Nomad Omnibus 03: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus)

by Craig Martelle

  “Sucks to be you,” he growled. The two in front smirked.

  “I think you have that backward, nutjob,” the first man laughed.

  Terry reached over his shoulder and pulled his Mameluke from its scabbard.

  Forgotten was Camilla, who had no intention of cowering behind the colonel. She stepped to the side with her combat knife at the ready.

  “I’ll take the girlie,” the rough-looking woman said. Camilla spun the knife to hold the blade along her forearm and raised her hands in a boxer’s pose.

  Terry stepped aside to give her room. The three men facing him raised batons that looked to be made of steel. Terry didn’t care.

  He flexed and started swirling his sword in a figure-eight around his body. With one lunge, he was on the first tough guy before the man could move. The Mameluke sliced deeply through his abs, nearly cutting the man in half.

  Terry started high and swung low, taking the next man just above both his knees. The man toppled to the ground screaming. The third man was just starting to raise his baton when Terry’s overhead chop split his head all the way to his breast bone.

  Terry ran over the body, heading straight for the Forsaken. The creature did a backflip from the platform where he stood and hit the ground running.

  Guitars screaming heavy metal sounded through the walls of the closed club as Terry ran past.

  ***

  Camilla’s lip curled of its own accord. Her opponent was big, brutish.

  “Nice hair,” Camilla taunted, referring to the bear-like growth over most of the woman’s body.

  She didn’t take the bait. She swung her baton in a wide roundhouse, putting her weight behind the blow. Camilla dodged backward and lunged forward, slashing at the woman’s shoulder, but the brute’s momentum carried her out of reach before Camilla could do any real damage.

  The woman jumped forward a step and continued the baton’s arc as she twisted in a circle to bring the baton around for a second time. Camilla dove forward, letting the baton graze her back as she ducked beneath it and slashed across the woman’s thigh.

  Camilla found the rough woman’s scream of pain gratifying. Camilla hit the ground, rolled to the side, and came to her feet in one smooth motion. The guard adjusted, standing with her injured leg back and leading with her other leg as she moved forward tentatively, jabbing with her baton.

  The private stood up straight and waved the woman forward with both her arms. “We’re going to be here all night if you keep turtle-crawling. Come on, bitch. Let’s finish this,” Camilla said boldly as she rotated to the balls of her feet and shifted her weight.

  The rough woman angled to the side, blood running freely down her wounded leg. Camilla darted in and out, trying to force the woman to swing her baton, but she held back.

  She’d been injured and was afraid. Although Camilla was much smaller, she was faster and the guard knew that her heavy-handed tactics weren’t going to work.

  The big problem was that she didn’t know any other way to fight. The woman started to get dizzy from the loss of blood and starting to go into shock. Her adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, being replaced by fear.

  Camilla danced back and forth more quickly as the woman’s eyes struggled to follow. The warrior spun the knife around, the killing blade forward for an abdominal thrust, when the rough woman’s eyes rolled back in her head and she toppled to the ground, the baton falling from numb fingers.

  “That was anticlimactic,” Camilla told the unconscious guard. She took the woman’s baton and looked for the colonel. She’d seen that he’d run after the one on the small platform outside the club, but she hadn’t seen which way they’d gone. She figured that someone would be coming soon and didn’t want to be there when reinforcements arrived.

  She took the batons that were swimming in the growing puddle of blood. She tried to ignore the gruesomeness of their enemies’ demise. With four batons in hand, she jogged in the general direction that the colonel had gone, listening and watching for any clue that would tell her where he was.

  Germany

  Akio accelerated after the Forsaken. Fear was adding fuel to the Forsaken’s speed, but it wasn’t enough. Akio was faster and ran the creature down, tripping him when he caught up to him. Akio jumped over the falling body and landed lightly, stopping, spinning, and facing his enemy within two steps.

  “Wait, wait!” the Forsaken pleaded in English. “I know things.”

