was going down roughly, the large man immediately looked back to the table for another treat.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Tom called jokingly, picking up Toby's rifle.

Greg blushed and mumbled an apology while he resumed filling the pack with food. Tom smiled as he passed the Sentry, stopping to sift through a pile of cucumbers for the bolt he'd left there. A brief search found it and he restored the weapon to working order. He leaned the long arm against the wall behind where Janessa stood posted, watching the yard for activity intent on the barn. He reclaimed his own rifle from the young woman, loading the M14 replica before slinging it over his shoulder beside his pack.

“Remember to leave a little room in that pack,” Tom said to Greg. The large man nodded while stuffing one last handful of carrots in the pack. The bag bulged slightly around the seams at the bottom, but the Shepherd wagered it would hold the weight. After all, it would only be that full for a day or so.

Seeing the expression on Tom's face, the Sentry asked in his low voice, “Think this is enough?”

The Shepherd frowned. “It has to be. We need to leave something for the folks we're about to turn loose.” After a moments consideration, he added, “Besides, we only need enough to get to the next community.”

“Where might that be?” Greg's tone was dubious.