“By the way, I have a huge favor to ask,” Terry started, his tone serious. “I’ve seen you wearing a silver necklace. Can I have that please?” He didn’t tell her what it was for as she would probably object.
“Wait right here, you two!” she beamed. Char looked at her plate and shook her head, then started to clean off the table. Terry joined her, checking on the pot to make sure they had hot water to do the dishes.
Margie Rose returned with two necklaces, both tarnished just enough to show they were made of silver. She handed them both over. He looked at them appreciatively. The old woman put her hands in the small of his back and propelled him toward Char.
He decided to play along. He held the necklace up to put it over Char’s head, but her eyes shot wide and she shook her head vigorously.
“Later, Margie Rose, when the time is right.” He had wondered if just touching silver was enough to cause a Werewolf pain. Judging by Char’s reaction, he would have hurt her had he put the necklace on, even gently so.
He pocketed the necklaces and gave Margie Rose a big hug and kiss on her forehead, before settling her on the couch, letting Clyde in, and returning to the kitchen to help Char with the dishes.
When they were done, they retired to Terry’s room, where Margie Rose had already moved Char’s meager belongings. By the light of a tallow candle, Terry uncoiled his bullwhip and carefully threaded the necklaces within the internal leather windings, closest to the tip where the bullwhip’s speed was the greatest. Using a needle and thread, he put a stitch through the dainty links of the chain and into the black leather of the whip.
He wouldn’t be able to test it until morning, when he had daylight to see if it would hold together. He wanted one extra weapon against Marcus.
He blew out the candle, stripped to his shorts, and wrestled with Clyde to get a spot in the bed. Char removed all her clothing and in the early darkness, changed into her Werewolf form. Clyde started barking until Terry could grab him and calm him down. Char put her front paws on the bed and sniffed both TH and Clyde.
Clyde bared his fangs and growled. Char returned the gesture and then snapped at his face. He yipped and crouched, starting to shake in fear. Terry let go and Clyde jumped down, crawling halfway under the bed.
TH stroked her head, scratching behind her ears. She leaned into his hand while her purple eyes, now three times their human size, looked at him. She bared her fangs and chuckled, at least he thought she was chuckling. He leaned down to see the light color on her chest.
“Silver belly fur,” he said to himself, feeling how soft it was. He moved to the side of the bed, running his hands down her sides. As a she-wolf, she was big, taller than Terry Henry, with a broad chest and long muzzle. Her tail had long hair that swished through the air as she wagged it. He walked behind her and ran his fingers through her tail hair. “You have a tail.”
She changed back into human form and glared at him for an instant before she climbed into bed and pulled the covers over herself.
“That’s what you have to work with,” she whispered. “That’s what will fight Marcus.”
“That was magnificent,” Terry whispered back. “You have a tail.”
“Of course I have a tail! I’m a fucking Werewolf,” she replied, then smiled. “You’re like twelve years old! How old are you, really?”
“Sixty-three,” Terry answered softly. She looked at him, frowning, purple eyes twinkling in the darkness.
“I’ve always liked younger men,” she said, then ended the banter and turned serious. “But none of that matters, TH, if we can’t stop him.”
“We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” he said as he rested his head on her bare chest. Her heart pounded a staccato into his ear. He lasted all of twenty seconds before his head started to sweat. He rolled to his side of the bed, throwing the covers off so he could cool off, wondering if he’d ever get used to the heat she projected.
Sleeping in the same bed with his wife had taken some getting used to, but he had liked it. It had been comforting to know that she was there, and it was just as comforting to have Char nearby, although for different reasons.
He had lost so much of himself when he hid in the mountains and wandered the Wastelands. He had condemned the old Terry Henry a million times over for his failures, for his inability to protect the ones he loved. Despite his outward appearance and drive, everything he did was for other people.
His bill was steep, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to pay it off. Until then, there was nothing he could want for himself, not even a beautiful Werewolf who kept him warm at night.
That was the story he told himself anyway.
* * *
The morning came early. Terry found himself underneath Clyde, who had finally decided to come out from under the bed. Char had an arm across his chest and he could swear he saw the skin starting to bubble.
It wasn’t bubbling, but it was red, and worse, it itched. “Everybody off!” TH bellowed into the false dawn. Clyde jumped up, missed the edge of the bed, and splattered on the floor. Char didn’t move except to open her eyes and glare at him. He quickly got out of bed to avoid getting punched, dressed in his uniform, and then lit the candle.
When he turned, Char was already dressed. He hadn’t heard a sound, but he was growing more accustomed to that. He let Clyde out and the dog ran downstairs, where Margie Rose started yelling at the beast, then yips where he was chased outside with the assistance of her broom or wooden spoon. TH and Char walked downstairs together and Margie Rose beamed at them both.
She really wanted grandchildren. Terry wasn’t going to be the one to break her heart, so he took Char’s hand and smiled pleasantly, exercising extreme self-discipline to keep from scratching his chest.
They thought they would leave before Margie Rose got up, but they both hugged her for the welcome surprise, though they had little time. They wolfed their breakfasts down, then hugged the old woman once more before bolting out the door, saddling the horses, and yelling for Clyde.
