Nomad Unleashed: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 3)

by Craig Martelle

  Shonna yelled for Merrit and ran to the stricken man. He’d fallen and was out cold. She jammed a finger against the side of his neck. “No pulse,” she stated clinically and started doing CPR. The old man’s chest cracked as his bones gave way under the vigorous compressions.

  Merrit joined her, checking the man’s pulse and breathing. Finally, he shook his head and she stopped. Shonna looked at Billy. In the old world, Billy would have been arrested and charged with manslaughter. But this was the new world where everyone would concede that the engineer’s time had come. He couldn’t live without his friend the mechanic.

  Billy pulled on his hair, livid. He stormed to the pile and picked up the largest wrench he could find and he beat on an old valve that was laying there. He beat on it until shards of metal shot in all direction. Whether it was the valve or wrench that gave first, no one cared.

  Billy had made his point. None of the pile would leave New Boulder.

  They wouldn’t get their restaurant and electricity would stop flowing down the lines.

  The mayor threw the wrench down and walked off, slower with each step. Felicity waited for him by the door where she shielded the baby’s eyes from what had gone on inside. He stopped when he reached the doorway and looked at them both. There was fire in Felicity’s eyes.

  “I fucking hate you, Billy Spires,” she snarled and stormed away.

  “You should,” he answered as he stood there, unsure of what to do, unsure if he could tolerate being with himself. He finally decided to leave and stumbled toward the mountains that stood as a continuous beacon overlooking the town of New Boulder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The horses caught up with the wolf pack, and together the group ran, ten wolves and seven horses.

  Timmons seemed to be in better spirits as he became more accustomed to riding with one good hand. He’d been quiet and Terry thought that was a bad thing, but Char assured him in the Were world, when a beta accepted his place, his duty was to follow the orders of the alpha. She’d told him that his job was to watch and be aware, letting Terry and Char know of anything untoward or out of place.

  That was what he was doing, and it didn’t take extra conversation.

  They kept what looked like the interstate within sight as they ran all day, stopping once to finish the remainder of their smoked black bear. After that, they had only scraps. The horses had nothing if they didn’t get out of the scrub of the Wastelands.

  The ruins of a city rose nearby. Terry waved the group in that direction. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s Sheridan.” No one doubted that Terry knew where he was and that the city was what he said it would be. He remembered every map he ever looked at and in nauseating detail. He readily matched mountains and rivers as they passed.

  “What does Sheridan mean to us?” Char asked as they slowed to a walk while Ted rode after the wolf pack to tell them to head toward the city.

  Terry stuck out his tongue and wiggled it at his wife. She raised one brow and pinched the other eye shut, giving him the classic stink eye.

  “The Tongue River,” he said, snickering. “It’s on the other side of town and flows into the Missouri. I hope to hell it’s there, because that would tell me the Missouri is flowing as well.”

  “We can hope,” Char said, using Terry’s least favorite word against him even though he used it too often himself.

  Ted rode through a little of the mud which was already hardening under the heat of a late September sun. “What day is it, Ted?” Terry asked to be sure.

  “Thursday, October second,” Ted replied without hesitation.

  Terry turned back to Char. “Will it ever cool down?” Terry asked.

  Char shrugged. She only knew that today was hot and getting hotter. The humidity was oppressive, something they didn’t usually deal with in the waste. The mud was turning into solid ground. Soon, they’d be able to ride on it without sinking.

  Terry wasn’t sure that was any better, in case the mud covered up something that they needed to see. It would also kill any grass that had been unlucky enough to get trapped beneath.

  They rode on. The green of numerous trees brought a smile to Terry’s face. He spurred his horse to quicken its pace and it responded. Soon, they were all running toward the splash of green.

  Sheridan had been built at the confluence of a number of tributaries. Streams flowed freely into town from the mountains to the west while the buildings had blocked the worst of the dust storms coming from the east. The eastern side of the town was buried while the western side flourished. They followed the high ground across roads and into the ruins of a city built in what had been the Wild West.

  Even in its dilapidated state, the theme was prevalent. Antlers, sun-bleached wood, and old style porches looked at them from a world that had been. It was like walking back into the turn of the twentieth century, before the automobile.

  The group would pass through a number of reservations on their way to Minnesota. He wondered if they’d survived.

  “It is what it is,” he said, the fateful saying of the forlorn, of those who had stopped fighting.

  “What is?” Char asked, wondering where Terry’s mind had gone.

  “Native Americans. I was wondering if we’d find any as we passed through the old tribal lands.” Terry looked around as he sized up the city. “Grazing?”

  “Wait one, sir!” Gerry called as he galloped ahead toward a large stand of trees. He returned after a couple minutes.

  “This way,” he called and waved the others forward. The wolf pack ran warily between the buildings, sniffing and watching. Ted was a little anxious, too.

  They followed Gerry to what looked like an old park. The grass was green and full with a stream running down the middle of it. They turned their horses loose to graze. The water ran clear. The wolf pack waded in and immediately started running and jumping after the abundance of fish.

  “Fish,” Terry said longingly. He took a blanket from his pack and headed for the stream.

