Nomad Redeemed: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 2)

by Craig Martelle

  The others were cowed by the outburst from the usually calm and pleasant young man.

  The woman, Nima, stood up and looked at the others.

  “What are we so unhappy about?” she asked. “I feared for my life in Brownsville and being a woman there wasn’t easy, ever,” she choked, barely able to get the words out. “Terry and his people have shown us nothing but kindness. My new life starts today!” she exclaimed, tipping her chin back and holding her head high.

  “Even though I’m scarred, both inside and out, you tell me who isn’t? If we weren’t tough enough, then we wouldn’t have made it to this point in time, to be here, eating a warm roll that someone else made for us, just because. Yesterday is as dead as Sawyer Brown.” She spit on the ground, then stomped on it, crushing it into the dirt. She thrust a fist in the air triumphantly.

  Terry and Char watched from the back door. He’d come early since he wanted to talk with James, but didn’t want to interrupt the others as they talked among themselves and pledged their commitment to a better life.

  One by one, the others spit and stomped on the dirt, finalizing their pact. Terry finally joined them, waving James to him. The young man ran back to the small group.

  “I want to thank the nice people who run this greenhouse for everything they do. Because you help them, they have time to help you. And with that, we all benefit. Today is a new day with the whole world in front of us,” Terry said, looking from face to face. “We can’t go there by ourselves, and I was hoping that you’d join us. It’s going to be a great ride.”

  Terry nodded to them, before pulling James aside.

  “I like your passion,” he told the young man. “You were there on the road that day Sawyer came to visit New Boulder, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, I was covering the rear, thank god, otherwise I’d be dead along with everyone else who challenged you,” James replied in a low voice, looking down.

  “I just wanted to know, that’s all. I blame Sawyer Brown, not you,” Terry told the young man. Watching him carefully for his reaction to Char. He didn’t show any fear.

  “What did you see that day?” Terry pressed. Even though Char could hear them clearly from across the greenhouse, she joined them to look into the man’s eyes, know the truth of what he would say.

  “Not much, the horses were in the way. It started with you, ma’am, when you jumped up and punched the boss in the face. I’ve never seen speed or strength like that before. Then the others fell from their horses one by one. All of a sudden Sawyer Brown was riding the other way, running for his life. If he couldn’t stand up to you, who was I to stay and fight?” James looked sincere. The answer to Terry’s question was that James didn’t see Char turn into a Werewolf during the fight.

  Their secret was safe.

  Terry nodded, “I watched how you helped us bring the people from Brownsville here, and the farmer told me how you fixed his pump. I want you with us, James. I want you in the Force.” Terry had wasted enough time between the FDG’s last excursion and getting ready for the next one. He needed to make things happen, and most importantly, he liked making his own luck, just in case James hadn’t thought about volunteering.

  “Yes, sir! I’ll be the first one in line for the interviews tomorrow,” James replied. Terry started to laugh. James’s mirth disappeared.

  “James, that was your interview. Welcome aboard.” Terry held out his hand and James took it, firmly shaking to demonstrate his strength. Terry squeezed hard enough to let James know that he had a ways to go. “Come along, we have some things we need to do.”

  James absently scratched Clyde’s neck as he and the dog followed Terry and Char, out of the greenhouse and headed west, where they deposited James with the other four and told them to make James feel welcome, tell him the expectations, and make sure that both newcomers and old residents both knew about the interviews.

  Terry needed to talk with Billy Spires about the future of New Boulder.

  * * *

  The hunters headed into the mountains. They carried rifles that Billy had given them specifically for hunting, and they used their limited ammunition sparingly. They hunted as a team because it was more efficient. They needed to provide as much meat as possible for each bullet used since they needed to feed the whole community. These men were happy to hunt, much happier than if they’d been turned into farmers.

  The hunters liked the fast pace, the glory of the kill, and for their own egos, they enjoyed being armed when most others weren’t. They didn’t care to be in the security force as they preferred nature over mankind. They got some of what they wanted, and they gave back to the community. Everybody won.

  They headed into a valley that they hunted every couple months. They’d usually flush a herd of deer and sometimes even elk. They’d get at least one, but usually more.

  The plan was that two of the men would ride to the far end of a long valley without upsetting any of the wildlife. Then they’d hunt their way downhill, driving game before them, into a trap where the third man would get clear shots at the fleeing animals.

  The man with the steadiest hand stayed at the mouth of the valley as the other two headed to a higher elevation, to walk the ridge line before dipping down at the far end. They rode their horses through the pine trees, uphill, taking frequent breaks to keep the animals fresh. If they ran across a bear, the horses would need to be able to run, just in case.

  The horses started to whinny and buck, but the riders didn’t know why.

  The Werewolves had moved to point on the ridge overlooking the approaching horses and riders. Marcus stayed still, calm, ready to engage, but where there had once been three, there were only two. Marcus backed the Weres into heavier foliage, to hide, but the horses sensed the Were presence.

  Marcus wanted to know where the other man had gone before rushing into the attack.

  The hunters spurred their horses forward, talking with them to calm them down. The humans suspected a bear was nearby, so they held their rifles ready, watching the brush.

