A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) (17 page)

The marine's plan worked like a charm, however. Only seconds after seeing the body, Tom heard movement some distance further into the forest. Leaves and branches rustled in the wake of quickly moving bodies; branches and pine cones snapped beneath running feet. Then, just as suddenly as they began, the rapid cessation of those sounds. From the time it started to when it stopped, less than ten seconds passed and Tom determined there were at least three separate locations from where movement no longer occurred.

On his left, Chris scanned their surroundings with the calm calculation of one who had been in this scenario many times. Someone who seemed not only ready, but comfortable. On his right, Turner was planted and looking around, but appeared too tense, too pale to be a willing participant. It was clear the radio operator was not accustomed to being on
this
side of an ambush.

Seconds passed in silence before the Shepherd spoke. “Was that all of them?”

A few more seconds went by before Vargas replied. “Looks that way,” he said before stepping into view a few yards from where Nadeau emerged.

To the Hunter, the Shepherd murmured, “We came through here less than an hour ago. There was no sign of activity or passage. No evidence of anything laying in wait, either.”

Chris agreed.“It's possible they just happened by. Also possible they've been following us for a while. I agree that it's unusual, though. Especially considering the sun's out. And it's raining.”

While they spoke, the two men watched the marines make a quick check of the bodies. Nadeau and Vargas crouched beside the Turned that Davis had pointed to just before the other horrors rushed the Shepherd and his companions. Nadeau pointed to something on the creature's chest, which the Major studied with his head cocked to the side. Indicating Davis should remain with Tom and the others, the officer and the sniper moved away to examine the other bodies.

“
Something wrong?” Tom asked.

Davis shook his head. “Peculiar. That ghoul had some kinda mark on its chest. The Major and the Sergeant are checking the others.”

“
What kind of mark?” The Shepherd inquired.

Shrugging, Davis offered little else in the way of response. “Couple lines. They think it looks like a cross, but I don't reckon as such.”

Tom arched an eyebrow at the marine before turning to Chris, who was already moving toward the body. “We'll be right back,” he said to Davis.

Ten steps later, the men were standing over the Turned, which the marines had rolled onto it's back. Up close, the mark on its chest was unmistakable, even covered in blood which still flowed from the entry wounds on it's torso. Clear as day, discolored and long-healed, etched into the flesh with the permanence only fire can bring, was the sign of the cross. Also of note were the hide leggings it wore; ill-fitting, stained and torn. The condition of the garment was no surprise, only its presence on the beast.

“
That is definitely a cross.” Chris pursed his lips after making the observation.

Tom could only nod. Seeing the other marines returning, he asked them a question. “The others have it, too?”

“
The very same. Cross, on the breastbone. Several months old at the very least, since the brand appears fully healed.” The Major stopped in front of Tom and Chris. “I've seen some ghouls with strange marks. Scars, mostly, and presumably from their prey or rough travel. Haven't seen anything quite like this.”

“
Huh. Should probably get back to trucks, right?” When Tom saw Vargas nod, he made a suggestion. “Stay together, this time?”

“
Probably for the best.” While the officer agreed, Tom could hear the frustration in the other man's voice. Tom felt sympathy for the Major: if their positions had been reversed, Tom would have been anxious to know the condition of his people.

The military men fell back into an escort-arrangement and remained with the civilians, though the marines pressed forward at a pace closer to a jog. Ten or twelve minutes passed at before the Major stopped and suggested Tom and the others conceal themselves in a pocket of chokecherry bushes and short pines. While they did this, Vargas explained what Red team would be doing.

“
Turner, you're still with our guests. While you're waiting for us to give the 'all clear', try raising Blue team on the radio. The rest of us will advance the last couple hundred yards, look for the others, check the trucks and then let you know what's going on. Understood?” He looked for confirmation, first from the radio operator, then from Tom. When both men nodded, the Major departed, the other marines following him.

