Nomad Supreme

by Craig Martelle

  Foxtail wore the headdress of the chief. He stood tall and walked confidently beside the body of his father.

  When they reached the wood stack, they carefully arranged the chief on top. One young brave chipped at a flint, sending sparks into the kindling. The fire started quickly and worked its way through the logs.

  The entire village formed a semi-circle around their former chief. On the earth he rested as fire carried him to the sky, and water surged in the background, ready to take over if the other elements failed.

  It took nearly an hour for the fire to burn itself out, but everyone stayed. Some of the children grew anxious, but parents reined them in. Kaeden watched the other youngsters closely. He’d lost some of his childhood, but there was no need to lose it all.

  Chief Foxtail declared the mourning over and gave a whoop of joy. The other villagers joined him for a brief celebration in song and dance. Five minutes later, people drifted back to their lives.

  Terry and Char headed for those with children and introduced Kaeden. The youngsters ran off to play a game of tag. Terry looked at the horses, tied to a hitching post, but still wearing their saddles and carrying the bundles of buffalo.

  Terry found his way to the new chief and got in line behind others who sought a moment or two of the man’s time. When he reached him, the new chief spoke first.

  “Black Feather had a great deal of respect for you, and I, Chief Foxtail, will continue his wishes that we share our lives, because our futures are intertwined.”

  Char unsaddled the two horses, putting their loads carefully on the ground, and started to brush them.

  When Terry got his chance, he didn’t waste any time. “We have a couple hundred pounds of buffalo that we would like to give to the people of your settlement.”

  ***

  “Jack fucking dickless shitbag ass blasting fuck!” Timmons yelled. He reared back and started beating on a valve housing. The observers weren’t sure which would give first: the hammer, the valve, or Timmons.

  Ted looked at James and Lacy. “Two to one that the hammer breaks first,” he offered.

  “I say Timmons gives up first and throws the hammer,” Lacy replied, watching the man swing his hammer at Werewolf speed.

  “I think that I don’t want to be here when he picks his next target,” James suggested.

  Timmons gave in more quickly than Ted imagined. He tucked the hammer under the arm ending in a stump and wiped his brow with his good hand. When he saw that he was being watched, the yellow in his eyes seemed to flare. James had been right.

  “You ball grabbing sons of whores! Get the fuck up here!”

  Lacy held out her hands, smiled, turned, and walked out as if she were stepping on eggshells.

  “You think he means us?” Ted asked with a shrug as he took one step forward.

  “FUCK!” Timmons roared from the catwalk.

  “I’ve been called worse,” James said, dashing toward the stairs.

  ***

  Sue, Felicity, and Clyde returned together. They walked in the door with their arms crossed, and together, they glared at Billy.

  “What did I do now?” he asked. They started to laugh. “I’m in Hell. The Wastelands are already here, and I live in Hell.”

  “Stand up, Billy,” Felicity drawled.

  “Please don’t kick me in the balls,” Billy begged, moving his chair at glacial speed. Felicity tapped her foot. Sue called for Clyde and left.

  “What are you going to do?” Billy asked, still not standing.

  “We’re going to go outside. There are people waiting.” Felicity jumped toward Billy and he almost fell backward out of his chair.

  “For fuck’s sake, what have I become!” He surged to his feet and strode out, looking down his nose at Felicity as he passed, while keeping one hand over his twig and berries.

  Just in case.

  She giggled and followed him into the street where half the town waited. When Billy showed, they started cheering. Sue waved him toward the crowd, where they greeted him as if he were a rock star.

  When he looked back, Felicity was holding Marcie and both were smiling at him.

  All is not lost, he thought. Maybe it’s the opposite.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The evening meal was buffalo in honor of the new chief. Terry and Char had had enough buffalo, but the tribe’s cooks prepared it differently enough to make it unique. They were going to eat it anyway. Kaeden couldn’t seem to get enough. He curled his lip at the vegetables, but Char gave him no choice in the matter.

