Nomad Omnibus 02: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus)

by Craig Martelle

  “Charumati and I, yes, but we fought them one at a time,” Terry said.

  Akio thought about that. He needed to pay a visit to Terry Henry Walton and find out more about how one enhanced human and one Werewolf could defeat four Forsaken. From what he heard in Terry’s voice, Akio got the impression that they hadn’t been injured either.

  “Thank you, Walton-san. Please do not hesitate to call me in the future,” Akio kindly added, modifying his earlier guidance.

  ***

  Three people fit in the small boat. If they added a fourth, they would have been cramped. Ted gave Timmons and Kiwi instructions on what to do, whether to tighten the sail, when the boom would snap from one side to the other as the boat crossed the wind to tack. He would man the rudder and do most of the work since the boat was meant to be operated by one person.

  Gerry stood on the shore, well back of the water. Kiwi waved and even blew a kiss. Timmons rolled his eyes while Ted focused on the task at hand.

  “Cast off!” he called. Timmons unlooped the mooring line from the rusty cleat bolted to the old dock and threw it aside.

  “In the boat!” Ted said. Timmons sighed as he pulled in the wet line.

  The lake looked smooth, with slight ripples from a gentle breeze. The water was clear and the boat cut an easy V as it sailed slowly from the small man-made harbor.

  Once into the lake, Ted tightened the sail and turned at an angle to the wind to pick up speed. The boat leaned and Kiwi cheered, her knuckles white from the death grip she maintained on the railing.

  The boat slid silently through the water, the sail cracking as it tightened and loosened with the slight changes in the wind direction.

  It was the little things in life.

  Ted had enjoyed sailing ever since he learned it while serving in the Navy. Man and nature working together to go somewhere. He looked at the sky in an impromptu weather check. He didn’t want to get lost and have to beach somewhere, possibly damage the boat.

  All good sailors brought their ship home.

  And Ted was a good sailor. It required a certain technical perfection along with something that challenged him, which was the feel of the water and wind against the boat. That was what he found exhilarating.

  He turned the bow to the south and tacked back and forth as he played with the boat, driving it closer to the ruins of a once great city.

  ***

  It took a full day, but Blevin recruited plenty of the others to drive the vehicles from the mountain. They wanted nothing more than to get away from the place where they had been buried and dead for so long.

  Getting them back inside was shaky. Once they got used to the sun, they wanted to remain in it. Only ten people could keep going after they passed through the doors. Terry didn’t hold it against any of them. He, Char, and Kae walked with the group, doing all the talking as they became silent.

  Terry started singing the Marine Corps hymn. One man chimed in for the first verse and they left it at that.

  “Semper fi!” Terry bellowed.

  “Semper fi, sir,” the man replied softly.

  “Name and rank, Marine!” Terry called.

  “Corporal Heitz, sir,” the man said more loudly.

  “Corporal, good to have you on board. What about you, Blevin? Rank and service,” Terry continued.

  “First Sergeant Blevin, U.S. Army, Motorpool,” the man answered.

  Terry looked at the man like he was an attractive blind date, “You’re my new best friend, First Sergeant.”

  When they arrived, Terry asked Blevin which trucks were in the best shape. He pointed them out and Terry assigned drivers. “You drive the big rig, First Sergeant.”

  “It’s been a while, sir,” Blevin answered, getting into the spirit of being back in the military even though by all rights, he was an old man and should have been long retired.

  It was a new world, and age no longer limited a person’s service, not in Terry’s mind.

  “It’s okay to scrape the paint, Blevin, just don’t break an axle or leave a flaming rig in the tunnel. Ha!” Terry thought it was funny.

  Blevin? Not so much.

  Terry headed for the dune buggy, but Char cut him off. “Where are you going?” He was instantly wary. She knew exactly where he was going. He stood there as they looked at each other.

  “Help me out here, Kae. I’m missing something,” Terry asked the boy.

  Char huffed and said, “I’m driving.”