Before Vargas was gone from sight, Turner had the handset pressed against his cheek and was speaking into it, softly and clearly. “Blue team, this is Red Four, come in. Blue Team, this is Red Four, come in.” He repeated this statement again ten seconds later, and then every ten seconds for the next minute.

When that minute had passed, he changed the call. “Red Actual, this is Red Four, come in, over.” A pause, then, “Negative, no reply, over.” Another pause. “Copy that. Out.”

Turner seemed antsy, so Tom made an effort to distract the radio operator. “We're staying put for a few more minutes?”

“
Yeah. I'll keep trying to raise Blue team 'till we get the go ahead to move up.” The radioman gripped the handset tight enough for Tom to hear it groan before Turner resumed asking for Blue team to come in.

Nine or ten minutes went by, Turner calling out every twenty seconds now. Tom and the others had formed a protective square around Ben, alert and ready for whatever threat may come.

Turner's static, repetitive calling for Blue team changed. “This is Red Four, reading you five by five. Go ahead.” Several seconds later, Turner said, “Wilco,” then hung up the handset. “Davis will be coming back to take us to the Major. Sounds like they hit a snag at the trucks.”

Chris was the one to ask. “Still no sign of the other team?”

Turner shook his head. “Not a thing.”

Davis arrived a few minutes later. When Turner asked what happened, his fellow marine offered only a curt reply: “You'll see.”

The group followed Davis almost eagerly, glad to be moving closer the ultimate goal rather than waiting in quiet tension. Less than a minute after they began moving, Davis gestured to his left before he took a few steps to his right. Tom saw the body Davis was trying to avoid, but went towards it while the others followed their point-man.

While his examination was almost cursory, the Shepherd noticed something that puzzled him: this creature had met the same end as those they had recently encountered, but lacked any mark resembling a tattoo or brand. It was scarred, as many of the terrible beasts were, but bore no cross on it's chest, head or back that Tom could see. He considered the body only briefly and moved back into the fold before Janessa had passed him.

Their progress to the vehicles was quick and entirely without incident. Somewhat surprising was the lack of other Turned bodies. Since finding one nearly a hundred yards earlier, Tom had expected to find more bodies, and sooner. That they had not added to his puzzlement.

Lone runner? Add-on?
Tom thought, systematically considering each possibility. What they found next failed to offer a satisfactory answer.

Moving cautiously down a small slope, they saw many terrors lay dead at or around the vehicles: four on the near side of the closest truck and at least that many on the far side. Two more, one sprawled and one curled, stretched out between the trucks and the dirt road. That was as much a survey as Tom could take before several things happened in quick succession.

To his right, Tom heard Davis call out: “Contact, 3 o'clock.”

A second later, Turner called from behind: “Contact, 7 o'clock.”

Just as he was preparing to act, Tom noticed a figure climbing out of a depression between two fir trees. Someone belly crawling and dressed in military garb; B.D.U.s and L.B.E. His only weapon seemed a bloody knife in his bloody hands.

Then all hell broke loose.

This close, Tom could hear the marine's suppressed carbines. Every pull of their triggers yielded a soft, thumping 'pop' that more closely resembled a blast of compressed air than a gunshot. He was aware of more Turned appearing ahead, from the other side of the vehicles. Still more crashed through the brush to the left of their group.

He'll never make it
, Tom thought as he watched the military man continue to crawl. Having been able to watch long enough, Tom recognized him as one of Vargas's men. Doughty, if he was not mistaken. Before taking action, he assessed the situation in the immediate vicinity.

Chris had turned to assist Davis, while Janessa stepped up to join Turner. Toby had pushed Ben behind him and faced the same direction as his sister and the radioman. Even as he took this in, Tom heard the loud, sharp crack of their weapons. Though the three of them all had bolt-action rifles better suited to hunting than warfare, they were all helping hold back the wave of horrors. Tom noticed that Toby never hesitated to pull the trigger and while he had no kill-shots that Tom saw in those few seconds, he didn't think the young man missed.

