CONTENTS
Dedication
Legal
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Author Notes - Craig Martelle
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Craig Series List
Michael Series List
Social Links
They say behind every great man, is a great woman,
but what if the woman is a Werewolf?
DEDICATION
We can’t write without those who support us
On the home front, we thank you for being there for us
We wouldn’t be able to do this for a living if it weren’t for our readers
We thank you for reading our books
Nomad Supreme
The Terry Henry Walton Chronicles
Team Includes
BETA / EDITOR BOOK Acknowledgements in Back!
JIT Beta Readers - From both of us, our deepest gratitude!
Norman Meredith
Maria Stanley
Leo Roars
Sherry Foster
Micky Cocker
Kimberly Boyer
Ginger Sparkman
John Findlay
Alex Wilson
Keith Verret
If I missed anyone, please let me know!
NOMAD SUPREME (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2017 Craig Martelle and Michael T. Anderle
Cover by Andrew Dobell, creativeedgestudios.co.uk
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, 2017
The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2017 by Michael T. Anderle.
PROLOGUE
“General Lance Reynolds, son of a bitch!” Terry exclaimed out of the blue, slapping his thigh and nodding to himself. “We need to go there.”
He sat up straighter, proud of himself for reaching a conclusion based on information he’d had in his mind for only the past twenty-five years.
“You don’t think a couple thousand miles is far enough to travel? Not good enough for my hunk of man candy?” Char asked, sticking her tongue out. She tossed her head, sending her hair flying in the wind. Her purple eyes seemed to drink in all that was Terry Henry Walton.
“Huh? What I’m thinking is that he commanded an Army post outside Denver. That one was drawn down during the BRAC, the Base Realignment and Closure, but those generals all stick together. Where’d his 2IC, his second in command, send their stuff? NORAD. He wasn’t there at the fall, but I bet he was ready for it. We need to get into the mountain.”
“What if it’s still glowing?” Char countered, not dampening his exuberance.
He paused a moment before shrugging. “That would put a crimp in my plans.” Terry chuckled. “As long as it was an air burst, then the radiation would probably be gone already. If they hit it with a nuke penetrator, well, then no one will ever know what was stored in there.”
They’d ridden from northern Chicago, leaving the others behind, a week prior. Although Terry was driven to get back to New Boulder, he was taking it easy and treating their return trip like a honeymoon. They’d stop whenever they wanted.
To do as newlyweds did.
He had promised to do his best to make up for the two lost years. Char was holding him to that.
A lead running from Terry’s saddle pulled the third horse along. They’d taken to using it as a pack animal, loading it with food and other items they’d scavenged as they went.
Terry continued to search for a thermometer, because curious minds, and all that. And clothes. He wanted a pair of jeans. His camouflage utilities were growing threadbare.
And they rode on at a leisurely pace, expecting to take a month to make the trip, getting back to New Boulder around the end of November. If they could encourage the townspeople to leave a week or two after that, the group would travel past the Wastelands in the heart of the winter.
It would be the coolest period for a while. Who knew what kind of blast furnace next year would bring?
CHAPTER ONE
As they rode through what used to be Minnesota, Terry and Char saw people in the distance, but they disappeared before the two could get close, like mist evaporating as the sun rose.
Terry wanted Char to point out the strangers so he could yell to them that he and Char weren’t a threat.
She vehemently declined, telling him emphatically that winning them over wouldn’t be done through intimidation. In fact, yelling at them would simply reinforce their fear and avoidance reaction.
“But I don’t intimidate people!” he argued. “Just look at me. I’m a big pussycat.” He gave her his winningest smile.
“Of course you are,” Char purred, giving him a sultry look.
He bit the inside of his cheek. “Next time we come back, we’ll send ambassadors to say ‘hello.’ Who could refuse the likes of Antioch and Claire?”
“No one in their right mind,” Char smiled. She looked away for a while, then turned back to Terry, her face serious. “How many people have you killed, TH?”
She stared at him intently as if his answer was the most important thing in the world.
Terry looked into the distance. He didn’t know how to answer that. He’d kept track at one point in his life, as a source of Marine Corps pride, then it became part of doing the job, then it was critical for survival. And now he killed to save mankind.
Tallying the number didn’t make sense.
“Too many,” he finally answered. “I’m afraid we’re not done with that either, not by a long shot.”
“Does it matter?” Char dug deeply into his mind, his very soul, further solidifying their partnership as one, greater than the whole.
