At least he had faith that they would return if they were able to. He hoped they would bring more people. Billy laughed to himself, still greedy after all these years, but for different things. He wanted a thriving city with a restaurant and music, drinks besides Terry’s god-awful beer.
And a car, but he was doing a lot of the work himself…if only he could get the mechanic back on board. The older man was still angry. In the old days, a gentle beating would have done the trick, but Billy was out of people who would deliver those. He couldn’t send Felicity to apologize since she didn’t know about the car.
A quandary, but if that was the worst problem Billy Spires, Mayor of New Boulder had, then life was pretty good.
“Day trip only, I think you’ll learn enough from that. And just two people and two horses. We have limited logistics and can risk no more than that. What would your people do if they came across that man, or others, for that matter?”
“Our rules of engagement? Run. Return to town with the information. It’s a recon, not a search and destroy or movement to contact,” Mark said, proud that he’d remembered the terms Terry had used when they traveled south to Brownsville.
“When do you want to do this?”
“Tomorrow, and the two-man guard remains in place at all times. That won’t stop. Thanks, Billy. We won’t let you down,” Mark declared.
Mark stood, lacking anything else to say, while Billy had always been a man of few words. Felicity was sitting on her couch, reading a book, a rare pleasure that few people had the time or energy for.
When Mark walked out into the morning sun and a cool breeze, he shivered and pulled his rough coat more tightly around himself.
I won’t let you down, either, Colonel Walton, Mark vowed.
Mark had been ten on the WWDE. His family was from right there in Boulder. They hunkered down in a hunting cabin in the hills, occasionally returning to town to watch how fast civilization deteriorated. That was how he lost his mom, to a gang when she simply hoped to find some cold medicine for her son.
The gang spotted her and ran her over with their motorcycles. Mark’s dad found her the next day. She hadn’t returned, so he went looking for her. The old man was never the same after that. He taught Mark to read, to hunt using snares and deadfalls and at rare times, to shoot the family hunting rifle. They didn’t have very much ammunition, so Mark’s dad allocated five rounds a year to kill an elk or a large deer in order to have enough meat to last until the next hunt.
When is one hundred rounds of ammunition for your high-powered rifle not enough? When you’re ten years old and it has to last a lifetime.
Mark watched his dad die when he fell from a rocky hillside. Mark had been a teenager. He took the rifle and the remaining ammunition and walked into New Boulder. Billy Spires had taken the rifle away from the boy, but gave him something to eat and a place to stay. He’d been put in John’s charge.
At first, Mark had enjoyed the power that John wielded over others, but it never made him comfortable. When Terry Henry Walton showed up, Mark saw a different way, a better way. John had never been a leader. Billy, on the other hand, despite his self-serving nature, was a leader who people followed. And now, Mark actually enjoyed talking with the man. Which reminded Mark of something, taking a lesson from Terry.
He returned to Billy’s house, knocked, listened carefully for the yell to enter, then walked a few steps inside.
“I forgot something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Billy. Thank you for taking me in all those years ago. You helped me become the man I am today. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful.” Mark nodded as he finished and quickly excused himself.
Billy turned to Felicity, who had looked up from her book. “What do you think that was all about?”
“Well, Billy dear, the people are thankful for what you’ve done to build a stable community. I’m proud of you, Billy,” Felicity said, her southern accent lighter than usual, her voice low.
Billy lost himself. “Let’s have kids!” The words came out in a rush and he froze as Felicity slowly lowered her book and peered at him over the top. Her eyes gave nothing away.
“Billy dear, there are a lot of steps between this and that,” she replied.
“I like those steps.” Billy smiled and nodded.
“Mmmhmmm,” Felicity mumbled as her eyes disappeared behind her book, and she returned to reading.
The cat was out of the bag, and Billy wasn’t sure if he was in the doghouse or not.
* * *
The day was a blur. The dust that Terry and Char kicked up had been burning the eyes of those behind. They decided to ride six abreast, which slowed them a little but not enough to keep them from tearing across the Wastelands. They’d whip in to the river every hour, but wouldn’t dismount as the horses drank their fill. At midday, they stopped at a place where they could shelter the horses in a ravine. Terry set up an obstacle course for Char and included the other four. Their job was to throw blocks of wood at her head and her job was to catch them.
Lacy held up a blanket as Char disrobed and changed into a Werewolf. Then she was off, running up and down the cut through which the trickle of a river traveled.
As she flew past the members of the force, they tried throwing things at her, but she was too fast. Their efforts resulted in wood flying far behind her. Then Char took to running straight at them, where their aim vastly improved, although the humans skinned knees and hands from diving out of the way of a rampaging Werewolf. Terry yelled encouragement the whole time, snapping his whip for effect.
Clyde howled and decided to run back and forth instead of trying to futilely chase the much faster Were.
After thirty minutes, Terry called a halt. Lacy and Char reversed the process, and the major emerged from behind the blanket, dressed and breathing heavily. They hadn’t eaten, but Terry told them to mount their horses and get ready to go.
“We have a lot more work to do,” he told Char. She nodded. She could feel it, too. “Which means we need to buy ourselves more time.”
