Nomad Omnibus 01_A Kurtherian Gambit Series

by Craig Martelle

  TH turned his horse around to face the men, not an easy feat since he was still teaching himself how to ride.

  “Listen up. That last battle did not test our mettle. We surprised them. We won’t have that advantage next time. I expect they’ll shoot on sight, so what do we need to do, people?” Terry looked for someone to answer. Mark waved a hand.

  “We see them first,” he said simply.

  “Exactly, we see them first. The hard question is, how do we do that?” Terry looked from face to face in the dim light of early dawn.

  “We spread out. Hunt alone,” Char suggested, looking south, into the distance where her quarry was.

  “Hunt. Yes, we’re hunting them. We keep our distance, don’t get bunched up, stay within sight of one another, and keep quiet. We move like the wind in the grass. Understand?” A chorus of “yes, sir” followed. Then Terry went through a quick series of hand and arm signals, so they could “talk” as long as they could see each other. For the first half of the journey, Terry and Char would take the lead, riding in pairs, a couple hundred yards between the first group and the second and then another between second and the third. Further, each would ride toward a side of the road. Separation for safety’s sake and situational awareness were key for a combat movement, which Terry considered this to be.

  He and Char headed out, riding as far apart as possible while still being on the same road. Then Devlin and Ivan, and bringing up the rear were Mark and Jim. Everyone had a role to play.

  “I think I’d like a weapon,” Char said conversationally from the other side of the road.

  “The next one we acquire is yours,” Terry replied in a soft, even tone. He didn’t commit to giving her any ammunition. That would be a different conversation for a different day.

  “No, that’s not it. I think I want Sawyer Brown’s pistols, both of them. You called them Glocks?” she asked.

  “Yes, Glock. At least the one I saw was. Glock was one of many manufacturers of firearms, but their specialty was pistols. This baby here—” Terry patted the hand cannon at his side. “—was made by Colt and it has been around for a while. It could be a hundred years old, who knows, but the design is classic. It succeeded in the trial of combat and was the preferred weapon of the Corps. It’s my honor to carry one again,” Terry said reverently.

  “Honor. The Corps. Classic. What kind of words are those, TH? Who talks like that anymore?” she asked, wondering about the strange man. “As a young girl, I remember hearing stories with the Knights of the Round Table. Is that you, Terry Henry Walton? Are you a Knight of Camelot?”

  Terry wondered at her age. Of course she would look young, no matter how old she was. He was in his sixties and looked to be thirty. Could she be one hundred? He had no idea, but couldn’t imagine anyone hearing stories about the Knights of the Round Table in the time following the World’s Worst Day Ever.

  “Once a Marine, always a Marine. To me, there’s nothing more important than personal honor. At the end of the day, when it’s just you in that foxhole, it’s the only thing that will keep you going. When the fight’s over and you look yourself in the mirror, you want to see the honorable person looking back at you. Otherwise life is too hard.” Terry watched the mountains as he let his horse set a pace it was comfortable with. He rubbed its neck constantly, letting the mare know that he appreciated the ride.

  Char used her keen eyes to look far in front. “How much venison did you bring?” she asked, knowing that she didn’t have enough. She ate an unnatural amount of food, most of it meat, because of her metabolism. The she-wolf within screamed for energy. She thought she was losing weight, never a good thing as a Werewolf.

  “I’d like to hunt,” she told TH. “All by myself, I need to go hunting. There’s something wrong with me that I have to do it that way, but there you are. When we stop for the evening, I’m pleading with you.” Char looked at Terry for confirmation.

  Because you’re a fucking Werewolf, he thought. He hoped that she would tell him the truth of her nature, but she hadn’t. He wouldn’t share that nanocytes coursed through his body, but he was sure she noticed he didn’t have a single scar on a body hardened in the fires of the Marine Corps, in private security, and then twenty years in the wasteland.

