A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) (26 page)

“
Half a mile due south, then turn south east. Another mile or so and we should trip over the trucks.” The Hunter paused before adding, “I count six, on the left and behind.”

The Shepherd nodded, saw the blurs around them slow and solidify as they became shapes that were once human. “At least that many ahead and a handful to the right.”

A shift of his pack told Tom his former mentor was facing away from him, the two men now standing back to back. His old teacher asked, “You punching straight through the middle?”

The Turned were emerging from their cover. Stepping out from behind trees, loping over and around rocks, climbing out from dips in the ground. “Might as well,” he replied. “Ready?”

“
Born and died. Let's do this.”

The Shepherd was still for a moment, taking in the hateful, accusatory glares of the creatures that surround him. He noted their position, stance and proximity. He saw the awful intent in their eyes, read the lust on their clay colored faces. One, directly in front of him and fifteen feet away, lowered its head and locked it's gaze with his, licking its lips before it began a trembling growl. Suddenly, it sprang forward with a clipped roar, mouth open in a nearly impossible gape.

The Shepherd felt the weight of the kukri in his grip, and he became one with the moment. His mind emptied as the Way filled him, body and soul. Relaxed and ready, in the blink of an eye, he ceased to be a man and became the instrument of salvation he had trained to be.

Father Jacob's words were the last thing he remembered for some time:
Put your hands to work and your heart to God
.

Tom's hand ached, his wrist hurt and his shoulder was sore. His legs felt thick and his lungs burned behind a dry mouth. They had been harried from the moment they left the clearing, and the number of Turned they killed had done nothing to deter their pursuers. When one beast would fall, another would take it's place, sometimes before the dead one had stopped moving. Chased for so long and by so many, Tom and Chris not only backtracked to shake off their pursuers, but eventually had to split up to lose the mob. Their mile and a half run turned in to three miles, and what should have been a twenty minute exercise instead became well over an hour of heavy effort. Though many of the beasts that followed lost interest the further they got from the house, no shortage yet remained.

At last, Tom had his pursuers down to a manageable three or four. He picked up speed; he knew he was just over a hundred yards from the trucks and he intended to deal with the monsters there. He turned when he heard sounds of a scuffle behind him and saw Chris engaged with one of the horrors. Another creature lay gasping at his feet, clutching the machete sticking out of it's chest between shoulder and neck. The Shepherd was only mildly surprised that the Hunter had found him first and, apparently having followed him, decided to ambush the last of the fiends hounding their trail.

With a surge of renewed energy, Tom raced back to the older man. The last of the Turned was ahead of him, no doubt meaning to reach the old teacher first and with far deadlier design. Tom came up behind the thing quickly, swinging his long knife in a low, short arc that severed the beast's left leg at the knee. Without a second glance, he raised the kukri over his left shoulder and swung it down, wide and to his right, knowing the monster would already be on its way to the ground thanks to his previous blow. Tom felt the slight resistance of it's neck; loose flesh, muscles and spinal cord, then the greater resistance of the heavy blade sinking into the earth. He left it buried there, as there was no time to retrieve it if he was to reach the other man before the struggle ended, and badly.

As he closed with the struggling pair, he saw they were sliding in the mud near a tree. The fiend suddenly pinned Chris against the tree, thrusting its face at the man, jaw working as it gnashed teeth at Chris's face and throat. For his part, the older man seemed to be using the creature's weight and height against it. The mud and grass beneath them would make it difficult for Chris to keep his footing. Tom thought his former mentor was allowing himself to be 'trapped' against the tree so he wouldn't fall down.

One more step and the Shepherd was in range. His left foot shot out, catching the Turned behind it's left knee. While stronger and tougher than an ordinary human, the monster was still bound by the limitations of bio-mechanics. As the joint moved, pushed forward by the Shepherd's foot, the beast also began to sink. Tom shifted weight and direction from moving straight forward to moving straight down. In less than a second, the thing went from standing and pressing Chris against the tree, ready to finish the former teacher, to kneeling before the older man, clawing in an attempt to get upright again. The Shepherd, now standing on the back of the creature's knee, used the rest of the momentum from his quick steps to swing his left elbow at the temple of the horror. Twisting his hips as he did so, Tom felt the blow land so solidly the impact temporarily numbed his forearm.

The Turned was still up, a testament to it's fortitude. Conscious, but clearly dazed; eyes wide and unfocused, head lolling, hands loose on Chris's arms. Not waiting another moment, Chris adjusted his grip on the beast and flung it fully to the ground. Unable to resist, it fell on it's back, glassy eyes on the sky above. It lay there only a moment, blinking and groaning, while the older man regained his footing. The Shepherd watched the Hunter step over the Turned and raise his foot. Tom noticed, not for the first time, how it's skin resembled the heavy clouds overhead before Chris broke it's skull open with three heavy, vicious stomps.

Chris leaned forward, hands on his knees, and breathed heavily.

“
Still got it,” he smiled wearily.

Tom watched the older man for a moment and felt a shared sense of fatigue. The running and fighting had tired him. Anticipating the certainty of having to do both of those things again in the very near future was draining. All the lives in the balance, depending on his success, was a great weight to bear. There were so many things to consider and account for, swimming in the tumultuous mire of his mind. So much sapping his mind and body that, without realizing it, he gave voice to the most important thought in his head.

“
Why are you here?”

His voice sounded strange in his own ears. It was hollow, tired, ungrateful, suspicious, and frustrated, all at the same time. It wasn't the voice of a would-be savior speaking to an equal, of someone looking for clarity of purpose or confirmation of intent. It was the voice of a child, angry that a parent must share an awful truth. Some part of him knew the answer before Chris spoke a word. He knew what was coming, if only in the most general, vague manner.