“Don’t all lives matter?” he replied. It was obvious that he wasn’t finished talking, so Char waited, still watching him intently.
They had spent a great deal of their relationship in silence. That was how they knew they were a perfect match, because they were equally comfortable conversing or not.
“If we are to help humanity recover, we need people to live. We need people to thrive. They can’t do that if they are afr
aid of getting killed. Like those people we see in the distance who run from two people riding nearby.”
“The Force is about security, right?” Char asked. Terry nodded in agreement. “The sooner people know that, the better off they’ll be. Keep the people safe and they’ll be free to do what they do best. You only create the conditions. The people have to take care of the rest, but the name could be a little off-putting, don’t you think?”
“Force de Guerre?” Terry asked.
“The War Force with you as the Secretary of War, not the Secretary of Defense. Maybe something a little kinder to the civilians, as you call them, something like the Force for Defense and Grandeur,” Char said. She couldn’t think of another word starting with G that made sense.
“Grandeur? Gravitas. Gillyweed. Goonballs.” Terry snickered to himself as he recited words that began with ‘g,’ and then took a deep breath of the humid air. Winter didn’t feel like it was right around the corner. It felt more like late summer. “When I was conducting those first interviews, the only thing I could think of was, ‘Fucking Dickless Groupies.’ They were just bullies and thugs. We didn’t have much to choose from back then, did we?”
“Gillyweed? More Harry Potter? Dickless? Do you mean me? I say, Terry Henry Walton, had I known your vocabulary was so limited and vulgar, I’m sure I would not have married you,” Char countered, laughing.
He turned in his saddle to look at her. “Do you believe in fate?” Terry asked, watching Char’s purple eyes sparkle as they rode toward the setting sun.
“As in?”
“As in, we were meant to be together. We were meant to be in the here and now, doing what we’re doing, even though we may feel like we’re fighting tooth and nail for every inch of ground that we gain.” His eyes got a far off look for a moment before focusing back on her. “Fuck, I don’t know. Just the thought of doing anything without you is debilitating.” Terry seemed to struggle with the words.
“The course of true love never did run smooth,” Char quoted with a wry smile.
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream. That’s apropos. How about, if music be the food of love, play on.” Terry’s mood lightened.
“Play on, indeed, lover. Fate? No. We are simply attracted to what we ourselves want to be—beautiful, strong, intelligent, honorable, selfless. Pick your poison. You are such a man, TH, uncomfortable talking about how you feel. Clearly, Werewolves had a bad rap somewhere in your history. It turned your world upside-down when you fell in love with one, like, the first day you saw this hotness!” Char taunted, her smile widening, her eyes radiant as she looked at her husband.
“I think we’ve traveled far enough today,” Terry suggested, smiling and reaching for his wife.
“Me, too.” Char winked, leaning into his embrace.
***
“We have to work them out. Assuming we’re leaving, the people need to be ready, Mayor.” Mark stood across the table from Billy.
The mayor’s patience had grown so short that he’d removed the chairs from his office, not giving his visitors anywhere to sit. Most of them heard the message loud and clear.
Sue worked from a chair at the side of the table. Everyone noticed her, a beautiful blonde woman with yellow eyes and Clyde curled up at her feet. They had to look past her to see Billy, Felicity ever present behind him on the couch.
Visitors kept their trips short.
The biggest issue was the freezers. They weren’t eating the food down quickly enough. It wasn’t a bad problem to have.
“You have a grizzly bear running around free out there, Clyde ate my lunch again, and the people are walking around in circles. Can’t you do something different?” Billy wondered.
Sue tried not to snicker. Felicity had taken a liking to the dog and always made two of whatever she was going to feed Billy.
“I guess we could set up something to go outside the city. I’ll work on it, Billy. Tomorrow we take a different route and the Force de Guerre will be there with the people every step of the way!” Mark stated proudly. He stood tall, nodded, and walked out, a far different man than the one who’d walked into that very room on Terry Henry’s heels two and a half years earlier.
“We’re all different,” Billy said. Sue looked sideways at him not knowing what he was thinking.
Felicity had been there at that time and had seen it all. She knew exactly what the mayor was thinking. Mark’s face had been bruised and swollen, as were the others’. Ivan’s face had been smashed in, and he still wore those scars, but now, he wore them with pride.
He was no longer fat or slovenly.
