Nomad Mortis: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8)

by Craig Martelle

  When he turned, he found the tall Forsaken straddling Andrew. He had both hands around Andrew’s throat and was mercilessly choking him. Joseph hopped one step and took a mighty swing, turning into it like a homerun slugger.

  The blade tore through the creature’s head, splitting it from crown to throat. The creature fell forward, spilling brains over Andrew’s face. The young Forsaken gasped and sputtered as he rolled the body from him. He turned the other way as he came to his knees and started gagging.

  “Take it like a man!” Joseph told him, turning his attention back to the radio. “TH was right. I really should have practiced with the sword.”

  Joseph wasn’t sure if the set was broadcasting or not, but it was on and when he spied the bundle of cables, he knew what to do. He tried to rip them out of the back of the equipment, but they weren’t coming. He incrementally unplugged one after another, hurrying as fast he could.

  When he looked again, the lights on the transmitters were off.

  Andrew was wiping his face with the coat of the fallen. Joseph took a moment to sense the etheric.

  “We need to go,” he said and ran out the door.

  ***

  Gene roared at the heavy gate. It was locked and even with his great strength, he couldn’t budge it. Camilla stood back with her squad arrayed in a semi-circle, aiming their rifles into the air since Gene was taking up the entire opening.

  “Gene!” Camilla yelled, but was unable to get the Werebear’s attention. She ran up to him and slapped him on his rump. He turned, swinging the back of a massive paw and hitting her in the middle of the chest. She was thrown thirty feet, landing in a pile. She cried out in pain.

  Gene changed into human form and the large man ran naked to the squad leader. “I so sorry, little human,” he said with a shocked look. He gently tried to pick her up, feeling her chest to see if anything was broken.

  Her eyes rolled around in her head as she tried to speak. He helped her sit up. She winced and her breath caught, keeping her from expanding her chest. “Hit me again so you can make that suck more,” she whispered weakly.

  Gene shook his head. “No,” he said boldly. She reminded him of Fu and he couldn’t imagine hitting her. His mistake was pulling at his heartstrings. Other members of the squad were torn between looking out for their squad leader while dutifully ignoring the large naked man, and conducting the mission which was to secure the gate.

  The mission won out.

  When the first Forsaken appeared, an M4 barked, then another. Gene put Camilla down and turned, changing back into a Werebear with his first step. The Forsaken had unbolted the gate. Even with the barrage of silver bullets burning like fire through his body, he pushed the gate open as two of his fellows ran from behind him. Gene met the three of them at the opening.

  The rifle fire stopped as Gene hit the Forsaken with the power of a runaway freight train. The Forsaken were launched back into the tunnel as Gene came down on top of them.

  “Move forward, be ready,” Camilla gasped, gaining strength with each new and full breath. The squad gave a hearty oorah and charged the tunnel entrance, only to stop when they saw the Werebear filling the space.

  “Not so close!” Camilla said, lurching to her feet as a bloodied Forsaken appeared in the tunnel mouth, between Gene and the squad, and running right at her.

  ***

  The large steel door to the underground was closed tightly and Terry couldn’t budge it. He stood against the frame and pulled with the considerable strength in his body. It wouldn’t move. He growled and tugged, but to no avail.

  Joseph joined them, and then Andrew. Joseph leaned forward and put his ear to the door. With his mouth on the crack, he whispered, “Open the door, brother. You know who’s out here and we need to get inside. They have silver…”

  He let it hang. He waved Terry and Char back from the door. As soon as they moved, there was a clunk and loud bang. The door moved infinitesimally forward. “That’s right. Thank you. Be ready to close it as soon as we enter,” Joseph said encouragingly.

  The door opened a crack and then wide enough to let a person through. Joseph reached in and grabbed the Forsaken, jerking him out and throwing him to the ground in front of Terry.

  In a flash, TH’s sword was in his hand, but the Forsaken was quicker. He launched his body at Joseph’s back, but Andrew caught him mid-jump, rotating and throwing the Forsaken to the side.