  Akio never bothered with the banter or bravado that Terry Henry embraced. Akio arced his katana before him, but the Forsaken held his hands up in surrender.

  For the first time in his life, Akio hesitated. He moved in and planted his sword’s razor-sharp blade across the Forsaken’s throat. Akio made a fist and reared back. The Forsaken closed its eyes. Akio drove his fist into its forehead.

  Akio used his sword to cut strips of leather from the creature’s jacket. He bound the Forsaken’s arms in three different places behind his back before hobbling the creature.

  When the Forsaken came to, Akio dove deeply into its mind. It was similar to Joseph, an unwitting volunteer who survived the conversion process. He’d grown to like being stronger and faster than the humans and had lorded that over them.

  His shame bore his regret to the surface of his being.

  “This wasn’t the life I wanted,” the Forsaken said, closing his eyes as he prepared to die.

  “Your name?” Akio demanded.

  “Andrew,” he said without opening his eyes.

  “Come with me,” Akio said, pulling the Forsaken to his feet and pushing him in the direction of the blimp’s remains, which they could see caught in the distant trees. The Forsaken stumbled, feeling no better than he did when he thought he was going to die.

  With his head down, he stumbled forward in the shuffling gait of a shackled prisoner. Andrew’s life continued to not be his own.

  The hills south of San Francisco

  “Mount up!” Char bellowed. “We leave in two!”

  Char checked her Glock pistols, fully loaded with a round in the chamber. She holstered them both. The platoon was armed lightly. They had opted for people and food as a priority over weaponry.

  It would do.

  The platoon formed in the small clearing next to the pod. The warriors were already breathing heavily, more from anxiety than from having done any real work.

  “We have a three-mile run through a dark forest to get to the outskirts of San Francisco. From there, we’re going to take a main road and run right up to the checkpoint that Terry described. We’re forcing our way through and won’t slow down until we find that Forsaken and our people.”

  Char looked at her tactical team—two Werewolves, a Werebear, a Forsaken, and her daughter.

  “Stay inside, Fu. We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Char told the small woman. Fu bowed and Gene waved to his girlfriend, but he looked ready to go. In his mind, the sooner they fought the battle, the sooner they’d be able to go home.

  “Right, face!” Char commanded. The platoon turned. “Forward, march. At the double time, march.” Char ran to the front to set the pace. Kim ran beside her, something they’d done often as the kids had grown up. The moon cast a pale light, but it was enough to run faster than a slow shuffle.

  The Were folk ran on both sides of the formation, using their senses to make sure they didn’t run into any surprises. But Gene had been right. The hills were completely devoid of life.

  They ran unmolested for fifteen minutes before they headed constantly downhill. Char ran faster and Cory sprinted to catch up.

  “Anything?” she asked her mother between gulps of air.

  “No. And you need to get in shape,” her mother replied. Kim ran easily with Char. Marcie was also running easily. Since she’d awakened her nanocytes, she’d become a new person, stronger, faster, and even younger looking.

  Her mother had passed to her the gift of Kurtherian technology.

  Kae had shorter legs and alway
s seemed to struggle while running, but he always powered through by sheer determination. Ramses was raised by Werewolves and ran like a gazelle. The rest of the platoon was starting to stretch out behind.

  Char slowed as the trees thinned and the ground leveled out. The platoon quickly tightened up. They found the main road unoccupied at that time of night and ran down the middle of it, past the building from which Terry and Camilla had observed the checkpoint.

  They continued directly toward the checkpoint, slowing to a walk and forming an inverted V that focused their firepower to the front. Their objective lay ahead. Cory and Kim moved into the middle of the V while Char stayed out front. She put more distance between herself and the Force.

  She wanted to give the men a chance to surrender.

  “My husband is in there, and I’ve come to get him,” Char said loudly as she approached.

  “We’ve heard that one before, lady, but we’ve never seen a disgruntled wife bring her own army,” one man replied casually as he walked forward of the checkpoint.

