Nomad Redeemed

by Craig Martelle

  There’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal that is cornered.

  “Watch out, Char!” Terry called.

  “Your human boy-toy wants you to be careful,” Marcus growled at Char.

  “At his worst, he’s better than you’ve ever been,” she replied, goading, egging him on.

  “How often is he at his worst?” Marcus countered, watching her carefully. She was uninjured and he needed to heal. Whatever hellfire came from that whip was causing him enough anguish that he considered retreating and coming back another day.

  Terry angled away from Char, trying to find an opening where he could use his whip again. Did he see Marcus wince?

  The Werewolf backed up and turned, darting away, trying to keep Char between him and the whip.

  “Got an ouchie?” Char taunted.

  Marcus lunged. Char dodged, but not quickly enough as he powered into her, driving his back legs until they both rolled, snapping and biting. Char twisted wildly as she tried to get out from under the alpha.

  He bit her side and pinned her to the ground.

  Crack! The tip of the whip ripped across Marcus’s rib cage, a second time lashed into his back leg. Marcus let go and jumped away, out of range of the whip.

  Char stood, bleeding heavily from the deep bite. She staggered.

  Marcus charged, ramming her with his shoulder and bowling her over as he headed straight for the human.

  Terry snapped the whip back as Marcus’s jaws drove straight for his chest. The tip of the bullwhip wrapped once more around the Werewolf’s throat. Terry twisted until he thought his back would break. Marcus’s jaws scraped across the front of his chest, tearing his shirt and slashing into the skin and muscle.

  Terry caught the looped whip and pulled tightly as he was dragged alongside the massive beast. Marcus bucked and tried to shake his head, but the pain was too great. The whip found the gash of the previous injury and was digging through the muscle and into his throat.

  The pain! The flame of the sun was pouring through the wound. He kicked with a front paw, trying to dislodge the human. Then he hit the ground and rolled, trapping Terry beneath him.

  Terry couldn’t breathe and his arms were pinned. He couldn’t pull the whip tighter. He gasped and struggled.

  For a moment, the weight became heavier. He tightened the muscles in his chest to keep the bones from cracking. His injured ribs screamed in agony.

  Then Marcus was pulled from him as Char dragged the great black beast backward by the throat. The whip was pulled from his hand. With a last shake, Char ended Marcus’s life.

  Terry dragged himself to her. She couldn’t lift her head, resting it between her paws on the ground. There was an ugly cut on the side of her face in addition to the bite in her side.

  Terry’s whip, she’d dug in and finished the alpha, even with the pain from Margie Rose’s necklace digging into her.

  “You’re a warrior, Char,” Terry said as he stroked her face.

  She changed back into human form. The light from the bonfire showed that she had been injured far worse than what he could see before. Her skin bubbled in places from where she’d gone into the bonfire. Dark purple surrounded missing flesh on her side. And the gash on the side of her face was raw and deep.

  He pulled Char to him, cradling her as she moaned in agony.

  “That could have gone better,” he said, as was his way during combat.

  “I think we did pretty well, don’t you, Colonel?” Char gasped one word at a time.

  “Indeed, Major. The battle is won, we just need to recover our wounded, bury our dead, and prepare for the next battle.” Terry gently stroked her hair as she relaxed against him.

  “That easy, huh?”

  “I don’t know how you keep ending up naked and in my arms. People are going to talk,” Terry said.

  “I really could give a fuck,” Char replied, smiling as much as she could. “I need to rest and I need meat, as much as you can find.”

  Terry propped Char against the dead Werewolf and rushed to the fire to find her clothes, bringing them back in short order. There was no way she was going to get her jeans on in her current condition, so he removed his torn shirt and draped it over her.

  “My Knight of the Round Table,” she murmured.

  “Try not to bleed on that. I just got it how I liked it,” he said quietly, holding her face in his hand. She looked tired. Her eyes no longer glowed like purple fireflies.

