Nomad's Journal_A Kurtherian Gambit Series

by Craig Martelle

  “Clovis!” the pretty young woman said, holding the puppy at arm’s length as she looked at the wet spot on her pants leg.

  Wow! Look at that sammich. That little boy has a sammich. Put me down! Clovis thought. Almost in response, he was set gently on the ground. He bolted like greased lightning.

  At least that was what he thought as he stumbled and tripped his way to the proffered sandwich. With one final superdog leap, he cleared the final blades of grass. His dog mouth wrapped around the sandwich and his terrifying assault ripped the sandwich from the young boy’s grip. He started to cry.

  Clovis gulped the sandwich down. Sammich and play! I love people. An older woman started to chase him and he ran, dodging under a table, among chairs, and between legs until she gave up.

  “Shoo, you mangy cur!”

  Another dog! Where’d you come from? Clovis growled and snapped, prancing back and forth in challenge to his fellow canine. The wolf bitch raised a paw and smacked the puppy on the head.

  Ow! Clovis cried and started to whimper. What did you do that for?

  Go away, she told him.

  I want to be big like you! Clovis said, happy once again, the surprise and pain of being on the wrong end of a wolf’s paw long forgotten.

  “Clovis!” the pretty young woman called. The dog looked around, but couldn’t see her. When he turned back, he had to dodge out of the way as the wolf tried to pee on him.

  Hey! Clovis squatted and peed in the same spot, to add his mark to the wolf’s stench

  “What did you get into?” Clovis looked back to see two hands wrap around his sides and pick him up. Her round human face came close and sniffed. His tongue lashed out and caught her nose. She tickled his nose back. He liked her. Clovis licked her fingers. He tasted jerky. Which reminded him. He was hungry.

  ***

  Clovis thought the ledge had been lower. He’d always jumped onto it without issue, but it just seemed higher today. “Come on, boy,” the tall and dark-skinned man called. He was heading to the barn where he kept some of the cows. It used to be fun chasing the cows, but then the human…all the yelling…it was still worth it. After getting kicked, Clovis decided that maybe his humans were right.

  He panted as he loped after the man. It was just them while the others were gone. Did they leave yesterday? Maybe months ago? Clovis couldn’t remember. The females had their work and the males had their manly work. Clovis chose the manly work, in the pasture with the cows.

  Auburn looked at Clovis’s graying face. “We need to build you a ramp, don’t we, old boy?” he asked. Clovis cocked his head one way, and then the other. He wasn’t sure what the man was saying, but he talked all the time. Clovis listened because it was his job. The female had said so.

  The barn was packed with cattle. Auburn moved them to clear the way so he could get past. Clovis stayed on his heels.

  “It’s about time, isn’t it, girl?” he asked the cow struggling with labor. Crimson was there, Alabama’s boy. He had been there all along and whistled as she got close. Auburn wanted to be there at the birth, just in case. Crimson was still training. He hadn’t seen it all yet.

  Clovis stared at the process. He stood, mouth slack, as he watched. He’d seen it before, but it always amazed him how cows could poop out baby cows. Clovis always looked and sniffed at his butt, wondering why he never produced a puppy. He figured that he wasn’t eating the right stuff.

  Auburn was relaxed and calm, which made Clovis calm. The calf was born without issues and the big man cleared the way so they could leave. He didn’t go to the house, though, but the stable, where he hitched the horse to their cart. He waved for Clovis to jump in, but it was too high.

  Clovis whimpered. I’ll just run alongside, if that’s okay, he thought.

  “You ride up here with me!” the nice man said, getting down to pick Clovis up and put him up front.

  I can see the whole world from up here! he exclaimed as he sat on the padded bench next to the human. The ride was fraught with danger and adventure as Clovis imagined crazed beasts attacking from all sides. He barked at them as the man rubbed his back and held him close.

  The cart rolled into the main community of North Chicago and Clovis’s favorite spot, the park where there were always other dogs and people. Children, mostly. He loved the children.

