Char offered to turn into a Werewolf and dig out a grave using her mad canine digging skills, but Terry declined since she refused to dig a grave for Marcus.
Terry grabbed a horse, saddled it, and rode up river until he found what he was looking for. He brought his piece of driftwood back to the camp and found Char digging with a flat round piece of rock. He looked at it and thought it would work better, but he was too stubborn to change. He removed his uniform shirt and attacked the dirt with newfound energy.
Char leaned back to watch.
“It goes faster if we both work at the same time,” he suggested to her in between digs in the softer dirt of the riverbank.
“It might,” she conceded, while kicking back, looking at him oddly.
“What?” Terry asked.
“Dig enough of a hole and then we can knock that hillside down on top of it. Not a shortcut, but a way to put them both into a more permanent place,” Char offered.
Terry checked the area. The bank didn’t look too sturdy. He nodded in agreement, then went back to digging. He tried to drag the decomposing, stinking Werewolf to the ditch that he’d dug, but even with his enhanced strength, Marcus was too heavy.
“Come on, Char. We’re going to be here for a while. Do you really want that thing to be right in the middle of us all?” She reluctantly agreed and grabbed a paw, dragging the behemoth to the trench and rolling him in. Terry thought he’d dug it deeply enough, but that wasn’t the case.
Devlin’s grave looked small and insignificant next to that of the Werewolf. Terry, Char, and Geronimo stood together. They looked to Terry to say the words.
It was the colonel’s duty.
“I hadn’t known Devlin for long, but what he showed me was his spirit. He didn’t take shit from people, and he was quick to lend a helping hand. Of the four tough guys I ran across my first day in town, he was the one I knew would sway the others to a better way. He brought Mark on board and the rest is history. Here we are, planting him in the ground, and that sucks. He deserved better, but for a Marine, for a member of the Force de Guerre, there is no higher honor than giving your life for your friend. James lives because Devlin put himself in between the enemy and an injured man. Devlin fought to the end, firing until his rifle was empty and he was no more. I salute you,” Terry ended, snapping to attention and delivering a crisp salute.
Marine Corps style.
They used the flat rock and the driftwood to fill in some of the dirt, then Terry climbed to the top of the bank, found a weak spot, and dug in until it gave way. He jumped back just in time to keep from going with it. The dirt rolled over top of the two graves.
Terry slid down the bank and tamped the graves down. He positioned his piece of driftwood as a monument at Devlin’s head. They left Marcus’s grave unmarked.
James looked no worse and Lacy was still out of it.
“We need to find food,” Terry said, looking at Char. “Do you sense anything close?”
She shook her head.
Terry turned to Geronimo. “We’re going to ride out, find something, and then we’ll be back. There’s nothing left out there, so the next thing you’ll hear will be us. Don’t be afraid.”
“Why would I be afraid? I have my friends the horses nearby. They’ll watch out for me and I’ll watch out for these two. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll get back. We’re all hungry,” Gerry said, encouraging the major and the colonel to get on the road.
* * *
Even traveling along the river, the conditions were harsh. Antioch and his family only managed ten miles the first day and fifteen the second. On the third day, they struggled to go just five miles. At least the mountains were rising in the distance. The goal was in sight, although still a long way off.
The children were bored and the cattle started to meander, requiring more breaks in the river. There was plenty to drink, but little to eat. The cows tried to graze what little growth was available along the riverbanks, while Antioch, Claire, and the children made do with what they had--a total of five days’ worth of beef jerky.
Antioch declared half-rations at the end of day three, hoping that it would carry them through to the foothills, where it would be cooler and they could make up ground. As long as they had water, they’d survive, but that wasn’t enough. They were surviving where they’d been.
This was an idiot’s quest and they’d come too far to turn back.
“I think we may have made a mistake,” Antioch said to his wife.
“Not at all, Antie. We will put our faith in the Lord and continue to His promised land. If we don’t, we leave our boys to lives of loneliness and they will be the last generation of the Weathers family. I don’t want that. Besides, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to wash the dirt of the Wastelands from my body, but I can try in the new place,” Claire said with a smile.
It wasn’t an act. She was genuinely happy with life and kept the family going in the right direction.
“I don’t know why I doubted. God bless you, Claire Weathers,” the old man said, continuing to amble ahead, leaning heavily on his walking stick, which was also useful for swatting kids and cows alike.
* * *
Terry, Char, and Clyde rode out quickly, heading east, downriver. Terry counted on Char’s ability to sense game to guide them, but she wasn’t feeling anything.
Clyde was perched in Terry’s lap. “Are you the alpha now?” Terry asked.
“Maybe. Usually it’s the largest male, but times change, don’t they?” Char answered, looking for signs of game, sniffing the air, watching for movement. “The pack would have to accept me as the alpha, but they’d fall in line quickly after the initial rough and tumble.”
“Are you returning to the pack?” Terry asked, focusing on Char’s face. The scar from the silver necklace stood out, twisting the corner of one lip. It looked like it had healed as much as it was going to heal. He didn’t think it detracted from her beauty, but added to it because he knew how she got it, the risk she took.