  “Of course you did,” she snickered, wincing at the pain. “For the record, I feel like shit.”

  “That makes two of us,” Terry agreed. Clyde whimpered as he appeared next to them. He walked stiffly, but wasn’t bleeding and nothing looked broken. He laid down next to Char, resting his head in her lap as she reclined into the dead alpha’s fur.

  Terry left them there and splashed two steps across the river as he headed for James and Devlin.

  Terry knew as soon as he saw. Devlin was dead, his chest crushed by Marcus’s jaws. Terry kneeled and closed the young man’s eyes. He next went to James, who was injured but alert.

  “I think I’ve got a broken leg and a rib or three,” he said, grimacing as he talked.

  “We’ll get you fixed up. It’s done. We did what we had to do and you stood your ground, like a real warrior. I’m proud to have you in the Force,” Terry said softly, resting his hand lightly on the young man’s shoulder.

  “Gerry! Get down here,” Terry yelled as he stood and went in search of Lacy.

  Terry heard the horses splashing in the river as Geronimo approached. “What the fuck are you doing? We’ve got injured people down here and you bring the horses?”

  “Oh shit! I’m sorry, Colonel. Let me take them back up stream, hobble them, and then I’ll be back,” Gerry apologized.

  “Wait!” Terry called as he pulled the saddle bags from his horse, then he waved the young man away. Terry took the bags to Char, who looked like she’d already fallen asleep. He put the bag next to her and pulled their complete stock of beef jerky that Antioch and Claire had given them.

  Char sniffed at it, then opened her eyes. She took the first piece and fed it to Clyde. She offered Terry the second piece and he stood, putting his hands on his hips.

  “I have to find Lacy,” he said abruptly and walked off. Char didn’t hesitate as she wolfed down the remainder of the stash, sharing only one more small piece with the dog.

  Terry quickly found the young woman, lying almost in the river, not far from the bonfire that was starting to burn down.

  He rolled her unconscious form over. He found a growing bump on her head, but that was the only injury. He splashed water on her until she came to. Her eyes remained unfocused as she stared at the fire.

  “Come on, James needs some company,” Terry told her as he lifted her, draping an arm over his shoulder. He bent his knees to be closer to her level. She leaned into him and a new wave of pain coursed through his body. He wondered how badly he was injured, expecting the nanocytes would take care of it.

  He’d lost one person that night, and he’d lament Devlin’s loss later, when they were settled and he could be sure that he’d lose no more.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When morning came, Terry and Char stretched, having mostly healed during the night.

  “We have to make sure he’s dead,” Char whispered, pointing to the great black Werewolf.

  “He looks plenty dead to me,” Terry replied.

  Char shook her head. “Cut off his head with your silver blade. There’s no coming back from that.” She tilted her head. “Well?”

  “Are you the alpha now?” Terry asked, as he recovered his knife from where it had been thrown the night before. She tipped her head as if looking over the top of glasses, her purple eyes staring at him, unrelenting. “Fine.”

  It took ten minutes of hard work to finish the deed and he was up to his elbows in blood by the end of it. He kicked the head to the side and washed up in the river’s trickle o
f water.

  They then surveyed the damage.

  Clyde was stiff but hungry, which they took as a good sign. James looked to be on death’s doorstep. He was pasty white, and his breathing was shallow. At least his leg wasn’t broken, Terry thought.

  Lacy was out of it, her head lolling as she remained incapable of focusing. Gerry had done what he could during the night--cold compresses, plenty of water--but there wasn’t anything else to do.

  Terry closed his eyes and recalled the medical book he’d read. The symptoms suggested that James may have internal injuries.

  “I think we might have to open him up,” Terry suggested.

  “What?” That surprised Char. “Don’t tell me you’re a doctor?”

  “No, but I read this book once.” When Terry heard himself say it, he realized how lame it sounded.