  She turned and headed for the driver’s seat while the five-ton trucks turned over and roared to life. The big rig belched smoke and rumbled powerfully. Terry went to the second dune buggy. He was happy to see Kaeden strapped in with a seatbelt in the passenger seat of Char’s ride.

  He knew that Billy would be ecstatic to drive one of the Special Forces vehicles. Hell, Terry was like a little kid in the thing.

  Char led the way out. The trucks followed and Terry motioned for Blevin in the big rig hauling the fuel tanker to stay in front of Terry.

  They took the one turn and climbed the ramp slowly. There was some grinding of gears as the drivers re-familiarized themselves with the clutch. The dune buggies were automatics and crawled easily up the steep slope of the road out of the mountain.

  They carefully negotiated the partially blocked exit. Blevin scraped a long line down the side of the tanker. Terry could see his plan unraveling before his eyes. If they lost the tanker, they were done before they started.

  After Blevin cleared the entrance, Terry followed, sliding sideways to a stop. Char furled her brows and harumphed. “I married a child,” she mouthed.

  Terry wanted to check the tanker, and he wasn’t the only one. Blevin slowly climbed down and shuffled around the truck to survey the damage. Terry mounted the ladder on the side to get a closer look, but the damage was superficial.

  “Just scratched the paint, boss!” Terry yelled for all to hear.

  Mark was still in the garage putting barrels on trucks and filling them in addition to all the other equipment that Terry had told them to load. They were traveling heavy.

  But oh my God what a white whale!

  He left more behind than he was comfortable with, despite Char’s reassurances that they weren’t going to fight the Chinese Army. Even with the trimmed down supplies, she suspected they’d be able to.

  “You’re like a kid in a candy store, and there’s no one to stop you,” Char complained.

  After everything was outside, Terry looked and then apologized to everyone as he told them to unload three truckloads of gear. The antitank and surface-to-air missiles all needed to stay. He instead gathered clothing from supply, uniforms for fifty people, including blue jeans from those who had been locked in the mountain and died. Their clothing had been consolidated over the years. The Forsaken had given the survivors something to do, anything to do to keep them busy and give them a limited sense of purpose.

  With the Forsaken dead, some of the people were coming back to life. Terry and Char declared unlimited rations for the survivors, raiding the final stocks of MREs, Meals Ready to Eat.

  Or as Terry had called them in the Marines, Meals Rejected by Ethiopians.

  He wasn’t proud of it, but some people wouldn’t eat them, even if they were the last thing on earth.

  He’d eat the ancient MREs and the survivors could eat his stash of elk and venison, mainly because Terry was glad that he hadn’t been trapped in that mountain like they’d been.

  He would always treat them differently for how they suffered and still managed to survive.

  Just like the Marines who survived Chosin Reservoir. Or the Bataan Death March. He’d read everything he could on those, remembered it all. He’d met a few Marines from the frozen Chosin, the Chosin Few as they were sometimes called.

  Terry, Mark, and Blevin went back into the mountain to shut off the lights. The vault door within stood open. With those stationed in the mountain trapped there, they had opened the door and kept it open. Most of the l
ong-term supplies were outside the vault.

  They worked their way up the slope until at last, Terry shut down the lights over the main roadway into the mountain. He walked out last, then punched the fifteen digit code into the panel. The doors ground backwards and sealed against each other. The panel remained lit. Terry shut the lid over it and walked away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “People!” Kiwi told Gerry as Ted pulled the sail down expertly, letting their momentum carry them toward the dock. Gerry leaned down to grab the rope that he tied to the dock’s cleat. Ted held the boat steady while the other two climbed ashore.

  “We saw lots of people, but we didn’t get close enough to talk with them,” Kiwi added. Gerry hugged her tightly as they stood on the dock.

  Ted untied the knot that Gerry had made and wrapped the rope over the cleat in the appropriate nautical fashion. He put the case over the sail, rubbed a dirty spot clean, and climbed out of his new favorite toy.

