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

Chuckling, Tom shook his head. “No, Major. Not quite what I was expecting, is all.” Looking plainly at the military man, Tom asked the next logical question. “What happens now?”

“
That depends on you,” the Major replied. “If you are in fact Thomas DuPuis and you agree to return with us to Quebec, we do just that. If you decline the offer, I've been instructed to make every effort to convince you to change your mind.”

“
What does “every effort” mean?” Tom reigned in his frustration before it got the best of him. “How do you know who I am, or that I'm even the person you're looking for?”

The Major unfastened the shoulder strap of his rucksack and placed the bag on the cement at their feet. Crouching, he opened the container and began rooting through its contents. He said, “Every effort is just what it sounds like. I'm told I can be very persuasive, when need be. As to knowing you're the man we're looking for, that was an educated guess.”

The Major removed something from his pack. Tom thought it was a narrow piece of slate wrapped in gray, sectioned rubber. The older man peeled away a portion of the rubber-covering as though opening a magazine. A moment later, the officer pressed something near the top of the object and Tom saw the reflective surface, black and glossy a moment earlier, begin to fill with images of varying brightness. The crouching man touched the surface of the device, making a few swiping motions and tapping different places. Seconds later, the Major turned it toward Tom, inviting the younger man to view what was now displayed.

There, side by side and in high-definition, were two photographs of him. One might have been taken yesterday: since it was a cropped close-up of his face with no visible background, he had no idea where or when it might have been taken. The other was the portrait his parents had submitted for his eighth grade yearbook page. Below the photos was a map, which outlined topography, roads and population centers for Vermont, New Hampshire, southern Maine and a portion of Canada. Push pins littered the map, centered primarily in the area of New Hampshire that was, colored mostly red with some blue and yellow interspersed throughout. He was so overwhelmed by the color saturation and crispness of the images that he initially missed what was at the top of the screen. In bold, black type on a tab poking out from the northern border of the map was a name. But not just any name.

DuPuis, Thomas Henry.

His name.

This revelation, coupled with his amazement at the device that offered it, so stunned him that he missed the arrival of Chris and Ben. In fact, he remained entirely unaware of their presence until Ben tugged on his sleeve.

“
Whatcha lookin' at?” The boy asked.

Startled from his reverie, Tom tore his eyes from the images. He felt himself still entranced and doe-eyed, symptoms of lingering captivity from the electronic device he had been staring at. Realizing a stupor was still upon him, he blinked rapidly and shook his head before he spoke, banishing both wonder and reproach before either could take further root.

“
Pictures,” he said.

“
Of what?” Ben pressed further, pushing up on tip-toes for a better look at the screen of the computer-like object.

Tom watched the older man cover the device with the sectioned rubber and return it to his rucksack. The officer seemed content to allow Tom to divulge that information, if he so chose.

“
Of me,” Tom answered at last.

“
We did find the right person.” The Major stood from his crouch. “Outstanding.”

The Shepherd marshaled his considerable patience with a long breath. “Why me?”

Vargas shrugged but offered an easy smile. “That, I don't know. The 'why' was outside of my pay grade.”

Both men seemed to be waiting for the other to do something. Nearly a minute passed before the marine spoke again. “Your silence is not encouraging.”

Tom's mind was racing to accept what he had seen and heard, as well as discern the possibilities and implications thereof. There was so much to consider; to be expected to speak about it so quickly was almost overwhelming and possibly unfair.

Vargas must have interpreted Tom's lack of response as stemming from something unfavorable, for he frowned and spoke with disappointment in his voice. “Are you telling me that you'd prefer to stay out here?” He looked pointedly at the boy and older man flanking Tom. “That you'd rather have your people remain in the field, with all the dangers it presents? You have the opportunity to offer something meaningful to those traveling with you; food, shelter, medicine. Safety. Possibly even purpose, once you see the city and the people who call it home.”

The marine's comment about purpose struck a chord with the Shepherd, but probably not in the way it had been intended.
A true leader understands the role purpose plays in keeping people united and motivated
, he thought, grudgingly admitting how enticing that part of the invitation was.
He's presumptuous to think he has purpose and I do not, or that his purpose is greater than mine.

The Shepherd took another few moments to assess the marine and his kit. The man himself had only a few days growth of beard, and his hair was cut close to the scalp. His eyes were clear and focused, watching Tom with what seemed to be patience and awareness. Vargas even stood like an officer; aware of his posture and bearing, how those intangibles spoke volumes about his readiness and authority.

The man himself also seemed... fuller, was the only way Tom could describe it. More solid. While no hulking brute such as the marine with shotgun at the officer's side, Vargas was still a solidly-built individual. There was something else to the mass, however. Well-fed but trim and athletic. Not lean or so thin that he bordered on gaunt, which more accurately described how the Shepherd thought he and his companions must look to these others. This feature, perhaps more than anything else, told the Shepherd that something was indeed very different about these military men.

The marine's uniform had clearly seen wear, but was not heavily stained or torn or patched. His gear, from the armored vest and load-bearing equipment to the carbine beside his rucksack, all seemed used without being on its last legs.
None of it can be more than five or six years old. It's certainly not twelve or fifteen,
Tom thought.
This guy is the real deal
.
But where did he come from? And why is he really here?

Long seconds ticked by and the officer spoke. “Take a picture, son. It'll last longer.” He grinned a heartbeat later, white teeth clashing with his darkened complexion. “On a more serious note, perhaps it's best to let this sit a while. Give everyone time to process what's happened: figure out any questions they may have, reservations or concerns to address, etc. Is that acceptable to you, Mr. DuPuis?”

