A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) (24 page)

“
Didn't know how many were out there,” he replied to Turner at last. He watched as some beasts loped to the outbuildings, sniffing along the base of the structures, where the foundations or base boards made contact with the bright green grass and dark brown mud. “Didn't know if they'd have any climbers, or if they'd find a way in that we didn't think of.” He noticed a number of the creatures had disappeared off to the left, in the vicinity of the barn, though he had yet to hear any more gunshots from that building. “Mostly, I didn't want the weaker shooter firing over my shoulder if we had to come back into this room with a mob right behind us, because our stair sentries had been overrun.”

The Shepherd saw two of the horrors standing just below the window. He didn't know if they'd heard him talking or had seen him approach the window. Maybe they could smell him. However it happened, they knew he was above them, and they scrabbled and clawed at the wood siding of the house for all they were worth. Hissing, growling, snapping their teeth, they spat and jumped and slid around on the side of the house, too stubborn to give up on the meal just above them, or too stupid to understand that regardless of how close it was, they simply could not get what they wanted.

Crossing to the next window, the Shepherd stopped near the man with the crosses branded onto his flesh. “Darrow, is it?”

The man nodded.

“
Those are your men in the barn, right?”

He nodded again.

“
Why did they shoot at you earlier, when we were headed over there?”

Darrow shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Tom looked out the window. “Not a fan of guessing. When I guess wrong, it tends to get people hurt, or worse.” He continued looking at the front yard, past its sea of crosses to where the lawn met the tree line. When Darrow did not take up the cue, Tom spoke. “Though if I had to guess,” he looked back at Darrow, “and it looks like I have to, I'd be inclined to say either they didn't recognize you, or you'd all agreed that anyone seen with us had been compromised. Sound about right?”

Darrow returned Tom's stare mutely, but the other man's eyes lacked resolve. His focus draining as his commitment faded, his gaze fell to the floor and his head sagged in turn. It was like watching a balloon deflate; the needle being his understanding, the out rush of air his acceptance and the limp, empty sack that remained was his conviction.

He knows he'll die here
, Tom thought. Taking a chair, he spun it toward Darrow, offering it to the other man. “Why don't you have a seat, Mr. Darrow? Since you're already dead to your brothers out there, why don't you make your sacrifice worth something to those of us who want to live?”

Tom sat on his haunches, elbows on knees, before the defeated man. “What else have you learned about the Turned?”

Darrow sat, quiet and still. He looked at Tom briefly before averting his eyes. The man's gaze stayed on the floor when Vargas came over and leaned down to speak to the Shepherd..

“
Begging your pardon, as you seem to have the most experience for the situation at hand, but I'm compelled to ask: is now really the time for this, Mr. DuPuis? Should we really be allowing him-” a nod at Darrow, “-to become more a focus than he already is?”

Thinking that Darrow might need to be drawn in to conversation, rather than coerced or prodded, Tom replied to Vargas in the same tone. “Given our current situation, we should remain calm, conserve our energy and focus on our surroundings. We're in a 'lull' period, right now; we can't leave yet and attacking them draws the wrong kind of attention. As much as it tries our collective patience, we have to wait.” He took a breath. “The Turned are checking the house, probing for weaknesses-”

“
You're giving them too much credit,” Darrow muttered. “Yes, they're looking for a way in, but that's all. They're hungry and their food is inside: no mystery there. You killed a lot of them on the stairs, so they're looking for a different way. If they can find one, they'll use it. If not, they'll be back. Like animals, they have a sense of self-preservation, but they're able to override it for other basic drives. They have a singular commitment to whatever they're focused on.”

Darrow licked his lips and continued, eyes on the Shepherd. “Most things value their own life above everything else, even humans. Lots of folks will say they have something worth dying for, but very few will actually put their life on the line for it. Living outweighs the sense of purpose, becomes it's own means and end. Not with them.” He gestured to the window, where the Turned milled and searched. “They're more like dogs than people.”

