Nomad Omnibus 01: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus)

by Craig Martelle

  “Nothing. You come storming in here like you own the place, of course I think you’re up to something,” Billy said as he unfolded his arms, rolled out the middle finger of both hands, and thrust them into the air in Terry’s direction.

  “Well, Billy Spires, I thank you for declaring that I’m number one! It is an honor that I’ve worked long and hard to achieve. I must say, however, that you and I have very different ideas about what “storming in” entails. In any case, I’d like to work our way up to ten people in the Force and keep building from there. We’re expanding, Billy, and for that, we need people to feel safe and secure. We need the manpower to grow.”

  “I can’t disagree with that. How much do you think we can grow before New Boulder becomes too small?”

  Terry shrugged. He could have answered with something, but for this one, it was Billy’s call.

  “I think we’ll know it when we see it, but that’s a long ways off. Until then, let’s see what she’ll handle. What’s your plan for the new people, train them while you’re on the road?” Billy asked.

  “A mix–leave Mark and Ivan here, take Jim and Devlin with us. We’ll split the new people between us. That’ll give us a couple extra horses to take as well, leaving the rest here. You’ll have some people and firepower in New Boulder, while we have everything we need with us. I think it’s a good balance between offensive and defensive use of the FDG.” They continued to talk through the logistics, while intermittently, Terry would give Billy the finger and vice versa.

  Char had plenty of the male bonding stuff with the pack. She shook her head, she understood it, and although she never saw any utility in it, she tolerated it.

  Barely.

  * * *

  Blaine stayed low in the saddle, riding as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. The horse frothed, pounding the old pavement as it raced south toward New Boulder. The hunter kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to see the wolves at any moment, running with their unnatural speed after him. He thought they were as large as the horses his two friends rode. They’d attacked mercilessly and seemed immune to getting shot.

  He had turned the horse and fled from the ambush site, where the men thought they were the predators, but discovered they were the prey.

  Blaine didn’t slow until he passed the power plant. He continued to ride toward the mayor’s house, without acknowledging anyone he saw along the way.

  He slowed just enough to jump from the horse. It continued trotting away until it found a patch of grass to eat. Blaine ran through the front door and without hesitation, barreled into Billy’s study.

  Char leapt to the side, turning and crouching in a single move. One of her Glock pistols appeared in her hand, aimed at the intruder. Terry went the other way, rolling and coming up with his bullwhip ready. In his other hand, he gripped a knife by the blade. Blaine froze and held his hands up.

  The sudden silence was interrupted by Terry’s comment. “I might call that ‘storming in,’ for future reference,” he said, putting his knife away and coiling the whip to hang it back from his belt. Char relaxed, but kept her pistol pointed at the hunter. Clyde barked, hackles raised.

  “Out with it!” Billy yelled. “Before she shoots your dumb ass.”

  “I ain’t seen nothin’ like it. Fucking wolves the size of horses attacked us, killed Eric and Trash! They didn’t even hesitate, howled into the valley, ran down a horse at full gallop as if it were nothin’!” the man whined, his hand constantly moving back and forth on the top of his head.

  Char turned sheet white and carefully holstered her pistol.

  “Wolves the size of horses? What the hell are you smoking?” Billy replied. “Get a grip, Blaine. There’s no such thing.”

  Blaine staggered to the chair that Terry had previously occupied and fell heavily into it. The whites of his eyes showed as he struggled on the edge of panic.

  “I’m not smoking anything, Billy. My friends are dead. Killed by those creatures.” Blaine sighed and put his head down on the table.

  Billy replied, “I think this is a job for the FDG. Take your boys up there and see if you can find them, recover what’s left, the rifles and ammo, especially. Determine what killed them.” Billy hesitated and looked closer into Terry’s green eyes. “You think it was the same that killed our other man?”

  Terry looked from Billy to Char and back to Billy. “Could be. Don’t know until I take a look, but I’m not in a hurry to go that way, if you know what I mean. Blaine, you said they ran down a horse at a gallop. How’d you get away?”

  “I was at the other end of the valley, could seem ‘em through a break in the trees. They was a long ways off, but I seen it all! Ran soon as it happened. No sense in all of us dyin’, then’s you wouldn’t a’ known what happened,” he said defensively.

  “No one’s questioning your manliness, Blaine. Seeing what you saw, any right-minded person would have run. Tomorrow, we’ll take a look, and we need you to show us where you were,” Terry soothed, but Blaine started shaking his head and mumbling.

  “Char? Are you okay?” Billy asked. Felicity sat wide-eyed, unsure of what to think. Clyde started barking again. “I didn’t take you for being squeamish.”

  “It’s not that. I think it was something I ate,” she suggested as the color slowly returned to her face. Her purple eyes blazed with an internal fire that concerned Terry. Char’s pack had returned, and she was afraid.

  * * *

  Marcus slowly walked back up the valley. He was trying to control his rage, but failing. He passed the nearest bunch as they were gorging on the horse. He growled and snapped at them, his massive hackles raised, his head looming above them. They cowered and moved aside for the alpha.

  He walked past the horse to the man, dead from a broken neck. Marcus pawed the rifle away, then reared and dove in, biting deeply into the man’s abdomen. He pulled back, entrails spilling from his muzzle. He threw his head back, gulping down a chunk of the man’s coat along with skin, muscle, and guts. The other Werewolves watched in horror, hoping that he wouldn’t demand they partake.

  He didn’t.

  Marcus cracked the man’s ribs with his fearsome jaws, tore them away, and pulled out the heart. He chewed it slowly, his eyes closed. He breathed deeply of the cool, pine-scented air. There was one more man and one more heart to be eaten. Maybe he wouldn’t kill Timmons and Merrit.

  Marcus strutted away, savoring the coppery aftertaste of that which made a man what he was.

  He continued up the valley, feeling better as he went. The rest of his pack followed, appropriately submissive, at a respectful distance. When Marcus reached the site of the first kill, he found his two errant Wolves, injured and back in human form. They had eaten some of the horse, but they were both in agony from bullet wounds. Timmons was missing part of his shoulder where one round had ripped through. Merrit kept pressure on the two bullet holes in his chest.

  Marcus was pleased that they were injured, pleased that they weren’t dead, and impressed that they were able to bring down the man and the horse while so severely wounded.

  He wouldn’t tell them that.

  Marcus changed into human form, “You fuckwits blew the whole thing!” he growled. “Serves you right to get fucked up. Quit your crying and get yourselves straight.” Marcus stepped on them on his way to the human.

  The man was pinned beneath the horse, a gash on his head where he’d been slammed on the ground. His eyes looked up, but they were unfocused.

  “You’re still alive? Well now, won’t this be a special treat.” Marcus dug through the hunter’s things until he found a knife. He cut away the man’s jacket and shirt. With a cry of rage, he plunged the knife into the man’s chest, slicing through the cartilage between the ribs above and below the heart. He reached his hand into the cut, grasped the ribs and yanked outward, tearing them away from the still beating heart. He reached in, grabbed and twisted, then pulled it out, biting into it with his human teeth, ripping a chunk out, a
nd chewing it as blood ran down his chin, staring at the man’s eyes as they faded out.

  If Werewolves could look pale, they did. Sue changed into human form and turned away so she could throw up in peace. The others sat and watched, wondering how far they’d fallen to get to this point. And none of them were strong enough to do anything about it.

  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 TWENTY-THREE

  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.