Free A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) by Peter Carrier Page A

directness refreshing.” He raised a finger. “Also,” he pointed that finger to his chest. “I was in the Army, which means I was a soldier.” He pointed to the door the other men had left through. “Those men are marines. Matters little to me, but it's a distinction that could be very important to them.”
    “ You serious?” Toby asked while looking from Chris to his sister.
    “ 'Them's fightin' words', those boys might say,” Chris replied. “If she makes that mistake, they might just give her an earful. If you or I did it, we would receive an 'education' on the difference.”
    “ Then let's make sure we learn that lesson now,” Tom murmured while he shouldered his pack. Looking once more at the others, he indicated the door. “Our way is ahead. No sense keeping it or our new friends waiting.”

4.9

    The first half mile passed in relative quiet. The only conversation to be had was by the marines, and that only by necessity. It gave the group time to appreciate the sounds of the forest as it awoke and allowed them to better focus on the beauty of the autumn morning. The chill on their faces, the feast of colors in the trees, tall grass and brush, stiff and beginning to brown; all served as reminders that winter was coming.
    Tom and his companions found themselves in the center of the group. Though surrounded, this was a wholly different feel from how he had been 'escorted' nearly a week ago, when he had first happened upon the community Janessa and Toby had called home. Then, Tom, Ben and the boy's late mother had been treated as prisoners: circled and herded in a direction not of their choosing, an escort in name only. The men surrounding them now were leading the way to safety for everyone, and offered a ring of protection against the dangers of the world.. Tom appreciated the difference and was grateful for it.
    He noticed Vargas and another marine, who carried a portable radio and whose name tag read 'Turner', remained in the midst of the group with Tom and the others. Both military men were aware of their surroundings and moved with practiced ease, but lacked the familiarity of much time spent working together.
    Eventually, Tom engaged the pair in conversation. “Is this your job, Major? Does your unit come out here to find certain people and return them to the city?”
    The officer scanned to their left and offered a recitation. “The continuing mission of the 9th Special Operations Group is the rebuilding and restoration of America's infrastructure. Of late, that has consisted of gathering intelligence to make informed decisions about where and when to facilitate restructuring or establishment and safekeeping of communities beyond the safe zones.” Turning his head to scan right, he took a breath and added, “In plain English, we're finding out which communities can stand on their own and which need to be relocated.”
    Tom swallowed. “Forgive me for putting too fine a point on this: it's been twelve years or more since the End.”
    “ Fifteen, for those keeping score at home.” This was interjected jovially by Turner, who smothered his grin under the reproachful look of his commanding officer.
    Tom nodded to Turner. “Fifteen years, then. When were you planning on taking... more definitive action?”
    A frown creased the Major's worn, brown face. “A long time ago. Things got... complicated. The original plan involved a full-scale domestic deployment the summer after it started. Obviously, that didn't happen.”
    When the officer's pause had stretched to nearly a minute, Tom probed further. “What did happen, then?”
    Vargas made another face, his left eye twitching while his lips pressed together. “I'm not at liberty to say, Mr. DuPuis. I understand that no doubt frustrates the hell out of you. It must, because it irritates the Christ out of me. But there are a number of things we can't discuss in the field. Not with civilians, at any rate.” The middle-aged man sounded bitter.
    “