  “Sunbathing, TH?” Char asked, following him.

  “Fishing,” he replied.

  “Don’t you dare get that blanket wet! I sleep on it, too, you know.” She put her hands on her hips and watched him go. He knew all too well that she slept on it with him. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  When he reached the bank of the stream, he laid the blanket out, pulled his knife, and cut down three willow branches. He sat on the blanket as he peeled away the bark and then started working at one end, carefully splitting the branch in half and carving a reverse notch in each inner side of the split. His intent was to use it as a spear that trapped the fish in the middle of the notch.

  That was the plan anyway.

  Char stretched out on the blanket, tying her shirt to expose her rock hard abs. She stretched her long legs out and reclined. “Catch some for me, too, lover,” she called.

  “The first one’s for you,” he called as he carefully stepped into the stream. His enhanced vision cut the glare in a way that revealed the fish beneath the surface. He waited with spear raised and less than twenty seconds into his fishing excursion, he hauled the first rainbow trout out of the water and tossed it ashore.

  Char watched it flop as it worked its way back toward the stream.

  “Kill it!” Terry called. Char closed her eyes, sighed, and leaned back. Terry splashed ashore and slapped the rainbow onto a rock. He returned to his hole, hoping that his splashing hadn’t chased the fish away. It did, but they quickly returned. Terry stopped after spearing an even dozen.

  He made quick work of cleaning them. Not having scales, they were easily prepared for the fry pan with three cuts and a scoop.

  Gerry and Lacy were brushing the horses. James was nowhere to be seen. Ted had changed into his Were form and was splashing around in the stream with the pack. He looked like a father with his children. The wolves weren’t small, but the Werewolf was easily double their size.

  Timmons sat in the grass not far
behind Char.

  “Would you like to try it?” Terry asked, holding his fish spear out for Timmons to see. The man held up the stump of his hand. “You only need one hand for this. Come on.”

  Timmons reluctantly agreed. As a Werewolf, Timmons was a natural predator. It went without saying that he would be good at any task that involved prey. He waded slowly into the water and waited. The stream gurgled and sparkled under the afternoon sun.

  Char was sound asleep with the relaxation brought on by the serenity of the park and stream.

  Timmons jabbed the spear into the water and pulled it back quickly, then spun it to send the wriggling trout flying through the air. It slapped into the ground where it flopped until Terry captured it and killed it. He sliced it up and tossed the head and guts into the stream.

  Seven more times Timmons jabbed his spear into the water and seven more fish were tossed ashore.

  For the first time since Terry met him, Timmons looked happy. He stepped carefully on the slippery rocks as he worked his way from the stream. He gave Terry his spear back, undressed, and then changed into Were form. He proceeded to devour the eight fish he’d caught, bones and all.

  “Damn, brother, how hungry were you?” The Werewolf didn’t answer. He belched. Terry could have sworn a green cloud spewed from Timmons’s wolf mouth.

  Timmons changed back into human form and belched again.

  “Dude!” Terry cried out.

  Timmons’s expression turned serious and he looked toward the town. “People,” he said in a low voice.

  ***

  “You have to find him!” Felicity yelled as she ran out the front door. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. The tears continued to stream down her cheeks. She held Marcie in her arms, but was waving the baby as she tried to point in three different directions at once.

  “Billy Spires?” Mark asked. Felicity nodded vigorously.

  “He’s been gone for a whole day!” She broke down and started sobbing again.

  Mark didn’t do well around crying women. He tried to comfort her, but she shrugged him off. “Well?” she demanded.

  “Where’d he go?” Mark wondered.

  “If I knew that, he wouldn’t be lost!” Felicity yelled, changing instantly from a crying woman to a hair-on-fire hellion.

  “Which way did he go and when?” Mark asked, holding his hands out as he tried to calm the young woman.

  “I have a baby! I’m not ready to be the mayor yet. Damn you, Billy Spires!” she screamed toward the hills. Mark took that to mean that he went that way. Mark thought he understood why Billy would run from such a beautiful woman. It was all Mark wanted to do at that moment in time.

  “I’m on it, ma’am.” Mark came to attention, saluted crisply, and ran off, happy to do something other than get yelled at. He ran to the greenhouses and pulled half the platoon.

  Blackie and Hank joined them, as well as Jim and half of his squad. They left David in charge of those left behind as they double-timed down the road leading to the hills. They all had their rifles, since they always carried them. They had their knives and extra ammunition. And some even had a little food.

  Hank jogged along, got distracted and ran off, then remembered what he’d been doing and raced to catch up. Blackie let him go. The grizzly had to either keep up or fend for himself.

  Blackbeard wanted him to come along, but learned that he couldn’t force the bear.

  Mark hurried the group as they passed the mayor’s house. He waved at the upstairs window where Felicity was leaning out and yelling at them to hurry. He ran harder. The others pressed to keep up. They slowed when they were out of Felicity’s sight.

  Mark kept them running until they arrived at the trail that led up the mountain from the dead end. It was the easiest way to get into the hills as the track was well established.