  As the horses passed the Werewolves, they bolted and were soon lost in the trees toward the upper end of the valley. The horses calmed quickly once they could no longer sense a threat. The hunters continued with their plan, hoping that the spooked horses hadn’t prematurely driven any game away.

  They separated and covered more ground as they entered the valley and rode heavily downward, looking for any signs of game. They’d whistle a signal to their comrade who would know what to watch out for. A small herd of does flushed from a stand of pines where they’d been sleeping in the soft needles. The deer ran haphazardly down the valley. One man whistled a long steady tone, followed by five short notes. He repeated that three times. Five deer coming your way was the message.

  Marcus waved the pack forward, and they flowed silently from their hiding place, downhill, blending with the shadows as they headed to intercept the men coming from their left.

  The alpha heard the whistle and knew that it was a signal. The other man must have been at the mouth of the valley. A rifle fired up ahead, then a second shot. Timmons and Merrit raced forward and leapt. A horse screamed. A rifle fired three more times and went silent.

  The second horse was fleeing in panic. The other Werewolves--the bitches, Ted, and Adams--ran after it, howling in the chase. Marcus was furious. He reached out and sensed a man too far away to be caught. The man turned his horse and ran as fast as the beast could go.

  A scream. The second horse went down. The rider never fired a shot. Marcus ran, saw his pack muzzle deep in prime horse flesh. He growled as he passed, barking at them to follow. Sue and Ted bounced up and charged after their alpha. The others were slower and disappeared behind Marcus as he strained the extent of his body’s abilities to run faster, ever faster.

  But the man was gone. His lead had been too great. The man was in the open and pounding fast toward the town of New Boulder.

  The pack had been seen and they didn’t look like any wolv
es that the man might have seen before. But he couldn’t know that they were Were. Marcus held onto that thought. If he’d exposed the pack for what they were, the Forsaken would be angry.

  And no one wanted to make a Vampire angry.

  He looked at Ted and Sue, fire burning behind his yellow eyes. “Bring me the heads of those two fucking idiots. RIGHT NOW!” he howled.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Billy sat in his chair at the table where Terry had first met him. The smaller man sat, arms crossed, and looked at the two people sitting across from him. They mirrored his pose, arms crossed and leaned back. Felicity sprawled in a loveseat against the wall, snickering.

  No one had said anything yet. They all wondered what the posturing was about. Finally, Char broke the ice.

  “What the hell is going on?” she blurted.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, so , maybe you should tell me what’s going on, unless there’s nothing going on, and you should probably tell me that, too,” Billy parried, trying not to smile.

  “What?” Char curled her lip as she spoke.

  “I’m not upset about anything,” Terry stated. “I just wanted to talk about taking the Force into the Wasteland, look for more survivors and bring them home to New Boulder. That’s all. What’s up your ass, Billy?”

  “Nothing. You come storming in here like you own the place, of course I think you’re up to something,” Billy said as he unfolded his arms, rolled out the middle finger of both hands, and thrust them into the air in Terry’s direction.

  “Well, Billy Spires, I thank you for declaring that I’m number one! It is an honor that I’ve worked long and hard to achieve. I must say, however, that you and I have very different ideas about what “storming in” entails. In any case, I’d like to work our way up to ten people in the Force and keep building from there. We’re expanding, Billy, and for that, we need people to feel safe and secure. We need the manpower to grow.”

  “I can’t disagree with that. How much do you think we can grow before New Boulder becomes too small?”

  Terry shrugged. He could have answered with something, but for this one, it was Billy’s call.

  “I think we’ll know it when we see it, but that’s a long ways off. Until then, let’s see what she’ll handle. What’s your plan for the new people, train them while you’re on the road?” Billy asked.

  “A mix–leave Mark and Ivan here, take Jim and Devlin with us. We’ll split the new people between us. That’ll give us a couple extra horses to take as well, leaving the rest here. You’ll have some people and firepower in New Boulder, while we have everything we need with us. I think it’s a good balance between offensive and defensive use of the FDG.” They continued to talk through the logistics, while intermittently, Terry would give Billy the finger and vice versa.

  Char had plenty of the male bonding stuff with the pack. She shook her head, she understood it, and although she never saw any utility in it, she tolerated it.

  Barely.

  * * *

  Blaine stayed low in the saddle, riding as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. The horse frothed, pounding the old pavement as it raced south toward New Boulder. The hunter kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to see the wolves at any moment, running with their unnatural speed after him. He thought they were as large as the horses his two friends rode. They’d attacked mercilessly and seemed immune to getting shot.

  He had turned the horse and fled from the ambush site, where the men thought they were the predators, but discovered they were the prey.

  Blaine didn’t slow until he passed the power plant. He continued to ride toward the mayor’s house, without acknowledging anyone he saw along the way.

  He slowed just enough to jump from the horse. It continued trotting away until it found a patch of grass to eat. Blaine ran through the front door and without hesitation, barreled into Billy’s study.

