“Private,” Terry called to Char. She looked at him with one eyebrow raised and her hands up. “Gather up these weapons and ammunition and bring them to the road,” he ordered and strode briskly away without seeing the look of surprise on her face.
The four members of the FDG had eleven prisoners. He looked for the man who told everyone to surrender, the man that Clyde seemed to like. “You, what’s your name?”
“They call me Jagoff…” he said, hanging his head.
“Say what? I asked what your name was, and I don’t want any bullshit,” Terry clarified.
“James, my name is James.” The man smiled sheepishly. It had probably been too long since he had heard his own name.
“Well, James, I’m going to be honest in that I have no idea what to do with all of you. What do you think we should do?” Terry asked.
“We’re not your enemy, mister. He was.” James pointed at Sawyer Brown’s corpse.
“Yes, that reminds me. An old tradition of mine is to give a bottle of twenty-year old, or older, single malt scotch to the team member who took out the target. Since we don’t have any of that, one of my first bottles of beer to the man who shot Sawyer Brown! Was that you, Mark?” Terry asked, looking at his corporal. Mark shook his head and pointed to James.
“You?”
“It was well past the time that he needed to go, but he kept us fed, gave us purpose. I’m not sorry to see him dead, though, not sorry at all,” James said and spit in the direction of the corpse. The others followed suit.
“I really hope that when I die, no one spits on me. So back to my question, James. What do we do now?” James looked to the others and it seemed like some of them wanted to talk, but hesitated.
“What do you guys think?” Terry asked Mark and Devlin. Jim and Ivan were quagmired in trying to get the weapons and ammunition under control. It looked like Jim and Ivan were losing.
“Whatever you decide, sir,” Devlin replied quickly. Terry looked to Mark.
“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to spend the rest of my days guarding prisoners,” Mark offered ambiguously. Terry rolled his finger hoping to get more. “We need friends, not enemies,” Mark added helpfully.
Char walked up, glaring at Terry as she struggled with an armload of cumbersome rifles and two packs bursting with ammunition. She unceremoniously dumped it on the ground at Terry’s feet and stood there with her arms crossed.
Terry didn’t want to push any more of her buttons. He could tell she was still in pain and needed a break. Terry pulled his last bundle of venison jerky from a pocket and handed it to her. “Thanks, Char. Go get Sawyer’s belt and pistols. I think they’ll look good on you,” he started, then hesitated. “You look dogged, take a break and get something to eat.” It wasn’t an order. He didn’t work that way. He cared about his people, but wanted them to take care of themselves. His job was to give them space to do that.
She chuckled. Dogged. That was it. She ran a hand down his arm as she walked past, taking Clyde with her to find a spot in the ditch a short way off, to sit and relax, eat and recover.
“You. It looks like you had something to say,” Terry asked.
A man who seemed to be Mark’s age spoke out after looking to the others for confirmation. “We have people back in our town. We have to go back for them,” he said, sounding desperate.
Terry nodded, then decided.
“Here’s what I can offer. To the north, it’s a bit of a hike, but up there, we have a town where we’re growing more food than we need. What we don’t have is enough manpower to work everything that needs worked. We even have power, electrical power, and those of you with any knowledge of that sort of thing could find more work than you can do. We’re bringing civilization back to the world. Would you like to join us? It’s going to be a great trip, but there’s some work to do between now and then.” Terry let it hang.
“Talk among yourselves and see what you’d like to do. If we need to go back for the rest of your people, we’ll do that and it’ll take as long as it takes. I hate to uproot your whole society, but we can’t sustain two communities, not right now anyway. Join us and we’ll do right by you as long as you do right by us.”
James huddled the people together and Terry watched. He understood the lessons from history only too well. When you enforced your power at the end of a gun, when that gun was gone, you found out the people had zero loyalty, only fear. North Korea had existed that way, so it atrophied and the people suffered. When the Chinese liberation came, even communism gave the North Koreans more freedom and liberty than they’d ever had before.
There’s no limit to what people will do for you when they believe. Terry hadn’t promised them a rose garden and they seemed okay with that. He doubted any of them were allergic to hard work. These people were survivors.
Just like him. Just like Char. Just like all of them.
* * *
It took two days for the mob to make their way back to town. All of the weapons and provisions were loaded on the horses and everyone walked, including the FDG. Terry wouldn’t have it any other way. He and Char hunted to provide meat for the seventeen of them. They ate well and they talked a lot.
As usual, when the people got to know each other, they realized that they had far more in common than not. Once they realized that Terry Henry Walton had no interest in lording his power over them, they relaxed and acted as friends.
He regaled them with stories from books he’d read, revealing very little about himself while keeping the group entertained. The trip went quickly because they didn’t push. Terry estimated that they traveled some thirty-five miles.
Not bad for two days.
To everyone’s surprise, when told of the opportunity to live with food, clean water, and power, the rest of the town rose to the occasion and packed up. In two more days, they were ready to go.
