“We haven’t been able to get a hold of Akio!” Timmons exclaimed, trying to get the old men’s attention. “No one is going anywhere.”
“We have faith. You’ll get a hold of him and Akio will come. Then we’ll go get our colonel. Who’d you say had him?” Max asked.
“The Forsaken. They overwhelmed him and took him away,” Timmons explained.
“A temporary state of affairs. The reason they took the colonel and didn’t just kill him is because he’s invincible. They can’t kill him. They’ll try to lock him up, but that won’t work either. We’ll probably just go pick him up as he’ll have already killed them all. We’ll know where to go because of the funeral pyre lighting the sky. He’ll make them pay alright. But we had best not make him wait. Lug my ma deuce over here, Blevin!” Heitz was on a roll.
Blevin raised his eyebrows skeptically. He had neither the desire nor strength to carry the fifty-caliber machine gun by himself.
Timmons elbowed his way past them to the motor pool’s weapons locker and recovered the fifty cal. He carried it to the jeep and mounted it for the two old men.
“Remember the last time we used that big bastard?” Heitz asked.
“Oh yeah,” Blevins said with a crooked smile.
“Stupid fuckers thought they were going to land that old boat of theirs right here on our beach!” Max cackled like an old man. Blevin was older, but Max had it worse inside Cheyenne Mountain. They never talked about their twenty years trapped with the Forsaken. They only talked about the good times afterwards, brought to them by Terry Henry Walton.
“I think the colonel was mad that he didn’t get to fire the big gun,” Blevin suggested.
The men had rehashed the incident a thousand times since it happened. A boat came from nowhere with rough looking men carrying bows. They made the mistake of coming too close and firing an arrow at Corporal Heitz.
It took no time for the men of the motor pool to bring the M2 to bear. They blew the small boat and the intruders out of the water.
The hulk was still on the bottom a hundred yards out, in the shallower water. “Fuck those pussies,” Heitz said.
“It’s Darwin, my friend. Darwin naturally selected those knuckleheads to end their participation in the gene pool. Thank you for playing. Next!” Blevin bellowed.
The two men howled, until a racking cough seized Corporal Heitz. Blevin beat on his back while Max tried to push him away. It was a routine they’d done often.
Max wiped a mouth on his sleeve, then headed for the passenger seat. He couldn’t see well enough to drive, so Blevin took the wheel. After a couple turns, the engine coughed to life, belching acrid black smoke.
“We need to fix that,” Timmons offered. A ring was shot, and one of the cylinders was burning oil. “Why don’t you take number four?”
The two old men waved their hands at Timmons, gunning the jeep and working up to second gear as they drove from the motor pool. Timmons watched them go, wondering what he’d accomplished.
***
Sue was leaving Claire’s Diner when she caught sight of Kimber and Kaeden running toward the barracks. The grim expressions on their faces told Sue that something was up. She changed course and intercepted them.
After a quick recap, Kae headed inside the building, taking a left and going straight to the weapons locker, the second to last room on the first floor. Captain Mark occupied the last room and oversaw the logistics for the FDG. He was no longer active with the troops.
That was a young person’s game, but the Force couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without support. The FDG also maintained a storage building behind the barracks. It was chock-full of weapons and equipment.
As the colonel always said, amateurs talk tactics, professionals talk logistics. Mark had been a professional with the FDG for nearly thirty years.
He was up and already dressed. He had the armory open and was working on one of the rifles. They were still fully stocked on ammunition because they made regular trips back to Cheyenne Mountain. They had been incrementally emptying its supplies. Once the survivors had been rescued, all maintenance on the vehicles had stopped. They looked good sitting in those tunnels, but none of them were ever going to leave the darkness of their tomb.
The ammunition and weapons would last forever in that kind of environment. After all this time, there was still a stock, but it was getting low. The FDG had used more than they would admit.
Mark removed and cleaned the glasses that someone had found somewhere. He said they helped him to see like an eagle.
The others weren’t sure, but no one made fun of the captain. You wouldn’t get your ammunition issued and then you wouldn’t be able to join a deployment. Mark held the power of logistics and used it as a finely honed instrument to shape the warriors as they needed to be shaped.
He listened carefully as Kimber told the tale. Mark’s expression didn’t change. He nodded when Kim finished, putting the disassembled rifle to the side. He looked at the racks, lips moving as he took inventory, although he knew it all by heart. It was his routine.
It was what he always did before a deployment, because when the FDG deployed, it was to fight an enemy. Sometimes the enemy surrendered, but most of the time, they decided to fight. Combat was the worst time to find out that the warriors were missing something they needed.
Mark flexed his trunk, grimacing as the old wound acted up. He clenched his teeth to power through the pain.
“Still hurt?” Sue asked. She’d been there when it happened. Adams had jumped in to carry the lieutenant out of the line of fire.
One of the warriors had bandaged his wounds. He refused Cory’s help, because there were those who were worse off and her influence was limited.
Mark nodded.
“Honor, before all things,” he replied proudly. Terry Henry Walton had made him and the Force de Guerre the symbol of the oppressed, the bane of would-be dictators. “When do we leave?”
