Nomad Mortis

by Craig Martelle

  A new world with blimps for air travel, radios for communication, and ships sailing the high seas.

  A whole new world in which the Forsaken could hide.

  Radios to coordinate their efforts, alert each other to the war that the FDG waged. Blimps to carry them far afield. Ships in which to move their cargo, give them the strength of a modern, technological world.

  Akio didn’t see the obstacles as insurmountable, only that his task to find Forsaken had grown orders of magnitude more difficult.

  “Terry-san will not be happy,” Akio told Yuko.

  She smiled in reply. “The truth is the truth and Terry Henry Walton will accept it as such. He has always been kind when working with you, Akio-san.”

  “You are right. It will be as it will be. For the Forsaken? Eve will not be fooled. They will change with the times, but we will be smarter and faster, won’t we, Eve?” Akio asked.

  “Of course,” Eve replied without hesitation, never losing focus on the vastly increasing amount of data flooding into the command center.

  Flying in the Pod

  “Louisville, here we come,” Terry said as he started to psych himself up as if going into combat.

  “Relax there, you big husky,” Char taunted. Terry could only smile. Char closed her eyes as the pod flew low over the outskirts of the city.

  “There you are,” Char said. “Due north, one mile, show me the terrain, please.”

  A forward view appeared on the screen. “Slower please.” Char reached into the etheric, felt the Werewolves, and guided the pod in.

  She knew that they had to sense her and the others, including the Forsaken. Clovis howled as soon as the ramp started lowering. He kept braying until the deck hit the ground, and then he was off like a shot.

  “Get back here, Clovis!” Cory yelled.

  “You need to train dog,” Gene stated in his heavy Russian accent. He threw out a few words of Chinese and Fu giggled.

  Terry and Char looked at each other in disbelief. Gene and Fu. Char wanted to think that she’d seen stranger, but she couldn’t come up with anything. Gene had to outweigh her by four hundred pounds and was nearly two feet taller than her. They made an odd couple.

  Both Terry and Char put it out of their minds the instant they emerged into the bright sunshine. Char pointed in one direction and they headed that way.

  Joseph pulled his hat down and hunched his shoulders, assuming the pose of the miserably downtrodden. The rear deck of the pod closed behind them.

  The others fell in loosely as Terry and Char walked determinedly forward. All were there except Cory, who was running away from them as she chased Clovis.

  The dog’s tongue lolled as he frolicked in the high grasses, enjoying the game of keep away that he was playing with his human. Cory stopped and put her hands on her hips. She looked back and forth between Clovis and her parents.

  She dropped to a knee and tried to encourage Clovis to come to her by using a piece of beef jerky.

  The big coonhound stopped what he was doing, raised his hackles, and started barking furiously. Cory followed his eyes to watch a man emerge from the trees.

  She didn’t bother calling out. The young man took a knee, mirroring Cory’s pose, and began talking with the dog.

  “Who’s a good boy?” he said, cocking his head left and right. Clovis stopped barking and started wagging his tail. “I think I might have a little something for you.”

  Like Cory, he produced a piece of beef jerky from his pocket. Cordelia was still holding hers, but the dog went for the stranger.

  “What are you feeding my dog?” she asked the young man as she stood.

  “A little pork jerky. It’s kind of tough, so better him eating it than me,” he offered with a half-smile. “My, aren’t you tall.”

  “As you are,” Cory replied.

  “Is that yours?” he asked, nodding toward the pod.

  “My parents. They’re right over there…” She looked at the space where they’d been, having already disappeared into the woods at the far end of the field. “Damn. Look what you made me do.”

  The young man scratched behind Clovis’s ears, before producing a leather ball. He shook it in front of the dog’s face. When Clovis tried to bite it, the young man reared back and launched it in the direction the others had gone. Clovis took off after it like a white and brown rocket.

  “I doubt anyone makes you do anything you don’t want to.” He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and smiled crookedly, his brown eyes gleaming. He finally noticed that Cory’s eyes glowed blue. “Never seen anything like that before.”

