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

by Steven Bird

  Reaching up to the window’s ledge, Jessie pulled himself up and through the opening, escaping out the window into the darkness of the night. Once outside, Jessie looked around and quickly realized that he had been held at the water treatment facility on the edge of town, adjacent to the bridge where he was taken. The pungent smell of the stagnant water made that revelation entirely clear.

  Pausing to think of his next move, Jessie decided to take the prudent course of action, which would be to escape, regroup, and then deal with Wolf and the men on his own terms. He simply wasn’t going to allow men like this to terrorize people passing through a town that he used to protect as sheriff, like trolls under a bridge, waiting to pounce as unsuspecting travelers attempted to use the bridge as a means of crossing the Dolores River.

  Just like the wolves that had terrorized Jessie’s flock of sheep, this new Wolf and his deadly pack had to be stopped.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Heading east into the city of Dolores on Central Avenue, Jessie slipped from house to house in an attempt to remain hidden from view on the bright, moonlit night. Turning north on 6th Street, and then back east to Hillside Avenue, Jessie felt a mixture of emotion from intense rage to sadness. He felt rage that people like the men from whom he had just escaped had somehow been spared when so many good people had lost their lives during the attacks and the resultant collapse. He also felt sadness that the town of Dolores, which he was once sworn to protect, had been decimated. Each and every red X marking the buildings of the once quaint little town was a sobering reminder of the horrible death that those who didn’t flee had suffered.

  Distracted by his thoughts as he rounded the corner of a white craftsman-style home, he nearly failed to see a wooden plank with nails protruding from it as it was swung violently at his head. Attempting to dive to his left toward the house to avoid being struck in the head, the makeshift weapon grazed the top of his head with a loud thud, the nails protruding from it only narrowly avoiding his scalp.

  Dazed, but still conscious, Jessie slammed his shoulder against the house, and immediately took evasive action to avoid another swing, diving at the figure holding the board and tackling his assailant at the waist, rushing forward, taking both himself and his attacker to the ground.

  Pulling the Glock from his waistband, he shoved the pistol into the throat of his assailant. As he began to apply pressure to the trigger to end the assault, he heard a woman’s voice amidst the struggle saying, “I’ll kill you, you son of a—! I’ll kill every one of you murdering b——!” as she pounded her fists on his back.

  Encumbered by the weapon, Jessie tossed it out of reach and using both hands, subdued the woman, sitting on top of her while struggling to hold her hands still. “Stop. Stop it! I’m not one of them!” he shouted. “But if you keep screaming like that they’re liable to hear us and then you will have to deal with them.”

  Easing her resistance against him, the woman, now visible by the moonlight, said, “Who... who are you?”

  “I just got away from them. They may be searching for me by now. We’ve got to get the hell out here before they come looking.”

  Seeing bruises on Jessie’s face and the cuts on his wrists, the woman relaxed and said, “Okay... Okay, get up and I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

  Releasing his grip on her wrists, Jessie got off her and extended his hand, helping her to her feet. Looking around to see if they were being watched, she said, “Quick. This way,” as she took off in between the two houses.

  Quickly retrieving his weapon from the ground, Jessie jogged along behind the woman, following her a few blocks down the street where she climbed a chain-link fence and entered the backyard of an old two-story home.

  Looking around again to see if the area was clear, she waved for Jessie to follow, where she led him to a basement cellar underneath the old house.

  Once they got inside, she closed the two doors above them, locking them from the inside and bracing them by sliding a large piece of wood through both of their handles.

  With the doors closed the room was pitch black inside. Jessie heard her voice say, “Just a second,” followed by the sound of a match being struck against a matchbox. As the tiny flame erupted from the match, Jessie could see in the flickering light as the woman lit an old antique-style oil lamp, bringing a soft glow of light to the room.

  “We’re safe in here,” she said as he looked around. “The house has a red X on the front. They seem to avoid those.”

  Looking up at the ceiling and pointing, Jessie stammered, “Is someone—ˮ

  Interrupting before he could answer, the woman said, “I don’t know, I’ve never looked, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve been staying here for a few weeks now and I haven’t gotten sick yet.”

  The woman, an attractive brunette in her early to mid-thirties, had a very matter-of-fact demeanor about her. “My name is Ashley. You can call me Ash.”

  “I’m Jessie,” he said. “What... how did—ˮ

  “How did I end up down here by myself?” she again interrupted. Looking at Jessie’s wrists, she said, “Let me get you something for that. Luckily, whoever did live here, had a lot of extra supplies down here. They were either some of those prepper types or wanted to get their money’s worth from one of those wholesale clubs. Either way, they’ve got lots of stuff down here that’s been coming in handy.”

  Opening a large first-aid kit while she talked, she continued, “A few weeks ago, gosh, I guess it’s been over a month now. I’ve sort of lost track of time. I was traveling with my husband and a few friends. We were coming up from Regina, New Mexico where we had been staying since the attacks. We had run out of food and were down to our last bit of fuel and decided to use it to get up to Telluride to try and hide out with my husband’s brother. Being way up in the mountains, we hoped it would be a good place to ride things out.”