  It was also their best way to explore the old city without exposing themselves to a different gang of crazies. Would the six of them be able to hold off a mob like the one that attacked when they first arrived?

  “What are you thinking about, Ted?” Timmons asked, not taking the question lightly as Ted didn’t think like normal people. His mind was often elsewhere, maybe even on a different plane of existence.

  “I’m not so sure we want to turn on the lights yet,” Ted delivered the conclusion to his internal conversation.

  “What is Joseph doing down there?” Timmons pondered.

  “Feeding, but not enough to scare the people away,” Ted replied.

  “We’ll get the plant ready and run it, but not at night. No sense summoning the demon.” Timmons wasn’t amused, but he wasn’t afraid. The wolf pack stayed outside their lodging, watching over them all and keeping them safe. Ted said they were patrolling.

  James called it the wolf watch.

  ***

  Everyone else was loaded and ready to go. Seven members of the Force de Guerre rode the horses that they’d brought from New Boulder.

  Adams sat in the passenger’s seat of Terry’s dune buggy, ashen but sitting upright, in human form, wearing clothes recovered from the warehouse.

  They’d recovered Xandrie’s body and to her wishes, they burned her in a small funeral pyre. Adams remained stoic throughout, his injuries causing him physical pain to match his emotional anguish. He needed to leave the mountain behind. He looked forward as he sat there, refusing to look back because he didn’t want to break down, not again.

  Last to get on board was the grizzly cub. Already weighing in at a hundred and fifty pounds, he staunchly refused to get in the truck. They tried to walk him up the steps of the bus, but he wasn’t having any of that either.

  “Leave him!” Terry ordered. Char glared at her husband from the driver’s seat of the second dune buggy. He rubbed his temples to forestall one of those headaches.

  Blackie looked as if Terry had just sentenced his mother to the gallows.

  Kaeden jumped out of the dune buggy and ran the short distance to the bus. He and Blackie talked with the bear, then Kae climbed into the bus, waving the bear to follow.

  Blackie pleaded. Kae pulled a meat stick from his pocket. Terry wondered where he’d gotten it from. Hank lumbered up the stairs and followed Kae in. The bus was filled with survivors, sitting stoically, most looking straight ahead.

  With a thumbs up, Blackie climbed aboard and the driver closed the bus door. Char shrugged and motioned for Terry to take the lead.

  He drove to the front of the convoy, stood in his seat, and twirled his arm in the air. “Wagons, ho!” he yelled, sat back down, and took off. They headed out slowly, to get too far ahead of the horses, but the plan was for the horse riders to travel at their own pace. Terry estimated that forty to forty-five miles an hour would yield the best gas mileage, which was far more critical than traveling together.

  Terry knew that his people could protect themselves.

  He focused on the task at hand, making sure the road was clear enough and that he didn’t take them over a bridge that wouldn’t support the weight of the tanker truck.

  He knew one bridge by the native’s village that they couldn’t cross. He wondered how many more there were, hoping that he hadn’t noticed because there was nothing to notice.

  Blevin had done a favor for Terry by welding a metal grate onto the front of the semi, in case they needed to push dead vehicles or other refuse out of the way.

  Just like Mad Max, Terry thought as he maneuvered through the streets and ruins of the town. He stayed to the outskirts, where there was less debris, and swung north on the side roads they’d traveled when they engaged Sawyer Brown.

  Terry sped up, letting the dune buggy race ahead on stretches of wide open road. The semi was behind him, then the buses, the five-tons fleshed out the convoy, and Char brought up the rear.

  “Test, test, test,” Char’s voice crackled through the radio. “Tail End Charlie, here. Lead, are you out there, over?”

  “Lead here, have you five-by-five, over,” Terry replied. The nomad was on top of the world, leading the only military force left in existence, with equipment as if it had been just delivered from the factory.

  This nomad was supreme. He smiled at the wind in his face.

  “SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!” Char yelled over the radio.