  “Eat them, as a sign of respect for our hosts, and they’ll help you grow up to be big and strong. Look what vegetables did for him!” Char pointed at Terry.

  The boy smirked.

  At least he was unconscious for Terry’s tirade that ended with the burning of the prairie, otherwise the boy could have been scarred for life.

  The Wastelands were the embodiment of a harsh new world. Shooting the horse out from under Terry Henry Walton was not the best way to live a long life.

  The worst part was having no one to blame. It wasn’t easy to look at what happened and not feel guilty. Maybe it was those who pushed the big red button, sending devastation across the globe.

  Terry didn’t know and neither did Char. In the end, it didn’t matter. It was a crappy situation and more people would die before the survivors felt safe.

  The new chief joined them, offering a small sweet to Kaeden before he sat.

  “I’m sorry. Last time I didn’t see that you had a son,” he apologized.

  “Adopted, circumstances left him in our care,” Char smoothly replied. The chief nodded.

  “One earth, one people, Black Feather told you. What do you think it means?” Foxtail leaned close to better hear their answer.

  Char shook her head. Terry had thought about it, but hadn’t talked with Char.

  “I think, just my opinion, that he was talking about the rebuilding of civilization. We are all in it together. Everyone gets a seat at the big table, a chance to make decisions in the best interest of all,” Terry offered, his perspective that of an executive.

  He’d grown used to making all the decisions over the years. Char was still trying to break him of that. He smiled thinking of their throw-downs, then frowned, wondering when they’d next be able to couple. He didn’t see it happening any time soon. Char poked him in the leg and looked angrily at him.

  He came back to the present.

  The new chief was as astute as Black Feather. He sat and patiently waited until he had Terry’s attention.

  “How do we do that if we live out here?” Foxtail asked. Terry sat still, unwilling to reply. The answer was obvious to him. Rome didn’t go to Caesar.

  “I know, Terry Henry Walton, that it is not an easy question. You will return this way with the people from your village?” Foxtail asked, but he already knew the answer to that one, as well.

  “Yes, I see that you will be back,” the chief snickered to himself as he tried to settle in to his new role, use his gifts as wisely as the old man. “We will send a delegation with you at that time, blaze the trail to your new home, then return to us so we may discuss the matter of our future. They will represent us, while working to make the community strong.”

  “We could ask for nothing better from you and your people, Chief Foxtail,” Char said, bowing slightly. Evening had settled and Kaeden looked tired. It was time to put the boy to bed, but they were lacking something.

  “We have a buffalo skin that we are willing to trade for two blankets. We lost one on the road in an unfortunate attack.” Terry looked at the chief hopefully. Foxtail stood, then Terry, then Char. The chief waved his mother to them. When she arrived, he whispered something to her in Cheyenne. The old woman shuffled away.

  “Peace on your journey,” Foxtail told them, holding his fist over his heart. He walked away, finding another group of well-wishers. He walked from one group to the next, sharing a few words with each.

 
The old woman returned with a stack of blankets. “But we only wanted two,” Terry said.

  “You only get two. The deal was two blankets for one buffalo skin. Choose which two,” she said, pointing.

  Terry felt like an idiot, but Char didn’t. She’d been thinking the same thing and was happy that Terry had spoken first.

  Terry didn’t care about the colors. He wanted a blanket. Char relieved him of the responsibility of picking poorly by gently pushing him out of the way. He didn’t understand, but the women had a good laugh at his expense. So he kneeled down to be more at eye level with Kaeden.

  “This is a life lesson, little man. Learn it well,” Terry said cryptically. Kaeden had no idea what he was watching. He only wanted to go to sleep, so Terry found a place on a gentle slope not far from the horses. He moved the saddles and the saddle bags, the remaining mountain of buffalo, and set up a small camp. Kaeden curled up, but his eyes were wide open. Terry laid down next to the boy and pulled him into the crook of his arm.