  Don’t you realize we’re going to kill you all if you don’t let us through? Char wondered.

  “Just let us through. We’ll take care of our business and leave by this gate so you can account for all of us appropriately,” she offered, smiling broadly.

  “No weapons!” somebody called from behind the barrier.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “You’ll all need to be verified one time. After that, you can come and go through this gate without any problems,” the guard replied.

  “Verified?” Char raised one eyebrow.

  “One from the leadership council will approve each and every one of you and your party. It doesn’t take long,” the man explained.

  “Let me guess. This council only appears at night or is covered up against the sun.”

  “They said it was genetic, whatever that means,” the guard said, holding his hand out to keep Char from approaching any closer.

  She batted his arm out of the way and in the same motion, pulled her pistol and hit him in the side of the head with it. He went down like a sack of potatoes.

  The men behind the barricade fired, sending a series of poorly aimed shots in Char’s direction. She suspected the safest place to be was where they were aiming. She knew that there would be no honor in killing them.

  She took aim and fired. Three shots later, three men lay writhing on the ground. Char waved the platoon forward and they continued through. Cory wanted to help the men, but Char adamantly refused.

  “We’ll get them on the way back if you haven’t done your thing. Until then, save it. Your father might need your help,” Char said before turning and leading their way ahead.

  Kim relieved the checkpoint guards of their weapons and ammunition, distributing them to those at the end of the formation. Since they still had a few AK-47s left over from the raid on Sawyer Browne’s compound, the Force trained with them and knew how they worked.

  The members carrying them hoped they’d get to send a few rounds downrange. They seemed sturdier than the M4s the Force carried, plus the warriors always took the opportunity to fire their weapons or blow stuff up.

  Once through the checkpoint and sure that the way ahead was clear of rifle-toting guards, Char raised her fist in the air and pumped it up and down. The group began to run.

  Char drifted into the etheric looking for any sign of Forsaken or TH. The first to light up her senses was a Forsaken running like a bat out of hell. She focused on that and found Terry in pursuit. She couldn’t sense Camilla.

  She tomahawked an arm to the left. At the next intersection, she led the platoon in that direction. “GENE!” she yelled. He needed no further prompting, removing his clothes in two hops and changing into a Werebear. He raced past the formation on his way to meet Char.

  He caught up quickly and slowed for a moment to get her instruction. “Cut them off,” she ordered.

  “Tac team forward!” she yelled as the Werebear flew away from them. Sue, Timmons, and Joseph ran alongside with Cory close behind. The platoon started to fall back, as did Cordelia. Marcie raced past Kim and Cory, putting herself between the tac team and the platoon.

  Kim dropped back into the squad leader’s position. The platoon slowed further when Kim raised a hand and set an easy pace. There was no sense showing up to the battle and not being able to fight. The colonel had taught her that as he pushed them beyond their limits, but not so far that they had nothing left at the end.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  San Francisco

  The Forsaken was fast and sneaky. He’d already run in one big circle around the city and was on his second lap. Terry was running all out. He had no burst of speed remaining. They were at an impasse, neither gaining on the other as Terry suspected the creature was killing time before leading the colonel into a Forsaken trap.

  Terry saw Camilla on the second round and yelled at her to find cover and stay out of the way of the Forsaken.

  With enough humans around, the Vampire wouldn’t be able to distinguish her from the others. Terry didn’t want the creature to have a hostage. He only wanted to catch it and kill it.

  “You’re only going to die tired!” Terry yelled, urging his body to go faster, but it wouldn’t.

  The Forsaken started to slow, looking confused. “You fucker!” it screamed and then bolted into a side alley. Terry hadn’t slowed and slammed into the wall as he tried to make the corner. He bounced off and started running anew. He needed to keep the Forsaken in sight, because once he lost him, he’d lose him for good.

  The Vampire dodged into a building and Terry hit the door at full speed. The Forsaken had turned to close it, his first and biggest mistake.