  “Really? You read a book and now you’re okay with cutting him open? And you plan to do it in the middle of the Wastelands?” Char was skeptical.

  “He’s not looking good and Lacy has a concussion. We’re in a deep pile of shit. Things may fix themselves, but maybe they won’t. We’ll see what today brings and decide when we must.” Terry looked concerned at James, who was sweating, cold, and clammy. He seemed delirious.

  “Keep your eyes on them, Gerry. We have two graves to dig, and then we need to hunt, find something to eat, because I don’t think we’re leaving any time soon.” Terry pursed his lips and looked around for something to dig with. They’d already scrounged the driftwood from places nearby.

  Char offered to turn into a Werewolf and dig out a grave using her mad canine digging skills, but Terry declined since she refused to dig a grave for Marcus.

  Terry grabbed a horse, saddled it, and rode up river until he found what he was looking for. He brought his piece of driftwood back to the camp and found Char digging with a flat round piece of rock. He looked at it and thought it would work better, but he was too stubborn to change. He removed his uniform shirt and attacked the dirt with newfound energy.

  Char leaned back to watch.

  “It goes faster if we both work at the same time,” he suggested to her in between digs in the softer dirt of the riverbank.

  “It might,” she conceded, while kicking back, looking at him oddly.

  “What?” Terry asked.

  “Dig enough of a hole and then we can knock that hillside down on top of it. Not a shortcut, but a way to put them both into a more permanent place,” Char offered.

  Terry checked the area. The bank didn’t look too sturdy. He nodded in agreement, then went back to digging. He tried to drag the decomposing, stinking Werewolf to the ditch that he’d dug, but even with his enhanced strength, Marcus was too heavy.

  “Come on, Char. We’re going to be here for a while. Do you really want that thing to be right in the middle of us all?” She reluctantly agreed and grabbed a paw, dragging the behemoth to the trench and rolling him in. Terry thought he’d dug it deeply enough, but that wasn’t the case.

  Devlin’s grave looked small and insignificant next to that of the Werewolf. Terry, Char, and Geronimo stood together. They looked to Terry to say the words.

  It was the colonel’s duty.

  “I hadn’t known Devlin for long, but what he showed me was his spirit. He didn’t take shit from people, and he was quick to lend a helping hand. Of the four tough guys I ran across my first day in town, he was the one I knew would sway the others to a better way. He brought Mark on board and the rest is history. Here we are, planting him in the ground, and that sucks. He deserved better, but for a Marine, for a member of the Force de Guerre, there is no higher honor than giving your life for your friend. James lives because Devlin put himself in between the enemy and an injured man. Devlin fought to the end, firing until his rifle was empty and he was no more. I salute you,” Terry ended, snapping to attention and delivering a crisp salute.

  Marine Corps style.

  They used the flat rock and the driftwood to fill in some of the dirt, then Terry climbed to the top of the bank, found a weak spot, and dug in until it gave way. He jumped back just in time to keep from going with it. The dirt rolled over top of the two graves.

  Terry slid down the bank and tamped the graves down. He positioned his piece of driftwood as a monument at Devlin’s head. They left Marcus’s grave unmarked.

  James looked no worse and Lacy was still out of it.

  “We need to find food,” Terry said, looking at Char. “Do you sense anything close?”

  She shook her head.

  Terry turned to Geronimo. “We’re going to ride out, find something, and then we’ll be back. There’s nothing left out there, so the next thing you’ll hear will be us. Don’t be afraid.”

  “Why would I be afraid? I have my friends the horses nearby. They’ll watch out for me and I’ll watch out for these two. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll get back. We’re all hungry,” Gerry said, encouraging the major and the colonel to get on the road.

  * * *

  Even traveling along the river, the conditions were harsh. Antioch and his family only managed ten miles the first day and fifteen the second. On the third day, they struggled to go just five miles. At least the mountains were rising in the distance. The goal was in sight, although still a long way off.