  She had to have seen that, as he’d seen her perfect body, not a scar or mark of any sort. The wasteland was never so kind to humanity. She knew he was different and he wouldn’t tell her why. He knew she was different, but she wouldn’t tell him, either. It was a stalemate of sorts, even though he was growing more comfortable with her.

  And that scared him. He still wasn’t sure why she was with the humans. Had she been expelled from the pack? That seemed odd since she arrived in perfect health. He’d have to think more on that and try to figure out a way to ask her without addressing her true nature.

  That was the rest of the day, watching and riding in silence, taking breaks anytime they were close to water to let the horses drink and graze.

  Terry estimated they made it twenty-five miles. That wasn’t enough. They needed to go fifty tomorrow as they swung far to the east to get around the ruins of Denver, and then the next day they could start thinking about the tactical approach to the area south of Denver. Terry hoped he’d find tracks or some way to limit their search area.

  * * *

  Gathering the people wasn’t as easy as Sawyer Brown had thought it would be. There were some forty total, only six women and a couple small children. It was a pathetic bunch that prepared to travel. They weren’t leaving for another full day, but already Sawyer saw that they would slow him down and significantly so.

  “Jagoff!” Sawyer yelled. His new number one man ran out of a group and angled toward him.

  “Yes, boss?” he yelled as he slowed to a stop, just beyond arm’s reach. Sawyer brushed off the man’s hesitation.

  “We can’t take all these stupid fuckers with us, can we?” he growled.

  Jagoff was torn. He’d seen men beaten for telling the boss the truth. He’d been beaten for less. He parsed his words carefully. “We can, but only if you’re willing to travel ten miles a day, maybe only five. We’d be on the road for two weeks just to get there, probably longer because we’ll run out of provisions well before that time. We’ll have to stop and hunt, scour the countryside for things to eat.” Jagoff watched the boss carefully, ready to dodge if necessary.

  “I think you’re right. Split them up. I only want people that can walk twenty-five miles a day. We’ll be on the road what, four days? We can carry what we need on the horses. Go.” Jagoff was surprised by the matter-of-fact approach that seemed to be logic-based, so unlike the boss. But he hesitated too long and brought out the real Sawyer Brown.

  A massive paw reached out and grabbed Jagoff by the collar and threw him to the ground where Sawyer kicked him in the chest. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Now fuck off and take care of it!” Sawyer lifted Jagoff to his feet and back-handed him across the face for good measure.

  There was no way Jagoff was going to ask Sawyer Brown what he needed as a minimum number of people. Jagoff ran away from the big man, realized he was going in the wrong direction, then looped back toward the people who were gathering all their personal belongings for a trip into the wastelands to go someplace that was supposed to be overgrown with food and thick with game to hunt. No one believed any of that.

  They looked like they were preparing to march to their deaths. The only thing missing was a funeral dirge.

  Jagoff was happy that he could share some good news with them, but anyone on the fence of being able to walk for twelve solid hours each day would have to go. Sawyer wanted numbers, but very few people were healthy enough to do as he asked. Jagoff looked at the crowd and waved everyone to him. He could see Sawyer Brown over the tops of their heads as he watched to see Jagoff in action, probably wanting him to fail so he could beat him again.

  That shit was getting real old.

  * * *

  Terry pushed th
e group hard the second day, where they traveled single file with a hundred yards between each. He put the unarmed Char at the back of the line while he stayed up front. Terry urged his horse into a trot for fifteen minutes per hour as they traveled. They still stopped every couple hours, but as dusk approached on the second day, they’d passed Denver and were turning west to canvass the approach toward the nebulous south where Sawyer said they were from.

  Even Clyde was dogged that second day, so Terry took pity and carried him on the horse for half the time.

  TH didn’t put great stock in the big man’s claims, but it was the only thing he had. If they’d come from the east, from Kansas, then he’d never find them. The broad expanse of the wasteland was too much for a search and destroy mission. He wanted to head south anyway, find Falcon Air Force Base, find Peterson Field, see if any of NORAD remained. Those bases had to have a secret stash. Maybe even the Air Force Academy. The cadets trained with rifles. He wondered if they had a storeroom of M1 Garands, but the barrels were probably plugged. He needed weapons and ammunition he could use.