The two men stood watching each other, catching their breath and shivering in the cold, autumn drizzle. Tom knew his eyes were hard and his face was long, further knew these signs of anger would be recognized by the teacher of his youth. He saw Chris' smile fade, leaving the other to look wet, tired, miserable and old.

Still the younger man stood, defiant and demanding, awaiting his answer.

Looking his former pupil in the eyes, Chris spoke. “It's gone, Tom. New Mont is gone.” The older man pursed his lips and broke eye contact, taking a breath as he pushed himself to stand up straight. “It's probably still standing and might even still be populated, but the place you knew, that I helped build, is no more.” Chris sounded battered, but not defeated, and no less proud.

When Chris began walking to where the vehicles were parked, Tom followed. When he realized he was wrestling with the news, he fought it down. Surprise mixed with disbelief and threatened to form a lasting numbness, had he permitted himself the luxury. But he didn't have the time for it. Nor the inclination, truth be told. Instead, he put those thoughts and feelings on the back burner, allowed them simmer.

Too much on my plate, right now
, he thought.
Too many lives in the balance. Gotta wait to sort through this
. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that when the time came, he would do just that.

“
What do you mean, exactly?”

They walked in relative quiet for a bit, the only sounds their steps and the gentle, whispering brush of the rain's soft kiss on the forest around them.

“
They came for it,” the old teacher said at last.

“
Who?”

Chris turned to Tom with a frown. “Who do you think?”

“
How did they find it?” Tom sputtered.

Chris shrugged. “From the air, most likely. Satellite images over time, coupled with aerial reconnaissance. Maybe the crops got too big, or the herds were spotted. Maybe we had too many structures, or made too much smoke one day. One of the exiles could've found other survivors, talked to the wrong person.” The former mentor shook his head, a mirthless smile on his lips. “One of the other Shepherd's might have been misled about another community and led them right to us. Does it matter?”

Reeling in disbelief, Tom could find nothing to say. The sense of loss, pain and anger he felt left him mute while his old friend continued.

“
Sam saw the first signs. They'd been watching us for a while, at that point. Maybe even before you left. They were good. They changed sites every time they came, covered their tracks. Never stayed in one place for more than a week. It took a while, but we found 'em, eventually. That was an interesting conversation.”

Tom wondered how long they had spoken, Sam and Chris and the men they found. He wondered what else might have been exchanged at that meeting. The elders of New Mont weren't prone to conversation; they were prone to action. If the Hunter and Warden were going to speak to a group of men watching the community, however, what would they have said?

“
What did you do?”

“
There was nothing
to
do. They'd reported the location already, weeks if not months earlier. They were already dialed in on the place, even had a few R.O.P.'s set up. We told them they were unwelcome, discouraged them from staying and advised them never to return.”

Tom was stunned. “You let them go?”

Chris sighed. “There already had cameras in the area. Visual I.D., G.P.S. co-ordinates, the works. Even if we had put every one of them in the ground that day, all it would have done was ensure the next team came ready for that and willing to deal with us. Probably would have moved up the time table, too. Sam and I knew they were just doing their job and even if they wanted to listen, they'd be ordered out for surveillance as soon as they got back to their base. As much as neither of us wanted them around, we didn't want to kill them, either. After all, we had been in their shoes before.”

The trucks were in sight and the old teacher pointed to the far vehicle. “Why don't you let Ben and the others know we're around? Better they know it's us rather than think we're a threat and come out shooting.”

“
Sure,” Tom said at last. He had intended to say more, but Chris was way ahead of him.

“
I'll tell you the rest while we're loading up, unless you want me to install the spark plugs before we grab the gear. That's why you brought them, right?” His former mentor sounded patient, but there was no mistaking the heartache in his voice.

“
It can wait until we're on our way back to the house.” For whatever reason, Tom wanted to keep the matter private. As uncomfortable as it was to think about, let alone speak aloud, it felt like sacrilege to discuss the fall of New Mont in front of strangers.

He was standing by the loading door before he realized it. Raising a hand, Tom rapped briefly on the window before making his way to the driver's door. Within, he saw motions beneath spread blankets and piled packs. He didn't see Ben or Toby and wondered which of the two was moving under the concealment. Another few steps brought him close enough to the driver's window that he could make out the recumbent form of Doughty, stretched out on the reclined driver's seat. He also couldn't miss the 9mm auto pistol the marine had in hand, pointed at him behind the glass. Tom approved of the man's caution and stopped just shy of the door.

The Shepherd noticed how the Private fixed him with a strange look. The marine sat up with a grimace and rolled down the window. Doughty looked right and left, then squarely at Tom. “Where's everyone else?”

“
At a house about two miles from here. We made a lot of noise going through it and the place was surrounded by Turned. Chris and I came back for some things to distract the Turned and make it easier for everyone to escape.” Tom did not mention the fate of Doughty's comrades. It was an oversight, though probably for the best.

The Private nodded. “Well, this is a surprise, but I'm glad it's you.” Seeing Ben emerge from a pile of field kits, backpacks and other bags, he added, “Correction:
we're
glad it's you.”

They boy smiled, looked around and buried himself in the cluster of gear.

Something in the other man's tone snapped Tom back into focus. “What do you mean?”

Doughty blinked some rain water from his eyes before looking back at Tom. “Ten, maybe twelve minutes ago, I could have sworn I heard something on the road.” The marine nodded in the direction of the dirt road. “Vehicle of some kind. Another truck, by the sound of it: way too quiet to be that A.P.C. we saw yesterday. Came and went before I could get a look at it.”

“
Just one?” As much as Tom wanted to think that Doughty had been hearing part of the running battle that had occurred on the way to the vehicles, the road was on the far side of the trucks, the opposite direction from which Tom and Chris had come.