  Cory twirled her hair around one finger as she looked at the young man who seemed so familiar, even though they’d just met.

  “Wow! Never seen anything like that either,” he blurted as Cory’s hair parted to reveal her wolf ear.

  “I’m special and you’ll just have to accept that for an explanation.” Cory ended abruptly. “I need to catch up with the others. It was nice talking with you.”

  “Wait!” the young man pleaded. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean anything. You’re incredible!”

  The young man stopped in surprise at what he’d blurted. His hand went defensively over his mouth as if trying to shove the words back in. Cory giggled.

  “Come here, Clovis. Give the nice man his ball back.” Clovis had the ball and saw the opportunity for a new game of keep away.

  “Ramses. My name is Ramses,” the young man offered, shoving his hand in Cory’s direction as he jogged to cover the gap between them.

  She took his hand and squeezed in the way her father had taught her. A firm handshake was the sign of a hearty soul!

  Ramses didn’t take it easy and the two gripped mightily for a few seconds longer than normal, before they both let go.

  He smiled, not in victory, but in respect.

  “Cordelia, but you can call me Cory.” She looked at him, forgetting that she was on her way to catch up to the others.

  Louisville

  Char led them unerringly toward the Werewolves. The others didn’t try to run, which gave Terry hope that they would join willingly.

  Char and her pack stopped outside a small home in a remote community. Fields created a patchwork between the houses.

  “You know we’re here.” Char projected her voice toward the door. Terry played with his whip. The Mameluke sword was strapped across his back, and he was itching to use it in combat. He wanted them to come peacefully, but was ready and willing to fight.

  He’d given the cutting edge a thin layer of silver. It wouldn’t do at all to be armed with weapons that wouldn’t hurt Vampires when hunting Vampires.

  Or Were.

  The door opened quietly and two beautiful people walked out.

  “Would you look at that!” Timmons proclaimed as he brushed past Char, a big smile on his face. “Butch and Skippy, holy fuck!”

  Timmons wrapped the man in a bear hug and then the woman. Sue joined her mate.

  “You don’t know Sue, do you?” Timmons asked.

  “I would never forget a face like that, Tim, you old dog. Robbing the cradle with this one, are you?” the man replied in a heavy New York accent.

  Char felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She had expected a fight, and was overjoyed at not being thrust into one.

  Terry stopped playing with his whip, wondering if Timmons was going to introduce the rest of them. Char wasn’t waiting.

  The alpha should never be made to wait.

  Timmons must have sensed her growing ire. He hurriedly stepped aside and waved an arm. “Our alpha, Charumati, and her mate, Terry Henry Walton.”

  Skippy scowled. “He’s not one of us,” the man growled dangerously.

  Char didn’t hesitate. She covered the remaining two paces in less than a heartbeat, picked the belligerent Werewolf up, and body-slammed him on the ground. She grabbed his feet, picked him up, and started swinging him around in a circle.

  The
others gave her space as she spun, let go, and threw the Werewolf over the top of the one-story building. They heard him grunt when he slammed into the ground in the backyard.

  Sue put a restraining hand on Butch, to keep her from doing anything other than stand there.

  “I’m Char, and we’d like you to join the pack,” she said with a winning smile, offering her hand to the bitch beta.

  “And I’m Terry Henry Walton. My friends call me TH,” Terry said, joining his wife. Butch looked at his hand before taking it. She tried to crush his hand as a way of getting back without directly attacking the alpha.

  But Terry was far stronger than the Werewolf. He winked at her as she struggled against his vice-like grip.

  “I submit,” she said, and Terry let go.

  “There’s another bitch around here. Get her for me, if you would.” Char could have easily gone after the other Werewolf, but her request wasn’t one of convenience. This was about establishing dominance over the pack, confirming her role as the alpha.

  Butch nodded once and ran off.

