What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh (5 page)

Arching an eyebrow, the Shepherd asked the Old Man, “Is it so hard to believe?”

Shane looked exasperated. “That the zombie apocalypse could wipe out countless cultures and conveniences but somehow spare religion? No, that's not hard to believe. But it is very aggravating.”

Tom remembered another bit of Father Jacob's advice and breathed quietly:
don't sigh when discussing religion or spirituality. People tend to view it as condescending.
“Before you get hung up on the spiritual component, look at the rest of it. Regardless of any conflicting ethos, and I'm not saying there are any present here, we still have the same contrivances to social order as a means to better ensure our survival. Clearly, I come from another community, a different group of people than those you belong to. You have rules that have helped keep you alive through the years, some of which no doubt necessitated this discussion. My people have rules, and those rules spurred me to act in what I thought was a manner beneficial to others that seemed in need of assistance.”

Shane nodded. “Alright. What rules do your people have regarding interaction with outsiders?”

The Shepherd regarded the other man quizzically. He replied slowly and carefully, under the impression he had already answered the question. “With caution, but helping others wherever we can. I thought I alluded to that just a moment ago when discussing my motivations.”

“And a fine example of virtue it was,” the Old Man remarked dryly. “I've no doubt it will bear mention in your nomination for sainthood.” He sneered before continuing. “You're telling me that whatever group you come from offers unsolicited aide to whomever they encounter? Without qualification or condition?”

Tom was taken aback by the vehemence in Shane's voice. “Of course not.” Upon hearing Tom reply, Shane's face showed less anger, though some tension remained.

“Could you enlighten me as to what criteria determine who is worthy of assistance, then?” Some of the venom was gone from his voice as well, but the Old Man was clearly agitated about something.

“The first is that they are in need. Sometimes, that means acting first and determining if the help was truly warranted later. The second is that they are already or seek to be what we consider proven human beings, meaning they act with the best interests of their fellow man in mind.” The Shepherd stopped, noting Shane was going to speak.

“And you're the judge, I presume?” The Old Man asked, amused.

Unable to contain it any longer, Tom let out a sigh. “It's not spiritual judgment or affiliation to a certain political philosophy. It isn't subscription to a specific ethos or religious creed. It's simply seeing someone do something that helps another person. Assisting with a workload, offering encouragement, protecting someone from the Turned. As long as the person in question is able to act in such a way, we help them. That willingness demonstrates a desire to do more than simply survive. Often, it means he seeks something better. That's a person who wants to see a group grow stronger. Even if he doesn't know a useful trade, he can be taught a skill, however basic, that will help the community thrive. Those who want to help add value to a group. Those are the people who will bring us back.”

While still pensive, the Old Man was quiet a few moments. “Perhaps our systems are not so different, after all. Terminology, definitions, specifics and other semantics aside, that is. How does your community deal with those who knowingly and deliberately act outside those rules?”

The Shepherd waited a moment before replying. “You mean criminals?”

“Yes, criminals. That's what we call people who break the law around here.” Now it was Shane who paused. Since Tom did not continue, the Old Man posed another question. “So folks break the rules where you come from?”

“Occasionally, but those instances are few and far between.”

“Good. For a moment, I thought you were going to tell me that the paradise you come from was devoid of undesirables.” Shane's sarcasm was again apparent. “What manner of punishment is offered in your community for those who break the law?”

“Depends on the severity of the crime, the number of offenses. Loss of property, or the right to vote or speak at Assembly. Return to the base of your caste. In extreme cases, exile. There were a handful of hangings in the early years, but it's no longer permitted.” The Shepherd did not like where this was going. “Why do you ask? What does this have to with me being here?”

The Old Man shook his head. “How much longer would you like to dance around the truth?”

“What truth?” Tom's frustration was mounting, his bound hands again turning to fists.

“What would your people do if they apprehended someone aiding a group of fugitives?”

Confusion began to mix with the frustration on Tom's face. “Fugitives?”