  The children were bored and the cattle started to meander, requiring more breaks in the river. There was plenty to drink, but little to eat. The cows tried to graze what little growth was available along the riverbanks, while Antioch, Claire, and the children made do with what they had--a total of five days’ worth of beef jerky.

  Antioch declared half-rations at the end of day three, hoping that it would carry them through to the foothills, where it would be cooler and they could make up ground. As long as they had water, they’d survive, but that wasn’t enough. They were surviving where they’d been.

  This was an idiot’s quest and they’d come too far to turn back.

  “I think we may have made a mistake,” Antioch said to his wife.

  “Not at all, Antie. We will put our faith in the Lord and continue to His promised land. If we don’t, we leave our boys to lives of loneliness and they will be the last generation of the Weathers family. I don’t want that. Besides, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to wash the dirt of the Wastelands from my body, but I can try in the new place,” Claire said with a smile.

  It wasn’t an act. She was genuinely happy with life and kept the family going in the right direction.

  “I don’t know why I doubted. God bless you, Claire Weathers,” the old man said, continuing to amble ahead, leaning heavily on his walking stick, which was also useful for swatting kids and cows alike.

  * * *

  Terry, Char, and Clyde rode out quickly, heading east, downriver. Terry counted on Char’s ability to sense game to guide them, but she wasn’t feeling anything.

  Clyde was perched in Terry’s lap. “Are you the alpha now?” Terry asked.

  “Maybe. Usually it’s the largest male, but times change, don’t they?” Char answered, looking for signs of game, sniffing the air, watching for movement. “The pack would have to accept me as the alpha, but they’d fall in line quickly after the initial rough and tumble.”

  “Are you returning to the pack?” Terry asked, focusing on Char’s face. The scar from silver necklace stood out, twisting the corner of one lip. It looked like it had healed as much as it was going to heal. He didn’t think it detracted from her beauty, but added to it because he knew how she got it, the risk she took.

  She caught him staring. “Why, TH, who would have thought you’d get all shmoopy over a little ol’ Werewolf.”

  “I’m not shmoopy. What the hell does that even mean anyway? That’s some serious fucking bullshit right there! You can’t just make up words and then hang them around my neck like some anvil!” Terry retorted, ending with a snort.

  “Anvil?” she accused, giving Terry the stink eye.

  “That’s not what I mea
nt,” he grumbled. “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II.”

  “The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Hamlet, Act III, Scene II,” Char replied.

  “Do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Same act and scene,” Terry countered.

  “Can one desire too much of a good thing? As You Like It, Act IV, Scene I.” Char rode close, pulling back on the reins to stop Terry’s horse. They sat side by side.

  “All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts. As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII,” Terry whispered.

  Char’s eyes lit up like purple sparklers. “Say it,” she insisted.

  “What?”

  “Just say it, tough guy.” She smiled, her scar tugging her lip down on one side of her face.

  “You know,” he replied, unable to take his eyes from the Werewolf.

  She looked away quickly and sniffed the air. “Saved by a pig, how appropriate, don’t you think, TH?”

  “I like this place and willingly could waste my time in it. As You Like It, Act II, Scene IV,” Terry said as Char spurred her mount, riding toward the sound and the smell of a javelina.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After they’d eaten a couple times, James looked respectable, the color having returned to his face. Char was pleased that Terry wasn’t going to perform exploratory surgery on the young man.

  Lacy was still out of it. The lump on her head was the size of a golf ball. They kept it wet, so the evaporating water could keep it cool, but that wasn’t the biggest problem. A concussion could take days or even weeks to heal. The jarring ride on a horse wouldn’t be best, but it was the only way they had to get back. They couldn’t stay where they were. They’d keep running out of food until they couldn’t find any more.

  They loaded the horses and began walking. Five people and eight horses headed west, staying close to the river to take frequent breaks, but they still spent a long time in the saddle. Lacy almost fell off twice, so Gerry rode with her to hold her in place.