  He closed his eyes and was soon asleep.

  It hadn’t been that long ago that the boy was alone with other boys. They had probably huddled together at night, afraid of the dark, afraid of everything. He didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

  The boy didn’t know that the two adults who swore to protect him were two of the most dangerous people in all the world. Kaeden was safer than he could have ever imagined.

  ***

  “I don’t get her,” Gerry complained to James.

  “What don’t you get?” James tried to sound like a sage old man, but he didn’t understand women any better than Gerry.

  “She’ll kiss me, then she stomps on my foot or punches me or something like that. Why can’t she just like me?”

  “She does like you, maybe she doesn’t know what men like? Look at Lacy. Look at the major. Women with spunk, my man. That’s where it’s at. You’ve watched the ass-whoopings those two give each other. Is there any doubt that they were meant to be together? There’s a lot to be said for a good wrestling match,” James said, raising his eyebrows and nodding.

  He walked away smiling.

  Gerry was confused, but he’d give it a whirl. He’d confine it to wrestling. He had no intention of punching Kiwi’s beautiful face.

  He headed for the last place he saw her, which was the small field where the horses were kept. She was there, brushing one of the mares.

  He strode boldly up to her, grabbed her, and pulled her to him for a kiss. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he dodged and jumped to the side. She looked angry.

  “I’m sorry,” he started to stutter, but she was on him, dragging him to the ground while twisting his arm. He kicked out a leg and pushed, rolling her away from him.

  She hit the ground and was back up in an instant with a flying roundhouse kick. Gerry had seen her use it before, and he was ready. He dodged underneath and rushed her, hitting her mid-thigh in her supporting leg. She went to the ground hard, momentarily stunned by getting the air knocked out of her.

  Gerry crawled on top and straddled her waist, holding her wrists in his hands. She relaxed fully, and he let go.

  She rabbit punched him in the throat. He gagged and rolled to the side, all sense of fighting back forgotten as he gasped for air. He fell on the ground and she was there, cradling his head and rubbing his neck.

  When he was able to take a breath, he whispered, “Please don’t do that again.”

  ***

  Mrs. Grimes and Margie Rose weren’t too keen about being the police force for New Boulder, but Mark and Billy kept after them. Mark carved a walking stick that looked like a wooden spoon and gave it to Mrs. Grimes. After that, Margie Rose wanted one too, all the while lamenting the sacrifices she was making for the greater good.

  They recruited a few other matriarchs, like Claire Weathers and Maria. Mark was adamant about not including Maria since she tried to cave in his skull with a rock, but Billy overruled him. If the little old woman could take on a Force de Guerre sergeant, then there was no one in town bad enough to challenge her.

  They called her the enforcer.

  Mark didn’t see the humor in it.

  But the walks went a whole lot smoother with the older women strategically placed.

  Billy and Felicity seemed happier than ever. Shonna, Merrit, Adams, Xandrie, and Sue blended in with the town’s people, spreading out and regaling them with stories from their past.

  The townsfolk didn’t know if the stories were made up or not. To them, this group was far too young to have lived in New York City during its heyday, but they didn’t care. The stories helped the time pass more quickly.

  The town’s people were up to ten miles a day. Mark wanted one push where they would walk twenty-five to show them what they were capable of. The colonel had said something about twenty-five miles as the gold standard for a one-day hike, and Mark felt like he had to reach that goal.

  When the colonel returned, Mark had to have the town ready to go. The power plant was dead and within a year, most of the town would be, too.

  Mark never contemplated that the colonel would fail. He didn’t consider it possible, especially not since Akio’s appearance. One call and an angel would swoop down to save them. That was how Mark saw it.

  ***

  Kaeden rode with Char most of the time, but occasionally, he would ride with Terry. Char would glare at her husband until he’d start talking with the boy, about everything and nothing.

