Terry left at a jog, deciding not to take a horse. The grazing behind Margie Rose’s house was bad, and he thought the horses deserved better.
Terry made quick work of the run, Clyde keeping up as he always did. They slowed to a walk a quarter-mile before the house so he could cool down. When he arrived, he found Char modeling a shirt that Margie Rose had sewn for her with a swath of the new material.
There was nothing on the stove and after his little run and cool down, he was hungry. Terry’s turn to cook was yesterday. Clyde was equally confused, so much so that the dog checked the stove and the counter before finding a place on the couch.
Char danced up to Terry and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “What do you think, TH?” She spun around for him to see the new outfit that Margie Rose had sewn from the material they’d found earlier in the day.
“What does it matter what I think?” Terry asked, coming across as an ass. Margie Rose was on him in an instant, waving her ever-present wooden spoon.
“You apologize right now, mister! Can’t you see two inches in front of your face? Can’t you see that this woman is head over heels in love with you, and then you say something like that! You’ll be sleeping outside, mister, if you don’t pull your head out of that place where the sun doesn’t shine!” That was as bold as Margie Rose would get in creative cursing.
“But she’s a…” Terry stopped himself from saying Werewolf, but that was what he was thinking. Why did a Werewolf care what the lowly Terry Henry Walton thought? Discretion was the better part of valor. This was not the right time for this battle. “I am so sorry, Char! You look magnificent. Let’s see the rest of you.”
Char looked skeptical at Terry’s sudden change of heart, but Margie Rose was sufficiently pleased to tuck her spoon back into its apron pocket.
“You look fine. It’s hard to complain about how those jeans look on you,” he added, eyeing Margie Rose carefully. She beamed, before turning and going into the kitchen.
“Ah, dinner,” he whispered to himself, but Char heard it clearly.
“I thought that was it. Maybe you’re thinking that your bitch can go get you a beer?” she asked, although it wasn’t a question.
Terry’s ears perked up, but he wouldn’t fall for it for two reasons. Firstly, he would never ask her to get him a beer again. The nanocytes took two days to repair the damage from the last time, and secondly, although she was a she-wolf, literally a bitch, he would never call her that.
“Absolutely not!” he answered. “But I will get you one if you like?”
“What? That is the most foul concoction I have ever smelled. I can’t imagine putting any of what is in those bottles in my mouth.” Her face contorted with the thought of the smell, which, not surprisingly, made him want one even worse.
He excused himself to go outside and pull one of his precious jars from the shaded crawl space of the house. It was cool enough outside that it was almost like drinking a cold beer, except for the fact that it was still too warm and Char was right. It was really foul-tasting.
But there had been no other beer for a lifetime. He wondered if he was mis-remembering the taste. He took another sip.
Nope. It was bad.
He put the jar up to his nose and inhaled deeply. The mash was too heavy. Cut the recipe in half or double the water, maybe prime it with a touch of cherry juice or something before bottling.
Terry was a fan of man-law that declared no fruit in beer, but twenty years after the fall of civilization, maybe the law was outdated. He brought his beer inside, sipping it slowly, trying not to gag, while making a show of smacking his lips and saying, “Ahhh.”
Clyde wouldn’t even drink the beer, and Terry had seen his dog eat a rat that had been dead for a week.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Marcus sat on the same bluff where he’d last seen his mate. He could sense her in the town far below. He knew there were humans, too, more than before. He wanted to know what that was about. He expected he’d have to walk into the town and find out for himself, find her, and bring her home.
He crouched on a rock and watched while the rest of the pack spread out nearby, silent as they wondered about their next move.
Marcus continued to be angry about everything. The bitches hadn’t gone into heat, and he hated being wrong about things like that. He’d been posturing and baiting their mates, and despite some nibbles, he didn’t get the combat he craved with the spoils as were his due.
As the alpha, the others would submit, and that wasn’t combat. He wanted a real fight, and he suspected what he wanted was down there.
He watched as three hunters rode horses into the foothills and then turned north. Men with rifles. Men who would fight. The date with his mate would have to wait. He looked at the others, then changed into his werewolf form. They followed and soon, the pack was running freely through the woods, looking for a place where they could wait for the hunters.
* * *
James was staying in a house with three other men and one couple. Most of them were older. They seemed to have little ambition, but that was probably from the upheaval in their lives ever since they met Sawyer Brown. That man had darkened everyone’s hopes, but had allowed them to continue their existence. Now they had hope, although they hadn’t embraced it.
James had and felt like a new man. He was happy when he went to sleep, and still smiling when he woke up, having not been woken during the night by a madman, drunk with his own power.
The young man would keep working on them. There was nothing like being happy to improve the spirits of those around you.
With a quick breakfast of vegetables and venison sausage, the group headed for the greenhouses. On the way, they found four members from the Force waiting in the roadway. Mark, Devlin, Jim, and Ivan were armed with the AK-47s that they’d taken from Sawyer Brown’s people, from James himself.
The others cowered, instantly afraid. James approached Mark with his hands up. “Can I ask what this is about? We have nothing for you to take.”