They headed back into the Wastelands, urging their mounts to greater and greater speed, staying as close to the river as possible as it was cooler closer to the water. They weren’t that far from Boulder, as the crow flew, but they felt like they were in the middle of a desert’s summer. It was late fall.
“There are people up ahead,” Char said matter-of-factly.
The Wastelands will be impassable for most of the year. How in the hell did you people survive out here? Terry wondered as they approached a group of buildings in the middle of nowhere.
* * *
Marcus awoke in the late morning, feeling much like his old self. Strong with a great deal of energy. He ate more of the calf and with his clothes bundle in his great jaws, he headed southeast in search of the river.
He ran through the scrub and parched, dry land, wondering how long he was going to pursue Charumati. The cool of the mountains called to him.
But to give up the chase would be to admit defeat. He couldn’t do that, and the strange human, Terry Henry Walton, needed to die. Marcus plowed ahead, with less than complete conviction. The hard and hot ground was hurting his paws.
That made him angry.
“Char!” he bellowed as a Werewolf growl. He stopped and howled at the cloudless sky, before digging in and running again.
The heat pounded down on him, but he kept going. When he spotted the green of trees and bushes, he angled directly toward them. He didn’t hesitate when he cleared the bank and dove into the cut, finding the deepest hole of water and submerging himself.
He crawled out of the river’s pool and headed upstream to get a drink, then he sniffed the ground, looking for her scent. He left the river and headed into the waste. The trail the horses left was clearly visible. They paralleled the river and he could see their track leading far into the distance. He put his nose to the ground and breathed deeply.
At least a day old, maybe more. He studied the hoof prin
ts. The horses were running.
Marcus growled his pleasure. They were running for their lives.
He couldn’t wait to catch them. By running, you will only die tired, he thought.
Marcus flowed across the ground like windblown dust. He barely touched the dirt as he stretched to his full length, lunging ahead and using his body efficiently as he ran–push, pull, glide.
He would catch them. If not today, then tomorrow, but no later than the next day. Even an infant could follow the trail they were leaving.
Marcus was no infant. He could feel the smoke pouring from his ears like from the funnel of an old steam engine. The Werewolf alpha let the rage smolder, stoking it just enough to keep his speed up.
Soon, bitch, soon.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Terry ordered the Force to spread out, to be harder targets if the Wasteland settlers happened to be armed. He let Clyde slide to the ground to run alongside the horses. As they closed in on the buildings, Terry took one last look behind to make sure they wouldn’t get surprised by Marcus in the middle of a first contact.
He couldn’t see anything. Char shook her head, confirming that the alpha wasn’t close.
Terry raised a fist, calling a halt when they were fifty feet from what looked like a main building. It was one of seven, all perched on the bank of the South Platte. Cattle grazed on the other side of the river in a fenced enclosure that opened to a long stretch along the river with trees and grass. It looked like an oasis.
The building’s door was thrown open and a man stepped out, brandishing a shotgun. “We have nothing for you here. Go away!” he bellowed as he tried to look menacing. He was older, walking with a heavy limp. His gnarled hands held the rusty weapon that probably hadn’t been fired in years.
“We are no threat to you, good sir,” Terry called out, holding his hands up. “I think we may have something to offer you, though.” Clyde barked and ran toward the man, tail wagging.
The old man watched the dog approach, then took a knee as Clyde made a new friend. “Been a while since I seen a dog. I’m Antioch Weathers. Who might you be?”
Terry nodded to Char and they both dismounted while the others stayed back. “I’m Terry Henry Walton and this is Charumati,” Terry said, smiling as he approached, careful to not hold his rifle as he normally would. When Terry held out his hand, the old man took it, his dark skin contrasting with Terry’s well-tanned hands.
Antioch looked at Char, surprised showing on his face. “My. Had I known there were people like you out there, I would have searched the Wastelands to my dying breath.”
“I thank you, but we live in the foothills, outside of what used to be Boulder, and that’s what we’re here to offer you,” Char said smoothly. Antioch turned his head, ears perked up. He leaned into the doorway and yelled for everyone to come out.
Young people of all ages, from small children to those in their early twenties, appeared one by one, coming out to stare at the newcomers. The last one out, wearing an apron and carrying a wooden spoon, looked to be Antioch’s wife as she took a position at his side, holding tightly to his arm.
Terry started to laugh. Antioch’s eyes narrowed. Char turned to him as if he’d gone mad. The horses shifted while Clyde bounced from one person to the next, knocking over the smallest where the two began to wrestle.
“I’m sorry. I saw that wooden spoon and thought of old Margie Rose, the kindest woman I’ve ever met. She lets Char and I stay with her in New Boulder. She carries a wooden spoon, too, and I’ve been on the wrong end of it, more than once.” Terry smiled broadly, disarmingly.
“Me, too,” Char admitted.
The old woman slapped Antioch. “Oh! My wife, Claire, and these are our children. Yes, you see it right. Twelve boys. Not a single young lady anywhere and here you are with two!” Claire reached up and smacked her husband on the head with her spoon. He winced and tried to get away, but she hung onto him.
“What my husband meant to say is, welcome to our home. You said you could do something for us?” Claire asked.
