Nomad Found: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 1)

by Craig Martelle

  Once Terry hit the end of the road, he slowed, then dodged behind a wall and double-checked his rifle as he watched the hills behind him, waiting patiently to see if anything followed. After an hour, he was convinced that he’d left the hills alone. He slung the rifle and marched off smartly, covering the distance quickly with ground-eating strides.

  He checked the position of the sun. “Damn! I might get home in time for some of Margie Rose’s fine cooking.” He looked around. “Shouldn’t come home empty-handed,” Terry said out loud. He looked at the rifle, decided now was as good a time as any to try it out, then turned south and ran hard, to get out of town and closer to a forested area that lay to the south.

  Once there, he stopped and watched, checking the sun again. He might not make it in time, but expected Margie Rose would make something, especially if he brought home fresh game.

  He waited, patiently. A movement. There!

  A spike buck rubbing his young horns against the bark of a tree. Terry estimated the distance at three hundred yards, a perfect distance for iron sights. He aimed just behind the shoulder and gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked lightly, blocking his vision of when the round hit home, but the deer jumped forward, head first into the tree, and struggled to get free.

  Terry saw the spot below the spine. High and to the right. He aimed quickly in front of and below the shoulder then pulled the trigger a second time. The spike buck collapsed in place. Terry looked left and right, making sure the sound of his rifle hadn’t drawn unwanted attention. As he thought about it, he didn’t know why it would, but that was his Marine training and not his current situation. Wild animals would run from a rifle’s retort, not toward it.

  He got up and jogged to his kill. A decent sized animal, he guessed it would be around one hundred pounds dressed. He strapped his rifle crossways over his back and pulled his knife to gut the buck and clean it enough to be carried to the house, maybe five miles away.

  This has been a good damn day, he thought. He’d covered probably twenty-five miles and barely felt tired. He chalked it up to a good breakfast and his special physique. He and Margie Rose would eat well over the next few weeks. Terry also committed to taking some to Billy Spires, along with returning the rifle and the ammunition. He’d like to keep it, but a deal was a deal.

  He started whistling as he methodically butchered the deer, caressing the soft hide, knowing that with a little time and some attention, he could tan it and make a nice shirt, maybe even a new pair of pants. He had no one to impress, he just wanted to be comfortable. His current gear was clean, but he’d had about enough of it.

  After making quick work of the buck, he threw the headless carcass over his shoulders and started walking. Next stop, some of Margie Rose’s fine cooking.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Billy Spires wasn’t happy that his hunter had been killed, but his anger was offset by the return of the rifle and most of the ammunition. Five precious cartridges had been expended and although four casings had been returned, there wasn’t much they could do with them.

  Terry looked on expectantly. Billy looked back. Finally, Felicity harrumphed. “Maybe you two can just arm-wrestle and get it over with, but I don’t want you boys fighting over me,” she drawled and batted her eyelashes. Terry snickered, appreciating the interruption in the stare-down.

  “Can I take that with me?” Terry asked Billy. The smaller man pursed his lips and thought about it.

  “No,” he said dismissively, gauging Terry’s reaction. All the larger man did was lean back and cross his arms. They were both sitting at the table, mirroring each other’s pose. Felicity shook her head.

  “But you can take one of the old M4s. There’s less ammunition for those, so we’ll issue you ten rounds. Take it or leave it,” Billy said with a smile. He’d spent his life lording his power over others and that wouldn’t change overnight, but he was getting less pleasure from the dance.

  Terry sucked on his tongue and bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at the ceiling. Of course he was going to take the M-4 carbine, but he didn’t want to give Billy the satisfaction of answering too quickly. He returned his gaze to Billy’s face and started laughing.

  “Yeah, I’ll take it, but I need a pistol, too. Got a .45 back there?” Terry looked hopeful.

  “We do, but only two rounds for it. I got a .38 special with twelve rounds. Choose wisely,” Billy replied.

