Katarina Kills. An Excerpt from Retribution

What follows is an excerpt from Retribution, the sequel to my military horror novel, World at War: Revelation. For the uninitiated, Revelation is set in World War III. It is part Harold Coylesque (sic) military adventure, part Stephen Kingesque (sic) horror. I take pride in making both parts as real, as gritty, as possible. Not gross, not needlessly bloody, just... well, I like to think of my descriptions as real. Moving on to Retribution.

Mike Hudson is a soldier, one of the protagonists in Revelation. He thinks he loves Katarina, an amoral, 400-year old vampire. In this scene he's confronted with the reality of the creature. 
Retribution is on Kickstarter until February 23rd. Some pretty cool pledge levels, add-ons, and stretch goals, including signed posters, an RPG, bookmarks, and more. Click here to visit the Kickstarter.

Retribution 

Chapter 31

On the rear wall of the kitchen, the door exited into the back yard. The home’s owner, who had long since fled with his family, knew about the squeaky door, and had meant to oil the hinges. He never did. They squealed loudly now.

Hudson tucked the rifle to his shoulder and took a step toward the bedroom door.

“Mike, no.”

Kat’s voice was barely audible. She gestured to the floor beside the bed. “Get down. Be ready.” 

“Fuck that.” Another step.

She put a hand on the barrel, pushed it down, growling. “Do it.”

A pause, and then somewhat softer. “I need this.”

He glanced. The blue fire burned in her eyes. Hudson nodded. He lay beside the bed, pulled the covers down to conceal, and settled the rifle’s sights on the door. Kat wrapped herself in a sheet and returned to the wall. Her back to the drywall.

She gave him a wink.
 

The intruders spoke loudly, in Russian. They banged in the kitchen, cupboard doors clacking against their neighbor, pans rattling, an opening refrigerator sighing. Boisterous laughter.

They aren’t even checking the rest of the house. Hudson shook his head in disbelief.

“Help me!”

Kat’s voice, loud, yet plaintive, shocked Hudson. The reply was instantaneous. Boots thudded down the hall, a voice barked, the word foreign.

Two soldiers burst into the room, green Russian fatigues rumpled, soiled at the knees and elbow, faces unshaven, rifles ready. They were ready but for a moment. Kat let the sheet fall from her, and stepped from the pool of linen at her feet.

“Help me,” she repeated, he voice a sensual whisper, and the Russians had eyes for nothing but her curves.

The rifles lowered, and one spoke, a leer curling his lips, the other laughed in reply, making a show of grabbing his crotch. Kat smiled, a hand caressing her breast. Both men stepped to her. Both died.

Hudson wasn’t sure he followed the discrete movements. She was little slower than a blur. An arcing kick caught one soldier in the side of his face, the impact loud, louder than he expected, propelling the man into the wall, cracking the drywall. He slid to the floor. Lifeless. In the same whirring motion she hooked her forearm around the other’s neck, pulling him to her, his back pressed against her chest. He struggled, fumbling with his AK. Her free hand grabbed his arm, ripping it from the rifle, wrenching it back until the bone snapped loudly. No scream, the man couldn’t draw air to scream. The rifle fell to the floor, metal thunking against hard wood. And then she bit.

Hudson knew she drank the living’s blood. He knew it, but until now didn’t understand the reality of it. There was nothing subtle, nothing gentil, nothing romantic. She bit low on his neck, near the artery, and the blood spurted, glistening on her exposed cheek, running down her arm, splashing on the wooden floor like spilled soda.  She slurped, releasing her neck hold, moving the freed hand under his arm, preventing him from collapsing. His head lolled, but he wasn’t dead. The soldier coughed blood, emitted wheezing mewing noises, his legs making feeble kicks, the eyes open wide as if admitting more light would birth understanding. His bladder relaxed, urine mixing with the floor’s blood, the smell ammonic, coppery, sickening. Still Kat slurped. Hudson retched, the bile coming fast and hot. The Russian’s body, unnaturally white, slumped to the floor, his lifeless face staring at Hudson, his neck ripped, bloodless muscles exposed.

Hudson stood, the house breathless, soundless except for Katarina’s gentle panting. Absently he wiped the vomit from his mouth. Kat leaned against the wall, blood glistening on her throat and chest, nipples raised, blue fire churning her irises.

Those churning irises turned to him. She spoke, her voice crushed velvet. “Now,” she nodded, “you understand.”

          Once again the bile rose. He heard a rifle fall and realized it was his own. Two steps and she was in his arms, her bloody nakedness hot against him, on her tongue the dead Russian’s blood.

Mark H. Walker served 23 years in the United States Navy, most of them as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal diver. He is the owner of Flying Pig Games, the designer of the aliens-invade-Earth game Night of Man, the author of Desert Moon, an exciting mecha, military science fiction novel with a twist, with plenty of damn science fiction in it despite what any reviewer says, as well as World at War: Revelation, a creepy, military action, with a love story, alternate history, World War Three novel thing, Everyone Dies in the End, and numerous short stories. All the books and stories are available from Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing right here. Give them a try. I mean, what the hell? The games? Well that's Flying Pig Games. Retribution will release in the summer of 2015.

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