They rode quickly to the barracks in the cool of the dawn. When they arrived, there was no delay. James and the others were already in the saddle and waiting. Terry turned toward the mayor’s house to check in one last time before heading out of town.
They rode toward the mayor’s house and were appropriately challenged as they approached. “Halt, who goes there?” Even though Ivan could see who it was. Terry held up a hand for everyone to stop. Lacy was inexperienced with riding a horse and it took James grabbing the reins to stop the animal.
“Colonel Walton and his people,” Terry replied. Ivan approached and shook Terry’s hand and then Char’s.
“Nothing to report, Colonel,” Ivan said. David and Boris joined them, as did Mark. It was close to the changeover and although Ivan looked tired, he’d heard the group approach and had done the right thing.
“We’re heading out. Remember what I told you and send him after us. Do not try to engage unless you’re attacked first, then hit him with everything you have and keep pouring it on, even after you think he’s dead. Do you understand me?” They nodded, then saluted. It made Terry cringe to see it, but he’d only spent ten minutes teaching them.
It wasn’t up to his Marine Corps standard.
Terry collected himself and returned their salutes. “Carry out the plan of the day, Corporal,” he ordered as he turned his horse’s nose north, toward the power plant and beyond.
Terry kept his horse to a walk as he didn’t want the sound of its hooves to wake anyone up before the work day started.
“Anything, Char?” Terry asked, wondering if Marcus was close enough for her to sense. She shook her head, looking relieved.
Once they passed the power plant, he urged his horse into a trot. Terry and Char rode up front, each staying close to the ditch on their side of the road, keeping the pavement between them. James and Lacy rode side by side as she couldn’t control her horse yet. He trained her as they rode.
Geroni
mo and Devlin rode in the back, staying wide apart like Terry and Char.
It became obvious quickly that Gerry was the best horseman of the bunch. He seemed one with his horse while the others barely managed to keep their mounts going in the desired direction. None of the horses seemed comfortable around Char and the others didn’t know why.
When they stopped at the end of their first long day, Terry would swear the group to secrecy, then tell them. He expected that their blind trust in him would help them internalize the news. He didn’t know what he’d do if someone flipped out and ran.
He hoped they wouldn’t, but he also knew that hope was a lousy plan. He needed a backup.
* * *
Marcus stretched his Werewolf body as the first light broke through the trees. He changed into human form and got dressed for his walk back into town.
Marcus had grown angry overnight because he couldn’t sense the others. He started to entertain the idea that the pack had abandoned him. His rage grew. It started with the humans. He never considered that his own actions drove the pack away.
“Don’t you ungrateful fucks have enough to eat? Have an alpha who protects you? You better hope that I don’t find you. I will fucking kill you all!” he yelled into the trees and the emptiness of his mountain. He stormed through the woods, through the new snow, heading downhill, always downhill.
New Boulder awaited him. He had business there that he would finish one way or another.
It was late morning by the time he made it to the rocky outcropping that overlooked the town. A small plume of steam rose from the power plant. He couldn’t see anything powered by the electricity, but expected that at night, the town would be lit up, almost like the old days. He missed those times.
Life was easier now, but harder in a different way.
The distractions and diversions of civilization made life worth living. Maybe that was what the others wanted. They should have killed me, he thought, then they could have simply wandered into town and made themselves at home, play homemaker like it seems Char has done.
And with that human, too. Marcus smelled the man’s scent on her. He didn’t like to lose. First his mate, then the pack. Marcus scowled as he leapt over the rock and jogged downhill.
Marcus’s mind raced into a deep, dark hole where he was left alone to fight the entire world by himself.
“Challenge accepted, world, and fuck you!” he growled, picking up speed as he continued downward.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Felicity strolled outside with fresh baked bread, a generous helping of jam spread across the rough cut slices. Billy watched briefly from inside, drinking the concoction that replaced coffee. He couldn’t remember what coffee tasted like. It had been too long and he hadn’t drunk that much before the fall.
Felicity had made a pitcher of the stuff and Billy’s job was to give the men drinks. He remembered when people brought him drinks. He wasn’t too keen on serving coffee.
He shrugged into his coat and followed her out once she’d reached Mark and handed out the first couple slices. She had looked back to see if he was coming. He decided that he couldn’t avoid it any longer.
When he reached Felicity, Mark and the man named Boris had their hands full. They kept one hand on their rifles, finger riding on the outside of the trigger guard and thumb resting on the selector lever. The other hand held their bread.
“I’ll put this in the guard shack, stop by for a drink as you make your rounds,” he offered and bolted without looking at Felicity. He decided to choose his battles wisely when standing up to her, but damn, when she was in a good mood, his life was incredible!
He’d been working on the side with the mechanic on a car that they both thought could be brought back from the dead, a 1930s roadster that had been locked away in a garage, but the engine was newer with a big carburetor that could burn a rougher fuel, a blend of alcohol and filtered ancient gasoline.
