Nomad Unleashed

by Craig Martelle

  We have included the Book Cover and Blurb after this plus a link to the book if you care to check it out. He’s another kick-ass Indie Author so if his book interests you, click the link to find out more about it on Amazon.

  On another subject, it was just three days ago that I wrote the Author Notes for my own book, Never Submit. I was blessed when it hit #55 in the Kindle Store, my highest ranking to date. Right now, it is sitting at #92 in the Kindle Store (Quick! Everyone go buy another copy…Let’s keep that guy up HIGH!)

  LOL - No, you don’t have to go do that. I wrote that because I thought it was funny.

  Huh, I guess I shouldn’t write these Author notes late at night in an El Fenix Restaraunt. The caffeine buzz from my Dr. Pepper fix (no, no Coke) is wearing off. I’d like to apologize, in advance, for anything I’ve written tonight. No idea if it will make ANY sense at all.

  Anyway, stupid jokes aside that seem funny to me at the moment, I want to thank you for reading our little stories set in a Universe where the technology that we happen to be messing with today, in our own real world, runs amok. The Genie has WELL and truly been let out of the bottle and while it can be scary, let’s maybe all cross our fingers and pray to whoever you wish that mankind doesn’t fuck it up.

  Because, you know, we have such a good history of doing the right thing, right?

  Here is that promised scene - check out more of Michael-Scott Earle’s book after this ;-)

  Scene from Nomad Unleashed Guest-Written by Michael-Scott Earle

  **Timmons took the lead during the trek, and tried to swallow his nagging fury. He wanted to be the leader, the alpha, and he knew he’d need the respect of the pack’s members. He’d been trying to vocal his way in, but his strategy wasn’t working. The only other strategy he knew was leading by strength, and by example.

  So Timmons set the example.

  He didn’t growl, or talk, or waste time asking for the opinions of the others. He just put paw to sand and ran out in front. The miles turned to leagues, and the leagues turned to a shit-ton of distance that would have been excruciating long, even by car.

  The rest of the crew followed him. Of course they complained by growl when the pace didn’t let up, but when Timmons didn’t break, the rest of them fell in line and the miles began to blur. When their paws hurt, Timmons kept going. When their sides ached, Timmons kept pushing. When the hunger came to overwhelm them, Timmons got lucky and managed to catch a deer. They ate the corpse wordlessly, while it still twitched, and their transformation to animal began to take over their minds.

  The days rolled by endlessly until the pack was of one mind.

  Then they hit what used to be New Mexico.

  “Fuck this shit! It goes on forever!” Merrit snarled after the pack had collapsed from exhaustion and changed into their human forms.

  The old Timmons would have cursed back, but instead he just stood in his wolf form and stared at the other man. He was tired, so fucking tired, but he knew that any sign of weakness would erode the leadership he had shown for these past few...days? Weeks? Years? He didn’t know how long it had been. All he knew was the agony of his paws and the ache of his limbs.

  Fucking vampire on a fucking boat. It would have been so much easier to do this run on the coast.

  “Are you going to say something? You’ve been driving us for—”

  “Shut up!” the normally mild-mannered Sue hissed. “And get some firewood so we can set up camp, or hunt, or do something useful. Timmons has been working overtime to set up the draft so we could run easier. Pull your own goddamn weight for once.”

  The rest of the pack’s eyes opened wide, and it was obvious that they were surprised by Sue’s stinging words.

  For a second, Timmons thought Merrit would snap at her, or snap at him, but instead the man just grunted, struggled to his feet, and walked into the small grove of oak trees they camped under. A few minutes later he returned with an arm full of sticks, and a small hill rabbit. No one asked how he had caught the thing, and he didn’t explain his luck when he began to build the small fire. **

  MICHAEL-SCOTT EARLE

  After untold centuries of absence, the evil Ancients have returned.

  Their magic appears unstoppable and their hunger for conquest is insatiable. To protect the country of Nia, Duchess Nadea and Scholar Paug make a desperate journey to find a human legend: A man known to have destroyed these Ancient foes with a powerful army.

  But legends can lie.

  When Paug and Nadea revive their hero from sleep, his virtue is far from clear.

  Is he really their Savior or their Destroyer?

  Check it out (FREE!) On Amazon Here:

  http://kurtherianbooks.com/Destroyer_By_Michael_Scott_Earle

  WWDE... World's Worst Day Ever.

  I mean, the day really, really sucked.

  The story behind this very short story I'll save for another day, but suffice to say that we have a pretty interesting document for the collaborators which explains how a few mistakes can have grave consequences.

  Unfortunately, the technology in the following short story (link below) is real. Yes, this could happen.

  Dammit.

  The short story was written by Craig Martelle, based on the original WWDE Document as authored by Jeff Morris.

  Look around the Kurtherian Gambit books, you will find his name in the front of a few and I promise his job is interesting.

  The only reason my name is part of this short story is Jeff and I spoke about it in the beginning (imagine The Author sitting at the feet of the wise old man, receiving instruction, nodding his head) and the story is set in the Kurtherian Universe. So, I get some credit.

  So, you could label this document as fiction.

  Or, another way you could label this short story would be, "Shit I don't want to ever, ever, ever think about."