She caught him staring. “Why, TH, who would have thought you’d get all shmoopy over a little ol’ Werewolf.”
“I’m not shmoopy. What the hell does that even mean anyway? That’s some serious fucking bullshit right there! You can’t just make up words and then hang them around my neck like some anvil!” Terry retorted, ending with a snort.
“Anvil?” she accused, giving Terry the stink eye.
“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbled. “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Hamlet, Act III, Scene II,” Char replied.
“Do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Same act and scene,” Terry countered.
“Can one desire too much of a good thing? As You Like It, Act IV, Scene I.” Char rode close, pulling back on the reins to stop Terry’s horse. They sat side by side.
“All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts. As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII,” Terry whispered.
Char’s eyes lit up like purple sparklers. “Say it,” she insisted.
“What?”
“Just say it, tough guy.” She smiled, her scar tugging her lip down on one side of her face.
“You know,” he replied, unable to take his eyes from the Werewolf.
She looked away quickly and sniffed the air. “Saved by a pig, how appropriate, don’t you think, TH?”
“I like this place and willingly could waste my time in it. As You Like It, Act II, Scene IV,” Terry said as Char spurred her mount, riding toward the sound and the smell of a javelina.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
After they’d eaten a couple times, James looked respectable, the color having returned to his face. Char was pleased that Terry wasn’t going to perform exploratory surgery on the young man.
&n
bsp; Lacy was still out of it. The lump on her head was the size of a golf ball. They kept it wet, so the evaporating water could keep it cool, but that wasn’t the biggest problem. A concussion could take days or even weeks to heal. The jarring ride on a horse wouldn’t be best, but it was the only way they had to get back. They couldn’t stay where they were. They’d keep running out of food until they couldn’t find any more.
They loaded the horses and began walking. Five people and eight horses headed west, staying close to the river to take frequent breaks, but they still spent a long time in the saddle. Lacy almost fell off twice, so Gerry rode with her to hold her in place.
They had used some of Devlin’s clothes as bandages and bundled James’s ribs tightly. James gritted his teeth. The act of riding, even at a walk, was painful.
They ran out of food at the end of the second day. They went without on the third day. No one talked as the horses ambled ahead, having eaten little themselves. There was plenty of water and they knew they’d survive, but misery kept their stomachs company.
On the fourth day, they caught up to Antioch, Claire, and their family. The cows had decided that they weren’t going to walk any further and the poor people didn’t have the energy to encourage them.
The worst part was that the town ahead was only a couple miles away. Within, there was a lake and grass. Terry and Char gave up their horses and they mounted the Weathers family, all fourteen of them, on five horses and told them to ride ahead.
“Geronimo, you’re in charge since you know where you’re going. Take these people to the lake, we’ll be along shortly with the cattle,” Terry ordered.
“Yes, sir!” the young man replied. “Colonel? What happens if you don’t show up?”
“Then ride back out here and get us. The cows leave an unmistakable trail.” Terry slapped the horse’s rump and watched as Geronimo led the horses toward the ruins of the town ahead.
Terry, Char, and Clyde climbed down the riverbank and helped themselves to a drink of water.
“So, we’re just going to run around and slap cow butts to get them to move?” Char asked, knowing that wasn’t what Terry had in mind.
“I thought we could encourage them in a slightly different way,” Terry said, casually running one finger down the buttons of her shirt.
“Really? We’re going to make love and that will get the cows running?”
Terry leaned back. “No. I was thinking a little Werewolf action, stampede them right up the river,” he said, happy with himself.
“Listen, I don’t Werewolf at your beck and call. Who is whose pet here?” Char asked.
“No one is anyone’s pet!” Terry crossed his arms and stood tall. Char smirked at him.
“Colonel.”
“Major.”
“Do you really think of me as a sheep dog?” Char asked, hands on her hips, defiant. “I get it! I’m just an asset. Well, Terry Henry Walton, you can kiss this asset goodbye. Get the cows yourself!”
Char turned and stormed off.
“Get the fuck back here! What the hell do you think you’re doing? These cattle are life and fucking death for a whole community!”
Char kept walking. Terry ran past her, then turned and blocked her way.
“Let me by,” she demanded.
He stood there, mouth set and arms crossed.
Not the best stance to start a fight, as he found out. Char casually took one step forward, then swung an uppercut that caught him below his crossed arms, lifting him off the ground and throwing him backwards.
She dove after him, but he’d gotten his legs up and she landed on his feet. Terry threw her over his head. He rolled and stood, ready in his fighting stance.
Char’s eyes glowed purple with her fury. She charged and he dodged to punch as she passed, but it was a feint. She sidestepped with him at the last moment and he found himself face to face with someone who was stronger and faster.
She lashed out repeatedly toward his head and he blocked most, but too many punches still got through. He tried to put more space between them, but Char was relentless.
He dropped straight down, throwing his head one way and twisting, sweeping a leg through her knees. Char buckled and fell backwards. Terry ran five steps ahead and turned, crouching.