  Pouring alcohol on a cotton swab, she then touched it to Jessie’s wrist, making him flinch. “Oh, come on,” she said, dismissing his pain. Getting back to her explanation while she treated his injuries, she said, “Anyway, Tom’s brother—Tom was my husband, by the way—is one of those hardcore survivalist types. He worked at the ski resort in Telluride and whenever he wasn’t doing some sort of hardcore outdoor activity, he was shooting guns and preparing for the apocalypse. Tom used to give him a hard time and make fun of him, but look who’s laughing now,” she said as she wrapped a bandage around Jessie’s wrists.

  “Long story short,” she continued, “we actually thought we were going make it until those murderous thieves at the bridge hijacked us at gunpoint. Tom resisted,” she said, pausing for a moment, seeming to get lost in her own thoughts, “and started fighting back. I guess he knew we weren’t going to get out of there unscathed. He could read people. He always could. Anyway, during the fight Tom yelled for me to run while they fought them off. I was hoping I would get to safety and have him catch up to me later. I heard several gunshots as I ran. I turned to see Tom’s limp body falling to the ground. Two of them held him while that man with the gray beard shot him in the head at point-blank range.”

  Wiping a tear from her eye, she said, “So, I ran into town to try to get away. I managed to hide under the front porch of one of the houses. I could see through the lattice as they searched the streets and between the houses, but they never went inside. Not even once. It was then that I realized they must be afraid they’ll catch whatever it was that everyone around here had died from.”

  “Marburg hemorrhagic fever,” he said.

  “What?”

  “It was a weaponized virus used against Denver by one of the jihadist groups involved with the attacks. It spread to cities like Dolores by people evacuating Denver to get away from it all. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Who knows what’s really true.”

  “So, anyway,” she said bluntly, “I noticed they never went inside any of the buildings with the red X painted on the front. Based on that observation, I searched for a safe place to
hide and found this cellar, which is perfect because of the exterior entrance. By the way, do you think the virus could still be around? I mean... on the dead bodies and stuff? How long can it survive without a living host?”

  “I’m not a medical expert, but I did have to take EMT training related to my law enforcement position. I’m not sure about this virus in particular, but it is similar to Ebola, I believe. From what I remember from the Ebola scare we had a few years back, it can live on a dead body for quite some time. Back then, the experts didn’t even know. Basically as long as there are tissue and fluids, it can survive for a very long time. Again, that’s all based on my limited knowledge of the subject, of course.”

  After a moment of awkward silence, Jessie looked around the room to speak as Ash interrupted, asking, “So, what’s your story? Where are you running to?”

  “I’m not running to anywhere,” Jessie replied tersely. “Like you, I’ve lost everything I held dear. I lived up in the mountains north of here. Like you, I thought hiding away in the mountains was the best bet. My family and I had a small working homestead where we raised sheep.”

  “So you’re a shepherd?” she asked.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m a shepherd. Anyway, things were going pretty well. For the most part, we felt like the turmoil of the rest of the world was passing us by. We had encountered a few groups over time, but most people moved along easily enough once they learned we would not be taking them in or giving anything away. Then one day, a group of men, not unlike the trolls at the bridge here, found us, and...” pausing to look at his hand, thinking of his beloved family, Jessie’s heart sank into his chest as he realized his wedding ring had been taken from him by the men at the bridge.

  Fighting to maintain his composure, Jessie was unable to form his words. Ash reached out and put her hand on his and said, “It’s okay. I get it.”

  “So as I was saying,” he said after clearing his throat, “I didn’t have a reason to stay on the mountain anymore. I’ve got a sister I haven’t spoken to since this all began, and I figured I might as well spend what energy I have left trying to find her, which is basically how I stumbled across you here.”

  “So where are you running to now?” she asked.

  Taking offense, Jessie sternly replied, “I’m not running anywhere. I was only falling back to recoup and regroup before dealing with this situation any further.”

  “Good,” Ash replied with a smile, “maybe we can work together on that.”

  With a look of curiosity, Jessie asked, “What did you have in mind?”

  Standing up and walking to the other side of the cellar, Ash pointed at a cot she had been sleeping on and said, “We can talk about that in the morning after you’re rested up. Now that you’re here, we can take turns standing watch during the nights in four-hour shifts. I’ll take the first watch. You look like you need your rest. By the way, do those scumbags have a reason to want to get you back?”

  “Two good reasons,” he replied.

  With a smile, understanding exactly what he meant, she said, “By the time your sleep shift is over the sun will be up and those scumbags will more than likely be out looking for you. We’ll need to stay on our toes.” Picking up an old side-by-side double-barrel twelve-gauge shotgun and throwing a bandolier filled with shotgun shells over her shoulder, she said, “Rest up for now. We’ll talk more later.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Back at the water treatment plant, as Wolf and one of his men entered the room where Jessie had been held the previous night in hopes that he would be ready to give them more information, to their horror they discovered that two of their men had been killed and Jessie was nowhere to be found.

  In a profanity-laced verbal explosion of rage, Wolf shouted for Juan, his right-hand man. “Juan! Get in here, now!”