  “The .45,” Terry replied without hesitation. “History suggests that one well-aimed round from the big boy is worth more than six from the popgun. I’ll just have to make sure I’m in a position where I can’t miss.”

  “Why such love for a big, heavy pistol with only two shots?” Billy asked, curious.

  “Marine Corps,” Terry revealed. Billy had never met a Marine before. He’d been told stories, most of which he never believed. No one could be that much larger than life.

  But then he met Terry Henry Walton. “The hell you say. Where’d you serve?” Billy pried.

  “Even if I told you, none of that would matter. Do you know where we conducted operations? What were you when the world fell, fifteen?”

  “I was eighteen, but I guess I’ve aged well.” Billy smiled. “And no, I wouldn’t know if you were lying to me or not. You disarmed my guard without a problem and you tamed my enforcement team barehanded. And you’ve returned both rifles to me. You have a strange code of honor, Mr. Terry Henry Walton, that I haven’t seen, so yeah, you’re different. I’ll believe that you were a Marine, but you work for me now. And I think you should probably call me ‘sir’,” Billy sneered, reverting for a moment of guilty pleasure.

  “I don’t fucking think so. Let’s go grab those thundersticks and I’ll be on my way. I’ve got a security force to train and feed, which means we’ll be working in the greenhouses, helping out the good farmers who grow stuff because we can’t.” Terry nodded politely, first to the self-proclaimed mayor and second to Felicity. Billy wanted to be offended, but his jibe had fallen flat and been dismissed out of hand. The rest of what Terry said made sense. The security force needed help.

  “Okay, let’s load you up. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Billy’s hand lingered on Felicity’s body as he stood, casually and deliberately rubbing his body on hers as he passed. With a final look at Terry, he walked out a back door.

  Felicity made a beeline for Terry Henry Walton. He jumped from his chair and moved the other way around the table, keeping it between them as he looked at her through narrowed eyes.

  “Why are you running away from little old me?” she drawled. Terry did not dignify her taunt with a response. “Big, tough Marine afraid?” She leaned over the table, letting her shirt droop to give Terry a view of what was underneath.

  “Because Billy needs to know that I’m not after you. I won’t let you pit us against each other. I need him to manage the town and he needs me to make sure it stays managed. I’ve seen the look in your eyes. I know that you believe this town can vault out of the dark ages, if we provide the right support to our engineer and mechanic. Which reminds me, I need to meet those two as they are more important than you, me, or Billy Spires. They will move us forward. All we have to do is create the conditions for them to be successful. I know you get that, the power behind the throne and all. But you’ve no power over me,” Terry stated matter-of-factly, all business.

  * * *

  Billy stood behind the door and listened, satisfied with what he heard. So he could trust that man and all it cost him to find out was something he was going to give anyway, a rifle and a pistol.

  How could he have a security chief who wasn’t armed?

  Billy left the two to their verbal jousting while he headed for his ad hoc armory. It was a closet with a padlock. He dialed the combination, unhitched the lock, and opened the door. It was sparse, so much more sparse than twenty years ago. Then, it was packed full of rifles, pistols, and ammunition. Over the years, people left and didn’t come back. People died and weapons were l
ost. Ammunition had been used and not replaced.

  He dug out the carbine and set it aside, pulled open the lid on an ammo can, and whistled. There were four boxes left, eighty rounds. He took one magazine and a box of cartridges. He was feeling generous. The M1911 .45 caliber pistol was already loaded. He dropped the magazine and checked. Two rounds. He cycled the action to confirm there was nothing in the chamber. He re-inserted the magazine, sent the slide home, and shoved the pistol into his belt.

  When he returned to his receiving room, he found Felicity sitting in his chair and Terry sitting opposite. Felicity was scowling, and that pleased Billy Spires. He laughed out loud as he deposited the weapons and ammunition on the table. Terry looked at the full box of twenty rounds, realizing that he’d passed some sort of test.