“What?” Mark asked, then realized what it looked it. “No!” He went from person to person, shaking their hands, but they still wouldn’t look at him.
Mark was ashamed because not long ago, he would have reveled in that kind of response from the populace, but Terry Henry had shown him a better way. And if Terry got wind that they were trying to intimidate the population, he would have their asses.
Mark preferred a slap on the back to a punch in the face from the one they called “iron hands.” Getting hit by Terry or Char felt like getting hit by a sledgehammer.
Terry could have ruled through fear, but the lessons in pain that he delivered toughened the men, taught them a little at how to fight, and helped them better understand.
“We just want to pass the word that tomorrow, we’re going to interview people who would like to join the Force de Guerre, the FDG. If anyone is interested,” Mark pointed over to his left, “Terry will conduct the interviews in that small building right over there. We’d like four or five more people in the Force, that’s all. Think about it and if anyone is interested, be there tomorrow morning,” Mark concluded and wished them well as they shuffled past.
Mark had looked at James the whole time because the young man had nodded excessively during the short speech.
James committed to being the first one in line. He knew some others would be interested, but no one wanted it more than he did. Mark wished them well and sent them on their way.
When the small group arrived at the greenhouse, they were each given a warm breakfast roll topped with homemade jam. The others sat in silence, eating with dark expressions as they looked around the people.
That was when James snapped.
He pointed to the people and half hissed, half yelled. “Listen here, you dumb fucks! We’ve been given a new chance at life, a chance to actually make something of ourselves, and you sit there like you’re waiting for the gallows. Well, fuck off! Stop being idiots and try to do som
ething nice for someone else. Look at everything they’re doing for us? Did Sawyer mother-fucking Brown ever give you a freshly baked roll? NO!” James finished by screaming the last word, incensed at their attitudes.
He kept going as he stood up at the table waving his roll at them. “No one is going to beat you! No one is going to take anything from you. Now stop moping and start living. Otherwise, why don’t you just march your happy asses into the Wastelands. What’s the sense in living if you’re only going to just exist? I want more, and they are making that possible. We are in a better place now, so act like it!” James stopped his tirade, looked down at his hand and stuffed the last of the roll in his mouth and stormed off.
The others were cowed by the outburst from the usually calm and pleasant young man.
The woman, Nima, stood up and looked at the others.
“What are we so unhappy about?” she asked. “I feared for my life in Brownsville and being a woman there wasn’t easy, ever,” she choked, barely able to get the words out. “Terry and his people have shown us nothing but kindness. My new life starts today!” she exclaimed, tipping her chin back and holding her head high.
“Even though I’m scarred, both inside and out, you tell me who isn’t? If we weren’t tough enough, then we wouldn’t have made it to this point in time, to be here, eating a warm roll that someone else made for us, just because. Yesterday is as dead as Sawyer Brown.” She spit on the ground, then stomped on it, crushing it into the dirt. She thrust a fist in the air triumphantly.
Terry and Char watched from the back door. He’d come early since he wanted to talk with James, but didn’t want to interrupt the others as they talked among themselves and pledged their commitment to a better life.
One by one, the others spit and stomped on the dirt, finalizing their pact. Terry finally joined them, waving James to him. The young man ran back to the small group.
“I want to thank the nice people who run this greenhouse for everything they do. Because you help them, they have time to help you. And with that, we all benefit. Today is a new day with the whole world in front of us,” Terry said, looking from face to face. “We can’t go there by ourselves, and I was hoping that you’d join us. It’s going to be a great ride.”
Terry nodded to them, before pulling James aside.
“I like your passion,” he told the young man. “You were there on the road that day Sawyer came to visit New Boulder, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I was covering the rear, thank god, otherwise I’d be dead along with everyone else who challenged you,” James replied in a low voice, looking down.
“I just wanted to know, that’s all. I blame Sawyer Brown, not you,” Terry told the young man. Watching him carefully for his reaction to Char. He didn’t show any fear.
“What did you see that day?” Terry pressed. Even though Char could hear them clearly from across the greenhouse, she joined them to look into the man’s eyes, know the truth of what he would say.
“Not much, the horses were in the way. It started with you, ma’am, when you jumped up and punched the boss in the face. I’ve never seen speed or strength like that before. Then the others fell from their horses one by one. All of a sudden Sawyer Brown was riding the other way, running for his life. If he couldn’t stand up to you, who was I to stay and fight?” James looked sincere. The answer to Terry’s question was that James didn’t see Char turn into a Werewolf during the fight.
Their secret was safe.
Terry nodded, “I watched how you helped us bring the people from Brownsville here, and the farmer told me how you fixed his pump. I want you with us, James. I want you in the Force.” Terry had wasted enough time between the FDG’s last excursion and getting ready for the next one. He needed to make things happen, and most importantly, he liked making his own luck, just in case James hadn’t thought about volunteering.
“Yes, sir! I’ll be the first one in line for the interviews tomorrow,” James replied. Terry started to laugh. James’s mirth disappeared.
