A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) (30 page)

Behind him, Tom heard raised voices; Vargas and Turner were having a heated exchange.

“
Didn't you hear him, sir? The entire area is at risk. We need to get out of here, right freakin' now!”

“
Couldn't agree with you more, Corporal. But our orders are clear: we are to return Mr. DuPuis to Quebec. Not whatever 'staging area' Captain Sobakov will be removing us to.”

Turner began to splutter. “You're going to put everyone else in danger and defy a direct order from a Peacekeeping field officer so you can-”

Major Vargas spoke loudly enough to be heard over an explosion, his voice resonant with presence and authority. “We are completing our mission, Corporal. A mission that was assigned to us by due process from a Command appointed and approved by the civilian government that rules this nation. We, as members of that nation's military, are bound by our oaths and honor to fulfill those orders.”

Tom glanced over his shoulder. He saw Turner and Vargas, less than a foot from each other. The radio operator's face was twisted in contempt as his commanding officer continued to chew him out. For his part, the Major was now jabbing a finger at the Russian Captain. “He has no authority here. Only N.A.T.O.-led forces are permitted to act on American soil. For God's sake, would you stop being afraid and start being a marine-”

Turner's face instantly became one of shock. “You're a Patriot,” he said quietly. “I knew it.”

Whatever effect that accusation was intended to have, the Major offered no reaction. The two men stared at each other for a couple of seconds before Tom interjected.

“
We're leaving now. Right, Vargas?”

The Major nodded, not breaking eye contact with Turner. The Corporal took a step back from Vargas, then turned on his heel and went to Sobakov.

Standing beside the Russian, Turner spoke. “Captain, my commanding officer seems to have forgotten there are international standards for safety and conduct in nations designated with 'crisis' status. As he has taken leave of his senses, might I remand myself in to your custody and accompany you to the prearranged staging area?”

“
Da”, the U.N. soldier intoned. “A hostile combatant surrendering to a Peacekeeping agent. As prisoner, I will not refuse you safe passage.” He looked at Vargas. “One of your men killed one of mine, and after we rescue you, no less. How else could we classify you, other than hostiles?” The Russian smiled.

“
But that wasn't one of us,” Turner began. “Everyone that's still alive is-”

“
Be that as it may, Corporal, we've no way to prove it.” Vargas's tone was clipped. “One of his men is dead, not one of ours.” To the Russian, he said, “For the record, Captain, my report will state that shot fired by an unknown party. Whoever it was could just as easily have planned to attack my men, but recognized the S.A.W. as a greater threat.”

Turner paled and swallowed hard. With one of the Peacekeepers covering him with an assault rifle, the Corporal removed his carbine from it's sling and dropped it to the ground.

“
Radio, too,” the Major said. “Both of them. And the recording equipment.”

Sobakov's smile faded, but not entirely. The Russian watched Turner remove the field radio from his back, set it beside the weapon. A couple of small devices on his L.B.E. and accompanying ear piece followed.

“
It's dangerous here, right? Then we'd best get a move on.” The Shepherd spoke before the situation could be further aggravated.

Sobakov gestured to his men, spoke curtly in that harsh sounding, foreign language Tom heard earlier. The other Peacekeepers began to fall out, one trailing behind Turner, rifle on the 'prisoner'. When his men were moving down the incline and back into the trees to the west, the Russian turned back to Tom and the others. His voice was ominous.

“
Seeing the Infected active during the day, in so large a group and in the rain... it is an ill omen. You should go, Major. I believe the saying is 'good luck'.”

The large man left them then. As he rejoined his team, Tom heard Sobakov say something else in that strange language. Two Peacekeepers in the front of their small formation quickened pace, moving ahead of the others just before all of them were lost to sight.

The Shepherd also noticed a look pass between Dettweiler and Vargas. It was discreet and lasted but a moment. While unable to decipher its meaning, Tom knew it pertained to something significant, whatever the context. Vargas shook his head slightly and the Sergeant seemed to accept whatever that meant. Tom understood that, whatever had transpired, volumes had been communicated in those few motions.

