The Shepherd: Society Lost: Volume One (A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller)

by Steven Bird

  Once he had saddled Brave and had secured all of their supplies to the saddle and saddle-bags, he swung his leg over the saddle. As he took the reins, he paused and looked back over his shoulder to the mountains that just a day before he had called home, and with a nod, he nudged Brave forward as they rode off into the unknown.

  As the sun traveled across the sky reaching the high noon position, Jessie and Brave reached a narrowing of the road just up ahead. As the old dirt road merged with a stream with a steepening of terrain on both sides, Jessie eased back on the reins, bringing Brave to a stop while he visually scanned ahead. “It’s a funnel,” he whispered to Brave.

  Reaching back over his shoulder, Jessie clutched his AR-15 by the stock and pulled it out of its scabbard and over his head. He then shouldered the weapon, scanning the area ahead through the scope on its maximum zoom.

  Not seeing an apparent threat in the vicinity, Jessie nudged Brave forward, murmuring, “C’mon, boy.” Laying the rifle across his lap instead of putting it away, Jessie remained ready for a threatening situation, should one arise. With one of his recent encounters ending in the greatest tragedy of his life, Jessie couldn’t help but be on edge about the potential of crossing paths with others.

  As Jessie and Brave approached the area of concern, Jessie divided his attention between the surrounding area and signs of others who might be present on the ground. Seeing footprints along the edge of the stream, Jessie slowed Brave’s cadence to take a better look. “They’re going downhill, boy. They came through here... maybe yesterday. Hitting the snowline probably prompted them to head back down the mountain a bit. It gets pretty dang cold at night the higher you go. Let’s just hope they either kept moving or moved off the road in another direction.”

  ~~~~

  For the next several days, Jessie and Brave traveled methodically down the mountain, stopping to camp whenever a suitable location presented itself. Jessie found himself taking his time, not being in a hurry to rejoin what was left of the world below. He continued to see signs that others had been on the mountain, but had yet to come across them. Both he and they were clearly in a mindset to avoid others, and for this, he was thankful.

  As they approached the town of Dolores, the statutory town of Montezuma County, they had still yet to encounter others directly, yet Jessie had been able to see the occasional chimney or campfire smoke off in the distance. The lower levels were clearly a more hospitable place for most, being warmer at night and closer to available food supplies such as wild game and plant life. A cursory view of Dolores through his rifle scope, however, showed no such activity.

  “Where the heck is everyone, boy?” Jessie said aloud. As he scanned the houses and buildings below through his rifle scope, he noticed many of the buildings had a red X painted on the front by the entrance. “Well, hell. We know what that means,” he said. “I thought Dolores was far enough off the beaten path to avoid the droves of people who no doubt began abandoning Denver when the fever began to hit it hard. But then again, if people like the Walker family were going to attempt to send people back and forth to retrieve loved ones, there would be others doing so as well and it was only a matter of time. There were probably a lot of people in Denver with family in Cortez and Dolores who wanted to get away from it all and unfortunately ended up bringing the fever with them. Such a shame,” he said, shaking his head as he looked at the ground.

  Startled by the sound of a gunshot echoing off the surrounding mountains in the distance, Jessie scanned the area trying to determine its origin. Unable to home in on the source of the gunshot due to the echoing nature of the mountains, Jessie said, “Let’s get a move on, boy.”

  After putting some distance between themselves and the sound of the gunshot, Jessie stopped to pull an old highway map out of his saddle-bag. With the goal of going around the mountains to the south and then paralleling Interstate 40 to head east toward his sister’s last known location in Tennessee, Jessie thought, We’ve got to get across the Dolores River at some point. Following a potential route of travel on the map with his finger, he decided, If we skirt around Dolores to the north and then cross the 145 bridge on the west side of town, we’ll be able to avoid most of it. We can cut across at Joe Rowell Park and then get back off the beaten path for a while.

  Folding the map neatly and slipping it back into his saddle-bag, Jessie urged Brave forward and they continued on their journey.

  As the sun began to fade into evening across the mountains to the west, Jessie and Brave arrived on the northwestern edge of the town of Dolores. Jessie was heartbroken at how Dolores and the county he once served as sheriff had fared during the aftermath of the fighting and the attacks. He fought the urge to ride through town looking for survivors, as he knew the risks far outweighed the chance of doing any good.

  Pulling his bandana over his face and donning his gloves, unsure of the situation in town now that those with the fever had died off, Jessie nudged Brave forward once again, proceeding toward where Highway 145 met Joe Rowell Park in order to cross the river as planned. As they slowly and cautiously rode toward the park, Jessie looked around carefully at every window, doorway, alley, and rooftop. The town of Dolores, once a bustling and happy little town, now seemed devoid of human activity and was eerily quiet.

  As Jessie and Brave approached the city’s water treatment plant, located on the north side of Highway 145, he noticed the pungent smell of the stagnant and foul water that was once purified by the facilities treatment tanks, now sitting idle.

  Pausing with an uneasy feeling about him, Jessie started to change his plan, but hesitated due to the distance they would have to travel to find another way across the river. Nudging Brave forward, they entered the now empty Highway 145. The only cars he could see were abandoned along the streets of the town and on both sides of the bridge. One Dodge camper van that he noticed had the familiar red X painted on the side. I guess that was someone on the run from it all, he thought.