“I don’t know, but Mom wants you to be ready to deploy,” Kae responded.
“We’ll meet you in Mayor’s Park in fifteen minutes. All of us,” Mark said. He followed them out of the armory, making them jump when he yelled down the hallway for an emergency callout of the entire Force.
“What’s up, Captain?” someone called.
“We’re going to war, ladies. Out in front in ten, now MOVE!” Mark bellowed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Terry’s Prison
Terry breathed slowly and rhythmically, feeling the strength returning to his body. He squinted and concentrated, finally able to make out the crack under the door where one or two lumens crept past. Despite his best efforts, he could see nothing else in the room.
He kicked at the dead body, now shriveled to a mere husk of its former self. Terry kicked it away from him so he wouldn’t have to touch it.
In the silence, he heard footsteps, hard soles on a hard floor, clickety clack.
It wasn’t Kirkus, unless he’d swapped his soft-sole slippers for cowboy boots.
The door was thrown open and the light turned on. Terry blinked and squinted against the brightness. Kirkus stood next to an incredibly beautiful Chinese woman, tall and shapely, skin like alabaster. Her oversized almond-shaped eyes were dark as she visually explored the body of Terry Henry Walton.
“How nice of you to bring your pet kitty,” Terry said in a low voice, tensing with the expectation of what she was there to do.
Kirkus stepped aside without a word. The young-looking woman started to undress, slowly, seductively. A lesser man may have been lulled into enjoying the show, but with each article of clothing removed, she was one step closer to turning into a Weretiger.
TH couldn’t defend himself. He’d seen Aaron in Were form too many times to count and knew the damage that would be wrought by a Weretiger’s claws.
Kirkus chuckled softly to himself, but didn’t tell the woman to hurry. He was enjoying the anticipation of pain that filled Terry’s mind.
&nb
sp; Once fully naked, she turned one way and then another to show her curves and her pride in her body. Terry only saw the muscles of a fighter. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to block her out while all the muscles in his body tensed.
When he felt hot breath on his face, he opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with the orange-furred Weretiger. He didn’t try to head-butt her; she was just out of range. He remained still while she sniffed him.
He saw her eye twitch as a paw blurred in how quickly it raked its claws across his stomach. He didn’t feel it at first, then it was like fire burning through his skin and into his very soul.
The Weretiger stalked back and forth, sizing up her prey while TH worked through the pain. He chanced a look, saw the shredded skin and torn muscle beneath.
Terry consoled himself with believing that Kirkus needed him alive for some reason. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be playing games.
“Damn, kitten. Look what you did to my beach body?” Terry taunted, flexing himself in anticipation of another slash. She jumped up and he flinched.
She landed with the pads of her paws on his shoulders. She was heavy and his shoulders screamed with the strain. The shackles dug deeply into his wrists.
The Weretiger leaned close. Her feline eyes studied him. She licked his face from chin to forehead with her wide and raspy tongue.
“Come on, kitten. You’ve been eating too much ass lately. Maybe try a breath mint every now and again,” Terry grumbled.
She sniffed and nuzzled his face, then nibbled his ear. He froze. She clamped down, driving a fang through the cartilage.
Terry gasped, but didn’t cry out. His stomach hurt more than his ear. He decided not to taunt her further and forced himself to relax.
She spun and slapped his knee with a paw, then did it again, much harder the second time and with her claws out. He lost his balance and hopped on one leg to take the weight off his shoulders.
She stalked away, changing into her human form. She bent at the waist to put her shoes on, then gathered her clothes, carrying them in her arm as she walked naked from the room, clickety-clacking into the hallway beyond the door.
Kirkus held the door for her. Neither of them had said a single word.
Blood ran down Terry’s stomach, drenching his shorts. Drips were starting to build into a puddle on the floor.
“I suggest you not kill this one if you wish to eat and drink,” Kirkus said over a shoulder as he walked away. The light was still on in the room. TH would have wondered except moments later, a minion entered. Female, Terry thought, but not completely certain.
She brought a tray of food and a pitcher of water. He smacked his dry lips, barely able to keep his eyes open as his nanocytes were taking energy from anywhere they could find it, making him unnaturally tired.
The minion held the pitcher to his lips and he drank, swallowing heavily as it had been awhile and his throat was parched. She was much shorter than Terry and held the jug at arm’s length over her head, trying to control the flow. The water dribbled over his face when he couldn’t keep up.
“Food, please,” he said, but she shook her head. He didn’t know where she came from, but she looked Asian. He suspected she didn’t speak English so he pointed with his chin and eyes. She handed him the first bite, then the second, until the tray was empty.
Terry felt like he could have eaten a horse, but what she gave him was all he was going to get. She poured the rest of the pitcher into his mouth, bowed and started to leave.
“Thank you,” he said, before digging into his mind and pulling out the Mandarin words and then the Cantonese words. “Xie xie. M goi.” She nodded slightly as she walked out, closing the door behind herself. She did him the courtesy of leaving the light on.
Beijing
Akio saw four humans coming toward him. They carried short spears. He pulled one pistol and shot them, one by one. They never knew that they didn’t stand a chance. Akio holstered his pistol, one of two that he always carried and rarely used.