“
Let's move,” Vargas said.

The Major again took point, Tom close behind. Janessa and Dettweiler followed, while Preston brought up the rear. Since Preston was closest to where Turner had left his weapon and radio, he had been the one to scoop up the carbine and now used it to cover their tails.

“
Think the Major shoulda shot him, Sarge?” Preston kept his voice low when he passed the field radio and recording equipment to Dettweiler.

“
Absolutely,” the large man replied. “But not in front of the Peacekeepers. That would have ended badly for everyone. All things considered, I don't think there was any other way for that to play out.”

Dettweiler flashed Tom a look, and he understood the marines did not want him repeating their brief conversation. The Shepherd nodded before moving up the line to share point with the Major, ready to assist in directing the group back to the vehicles. This proved unnecessary, as the Major seemed to have sound instincts, a good memory and the command of land navigation that comes with years of being outdoors. Twelve or thirteen minutes at a brisk pace found them within sight of the trucks.

The Shepherd instructed the others to follow him for the last fifty yards, to guide them around the traps he and Chris had set earlier. Once they had past those dangers, Vargas and Preston wasted no time starting a sweep of the area. Dettweiler unlocked the truck devoid of occupants, popped the hood and opened the cargo door at the back. He placed the field radio and recording device inside and retrieved a large tool box. The Sergeant was moving to the front of the vehicle when the doors of the other truck opened.

“
Sarge?” Doughty was climbing out of the vehicle. The wounded marine looked from Dettweiler to Tom and Janessa. “Where's everyone else?”

“
Preston and the Major are checking the perimeter. They should be back momentarily.” Dettweiler's voice was distorted, leaned into the engine bay as he was.

Doughty blinked. “What about-”

“
That's it, Private. We're all that's left, and we're leaving.” The Sergeant sounded matter-of-fact. “Why don't you help Tom and Janessa organize the trucks? I'm sure we need to secure some of our supplies, probably move some things around to make space for our guests.”

Toby and Ben emerged. They came out, stretching and grinning, no doubt pleased to hear a conversation that did not include raised voices or punctuated by violence. Whatever relief they felt at seeing the others was immediately tempered by the sullen expressions on the faces of their returned companions. The finality in Dettweiler's tone could only have driven home the feeling of loss.

“
Roger that, Sarge,” Doughty was quiet. He went around to the back of the truck and opened the cargo door, waving Tom and Janessa over.

Tom and Doughty began to organize the bags, crates and packs strewn about the interior of the vehicle. While they did this, Toby, Ben and Janessa gravitated to each other and the three of them shared a momentary embrace.

Presently, Vargas and Preston came out of the woods. No sooner were they in sight than a series of gunshots sounded. Multiple rounds, fired in quick succession, a mile or more away. Closer to the house where many of them had spent the majority of the day.

Tom was in motion the moment the shots rang out, headed in the direction of the sound. He stopped mid stride when he felt a hand on his forearm. He turned and found Janessa looking at him strangely. Behind the young woman, he saw both her brother and the boy watching him with an intensity that bordered on need.

“
Where are you going?” Her eyes were wide and seemed to say,
Don't leave us here
.
Not alone with them
.

“
That might have been Chris,” he replied. Before he could say more, Dettweiler called out around the front of the other vehicle.

“
It probably was,” the Sergeant had a wrench in one hand as he made his way to where Tom, Janessa and Doughty stood. “My Russian is a bit rusty, but when we were leaving, I think their Captain told a couple of his men to 'kill the sniper'.”

Tom pulled his arm free of Janessa's grasp and took another step... right into Vargas' outstretched hand. Though the Shepherd regarded the marine with obvious anger, the Major spoke in a cool voice. “If that man was your teacher, he cared about what happened to you. He would not want you to put your life, and the lives of others, in danger over some misunderstood definition of loyalty. If that man was your friend, respect his wishes and remember his sacrifice. If he isn't dead... well, he found you once, right? And this time, he knows where you're going.”