  After checking the magazine and chamber of the old M1911, he reseated the magazine and tucked the pistol into his belt. He did not put a round in the chamber on purpose. When he was in the Corps, a lance corporal in the next barracks over was screwing around and shot his own pecker off. Although Terry had always been careful, he was extra careful after that.

  He performed the same function check on the M4, before loading ten rounds into the old magazine and seating it. He slung the rifle over his shoulder, knowing that he would make a new sling, probably out of deer hide, so he could carry the rifle in a combat ready position instead of behind his shoulder where it was useless for rapid action.

  “Thank you, Billy Spires. I think I’ll have something for you in about a week as to a way ahead, triple production, improve power distro, and most importantly, increase population. I’ve been out in the wasteland and there are people out there who should be in here.”

  Terry shook his head before Billy could argue. “And no, they won’t come to take what you have. If given the opportunity and support, they’ll provide more than they use. A net gain. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in, Mr. Mayor?” Terry said with a smile. Billy kept his face neutral.

  Fuck yeah, he was very interested in that.

  * * *

  Terry jogged eastward along what passed for the main road. It was in good shape because the horse and cart traffic wasn’t heavy. The worst thing was the road apples, the horse droppings. Once Terry reached the first greenhouse, he had an idea.

  He saw barley and wheat and from that, knew he could make beer. Why was there no beer?

  He offered to help in the greenhouse, although he had limited time. He worked like a fiend for what he estimated was thirty minutes before moving on. Then he did the same thing with the next three greenhouses. They all invited him back whenever he could make it.

  Terry was a hard worker, and he was building credit that he may or may not call in later, although his real reason was that he wanted to check up on his boys. He caught up with them in the fifth greenhouse. They were working, not as hard as they should have been, based on their actions as soon as they saw him. He waved to the farmers, greeted them warmly, then offered to help for a brief time before he needed to take his people out for security training.

  When he joined Mark and Devlin in weeding and moving detritus, he smiled kindly before he spoke. “It looked like you two were fucking off. Tell me I didn’t see that.”

  Mark put a hand on Devlin’s shoulder. “I could tell you that, but you saw what you saw. Sure, we could have been working harder, should have been working harder…” He hesitated as he was speaking, then shook his head. He had nothing else to say.

  “Why don’ they have any beer here?” Terry asked.

  “What?” Mark asked, taken by surprise. He expected to get his daily comeuppance, but that wasn’t it.

  They continued to work, moving, lifting, cleaning. The farmers followed behind, watering and touching up the plants. They looked happy, which neither Mark nor Devlin could understand. Digging in the dirt all day wasn’t their idea of fun.

  Terry seemed to be enjoying himself, joking freely with those who ran the greenhouse. Mark kept looking at the rifle slung across Terry’s back and the pistol wantonly stuffed into his pants. With weapons like that, Mark wouldn’t have to be subservient to the big man. A plan started forming in his mind, but then he dismissed it. In no way would he ever be able to take those weapons from the security chief. Mark watched as the man moved easily and adjusted quickly to keep the rifle in place. The pistol always seemed to be within a hand’s breadth of being pulled to action.

  Mark had never seen a pure warrior before, but if he could have imagined one, Terry Henry Walton would be it.

  “Teach me,” Mark asked in a near whisper. “Teach me how to be a warrior.” Devlin wondered what had come over Mark.

  Terry looked over at Mark, skeptical.

  He nodded and grabbed some weeds. “I intend to, and you know what? Real warriors don’t slack off, ever. Head on a swivel, working as hard as you can, until you get to something new, then you do that as hard and as fast as you can. I’m not sure you have it in you. Maybe he does.” Terry pointed at Devlin with an elbow as his hands were full of weeds.

  “I might not, but I think I can prove you wrong,” Mark said flatly, working with renewed vigor and outpacing his colleagues on the last of his row. When he finished, he looked for something else to do and ended up carrying buckets of water for the farmer’s wife.