Shane exploded in anger. “Am I alone in the world? Yes, fugitives! Criminals who have escaped custody before punishment could be exacted! Christ, I thought you said you were twenty-six.”

The Old Man leaned forward, jabbed a thick finger against the tabletop to reinforce his point as he spoke. “Let me spell it out for you, Your Grace: the people you 'helped' were on the run. They had broken our laws and were leaving before they had to pay the piper. They even stole supplies and equipment before they made good their escape.”

Shane nodded as he saw understanding creep across Tom's features. “Starting to come together, now?”

“What did they do?” Tom spoke quietly, stilled by the impact of this realization.

Shane shook his head. “You're a piece of work. Not even an acknowledgment that you wronged us, however inadvertently. Let alone an apology for acting out of place. But since you asked; they assisted in the escape of a prisoner, stole food and clothing from general storage, kidnapped a child and lied about the whole thing. Then they stole more supplies, tools and even a weapon before taking off.”

Shane snapped his fingers, as if remembering something. “Oh, and that prisoner they freed? Destroyed a food store, by the way,” he added.

Tom sat mutely, head swimming. “I don't know what to say,” he finally mumbled.

“That makes two of us.” Shane regarded Tom for another few seconds, then pushed his chair away from the table and stood. Returning his large hands to his pants pockets, he said, “I'll need to speak with others before we do anything else.”

Tom looked up at Shane. “What will you tell them?”

The Old Man stared at the Shepherd. “Not entirely sure, yet. I do know that, whatever kind of fool you may be, you didn't knowingly help a group of outlaws. If you're guilty of anything, it's simply blind optimism. Coupled with not thinking before you act and general social ignorance... Well, we'll see what happens.” He offered a tired smile. “In the meantime, we made up a room for you. Too cold to be out after dark, this late in the fall.”

Tom shook his head. “I couldn't impose. Besides, I have my own-”

“I'm not asking.” Shane held up a hand by way of stopping Tom's response. “Before you get all high and mighty on me, or righteously pissed or however else you'll choose to term your indignation, hear this: you've been brought to us under the pretext of potential danger. Whether that's right or wrong is irrelevant, because that's the way it is. You don't know us, so you don't want to stay. I get that. Unfortunately, we don't know you. Because we don't know you, we have no way of knowing what you will or won't do if we let you go. However unlikely, it's possible you might come back to offer some kind of retribution for your perceived slight. Or to avenge the mistreatment you thought you saw a group of strangers endure at our hands. Some part of you understands this, as was evidenced by your eventual cooperation.”

Tom regarded the Old Man coldly. “I'm to be your prisoner, then?”

Shane shrugged. “I'd say you're our guest, but you can call it whatever you like.”

Noting the younger man was sitting much more stiffly, Shane narrowed his eyes and jacked a thumb over his shoulder. “Weren't you talking about the importance of community and rules and how they're instrumental to ensuring our survival, just a few minutes ago? How can you not see the needs of that community and it's safety as more important than where you sleep, tonight?”

The Shepherd continued staring at the Old Man. “I am no danger to you or yours.”

Shane nodded. “I agree, but I'm not the only one who needs convincing. The council needs to make that decision. It's too late to convene the others now, so it's gotta wait 'til tomorrow. Yes, you will be allowed to speak with them before they make their decision.” This last he said with a wave of his hand, as if dismissing an unspoken concern.

He moved over to the door and rapped on the heavy wood several times. It opened immediately and Summers' head poked through. “Yeah, boss?”

The Old Man gestured to Tom. “Would you have Rujuan and his crew take Tom to the guest room? Leave him a lantern and bring him some water, maybe a bite.”

Summers nodded and disappeared behind the door again. Shortly thereafter, the door swung open to admit Summers, Rujuan and his crew. The large black man still had his shotgun in hand, though the two that followed each held lanterns. Summers looked to Shane for instruction. The Old Man motioned to the table and moved his hand as though turning a key. Summers nodded and retrieved the key from his pocket. Crossing to the table, he freed the Shepherd's hands.

“What happens tomorrow?” The Shepherd asked without really expecting an answer.

