What Comes After (Book 1): A Shepherd Cometh

by Peter Carrier

  “Stay there,” the Shepherd growled.

  3.6

  Making his way back to the stalls, Tom stopped at the door across from the cell that still contained the accosted woman. Believing she would still be some time in recovering, he intended to see the others freed and would revisit her at the end. With this in mind, he pulled the bolt from the door in front of him. He had no sooner pushed on the door than it was wrenched inward. The occupant of the stall rushed forward, placed both hands on Tom's chest and shoved him back across the hall. Tom hit the wall before he could process what had happened. He did not have the wind knocked from him, as his pack had absorbed most of the impact. He did watch with some confusion as the man in the cell wasted no time in taking flight, bolting from the stall and down the hall, into the large room at the front of the barn.

  The Shepherd checked the recently vacated stall long enough to ensure the escaping man was it's sole occupant before giving chase. Tom didn't follow him long, as the running man stopped short in the front room. Casting about in confusion, the recently freed man looked from the people clustered near the door to the tables of food and dishes, and even to where the naked man huddled near the barrels.

  “What's happening?” The running man asked to no one in particular.

  Though he was behind the man, Tom raised open palms in his direction. Taking a step forward, he asked his own question. “What's your name?”

  Turning around, the running man looked at Tom with wild eyes. “Joel,” he said after a moment. He resumed looking around, growing more frantic. “What's going on?”

  The Shepherd stopped, hands still raised. “Things are changing, Joel. You and everyone else in those stalls are finally free.” Here he stopped, to let the message sink in.

  Joel didn't need even a second to process that, however. Eyes wide, he merely turned and took quick steps toward the door. Greg looked from the approaching Joel to Tom.

  “Can't let you leave yet, Joel.”

  The man spun on his heel, again facing the Shepherd with wild eyes. “Why not?”

  “Everyone goes all at once. That's the best way for everyone to get away from here in one piece. Besides, you haven't even eaten yet. Why don't you get some food in you, then we'll get you some clothes that'll serve you better through the coming cold.”

  Joel stared intently, looking every bit ready to bolt. Tom blinked and said, “I don't know how long you've been in there, but fifteen more minutes won't kill you.” Gesturing at the tables, he waited for Joel to make his way to them.

  It took half a minute, but at last the runner relented. While he was slow to move to the table, he wasted no time in devouring a cucumber the moment he could lay hands on it. Tom nodded to Greg and again returned to the stalls. He considered the progress he was making and was momentarily discouraged. While it would have been ideal for each cell to have one person and for that person to be eager to leave but docile in accepting some terms and conditions for that freedom, the Shepherd had not expected things to work out in such a fashion. Thus far, this was a far more uphill endeavor than he would have thought.

  The next stall offered a pleasant surprise. A pair women faced the door, holding hands and watching him with mute indifference. For several seconds, the young man watched the women watch him. He took in their bearing and the state of their tattered clothes, gauged they had been prisoners at least as long as Joel.

  “Are you ladies hungry?” Tom asked hesitantly.

  The woman on the left, the taller of the two, nodded. Tom looked at her and stood aside, gesturing down the hall. “There's food on the table. Help yourselves.”

  As the pair entered the light near the door, Tom took greater note of them. They were older than him, but not by much: six or seven years, he thought. When they were within arms reach, the Shepherd saw why one was so much taller than the other. The woman on the right moved with an unmistakable hitch, dragging her left leg behind her. Her back was noticeably bent and her head lolled from shoulder to shoulder in time with her slow steps. Both women regarded him for only a moment before passing into the hallway and wordlessly walking away. Tom watched them go, marveling at how easy they had been.

  The next door swung in perhaps a foot before it was slammed shut. So quickly did it reverse direction that Tom considered himself lucky he'd pulled his fingers clear. He waited a five count before lifting the latch a second time. Before he'd put any pressure on the door, he could hear it groan as someone on the other side began pushing against it. He put his face closer to the door and spoke.