  “Billy Spires has disappeared and we need to find him. We’ll break into four groups of three and search. Jim, left flank. Blackie and I will go straight ahead, and Ivan, you take your team down the right flank. See that bluff up there?” Mark pointed to the rocks where the Werewolves had crouched once upon a time. “Converge there at midday. I am assuming he wants to be found. I have no idea if he was hunting or what and got himself injured. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

  Mark hesitated, thinking of the look on Felicity’s face. He could think of other things, but he wasn’t going to say any of them out loud.

  Clyde barked from nearby. Sue was jogging toward them with Clyde in tow.

  Mark sent Jim and Ivan on their way. Six men started climbing the hill while the others waited.

  “I think I can help,” Sue said in a normal voice, seemingly unaffected by the run. Clyde’s tongue lolled from his mouth, before he noticed the bear cub and started barking and snapping. Hank lunged for him, but Blackie caught the grizzly and held him back. A few sharp words from Sue and Clyde stopped barking and sat next to her, leaning against her leg.

  “Keep Hank back, he’ll spoil the scent,” Sue said as she and Clyde skirted wide past the grizzly and headed up the trail. Clyde was sniffing, as was Sue. They seemed to confer, then took off running.

  Mark waved the men after her and it became a mad scramble up the steep slope.

  They continued unerringly skyward, Mark’s chest was heaving and sparks appeared before his eyes. The others were straining too, so he called a halt. There was no way they could keep up with Sue and Clyde. The two disappeared into the distance.

  “Good breaths, gentlemen, hands on heads, stand up straight, and get the air into your chests. Slow deep breaths.” Mark panted as he talked and gave the men two minutes to catch their breaths before they started running again, this time at a more measured pace. He tried to follow Sue and Clyde, but after clearing the rise where he’d seen them last, there was no sign of the blonde woman or the big coonhound.

  Mark stopped, leaned upward on his tippy toes and looked for any movement, listened for any sound.

  Nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Terry leaned over to wake Char, but she was already sitting up and looking in the same direction as Timmons.

  She looked relaxed, which put Terry’s mind at ease.

  “Families, two or three, with cattle. Nothing to worry about, although I suspect we should introduce ourselves, just in case they have guns and ammunition,” she suggested.

  Char stood and untied the bottom of her shirt so it hung loosely. She adjusted her pistol belt and holsters, making sure the two Glocks were readily available if needed.

  Timmons picked up the fish spear in his right hand and returned to the stream. Ted was getting dressed when they looked back. Gerry and Lacy continued to brush the horses, oblivious to the others’ concerns.

  “Where’s James?” Terry called out.

  “Checking out some houses this way.” Lacy tipped her head opposite where the families were located.

  “Go get him. We have company inbound, possibly hostile. Weapons tight!” Gerry pocketed his brush and rotated his rifle from his back to his hip as Lacy bolted away.

  Terry chopped a hand in the direction that Char and Timmons had sensed the people and flashed five fingers twice. Lots of people that way, the signal indicated. Gerry assumed a position between the unknown people and the horses, taking a knee and waiting for further direction.

  “Shall we, Major?”

  “Of course, Colonel Lover,” Char said with a smile, tickling the stubble on Terry’s face.

  “I may have to put you up on charges for disrespect and conduct unbecoming,” Terry said as he headed toward the road that led from the park.

  “Then you’ll never get any ever again,” Char deadpanned. She walked at his side, scanning the area to get the first glimpse of the other people.

  “Charges dropped,” Terry said, following Char’s gaze toward the northeast. “You’re using sex to manipulate me again.”

  “Not as far as you know,” Char said, stopping and pointing.
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br />   People with tall walking sticks were strolling down the street. What looked like Texas Longhorn cattle ambled lazily with them.

  Terry and Char angled through a backyard and across a street in order to come out in front of the group. No surprises was an important tactic when making first contact.

  The two stepped out from behind the building, casually with hands away from their sides. Char was one step back and to the side of TH, her arms not as far from her body as his.

  The startled group of people stopped, but the cattle kept walking. A young boy ran around them, waving his stick in front of the cows’ noses. The whole procession ground to a halt.

  “Where’d you come from?” An old man with no teeth yelled while leaning heavily on his walking stick. To Terry, it looked like a wizard’s staff. It was tall and gnarled with some ornament at the top that sparkled when the sun hit it.

  He’d make a joke about that later.

  Eleven people. Six adults, five children, eighteen head of cattle. No weapons.

  “We came from what used to be called Boulder, Colorado. We’re looking for survivors,” Terry shouted to be heard. The cows were making a great deal of noise, mooing and shuffling.

  Terry and Char walked closer, her eyes jumping from person to person as she assessed which ones were a threat.

  “You don’t need your peashooters with us,” the old man called out.

  “Can’t leave home without them, you know, in case we come across some big game,” Terry countered, unsure of where the man was going.

  “Let’s have a look at you. Cassandra, come here and give me a hand,” the old man yelled at a woman who looked like she could have been his daughter.

  Terry and Char stopped outside the small herd, away from the massive horns, and looked at the group. “I’m Terry Henry Walton and this is my wife, Charumati.” Char bristled at getting introduced like that, but understood that Terry didn’t want these people to get any ideas. Still, she could take care of herself.