Nomad Unleashed

by Craig Martelle

  “That’s not what I meant. What do you like? What do you want to be?” Char urged the young woman.

  “I like horses. I like the wild and the land, hunting and fishing. I love the wolves that you have,” she added.

  “They run with us, but they aren’t our wolves,” Ted clarified. “At present, the relationship is mutually beneficial. They are proud creatures and they deserve to go their own way, but we kind of hijacked them after a brief scuffle. I hope they like where they are going so they can run free, hunt, live as wolves were meant to live.”

  Everyone around the fire nodded, each applying their own understanding to Ted’s words. Ted excused himself to join the pack and sleep in the middle of them as he did every night. Kiwi asked if she could, too. Gerry joined her and Ted.

  They could hear Ted talking to the wolves, introducing the humans as if they’d not been introduced before. Then they climbed into the middle of the pile. Ten shaggy wolves and three humans.

  Timmons sat by the fire. “I’ll watch. You all go to sleep,” he suggested. They hadn’t manned a watch, but something felt different about this place. Terry was fine with the situation. He was between a concrete wall and a wolf pack, sleeping next to a Werewolf.

  He wasn’t worried.

  ***

  When they awoke in the morning, Timmons was nowhere to be found. Terry relieved himself and looked around, but didn’t see any sign of the man. Char reached out with her senses and could feel him, but he was a ways off. His clothes were neatly stacked on his saddle. They tied them down, saddled up, and headed his way.

  “He’s running around out there naked?” Kiwi asked, confused.

  “He doesn’t need clothes as a Werewolf,” Gerry replied.

  “He’s one of the Werefolk!” she exclaimed.

  “How do you know about them?”

  “Legends of our people. The Werefolk are what we aspire to be. The great ones among our people come back in the next life as Werefolk, with the ability to take the form of an animal,” she said reverently. “He’s one of ours!”

  Gerry pointed at Ted and nodded. “Him too, and the major.”

  “Wow! I have been given the greatest gift to travel with such people. The wind carries me to wonderful places,” she said almost poetically.

  They rode quickly to where they found Timmons. He was working with his one good hand to clean a small buffalo. He thrust both his arms in the air in triumph.

  Lacy shook her head, while Kiwi spent too long looking at Timmons’s naked body. Gerry climbed down, untied the man’s clothes, and stood in front of him while he got dressed.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m looking forward to having buffalo that was killed by a Werewolf and cleaned by a naked man. How’d you carry that knife, by the way?” Terry asked. Timmons snapped his jaws a couple times, smiling.

  Char jumped down and looked at the buffalo. A three-legged Werewolf had run it down and killed it. “Nicely done, Timmons.”

  They finished cleaning it and shared with the pack, who demonstrated how hungry they’d gotten. They smoked as much as they could, spending most of the day cooking and preparing the meat. They finally loaded up in the mid-afternoon and headed out. In four hours, they figured they could cover thirty or forty miles, but the wolf pack was running slowly. They’d eaten too much, so Terry called a halt after ten miles so he could dismount and give the wolves the hairy eyeball.

  It would have been impressive if they hadn’t laid down to sleep the second they stopped. Ted was proud of his furry warriors. They’d already run over a thousand miles, an impressive feat, no matter who you were.

  “Next stop, Chicago,” Terry called, looking into the distance. It still seemed a long ways away.

  ***

  The townsfolk had a sense of purpose. No one was spared the rigors of packing and preparation. Margie Rose and Mrs. Grimes spearheaded the walking shoe repair program, using leather provided by the Weathers family.

  The members of the Force helped people who weren’t used to walking to start getting into shape. Town PT, they called it. Hundreds of people walking in circles around the town, at a quick pace, at a slow pace, always carrying a backpack or bag of some sort. Practice how you play, they said.

  Billy led the way during the morning and afternoon walks. No one was spared, even the small children walked, as far as they could before being carried or getting a ride in the dead body cart.

