What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh

by Peter Carrier

  Two heartbeats passed between the drubbing on the side of his head and when Tom felt his focus return, but it felt like two hours. In addition to the throbbing in his head, he felt a hand on his face, pressing against his mouth and nose, preventing him from breathing. Tom opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the heel of Shane's palm. While doing this, he put his weight on the knife lodged in the Old Man's body. Even through the pounding in his ears, Tom heard his adversary's ribs give way to the metal of the blade, felt the bone buckle. It started with a slow creek and became a series of rapid snaps that were blocked out by Shane's groan.

  The Shepherd's mouth had nearly filled with blood and flesh before the hand covering his mouth and nose finally cleared away. Dimly, he wondered how much the movement owed to slippage from fluid and loose skin as opposed to pain from the bite. He spat a mouthful of red into the face of his opponent before drawing a great breath into his burning lungs.

  It seemed Shane was not yet finished, however. Releasing his hold on the skinning knife, he brought his right hand up to join his left on Tom's neck. Intent on bringing the Shepherd with him, the Old Man closed his hands like a vice. He squeezed and Tom, who had been leaning down to put pressure on the knife, quickly found himself on one knee.

  The young man would have been able to end the matter quickly if he'd had the knife. Unfortunately, Shane shifted as he began to wring the Shepherd's neck and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter, just out of reach. Grabbing Shane's wrists, Tom felt his knee become warm, then wet. This can't be my end, he thought. On my knees in a pool of another man's blood.

  The Shepherd heard a noise behind him and for one terrible moment thought someone else had entered the house. Heart competing for space in his tightening throat, Tom took his right hand from Shane's wrist and put it on the grip of his revolver. So much for getting out of here without firing a shot, he thought. Better put down the Old Man so I can deal with whoever that is. He was ready to draw when he saw a change of expression on the face of his foe. The chain reaction gave him pause, so his gun remained in its holster even when he heard quickened steps coming up directly behind him.

  Enmity became surprise, turned to disbelief. Then the face above him was unreadable, as a worn, wooden rifle stock blocked it from view. Janessa had to hit the butcher twice before he would relinquish his grip on Tom's throat. But she didn't stop there. Even after Shane let go of the Shepherd and slumped against the island, the young woman continued striking him with the butt of her rifle. She followed him to the floor, kneeling beside his body, driving the stock with savage fury. She had smashed his face into a flat, unrecognizable sheet when Tom squatted down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  Holding her tightly, he spoke quietly. “Hey, hey. You got him. Save your strength.”

  Janessa glared at him and Tom took his reproach in stride. “Alright,” he said. “At least give your rifle a rest.” He squeezed her once more before releasing her and standing up. Looking down at her, he smiled.

  “Thank you.” He offered his hand, which she accepted after wiping her eyes.

  When she had regained her feet, she blinked her eyes a few times. “You know, if you hadn't taken my bolt, I could've shot him. Would've been faster.” She looked at him deadpan for a heartbeat before cracking a slight smile.

  Tom picked up his kukri and cleared his throat. “Yeah, but that was more satisfying. At least, it seemed that way to me.”

  She held out one hand, palm up and cleared her own throat. After a couple of seconds, she arched an eyebrow.

  Tom made a clicking noise with his tongue and pointed at the young woman. “Right,” he said.

  He reached inside his coat and removed that vital piece of her weapon. He looked at the shaped metal rod, then at Janessa. Placing the bolt on her outstretched palm, he held onto it a moment longer. He waited for appreciation to light on her features. When he was satisfied she understood there was more than a physical object passing between them, he spoke without a trace of his earlier playfulness. “Don't make me regret this.”

  She nodded once and seated the bolt as Tom returned her ammo. While she reloaded her rifle, he retrieved his pack and hat. While crossing back to Janessa, he finally remembered the Sentry. The large man had watched the entire exchange from one corner of the kitchen, still as a statue. The Shepherd looked from him to the pile of haphazardly stuffed packs Janessa had brought from upstairs.

  “Think you could carry those packs to the barn after we cut you loose, Greg?”

  The large man nodded more vigorously than Tom would have thought, given the extent of his injuries. Retrieving a cutting implement from a knife block on the counter beside the Sentry, the young man cut the ties on Greg's wrists. While the large man rubbed the marks the ties had left on his arms, the Shepherd appraised the knife in his hands.

  Almost absently, he asked Janessa, “There still a couple lanterns upstairs?”

  “Yeah,” she replied while combing a drawer for small cooking accessories. “Master bedroom and hallway bathroom.”

  Tom went to the cook stove, which he found still warm. Picking up an insulated glove from the small wood stack beside the brick base, the young man opened the stove door. Picking out a piece of kindling, the Shepherd placed it inside and waited for it to catch. He left it in long enough to ensure it would keep burning for a few minutes. As he left the kitchen, he spoke to his companions. “Alright, let's be ready to leave when I get back downstairs. We won't want to be around any longer than necessary.”

  He rounded the corner into the sitting room when he called out to Janessa and Greg. “Could one of you take Bob out to the back yard? He won't want to be in here, either.”

  3.5

  Against the insistence of his companions, Tom had them walk out of the house and back to the barn.