  He instantly took his foot off the gas, realizing that he’d raced far out front of the others. The equipment hadn’t been on the road for over twenty years and there he was at seventy miles an hour.

  He started laughing. He wasn’t even the king in his own castle and here he was leading a convoy that would enable him to make war. That was what the FDG was all about, to annihilate the dictators like Sawyer Brown, like Marcus, like the Vampires who lived in the cave.

  Kansas City? He wondered how they were doing, but didn’t let it bother him. They’d be doing better if they simply talked. Walk softly and carry a big stick. Terry knew how the game was played. The one who carried the most firepower dictated the terms of the conversation. It was what he learned in the Marines, and what he knew from his private security work afterwards.

  The only thing that prevented him from using his authority and weapons for his own purposes was his own moral compass.

  And a lady Werewolf.

  “Yes, dear,” he said into the microphone. “All drivers, all drivers, this is Lead. It’s time to do an equipment check. Pull in behind me. Five minutes and then we’re back on the road.”

  Terry drove the dune buggy to the side of the road and stopped, an old habit. The others did the same. That gave Char the opportunity to drive to the front.

  She parked and got out. Terry went into survival mode. “I’m sorry, just stretching the old girl’s legs, that’s all. I won’t do it again.” He sounded like he was whining, even to his own ears. So said in a deeper voice, chest puffed out, “I won’t do it again, because that’s what I decided.”

  Char rolled her eyes and put a hand on his chest. “Listen here, TH. One of the trucks is leaking oil, another two are belching smoke and running like crap. Bits and pieces of this convoy are going to be scattered between here and Chicago.”

  “Buzz kill!” Terry proclaimed. He stroked his chin. “Well now, that changes the crap out of everything. If only two of the trucks break down, then we’ll have to leave weapons and ammunition on the open road. You’re telling me we might lose three before we get to New Boulder?” His head felt like it was going to explode. He turned to face the Wastelands.

  “FUCK!” he screamed. He was going to scream again, but the drivers were watching him.

  He motioned for them to join him.

  “All the trucks aren’t going to make it, are they, Blevin?” he asked up front.

  “No, sir,” the first sergeant answered.

  “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the situation. I can’t leave any of this weaponry out in the open. If a truck breaks down,
we spread out its load. We will leave dead trucks behind. When we run out of room to spread out the loads, then we’ll have to leave equipment behind, too. I won’t do that. I won’t leave weapons and ammunition in the Wastelands. We have twenty-two trucks. We need to drop that to fifteen, with only three carrying equipment, supplies. The rest will carry fuel. I’m okay leaving diesel behind if we have to, but nothing else. We need to go back to the mountain and unload.” Terry hung his head, feeling like a complete failure.

  “I think we should take as many trucks as will go. We can use them for parts as they die. We’ll need some spares,” Blevin suggested.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do, people. Unload, reload, and then we’ll try it again.” Terry felt better about his chances.

  The drivers walked back to their vehicles. They were physically weak, exhausted from the trials of their lives. They’d worked hard alongside the platoon to get the convoy ready in a mere three days, but he needed another day from them, and with only half the platoon.

  The men on horseback would continue north.

  Now he’d have to ask his people and the survivors to work hard again. It would be months for many of the old and shriveled people to recover their strength.

  Terry would work harder than any of them, because the mistake was his. He expected Char would be right beside him, taking some of the load from his shoulders.

  It was what she did best.

  Because the nomad couldn’t be supreme without his other half.

  “Kid in a candy store and now I’m suffering through a stomachache of titanic proportions,” he told Char.

  She kissed him and looked into his eyes. “It’s how boys learn best.”

  “And men,” Terry corrected.

  “I thought that’s what I said,” she toyed with him, looking coquettishly from under a lock of hair. “Terry Henry Walton, you need to get your ears checked.”

  She strolled away with an extra hip swing as she walked

  “By who?” he wondered.

  ***

  The FDG had been gone for nine days. Terry had told Billy that he’d return no sooner than eight days.