  “I'm trying to let you out, not come in after you. No one is going to hurt you.”

  A muffled response came through the wood. “Sure you won't. I changed my mind, I don't want to do this.”

  “All you need to do is stand back. This door only opens one way and I don't want you to get hurt. Once it's opened, you'll have a choice to stay or go.” Tom waited to see if he had successfully reasoned with the man on the other side of the door.

  Tom's patience was rewarded with a thump, then another and a third. “Not going. Not going! NOT GOING!” The man in the stall shouted, his voice raising every time he spoke.

  The pounding grew in frequency and volume, and it made the Shepherd frown. He did not have time for this, as the fire in the house could be noticed any minute now. In addition to running out of time, he suspected the pounding might be alarming to some of the others who could hear it. There was also the possibility it would draw the attention of the guard on the roof, if it continued long enough. These reasons urged him to action rather than continue the dialogue.

  Taking his kukri in hand, he offered an ineffective push on the door and felt an immediate press from within. Using that push back, the Shepherd gauged as best he could where the other man must be standing. He then swung the angled knife sharply into the center of the door. With a crack, a portion of the blade broke through the boards. He heard a shuffle through the door and knew that the man within had moved. The Shepherd shifted his own weight, raised his right foot and launched a front kick that smashed the door open. He felt the stall door come to rest against his boot when it swung back.

  “No! NO!” The man inside shrieked.

  Tom steadied the door long enough to pull his long knife from it. Taking care to properly align the thrust, the Shepherd stabbed into the opening between the door and frame, careful not to hit the person within. He did so twice before the man leaped away, still screaming. With the sudden lack of resistance, Tom lurched forward into the cell.

  Before Tom had recovered his balance, the other man had raced to the far side of the small stall. Watching the Shepherd, he ran filthy hands through greasy hair and gibbered incoherently. The light filtering in around Tom reflected on the mans face in streaks and patches as he wept, shifting from side to side like a frightened animal.

  Tom called to the blubbering man. “Apologies for startling you. You're free to go.” Having made that statement, he stepped back into the hall and left the stall door wide open.

  Re-entering the hall, Tom heard commotion from the stall adjacent to the one he had just left. Someone banged on the door and called from inside, “Hey! Hey!”

  He stopped before the door and as he had done just a minute earlier, he leaned close to the latch. “Stand back,” he said and listened for movement on the other side.

  “You're not messin' around? You're gonna let me out?” Even muffled and distorted by the wood, Tom could here the anxiety in her voice.

  “That's the plan,” he replied. “Stand away from the door.”

  Hearing a shuffle from within, he pushed the door open slowly. When it was far enough into the stall, a hand appeared and pulled it open completely. With the door out of the way, Tom and the woman within regarded each other quietly for several seconds.

  Her build and height were similar to Angie, as were some of her facial features. She seemed slightly thicker and altogether more surly, though. Her lower lip protruding in a pronounced pout, she fixed the
Shepherd with a stare. “I don't know you.”

  Tom shook his head. “Nope.”

  “You weren't kidding, then. You're letting me out of here?” She rolled her tongue inside her cheek and eyed him up and down while she awaited his answer.

  Some part of Tom reacted to her gaze in what felt like an instinctive manner, but one wholly unfamiliar to him. It's almost like she's sizing me up, he thought. “There's some food in the main room. Try to eat something while we're getting everyone else out.”

  “Where are we going?” She slid across the door and past him into the hall.

  “That comes later,” he said, stepping away from her. Something about her proximity and look didn't sit well with him, so he allowed himself to become guarded. “Need to get everyone ready to move, first.”

  She shrugged and turned away from him. It had been a while since Tom had seen anyone stroll, but that seemed the word best suited to describe her movement through the hall.