That was the hope, but their extra pair of hands, the young woman called Lacy, had joined the Force and already left New Boulder with Terry Henry. Billy would have to pick up his game and get up earlier in order to work on the car. Felicity usually slept in. She might not even know he was out of the house.
Billy put the pitcher in the guard shack. It would cool off quickly in the fall weather. He looked around and saw a towel, which he used to wrap around the pitcher as insulation. It could have been a rag. He couldn’t tell anymore. It had been too long since there’d been any new towels, material, or anything.
He wanted a civilized society back, something he never thought he’d say. Terry was right. Civilization was better.
Now was the time for the real work in bringing humanity back to civilization.
When the alarm sounded, Billy was dicking around trying to keep a pitcher of coffee hot. He bolted from the shed and through the back door of his house, picked up his rifle where he’d leaned it by the front door, and continued outside.
Marcus was strolling up the road, head held high, lips curled in an angry sneer.
Mark and Boris aimed their rifles at the man. Felicity stood frozen behind them.
“Felicity! Get in the house,” Billy yelled, but she remained where she was. Billy ran outside. Mark started walking to the left while Boris went right. David ran from the far end of the route they’d mapped out.
Billy stepped in front of Felicity and aimed at the intruder.
“Halt!” Mark yelled. Marcus ignored him.
“She’s not here and you know that. She went north, following the main road to where it crosses the South Platte River. Then they were going to take the river east, through the Wastelands. They are going to look for more survivors,” Mark said.
Billy was shocked at what Mark was sharing.
Marcus stopped and looked at them. He sniffed the air and walked in a circle, not unlike a dog searching for a scent. Marcus looked north and started walking that way.
Mark held up a clenched fist. The men stayed steady as Marcus walked uncomfortably close to them on his way north. The members of the Force watched in awe as the massive man strutted past. Felicity shivered as she stayed behind Billy, keeping one hand on his shoulder to let him know that she was there.
Billy Spires let out the breath he’d been holding. His head pounded from the effort, and he blinked to clear his vision.
“Mark, maybe you can explain to me what that was all about?” Billy said more calmly than he felt.
“Yes, sir,” Mark started as he approached the mayor, never taking his eyes from the man walking away. “The colonel insisted we tell Marcus exactly that. He said even with our rifles, we wouldn’t be able to kill him, so not to try. The colonel wanted to lead him away from town, fight him out there in the Wastelands.”
That made sense to Billy. From what he knew of the man, Terry Henry would never put his people at risk if there was a different way. Once again, Terry did exactly what he said he was going to do. “Carry on,” Billy said, mimicking what he’d heard from Terry.
The colonel.
It didn’t mean anything to Billy, but it did to his security chief and Billy was learning to trust the man. It wasn’t coming easy to him as he’d always counted on number one for his own security, but a growing town told him that he had to do things differently now, build infrastructure and establish stability of purpose while Terry provided the physical security. Together they created emotional security for the people to grow as a society.
“I’ll be damned,” Billy blurted.
“Not yet, Billy dear,” Felicity replied, taking his arm as he slung his rifle over his shoulder.
“Don’t forget, Mark, there’s coffee for you and the boys in your shack,” the mayor told the corporal as he and Felicity returned to the house.
* * *
The horses had run freely up the road, through the ruins of what had been a robust series of suburbs, then to the northeast toward the abandoned town of Longmont. It then continued east where they ran into the trickle of wat
er that formed the South Platte River. They’d marked their trail as they turned, using charcoal on the road.
But they moved quickly too, trying to keep the distance up. Char suggested that at fifty miles a day, he could keep up without catching them. They could slow down when they hit Nebraska, but until then, they needed to keep up the pace.
They traveled with one break the first day. After midday, they stopped and Terry told James to establish a perimeter and maintain a watch focused on the way they’d just come. Terry and Char disappeared into the ruins of a small town.
Once safely on the other side, Terry watched Char undress, feeling like a voyeur as she did so. Once naked, she changed instantly into her Werewolf form, stretching very much like a big dog would. Terry pointed out a circuit for her to run a few laps while he setup up an obstacle course. She bolted away, throwing rocks and kicking up dirt as her paws and powerful legs drove her forward. Terry set up some obstacles that would force quick turns. Char made the first lap of what Terry thought should have been a half-mile in less than a minute, she churned through the tight turn at the end and raced off afresh.
He roughed in a few arrows to help guide her through the twists, at least on the first pass. She returned shortly and Terry waved her out for one more lap. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth as she pounded through the corner and away.
When she returned, he pointed out the marks on the ground and through the wreckage. She hit the first corner and jumped sharply left, then vaulted over a rusted truck, hit a wall and kicked off, landing in an open area, before running through a small maze, ending by working her way underneath overhanging debris.
“Again!” Terry shouted and she headed through it a second time. Terry cracked his bullwhip over her head when she was close enough. Then on the third pass, he threw chunks of wood on either side of her head. She caught the first three and missed the next two. She went through it again and caught four of the five.
Terry was throwing the wood blocks almost as hard as he could. No sense training to a low standard. After the last pass, he held out his arms and called a halt to the day’s training. She panted heavily, head hanging low.
Nomad Redeemed: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 2) Page 10