Shepherd

FOURTEEN

Shepherd didn't look down as he passed the remains of the old woman at a slow walk. Everything felt heavy now. His legs could barely move and his arms hung loose at his sides. The rig seemed miles away and the harder he tried to reach it the further away it felt. There was an awareness of something now broken inside him. It wasn't painful the way a bone might feel when splintered. It was more like an engine with a dropped cylinder. Sure, the rig was still rolling along but now the entire drive felt changed, less smooth, now turbulent and out of sync with the rest of the workings.

He did reach the cab eventually. The door was open wide and before he climbed up into his rig he brought the barrel of the shotgun up to hip height. Then, heaving himself up the ladder, he got in. He needn't have bothered with the gun – the vehicle was empty.

He unbuckled the vest and let it fall to the floor. Then he slumped into the driving seat, reaching into an overhead locker for the bottle of spirits he kept there. Several pulls from the neck later and he was able to control the tremor in his hands.

"Save some for me, babe," said Nat.

"Not sure I can spare it," he laughed back. Another swig. "It's been a hard day."

"You're nearly home. Don't give up now."

"Home?" he said half to her, half to himself. "Where's that again? I forget."

"Down there." She pointed beyond the border into the distance. He thought for a minute that he could just make out some green on the horizon, a tree line maybe. It wasn't clear that there was anything as far as the sandy roadside that slid away into the curving shape of the world.

"I'm not coming," he said. Another pull, this time letting the liquor burn his throat and make his eyes water. "Fuck 'em. Fuck all of them in Washington or wherever they are. I'm through. I'm staying right here."

"To die?"

"Maybe. Maybe I'll unhook this rig and just turn around."

"You haven't changed," she said. "Same old Shepherd. Better to live in exile than hurt the people he loves."

"So you say."

"I do. I know you. Come home. The dog misses you almost as much as I do."

"I don't have a dog."

"We do. We basically live in a zoo-cabin. You should learn to say no to me once in a while, hon."

He turned then but she wasn't there, never had been. The passenger seat was empty and the sound of her Southern lilt was gone. There was still the bottle though and he drank some more before dropping his forehead onto the steering wheel. He stayed there for a while, eyes shut, taking long deep breaths.

"Drive," he told himself. "Drive, you idiot, and finish what you started. That's why you vanished. That's why you left her, isn't it? Duty. To finish what you started. To get the job done. Are you going to finish this one or not?"

He looked up through blurred vision. The barricade would have to be moved. The gap was too small.

He let out a long sigh and made for the door.