  When the cart stopped, Clovis leaned over the edge to jump down.

  “Hang on, boy,” the man said kindly. He got down first and walked around to where he could get a good grip and lower the old coonhound to the ground. Clovis wagged his tail furiously. He loped away, looking for something to eat, but he heard a voice.

  The musical voice of the one with glowing blue eyes. He hoped she had some jerky. She did last time he saw her. Was that yesterday? It didn’t matter, even yesterday was forever long ago.

  He saw her! There with the others. His whole pack. Holy crap! He ran toward them, reveling in his speed. He leapt for her. A big man stepped in the way and caught Clovis. “Hey, buddy!” Terry said, holding Clovis close.

  Terry leaned close to Cordelia so Clovis could lick her face. “When are you going to train this dog?”

  ELEVEN

  Gene and Fu’s Epic Journey to the Crimea

  Gene and Fu left Petersburg with a huge bag of food and household items that Gene carried nonchalantly over one shoulder. It weighed twice as much as Fu, but he didn’t care. They were going someplace warm, because Fu was cold in Petersburg.

  The Werebear didn’t even question the journey. Once Fu said she couldn’t get warm, the decision made itself.

  Gene wasn’t sure how to get there.

  “Where is Crimea?” Fu asked innocently as they walked. Even though Gene shortened his stride, Fu still skipped and hopped every third step to keep pace.

  “Head south. Hit Black Sea. Turn left, find Crimea,” Gene replied.

  She looked at him out the corner of her eye.

  “I don’t know,” the big man admitted.

  Fu smiled and giggled.

  “I think it will be okay,” she suggested.

  “Of course!” the big man bellowed in his heavy Russian accent. “We are together, Evgeniy and Fu, Fu and Evgeniy, as it shall always be.”

  Fu smiled and tried to adjust her hand. She could only see her wrist. Gene’s fingers could wrap around her hand twice, but at least it was warm. Gene was always warm.

  Her personal bear rug. She’d been a servant, but no more. Gene saved her from that life. Sometimes she wondered how she deserved the adoration of such a man, but stopped when she realized that those thoughts wasted time. She accepted it, without taking it for granted.

  Gene needed so very little from her. He only wanted to love her. The big man, older than she would ever know, had never been in love. The sparkle in Fu’s almond-shaped, big brown eyes drew him to her, made him feel different, self-conscious.

  He worried that he was too big, too gruff for such a delicate flower.

  She worried that she was too fragile for a man with strength like his. He picked her up and carried her like a child, but she never felt childish. And he was gentle.

  “Why you love me, Gene?” she asked in her lilting accent.

  “Because you are my Fu,” he answered simply, unsure of the question.

  “Gene,” Fu said, prodding him in the chest with her tiny finger as she relaxed in his arm with her head on his shoulder.

  “You make me feel…” Gene started slowly, looking down at the ground as he plodded forward, step after step. “I feel everything better, colors are brighter, air is cleaner, birds sing louder, world is better place with Fu in it.”

  “I like being in your world, too. You make me feel safe. I never felt safe before I met you.” Fu looked away and pointed to the ground.

  He put her down, adjusted the bag over his shoulder, and they kept walking.

  South. Always south.

  The heat came whenever they walked away from the river, bearing down on them. Gene gave Fu all th
e water, even though his need was greater than hers. And then they ran out, somewhere northwest of Moscow as they were trying to skirt the city, looking for a series of lakes. Ruzos, Gene thought they were called.

  Fu collapsed. Gene’s head swirled. He yelled at the sky and screamed at the hard, dead earth. He changed into Werebear form and struggled against the greatest enemy he’d ever faced. His love was dying and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

  He moved her about with his massive snout until he could drape her over his neck. He grabbed their bag, light because there was no food or water within.

  Gene started to lope, on three legs as he held his unconscious wife in place with one paw, taking care not to dig his claws in. Being in Werebear form cleared his head enough to use his heightened senses. Water. He could smell it.

