What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh (21 page)

The young man shrugged. “Can't say for certain, but I know someone who can.” With that, the Shepherd made his way to the narrow corridor between the stalls at the back of the barn.

“Who?” The Sentry sounded confused.

“Angie and Ben aren't from around here, are they?” Tom offered this as gently as he could through his own fatigue, knowing his companions were even more addled than he. Even with that in mind, he was unable to keep a note of exaggerated patience from creeping into his voice. Suspecting the others would be more at ease knowing the next step of his plan, he offered it to them.

Turning to face Greg and Janessa, he said, “The boy and his mother must have come from somewhere reasonably close.”

“How do you figure?” Janessa asked while maintaining her watch.

“Which part?” He asked for clarification.

“All of it,” she replied.

Tom sighed. “I know those two aren't one of yours because of they way you interact with them and vice versa. And at this point, I'd like to think one of you would have corrected me if I were wrong about it.” Seeing no rebuttals, he continued. “They both seem in good health; not too thin, still have their hair and most of their teeth from what I've seen, skin is the right color and free of blotches and bruises. That tells me they either haven't been on the road long, or they were well-prepared for a long trip. Don't think Angie would have been making a long trip with a boy Ben's age by herself unless things were really bad, so the former is more likely than the latter. Either way, they should be able to point us in the right direction.”

“What if she's running from something? Or their community is gone?” The Sentry's manner suggested to Tom that he knew more than he was letting on.

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he answered. Having brought the discussion to a close, Tom returned their collective attention to the task at hand. “I'll be letting them out one at a time, so things will be more manageable. Let them gather around the table and eat. Once everyone is in here, we'll break the news. Alright?”

When the others nodded, the young man made his way to the end of the row of stalls. Tom faced the door on his left first, across from where he had placed Toby earlier that morning. Placing his hand on the thick wooden bolt across the stall door, Tom took a deep breath. Standing in the darkened hall, he felt nervous.
What's waiting for me on the other side of this door
, he wondered. Knowing there was only one way to find out, he braced himself and slid the bolt free.

As the door opened, the cell beyond was illuminated by sunlight streaming in around the Shepherd. In that spread of soft dawn light, he saw two forms huddled at the back of the small chamber. Though there was light enough to see, it took a moment for his eyes to discern details and while he stood squinting at the figures, they sprang to their feet and raced to him. By the time the smaller of the two reached him, Tom recognized it was Ben grabbing hold of his leg and hugging him tightly.

“Told you he wouldn't leave us,” the boy said to his mother.

Angie, in the meantime, placed her hands on either side of the young mans face. Pulling him close, she pressed her lips against his bearded cheek, then looked him in the eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Unaccustomed to such affection, Tom blushed furiously. He was grateful for his beard and being back lit, both of those things helping to mask his discomfort. “Of course,” he murmured in return. Finding his voice, he added, “The others are waiting by the door. Go get something to eat while I free the rest. We'll be leaving presently.”

Tom stood aside so the woman and her son could squeeze past him into the hall. He watched them go, a part of him thinking his work was done and looking forward to being gone from this wretched place.
The innocent are free
, he thought.
I should resume my own work, now
. He chastised himself immediately, however.
The path of least resistance is seldom the right one
, he remembered Father Jacob say.
Count your blessings when it is, but never plan on that being the case.

Besides
, Tom mused,
I said I would free them all. Even if it weren't the right thing to do, I would be every bit as bound to do it. A man is only as good as his word. And his aim.

Resolved to complete the task, the Shepherd turned to face the door behind him. Toby was in that cell, he remembered.
I should release him last
, Tom thought.
Even with Janessa on my side, I don't know for certain he'll co-operate. I should give him the least amount of time to cause a problem, if that's what he chooses to do.
So decided, the young man approached the door of the stall adjacent to Toby's and threw back the bolt, pushing the door inward.