Terry had too much stuff and no way to carry it all. He searched his memory for something that would be useful, finally settling on the travois, as used by Native Americans centuries before. They strapped blankets across two poles that would be tied to the saddle and the main contraption would drag behind the horse. It was easier than trying to carry everything and would vastly increase what the people could take.
They built four travois and that was where they loaded the weapons and ammunition, blankets, food, and some water. Those with children would ride some of the way.
Terry pulled James aside. “Have you been down to Colorado Springs, or maybe Falcon?” James shrugged, unsure of what Terry was digging for.
“I’m looking for where they hid their weapons after the fall. If we’re going to rebuild this nation, we need to make sure that no one else has access to weaponry. Peace through superior firepower, eh?” Terry prodded. “Where’d you get the AKs and all the ammunition?”
“Probably the kind of place you’re looking for. Right here in this town, there was a vault and Sawyer Brown found a way in. It was loaded with those rifles and closets completely filled with ammunition. Sawyer didn’t let us waste it, but we had as much as we needed whenever we needed it.”
“Show me…”
James and Terry walked through the dusty old town and found the bunker tucked behind the last building. It looked like a fruit cellar, but had a door like a bank vault. Whatever Sawyer did to get inside, it paid a huge dividend. They’d been set for fifteen of the past twenty years.
Terry did a quick inventory and as much as he wanted it to be something else, he determined that it was simply a private collection that someone had amassed in the years leading up to the World’s Worst Day Ever. This was all surplus gear, rifles from a broad range of eastern bloc countries. Ammunition by all manufacturers. There were only a couple rifles remaining in the vault. Sawyer Brown had pulled out all stops in his effort to eliminate Terry Henry Walton and the FDG.
“Build two more travois and take all this with us. We can’t leave it for someone else to find.” Terry liked seeing the ammunition. Ev
en if he didn’t find the hidden stockpile he knew had to be there, he had enough arms and ammunition to start and win a war of the wasteland.
But that wasn’t good enough for TH. He wanted to search for the stockpile. He hunted Mark down to let him know. “You take this group back to New Boulder. Char and I are going to search for the stockpile,” Terry informed him.
Mark was instantly boiling mad. “That’s bullshit!” he yelled. “You sell these people on a better world, and then you bail on them? You’re not going anywhere except back north with us. Do you understand me?” Mark crossed his arms and stood with feet spread wide.
“That’s not how it works. I give the orders, and you follow them,” Terry said coldly.
“Is your white whale out there somewhere, Terry Henry Walton? I’m begging you, come with us. Search for your mystical Nirvana later.” Mark’s eyes were wide as he unfolded his arms and clasped his hands in front of him, pleading with Terry to change his mind.
“Can’t you take them on your own?” Terry asked.
“Of course I can, but it’s not about that. It’s about you being the leader we need you to be, the person who’s going to bring civilization back to us. I can take them to New Boulder, but I can’t do the rest of it. That’s you, bastard,” Mark said, gaining confidence in being an upstart.
“Fuck me …” Terry hung his head and looked at the ground. Char slapped him on the back while Clyde nuzzled his leg. The people watched, wondering what he was going to do.
The End of Nomad Found
Terry Henry Walton will return
in Nomad Redeemed, January 2017.
Author Notes - Craig Martelle
Written December 18st, 2016
What’s there to say? Writing is work, but fun work. The best part of being an author is meeting all the great people out there, other authors, like Michael Anderle, and then all the readers. It is a truly great adventure.
I want to thank Michael for allowing me into the Kurtherian Gambit universe to take a look at things on earth while Bethany Anne was away. After the world’s worst day ever happened and everything changed – the apocalypse, Armageddon, whatever you want to call it. Please people, don’t let that day happen!
I want to thank those who helped make this book the best it could possibly be. My editor is simply fantastic – Mia Darien has helped me to improve my writing through her comments and consistent correction of my bad punctuation and capitalization. I used to be good at that stuff, but getting quagmired in my own stories, I’ve lost the edge. My teachers from high school would be appalled.
Kat Lind, Diane Velasquez, and Dorene Johnson are constant companions on the journey. I run an awful lot by them to get their input on how the snippet resonates, either emotionally or visually. I usually only give them a small part of the story and it is in draft form, too. I can’t believe they even read it as the first draft is not great! I write better because of these stellar people!
Shout out to the one nicknamed Nomad, Norman Meredith. I loved the name and the visual one gets, so that’s what I decided to call this series. Andrew Dobell made the title text pop, too, making it even better.
And then there’s Michael Anderle – he is the James Patterson of the science fiction and fantasy world! His understanding of what makes a good plot and character build up is what has made his Kurtherian Gambit series a perpetual bestseller. I am thrilled to get his mentoring as we move forward with Terry Henry Walton’s story.