  He turned in that direction and ran as fast as he dared, Fu bouncing on his neck and shoulders. He knew that she would be bruised and sore, but water was life!

  Gene saw the green of vegetation, hiding within a dip, a valley through which a stream flowed and where a small lake had formed. Gene slowed to negotiate a bank, jump across a ravine, and plowed into the clear water without hesitation. Fu fell from his neck and sank below the surface.

  A human Gene swam below her and brought her up for air. He faced her head down and slapped her back, driving the water from her lungs.

  She sputtered as he nestled her into the relative cool of the small lake. Gene dipped his face in and drank. Fu’s eyes fluttered as she came back to the present.

  “Drink, my lover, drink. Good water,” Gene said roughly, his hair matted to his head from the road dirt.

  Fu sipped at first, then drank more. They relaxed in the water. Gene held his hairy arm over her head to block the sun. Her delicate, porcelain features brightening from their trek under a harsh sun.

  They waded ashore where a naked Gene built a small lean-to using the bag, its contents dumped on the ground. He returned to the lake with the flasks, filling them all, while drinking fully in quantities that only a Werebear could hold.

  “I don’t mind, but where are your clothes?” Fu finally asked. Once Gene’s head was clear, he knew that he would have to backtrack a few miles to find where he’d changed form. The three-legged tracks through the Fallen Lands would be easy to follow.

  “That way,” Gene said, pointing. “I get them and come back soon.” He leaned down to kiss her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself to him.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. He nodded and lay down next to her, handing her a flask so she could keep drinking. Caressing her hair with a meaty hand, he didn’t remember falling asleep.

  When they woke, it was early morning. Dawn’s approach lightened the eastern sky. Gene and Fu drank and then bathed in the lake. They moved upstream to drink some more. Gene picked up Fu and carried her in his arms as he ran through the darkness on his way to recover his clothes, his Were-enhanced vision helping him see the way.

  It took less than thirty minutes to run the five miles to where his clothes had been abandoned.

  He dressed and bowed for Fu as if they were on parade. She clapped before he picked her up and ran back to their camp. Gene didn’t see an elevation from which they could learn where they were, but it didn’t matter. The sun rose in the east, which meant that the small river leading from the lake was heading south.

  They packed their stuff and headed out. There had been no fish, but there were tracks in the muddy shore. Gene thought they were from a deer, but they could have been a wild boar. He trusted their scent more than their tracks, but they were old.

  The first day of their new lives was spent hungry, but at least they had an unlimited supply of water.

  Gene didn’t risk crossing the open Wastelands again. He stayed near the river, following its meandering track.

  South. Always south.

  The third day and Fu’s ribs were growing more pronounced against her skin. Gene knew they had to find food. He was starving, but he knew that Fu would eat first.

  Terry Henry always ate last and finally Gene understood why. Everyone needed somebody to take care of them. Terry’s love was for all mankind, for the humanity he fought to save. He had taken on the responsibility of bringing back civilization. That meant sacrifice. That meant eating last.

  Gene was a Werebear, a solitary creature who fought to live, not to take care of someone else. That was, until he met Fu.

  Sacrifice for others, even something so simple as eating last. It made sense. If one provided enough, then everyone ate well. If there wasn’t enough, then the leader failed.

  There wasn’t enough. Gene was failing Fu, but she hadn’t complained. She trudged along, smiling when Gene looked at her. When they found the tracks, Gene set up a camp and moved downwind so that his prey wouldn’t smell him.

  He wanted to change into Werebear form, but there was always a risk that the animal would take over. Once that happened, the human Gene would be gone forever. He couldn’t leave Fu out there, so he stayed in human form and picked up two rocks to brain an unsuspecting animal.

  Gene counted on his unnatural strength to give him the edge. He tracked the animals, looking for where they found shelter. Roe deer. Not much bigger than a dog. A small family.

  Survival of the fittest. Gene didn’t hesitate. With one throw, he took out two of them, and the second rock nearly took the head off the third animal. He hurried into the glade, snapping their necks, frowning with the act. There wasn’t enough for both of them, but Fu could eat well for a week.