  “The house is on fire. Someone will see the smoke!” The Sentry spoke with the same quiet intensity from the day before, seemingly undaunted by the treatment he had received at the hands of Shane and Rujuan.

  Tom shook his head. “Won't be able to tell it from stove smoke for a while longer. That's why I started it in those rooms on either side of the chimney. Fifteen or so minutes and it'll be a different story. With more sunlight and thicker smoke, there'll be no hiding it. We'll need to be finished in the barn, at that point.”

  Janessa started and Tom cut her off. “No. If we're running, even with you behind us acting like you're taking us somewhere, it'll look suspect. Why would you need to get two people to the barn in a hurry by yourself? Should have another set of hands in that kind of situation.” Tom shook his head again and picked up his rifle, handed it to the young woman. “Let's do this.”

  While she slung the extra rifle over her shoulder, Greg adjusted the straps of his pack. The Shepherd considered his companions as he opened the door. Janessa watching him with anxiety that bordered on guilt, and the Sentry seemed almost frantic to be gone from the house. Moved by their sense of urgency, Tom released his held breath in a quiet sigh as he stepped on to the front porch of the farmhouse. Seeing the guard on the roof of the barn scanning back across the house, the Shepherd found himself tense until the binoculars swept over him without pause to continue a visual check of the north end of the property.

  “Onward and upward,” he murmured, more to himself than either of those following him.

  Tom could not help but marvel after their safe passage. Not once, but twice he had effectively hidden in plain sight from someone who, for all intents and purposes, was looking for him. Strange, certainly. Auspicious, perhaps. Lucky? There are no coincidences when you walk the path of the righteous, Father Jacob had said. He may have been on to something. Still, it was not until regaining the relative safety of the barn that they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  The large front area of the barn was exactly as Tom and Janessa had left it earlier, so they set about the tasks they'd prearranged before leaving the house. Janessa remained by the door, watching the f
ront yard through the four inch opening they had left when they entered. Greg went to the tables and began gathering food, stuffing as many vegetables as possible into the pack he carried.

  Greg seemed to be taking interest in a few eggs left on the table closest to the stalls. On his way to the barrel that hid Toby's rifle, Tom saw the Sentry crack one. The Shepherd watched delight spread across Greg's face as he discovered it was hard-boiled. The veggies temporarily forgotten, the large man began feverishly peeling the egg, casting the flecks of shell all around his booted feet. No doubt pieces of shell were still on it when the white oval disappeared into Greg's mouth, all in one piece. The Sentry regarded the two younger people with an impish grin as he chewed a few times and swallowed. Even though it looked like it was going down roughly, the large man immediately looked back to the table for another treat.

  “Save some for the rest of us,” Tom called jokingly, picking up Toby's rifle.

  Greg blushed and mumbled an apology while he resumed filling the pack with food. Tom smiled as he passed the Sentry, stopping to sift through a pile of cucumbers for the bolt he'd left there. A brief search found it and he restored the weapon to working order. He leaned the long arm against the wall behind where Janessa stood posted, watching the yard for activity intent on the barn. He reclaimed his own rifle from the young woman, loading the M14 replica before slinging it over his shoulder beside his pack.

  “Remember to leave a little room in that pack,” Tom said to Greg. The large man nodded while stuffing one last handful of carrots in the pack. The bag bulged slightly around the seams at the bottom, but the Shepherd wagered it would hold the weight. After all, it would only be that full for a day or so.

  Seeing the expression on Tom's face, the Sentry asked in his low voice, “Think this is enough?”

  The Shepherd frowned. “It has to be. We need to leave something for the folks we're about to turn loose.” After a moments consideration, he added, “Besides, we only need enough to get to the next community.”

  “Where might that be?” Greg's tone was dubious.

  The young man shrugged. “Can't say for certain, but I know someone who can.” With that, the Shepherd made his way to the narrow corridor between the stalls at the back of the barn.

  “Who?” The Sentry sounded confused.

  “Angie and Ben aren't from around here, are they?” Tom offered this as gently as he could through his own fatigue, knowing his companions were even more addled than he. Even with that in mind, he was unable to keep a note of exaggerated patience from creeping into his voice. Suspecting the others would be more at ease knowing the next step of his plan, he offered it to them.

  Turning to face Greg and Janessa, he said, “The boy and his mother must have come from somewhere reasonably close.”

  “How do you figure?” Janessa asked while maintaining her watch.

  “Which part?” He asked for clarification.

  “All of it,” she replied.

  Tom sighed. “I know those two aren't one of yours because of they way you interact with them and vice versa. And at this point, I'd like to think one of you would have corrected me if I were wrong about it.” Seeing no rebuttals, he continued. “They both seem in good health; not too thin, still have their hair and most of their teeth from what I've seen, skin is the right color and free of blotches and bruises. That tells me they either haven't been on the road long, or they were well-prepared for a long trip. Don't think Angie would have been making a long trip with a boy Ben's age by herself unless things were really bad, so the former is more likely than the latter. Either way, they should be able to point us in the right direction.”

  “What if she's running from something? Or their community is gone?” The Sentry's manner suggested to Tom that he knew more than he was letting on.