  “Check on our upstart new friend,” Char told Timmons. He ran around the building, almost running into Skippy, who was appropriately cowed.

  “Fuck, dude!” the limping Werewolf snarled at Timmon who started to laugh.

  “Not my fault, fucktard. You wanted to challenge the alpha, but you’ve always been kind of a dumbass. She killed Marcus, so you wrap your fucking pea-brain around that. And Terry Henry? He’s no normal human. He’s stronger and faster than all of us, so give them the respect they are due and play nice. Or you may find yourself on the wrong end of a beating that you’ll never forget. That’s not a threat, my friend. We have a great life but we could use some new blood.” Timmons tried to end on a positive note.

  “Fuck all, you say?” Skippy shot back, but Timmons gripped the man’s arm and glared. “Fine, fine. What kind of fucking zoo do you have out there?’

  Skippy was looking at the Werebear, the Forsaken, and the Weretigers.

  “A damned good one. Lifesavers all. We have a rather eclectic pack, and we’re fighting a war with the Forsaken. We’ve killed dozens of them, and you know what we’ve found?” Timmons waited until Skippy shrugged. “They don’t stand a chance against us. With Terry’s training, our equipment, and sound tactics, we are kicking their asses into last century.”

  “Fuck the Forsaken. We used to be five, but those bastards swept through here and ‘recruited’ a couple of us. They had no choice but to go. Yeah. I’m in for kicking their asses. Butch too, and probably Gladys as well.”

  “Old Glady is with you?”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that!” Skippy warned.

  The two returned to the front where the others were waiting. Skippy bowed his head in deference to the alpha before she introduced the others. The Werewolf looked at Joseph.

  “Yes, a Forsaken is in the pack. He saw the error of his ways and joined us. He’s proven his loyalty time and again, so I won’t tolerate any disrespect toward him. Understand?” Char demanded.

  Skippy nodded his agreement and one by one, shook the hands of those in the pack. He stopped when he reached Gene and Aaron, who both towered over the Werewolves. He looked at Fu, confused. She was clearly a human and unarmed.

  He thought she looked like a tourist.

  “My Fu,” Gene said proudly in his heavy Russian accent. “You have food? Come, we eat.”

  Skippy looked to Char. She tossed her hair and headed for the door to their home.

  Aaron and Yanmei shook the new Werewolf’s hand warmly, smiling in greeting.

  “Tigers. A bear. A Vampire. And an enhanced human, a virtual lion of a man. Lions, tigers, and bears, oh my!” Skippy sang as he looked from one face to the next.

  “FOOD!” Gene roared.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  North Chicago

  “What the hell did they send me?” Boris screamed, spittle flying. The new recruits were huffing and puffing, soaked in sweat. Three had already quit and been sent home, back to boats, the fields, the ranches, whatever job they’d been doing as civilians.

  As part of the out-brief, Boris and the platoon sergeants thanked them profusely for trying, and that there were no hard feelings. He wanted them to know that they should never feel bad for not making it through the grueling training. It wasn’t meant to kill people, just to make them feel like they were going to die, to push them beyond their own limits.

  At least their idea of what those limits were. Boris could promise them nothing beyond pain and suffering. Service in the FDG was limited to pride, glory, courage, and honor.

  In a firefight, it came down to one thing—fighting as they were trained, covering the next warrior over as he or she was covering the next. Attacking when an attack was called for, even if the enemy was firing at them.

  That was why they always trained while wearing body armor. They needed to treat it like a second skin.

  The recruits did not yet have the pleasure of carrying the extra eight pounds. It would have taken them over the edge.

  In due time, he thought.

  “What sorry asses!” he yelled afresh. Two of the sergeants waded through the sand to yank someone upright and yell at them, before tromping away to find their next victim.

  “Side straddle hops!” Boris intoned. The mob started exercising. Boris bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. The recruits were smacking each other as they’d been too close when they started jumping and slapping their hands over their heads.