  They made a small fire in a ditch because they found dry wood that wouldn’t smoke. They made a stew with things they’d brought, but Char asked if she could head into the wilds to go hunting. She thought she smelled a wild boar, but no one else smelled anything. Terry pulled a knife from a leg scabbard, he flipped it over and holding it by the blade, handed it to Char. She didn’t need it, but took it to maintain appearances.

  She disappeared into the twilight.

  “What the hell was that?” Mark asked in a low voice. “She’s going out to hunt a wild boar with a little blade. In the dark. After we’ve ridden all day and are exhausted. What is with her? Nothing fazes that woman.”

  Terry looked to the three men arrayed around the small fire. Ivan was currently at the observation post they’d established, about one hundred yards away, so he could guarantee no one surprised them. Terry made sure they understood what security was all about, what it meant to participate in a real military operation.

  “Gentlemen, she’s the best natural hunter in this whole group. She learned when she was on her own and honed her skill. Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s as deadly as anyone you can imagine. She’s going to go hunt and she will probably bring back the rest of her kill for us mere mortals. And you know what we’re going to do? We’re going to thank her and move on.”

  “I’d like to move on her, alright,” Devlin snickered. Terry vaulted across the fire, hitting the young man in the chest with both feet. Devlin rolled over backwards as Terry straddled him, one hand wrapped around his throat and the other balled into a fist. The young man flailed his arms and winced, expecting the blow.

  “You will never talk about her like that. Do you understand me?” Terry growled. He’d seen too many Marines in his day who thought they were superior to women just because they were men. He had thought that way at one point, until he learned that everyone brought unique skills to the table. And nothing would tear a unit apart more quickly than men posturing to bed a lone female.

  “She is an equal member of the FDG and that’s all there is to it. Who cares what she looks like? She saved my ass out there. I live because she fought the raiders. That makes her all right in my book. That makes her a warrior. And that’s all there is to it. I catch any of you thinking those thoughts again, I will beat you within an inch of your life and you’ll be kicked out of the Force.”

  Terry’s voice finished, “Period fucking dot!”

  “Yes, sir,” Devlin gasped as Terry and got off him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Terry glared at the young man beneath him.

  “If you don’t mean anything by it, then don’t say it. Words are all we have. Words show our intent, and then our intent becomes our actions. Be proud that she’s on our side, because if she ever turned, you can kiss your asses goodbye. She would kill all of you without hesitation and walk away from the fight without a scratch. You’ve all seen her body. You know what’s important to see? Not a scratch. How in the hell do you survive in the wastelands and not get a scratch? Because you’re better than everyone else, tougher than anything out there. Trust her and respect her and we’ll see you through this.”

  Terry offered his hand to help Devlin up. The young man couldn’t look into Terry’s eyes. No one wanted to be made an example of, and that was where he was. The poster child of getting it wrong. Terry tipped the man’s chin up. “Control your thoughts, control your actions, and you’ll do right by me, by all of us,” he encouraged.

  Devlin nodded. Clyde started howling at the darkness until Terry yelled at him to be quiet and pulled him close as he stretched out to sleep. He had the midnight watch and that time would come too soon.

  * * *

  Charumati hadn’t gone far from the fire when she carefully removed her clothes and piled them neatly behind a rock. She changed into her Werewolf form, reveling in the power it gave her. She heard what Devlin said, and then recognized the sound of a fight. She wondered if they would feel the same way if they saw her as she was now.

  She appreciated Terry coming to her defense, and that he did it as an equal and not as an alpha protecting its mate. With those thoughts to comfort her, she bolted into the near darkness, running toward the smell of her prey.