  The Force called it that to give it a stigma. Anyone who fell out of the walk, unable to continue, was to be considered dead weight. The carts would be loaded with necessities so people wouldn’t be able to ride when they were on the road, walking to their new home.

  Mark saw it as a twice daily party. The townsfolk had fun with it, which was for the best. On the real road for two thousand miles? No one would be happy then. And they’d lose people along the way. Of that, Mark was convinced.

  There wasn’t anything that would demotivate someone faster than watching a person die.

  Mark wondered who would be first.

  ***

  The horses ran easily during the thirty minute run times. Terry was ready to be there, but driving the horses to exhaustion would not get them there any sooner. They ran for thirty and walked for thirty. The grazing was good along the interstate shortcut, then they continued due east from Bismarck to Fargo.

  From Fargo they headed southeast as the road angled toward Minneapolis. The going was easy and they even met people along the way. Although they ran for cover when they saw the group on horses.

  Terry’s features were set. He thought he knew why they ran, and vowed that one day, people wouldn’t be afraid of strangers. The Force would protect them, keep them safe from the enemies they feared.

  They didn’t stop to find out what the people were afraid of. That would be later. When the group walked this way, they would have more time to talk with survivors who lived in the area. A large group of people would look less threatening than a well-armed small group.

  Terry understood the logic of it. Next time, we’ll stop and say hello, he thought.

  Minneapolis was desolate. The great city stood as a monument to the past. They didn’t see any people or any life at all, although Char said she sensed humans and some larger animals. They hurried through the city as quickly as they could, although Kiwi wanted to stop and explore because she’d never seen anything like it. Bismarck and Fargo were sprawling cities, but the vertical presence of Minneapolis was different.

  And different was what called to her.

  “Chicago, Kiwi. When you see Chicago you’ll understand why we don’t stop here. This is small compared to a truly big city. I hope that we get to a place where you can see it all, appreciate it, and then understand that our mission is to make sure that when we rebuild, it’s for a humanity that will flourish.”

  To Wisconsin and southeast they traveled. They passed through areas that looked like they had working farms, with people and livestock.

  Civilization, but they didn’t stop. Infrastructure wouldn’t rebuild itself. The world needed people willing to work, farmers to metal workers, electricians to ditch diggers. There was a role for everyone willing to get their hands dirty.

  Power called to them. Industry demanded its presence to restart the machines. To send raw materials to the factories. To jump start the world toward the twenty-second century.

  Riding through the countryside toward Milwaukee, Terry knew where he was. “You know, GaryCon isn’t very far from here, at least where they used to hold it. We could stop and see the convention site, the statue in town? What do you say?”

  “What are you talking about?” Char asked.

  “GaryCon, the premier old school role-playing game convention, named and run in honor of Gary Gygax, you know, Dungeons and Dragons,” Terry said, wiggling his eyebrows at his wife.

  “No,” she said and spurred her horse forward.

  They passed Milwaukee late in the day. They’d been riding through the
urban sprawl for most of the afternoon. In the country, the destruction wasn’t as obvious. The cities bore the brunt of civilization’s demise. Too many buildings had been burned, whether by accident or on purpose. It was like the people agreed that life had come to an end.

  So they helped.

  The group traveled without talking. They kept their rifles aimed into the ruins, thinking that at any moment someone would jump out and come at them.

  The Werewolves sensed the people, but they were scattered and possibly even feral.

  “What did we do?” Terry lamented.

  “We traveled two thousand miles to bring this place back to life, that’s what we did. We didn’t have anything to do with what caused this, but we sure as hell are the only ones who can do something about it now.”

  “Damn skippy, woman!” Terry blurted out. Char leaned sideways in her saddle so she could backhand him across his chest.

  Ten days from when Char said it would only be ten more days, they rode into the outskirts of Waukegan, located north of Chicago on the shore of Lake Michigan.