“We need people in New Boulder. We have greenhouses and fertile fields. We have a power plant that generates electricity using natural gas from a local well. We have one hundred thirty, one hundred forty people? But we are expanding and need more,” Terry claimed, talking animatedly with his hands as he delivered his best sales pitch.
“Your cattle could form a new and incredible herd. Your experience with them and your willingness to work, judging by your calloused hands, will make you welcome additions. Our goal in coming into the Wastelands was to find other survivors and offer them the opportunity to move to New Boulder, help us rebuild civilization. We’ll show you the way there, if you’re interested.”
Antioch turned to Claire, then back to Terry. “It’s been a hard year and they seem to keep getting harder. We used to have so many more cattle. This is all that’s left. Summers are hard here.” The old man hesitated and looked into the distance. “We’ll need to talk amongst ourselves, but it would be nice to sleep without sweating, eat something that I didn’t have to kill or grow myself, but we built all this, kept it going for the past twenty years. I’d hate to give it up on a fool’s quest.”
Antioch stood proudly, his family at his side.
Terry’s plan was to funnel people back toward New Boulder, staying along the river and following the tracks and trail that the FDG had made on their way out. With Marcus following, did he want to send people right into him? Terry found himself wondering what the right answer was.
“We’ll wait out here. Is there a place where we can water the horses?” A young man waved Terry around the western side of the house and pointed to a cut, where there was a gentle decline to the river. It was above where any of the cattle’s waste made its way into the South Platte River.
Gerry led the way with the horses as James tapped his rifle while looking at Terry. The colonel shook his head and waved them away. There was no threat here. Lacy took the reins of Char’s horse and James took Terry’s.
“What will Marcus do if he comes across this bunch as they’re making their way west?” Terry asked Char when they were alone.
“I’d like to think that he’ll continue after us. We just need them to deliver the message to him, just like our people must have done in New Boulder. If he comes this far, he won’t be distracted by this family. They are no threat to him, but if he’s hungry, then they may lose a cow. Let’s say I hope he would go after a cow and not one of the children,” she whispered and made sure she wasn’t overheard.
“We water and feed the horses, give Antioch and Claire directions, then we move on. No matter what we do after this, that family will get to meet Marcus. By being just ahead of him, he’ll have to keep coming. It doesn’t seem in his nature to give up, not now, not after coming all this way. We need to be close enough where he can’t delay, but far enough where he still has to work to get to us. I’m sorry, Char, but we’re going to have to fight him before we’re ready,” Terry said, looking at the ground.
Char pulled Terry close and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. He breathed deeply of her hair, wondering how it always smelled like it did, even when traveling in the dust and dirt of the Wastelands.
Someone cleared their throat. Terry and Char hurriedly stepped apart.
“I wouldn’t let go of that one, either, if I was you, young man. I don’t blame you in the least. We’ll go, but we’d like you to come with us, show us the way,” Antioch offered, hope in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, but we simply cannot. We have a ways to go and there’s one other thing. There’s a man chasing us and we can’t let him catch us out here. When you see him, whether it is here or as you’re following the river west, tell him where we’ve gone, even if he doesn’t ask. Point him in our direction,” Terry replied.
“I can’t say I’m too pleased with all that, not sure why you’d lead someone who’s chasing you straight to us. Maybe you can hook me up with one of
those pop guns of yours,” Antioch said coldly.
“These won’t matter with him. Don’t be a threat to him and he should leave you alone. He’s after her.” Terry pointed as he appealed to Antioch’s sense of male honor.
“You look like a fighter, but you’re running from this guy. Why?”
“We need to finish him where none of his followers can find his body,” Terry replied, curling his lip into a snarl.
“Ha!” Antioch exclaimed and slapped the larger Terry Henry on the back as he returned to the house. Terry and Char followed as they wanted everyone in that family to understand clearly that they needed to send Marcus after Char.
* * *
Timmons stood on the terrazzo of what used to be the Air Force Academy. He was surprised that most of the spires of the iconic chapel had survived the blasts and the years since. The rough marble of the areas around the chapel and the parade deck of the main courtyard between the dormitories was almost completely overgrown and now teemed with wildlife.
Deer had always been prevalent on the old Academy grounds, but now, they seemed to have taken over. Timmons wondered where the predators had gone.
The other predators, he thought, then nodded to the pack. They shed their clothes and changed into Werewolf form. They ran low, below the cover of the wall along the upper grounds. There were wide steps at either end that led to the former parade ground.
Timmons watched, as if he were in a zoo.
The pack slinked down the steps and disappeared into the overgrowth on both sides of the massive park-like area. The Werewolves converged and charged. Deer bolted in all directions, some into the attacking predators, some away. Each of his people found a mark, some running for longer than others after their prey, but none of them were denied.
Timmons became a Werewolf and with his paws on the top of the wall, he looked down at the pack, now scattered around the area and feasting on their kills.
Every single day, he regretted leaving Marcus alive. He’d told them that when Marcus found them, he’d kill one or two as an example to the others, but they couldn’t do it, even though Marcus had gone off the rails a long time before.
Nomad Omnibus 01: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus) Page 29