“James, that was your interview. Welcome aboard.” Terry held out his hand and James took it, firmly shaking to demonstrate his strength. Terry squeezed hard enough to let James know that he had a ways to go. “Come along, we have some things we need to do.”
James absently scratched Clyde’s neck as he and the dog followed Terry and Char, out of the greenhouse and headed west, where they deposited James with the other four and told them to make James feel welcome, tell him the expectations, and make sure that both newcomers and old residents both knew about the interviews.
Terry needed to talk with Billy Spires about the future of New Boulder.
* * *
The hunters headed into the mountains. They carried rifles that Billy had given them specifically for hunting, and they used their limited ammunition sparingly. They hunted as a team because it was more efficient. They needed to provide as much meat as possible for each bullet used since they needed to feed the whole community. These men were happy to hunt, much happier than if they’d been turned into farmers.
The hunters liked the fast pace, the glory of the kill, and for their own egos, they enjoyed being armed when most others weren’t. They didn’t care to be in the security force as they preferred nature over mankind. They got some of what they wanted, and they gave back to the community. Everybody won.
They headed into a valley that they hunted every couple months. They’d usually flush a herd of deer and sometimes even elk. They’d get at least one, but usually more.
The plan was that two of the men would ride to the far end of a long valley without upsetting any of the wildlife. Then they’d hunt their way downhill, driving game before them, into a trap where the third man would get clear shots at the fleeing animals.
The man with the steadiest hand stayed at the mouth of the valley as the other two headed to a higher elevation, to walk the ridge line before dipping down at the far end. They rode their horses through the pine trees, uphill, taking frequent breaks to keep the animals fresh. If they ran across a bear, the horses would need to be able to run, just in case.
The horses started to whinny and buck, but the riders didn’t know why.
The Werewolves had moved to point on the ridge overlooking the approaching horses and riders. Marcus stayed still, calm, ready to engage, but where there had once been three, there were only two. Marcus backed the Weres into heavier foliage, to hide, but the horses sensed the Were presence.
Marcus wanted to know where the other man had gone before rushing into the attack.
The hunters spurred their horses forward, talking with them to calm them down. The humans suspected a bear was nearby, so they held their rifles ready, watching the brush.
As the horses passed the Werewolves, they bolted and were soon lost in the trees toward the upper end of the valley. The horses calmed quickly once they could no longer sense a threat. The hunters continued with their plan, hoping that the spooked horses hadn’t prematurely driven any game away.
They separated and covered more ground as they entered the valley and rode heavily downward, looking for any signs of game. They’d whistle a signal to their comrade who would know what to watch out for. A small herd of does flushed from a stand of pines where they’d been sleeping in the soft needles. The deer ran haphazardly down the valley. One man whistled a long steady tone, followed by five short notes. He repeated that three times. Five deer coming your way was the message.
Marcus waved the pack forward, and they flowed silently from their hiding place, downhill, blending with the shadows as they headed to intercept the men coming from their left.
The alpha heard the whistle and knew that it was a signal. The other man must have been at the mouth of the valley. A rifle fired up ahead, then a second shot. Timmons and Merrit raced forward and leapt. A horse screamed. A rifle fired three more times and went silent.
The second horse was fleeing in panic. The other Werewolves--the bitches, Ted, and Adams--ran after it, howli
ng in the chase. Marcus was furious. He reached out and sensed a man too far away to be caught. The man turned his horse and ran as fast as the beast could go.
A scream. The second horse went down. The rider never fired a shot. Marcus ran, saw his pack muzzle deep in prime horse flesh. He growled as he passed, barking at them to follow. Sue and Ted bounced up and charged after their alpha. The others were slower and disappeared behind Marcus as he strained the extent of his body’s abilities to run faster, ever faster.
But the man was gone. His lead had been too great. The man was in the open and pounding fast toward the town of New Boulder.
The pack had been seen and they didn’t look like any wolves that the man might have seen before. But he couldn’t know that they were Were. Marcus held onto that thought. If he’d exposed the pack for what they were, the Forsaken would be angry.
And no one wanted to make a Vampire angry.
He looked at Ted and Sue, fire burning behind his yellow eyes. “Bring me the heads of those two fucking idiots. RIGHT NOW!” he howled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Billy sat in his chair at the table where Terry had first met him. The smaller man sat, arms crossed, and looked at the two people sitting across from him. They mirrored his pose, arms crossed and leaned back. Felicity sprawled in a loveseat against the wall, snickering.
No one had said anything yet. They all wondered what the posturing was about. Finally, Char broke the ice.
“What the hell is going on?” she blurted.
“I don’t know what’s going on, so , maybe you should tell me what’s going on, unless there’s nothing going on, and you should probably tell me that, too,” Billy parried, trying not to smile.
“What?” Char curled her lip as she spoke.
“I’m not upset about anything,” Terry stated. “I just wanted to talk about taking the Force into the Wasteland, look for more survivors and bring them home to New Boulder. That’s all. What’s up your ass, Billy?”
Nomad Omnibus 01: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus) Page 20