  Char fired both pistols as fast she could pull the trigger. Silver bullets slammed into the creature. Terry jumped forward after fourteen shots had been fired, and with a well-practiced slash, cleanly removed the Forsaken’s head.

  Char changed magazines in each pistol, pocketing the ones that weren’t yet empty. They never left ammunition or magazines behind. After the WWDE, every single round was irreplaceable.

  Joseph pushed the door open, allowing sunlight into the dank entryway. At the end of the small space was an elevator and a door. Joseph punched the button for the elevator and then opened the door.

  The elevator dinged, a sound that Terry hadn’t heard in over fifty years. He dropped into a crouch and prepared to attack. Char shook her head.

  “It’s empty,” she told him, taking a position behind Joseph.

  Terry stood and signaled for Andrew to stay behind him.

  “Going down, TH,” Joseph said as he opened the door, revealing the staircase beyond.

  ***

  A Werebear roared not too far away. Rifle fire came from that area, too. Then pistol fire closer. Sue and Timmons ran toward the pistol fire. Marcie was up ahead with her warriors arrayed in defensive positions.

  Boris ran to her, signaling for his newly arrived platoon to shore up the flank facing the sound of gunfire.

  “Report!” he ordered.

  “We’re securing the compound as ordered. Otherwise, I have no idea what’s going on,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He looked for the Werewolves, but they were gone. Their insight would have helped him decide.

  “I’ll take my platoon that way. Keep doing what you’re doing, Sergeant,” he told her and then ran to his platoon, tomahawking a hand to the front and holding up two fingers in a V, ordering two squads forward and one back. They quickly formed and moved out.

  The gunfire had stopped, but that could have meant anything. He pumped his fist up and down.

  Hurry up!

  The platoon moved out, weapons facing toward the enemy, each warrior looking down the barrel as they rushed ahead. Wherever their eyes went, their barrels were there.

  Boris looked past his people but couldn’t see any signs of where they’d gone.

  Then the gunfire started up again, but as a single mass of fire. To Boris, it sounded like a firing squad.

  The platoon continued as they were. He wanted to go faster, but as Terry always said, don’t be in a hurry to your own funeral.

  ***

  The squad unloaded all at once. Most rounds hit the Forsaken, some did not. Gene howled from within the tunnel as one of the bullets hit him in the back.

  The Forsaken was stopped cold, falling backward, its chest a ruin.

  “Fix bayonets!” Camilla ordered, before sending the warriors forward. They clicked their bayonets in place on the small carbines and attacked.

  ***

  Shonna and Merrit looked at each other. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “They’re going north,” Merrit replied with his eyes closed as he searched for the Forsaken. He saw three of them fleeing. He and Shonna took off, one step behind Butch and Skippy, who were accelerating away from the two Weres in human form.

  “We can’t let them get away. Terry will be pissed!” Merrit said as he sucked air through his open mouth.

  “I’ll be pissed!” Shonna called back as she veered left to catch the fleeing Forsaken in a single envelopment.

  Merrit wondered why the enemy wasn’t angling away from them, but seemed to be slowing down. It was daylight and they were
in the open.

  They could have been too arrogant for their own good. Or the three of them were better than four Werewolves. Merrit didn’t have time to contemplate it. The Forsaken were ahead and they were done running.

  Butch and Skippy didn’t bother slowing down as they leaped high to attack the closest enemy.

  ***

  The stairs switched back and forth as they descended within the square confines of the shaft. Cold, gray concrete. Smooth. Unremarkable. Five stories down.

  Char and Joseph were first to the bottom, Terry was taking the steps three at a time on his way down and Andrew was falling behind by only taking two.

  The door was open and Char grabbed Joseph’s arm before he rushed through. “Traps,” she said softly.

  Terry grabbed the handrail to slow his headlong rush. He swung up in the air and came down hard, stomping heavily on the bottom step. Char looked angrily at the loud noise.

  She and Joseph returned their focus to the darkened hallway beyond. Two doors.

  Just like Antarctica.