  Another bolt, another cell. In the center of the room, a diminutive form lay curled under a blanket, facing away from the door. Tom watched the figure for a few moments, saw the gentle expansion and shrinking of the chest and guessed it to be sleeping. Quietly propping the bolt against the door to hold it open, he crept into the stall. He understood the futility of the action, as he was merely going to wake the sleeper when he arrived beside the makeshift bed. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to be as quiet as possible.

  Crouching beside the blanket-wrapped form, Tom peered around the top fold of the cover and saw a young girl breathing the easy sleep of a child. Her soft features and round face reminded him of the things at the daycare he'd passed only days earlier, and he shuddered at the memory. He gently shook her by the shoulder. “Wake up, little lady.”

  Her eyes fluttered briefly before opening, and she looked up at Tom with resigned acceptance. “Morning already?” Innocence and slumber were heavy in her voice.

  He nodded and patted her on the arm. “Yup. Let's get some breakfast into you.”

  She blinked at him and her face wrinkled in confusion. “Is it my turn to go away?”

  He smiled, the gratitude and purpose he felt becoming inspiration. This is what it's all about, he thought. Moments like this, making a difference. This is what the Founders envisioned for us. “We're all going away. Far away from here.”

  Her face wrinkled even more while she sat up. She yawned and stretched short arms over her head. “What do you mean?”

  He never answered the question. They were interrupted by loud thump from the front room, which was in turn followed by a startled cry. Tom and the young girl exchanged glances, then turned to look at the door leading from the stall. More sounds poured forth from the portal; scuffling, more thumping and a deep voice calling, “Get back! You heard-”

  The gunshot came next.

  3.7

  The girl jerked, still wrapped in her blanket. At first, Tom thought her startled by the noise. Their eyes locked together and it seemed she would speak, so he waited. A second passed, then two and she said nothing. When the girl finally opened her mouth, no words flowed forth. Instead, blood bubbled out and poured down her chin. They both lowered their eyes to follow the stream of red as it fell. Bright drops spattered in large red blotches on the blanket swaddled around her chest and were quickly lost in a growing crimson spread blooming at the front of the blanket.

  Tom took hold of the girl's shoulders and returned his gaze to her face. He found her looking back at him, eyes glassy and cheeks paling. Before he could think to say anything, she blinked once and went slack in his arms. The light in her eyes was gone before her body began to sag towards the floor. The young man blinked rapidly before turning his attention to the wall on his left. It took only moments for him to find the hole in the wall, small and recently made. Simple chance, he thought. But what are the odds? Likely the same as this half-baked plan of mine had of actually working.

  Stomach sinking, he gently laid the girls body down and covered her face. Rising, Tom turned from her and stepped into the hall. No good could come of the sounds he heard and the actions they implied. The scuffling, thumping, and grunting continued. The longer it went on, the louder it got. The louder it got, the less he wanted to confront it. To do so would be to acknowledge how terribly wrong this endeavor had gone. By the time he reached the end of the hall, his head was spinning. How could things have come to this?

  He saw Janessa first. She was against the wall by the door, wrestling for control of her rifle. The taller of the sisters pushed her closer to a window while struggling to tear the weapon away. Janessa was losing the contest, as the tall sister was being assisted by the naked man from the first cell. As angry as the sight made him, there was little he could at the moment. Not only was he twenty feet or more from where the struggle occured, but the three of them were too close together for him to take a shot without possibly hitting Janessa. Though the young woman's position was dire, there was also an even more precarious situation only a few feet from her.

  Greg was curled on his side, arms covering his head to spare himself further injury. Joel stood over him, wielding a shovel like an ax. On her knees beside the Sentry was the shorter of the sisters, both hands wrapped around the handle of spade. She plunged the tool into him repeatedly in short, vicious arcs. The condition of her leg and neck offered no impediment to her ability to invoke violence on the helpless man before her. This sight, brutal and gruesome, increased Tom's anger. That was nothing compared to the last part of this unbelievable scene.