  “Inverted V, I have left flank, the major on the right, James, Lacy, then Ted. Keep the wolves in the middle of the V if you would, Ted. Gerry and Timmons bring up the rear. Stay sharp, people. If we run across anyone, this time, we’re not going to pass them by.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Terry was making a beeline for the power plant located on the lake shore. A couple factories and an industrial park were located nearby. The geography of the area was promising as there was open land to the west, a number of forest preserves at least establishing a foundation for nature in the middle of the urban area. There were a couple golf courses nearby, too.

  Terry had played a few times and enjoyed the game, but that kind of land would make for a good pasture. Golf wasn’t coming back any time soon.

  Char pointed to her eyes and then pointed to both sides of the road, holding up one or two fingers.

  They kept riding. Ted worked hard to keep the wolf pack between the horses. They wanted to run. They smelled game nearby.

  They passed the small airport. A few airplanes parked on the tarmac looked unspoiled, as if they could spin up and fly away at any moment. Metal clanged against metal, bangs, the droning of something vibrating in the wind, the squeal of metal sliding across metal. The sounds of humanity lost.

  It was unsettling and despite passing through numerous cities on their trip, this was the worst. Many of the houses looked to be intact, although they’d all been broken into at some point. Windows were shattered and doors were off their hinges.

  Glass seemed to be the least survivable building material. Maybe the post WWDE rampages had seen gangs ravage the land. Char continued to point and hold up fingers. There were people out there, but they were isolated and hiding.

  They rode through the town, having to bunch up on the city streets, far closer than Terry was comfortable with, so he changed the formation into a column of twos where people rode side by side. Terry and Char up front, then Ted and Timmons, the wolf pack behind them, then Gerry and Kiwi, and James and Lacy bringing up the rear.

  They passed out of the unease of the residential housing and into the open area closer to the lake. The power plant sat on the shore across the highway. A sewage plant was next door and a water treatment plant was only a little farther down the shoreline.

  “Well, let’s see what we’ve got,” Terry said as he focused on the buildings ahead, the transfer station, and the power transmission lines. Real infrastructure.

  An odd banging sound came from behind them. It repeated for a brief time, then stopped.

  “Company!” Timmons yelled.

  “Form up across the road, line abreast facing six o’clock!” Terry yelled and spurred his horse into a short gallop. He stopped on the other side of the road, using its elevation as a berm behind which he could fight an incoming enemy.

  The others joined him. “Kiwi, take the horses and stay down!” Gerry pointed to the ditch behind them as he ran to the road, took a knee, and aimed toward the houses. Timmons stood on the road and watched. If they had firearms, he was a prime target.

  Maybe he wanted it that way, but Terry did not. “Get down!” he yelled at the Werewolf.

  Char crouched next to Terry. He aimed his AK-47, while she held a Glock in each hand. Everyone waited, spread out twenty or thirty feet apart, looking over the barrels of their weapons toward the housing area they’d just passed through.

  The Force was arrayed to bring maximum firepower against an unknown enemy approaching from a known direction.

  When it finally came, what they heard sounded inhuman, screeches and cries. What they saw confirmed it: people, painted, wild hair, odd bits for clothes, brandishing rudimentary weapons.

  Terry couldn’t tell the ages of the people. Their skin was dyed or painted. Their hair was a variety of colors as if they’d found a beauty shop and experimented with the dyes. The first man who ran at them carried a two-by-four with an old sheet metal fan blade attached. He didn’t slow down, even after Terry stood and fired a shot in the air. Terry quickly took aim.

  His second shot hit the man in the middle of his chest. The rest of the locals charged in, carrying clubs and sharpened sticks. Terry shot another one. He thought it was a woman, but couldn’t be sure.

  “Fire!” he ordered, feeling sick to his stomach. Char holstered her pistols while the Force’s rifle fire was withering. The wolf pack disappeared somewhere behind them.