  The door slammed against the Forsaken, throwing him backward. Terry took a wild, off-balanced swing with his Mameluke, but the Forsaken dodged away.

  “Time to die, suck face,” Terry said as he moved quickly to corner the creature.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the Forsaken demanded, backing up slowly with its empty hands out.

  Terry crouched. The creature was cornered. He’d bought himself time. “My name is Terry Henry Walton. My friends call me TH. You can call me the angel of death.” Terry grinned and slashed his sword at different angles, looking for a reaction from his prey. Terry’s eyes glowed a faint red. The Forsaken stared at the color.

  The creature flexed its knees and held its arms out, looking more like a wrestler than a person facing a man with a sword.

  “Mister Smith. Where is he?” Terry demanded, flicking the sword tip closer and closer.

  “You’ll never find him,” the Forsaken answered, its dry tongue not up to the task of moistening the dry lips. It stopped trying and clenched its jaw.

  “Never is a long time,” Terry taunted the creature. “Maybe you should worry about the here and now. I can look for him without you, but you can’t quite serve him without your head. So there’s that.”

  The Forsaken stood up straight and folded its arms across its chest. “You are one sorry sack…”

  The creature never finished his insult. Terry’s blade slashed and cleanly separated the Forsaken’s head from its body. The torso fell forward, making Terry jump backwards to keep it from landing on him.

  The lifeless eyes of the separated head stared blankly at the wall.

  When Terry finished searching the creature, he left and started jogging back the way he’d come, trying to remember where he last saw Camilla.

  He wondered how many other Forsaken were around and warily watched the shadows.

  He was disappointed that his enemy hadn’t fought back. TH was at the top of his game and would have appreciated a challenge. Not enough of one where Terry was coughing out his life blood, but enough where he at least worked up a sweat from something other than running.

  Maybe the Forsaken sensed his abilities and knew that it had no chance. Or maybe the Forsaken was so weak it wasn’t able to fight at all. The copy of a copy of a
copy syndrome. He didn’t care if these were weak Forsaken.

  If he had to, he’d kill them one by one until there weren’t any left. One of them would eventually turn out to be Mr. Smith.

  Terry heard the snuffling and felt the earth vibrate as the massive Werebear rumbled into view.

  He waited as Gene slowed, looking around for the enemy he’d sensed earlier. Terry still had his blade in his hand. He held it out. The Werebear sniffed the Forsaken blood and growled, then stood and roared.

  Char ran into view with Sue, Timmons, Joseph, and Marcie close behind.

  A new addition to the tac team, Terry thought.

  “Again?” Char asked.

  “I’m afraid so. Forsaken ran. I caught up and unfortunately, after a short and ungratifying conversation, it simply lost its head.” Terry nodded before turning serious. “We need to find Camilla. She’s up this way.”

  “There are more Forsaken coming. Many more,” Char warned.

  “Where’s the platoon?” Terry looked around as if enemies were going to jump at them from all directions.

  “They’re coming. I felt like we needed to hurry.” Char closed her eyes to search for Camilla, but there were too many other humans. San Francisco was acting like a real city from the before time. The group jogged in the direction Terry indicated.

  Before long, Camilla walked into the road before them. “Fancy meeting you here, Dad,” she said, emphasizing the word “dad.”

  Char looked up at her husband before shaking her head.

  “Get in formation, Private,” Marcie ordered. “We’re going to be knee-deep in the shit in no time.”

  Camilla took a position behind the Weres.

  Germany

  Boris guided the squad to the blimp as fast as they could run. When he realized he could be running his people straight into a hot zone, he slowed them, pulled them aside, and issued the orders.

  “Isolate enemy combatants and eliminate them. Once the enemy is neutralized, it becomes a search and rescue. Any Forsaken appear, we converge and mass firepower. Spread out but keep the warriors on your flanks in sight. I’ll anchor the left flank. Corporal Ayashe, you anchor the right. Questions?”