  Angie crouched with Ben behind her. In front of her stood the last woman Tom had freed, jabbing a hoe at the mother. “They got it coming,” she hissed to Angie.

  Part of Tom agreed with this statement. After all, Greg and Janessa were part of the group that had subjected these people to captivity and unspeakable horror. It was something he should have considered, but he had neither the time nor the experience to include this outcome as a possibility. He only considered his emotional motivation, which demanded swift and conclusive action. People were being deliberately, horribly mistreated and he could not suffer that to continue a moment longer. The instinct to protect was too strong to curb, so he had acted.

  Perhaps it was the brutal reception they were meeting at the hands of those that had been previously dominated. Perhaps it was the fury he felt at the complete disregard they showed his carefully laid plans to get everyone away from here. Perhaps it was the simple lack of perceived gratitude their newly found freedom implied they should feel. Had he not helped them? And the way they thanked him was by subjecting his companions to an orgy of pain and death? Even with the loss of the young girl, freak accident that it was, the Shepherd could have maintained his restraint. But seeing Angie, hurt and shielding her son from the woman in front of her, was too much.

  The revolver was clear of its holster on his next breath. Pistol braced with both hands, he fixed the sight directly on the back of Hoe-woman's head and squeezed the trigger. The GP100 spoke and the figure in it's sights obeyed it's command: drop the tool and lay down. Ears filled with high-pitched ringing, Tom could not hear a plea to stop, nor would he if he could. His mercy was to put them under the gun. A cold embodiment of divine retribution, the Shepherd panned slowly toward the door and offered his wrath to every misbehaving beast in sight. The revolver barked twice more in quick succession, releasing Joel and Sister Spade from their torturous existence.

  Turning back to Janessa, Tom saw her situation had changed. The naked man had released the young woman and appeared bent on fleeing the scene. Deeming him less a threat than the tall sister who still wrestled for control of Janessa's rifle, Tom put his focus squarely on the other woman. She stopped struggling just long enough for the Shepherd to think about discharging the weapon. His trigger finger twitched, the pistol reported and his round found its mark. In the seconds it took for Tom to work the hammer, line up his shot and wait for the right opening, the naked man opened the sliding door another foot. B
y the time the pistol fired, that fellow was out and racing toward the house, a streak of quickly moving, naked flesh.

  Her attackers dispatched, Janessa stumbled backwards through the open barn door. She had only just caught her balance when Tom heard an unfamaliar voice address his accomplice. “Janessa? Are you okay?”

  The Shepherd saw her freeze. Had she truly expected to escape without encountering more of the people she had lived with? Tom could understand how she would want to believe he could guide them away without further bloodshed. But it was not to be. The man, likely the guard from the barn roof, didn't raise his rifle until he saw one of the bodies. It was the tall sister, who now lay against the wall just inside the doorway, what was left of her face staring out across the yard. The guard gasped when he saw the body, and then again when he saw the Shepherd approaching from within. Making ready the weapon sealed his fate and the guard took two rounds from the GP100 square in the chest.

  Janessa looked from the fallen guard to the Shepherd, who pointed toward the body. When she grabbed it by the arm and began to drag it, she heard Tom say, “Leave the body. Get the rifle.”

  Tom was reloading when Janessa re-entered the barn. He placed the spent brass in an inside pocket of his jacket and pulled loose rounds from the loops on his belt. The practiced motions continued unsupervised while Tom looked at Angie. “Are you hurt?”

  She winced as she tried to stand, faltering the first time. She didn't completely sit down, but she might as well have. On her second attempt, she used a beam on the wall to help push herself up. “She hit me in the knee,” Angie said. Tom could barely hear her, the ringing in his ears still the dominant sound.

  “Can you walk?” He holstered his sidearm and looked at her mouth, ready to watch her lips when she responded.

  She took a few experimental steps from the beam, closer to the door. “Slowly but surely.” Even through the discomfort on her face, Tom could see her dismay.