The passage of air from the moving door carried a wave of stink into the hall. The sour smell of unwashed bodies, the fetid odor of excrement, the rankness of rotting food and something... else. Though the odors that assailed him were acrid and powerful, the visual that greeted him was far more so. On the floor, facing away from the door, a man Tom's age was kneeling behind a woman probably twice that. Their naked bodies were pressed together and continued to move in spite of the interruption and audience it implied.

The kneeling man gestured to the corner of the room, waving his had dismissively. “Leave it. I'll feed her when we're through.” He sounded irritated.

The Shepherd lunged into the room, grabbing the man by the neck and shoulder and flinging him against the wall. Clearly rattled by the interruption and the impact, the other young man shook his head. He had recovered just enough of his awareness to utter, “Jesus,” before the Shepherd had closed with him and had a hand wrapped around his neck.

Grabbing the hand around his throat, the naked man croaked a question. “What gives, man? Who are you?” Clawing at Tom's hand with both of his own, he saw the fury in the Shepherd's eyes, saw the other hand raising and becoming a fist. When Tom, at a loss for words, looked from the woman still kneeling on the ground and back to the man pressed against the wall, the other man laughed in Tom's face.

“Did you want a crack at her?” The laughter died on his lips, became a gasping grunt as the Shepherd drove his knee up between the other fellow's legs hard enough to make both of their teeth rattle. Releasing his hold on the pained man's neck, Tom watched him slide down the wall into a twitching ball. Clutching himself, he sobbed with shallow breaths while the Shepherd stepped to the woman and crouched by her side.

“Are you hurt?” Tom asked quietly. He knew it was a foolish question, but he could think of nothing else to say. 'Hush' was inappropriate and 'it'll be okay' would be a lie. While he was ready for her to lambaste him for his stupidity, he was wholly unprepared for the response she gave.

Her hips pumped obscenely, as though her partner were still behind her. “Did you bring ice cream? It's my favorite.” The very act of speaking caused her to lose focus and Tom watched saliva stream from her mouth, pooling on the filthy floor beneath her cheek.

Putting a hand on her shoulder, Tom shook her gently. Her eyes were open, but glazed and unblinking. She was completely unresponsive, even when he shook her more firmly. Turning her on her side, he left her to fetch a blanket at the far end of the stall. He returned long enough to cover her with it, then stepped around her and over to her attacker.

Grabbing him by the elbow, the Shepherd hoisted him to his feet and pushed him from the cell. When they reached the front part of the barn, Tom shoved him along the wall and into a group of barrels in one corner. The woman's attacker fell when he collided with the wooden barrels and resumed his fetal curl. Tom snatched up a couple of carrots from the closest table, flung them at the other man.

“Stay there,” the Shepherd growled.

Making his way back to the stalls, Tom stopped at the door across from the cell that still contained the accosted woman. Believing she would still be some time in recovering, he intended to see the others freed and would revisit her at the end. With this in mind, he pulled the bolt from the door in front of him. He had no sooner pushed on the door than it was wrenched inward. The occupant of the stall rushed forward, placed both hands on Tom's chest and shoved him back across the hall. Tom hit the wall before he could process what had happened. He did not have the wind knocked from him, as his pack had absorbed most of the impact. He did watch with some confusion as the man in the cell wasted no time in taking flight, bolting from the stall and down the hall, into the large room at the front of the barn.

The Shepherd checked the recently vacated stall long enough to ensure the escaping man was it's sole occupant before giving chase. Tom didn't follow him long, as the running man stopped short in the front room. Casting about in confusion, the recently freed man looked from the people clustered near the door to the tables of food and dishes, and even to where the naked man huddled near the barrels.

“What's happening?” The running man asked to no one in particular.

Though he was behind the man, Tom raised open palms in his direction. Taking a step forward, he asked his own question. “What's your name?”

Turning around, the running man looked at Tom with wild eyes. “Joel,” he said after a moment. He resumed looking around, growing more frantic. “What's going on?”

The Shepherd stopped, hands still raised. “Things are changing, Joel. You and everyone else in those stalls are finally free.” Here he stopped, to let the message sink in.