  And so she would. Gene ate the minimum he could to maintain enough strength until he found a better source of food.

  Fu sensed the Werebear’s unhappiness as he cleaned and cooked the small animals. She ate in silence, knowing that she had to, knowing that he had done what he had to for her.

  “We will survive, my Gene,” she finally said. “I want you to know that I’m not cold anymore.”

  Gene looked at her and with tears in his eyes, he started to laugh. He stood and started to dance, Russian style, but without music, his arms crossed as he dipped and kicked his legs out, yelling ‘Ha’ with each movement.

  After two more weeks of traveling down the river, they stood on the shore of the Black Sea. Gene had speared fish and a great wild boar that sustained them. Fu found root vegetables and edible greens.

  It took both of them to sustain each other. Gene understood the harmony of their partnership. What he would do for her, she would do for him, and together, they were far stronger than they could ever be alone.

  Gene picked Fu up and swung her around in a circle. “I already like it here,” he told her in his heavy Russian accent.

  “Khorosho, i ya tozhe,” she replied in Russian. Good, and me, too.

  TWELVE

  Terry’s Personal Journal

  WWDE + 150

  I’m sitting here cooling my heels while Akio is searching for Michael, joining him to clear the riff-raff from the Earth, something that I was supposed to be doing. Then again, from what I heard of Denver, he’s conducting more of a scorched earth kind of thing. I’m not sure I could ever get that far.

  But the Dark Messiah can. It’s been so long, but we have such good people. I think they hold me up as much as I hold them.

  We heard from Sarah Jennifer. She met Michael Nacht. I’m glad I hadn’t heard that until later. She survived the encounter and even earned his respect. I could not be more proud. She said she’s also getting married.

  I’m not sure how I feel about that. It turned out well for Cordelia. Ramses is a good guy, but he didn’t mourn the loss of his parents as I expected. In fact, he never said a word, not at the funeral or afterwards. I need to talk to Cory about that, see if there is anything I can do. He got lost in the shuffle.

  Do for others as you wish they’d do unto you, or something like that.

  Kaeden and Marcie are still torn at the loss of Mary Ellen. William is not doing well either.
It rips my heart to see them crushed as they are. It is the tragedy of life as seen through our eyes, the eyes of the seemingly immortal. Mary Ellen and William refused to go into the pod doc and get nanocytes. They wanted to live a natural life.

  I respect their decision, but I don’t have to be happy about it. Kae and Marcie have carried me over the years, giving me reasons to keep trying to do better. Char and I both. We could not be more proud of our kids. I need to tell them that more often.

  I get caught up in stuff, focused on the next mission. In the past one hundred and fifty years, I have learned some patience. I won’t tell Char this, but I can’t wait. We’re going to space!

  I never dreamed of being an astronaut. I like keeping my feet on the ground, but the complexities of space combat! I have zero knowledge of that stuff because there is nothing written on Earth that is based on actual experience. I can’t wait! Huzzah!

  Shhh. Don’t tell Char.

  I’ve been making the rounds since I’m here and not in space…

  Kailin is the apple of his mother’s eye. Kimber and Auburn are happy that he was boosted. They won’t have to watch him grow old. Sylvia came by her nanocytes naturally and is helping Kailin with Walton Industries.

  It’s kind of embarrassing that they called it what they did. Sure, I have an ego, but I’d also like to think that I’m more humble than that. At least it isn’t painted on the sides of the dirigibles in letters fifty feet high.

  Ted and Felicity seem to like their new life as patrons of sky travel. They move about the country in luxury with servants and local goods, banquets and parties. Had I lived back then—I’m old, but not that old!—it would remind me of the Great Gatsby era. I would have never thought that Ted would like it, but his engines are making things happen.

  I wonder when they’ll go to Europe? Things are still a little hot out that way. Michael is there, somewhere. Just follow the trail of destruction. I wonder if I’ll get to meet him?