Nomad Redeemed

by Craig Martelle

  Terry shook her, but she rolled over, pulling the covers tightly around her. “I’ll stand watch alone,” he told them, hating to change the plan because it seemed like he’d ordered them to do one thing while doing something else himself. “Belay that. Come on, Char, time to get up.”

  She didn’t move, so he grabbed her shoulders and bodily picked her up, grunting with the effort. She was much denser than your average human. Terry ducked quickly, having seen her react before when getting wakened from a sound sleep.

  Her elbow shot out with a hip twist to add power, just missing Terry’s head. He caught it to keep her from rotating backward in a counter blow. She struggled awake, staggered two steps away, and puked.

  “That’s new,” he said, looking at her.

  “I feel awful,” she said. “Oh no…”

  Terry rushed forward and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair, concern contorting his face.

  She leaned close. “Going into heat,” she whispered. Terry stepped back, trying not to smile or panic.

  “Umm,” was all he managed to say while looking everywhere but at her.

  “Uh-huh,” she replied, glaring at him. “Just go away. I’ll deal with you later.”

  Terry had no idea what that meant, but he had no intention of staying around to find out. He did the appropriately manly thing and ran for his life.

  * * *

  “My dearest Felicity, I’ve been thinking,” Billy started in a soft voice, smiling. Felicity was instantly skeptical.

  “Now that sounds dangerous, Billy dear,” Felicity drawled, pulling the covers closer around her. “So what have you been thinking about?”

  “The person who will take my place after I get old and pack it in,” he replied. He got ready to continue, but Felicity cut him off.

  “Oh, Billy! I never thought you’d think of me as the next mayor! I am flattered and simply overwhelmed. I don’t know what to say, but I know how I can show my appreciation.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she crawled under the covers. The touch of her warm fingers convinced Billy that he shouldn’t continue with his previous train of thought.

  That’s not what I meant, he thought, shaking his head and shelving the idea for the present. Maybe after he had her in his car…

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The false dawn was a welcome sight. Terry woke Geronimo to help him saddle the horses after Terry brought them together from grazing the riverbank. He hoped they had enough to eat and looked to Gerry for confirmation. The young man stroked their sides and then nodded.

  “My pretty girls have had plenty,” he said happily, throwing a saddle onto one’s back and cinching it tightly. Then moving to the next. Terry lifted the ammunition-heavy saddle bags and put them on the two horses who wouldn’t carry riders that day. He and Char rode the same horses day after day because they were used to the Werewolf, while the others were still skittish around her.

  The others roused, packed up, and prepared to leave.

  “Char,” Terry called quietly. She materialized from the shadows and approached.

  “Wow, you look normal!” he blurted out.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” she asked. He realized his mistake too late, but he was a warrior, honed to a fine edge in battles past. He redirected.

  “Is that Marcus?” he whispered. Char knew the alpha Werewolf wasn’t anywhere near, so she shook her head.

  “We better go, keep on keeping on, and maybe we’ll find a settlement of some sort today. It’d be nice to accomplish the secondary mission of recruiting more bodies for New Boulder.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded. He walked away with a sense of urgency, hurriedly mounting his horse and waving the others to follow.

  A Marine Corps lesson was to always look like you know what you’re doing and to do it like there is nothing more important at the moment. A busy Marine was a happy Marine, or so the leadership believed. If one didn’t look busy enough…

  Clyde ran around looking for a place to go, so they all waited while the dog took care of business. As soon as he was done, Clyde did like all dogs and took off running.

  Too bad it was in the wrong direction. Terry yelled at him until he turned and followed as they spurred their horses east toward the rising sun.

  “When will you know if Marcus is following us?” Terry asked in a whisper.

  “When he’s a few miles away. We won’t get much in the way of a heads up,” she replied. “I don’t sense anything, and riding into the wind doesn’t help. If he’s back there, he’ll find us before we find him.”

