Not alone, anyway.
* * *
“What are we doing here?” Char asked as Terry entered the small building, found the table, and sat down behind it. It was dark inside, but he could see, as could Char.
“Getting ready to conduct the interviews, why?” he asked innocently.
“Aren’t we supposed to check on the hunters?”
“I’m not in any hurry to go up there. Are you?” Terry looked closely at her, wanting to see what she didn’t say. Terry was an expert in reading body language. It gave him an edge, always, put him one heartbeat ahead of his opponents. And usually that was all he needed.
Char gave nothing away. “Not really,” was all she said.
“Mark!” he yelled. The man he’d promoted to corporal entered, stopping at the doorway and squinting into the darkness. “When are the victims going to show?”
“Looks like they were waiting on you before making their move. I think we’ve got a group coming right now,” Mark told them as he stood tall, a spring in his step.
Terry examined the man, who had recently been a town bully, thanks to that worthless scumbag John. Killing that man in front of the others made the right impression. Giving Mark a chance had been the right decision, too. Mark was going to be a good addition to the FDG, and he’d help build it into something they could all be proud of.
“Send in Devlin and James, please,” Terry said casually. “Have the volunteers wait out there until I call for them.”
Devlin and James entered, stopping at the doorway as Mark had. “Come on in, Privates! It’ll help your eyes adjust more quickly if you’re in the darkness. Stop! You almost ran into the table. Now, here’s what we’re going to do…”
Terry outlined the plan to the two men. Char shook her head, but stood back against the wall, out of the way. She didn’t know what her role was in all this, but felt like she needed to watch over TH, just in case the pack made an untimely appearance.
Devlin stood in the shadows on one side of the room and James in the shadows on the other. Terry leaned back in the chair. It creaked under his weight. Dust floated within two beams of light, shining through holes in the roof. It smelled musty. Char sneezed, whispering an apology, then wondered why she was whispering.
“Mark!” Terry bellowed. “Send in the first two victims!”
Two rough men opened the door and stepped into the darkness. Terry looked like a statue, barely visible as he sat behind the rough-hewn table.
“Why should I bring you on board?” he asked in a low voice, raspy from eating too much dust.
“We’re the last of the Marines,” one of the two offered.
“Like fuck you are. You look like dick-less wonders to me,” Terry countered.
“Stand up and say that to my face, asshole!” the second of the pair spat toward Terry’s dark figure.
Their eyes were not yet adjusted from the Wasteland sun, and they didn’t see that they weren’t alone. The shadow nodded to Devlin, who rotated and swung a fist, catching one of the two applicants in the abdomen. He folded over and rolled to the floor.
“Hey!” the other shouted, but he froze in place as his eyes darted wildly about. The punch from the second man dropped him like a sack of feed grain. The shadow of a man stood and threw the table to the side, stepping forward and crouching.
“You are a dick-less wonder, asshole,” he said to the man’s face. “Now let’s see if there’s a fighter within that worthless hide of yours, a fighter that is useful to the Force de Guerre.”
The interviews were less congenial to some, based on their approaches. In the end, Terry selected five men and one woman, hoping that at least five would make the grade.
He wanted all six.
When he lined the newcomers up, he didn’t like what he saw. He scowled darkly. “Names!” he yelled. No one moved. Terry pulled his bullwhip and snapped it between the first two in line. He pulled it back and recoiled it. He liked the snakeskin grip he’d made for the handle. It made the grip a little larger and felt better in his hand.
Mark stepped in, trying to be the good Marine as a balance to Terry’s tough Marine. He pointed to the first recruit, “Tell him your name,” he moved his finger to the second person, “then you and so on down the line.”
Boris and David were brothers, the first two into the interview. Charlie and Lacy were the next two, and the final pair were two unlikely looking candidates, young and small in stature. Sawyer Brown had called one of those Asswipe, and he was the young man who worked as a personal servant to the big man. The other had worked in the stable. They said they didn’t have names, only what they were called in Brownsville.
“So, you want me to give you a Force de Guerre nickname?” Terry asked, liking the situation. Instead of pity, all he saw was a new world in front of the two young men and he was happy to welcome them into it.
“You will be known as Blackbeard. If you don’t know who he was, he was a pirate,” he told the man who had yet to grow any facial hair, the one called Asswipe. “And you, we’ll call you Geronimo, after a great warrior from the before time who was one with both the horses and the land. Blackie, Geronimo, welcome aboard. Now get on your faces and push that dirt down.” None of them moved.
Terry clenched his fists for a moment before pulling out his bullwhip. His men jumped into the ranks, forced the newcomers onto the ground, and showed them the front-leaning rest, the pushup position.
Char snickered from behind the group. Terry pointed to her and then to the ground. She mouthed the word “nope” and strolled away.
CHAPTER SIX
Marcus was perched on the rock overlooking New Boulder. The rest of the pack was gathered around, watching their alpha. They had been living in fear for a long time. The first incident when they arrived put them on edge, but yesterday’s sent them over.
Horror didn’t begin to describe it. Werewolves didn’t eat people. Period. That wasn’t true anymore, was it?