  “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he answered. Having brought the discussion to a close, Tom returned their collective attention to the task at hand. “I'll be letting them out one at a time, so things will be more manageable. Let them gather around the table and eat. Once everyone is in here, we'll break the news. Alright?”

  When the others nodded, the young man made his way to the end of the row of stalls. Tom faced the door on his left first, across from where he had placed Toby earlier that morning. Placing his hand on the thick wooden bolt across the stall door, Tom took a deep breath. Standing in the darkened hall, he felt nervous. What's waiting for me on the other side of this door, he wondered. Knowing there was only one way to find out, he braced himself and slid the bolt free.

  As the door opened, the cell beyond was illuminated by sunlight streaming in around the Shepherd. In that spread of soft dawn light, he saw two forms huddled at the back of the small chamber. Though there was light enough to see, it took a moment for his eyes to discern details and while he stood squinting at the figures, they sprang to their feet and raced to him. By the time the smaller of the two reached him, Tom recognized it was Ben grabbing hold of his leg and hugging him tightly.

  “Told you he wouldn't leave us,” the boy said to his mother.

  Angie, in the meantime, placed her hands on either side of the young mans face. Pulling him close, she pressed her lips against his bearded cheek, then looked him in the eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Unaccustomed to such affection, Tom blushed furiously. He was grateful for his beard and being back lit, both of those things helping to mask his discomfort. “Of course,” he murmured in return. Finding his voice, he added, “The others are waiting by the door. Go get something to eat while I free the rest. We'll be leaving presently.”

  Tom stood aside so the woman and her son could squeeze past him into the hall. He watched them go, a part of him thinking his work was done and looking forward to being gone from this wretched place. The innocent are free, he thought. I should resume my own work, now. He chastised himself immediately, however. The path of least resistance is seldom the right one, he remembered Father Jacob say. Count your blessings when it is, but never plan on that being the case.

  Besides, Tom mused, I said I would free them all. Even if it weren't the right thing to do, I would be every bit as bound to do it. A man is only as good as his word. And his aim.

  Resolved to complete the task, the Shepherd turned to face the door behind him. Toby was in that cell, he remembered. I should release him last, Tom thought. Even with Janessa on my side, I don't know for certain he'll co-operate. I should give him the least amount of time to cause a problem, if that's what he chooses to do. So decided, the young man approached the door of the stall adjacent to Toby's and threw back the bolt, pushing the door inward.

  The passage of air from the moving door carried a wave of stink into the hall. The sour smell of unwashed bodies, the fetid odor of excrement, the rankness of rotting food and something... else. Though the odors that assailed him were acrid and powerful, the visual that greeted him was far more so. On the floor, facing away from the door, a man Tom's age was kneeling behind a woman probably twice that. Their naked bodies were pressed together and continued to move in spite of the interruption and audience it implied.

  The kneeling man gestured to the corner of the room, waving his had dismissively. “Leave it. I'll feed her when we're through.” He sounded irritated.

  The Shepherd lunged into the room, grabbing the man by the neck and shoulder and flinging him against the wall. Clearly rattled by the interruption and the impact, the other young man shook his head. He had recovered just enough of his awareness to utter, “Jesus,” before the Shepherd had closed with him and had a hand wrapped around his neck.

  Grabbing the hand around his throat, the naked man croaked a question. “What gives, man? Who are you?” Clawing at Tom's hand with both of his own, he saw the fury in the Shepherd's eyes, saw the other hand raising and becoming a fist. When Tom, at a loss for words, looked from the woman still kneeling on the ground and back to the man pressed against the wall, the other man laughed in Tom's face.


  “Did you want a crack at her?” The laughter died on his lips, became a gasping grunt as the Shepherd drove his knee up between the other fellow's legs hard enough to make both of their teeth rattle. Releasing his hold on the pained man's neck, Tom watched him slide down the wall into a twitching ball. Clutching himself, he sobbed with shallow breaths while the Shepherd stepped to the woman and crouched by her side.

  “Are you hurt?” Tom asked quietly. He knew it was a foolish question, but he could think of nothing else to say. 'Hush' was inappropriate and 'it'll be okay' would be a lie. While he was ready for her to lambaste him for his stupidity, he was wholly unprepared for the response she gave.

  Her hips pumped obscenely, as though her partner were still behind her. “Did you bring ice cream? It's my favorite.” The very act of speaking caused her to lose focus and Tom watched saliva stream from her mouth, pooling on the filthy floor beneath her cheek.

  Putting a hand on her shoulder, Tom shook her gently. Her eyes were open, but glazed and unblinking. She was completely unresponsive, even when he shook her more firmly. Turning her on her side, he left her to fetch a blanket at the far end of the stall. He returned long enough to cover her with it, then stepped around her and over to her attacker.

  Grabbing him by the elbow, the Shepherd hoisted him to his feet and pushed him from the cell. When they reached the front part of the barn, Tom shoved him along the wall and into a group of barrels in one corner. The woman's attacker fell when he collided with the wooden barrels and resumed his fetal curl. Tom snatched up a couple of carrots from the closest table, flung them at the other man.