  “You love Harry Potter so much, why don’t you read it to him?” Char suggested one day.

  Terry remembered every word he’d ever read. It was a gift and a curse. He thought about it for a second and then started. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive…”

  After that, the boy rode only with Terry.

  Although he recited J.K. Rowling’s books, in the back of his mind, he was thinking about a return trip through Sheridan, where they’d met the creepy people and their tasty-looking longhorn cattle.

  Terry wanted to catch a few rainbow trout to get a break from their steady diet of buffalo.

  The boy didn’t care either way. He was being fed better than ever and he had to do very little. He didn’t say thank you, but he carried firewood and he was learning what it was like to contribute to the family. Everyone worked within their abilities. His were improving day by day, thanks to getting enough to eat.

  He understood and appreciated that he was being taken care of. Char was worried about the amount of trauma he had been subjected to. He lost his parents, then he lost the girls of the families, and finally, he lost the other boys.

  She worked with him when they stopped for the evening, easing the strains on his mind. Char was helping him build a wall between his past and his future, where Terry and Char were there to protect him, teach him. In other words, they had to become his parents.

  At least we aren’t brother and sister, Char thought, shivering in revulsion at the thought.

  They rode from the river bed and into the outskirts of the ruined town of Sheridan, Wyoming.

  Char’s lip curled as she looked at Terry. “They’re here.”

  ***

  Timmons had been frustrated because of the amount of pressure he put on himself. He wanted the plant up and running yesterday, but was hindered at every turn, if not by his lack of a hand, then by the amount of work that needed to be done to bring the plant back to life.

  Most of the electronics he checked were fried. Timmons knew that he’d have to build a system that could be operated manually, but he wasn’t sure if that was possible.

  He wanted a source of electricity so he could run further checks on the systems, rehabilitate some power tools, and do those things that needed done to bring the behemoth to life.

  Terry said that he thought he knew where there was a nuclear reactor. He had also suggested that the design was shielded from the electro-magnetic pulse, the EMP, as modern, military-grade systems were. It didn’t take much. A thin lay
er of lead surrounding a housing.

  No one expected war, but that didn’t mean people were unprepared for it. Contractors had charged a paranoid government a fortune to build the systems.

  Timmons sat with his elbows on his knees, leaning his head on his one hand. The Waukegan Power Plant was not one of those systems. Military bases could be found in almost every state, but the big ones were nowhere near the north side of Chicago.

  Then again, Terry had told them that Great Lakes Naval Station was right next door. He cautioned the human members of the FDG against going there without a Werewolf, to limit surprises, but it was close enough that they could sense the entire abandoned facility.

  “Ted!” Timmons called out, wiping his hand on his pants. He stood and headed for the main floor where Timmons was working with the boilers to determine which one would be best to revive.

  “Road trip!” Timmons yelled when he saw the other man. Ted threw his hands up and shook his head.

  “Who has time for a road trip?” Ted replied, leaving a partially dismantled junction box in complete disarray. It looked like he’d yanked all the wires out. He wouldn’t admit that that was exactly what he’d done.

  “We do. If we can find some circuitry that isn’t fried, we save ourselves a lot of grief,” Timmons said

  “And time,” Ted added. “Ok, I’m with you, boss. When do we leave?”

  Timmons looked for the others. “Corporal James!” he bellowed. They waited but didn’t hear a reply. They went outside to check the ad hoc enclosure where Gerry kept the horses. The mare with the repaired hoof was standing there by itself. The other three were gone.

  “I guess we wait,” Timmons conceded. Since losing a hand, he found that being a Werewolf didn’t offer a respite. Running on three legs sucked. Plus, they’d have to walk back if they found anything they needed to carry.

  Which reminded him that he wanted to talk with Gerry about fashioning a cart of some sort. They would have to scavenge anything that remained from the before time. Although much had been picked clean, there was a great deal that had not been.