When the boat ramp was in sight, Tom stopped the group. Indicating the shack, he spoke to the others in a low tone. “Let's give it a couple minutes, just to make sure. Better safe than sorry.”
The others nodded. Looking at Greg, the Shepherd addressed the large man directly. “I'm going to take a look around the ramp, make sure there's no one camping it on the other side. If it looks clear after that, I'll head out first and you guys join me. If it's suspect, I'll come back here. If I'm not back here or out by the shack in fifteen minutes, take Angie and Ben back to where the creek dumps into the river. I'll rejoin you there if I can. If that happens and you don't see me in an hour... you're on your own.” Seeing the concern on their faces, he offered reassurance. “It won't happen. But it's always good to have a back-up plan.” Winking at the boy, Tom slipped away.
He circled off to the north, staying low and remaining behind trees and bushes wherever he could. Time was of the essence, so he was unable to be as discreet as he would have preferred. Nevertheless, he felt confidant that he reached the end of the boat ramp without being detected. Once there, he was equally confidant that there was no one present to detect his arrival. Knowing he still had time to wait and see, Tom watched the shack and canoes a while longer before accepting that they were unguarded.
Time to get to work, he thought as he broke cover and moved down the paved incline. Striding across the broken blacktop, he made his way directly to the door of the small shack. Stopping only long enough to free his kukri from its sheath, Tom pulled hard on the door, intent on surprising who or whatever might be inside. What was left of the knob came free in his hand, and that separation caused the door itself to fall into broken pieces at the front of the bent wooden building. The shack shook alarmingly for a few tense seconds before settling with an even more pronounced lean. Through it all, no one emerged from the small structure to confront the Shepherd. My, Tom thought sheepishly, that was graceful.
Noticing movement, Tom saw it was his new companions coming to join him. While they did so, his kukri made quick work of the ropes securing the canoes to their poles. He had cut the last rope when Greg moved alongside him and picked up one end of the closest boat. Tom sheathed his long knife and grabbed the other end. The two men took the canoe to the river bank and set it on the water's surface. The large man looked as though he meant to climb into the boat once it was on the water, but Tom stopped him with a shake of his head. They splashed ahead just a few more steps, far enough for the craft to be completely supported by the water. With a heave, Tom and Greg pushed it out and away. They stood mid-thigh in cold water and watched as the wooden object was carried further and further away by a current moving with just one purpose: reach the Atlantic.
“Four more to go,” the Shepherd said over the rush of the river.
While the two men loosed the remainder of the canoes, Angela and Ben stored their meager supplies in the craft Tom had selected for their passage. During one return trip to the boats, the Shepherd saw them watching him and the other man work. For a moment, he was moved by the image of the woman by the water's edge: her hands resting on the shoulders of the boy standing before her. It was a vision of serenity and hope. It's wholesomeness resonated with his sense of holy purpose and seemed like something from scripture given form to inspire those who beheld it. He wanted to believe anyone who saw it would be urged to return the world to a more peaceful way.
When only the one canoe remained, Greg and Tom brought it to the water's edge. While they waited for Angie and Ben to climb in, the Shepherd unbuckled his belt and placed it in the boat with the supplies. The two men then carried the craft into the river and climbed aboard just as they found the current. Catching hold of the curved wooden hull, the water bore the canoe away. In short order, Tom and Greg had their respective oars in hand and paddled across the waterway.
They made good time, only being swept downstream a dozen yards when the reached the other side. Tom dropped his oar near his seat and splashed into cold, waist-deep water. He grabbed the front of the canoe and began pulling it ashore. Greg joined him presently and the task was quickly finished. Still, the Shepherd had them carry the craft just a bit further up the rocky bank, stashing it in a cluster of granite and juniper. A few minutes and some felled pine branches completely concealed the canoe from the opposite bank.
“If you need to eat, drink or do your necessary, now's the time,” Tom said. “Not planning on stopping again until we find suitable shelter.”
He looked up and squinted, buckling his belt back on. A few puffy clouds hung like cotton balls floating across the sea of the sky and the sun was just past its zenith. Should be fair weather through the night, he thought. It'll be late afternoon by the time we get back to where I stashed my gear. We should stay in that house, if it's secure enough.
The Shepherd kept watch while his companions ate a sparse lunch. He was considering how best to ask his questions when the Sentry approached, chewing on the remains of a carrot.
“What do you see?” The large man asked in his deep voice.
“Some ground to cover and things to do before nightfall. You up for it?” Tom favored the other man with a conversational tone.
Greg nodded. “Of course.” He swallowed, hard. “I haven't yet thanked you for getting us out of there or bringing Angie's boy back to her.” Seeing Tom ready to speak, the Sentry held up a hand by way of asking him to wait a moment. “Thank you for doing what I could not and not holding it over our heads. I'm grateful for what you've done, stranger. So understand I mean no disrespect when I ask where you're taking us and why.”