Toby's sister, on the other hand, not only seemed to land every round, but each one seemed to put down the beast it struck. She reloaded quickly, smoothly and took little time to acquire a new target, track it and squeeze off another shot. In fact, as far as Tom could tell, the only difference between her performance and Chris' was that she seemed to have a more target rich field of fire to demonstrate her ability.

“
I'm going for Doughty.” The Shepherd had to shout over the gunfire.

With M14 in hand, the Shepherd raced to the crawling man. Though he was quick, he was not fast enough to reach Doughty before a couple of fiends did. Stopping when he knew they would be in position to threaten the marine, the Shepherd brought his weapon up. One second, his sights lined up with the head of one of the Turned, which was wearing a crude looking apron. The next second saw that same head disappear in a flash of muzzle blast. With no hesitation, the Shepherd moved his barrel a few degrees to the left and buried the front sight on the chest of the other horror. He pulled the trigger twice, issuing two rounds into the beast and saw this creature had a cross on its breastbone. The shots find their mark, as that Turned, like the one before it, stopped mid-stride and pitched forward, laying still in the grass. Unless the Shepherd was entirely mistaken, this one had a loin cloth hanging in tatters from its hips.

Though this series of actions took only seconds to resolve, the threat was not yet defeated. While the Shepherd had been firing, a third monster emerged. Like Doughty, it belly-crawled up from to reach the man ahead of it. Fortunately, the marine was aware of his attacker and unafraid to act. He had already rolled onto his back and brought the knife to bear. The Turned had put a hand on the marine's boot and used that grip to pull itself up along the ramp that was the man's body. Doughty, with a pained shout, buried his bloody knife in the creature's throat.

Taking the last steps quickly, the Shepherd reached Doughty and stood protectively over the wounded man. Ten yards from where he stood, the Shepherd saw one more terrible creature streaking toward him. Through the ringing in his ears, he thought he heard it yelling one long, continuous shriek as it sped across uneven ground to what might be its next meal. One moment, the monster ran, hell bent on reaching the men only steps from its outstretched hands. The next, its head exploded like a ripe grapefruit and it fell, the body coming to rest only a few feet from the two men. The Shepherd lowered his weapon, glanced at the felled beast and confirmed it to be dead.

“
Can you walk?” This he asked while noting the now dead horror bore no cross.

Doughty groaned. “With some help. Get me on my feet?”

Slinging his rifle, Tom crouched beside the marine. Retrieving a spent cartridge from the ground, the Shepherd wrapped an arm around the marine and pushed them both up. Once standing, the Shepherd positioned his arm to better support the marine's weight. While Doughty shifted from foot to foot, the Shepherd noticed his comrade had multiple injuries, the most notable in his right leg from what, at a glance, appeared to be a bullet wound. The marine also had a wicked looking bite mark on his left forearm.

With another grunt and a grimace, Doughty said, “Let's go.”

The Shepherd nodded. He put the still-warm brass in one of the pockets of his peacoat and led the wounded man back to their companions. One deliberate step after another, he was aware that he'd heard no shots since putting down his last target.

A few steps passing in relative quiet, he had a puzzling thought.
A couple of those ones were wearing clothes, like the one we found near Davis. How odd.

“
Hold on, Mr. DuPuis.” The Major's voice came from somewhere on the other side of the vehicles, far enough away that it sounded like he was shouting. “If you can make it to the trucks, we'll come to you.”

Tom did so. Leaning Doughty against one of the doors, the Shepherd took a moment to observe his surroundings in greater detail. He saw no sign of movement, aside from that of his companions. When he saw the others, he noted Toby and Turner seemed to have just finished reloading and he now took the opportunity to do the same.

Tom was returning the near-empty magazine to another pocket in his coat when heard something turning around the back of the vehicle, moving toward him and Doughty. As whatever was making the sound rounded the corner, the Shepherd heard a voice, barely audible over the ringing in his ears.