Nomad Avenged Snippet 03!
It's summer in the sub-Arctic and there's so much stuff to do. I even had to cut my grass already. Last year, I had to cut it a month earlier as it was colder and snowier for much longer this year. The tractor is fixed and moved to the shed. The picnic table is next to move out of the garage. Buying some plants at the Farmer's Market today to put in the greenhouse. Go us! We'll see if we get any tomatoes before the frost comes. It's going to be a race. The rhubarb has come back in which is good – we just planted it last year to see if it would take. It has and quite well.
Break's over – back to doing Alaskan stuff. See you in a couple days when Snippet 04 drops:)
Nomad Avenged – shooting for a May 29 release – stay tuned, same bat station, same bat channel.
Nomad Avenged – Snippet 03
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 7
By Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
“You are one sad fucker,” Terry mumbled, blinking away the sweat and blood to better see his tormentor.
“Terry Henry Walton. You are renowned in many circles for your ability to sling a phrase, and the best you can come up with is ‘sad fucker?’ I am truly disappointed,” Kirkus complained with a half-smile.
“My apologies to your sensibilities. Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee,” Terry quoted in a gravely voice from Shakespeare. “Or maybe, you are a gorbellied, fen-sucked coxcomb?”
Terry’s mind was a jumble, but the mental exercise of stringing Shakespearean words together to create insults comforted him. It reminded him of his daughter, named after one of Shakespeare’s characters.
Cordelia. He saw the toddler in his mind’s eye. He thought he heard something, but it faded into the distance. The only thing before him was his daughter.
She was barely walking, but fearless. Once she saved their lives after the wolverine attack, the wolf pack took to following her around. The former alpha walked at the child’s side, letting her wrap her hand in the heavy neck hair to help her balance, help her run.
Terry looked away for only a moment. When he looked back, Cory was on the wolf’s back, riding the bitch as nine others ran alongside. They disappeared into the woods on the south side of the former base that the people of North Chicago now called home.
He ran after them, jogging at first, but when he entered the woods, he couldn’t hear the wolves at all. It was like they never passed through there, like they never existed.
Terry ran, as fast as his enhanced body would carry him, but he found no sign of the pack. He turned and ran home, needing to rally the people and search for his daughter.
When he entered Mayor’s Park, he found Cory riding the wolf. They were running in circles.
“How’d you get back here?” he asked, wondering whether it was a dream or a memory.
“We made a loop!” Cory said excitedly. The pack knew that she was a child and since they had adopted her, they were teaching her their ways, while also playing like a bunch of puppies. Terry Henry could not have been more proud.
Cory was growing up to know both the way of the pack and the way of humanity. As she matured, those lessons would keep her safe, but Terry always worried.
Terry’s memory clouded for an instant and when it cleared, it was more than a decade later.
Thirteen-year-old Cordelia was a beautiful young lady who looked too much like an adult. The men had too much to drink. Alcohol reduced one of them to being a savage. He grabbed Cory by her hair and tried to kiss her.
Terry watched from a second-story window, unable to move. The young man needed to be taught a lesson, harshly enough that the young man would learn what civilization was all about.
What bothered Terry the most was that the man looked at Cory like a piece of meat and not an intelligent human being.
Cory kneed the man hard, being tall like her parents, she was able to leverage more power into her move. The man came off the ground and crumpled, laying in the fetal position and crying. “BITCH!” the man yelled through gritted teeth.
Terry was angry and demanded retribution.
Cory kicked the man in the face, not a roundhouse, but a snap-kick using a well-practiced technique. She laughed, musically, in a way that naturally drew others to her. She smiled, tossed her hair over her shoulders, and strolled away. Terry smiled.
Until someone slapped him.
“Come back to me, TH. I don’t give a shit about your mutant spawn. Show me the woman with the purple eyes,” Kirkus demanded, wiping Terry’s sweat and blood from his hand with a rag.
For more from Craig Martelle and to check out his other books: http://www.craigmartelle.com