Shane shrugged. “We'll take you out, show you more of the town. Maybe bring you along on a sweep or check, depending on how long it takes for the council to get together. If any of that is up your alley. Or not, if you prefer. The specifics will depend on what the day brings.” He smiled tightly. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst. Or something like that. We'll see you in the morning, Tom. Sleep well, if you sleep.”

One of Rujuan's team moved back into the hall. Rujuan stared at Tom and gestured to the door. “C'mon,” he said simply.

The Shepherd rose from the chair and watched the Old Man for a moment, rubbing his wrists. Without another word, he turned and filed out of the room.

The Shepherd stood in the center of the guest room, studying his surroundings. With the lamp held high in his left hand, he ran his right hand along the wall. His palm found cool stone, pitted and chipped with activity and peeling paint. He noted the chamber lacked windows, but was not completely devoid of amenities; a small, thin mattress was pressed into the far corner, blankets and even a pillow piled atop it. Beside the mattress was a shallow basin filled with water and beside that, an empty cup. In the opposite corner, a small, dark pot sat with a worn looking scrap of cloth on the rim.

The floor was dirty but not filthy, suggesting it had at least been swept recently. The air here was mustier and more stale than upstairs, even after the incense that had been burned during the rooms preparation. Unless he missed his guess, this room would be close to where he had spoken with Shane upstairs. Perhaps even directly below it.

He took the single step necessary to move from the center of the room back to the door. Once there, he pressed his ear to the wood paneling. That paneling lent the door a sense of wholeness it would have otherwise lacked, since the glass window in it's midst must have been broken long ago. He listened closely for long moments, but the only sounds that came to him were his own breath and beating heart. He counted off another sixty seconds and still hearing nothing, deemed it safe enough to check the door.

Remembering how much noise the latch made when it opened to admit him, Tom grasped the handle firmly and turned slowly down. The mechanism worked smoothly and surprised him when he felt the door begin to loosen in the frame. Swinging the door steadily open, he peered out. The hall beyond was darkened, but he heard shuffling movement of some kind. Seeing no guard in his immediate vicinity, Tom entered the hallway.

The odor assailed him again. An offensive mix of uric acid, stale feces, unwashed bodies, sex, food, blood, oil; the general unpleasantness of many people living in an enclosed area. He raised a hand to shield his mouth and nose from the assault. Though familiar with this stink, Tom was grateful that it was under much more control where he came from.

The Shepherd cast his gaze down the hall to either side. While his lamp light shone close to twenty feet in either direction, he saw nothing. He waited, listening. A minute passed, then two. Still nothing. Just as he was ready to begin moving down the hall, in the direction Rujuan had brought him from, he heard it. A light, soft scrape. Turning toward the sound, he saw the faintest flicker of motion as who or whatever it was retreated back.
I do have a guard,
he mused.
Or at least a watcher.

Debating the merits of pursuing that person further into the shadows and perhaps drawing him into conversation crossed Tom's mind. He decided against it, not knowing what kind of common ground he could use to broach the conversation. After all, the Old Man had said the others brought him here because they saw him as a threat.

The fact that he was being observed sealed the deal. Even if he could make it to the end of the hall without being stopped, he had no way to bypass the heavy bolt on the door, discretely or otherwise. He also had no way to deal with the chain and padlock on the stairwell door beyond that. Even if by some miracle he circumvented both of those obstacles, he highly doubted there was a functional exterior door or window on the ground floor. Why else would Summers have brought them to the roof to gain entry?

He must wait until morning to conceive the next part of his escape. Not only did the other captives require consideration, but he should also determine how best to research this community. It was his purpose, after all. Both of those matters would take time and his full attention, so he returned to the room. As he closed the door, he noted the handle seemed locked from the outside. Curious, Tom placed his lamp on the floor and put a hand on either side of the door. The interior handle turned in his left, but the exterior handle wouldn't budge in his right.
I can leave whenever I choose, but everyone else needs a key to get in. Who or what are they keeping out?