“We need to go down there, check on Char…” Marcus said. It wasn’t a question, and he wasn’t talking to any of the pack. He didn’t need their permission. He told them what to do, and they did it.
It was the way of the Were.
“There’s nothing right about this place, Marcus,” Sue offered. She was a small She-Wolf, so Marcus didn’t give her as hard a time as any of the males. “I think we need to keep moving. You go get Char, and then we’ll all leave this place.”
The others cringed, waiting for the alpha’s inevitable emotional eruption and subsequent tirade.
But it didn’t come. He only nodded. “I think you’re right, Sue. I need my mate. Wait here,” he ordered as he vaulted the rocks, then jumped and ran downhill, much the same way Char had done so long ago.
* * *
Blaine was on his horse, but sat, paralyzed with fear. He was almost catatonic. Terry casually rode past and took the reins from the man’s hand. He pulled Blaine’s horse behind his own, while Char rode by his side and Clyde ran ahead.
After riding slowly for an hour, Blaine still hadn’t talked. Char wondered why they were bringing him. Even after two days, she figured she would be able to spot the place where the horse galloped from the hills.
Terry kicked his horse into a trot, pulling Blaine’s horse up to speed as Char ran her horse forward. Clyde raced her for a while, then gave up and turned to sniffing a bush that would inevitably get peed on. Terry turned from watching the dog as he saw Char waving. She had stopped and turned sideways in the old road.
Blaine started to whimper and shake. Terry let go, waving the hunter away. The man was immediately energized, swinging around the horse to grab the reins and turn south, where he spurred his horse into a run.
Terry couldn’t blame the man. He’d seen something your average human was never meant to see. Blaine’s punishment was that he’d live the rest of his life with that vision.
Terry pitied the man.
Char pointed the way ahead. Terry didn’t want to go
first. There was a minor stalemate.
“What’s the problem? Big, tough Marine afraid of some bad doggies?” she prodded.
“Are they up there?” Terry asked.
“How would I know?” she countered.
“Werewolves can sense their own kind. So, I’ll ask you again, are they up there?”
She stared at him without blinking, a yellow glint behind the purple. He could almost see the Werewolf behind that beautiful face, sizing him up for her next kill.
Her mind worked, until she realized that he’d known all along. How could I have missed that? she wondered.
“What is your claim to fame, Terry Henry Walton? You aren’t what you seem either, if we’re being candid. Nanocytes?” she asked.
“Only because I had no choice, but they’ve come in handy.” They sat on their horses, looking at each other. Two master chess players, neither willing to give away their next move. Clyde started braying and ran into the brush.
“I have to trust that you’re not leading me into a trap,” he finally admitted.
“They’re not in that valley or anywhere near here. Actually, I can’t tell where they are,” she said. Terry looked for cues that she might be lying, but could find none. He saw nothing in her body language that suggested she was telling the truth either. He was stumped.
“I guess if you wanted, I’d be dead already, wouldn’t I?” he asked.
“I’m not so sure about that, TH. I’ve never met a man who could fight like you. I need you to keep teaching me. I need to be the best there ever was.” The purple in her eyes seemed to swirl. Terry felt like he was looking into the cosmos. He blinked to make sure she wasn’t using a Werewolf mind trick on him.
Could Werewolves do Jedi mind tricks? Terry wasn’t too sure, he never asked enough questions when he had the chance.
But, he found he could look away if he wanted. Her eyes were just doing their own thing.
He liked watching it.
“That’s a lofty goal, Char,” he finally answered.
“It’s the goal I have. So, are we going to go up there, find the remains of the men, scavenge a few things, and then get the hell out of there?”
“I guess we should. I’ll go first. I don’t know why, but I trust you. I trust a fucking Werewolf. By the way, since I know, aren’t you supposed to kill me now?” he asked, smiling playfully.
“We’re allowed to keep pets, so I’ve claimed you and Clyde. I hope you don’t mind?” Terry shook his head, slowly, wondering if she was kidding or not.
“What do we have to fear from the pack?” Terry asked over his shoulder as he nosed his horse into the brush to follow Blaine’s trail.
“Judging by what we find up ahead, probably a great deal,” Char replied.
Terry looked at the valley before him as he rode unerringly toward it. The sense of doom was overwhelming, and Terry didn’t know why. He believed that the Werewolves had moved on. He shook his head as if that would help.
It didn’t.
They’d shared their secrets. They’d both known, but neither trusted the other enough to be open. They’d dodged and parried, but now that they knew…
What would change between them?
And that was what darkened Terry’s mood. He didn’t want anything to change between he and Char. He’d grown used to having her counsel and her heightened senses nearby. He also found it comforting to have one of the deadliest fighters he’d ever known on his team. He considered himself in the elite category, but Char’s speed and unnatural strength gave her an edge unmatched by any normal man, even one enhanced such as himself.
And then there was the healing that both he and Char enjoyed. Which reminded him, now that he could ask.
“They shot you, didn’t they?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked in reply.
“When we fought with Sawyer Brown’s men. You went off by yourself and the next time I saw you, you had two bullet holes in your clothes,” he clarified.