Joel didn't need even a second to process that, however. Eyes wide, he merely turned and took quick steps toward the door. Greg looked from the approaching Joel to Tom.

“Can't let you leave yet, Joel.”

The man spun on his heel, again facing the Shepherd with wild eyes. “Why not?”

“Everyone goes all at once. That's the best way for everyone to get away from here in one piece. Besides, you haven't even eaten yet. Why don't you get some food in you, then we'll get you some clothes that'll serve you better through the coming cold.”

Joel stared intently, looking every bit ready to bolt. Tom blinked and said, “I don't know how long you've been in there, but fifteen more minutes won't kill you.” Gesturing at the tables, he waited for Joel to make his way to them.

It took half a minute, but at last the runner relented. While he was slow to move to the table, he wasted no time in devouring a cucumber the moment he could lay hands on it. Tom nodded to Greg and again returned to the stalls. He considered the progress he was making and was momentarily discouraged. While it would have been ideal for each cell to have one person and for that person to be eager to leave but docile in accepting some terms and conditions for that freedom, the Shepherd had not expected things to work out in such a fashion. Thus far, this was a far more uphill endeavor than he would have thought.

The next stall offered a pleasant surprise. A pair women faced the door, holding hands and watching him with mute indifference. For several seconds, the young man watched the women watch him. He took in their bearing and the state of their tattered clothes, gauged they had been prisoners at least as long as Joel.

“Are you ladies hungry?” Tom asked hesitantly.

The woman on the left, the taller of the two, nodded. Tom looked at her and stood aside, gesturing down the hall. “There's food on the table. Help yourselves.”

As the pair entered the light near the door, Tom took greater note of them. They were older than him, but not by much: six or seven years, he thought. When they were within arms reach, the Shepherd saw why one was so much taller than the other. The woman on the right moved with an unmistakable hitch, dragging her left leg behind her. Her back was noticeably bent and her head lolled from shoulder to shoulder in time with her slow steps. Both women regarded him for only a moment before passing into the hallway and wordlessly walking away. Tom watched them go, marveling at how easy they had been.

The next door swung in perhaps a foot before it was slammed shut. So quickly did it reverse direction that Tom considered himself lucky he'd pulled his fingers clear. He waited a five count before lifting the latch a second time. Before he'd put any pressure on the door, he could hear it groan as someone on the other side began pushing against it. He put his face closer to the door and spoke.

“I'm trying to let you out, not come in after you. No one is going to hurt you.”

A muffled response came through the wood. “Sure you won't. I changed my mind, I don't want to do this.”

“All you need to do is stand back. This door only opens one way and I don't want you to get hurt. Once it's opened, you'll have a choice to stay or go.” Tom waited to see if he had successfully reasoned with the man on the other side of the door.

Tom's patience was rewarded with a thump, then another and a third. “Not going. Not going! NOT GOING!” The man in the stall shouted, his voice raising every time he spoke.

The pounding grew in frequency and volume, and it made the Shepherd frown. He did not have time for this, as the fire in the house could be noticed any minute now. In addition to running out of time, he suspected the pounding might be alarming to some of the others who could hear it. There was also the possibility it would draw the attention of the guard on the roof, if it continued long enough. These reasons urged him to action rather than continue the dialogue.

Taking his kukri in hand, he offered an ineffective push on the door and felt an immediate press from within. Using that push back, the Shepherd gauged as best he could where the other man must be standing. He then swung the angled knife sharply into the center of the door. With a crack, a portion of the blade broke through the boards. He heard a shuffle through the door and knew that the man within had moved. The Shepherd shifted his own weight, raised his right foot and launched a front kick that smashed the door open. He felt the stall door come to rest against his boot when it swung back.

“No! NO!” The man inside shrieked.

Tom steadied the door long enough to pull his long knife from it. Taking care to properly align the thrust, the Shepherd stabbed into the opening between the door and frame, careful not to hit the person within. He did so twice before the man leaped away, still screaming. With the sudden lack of resistance, Tom lurched forward into the cell.