  Running into the room with his pistol in his hand and at the ready, Juan shouted, “What? What is it, Wolf?” as he scanned the room for threats.

  “You’ve gotta get a handle on these guys,” he said, pointing at the two dead men on the floor. “What the hell is this? Are you telling me not one person saw or heard anything? What is this guy? A ghost?”

  “Naw, man, everybody was drunk and I guess...”

  “You guess? You guess?” Wolf said, raising his hand back as if he was going to smack Juan in the face. Slowly lowering his hand, Wolf said, “This guy ain’t gonna hit us like this and just get away with it. You and Jake get out there and find this guy. He can’t have gone far. He has to be on foot. Search every damn house if you have to! I don’t care if you’re worried about getting sick. Just find him!”

  Without hesitation, Juan left the room running and quickly climbed the stairs into the administration area of the water treatment plant above. “Jake!” he shouted, seeing Jake sitting in an office chair by the window with his head on a desk. “Jake, wake the hell up!” he said again, kicking the chair.

  “Ah, man. My head is killing me,” Jake replied, lifting his head off the desk and turning to look at Juan.

  “Yeah, well, Wolf’s gonna kill us himself if you don’t get up. That guy that came in on horseback got away last night. He killed Paco and Hank, too. We’ve gotta go after him.”

  “Killed who?” Jake said, still confused.

  “Paco and Hank, you big sack of—! Now get up!” he again yelled, slamming his fist on the desk. “You’re supposed to be on watch, anyway. How are you gonna to see anyone coming if you don’t even look out the damn window?”

  “Whatever, man. I’m coming,” Jake said as he stood up and stretched. Jake, a six-foot-three bruiser with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, was a formidable-looking individual. He wore desert-style camouflage clothing sourced from a looted military surplus store, smattered with various bloodstains from altercations he had initiated. Picking his machete up off the desk and sliding it into a sheath on his belt, he then reached forward, grabbing his Romanian AKM rifle, tossing it over his shoulder, and said. “All right, let’s go,” he said, pounding his chest with his fist.

  Chapter Twenty

  As he crept through the woods, knife in hand, Jessie was careful not to break a twig underfoot. Paying particular attention to the wind and how it might carry his scent, he circled around, staying downwind to avoid giving his presence away too soon.

  Hearing a commotion through the dense evergreen trees up ahead, Jessie approached silently. Pushing several small branches out of his way with his left hand, Jessie was horrified to see the hungry pack of wolves devouring his horse, tearing at its flesh while it was still alive and suffering.

  Fighting through the pain, Brave lifted his head and turned to look at Jessie as if he was pleading for help. Jessie could see the pain and suffering in Brave’s eyes as the old gray wolf turned to see Jessie standing behind the trees. Baring its blood-soaked fangs, the wolf leaped at Jessie, crashing through the trees, knocking him to the ground.

  “Wake up,” Ash whispered, holding her hand over Jessie’s mouth while shaking him by the shoulder. “Shhhhh, they’re patrolling the streets. They look pissed. What did you do?”

  Sitting up on the cot, covered in sweat, Jessie regained his composure and quietly said, “Nothing you wouldn’t have done.”

  Replying only with a smirk, Ash turned and looked through a gap in the large wooden doors leading up and out of the basement. “We should hit them now while they expect you to be on the run and alone. I only see two of them. A big guy in some sort of desert gear. He’s pretty well armed. Another guy in black cargo pants and an old army field jacket is with him. They’ve both got rifles, but we’ve got the element of surprise,” she said.

  “No, let’s wait,” he insistently replied.

  “Wait for what? More people to get raped and murdered?”

  “This would be acting while on the defensive. That hasn’t worked so well for me in the past. If I would have been more proactive about security back on my homestead, rather than reactive, my family might still be alive today. Whe
n I was the sheriff here in Montezuma County—ˮ

  “You’re the sheriff here?” she interrupted.

  “I was the sheriff here,” he replied. “Before it all started going down. I left and moved up into the mountains to the north long before the attacks. So anyway, that’s one of the big differences between patrol and SWAT. Officers on patrol react to a situation that is presented to them, without any prior knowledge or planning. That’s their job, though—to respond to crimes being committed or that are just being reported. SWAT on the other hand, often operates with prior knowledge of the individuals they confront and generally do it on their terms at the time and place of their choosing. If you look at the success and casualty rates of patrol officer encounters versus SWAT encounters, you’ll see that SWAT generally has a better outcome.”

  “So, what do you propose we do?” she said.

  “There’s six of them left if my count is correct,” he said, formulating his response.

  “The others must have been out on a run,” she replied. “Unless, of course, you’re saying you took out ten of them.”

  “Actually, I only got two on my way out. They took out one of their own last night during a drunken brawl.”

  “Then the others are out on a run,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been observing them this whole time,” she explained. “They use the water treatment plant for a home base, probably because of the security of the sturdy concrete structure and its location just outside of town away from the red X’s. From what I’ve seen, roughly half of them stay put and keep an eye on the bridge and their stash. They know that with the mountains to the northeast and the river dumping into the McPhee Reservoir to the west, the town of Dolores and the 145 bridge is the perfect setup to ambush people heading south.”