“Well, of course they shot me, but they didn’t hit anything important. I think they shot you, too, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but in my case, they did hit something important. That bastard shot my .45. Thank you for bringing up such a painful topic!” He gave her his best angry look.
“Me being shot wasn’t as painful as losing that stupid pistol. Is that what I just heard come out of your mouth?” She urged her mount forward so she could ride alongside Terry in order to give him her own angry look.
Terry checked his rifle and wouldn’t look at her.
“You know that won’t help, right?” she asked.
“Silver bullet, in the head? I think it’ll put a hurt on them.” He wasn’t sure what she was after.
“They are my people, and they are my friends,” Char whispered.
Terry stopped, forcing Char to stop and turn, “And they are killing my people. Whatever we need to do to stop that, I’m going to do. Just let me know what it is. Why did you come into town Char? What’s your game?”
She thought about it, then decided that she didn’t want to lie. “To check you out. Find out if the town was going to be a threat. They’ll want to know that you aren’t a danger to them. That’s what I’ll tell them, anyway,” she offered.
“Are you going to leave us?” he asked, instantly unhappy at the thought.
She paused, “I don’t think so, not yet. Clyde would miss me, wouldn’t you, boy?” Clyde had rejoined them from his foray into the brush and was jogging along happily between the two horses.
Terry simply nodded. His ears perked up. “You said they weren’t here,” he growled angrily as he heard a snort and growl from the trees ahead.
“Bear,” she replied.
“What?”
“Bear… A BEAR!” she yelled as the large black bear broke cover and scampered toward them. Terry snap fired, then aimed and fired five more times. The bear ploughed ahead, even though Terry was certain he’d hit what he was aiming at. The horse pranced as the bear closed the last ten yards.
A pistol cracked once, twice beside him and the bear rolled in a heap. A smoke tendril escaped the barrel of Char’s Glock. Terry climbed down from his horse and checked the bear.
Both eyes had been shot out.
Most of his rounds had skipped off the bear’s skull. Two rounds had hit the bear in the chest and would have eventually killed it, but not before it had mauled both the horses and the humans.
“You’ve been practicing,” Terry said, still looking at the bear.
“Maybe I was a good shot before,” she suggested, smiling.
“I’m sorry, Char. I’m sorry I thought you tricked me, fed me to the wolves, as it may be.” He turned to look at her for a moment, ”But that wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do to your pet, now would it?” Terry examined the bear, looking for anything odd, but no. It was just a large black bear.
“No worries, TH. It’s you and me and against the world, isn’t it?” Char asked, leaning forward in her saddle, purple eyes sparkling.
Terry hung his head, then turned his attention to the valley spreading before them. “I have two friends in this world. One is an old lady who beats me with her wooden spoon and the other is a Werewolf. What in the holy jump the fuck up and down is my world coming to?” He finished looking around before continuing. “Let’s go find the hunters and then be on our way. I bet if we backtrack the bear, we’ll find something. And we’re coming back for that,” he stated, pointing to the bear and nodding. “Black bear is some good eating!”
“I know, but you’ll want to cook it, won’t you?” Char toyed with him.
“If you want, I can go ahead and you can stay here and snack a bit. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed how much damn venison you’ve been eating. Have you seen Margie Rose looking at me? She thinks I’m the one sneaking it in the middle of the night.”
Char held her finger to her lips. “Shhhh.”
She waved TH forward and they both headed into the valley, cli
mbing as they passed through the thinning pines. Hills turned into mountains. It would have been a pleasant place had the circumstances been different.
The smell was obvious and not far away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marcus hit the pavement at the edge of town and slowed to a walk. He strolled casually, looking at the variety of buildings still standing but unoccupied. He stopped and closed his eyes, sniffing the air, reaching out with his senses.
So many people.
Wildlife even. Horses. But no Werewolves. “Where are you, Charumati? Where the hell did you get off to?” Marcus asked the sky. “I guess that I’ll have to ask someone, you fucking bitch! I hate asking humans anything. I can’t wait to get my paws on you, teach you some manners.”
Marcus fumed as he walked toward the center of the small town. He smelled the power plant and it reminded him of long ago, of New York City, where he’d lived most of his life. He even spent some time as a stock broker. The others never had a chance with him on the trading floor. The other traders thought they were cutthroat, but they had no idea what that term really meant.
Civilization. He longed for it. His descent toward barbarism was his way of dealing with the absence, but what if?
“Maybe the whole pack needs to come here. Timmons is an engineer by trade, could probably help them get up to speed more quickly. And then nightlife. Booze. Music. Fun. Sonofabitch,” he cried. “None of that stuff is coming back. Two seconds after I find you, Char, we’re leaving this place. Let the humans wither and die in this hell hole.” Marcus stomped his feet and stormed around in a circle. His fists were clenched and his jaw started to ache from clenching it so hard.
He yelled at the sky, then continued walking. He meandered until he found someone.
“Excuse me, is there someone in charge here that I could talk with? I’ve only recently arrived and need to get my bearings,” Marcus said pleasantly, while his yellow eyes glared at the young man before him.
Unnerved, the man didn’t speak. He only pointed to a nondescript house not far away.
Nomad Redeemed: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 2) Page 5