  “Stop!” Boris called. The recruits tried to assume a position of attention. Two of them bent over, one of them did it to puke, while the other put his hands on his knees to suck wind.

  The puker stood up straight and proud as soon as she was finished. Boris nodded appreciatively. The other was still down. Without having to signal, the two sergeants waded in to force the young man upright, yelling at him simultaneously, which gave all the others a break.

  “At ease!” the lieutenant ordered. His face contorted as the two sergeants kept yelling. “I said, at ease!”

  The sergeants gave the winded man one last what-for before storming from the sandpit.

  “Seats,” Boris called. The group was more than happy to sit down. One of them sat in the puke. He made a mental note to send them into the lake as the next event. He didn’t care if the recruits had to smell puke all day, but he wanted to avoid it for himself because he wasn’t a fan.

  “Listen up, people,” the lieutenant said as he started walking back and forth in front of the group. “The Force de Guerre is only sexy when we aren’t doing our job, when we’re back here, in formation, standing tall, and looking good. That’s the exception to the rule. The way you feel now is how you’ll feel more of the time, especially when you’re out there, facing the enemy. The difference between the FDG and everyone else is what you do about it when you feel at your worst.”

  The sergeants hadn’t heard this speech before, so they moved in closer to better hear.

  “Everyone will have some sort of crisis in their lives. It’s not the crisis that defines us, but how we react to it, how we deal with it. Ninety percent of your training will be exactly that—learning to respond during a crisis. We’re not going to shoot you, but we are going to bend you to the breaking point. Then and only then will the real training begin. You’ll learn more about yourself than you imagined. You will be the bedrock for those around you. You will be exhausted, you’ll be bleeding, you’ll be hungry, and you’ll power through it, because you must.”

  He put his hands behind his back and looked at the ground as he continued to pace.

  “When you think you have nothing left, you’ll dig inside yourself and find that there is more to give,” Boris added softly.

  “For the FDG’s honor, you will keep fighting. You will keep doing what’s right. You will do everything humanly possible to accomplish the mission. You need to be confident that those around you are doing the exact same thing, because w
e are in this together. We win as one, or they bury us all in a single grave. If you can’t run, stagger. If you can’t stagger, you crawl. If you can’t crawl, find someone who can, and drag yourself behind them. Quitting isn’t one of the choices. That is what you will learn in the FDG. Sergeants! Into the lake for a short swim.”

  The two sergeants started yelling and the mob jumped to their feet and fell into formation as they were prodded forward. The lead sergeant ran off, picking up the pace, running at nearly a sprint. They only had two hundred yards to go. He didn’t even slow down as he leapt from the shore into the light surf.

  The platoon followed, yelling their newly acquired war-cries. Boris jogged slowly behind them, watching for any sign that he’d lose more from this bunch.

  He smiled when he saw the recruits charge into the water with reckless abandon. He could tally the number and call it final. Thirty-seven new recruits to bump them to one hundred and twenty-five. After a couple months, they’d do it again and every two months thereafter.

  The colonel had set a goal of five hundred trained warriors in the next five years and tasked Boris with reaching that number.

  It was a big hill to climb, but Boris felt better about it than he did yesterday.

  Louisville

  “Gladys, I take it,” Char said, keeping her expression even as Butch approached with another Werewolf.

  Gladys was old. Her hair had turned gray and wrinkles threatened to crack the skin on her face. Char had never met a Werewolf that old before.

  The old woman held out her hand, and Char took it, pleased with the strong grip that remained.

  “I am Gladys,” the old woman answered, looking fearlessly but respectfully into the alpha’s eyes. “I’m trying to keep these two out of trouble, but it seems I don’t have to do that anymore. I hear there’s a new alpha in town.”

  “There is, and we want you to join us.” Char was straightforward. She didn’t want to waste the old Werewolf’s time by beating around the bush. Char couldn’t risk looking weak either. Despite Gladys’s age, Char was still the alpha.