  She stopped as the scent became stronger. She crouched and listened, feeling the aura of the world around her, enjoying her Were senses fully. Not far, the warmth of a mammal, the sound of it digging in the dirt. With her back legs under her, she launched herself forward and drove her sleek brown body across the tops of the rolling terrain. The distance between her and her prey disappeared under great, ground-eating strides. With a final leap, she pounced on a small javelina, a wild pig. She seized its throat in her powerful jaws, savoring the warm blood as it gushed into her mouth.

  The javelina fought a losing battle from the start, guaranteeing that it would be over quickly. With most of its blood drained, Char shook the creature harshly, breaking its neck to finish the kill. She dug into it, gorging on the meat, bones, and entrails. When she finished, the skull and some of the bigger bones remained. She laid down, with the javelina skull between her front paws, and licked and nipped to get every last bit of anything edible.

  She heard it at the last second. Slithering on the hard ground, slipping through soft sand. She vaulted straight into the air as the rattler struck. Its fangs grazed her back leg. The fire! She landed and bolted to give herself space, turning to face this new enemy.

  It burned! Her leg was starting to stiffen, but she’d just eaten and the healing had already started.

  The snake coiled, head hovering and tail rattling, ready to strike. She feigned with a paw, encouraging it to strike. A little closer. It dove. She pulled that paw and slapped the other on the back of the thing’s head. She held it down as the rest of its body coiled, seeking to leverage itself free of her grip. She had no stomach to play with the thing. She bit down on the meaty part next to her paw, clamping her jaws tightly and shaking with fury that ended by tearing the snake in two pieces.

  The poison’s fire smoldered, no longer flames licking into her body. Her leg was loosening up as the she-wolf fought the poison.

  She picked up the bulk of the snake in her mouth and trotted back the way she’d come, following her own trail by the scent she’d left. When she arrived at her clothes, she changed into her human form. The scrape from the snake’s fangs were gone, and the evil of its poison was almost completely cleansed from her body. Char dressed, picked up the snake, and strolled back into camp.

  Terry roused as Clyde’s tail pounded him with joy at seeing his alpha. She stroked the mutt’s fur, then scratched behind his ears and around his neck. Char had never considered owning a pet, least of all a dog, but here she was, and she liked it. Clyde asked for so little in return. In that way, he was like Terry Henry Walton. The two mutts of her new pack. She smiled to herself.

  When Terry opened his eyes, he saw the rem
ains of the fat rattler. He sat up and took it from her. He held out his hand for his knife, which she’d forgotten about. When he had it, he started to gut and skin the snake.

  “You didn’t do a very good job cutting the head off. Was my knife really that dull?” Terry asked pointedly.

  “Ohhh,” Char started. “It was dark,” she countered. He shook his head and removed the part where the Werewolf had bitten through it and then he cut another section away from that. What would Werewolf saliva do to his people? He didn’t want to find out. He threw those bits in the fire before anyone could make the mistake of trying them.

  He skinned the snake, keeping the skin, knowing that he’d be able to make something out of that later, maybe even wrap the handle of his bullwhip. He cut the rattler into smaller pieces and threw that into the remainder of the dinner stew. He added more water and dusted sage into it. Sagebrush seemed to be the single item one could find anywhere throughout the wasteland.

  Terry looked forward to eating a little more. He’d skimped on dinner, as had the others. Ivan said that he could probably cover the entire night, although Mark was ready to take the post whenever Nightwatch woke him. Devlin and Jim were equally ready.

  Mark lifted his head when Terry added a few sticks to the fire and it burst back to life. The new concoction didn’t smell great, but food was food when traveling through the wasteland.

  Char snuggled next to Clyde and quickly fell asleep. Terry saw that she was halfway onto his blanket and that Clyde took the rest of it.

  Just like being married, he thought. He really wanted that blanket as he knew the night would be cool. At this altitude it was almost always cool in the evening. Once he and Mark ate their fill, he kicked dirt over the fire to put it out, then wrapped himself around Clyde, letting the dog provide warmth. He soon found that Char was generating more heat than Clyde. That should not have surprised him, but it did.