  When Terry and Devlin finished their rows, they gave their kind regards to the good people running the greenhouse and headed outside.

  “What gives?” Terry asked Mark as soon as they were in the waning sun. “You’re a total fuck every minute of every day since we met, and now, you want to learn from me. Why? So you can find a weakness and someday beat the master at his own game? I don’t trust you, Mark, and I’m not sure I ever will.”

  Mark pursed his lips. “I’ve earned that. But understand, we’ve been out here all day with these people, the second day in a row, and you know what we saw? Billy Spires being nice to them. Shaking their hands and thanking them for the work they do.” He pointed around the area. “I’ve been here most of my damned life and I ain’t never seen anything like that before. Billy rules with an iron fist. The only difference I see is you. That woman’s been here for almost a year now, so it’s not her. If you can change Billy like that in just a few days?” He paused, took a deep breath and let it out. “Hell, Mr. Walton, I have a lot to learn.” Mark ended contritely, looking at the ground.

  Terry was taken aback. A day prior, he was ready to punch the man in the head and as often as it took to beat sense into his thick skull. And here he was, a seemingly changed man.

  Devlin puffed out his chest and stood tall. “Me, too. I want to know everything you know, move like you move, kick ass like you kick ass,” he added.

  Terry shook his head. The world was so fucked up. “All right, gentlemen, you think you want this? Remember when you’re face down in the mud, crying, I never promised you a rose garden. The only thing I can guarantee is that you’ll be in pain, but it’ll be a good hurt. You’ll sleep fast, then we’ll do it all again. In between, we’re going to work here in the greenhouses every day, because humility is an important lesson. Now, run home and get that house cleaned up. Fix that front door of yours, too. I’ll see you first thing in the morning. When you hear me, you better jump from your racks and be ready to go. Do you understand me?” They both nodded.

  Terry snarled at them. “You will answer, ‘Yes, sir!’ Now do you understand me?”

  Two shouts of “Yes, sir!” rang out and the men bolted, sprinting away before settling into a quick jog. Terry figured they’d slow further before they got home, but as long as they fixed the door, he’d be happy. Terry would be there early, before daybreak, and there would be hell to pay if that task wasn’t done.

  Terry walked back into the greenhouse to see if he could get a couple fresh things to bring to Margie Rose. They happily gave him two small peppers and a flower. He knew she’d like that.

  Terry whistled quietly, walking home wondering what Margie Rose was
going to cook when he gave her the peppers.

  And the flower.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Billy wandered outside, walking in the cool morning air. He’d taken to doing that more often nowadays, because he needed to think. Billy felt like he was caught in a whitewater stream heading toward the falls. No amount of flailing changed his course.

  He kicked a rock in the small garden that Felicity maintained. It had a few vegetables, but was mostly herbs and flowers.

  Not that he was fighting it very hard. He hoped that the current took him downstream to more fertile land and not to a waterfalls. There was nothing he could do about it in either case. It seemed that the more he let go, the harder people worked. He was seeing his little town become a place where people wanted to live, and not a place where they had to in order to survive.

  He determined to go see his engineer and mechanic, see what they had in the queue and he hated to say it, but see if they needed any help.

  For the first time in his life, Billy saw people willing to work without having to apply the lash. He didn’t know how long they would stay motivated, probably until the first crisis, he mused. If that happened, well, then he’d pull the whip back out and apply it liberally, just because they made him believe in the touchy-feely crap.

  He chewed on the inside of his lip. “Felicity, what have you done to me? I’m pussy whipped, that’s what I am.” He kicked a rock, then a second. He snarled and went back inside, to his weapons locker, where he pulled out the AK-74. He noted that Terry had cleaned it before he returned it. It was ready to fire. He took two magazines and the rifle, walked back out the front door and headed for the hills. He needed to kill something, prove to himself that he still could.

  * * *