  Riding down the center of the street, Jessie and Brave rode onto the bridge and began to cross. At the halfway point, Jessie looked down to see what appeared to be droplets of blood on the concrete. Crap! he thought as he heard a car horn blow. Immediately following the startling sound, armed men, who had been hiding in the trunks of the abandoned cars, began to climb out, rifles in hand, all aimed at Jessie.

  Jessie slowly raised his hands and shouted for them to hear, “It’s okay. I’m just passing through.”

  “Put your hands on top of your head!” one of the men shouted.

  Complying with their request, Jessie slowly placed his hands on his head, and said, “Like I said, I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just passing through.”

  “I’m afraid not,” the man with a long graying beard replied, seeming to be in charge.

  As the men slowly and carefully approached Jessie, he studied their demeanor and attire in an attempt to assess the situation. Filthy and disheveled in appearance, with numerous visible scars and missing teeth, these individuals looked to Jessie as if they had been living life the hard way long before it all hit the fan. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Jessie asked.

  “Shut your mouth,” the man replied.

  As they approached, Brave became nervous and began to shift around as if he was looking for a way to escape.

  “Easy, boy,” Jessie whispered in an attempt to calm him, knowing any such attempt to make a run for it would be met with a wall of bullets from which they could not escape.

  One of the men took Brave’s reins in hand while another put a rifle to Jessie’s side.

  “Don’t move,” the man said.

  A third man then removed Jessie’s Colt from its holster and began to admire it. “Nice,” he said with a smile, as if he had no intention of returning it. “He must think he’s some sort of old west gunslinger carrying this ol’ thing around.”

  “Remove the pack,” the man in charge then ordered.

  Easing his right hand down to release the buckl
es on his pack, Jessie said, “Look, the others that are following along behind have a lot of food and provisions. We can work something out.”

  Ignoring his statement, the man that had removed his Colt also took Jessie’s pack and removed his Winchester from the saddle-mounted scabbard. With a smile, the man said, “Jackpot,” as he admired all three weapons.

  “Now the knife,” the man said.

  Jessie slowly removed his knife and handed it to the man handle first.

  “Off the horse,” the man then ordered.

  Reluctantly, Jessie swung his leg over and began to climb down from Brave’s saddle. Once his leg was clear, he felt several hands clutch him and pull him violently to the ground, followed by the view of a rifle butt being shoved into his face, and then—darkness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The wolves circled Jessie in the darkness. He could hear their hungry growls all around him as they almost seemed to communicate with one another through their fierce, bloodthirsty sounds. His head pounding, his pulse racing, Jessie felt paralyzed. He wanted to reach for his gun, but he simply could not move. It was as if his muscles didn’t respond to his commands.

  Is this how it’s gonna be? Is this how it’s gonna end? Jessie thought as he lay there helpless on the cold hard ground.

  The alpha wolf appeared directly in front of him from the darkness. With fresh blood in its fur, it looked as if it had just returned from a kill. Still hungry, the wolf slowly worked its way closer, the sounds of its claws scratching on the rocky ground as it walked.

  Reaching Jessie, the wolf stood directly over him, its menacing fangs exposed, its putrid breath smelling of rotting meat, warm saliva dripping onto Jessie’s face as it stood over him.

  “Wake up!” the man shouted as he smacked Jessie violently across the face.

  Hurled back into reality, Jessie found himself hogtied and lying on a cold concrete floor in an old abandoned building. In a daze and with a pounding headache, Jessie looked around in an attempt to assess the situation. Several men sat around a fire in the far corner of the room while two of the men stood over Jessie, one with Jessie’s own knife in his hand.

  “The others—tell us about the others!” one of the men shouted.

  “What?” Jessie replied in a confused voice.

  “The others you mentioned on the bridge. The ones following behind you. How many of them are there and when will they arrive?”

  Quickly formulating a response, Jessie replied, “They sent me as a scout. If I don’t report back, they won’t approach the town. They’ll assume it’s not safe.”

  “How many and where are they?”

  “Ten men and six women,” he replied.

  One of the men patted the other on the shoulder with a devious smile and said, “Women. They’ve got women.”

  “Shut up,” the other man said in a muffled voice.

  “All we want is food,” the man with the long graying beard said to Jessie. “We can work out a trade with them. You, for some food. It’s that easy.”

  “Like I said,” Jessie insisted, “they won’t come if I don’t report back.”

  With a crooked smile exposing his rotting teeth, the man said, “We’ll see,” as he turned and walked toward the fire.

  One of the men by the fire handed him a plate of meat that had been cooked on a small portable campfire cooking grate they had placed over the fire, “Here you go, Wolf,” the man said.

  Hearing the name Wolf, Jessie’s attention was peaked. Shaking off the coincidence, he looked around the room, trying to think of a way out of his dire situation. Having been a sheriff and knowing all too well what men like this were capable of, even when times were good, Jessie knew if he didn’t make a move soon, his chances would begin to rapidly deteriorate.

  Wanting to get a better look at his surroundings, Jessie shouted, “Hey, Wolf.”

  Pausing from his meal, with a mouthful of meat, the man turned and replied, “Are you ready to talk?” wiping his mouth with his sleeve as he continued to eat.

  “I need to use the restroom,” Jessie replied.

  His mouth still full of food, Wolf smiled, revealing meat stuck between his rotting teeth, and said, “Then piss yourself.”

  Damn it, Jessie thought out of frustration.