Tom glanced at Chris before asking Darrow, “How do you mean?”

“
A dog has an inborn sense of purpose: to serve. As alpha or omega, it exists to serve the pack. Sometimes as leader, sometimes as follower, sometimes as breeder, sometimes as elder. Whatever the role, however it changes, it all amounts to one thing: the pack must go on. Dogs understand this inherently. They'll lay down their lives, without hesitation or regret, for the good of the pack. Very few animals on this earth will do that. It's that intrinsic devotion to the pack that humans cultivate in dogs; that's what we can turn into unwavering loyalty. We tap into that to make them love us more than they love themselves, or even life. Where dogs have that single-minded dedication to serve, the Lost have a single-minded dedication to feed, primarily. Other than the differing motivating focus, they're very similar creatures. Once I understood that, it opened a whole world of possibilities.”

Tom felt his skin crawling. “What kind of possibilities?”

“
I used to train dogs, son. When I figured out those things could be motivated by food, it didn't take long to adjust my training regimen to suit them.”

Darrow's statement caused a stillness to settle about the room, and Tom heard audible gasps from Janessa and Turner.

“
See, After It All Fell Apart, my stable was pretty diminished and I only had enough animals to breed out one more generation. Though I took care of them and loved them, God called them back. One by one, as He does with all things in time. Eventually, they were gone. We needed something else to help us hunt and protect what was ours. I needed something else to put my skills toward. The Lost, or Turned as you seem to call them, were the next logical step.”

Darrow had stopped and in the silence that followed, Tom was convinced he could hear the rain hitting timbers on the far side of the house. For a few moments, it felt like the proverbial 'pin drop' would have sounded like a bomb going off.

“
You trained the Turned.” The concept was so foreign to the Shepherd that his statement felt akin to speaking gibberish.

Darrow nodded. “One at a time. It takes awhile, too. The first few took a
long
while, because there was as much learning for me as there was for them. That's always the way of it, though. But eventually, the ones that survived adjusted. They're tough; they can take a lot of damage, they heal fairly quickly and they have a much higher pain tolerance than we do. And they're stupid. They can be crafty, but just like with my shepherds, that cunning is bent to their purpose. Once their goal becomes part of the lesson, the Lost are almost as malleable as my dogs were.”

Again, the man finished speaking and again, an uneasy quiet returned. After another interval, Tom asked, “Where did you train them? Here?”

“
Mostly in the barn. Probably why they're steering clear of it now. They can smell where their fellows were broken or killed.”

Tom shook his head, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. “What did you use them for?”

The other man shrugged. “Same things I used my shepherds for; hunting and protection. They're not as fast as dogs, but they're even more patient. Lot easier to catch an animal with a few extra pairs of hands, even if those hands don't have weapons.”

“
The protection part?” Tom prompted when Darrow trailed off.

“
We were never worried too much about raiders or people from other communities trying to take what was ours. I mean, it happened a couple times, but never twice by the same group. Mostly, we wanted to have something to help deal with the military or government types who were bound to show up.” Darrow's gaze swung up at Vargas, made even more baleful by the cross burned into his flesh above his eyes.

“
You were more concerned about the government than the Turned?” Tom sounded skeptical.

The other man blinked, face softening a bit as he answered. “Not at first. Like I imagine everyone else was, we were worried about being overrun. We definitely wanted extra bodies to help deal with the Lost when they showed up. Strange thing: once we had enough of them around, it seemed like the others couldn't sense us anymore. That, or they just plain lost interest in us. We had to start ranging further and further out in order to find suitable candidates to replace the ones we'd lose. We knew we needed to keep our numbers, because it was just a matter of time before someone in uniform showed up to take what was ours.” Darrow was back to staring at Vargas with murderous intent.

Tom looked from the cross-branded man to the marine and back again. “And did they? Because if so, it seems like you've still done pretty well for yourselves.”