  Mechanically, James, Lacy, and Gerry aimed. Single shots, avoiding the automatic setting on their rifles. They maintained their separate fields of fire, counting on their squad-mates on either side to keep their own sectors clear. Efficiently and deadly, they fired. Timmons stood behind them and watched. Ted had run after the pack.

  A scream came from where Kiwi had taken the horses. Char slapped Terry on the shoulder as she bolted that way, accelerating to Werewolf speed on her way down the embankment.

  Two of the locals had passed under the road using a large culvert. Kiwi was crouched with her hands up to defend herself, even though one arm bled from a ragged cut. She jumped and twisted, whipping her leg out to catch her attacker in the face.

  When she landed, she dashed away, running in an arc as she became the attacker. She feinted. He swung a baseball bat with nails sticking out. She dodged it easily and lunged forward, bringing her foot into the man’s groin. He crumpled and she was on him.

  She pulled his bat from underneath him and swung it. When it hit his head, it stuck and she couldn’t pull it free. She left it and looked for the other weapon. The man she’d kicked in the head was up, making a figure eight in front of himself with a flat piece of metal with a leather wrapped handle, making it look like a sword.

  Char casually shot him in the head, ran past, and looked into the pipe through which they’d crawled. She aimed, fired twice more, and holstered her pistol. She looked at the slice on Kiwi’s arm.

  “I’ll need to sew this up,” she said quickly. “Get a flask and clean it out best you can. I’ll be right back.”

  When Char made it back to the road, the firing had stopped. Terry hung his head. There was no celebration from the FDG. The attackers hadn’t stood a chance.

  Maybe they weren’t people. That was how Terry comforted himself. They’d descended into madness, and now they were free.

  “Look for survivors, in pairs. No one searches alone.”

  Char put a hand on Terry’s arm and shook her head.

  “What happened to Kiwi?” he asked in a panic.

  “No, not her. She needs a few stitches, that’s all. I was talking about them.” She used her chin to point toward the bodies. “There are no survivors. There’s no one left anywhere near here.”

  Timmons walked through the bodies, picking up tools that had been used as clubs. He hoisted a massive crescent wrench and held it over his shoulder.

  Ted took the wolf pack up the road to where an overgrown area north of t
he plant suggested there may be good hunting.

  Terry looked at the members of the Force. They’d acquitted themselves well, but they weren’t happy about it. He pulled them together.

  “Rally up,” he called in a soft voice. He’d seen it before. A battle that had to be fought that no one wanted to fight, an enemy like children. “It was my call. If we didn’t fire, what would have happened? They would have killed us. Kiwi is going to have a nice scar as a reminder.”

  Gerry looked as if he was going to run away. “Discipline,” Terry told him, then turned to James and Lacy. “Could we have lived in harmony with them? Did they give us a chance to talk? None of that. We’re going to take that power plant and bring it back to life, because power is life. We’re going to move three hundred and fifty decent human beings here and start building a new community. If those people had wanted to come along for the ride, they were more than welcome.”

  Terry looked around, those who would look back, he look in the eye, “There’s no room in this world for savages.”

  James and Lacy looked at each other and then she raised a hand. Terry nodded to her. “It still sucks,” she said simply.

  “Yeah. It sucks a whole lot. The challenge for those with power is to use it as the last resort. We have the power. You are well-trained and disciplined. We made every shot count. But we didn’t come through here shooting first. That’s what tyrants and dictators do. That isn’t us. It will never be us, because it’s our job to make sure that doesn’t happen. We talk first, but we will defend ourselves. Do you see the difference?”

  The three nodded, their expressions set. “If this bothers you, talk to me, talk to the major. Letting it fester won’t do any of us any good. I hate this and it’s all on me. Now, we have work to do. Corporal, I want a count of ammo used and then police these bodies. Build a funeral pyre. We’ll burn them or we’ll have a plague right on our doorstep.”