They were all different. “Shows you what one person can do, doesn’t it?” Felicity offered.
Marcie lay on the floor, wiggling her hands and feet, not yet able to roll over. She giggled and watched as her mother dangled things in front of her small face.
“It only took one person to believe and get us walking in one direction.” Billy looked at the paperwork on the table, a striking woman sitting nearby, Felicity his wife, a baby, and a dog under the table. “Terry’s not even here, hasn’t been a whole lot these past couple years, but he doesn’t need to be. We still believe, and we’re still walking in the same direction. The only difference is that now we have a dog, a bear, a bunch of people with rifles, a herd of cattle, and three times the people.”
“No one is getting beat up, and no one is hungry, Billy dear,” Felicity drawled.
Sue had kicked back and was listening. Clyde was starting to get anxious. He strolled over to sniff the baby, but got too close. The little hand reached up and grabbed a handful of whiskers. She wouldn’t let go. Felicity intervened so no one got hurt. Sue excused herself and headed outside with a whimpering Clyde. Clemson sat outside the front door, waiting in case he needed to run somewhere with a message.
“Damn! You are one fine looking woman,” Billy said, smiling as he took in his wife and child.
“Why thank you,” Felicity smiled back.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Billy chuckled as he slid over and picked up his daughter.
Old Chicago
“One of the wolves is injured!” James yelled, running into the plant and waving his arms to get someone’s attention. Ted jumped down a flight of stairs and ran as if his hair were on fire. The man continued outside and unerringly ran straight for the shaggy beast without James having to point him out.
The wolf had a gash on his side that was caked with mud and dried blood. Ted slid to a stop and looked at the injury before picking him up and carrying him into the plant. “Get the sewing kit and water, as much water as you can carry.”
James yelled for Lacy and then dashed sideways once outside the big door to the power plant. The building was eerily silent as no equipment was currently functioning. They’d hear a bang or screech every now and then as Timmons tested this or that. He was still making a list of tasks that needed to be accomplished.
Timmons couldn’t do much of the work because of a stump where there should have been a hand, but he didn’t let that hold him back. He was in charge of people who had all their limbs intact He kept the whole group hopping, but they also had their own daily routines on top of working at the plant.
Terry had given each of them something to do, and then put Timmons in charge.
Every day was a full day of hard work.
James and Lacy had taken their daily ride to the north and tried to make contact with the people they’d seen in that area. After a week, they had yet to realize any success. The active farms would play an important role when the town’s people arrived.
James and Lacy had just returned from their morning ride, when James saw the injured animal.
He returned with the sewing kit at the same time Lacy appeared with four flasks of water.
Ted scrubbed the wound with his own shirt and then started pouring water trying to cleanse the area. The wolf was trembling and snarling. Ted talked and growled to the young male soothing him as best he could.
“What happened?” James asked.
“Someone went after him with an axe, it looks like,” Ted said matter of factly. The wolves had grown used to people and had probably gotten too close.
“Where?” James asked softly, his lip curling with his anger.
Ted looked at a spot in the distance and then shrugged. He put a hand on the heaving chest of the beast in an effort to calm him, then plunged the needle into the first fold of skin. The wolf bucked, but Ted held him. James started to reach in, but Ted warned him off.
“He’s upset and in a lot of pain. Give him space, James. You don’t want to get bitten, and he’d probably take your whole arm off,” Ted said, trying not to sound alarmist to further upset the shaggy beast. James took an inadvertent step backwards while Ted continued to work. He made big stitches and sewed the worst of the wound closed, tying large knots that would be easier to remove later.
“Where was the pack?” James asked. His hands clenched and unclenched as he kept looking out the door as if an enemy would burst through at any moment.
“I think northwest of here, toward the forest.” Ted finished and wiped his hands on his shirt. He made to throw it away, then looked at it, realizing that it was his only shirt. He folded it and set it aside. The wolf panted, anxious at being indoors. Ted helped the animal stand and they slowly walked outside.
“Go get Gerry and Kiwi. I’ll get our horses,” James said as he rotated his rifle from his back to the front and checked to see if he had a round chambered and a full magazine inserted. He followed Ted outside.
The expression on Lacy’s face said that she couldn’t wait to find the one who had done that to one of the wolves.
***
“Something big,” Char said as she lay next to Terry on their small blanket. The three horses grazed nearby, feeding heavily on the thick green grass at the edge of a Minnesota lake.
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