Darrow was grinding his teeth. “That's because they didn't come here. We lived on Square Pond. This was a spare house. We trained the Lost here, kept extra weapons and supplies here. We would come here after meeting other people or visiting other communities, so if we were being followed, we wouldn't lead strangers back home. Some of us were here, waiting for news from Respite, when Scott Baker found us.”

“
What news from Respite?” Tom was curious and thought Chris would be, as well.

“
There was another group ready to leave. The people we had spoken to told us about sightings of men in uniform with military equipment. They also had reservations about a man that joined them a couple years ago. He claimed to be a veteran but wouldn't say where he'd been before arriving at Respite. Some couldn't believe those two things were not somehow connected. Those who saw the signs were getting ready to leave that place and join us.” When Darrow stopped for a breath, it took Tom a great deal of effort not to look at his old mentor.

“
Before we heard from them, Scott stumbled out to us. He was in bad shape before the fifteen mile run, but he was a good boy and didn't pass out 'till after he gave an accounting.” Darrow stopped, visible disturbed.

“
An accounting of what?” Tom asked quietly.

“
Of how the 'Peacekeepers' had come. He said they had come to 'ascertain our safety'. They must have felt us pretty secure, because they took everything of use to them that wasn't nailed down. Weapons, tools, food, clothes.” Darrow's hands, clenched into fists, began to shake with anger. “They needed those things to 'further their mission parameters'. Fifteen years into Purgatory, not having seen hide nor hair of them, and the U.N. needs our supplies to outfit themselves?” He began to raise his voice. “And for what? They had done nothing for us, NOTHING, before they arrived. They had vehicles, machine guns, armor. What did they need
from
us to continue to do nothing
for
us?”

Tom saw Chris lay his rifle in the corner. His former mentor moved, smoothly and silently, to stand less than a foot behind the seated man. The old teacher's hands were perhaps six inches above Darrow's shoulders, ready to grab hold of the other man and, if necessary, restrain him.

Darrow's eyes, wide and brimming with moisture, locked with Tom's. “Even if they needed those things, why did they need our women? Our children?” He choked back a sob, though tears flowed unchecked down his whiskered cheeks. “Scott didn't want to go with them, and when his father tried to stop the soldiers, they killed him. It was the last thing the boy saw before he ran.”

The cross-branded man trembled and sounded as though each breath cost him tremendous effort. After wiping his eyes with open hands, he continued.

“
Knowing there was nothing we could do for our own people, we went to Respite. We thought the U.N. might not have found them yet. Maybe we could get them out or help them hide before the 'Peacekeepers' arrived.” Darrow's eyes again found Vargas's, still full of anger, but tempered with some kind of understanding. “When we found your vehicles, we thought we were too late. We knew we would be next, so we did what we thought we must. We captured the men we found, taking them to use against whoever came looking for us.”

“
But you got the wrong guys.” Tom was still quiet.

Darrow said nothing.

“
Why do you call them 'Lost'?”

The other man answered quietly, as though what he said were rote memorization. “We are all lost, until the Merciful Father welcomes us home. In the beginning, they looked like us, because they were us.”

“
They're very different from us, now,” Tom said.

Darrow nodded. “Something changed inside them, but left them with the face and body of the person they were before. But whatever they are now, they were once like us. That reminded me of what we shared, then and now, how much we have in common.” His voice became softer. “How anyone can... question their purpose.”

Tom pressed on. “You mean have a lapse of faith?”

“
Even if only for a moment. The masses had the misfortune of having their lapse right before Armageddon, and so have been punished for it. Time has only made them more fierce and terrible looking, as the physical husk withers and warps to reflect the struggle and corruption within. Now, they can be seen for what they really are: a damned soul in a tortured body awaiting God's mercy or His final judgment.” While still quiet, Darrow sounded more passionate with every word he spoke.