The Shepherd blinked at the Sentry before turning back in the direction of the town. He pointed southwest with his left hand, almost as though he were signaling in semaphore fashion. “The 'where' is that way, 'bout three miles as the crow flies.” Tom lowered his hand. “As to the 'why'...” He shook his head. “The Lord has his reasons. Once we're in a place where the three of you can stay for a while, I'll be on my way. Unless it works out that we all want to find a place to wait out the winter together.”
The larger man offered no response, so instead stood with the Shepherd while they waited for their two companions. It wasn't long before Angela and Ben joined them, having covered their toilet and with it the remains of their meal. “We're ready now aren't we, Ben?” Angie asked while tousling his hair.
Ben nodded. Looking up at Tom, he asked his own question. “Where are we going?”
“Back to town, close to where we met yesterday. You remember that place?” The young man waited for the boys reply.
“Sort of,” was all he said.
“We'll want to be there before dark. Might as well get going.” Tom ascended the riverbank, steeper here than where they had crossed last night. “Stay together and be quiet. Keep your eyes open. It's a ways to walk, but we'll make it.”
The best part of the afternoon had passed when they finally reached the house with the weeping willow in the front yard. They might have arrived sooner, but the Shepherd took great care to avoid the horde from the day before and this caused two delays. The first was in how he swung their course nearly a mile wide of the road where Knife-Man had been offered as a sacrifice. Not only did he feel it unnecessary for the others to see Knife-Man's remains, but he suspected several Turned would be laying in wait near the body. Since the bones were no doubt picked clean, those creatures would not be waiting for the hunger to return and guide them back to the corpse. No, like any cagey predator, they would await the arrival of other animals to investigate the carcass. Why search out your prey if it could be made to come to you?
The second time sink were all the stops. Every mile or so, Tom would have them hunker down in a garage or behind a road block while he checked ahead and behind. Traveling over concrete and asphalt made clearing their tracks unnecessary. He was more concerned with being caught by stragglers that had split off or wandered away from the horde that had set upon them yesterday. So the Shepherd would periodical
ly range ahead to ensure the road was not only passable but devoid of potential conflict. Once he determined the way was safe and that they were not being followed, Tom would return to his companions and urge them on.
When at last they arrived at their destination, he considered their trek most fortunate. Only once were they required to alter course after going to ground, and it seemed they drew no attention during any part of the trip. The variation at the end of their journey brought them to the rear of the house they sought and this suited the small group just fine. While it was unlikely anyone would be watching the building, or anything on the road for that matter, they would present a smaller profile behind the structure. One of the rules for moving about in the open world was to minimize attention: the less of it you drew, the better.
So they found themselves moving through the backyard of long, narrow lot with grass nearly as tall as the rickety fence that had marked a property line, in days gone by. They passed an above-ground pool that had long since collapsed under the weight of untold amounts of snow, ice and rain and was mostly covered by grass and weeds.
In short order, they were leaning against cracking, weather-worn wood siding, where the Shepherd had instructed them to stay together on one side of the back door. Seeing everyone behind him, he gave a thumbs-up and turned back to the door. GP in hand, Tom was poised for entry when he felt a strong grip on his arm. He turned back to Greg, who looked frantic.
“What's wrong?” Tom whispered, his voice low more out of habit than fear of being heard by something else.
“You think there's something in there we need to worry about?” The Sentry glanced at Tom's revolver.
“No. Going in ready is generally best for everyone. You know: better safe than sorry.”
Greg did not seem relieved by Tom's response. “Shouldn't I have something? Your knife, maybe? Just in case. Like you said: better safe than sorry.”
The Shepherd narrowed his eyes. “Can you use it? Properly?”
Greg hesitated before he answered. “The pointy bit goes in the other guy. How hard can it be?”
Tom shook his head slightly. I've got enough to worry about without wondering if this guy will cut one of us when he misjudges the weight or curve. Tom posed another question to the Sentry, instead.
“Both eyes work?” Greg nodded. “Both hands?” Another nod. “Then you've got what you need. Anything else is just icing on the cake.” With that, the Shepherd turned back to the house and checked the door.
Finding it unlocked, he carefully and quietly turned the brass-colored knob until the latch gave way with a rusty 'click'. The door itself was swollen in the frame and required substantial effort to open. When it did, it was with a shuddering, wobbling creek. Tom winced and pulled the warped wood far enough away from the frame so that Greg would be able to squeeze his shoulders through.
The Shepherd slid through the doorway into the room beyond. Keeping his back to the wall, he slid around the left side of what was once a family room or den of some kind. He took in the fireplace in the center of the far wall, chairs, couches and bookshelves lining the rest of the walls. Under a pile of ceiling beams and a bed, no doubt from the room above, were the remains of an entertainment center. Ducking under a window, Tom continued his way along the wall to the open doorway leading out of this once cozy chamber.
He heard Greg push his way into the room with a grunt and watched the large man move to the other side of the doorway Tom himself had reached. They waited for Ben and Angie and when the woman was at last in the house, Tom looked back at her and pointed at the door. She turned from him long enough to pull it closed, and it let forth a groan that made the four of them cringe.