  Char leapt to the side, turning and crouching in a single move. One of her Glock pistols appeared in her hand, aimed at the intruder. Terry went the other way, rolling and coming up with his bullwhip ready. In his other hand, he gripped a knife by the blade. Blaine froze and held his hands up.

  The sudden silence was interrupted by Terry’s comment. “I might call that ‘storming in,’ for future reference,” he said, putting his knife away and coiling the whip to hang it back from his belt. Char relaxed, but kept her pistol pointed at the hunter. Clyde barked, hackles raised.

  “Out with it!” Billy yelled. “Before she shoots your dumb ass.”

  “I ain’t seen nothin’ like it. Fucking wolves the size of horses attacked us, killed Eric and Trash! They didn’t even hesitate, howled into the valley, ran down a horse at full gallop as if it were nothin’!” the man whined, his hand constantly moving back and forth on the top of his head.

  Char turned sheet white and carefully holstered her pistol.

  “Wolves the size of horses? What the hell are you smoking?” Billy replied. “Get a grip, Blaine. There’s no such thing.”

  Blaine staggered to the chair that Terry had previously occupied and fell heavily into it. The whites of his eyes showed as he struggled on the edge of panic.

  “I’m not smoking anything, Billy. My friends are dead. Killed by those creatures.” Blaine sighed and put his head down on the table.

  Billy replied, “I think this is a job for the FDG. Take your boys up there and see if you can find them, recover what’s left, the rifles and ammo, especially. Determine what killed them.” Billy hesitated and looked closer into Terry’s green eyes. “You think it was the same that killed our other man?”

  Terry looked from Billy to Char and back to Billy. “Could be. Don’t know until I take a look, but I’m not in a hurry to go that way, if you know what I mean. Blaine, you said they ran down a horse at a gallop. How’d you get away?”

  “I was at the other end of the valley, could seem ‘em through a break in the trees. They was a long ways off, but I seen it all! Ran soon as it happened. No sense in all of us dyin’, then’s you wouldn’t a’ known what happened,” he said defensively.

  “No one’s questioning your manliness, Blaine. Seeing what you saw, any right-minded person would have run. Tomorrow, we’ll take a look, and we need you to show us where you were,” Terry soothed, but Blaine started shaking his head and mumbling.

  “Char? Are you okay?” Billy asked. Felicity sat wide-eyed, unsure of what to think. Clyde started barking again. “I didn’t take you for being squeamish.”

  “It’s not that. I think it was something I ate,” she suggested as the color slowly returned to her face. Her purple eyes blazed with an internal fire that concerned Terry. Char’s pack had returned, and she was afraid.

  * * *

  Marcus slowly walked back up the valley. He was trying to control his rage, but failing. He passed the nearest bunch as they were gorging on the horse. He growled and snapped at them, his massive hackles raised, his head looming above them. They cowered and moved aside for the alpha.

  He walked past the horse to the man, dead from a broken neck. Marcus pawed the rifle away, then reared and dove in, biting deeply into the man’s abdomen. He pulled back, entrails spilling from his muzzle. He threw his head back, gulping down a chunk of the man’s coat along with skin, muscle, and guts. The other Werewolves watched in horror, hoping that he wouldn’t demand they partake.

  He didn’t.

  Marcus cracked the man’s ribs with his fearsome jaws, tore them away, and pulled out the heart. He chewed it slowly, his eyes closed. He breathed deeply of the cool, pine-scented air. There was one more man and one more heart to be eaten. Maybe he wouldn’t kill Timmons and Merrit.

  Marcus strutted away, savoring the coppery aftertaste of that which made a man what he was.

  He continued up the valley, feeling better as he went. The rest of his pack followed, appropriately submissive, at a respectful distance. When Marcus reached the site of the first kill, he found his two errant Wolves, injured
and back in human form. They had eaten some of the horse, but they were both in agony from bullet wounds. Timmons was missing part of his shoulder where one round had ripped through. Merrit kept pressure on the two bullet holes in his chest.

  Marcus was pleased that they were injured, pleased that they weren’t dead, and impressed that they were able to bring down the man and the horse while so severely wounded.

  He wouldn’t tell them that.

  Marcus changed into human form, “You fuckwits blew the whole thing!” he growled. “Serves you right to get fucked up. Quit your crying and get yourselves straight.” Marcus stepped on them on his way to the human.

  The man was pinned beneath the horse, a gash on his head where he’d been slammed on the ground. His eyes looked up, but they were unfocused.

  “You’re still alive? Well now, won’t this be a special treat.” Marcus dug through the hunter’s things until he found a knife. He cut away the man’s jacket and shirt. With a cry of rage, he plunged the knife into the man’s chest, slicing through the cartilage between the ribs above and below the heart. He reached his hand into the cut, grasped the ribs and yanked outward, tearing them away from the still beating heart. He reached in, grabbed and twisted, then pulled it out, biting into it with his human teeth, ripping a chunk out, and chewing it as blood ran down his chin, staring at the man’s eyes as they faded out.

  If Werewolves could look pale, they did. Sue changed into human form and turned away so she could throw up in peace. The others sat and watched, wondering how far they’d fallen to get to this point. And none of them were strong enough to do anything about it.