I also want to drop a few good words for Tammy Randolph, right here in Fairbanks. She invited me to talk with a reading group that loves my End Times Alaska series. That was the first time I’ve ever talked to a group about my books. She made it easy for me to talk with a fairly large group. They were all so kind and it could not have been a better evening for me. Thank you very much – those things keep writers writing.
If you liked this story, you might like some of my other books. You can join my mailing list by dropping by my website www.craigmartelle.com or if you have any comments, shoot me a note at [email protected]. I am always happy to hear from people who’ve read my work. I try to answer every email I receive.
If you liked the story, please write a short review for me on Amazon. I greatly appreciate any kind words, even one or two sentences go a long way. The number of reviews an ebook receives greatly improves how well an ebook does on Amazon.
Amazon – www.amazon.com/author/craigmartelle
Facebook – www.facebook.com/authorcraigmartelle
My web page – www.craigmartelle.com
Twitter – www.twitter.com/rick_banik
Thank you for reading Nomad Found!
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Written December 18th, 2016
As always, can I say with a HUGE amount of appreciation how much it means to me that you not only read this book, but you are reading these notes as well?
When I started thinking about my fans (and the damned pitchforks and matches - Yikes!) I realized I couldn’t write it all.
Not cause I didn’t have the time (which I really don’t) but I’m not made to write all of the stories. Why? Because some of the genres aren’t my specialty.
Now, I knew that Bethany Anne and Michael would be apart for a long time. But, I knew that fans would be asking me, “What the hell happened between book 14/15 and when Michael’s came out?”
Am I omniscient? Well, in one word.
No.
Not even remotely. However, I am pretty good at paying attention to what happens in the past and figuring it might happen again. So, when the big honking expanse of years opened up, I was guessing I would get ahead of you fans and get something going. Because (see above) pitchforks and matches, man!
They keep an author writing… Or at least running and dodging… something!
So, we get back to the years after Bethany Anne leaves, and the WWDE happens.
(World’s Worst Day Ever … We have an internal document researched and written for us authors by … -Well, let’s say a person in an appropriate career that reviews official reports on what is expected. We will share this at some point in the future, and the author if possible. (I don’t know if I can say who it is, due to constraints placed on him.))
Now, we have a post-apocalyptic society and we need to bring some semblance of civilization back for Michael. If anyone here knows me, you know I am not a prepper. My idea of prepping is calling ahead for reservations at a restaurant. If that day happens? I’m going to be heading to my brother’s house in central Texas, hoping he doesn’t accidentally shoot us because the guy driving (me) doesn’t have a tan.
(I can see it now: Picture the scene, a car is coming up the long dirt driveway and stops. The driver gets out yelling, “Paul? Paul? It’s me… ” Pow ZIIING! The guy starts jumping around, a hand holding his baseball cap on, “He’s Shooting, He’s SHOOTING!”)
Anyway, I told you all of that to say I’m not the right guy to write Post-Apoc. However, I KNEW someone who could do it. Why? (Well, I knew him because of 20Books, I knew he could DO it because he already had a successful series set in the Alaskan Wilderness that he sold to a traditional publishing house… pretty good street cred. Well, if you ignore his US Marines experience and other stuff. By other stuff, I’m purposefully ignoring his Legal (lawyer) cred.)
So, I pinged him on Facebook and asked him if he would be interested. Then, I swallowed my ego hard and asked if he would mind taking a character (secondary, or even tertiary character) that was in a couple of the books and use him?
I was concerned he wouldn’t like the character at all.
Damned if he didn’t say yes! WOOHOO I tell you, WOOHOO :-)
It has been a real pleasure to read the story that Craig has concocted from our discussions. Plus, with Char and the others (even that damned Billy - who SO deserves Felicity, it’s awesome.) I’m having a blast learning who is who, and how is the team he’s building molding together?
The Terry Henry Walton Chronicles i
s the First Kurtherian Gambit series to be fronted by a male character (it will beat Michael’s book out by three or four days) and I could not be happier. I’ve heard the first bit on audio for the characters.
It’s all going to rock.
Stay tuned, book 02 is out in a few weeks!
Best Regards,
Michael Anderle
PROLOGUE
That wasn’t good enough for TH. He wanted to search for the stockpile. He hunted Mark down to let him know. “You take this group back to New Boulder. Char and I are going to search for the stockpile,” Terry informed him.
Mark was instantly boiling mad. “That’s bullshit!” he yelled. “You sell these people on a better world, and then you bail on them? You’re not going anywhere except back north with us. Do you understand me?” Mark crossed his arms and stood with feet spread wide.
“That’s not how it works. I give the orders, and you follow them,” Terry said coldly.
“Is your white whale out there somewhere, Terry Henry Walton? I’m begging you, come with us.” Mark’s eyes were wide as he unfolded his arms and clasped his hands in front of him, pleading with Terry to change his mind. “Search for your mystical Nirvana later.”
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