With everyone at last inside, it was time to check the place over completely. Though it was cursory, Tom had them sweep the ground floor of the two-story ranch and when that was done, he had them gather in the front room of the house. As the small group took a momentary respite before clearing the basement and second floor, they marveled at the front wall of the room they occupied.
Somehow, the large picture window that dominated the wall facing the road had survived without a scratch. The blinds pulled off to one side, it offered an unimpeded view of the driveway, overgrown lawn and weeping willow in the front yard. It would also provide those in that same yard vantage of the message sprawled across the back wall of the room. In faded, peeling paint, “Abandoned Hope” was written in large letters that took up most of the wall.
The Shepherd studied his companions after seeing the writing on the wall. He noted that whatever relief they had momentarily enjoyed now vanished in light of that old message. While not moved to tears, a more somber note entered their reverie.
Greg sighed, as if ready to say something. Tom regarded the larger man, who remained quiet in spite of himself. Only after the Shepherd prompted him did the Sentry speak at last.
“I thought I recognized this house,” he rumbled.
When Greg's silence stretched from moments to nearly a minute, Tom prodded further. “Care to elaborate?”
The large man seemed to consider Tom's question briefly before replying. When he did, the quiet in his voice stemmed from more than simply being soft-spoken. “We checked this place a few months after it all went south, that first spring after the End.” He paused. “Don't think we'll find anything here, but take a look if you need to. We'll wait for you in the den.” Greg put an arm around Angie's shoulders and with his other hand nudged Ben toward the back of the house.
Tom watched them go, running his tongue over the front of his teeth. Smacking his lips, he looked first at the door beside the picture window in the front room, then to the stairs at the end of the hall just on the other side of the doorway he was standing in. Might as well finish it, he thought. Five or six more minutes won't be the difference between my stuff still being in that car or not. His stomach gurgled in protest. He could almost taste the peas and venison jerky stored in his pack. Properly motivated, he set off down the hall to check the rest of the house.
2.5
Upstairs, the first two rooms held no surprises for the Shepherd. The bathroom had a dry toilet and a shower stall that was sinking into the floor, and the bedroom across from it appeared to have belonged to a teenage girl, before the house was abandon. The third room he checked was a bit different, as it had the collapsed floor. An open window sat in the middle of a rot-infested wall that exposed the adjacent property. Tom surmised that the window had been left open sometime before the autumn rain and winter snow set in. That amount of moisture would weaken the floor, especially if it happened several years in a row with no treatment or maintenance.
The master bedroom told a vastly different story. A pair of skeletons lay heaped in a pool of golden sunlight atop the disheveled bed. The bones were dark and free of flesh or muscle, and no organs lay within. Instead, it seemed the remains floated in the midst of a dark gray cloud of rotting fabric and mold. The droppings around the bed spoke of the many animals that had come and gone since the rooms occupants had passed, no doubt eating their fill and depositing a parting gift before leaving the couple in peace.
Covering his nose and mouth before entering the room, Tom moved close enough to make the briefest of surveys. He noted the size, shape and depth of scrapes and chinks on the bones, knew several different animals would be responsible for them. He saw the pear-shaped bottle and stemmed glass on the nightstand, both caked with dust. An overturned container disgorged the powdered remains of pills long-since disintegrated.
On his way out of the room, the Shepherd examined the door. The part of it that faced the hall was heavily marked, deeply dented and scratched, with the hinges pulled nearly free of both door and frame. Old, faded splotches discolored the wood in the hall near the door and trailed from the master bedroom to the room with the hole in the wall. The history of the house began to take form in Tom's mind and it made him frown. Greg's reluctance to see all of this again was not only understandable but completely agreeable.
Once downstairs, the Shepherd watched the yard and street beyond through the small octagonal window set deep in the thick wood. Some time passed with no sign of activity, so he quietly opened the door and let it slowly drift open a few inches. Another period of watching with a similar lack of activity. Opening the door another few inches, just enough to slip through, Tom made his way out and down the steps. Staying low, he crossed a small swath of grass to the cracked driveway and stopped beside the car. Though he was certain as could be that he and his small troupe were alone here, he nevertheless acted as though they were not. Learning that habit gets you ahead, he could hear Sam say. Staying in that habit keeps you alive.
Tom slowly lifted the handle on the rear passenger door. Minimizing noise and visible motion, the Shepherd retrieved his belongings one by one. His coat was first, and was placed on the leaf-covered driveway while he reached for his backpack. This joined his coat next to the car's flat tire as, using both hands, he pulled his rifle from bench seat. He briefly touched his forehead to the weapon's stock before resting it beside his other effects, careful not to bump the scope mounted along the weapon's top.
Reaching in for the last object, Tom felt complete as he removed his hat from the cab floor. He brushed hair from his forehead and took a moment to rest the cover atop his head. The relief he felt rivaled that of when his gun belt and kukri were returned to him. Pulling the front brim of the floppy boonie hat tighter on his crown, Tom slung his pack and picked up the rifle and coat. A glance up, down and across the road confirmed he was still alone, so he crept back to the front door of the house.
What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh Page 11