“Would you fucking stop!?” Terry yelled. She approached in a combat stance. Terry’s adrenaline was surging. “I have no idea what the fuck I did to set you off, but if this is what you want, so be it.”
She angled in, but he wouldn’t let himself get pinned. She came straight, ducked left, dodged right, went low with a sweep of her own. Terry jumped it, but when he came down, she was already standing and swinging.
He blocked the first punch, but the second to his groin doubled him over, gasping and gagging. She wrapped an arm around his throat, then pulled and rolled. He flew over top of her and slammed into the ground. Char straddled him, as she reached for his throat, but he caught her wrists.
Char ducked down to bite his fingers. Terry pulled her hands closer and head-butted the bridge of her nose. Stunned for an instant, Terry took advantage and rolled, pinning her beneath him.
He kept his knees spread to maintain leverage as he held her wrists.
“Calm the fuck down!” he begged her. Char’s eyes stopped glowing and started sparkling anew. “What did I do?”
“You assumed,” she replied in a calm voice. Blood ran from her nose and down her cheeks. It filled her new scar before continuing to her neck.
Terry rocked back to his feet and stood, pulling Char upright with him.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Why didn’t you just ask me? Of course I’ll Werewolf for you, if you only ask and are ready for me to say no, just in case. But you assumed, made all the decisions, didn’t you, Colonel?” Char raised her eyebrows to make her point.
“But it was the logical thing to do. I thought you would have already figured it out,” Terry countered weakly.
“Listen here, Mister Terry Henry Walton, don’t try that ‘don’t be stupid’ routine on me. We think of different things in different ways, so never assume anything. If you have any intention of courting me, it’s as an equal partner, do you get me?” She angled her head, mouth set, and glared at him.
“Court you?” Terry asked, earning him a punch in the chest.
Char grabbed his collar and pulled his face down to hers. He didn’t resist. She brushed her lips over his, across his cheek, and to his ear. “You need to stop fucking around, TH. You are missing out on an awful lot of what makes life worth living,” she whispered.
Terry pinched his eyes shut. A wife, a child, both dead. His heart torn apart. His soul blackened. The nanocytes kept him alive so he could relive his failure to protect them, over and over. When Margie Rose’s one kind act freed him from his abyss, he committed to bring civilization back to humanity.
He didn’t deserve anything for himself. At least that was what he’d been telling himself. He opened the door just a crack and peeked in to see if there was any room left in civilization for him, enough humanity for Terry to experience some for himself.
“Is this how it works in Werewolf land? If you like someone, you beat the holy crap out of them?” he finally asked, running one hand over his battered face and caressing Char’s neck with the other.
She chuckled. “Kind of, but not really. You made me mad.”
“And you punched me in the balls,” he answered. “Even?”
Terry stepped back and offered to shake hands, secure the truce, but Char pulled him back to her. She closed her eyes, one hand on his cheek. He leaned down, wrapping his arms around her as their lips met.
The fire. The surge in emotions. The pain.
“Ow!” he exclaimed. “My lips hurt.”
“Mine, too, you big bully. How dare you punch me in the face!”
Char stripped, trying to make a show for Terry, but she was too stiff and sore. Terry didn’t think he’d had an effect during the fight, but
her body was covered in bruises. He almost felt bad, but remembered his own pain and how the nanocytes were working overtime to repair the damage.
She changed into a sleek brown Werewolf, then nuzzled him and he scratched behind her ears, caressed her sides. Clyde started barking from the riverbank.
For the first time ever, Char dropped into play pose, challenging Clyde, who started barking up a storm. She raced up the bank after him and the two ran into the waste, frolicking.
“May you live in interesting times,” he told himself.
EPILOGUE
Billy watched a menagerie of people and cows strolling up the road. He turned his head back toward the house. “Felicity!” he yelled. “You might want to come out here.”
Felicity appeared, pulling her jacket tightly around her. Billy wrapped a protective arm around her as the group approached. Terry and Char were in the middle, leading horses that carried three people each.
They heard someone yelling and whistling in the back of the group to keep the cows soldiering on. Billy and Felicity took positions astride the flower beds to keep them from getting trampled, although the horses made their way unerringly to them with each visit.
Clyde ran ahead to greet Billy and Felicity, getting his head petted by each, before getting pushed away when he tried to stuff his nose between Felicity’s legs. She kicked at him as he ran off. The rabbit population required his attention.
“We brought some company,” Terry offered with a smile, and then introduced Antioch and Claire, who chased the kids from the horses as they dismounted. They lined up the twelve youngsters, who looked warily at the men carrying rifles.
Mark saluted and Terry returned it. “Stand down and disband the guard!” Terry ordered.
Billy clapped his hands and then slapped Terry on the shoulder. He turned to Char and stopped. “What happened to you?”
“Marcus was a little harder to put down than your average rabid dog,” she replied coldly.
“I see,” Billy said, examining the scar. “A shame.”
Nomad Omnibus 01: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus) Page 32