  “That’s not quite the tactical position I was looking for.” Terry stroked his chin with one hand, feeling the stubble as he thought. He hadn’t shaved, opting to wear enough stubble to keep his face warm. It would only get colder, although the cold of the Wasteland already felt far warmer than the cold of New Boulder. He wondered what the climate was like, how it had changed in the past twenty years. He knew the baseline because he’d read the reports before the World’s Worst Day Ever, the WWDE.

  He had no way to measure current temperatures to tell what the difference might be, but that wasn’t the same. He couldn’t get the average over a large area. He expected that his body had adapted and the climate was warmer overall. Did it snow out here? It probably didn’t anymore.

  His curiosity piqued, he thought he’d look for a thermometer. If he could find one, he’d start taking the temperature as they passed through areas. He missed his studies. The world had been without academic research for too long.

  “What was your major, Ivy League?” Terry asked.

  “Ivy League? Leave it to a Marine to call it that. I majored in history,” she answered.

  He grunted.

  “What? Were you hoping for something else?” she retorted.

  “No, not at all. I studied history as well. Love that stuff! Do you know anything about hard science, say, climatology?” he clarified.

  “Yes. I had a boyfriend who was a weatherman on TV. He tried to convince me that he wasn’t just guessing. The jury is still out on that, although I recognized that with good data, the quality of the predictions improves. The challenge now is we have no data and no way to get it.”

  “I think we can find a thermometer,” Terry offered.

  “A thermometer? That’s your idea of data?” She paused a moment, taking it in. “I guess it’s better than nothing, but if we can find an all-in-one weather station, then maybe, just maybe, we can start to figure things out. Wait!” Char sat up straight and sniffed the air. The wind had changed and was blowing from the northwest.

  “Marcus is coming,” Char whispered. Terry turned and looked, but the sun had not yet tipped from night. “He’s a long ways away and I smell something else, cows maybe? I think he just hunted. We need to hurry.”

  The sun peeked over the horizon, starting its climb skyward. The barren land before them was disheartening. It appeared from the shadows, looking worse as it became better lit. When the sun stepped away from the land, the way ahead looked as bad as it could be. From the ditch of the South Platte River, sparse greenery fought against the blood red of the waste.

  Terry stopped, picked Clyde up, and carried the poor dog, who was already struggling to keep up.

  “We need to move!” Terry called to the others, not worried that he’d be heard because of the wind’s new direction. Terry kicked his horse into a trot, then a run as they sought the best footing through the Wastelands. Keeping the South Platte close on their left side, they raced ahead, covering as much distance as possible in the cool of the morning.

  When the wind changed direction again, Char lost all traces of the other Werewolf, but Terry was pleased regardless.

  “He could not have spent any time in town if he’s close enough for you to smell him. That’s exactly what we wanted, but now that we know he’s coming, I feel good, excited even,” Terry confided. Char looked at him in surprise.

  “You should be afraid,” she replied, face twisted, but her purple eyes
almost glowed as energy surged within her.

  “Save that!” Terry cautioned. “Funnel your emotions at the proper time. Focus the rage and use it to your advantage. He will be angry and out of control. We’ll use that against him as long as we get to pick the terrain of the battle. That’s my job. Yours is to practice and run and get faster and faster.”

  Char looked at the wasted land ahead, wondering how in the hell Terry Henry Walton was going to find terrain to their advantage.

  Terry figured the right battleground was on the other side of the great waste before them, hoping for more fertile land in what used to be Nebraska. He wanted to be there before nightfall, a good seventy-five miles from where they’d camped. If Marcus had run the whole way, he’d have to be tired. And that would be an advantage, too.

  Char looked back as the sun painted the world behind them a deep red. She couldn’t see anything and couldn’t sense that he was close, but ahead, she felt the life essence of humans and livestock.

  * * *

  “Billy, I think we need to do a recon, go north and check things out, make sure that man has moved on,” Mark suggested.

  “Did Terry Henry give you that much freedom? Does that make sense in any way?” Billy shot back. He’d been happy that Marcus left town without wreaking havoc, but he still didn’t want to see any more members of the security team disappear. Billy had already lost his security chief, Char, four others, and eight horses.

  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 b
uildings 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 prints. 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.