  ~~~~

  As the day slipped away into the night, Jessie lay awake on the cold hard floor alone, while his captors drank and partied on the other side of the room. Clearly professional looters, they had come across several bottles of hard liquor that they passed around the fire, sharing amongst themselves.

  The men seemed not to have a care in the world. They were truly in their own element in a world devoid of social order and any valid law enforcement presence. The men relished the sorrow of others, laughing and joking about those whom they had found to be easy prey.

  As one of the inebriated men passed the bottle off to the next, it slipped from his fingers, breaking on the floor. Outraged, one of the other men immediately pulled a knife and yelled, “You clumsy son of a—ˮ as he shoved the knife into the man’s stomach.

  As the man fell to the ground, writhing in pain with his hands on his wound, the others joined in, cheering for the man who committed the assault. They all then began viciously kicking and stomping the injured man in a most violent manner until he struggled no more.

  Once the laughter subsided, a tone of seriousness came across the group as Wolf said, “Get him out of here before he starts to stink. Toss him out back with what’s left of that horse. We’ll burn them both tomorrow before the flies and maggots get out of hand.”

  As Jessie lay there, horrified by the extreme brutality of the group, fear swept through his body as he heard the mention of a horse. “Horse, what horse?” he shouted.

  With all six of the men turning to face Jessie, Wolf replied, “Why, that fine specimen you rode into our town on. Don’t worry, he didn’t go to waste. He was delicious.” Pointing at the remaining meat by the fire, he added, “There’s more if you’re hungry.”

  A sickness came over Jessie at the revelation that he had been watching the men consume his beloved horse, Brave. Rolling over on his side, he vomited uncontrollably as the men all laughed at his pain.

  Jessie’s sorrow quickly turned to rage as all of the emotions and hatred he had worked so hard to suppress came flooding back into his head. The thoughts of what had been done to his family, vividly clear in his mind, drove him to struggle against the ropes, the force of which began to cut into his skin. Bleeding profusely, Jessie felt one of his hands begin to slip free from the ropes. It was then that he had a moment of clarity and eased his struggle, appearing to the men as if he had simply given up.

  Not now, he thought. Not now.

  ~~~~

  As morning drew near, the men had one-by-one passed out or had simply fallen asleep from their night of alcohol-fueled lunacy. Only two of them remained in the room with Jessie, both asleep by the fire. Jessie had quietly worked his left hand free from the confines of the ropes. With one hand free and no one actively watching him, Jessie patiently worked to free his other hand, and then sat up to untie his feet.

  Once he was free of the ropes, Jessie took a two-foot long section of it and tied a knot in the center and one knot on each end. Holding the knots on the ends of the rope in each hand, he crept over to one of the men who was sleeping face down on the ground with his right arm under his forehead. The fire, now just smoldering red-hot coals, provided Jessie with just enough light to see, while also providing a reasonable degree of darkness, should he be discovered.

  Nudging the man in the side with his foot as if trying to wake him, Jessie stood over him from behind. As the man lifted his head and turned to see who was waking him, Jessie quickly threw the rope around his neck, placed his foot on the back of the man’s head, and pulled as hard as he could. The knot in the center of the rope crushed the man’s windpipe, silencing any ability he had to scream. His arms shaking from the intensity of the struggle, Jess
ie watched as the life slipped from the man, his struggles fading into a mere shudder, and then the silence of death.

  Rolling the man over and frisking him for weapons, Jessie found a five-inch-long fixed-blade knife in a sheath on the man’s belt, as well as a Glock 9mm pistol tucked into his pants. Taking both of the weapons, he then walked over to the second man and knelt down beside him. After pausing for a moment, soaking in the gravity of the situation, Jessie grabbed the man by the hair, yanked his head off the ground, reached around and slit his throat from ear to ear. Nothing but the sound of gurgling blood and escaping air could be heard as the man momentarily struggled before also being consumed by the silence of death.

  Feeling the man’s warm blood soak into his pants as he remained kneeling on the floor, Jessie wiped the knife clean on the man’s shirt and stood up. Looking around the room and thinking of his next move, he walked over to a doorway that led to a darkened hall with several doors on each side and one door at the end.

  Hearing movement in one of the rooms, Jessie quietly closed the door and looked around the room in which he was being held, searching for a way to escape. Seeing only the door, and a set of stairs leading up, Jessie chose to walk over to a small rectangular metal-framed window that was mounted unusually high on the wall. The window had been opened and utilized by the men as a chimney for ventilation and exhausting the smoke generated by their small fire.

  Looking up and out of the window, Jessie could see the stars of the clear and calm night as well as the ground up above, separated from the window by a two-foot-high concrete retaining wall. I’m in a basement, he thought.