  If you would like to read about the WWDE, just click here to go see it on Craig’s Website (it is a PDF file.)*

  http://www.craigmartelle.com/apps/blog/show/44388059-world-s-worst-day-ever-wwde-

  *We can’t just embed it in this book because of Restrictions by Amazon for Kindle Unlimited books where the content is shared elsewhere, sorry!

  NOMAD SUPREME

  Book 04 - The Terry Henry Walton Chronicles

  PROLOGUE

  “General Lance Reynolds, son of a bitch!” Terry exclaimed out of the blue, slapping his thigh and nodding to himself. “We need to go there.”

  He sat up straighter, proud of himself for reaching a conclusion based on information he’d had in his mind for only the past twenty-five years.

  “You don’t think a couple thousand miles is far enough to travel? Not good enough for my hunk of man candy?” Char asked, sticking her tongue out. She tossed her head, sending her hair flying in the wind. Her purple eyes seemed to drink in all that was Terry Henry Walton.

  “Huh? What I’m thinking is that he commanded the a base in the Colorado mountains. He wasn’t there at the fall, but I bet he was ready for it. We need to get into the mountain.”

  “What if it’s still glowing?” Char countered, not dampening his exuberance.

  “That would put a crimp in my plans.” Terry chuckled. “As long as it was an air burst, then the radiation would probably be gone already. If they hit it with a nuke penetrator, well, then no one will ever know what was stored in there.”

  They’d ridden from northern Chicago, leaving the others behind a week prior. Although Terry was driven to get back to New Boulder, he was taking it easy, treating their return trip like a honeymoon. They’d stop whenever they wanted, to do as newlyweds did.

  He had promised to do his best to make up for the two lost years. Char was holding him to that.

  A lead running from Terry’s saddle pulled the third horse along. They’d taken to using it as a pack animal, loading it with food and other items they’d scavenged as they went.

  Terry continued to search for a thermometer, because curious minds, and
all that. And clothes. He wanted a pair of jeans. His camouflage utilities were growing thread bare.

  And they rode on, at a leisurely pace, expecting to take a month to make the trip, getting back to New Boulder around the end of November. If they could encourage the townspeople to leave a week or two after that, the group would travel past the Wastelands in the heart of the winter.

  It would be the coolest period for a while. Who knew what kind of blast furnace next year would bring?

  CHAPTER ONE

  As they rode through what used to be Minnesota, Terry and Char saw people in the distance, but they disappeared before the two could get close. It was frustrating.

  Terry wanted Char to point out the strangers so he could yell at them that he and Char weren’t a threat. She politely declined. Winning them over wouldn’t be done through intimidation.

  “But I don’t intimidate people!” he argued. “Just look at me. I’m a big pussycat.” He gave her his winningest smile.

  “Of course, you are,” Char purred.

  He bit the inside of his cheek. “Next time we come back, we’ll send ambassadors to say ‘hello.’ Who could refuse the likes of Antioch and Claire?”

  “No one in their right mind!” Char smiled and then turned serious. “How many people have you killed, TH?”

  Terry looked into the distance. He didn’t know how to answer that. He’d kept track at one point in his life, as a source of Marine Corps pride, then it became just part of doing the job, then it was critical for survival. And now he killed to save mankind. Tallying the number didn’t make sense.

  “Too many,” he finally answered. “I’m afraid we’re not done with that either, not by a long shot.”

  “Does it matter?” Char’s question went to the heart of his thoughts.

  “Don’t all lives matter?” he replied. It was obvious that he wasn’t done talking, so Char waited. They spent a great deal of their relationship in silence. That’s how they knew they were a perfect match, because they were equally comfortable conversing or not. “If we are to help humanity recover, we need people to live. We need people to thrive. They can’t do that if they are afraid of getting killed. Like those people we see in the distance who run from two people riding nearby.”

  “The Force is about security, right?” Terry nodded. “The sooner people know that, the better off they’ll be. Keep the people safe and they’ll thrive. You only create the conditions. The people have to take care of the rest, but the name could be a little off-putting, don’t you think?”

  “Force de Guerre?” Terry asked.

  “The War Force with you as the Secretary of War, not the Secretary of Defense. Maybe something a little kinder to the civilians, as you call them, something like the Force for Defense and Grandeur,” Char said. She couldn’t think of another word starting with G that made sense.

  “Grandeur? Gravitas. Gillyweed. Goonballs,” Terry snickered to himself as he recited words that began with ‘g,’ and took a deep breath of the humid air. Winter didn’t feel like it was right around the corner. It felt more like the late summer. “When I was conducting those first interviews, the only thing I could think of was, ‘Fucking Dickless Groupies.’ They were just bullies and thugs. We didn’t have much to choose from, back then, did we?”

  “Gillyweed? More Harry Potter? Dickless? Do you mean me? I say, Terry Henry Walton, had I known your vocabulary was so limited and vulgar, I’m sure I would not have married you,” Char countered, laughing to herself.

  “Do you believe in fate?” Terry asked, watching Char’s purple eyes sparkle as they rode toward the setting sun…

  MORE TERRY HENRY WALTON CHRONICLES IN JUST A FEW WEEKS…

  Because Awesome Craig is on the job! ;-)

  What is REALLY funny about this whole thing is Craig has NO IDEA that I’m sharing the whole “Awesome Craig” with you. So, if everyone starts addressing him as Awesome Craig on Facebook?

  It will be Priceless!