The Forsaken stepped into the hallway on the first floor of the building. He was the last, and he knew it. Like the rest, he was arrogant enough to believe he had a chance against the sword master.
The man pulled two short blades from behind his back. They looked like the Elven blades from Lord of the Rings. Akio cocked his head, wondering if they were real.
The man sauntered past the human bodies. He didn’t waste time looking at them as he sized up his enemy. He whirled his blades and moved close.
Akio waited while the Forsaken continued his intricate sword dance.
The katana whistled past the Forsaken’s dipped blade. The curved blade bit deeply into the creature’s neck. A second swing cleanly removed the Forsaken’s head.
Akio crouched in the ready position, weaving his blade through the air around him as he explored the etheric looking for more enemies. None remained.
He wiped his blade clean on the clothes of his enemy, examined its length for nicks, and then sent the blade home.
Akio walked with a purpose to the room where the prisoners were being kept. He opened the door, walked in, released them, and left. He didn’t say anything as he left them to themselves.
Akio strolled from the modern building on the outskirts of what used to be Beijing, stopping to look at the city’s lights in the distance. Power had been restored in enclaves around the world, serving the city-states in which the plants could be found.
City-states had been combined to form loose nation-states. Transportation was still iffy at best, but the trains were running in many areas and made up the only form of long-distance travel. The people still did not have high-speed air travel fifty years after the world’s worst day ever (WWDE).
On rare occasions, blimps could be seen making their way through the skies. Akio had almost hit one as the pod flew itself to the designated landing coordinates on this trip.
He looked up into the darkness. The stars winked back at him. The air had cleared after the WWDE as pollutants stopped being sent skyward. Beijing had been one of the worst cities on the planet. Now, it was like the others, boasting clean air and crystal clear skies overhead.
There was minimal light pollution to cloud the view.
Almost like home, Akio thought. Almost.
The pod opened as Akio approached, his mission complete. It was time to go home.
He stopped and looked back at the building, wondering why this bunch had exposed themselves as they did, becoming a flashing red light on his map of emergencies.
He sat down within, pulling out his communication device and turning it back on. Char had tried three times to contact him, which was three more times than she’d called in the past twenty-five years.
He immediately activated a call to her.
“Akio?” a young-sounding voice replied.
“Cordelia? You called me?” Akio asked softly.
“No, it was my mother. You must come at once and bring all the pods! Forsaken have taken Father. They took him away in an aircraft of some sort. We need to find him!” Cory pleaded, her detached voice coming through the device loud and clear.
“When?”
“Maybe two hours ago? Maybe a little longer,” she replied.
“I will be there shortly. Be ready,” Akio told her before signing off.
North Chicago
Ted stood in the power plant’s parking lot. He had run from the center of North Chicago, past the perimeter of the community. He’d continued all the way to the plant.
There were too many people doing too many different things in the town. It was crushing him, and he panted in distress.
He had to get away, even though he expected his alpha would be annoyed. His pack was with him. Several generations removed from his original pack, the timber wolves had all grown up knowing Ted as their alpha. They lived their lives and they passed on. The latest pack had wolves up to eight generations from the first pack he’d taken over near the Rocky Mountains.
The pack had split a few times when it had grown too large. As it was, the current pack of twenty-three wolves ate a great deal of food, but big game was migrating from Canada, close enough to keep everyone happy without the wolves digging into the herd of cattle. Or waiting on the shore for one of the fishing boats to return.
Ted absentmindedly walked among his pack, not having to bend over to scratch their heads. An outsider would have had a heart attack from fear, but Ted and the insiders of North Chicago considered the wolf pack to be family.
He moved through the meandering beasts to his baby, looking shiny and new.
The Mini Cooper modular nuclear reactor. They’d only had to refuel seven times in twenty-five years. The original design called for refueling every two years, but Ted knew they could get more mileage from the system. At the beginning, they didn’t need to burn so hot that they expended the rods in two years. He’d been able to stretch the operation to four years on the original fueling before they had to search for more fuel rods.
With Akio’s help, they found replacement fuel rods in cold storage. With a minimal number of reactors running in the new world, there were sufficient rods for hundreds of years of operation. Ted thought beyond that and had talked with Terry about establishing a new uranium mine and fuel processing facility.
Terry had nodded but refused to work with the mayor to commit any resources to such a venture. He told Ted that it was added to the long-term needs list.
Ted smiled, thinking of how he’d managed the reaction over the years with limited computer resources. He’d done many of the calculations in his head, because he could. No one could do what he could, but he didn’t brag.
That wasn’t what Ted was about. His was a constant internal struggle with the math. Equations bombarded him like he was standing in a pouring rain. He needed to answer the problem, and then move to the next. There was a never-ending stream.
Ted saw the flare arc into the sky over North Chicago. He saw it but it didn’t register. The Mini Cooper was calling his name. It needed an adjustment. He climbed the ladder that he’d climbed thousands of times before. He closed his eyes as he caressed the control panel. He could see everything within his mind.
Nomad Avenged: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 7) Page 4