  Terry tiptoed over and leaned over Char’s shoulder. She held up four fingers. He tightened his grip on his Mameluke. Traps? he mouthed.

  Char held her hands up and shook her head. She didn’t know. Joseph studied the hallway systematically, but it was plain, cold concrete. Nothing looked out of place. Joseph motioned for them to follow.

  He went through and walked down the middle of the hallway. Char dodged left and Terry dipped to the right. He shifted his sword to his left hand and uncoiled his whip. It had been a long time since he last used it. He thought there was no better target for its silver bite than Mr. Smith.

  Char held up one finger and pointed at the door on the right. Terry was torn. He wanted to personally kill them all, but they’d have to split up. Terry pointed to himself and then the door on the right.

  He changed positions with Joseph. The Forsaken gripped the door handle and prepared to turn it.

  Andrew was on the other side, ready to do the same thing for the door on the left. Char had her pistols out and stood ready to start the fireworks. Joseph and Andrew nodded to each other and slowly rotated the handles. They jerked the doors open at the same time.

  Terry ran through the door on the right; Char through to the left. Joseph let go of the handle and followed Char with Andrew pulling himself around the door and through.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The first warriors found the Forsaken trying to get up in spite of the horrific wounds in its chest. It grimaced in agony as it struggled. The bayonets had not been coated in silver, but they were tearing into the creature and shredding its flesh.

  “The head! Cut off the head!” Camilla ordered. Two warriors dutifully started sawing at the thing’s neck while three others held the creature down.

  A bloodied figure appeared in the tunnel and ripped a warrior from his fellow Forsaken, breaking the private’s neck and casting him aside before grabbing a second victim. Camilla unloaded her carbine into the creature as others brought their firepower to bear.

  The private twisted out of the Forsaken’s weakening grip and turned, thrusting his bayonet upward through the creature’s jaw and into its brain. He scrambled the blade within the skull, letting the Forsaken fall. He planted his foot on the thing’s chest and yanked his bayonet free.

  Camilla calmly ejected one magazine and loaded another, pressing the release button that sent the bolt home, chambering a fresh round.

  “Finish them!” she ordered as she stood aside. The Werebear was prone within the tunnel and unmoving.

  “With me!” she called, pointing at two privates with her chin as she staggered around the bodies, past the gate and into the tunnel. A lake of blood was beneath the Werebear.

  The Forsaken had been shredded.

  She walked sideways, squeezing between the Werebear and the wall to get to Gene’s head. He was lying there, head down, but his eyes were open.

  “Gene?” she ventured.

  Gene changed into human form. “OOOH FUCK!” he howled.

  Camilla rocked back on her heels at the force of the scream. “What? Where are you hurt?”

  “Someone shot me in back with silver bullet. Hurt like fucking in sandstorm. Legs are dead.” Gene sighed and pinched his eyes closed as he struggled with the pain.

  “Will you heal?” she asked.

  “Yes, but take long time. You must push ahead,” he told her in grunts of heavily-accented English.

  “We’ll stop them from coming through. We’ll keep you safe, Gene.” She leaned over his back and saw the small bullet hole, centered over his lower back. Her squad had shot one of her own.

  Friendly fire that wasn’t so friendly.

  But there was no time to think about fire discipline now. They had a battle to win. “You and you, stay here and guard Gene with your lives. The rest of you, check your silver ammo. Load up and follow me.”

  She turned and faced down the unlit tunnel. She pulled a flashlight from her cargo pocket and shined it into the darkness. It didn’t illuminate enough to put her mind at ease.

  ***

  Terry jumped into the room, surveying it in an instant. It looked to be a common room, maybe even a dining room. There were numerous doors leading from it. Terry was alone, but he knew there was a Forsaken in there somewhere.

  Speed and randomness. He chose the first door to his left and ripped it open. Storage. He went to the next door, hesitated, then bolted to the third door and opened it. A hallway with more doors. He thought those might have been sleeping quarters. He went back to the second door and yanked on the handle.