The Shepherd was still fuming; jaw working and eyes blazing. Vargas must have understood the younger man's state, as he offered something else. “Death and honor are often thought to be the same thing. The trick for men like us is to know when they are not.”

Tom sighed explosively, barely containing a scream of frustration. He relaxed his hands, allowed clenched fists to become open palms. Finally, his shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to the Major.

“
You're right,” he said at last, his voice eerily calm and quiet.

The Major clapped him on the shoulder. “I'm sorry,” Vargas said simply.

Moving to the nearest vehicle, the officer called out his orders. “We need to get out of here, people. If whoever fired those shots decides to come for us, we do not want to be here when they arrive. Dett, get the winch on your vehicle ready. We'll hook the tow cable on yours to the rear bumper of mine and tow it 'till we're clear. We can finish restoring yours to working order when we're less pressed for time. Doughty, Preston: you're riding with Dettweiler. Mr. DuPuis, would you see that your posse is squared away in my truck?”

Tom nodded and directed Janessa, Toby and Ben into the vehicle Doughty was vacating. Toby and Ben took seats in the middle row with Janessa at the rear. That task completed, Tom took the front passenger seat while Vargas stowed his carbine between the bucket seats at the front of the truck. The marine brought the vehicle to life and rolled it several yards forward before stopping.

Letting the engine run, the Major retrieved his weapon and jumped out. Tom craned his neck around and watched the marines hook up the winch. Vargas assisted his men and when the task was finished, the Major pulled his second in command aside. The officer and the Sergeant talked to each other briefly before the large man nodded, and the two each returned to their respective crews.

The people sharing the vehicle with Tom had not spoken since piling in. Ben now brought an end to that silence.

“
Is he dead?”

“
I don't know,” the Shepherd answered.

“
He's better than Dust. Stronger. Smarter. He should be okay, even though you left him.”

Though Ben's tone suggested sympathy, the child's words were anything but sympathetic. Those words struck Tom harder than any blow he'd ever felt, cut deeper than any blade, and stung worse than any failure, perceived or real. He took a quiet, shaking breath as the weight of the day's activities extracted their toll on him all at once. Physically and emotionally exhausted, it was all he could do to murmur a response to the boy.

“
There's water where God wills it. If He would make it so, Chris will share our Way again.”

Vargas ducked back into the driver's seat, this time closing the door behind him. Glancing at Tom, then in the rear view mirror at those seated behind him, he spoke in an almost fatherly tone.

“
Fasten your seat belts. It's bound to be bumpy and we'll be moving fairly quickly.”

He'd been watching the house for nearly an hour. The color of the sky told him sundown was a half hour away, and the increasing cool told him he would not want to be outside after dark. Though the rain had stopped, it was more than wet enough to cause a man to catch cold. Even one as rugged and seasoned as he was.

Shortly after arriving, he saw a man come out of a window on the second floor and climb down a rope.
That would be Darrow
, he thought.

Upon reaching the ground, Darrow stopped briefly to look around, then moved toward the barn. He stopped on along the way, making a pause as he knelt beside each body laying in the yard. Quickly, his hands moved over their heads and chests, as though he performed Last Rites. Whatever spiritual duties he was attending did not prevent him from acting practically, as well; he scooped up rifles and knives before resuming his trip to the barn. With the sun behind the trees and both main doors opened, the interior of the building was cast in deepest, darkest shadow. Indeed, when Darrow finally reached it, he was immediately swallowed by the cavernous maw of the barn's open doors.

Minutes later, Darrow and another man emerged, this one carrying a bow. Both men had full packs and began to head east. Neither cast so much as a backward glance at the area they had called home. The Hunter watched them go, curious as to where they went and why. While he enjoyed the exercise of entertaining his curiosity, he accepted the fact that satisfying it would have to wait.