He's smooth, I'll give him that
, Tom thought. He nodded to the Major.

“
Alright. Reconvene here at 0600?” Vargas waited for a reply.

Tom found himself nodding again. “Shouldn't take long to wrap things up and we'll still have the whole day ahead of us.”

The Major's smile broadened. “Excellent. That leaves only one matter left to discuss.”

Tom waited for an explanation. When none came, he arched an eyebrow at the older man. “Yes?”

“
Would you be willing to allow my team to stay in the building?” The marine held both hands out before him, palms toward Tom, as though saying 'hold on a sec'. “This place seems big enough for all of us. Thought you could stay here and we could sack out in the offices, or vice versa, if you prefer. As I'm sure you are well aware, it's usually safer to be indoors after nightfall.”

The Shepherd nodded, more to himself this time.
Clever to appeal to my reason
, he thought.
Provide the illusion of choice when you out-gun us, possibly out-man us, in order to appear principled and concerned with civic constraint. “Why use iron when silk will suffice?” That's what Father Jacob would say. I think he would also tell me to be very careful around you.
To the marine, he said, “I have no objections to sharing our roof with you.” He paused before adding, “Sleep well, if you sleep.”

“
Right,” Vargas said. “We'll be in the adjoined offices on the left, just past this door.” Without turning from Tom, he pointed to the doorway behind him. “We'll maintain light discipline for the evening unless something untoward happens. There will be a man on watch, so if you need anything; food, water, poor conversation... just let us know.” The officer must have thought his attempt at humor missed its mark, since his face became neutral and his tone formal. “Good night. We'll see you in the morning.” He nodded to the small group.

Tom watched Vargas pick up his pack and weapon, and without another word, make his way to the door. Instead, the Sergeant gave orders in a deep, melodic voice, slinging his shotgun and following the Major. “Turner, let Davis know we need him inside, then you're on security. Nadeau, clear out the rooms and set us up...” The rest was lost behind the soft 'thud' of the hall door being closed.

“
At least they left my rifle.” Chris' voice was gruff and no doubt intended to lighten the mood, but it was too strained. More quietly, he added, “For what it's worth, I saw a field radio and at least seven men.” Then he slipped away to retrieve the weapon left against the wall by the door.

Tom looked to his other companions. Janessa was only now rising, having remained crouched the entire time the marines were in the room. She winced as she stood, groaning as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“
Pins 'n' needles, pins 'n' needles,” she chanted.

Ben stayed close to Tom, but watched Chris with a singular focus while the older man approached the door. When Chris made no overture to leave, the boy looked at Tom.

“
Toby doesn't look so good,” Ben said in a hushed tone.

Janessa's sibling was pale, clearly shaken by the encounter with the Major. A tell-tale shudder passed through him briefly, the last sign that something was amiss. His eyes, which had been wide and unfocused, rolled up and closed as he pitched forward, crumpling to the floor.

The young woman cursed. She caught her brother's head and shoulders before they hit the concrete, lowering him gently those last few inches. When he was all the way down, she slid Toby's pack beneath his head, untangled his arm from the sling of his rifle and placed the weapon beside him. She rose again and this time a hiss of breath accompanied her wince.

“
Happens sometimes, when he gets nervous. Learned about it when he passed out in class, giving a presentation about what it was like to grow up in Puerto Rico. Locked his knees and down he went. I told him not to do it anymore. Idiot.” She shook her head, equal parts exasperation and doting love. “He should be fine in few minutes.”

Tom acknowledged Janessa with a nod, but had his eyes on Chris. The older man remained at the door even after he had recovered his .30-06. The older man stood with his ear pressed against the portal. Eventually, he carefully cracked open the door to check the short hallway beyond. His cursory examination must have failed to reveal anything of interest; only seconds later, he closed the door every bit as carefully as he had opened it. Seemingly more at ease with the situation, Chris returned to where the others waited.

The four of them stood together quietly for a few minutes, the only sounds an occasional muffled 'thump' or scrape from the offices where the marines made ready their camp, and the level draw of their own breath. The older man, the boy, the woman and the Shepherd regarded each other and their surroundings while they considered their predicament.

Chris broke the silence. Resting his gaze on Tom, he inclined his head and asked respectfully, “What do you think, Shepherd?”

Tom's brow furrowed and he pulled at his lower lip.
What indeed, teacher-mine? None of this is as I planned
, he thought.
But you and the others did your best to prepare me for it. You trained me, instructed me, told me what to expect. Here we are, with you prompting me to play my part. I begged for this, sacrificed and suffered for this and now that the moment is here... Would I trade places with you, old friend? Even if it were not my role to lead us, could I bring myself to follow another person's instruction, after all this time on my own?

Looking from Chris to Janessa and down to Ben, Tom saw three pairs of eyes focused on him. Waiting for him to speak. Waiting for his decision. He held those gazes for a few heartbeats while he weighed each of these people and their options.

“
I think we go with them,” the Shepherd said at last, “and here's why. Even if they didn't out-man us, they out-gun us. They are trained to work together, where we hardly know each other. If it comes to conflict, they most likely win. While I don't believe any of us are afraid to die, it's a crime of the highest order to do so without trying to make a difference.

“
That having been said,” he continued, “I don't believe they intend us any harm. If our capture was their goal, it would have been much easier for them to subdue us while we made camp or crept into the building while we slept.”

“
Or ambush us when we left,” Chris offered.

The Shepherd nodded to the older man. “If they meant to take us by force, there were a number of other ways that meeting could have gone. But they didn't. So they have a vested interest in our co-operation. Or at least maintaining the appearance of co-operation.”