  He pulled it open and got a face full of Forsaken. He stumbled backward, the whip wrapped around his wrist uncoiled and fell free. He tried to swing the sword with his left hand, but the Forsaken was too close, already on top of him.

  Terry pushed with his legs and rolled over a table backwards. He tried to flip, but the weight on his chest held him down. The creature’s canines were exposed and it was going for his throat.

  Terry relaxed and dug for his knife with his free hand. The creature bit deep.

  TH felt violated, but it was the quickest means to an end. The creature started convulsing as Terry’s nanocytes attacked the Forsaken. He pushed the creature from him, driving his knife into its rib cage. It contorted and Terry slashed with the sword, chopping halfway through its neck.

  He didn’t need to decapitate it as it was quickly dying. He recovered his whip as he ran for the door, in the direction of his wife and gunfire.

  ***

  The Forsaken swung his blade in a semi-circle, catching the side of the first of two leaping Werewolves. Butch yipped in pain. Skippy’s jaws clamped onto the creature’s free arm and when the Werewolf hit the ground, he pulled backward, playing a deadly game of tug to give Butch room to get back into the fight.

  The Forsaken raised its blade to hew into Skippy while a second Forsaken came at the Werewolf from behind.

  Shonna and Merrit hit the nearest Forsaken with a power tackle. The three went down.

  Butch ran forward and jumped over her mate into the face of the second creature. The third Forsaken had been further ahead, but it turned, pulled a shortsword from the scabbard at its side, and charged into the battle.

  Its first strike nearly took off Skippy’s foreleg. He screamed in pain and fell as the leg gave in. Butch ripped into her enemy, biting, shaking, and biting again. The third Forsaken worked sideways to flank the enraged Werewolf.

  Shonna and Merrit had broken both the arms of their enemy and were delivering a punishing series of kicks to the creature’s torso. Merrit jumped, spun, and crushed the Forsaken’s throat with a perfectly delivered heel strike. Shonna grabbed its head and broke its neck.

  Merrit went to help Butch, arriving as the Forsaken reared back to deliver a death blow. Merrit caught the arm and hooked it in his so the Forsaken couldn’t swing its sword. They struggled for only a moment when a blade was shoved through the creatur
e’s chest, four inches of sword point appearing in front. It gasped.

  Shonna pulled her sword free and plunged it in again. Merrit took the sword from the Forsaken’s numb fingers and used it to hack the arms off the one fighting with Butch. She rolled away and Merrit cut its head off as it stared dumbly at its stumps.

  Shonna finished her enemy and separated its body and mind in more than a spiritual sense. They returned to the last living Forsaken.

  “Where’s Mister Smith?” Shonna asked.

  “Too late, bitch,” it replied as its broken bones were stitching back together. The Forsaken tried to act tough, but the second it had arrived from Los Angeles, it had known it was nothing but a minion, a pawn in Mr. Smith’s deadly game.

  “Never too late, bitch,” Shonna replied coldly. With a full swing of her new shortsword, she removed its head.

  Merrit hurried to Skippy, while Shonna helped Butch. She changed into human form. “I guess I’m out of it for a while,” she cried, looking at the gash in her side.

  Skippy changed. He staggered two steps and fell over. One arm dangled, flopping on the ground as he hit.

  They used a sword and scabbard as a splint, cutting strips from the Forsaken’s leather clothing to use as ties.

  When Skippy came to, Butch was wrapped up and so was he.

  “Not quite good as new, but you’ll get there,” Merrit reassured them both. “Back to the pod.”

  They helped the naked and injured people to walk, making for slow going. They hadn’t realized the distance they’d covered earlier when they ran headlong to cut off the Forsaken.

  “What do you think he meant that we were too late?” Shonna asked.

  “I don’t know, but we got some sweet swords out of it, and it’s about time, too!” Merrit proclaimed.

  “There is that,” Shonna conceded.

  ***

  Char fired at the two Forsaken she could see, but they fired back with semi-automatic Uzis. She was tossed backward when the first round dug into her chest. She lost her aim and wasted a silver bullet that she sent wide.