Katarina Kills V

So, people ask me things. Stuff like "Where the hell are those Kickstarters? (We're working as fast as we can.) How do I get into the gaming industry (Start when you are nine.), and why are you chunkier than that photo of you on the White House press podium? But most to the pointedly, "When will that Katarina Kills novel release?" These blog posts have been extremely popular. So much so that folks forget the name of the novel isn't Katarina Kills, but rather Retribution.  We pick up the story on a dark and lonely West German road, a couple of weeks into World War III. 

The car's lights shone brightly in Hudson's face, blinding him. The words echoed in his mind. What we have to say might change the course of this war. No damn way a corporal, toting a rifle and two magazines of ammo was going to change the course of any war. But Hudson knew it couldn't be about his rifle, it was about the rock. The rock he no longer possessed.

"Okay, I'm listening."

"No, no you're not listening." The voice belonged to Üdvöske. "This is my show, I'm choosing the audience. Not those bloodsuckers."

Both Germans fired, the bullets from their G3 assault rifles keening past Hudson. A tracer drew a laser like line from the Germans to Üdvöske's body. But the body wasn't there. Behind the Bundeswehr officers red smoke solidified, a shapely silhouette, glinting metal in its hand.   Soundlessly, the metal pierced human skull. With a sucking sound it withdrew, the body falling lifeless. The remaining German whirred, its speed unimaginable, a kick aimed at the silhouette's head.  The boot passed through smoke, the shapely body gone. And then back, Üdvöske materialized in front of the German, hand buried to the wrist in his chest. With a sound not unlike a boot pulling from sucking mud she jerked something. A heart? From the German's chest.

The soldier's chin dropped.

"A little less than immortal now, no?" Üdvöske chided.

The soldier-vampire dropped to its knees, then pitched forward onto its face.

Katarina dove, then rolled to her feet. Pistol in hand.

Üdvöske waved a hand, the hand with the dripping heart. "Conglacior!"

And then the world stopped.

At least it seemed that way at first, but Üdvöske moved still, striding toward him. Hudson's arms felt light, without substance, but immobile. He tried to step away from the approaching witch. Nothing, not a muscle twitched. Forward, and to his right, Katarina crouched in her shooter stance, frozen. The night breeze brushed his cheek and beyond Katarina, leaves fluttered on trees.

So the world still moves. It is only Katarina and I who are frozen.

Üdvöske stood in front of him now, hair flaming red, eyes bright green despite the night, a splattering of blood on the blue jean shorts and ripped shirt. She regarded the heart in her hand, shaking her head.

"They make such a big deal about the whole immortality thing, you know?" She cocked her head, looking into Mike's eyes. "Oh, that's right. You can't speak."

She laughed, genuine humor. "Sometimes I forget just how damn good my magic is." 

The heart dropped, splatting gently on the asphalt. "They aren't immortal, but they can be some tough son of a bitches. Vlad, he's a real mother, but as they say, 'One swallow doesn't a summer make."

"Now this," she lifted the stone in her other hand. "This is immortality. This stone lives on. Long after I'm gone, long after Katarina is gone, and a long, long time after you are gone, the stone will exist. Exist for one purpose." She smiled.

"Seems a shame not to use it for that purpose. And I will."

She turned and walked toward the car's still beaming lights. She passed them, their brightness rendering her invisible. 

"Oh, Mike." A brief pause. "The first kill is hard. You know that, no? The next is easier. Somewhere along the line death loses all meaning.  The door's latching mechanism clicked open.

"Thank Katarina for your life. We have a history." 
The door shut and the car backed, turned, and drove away.

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.

Me, the White House, and my lovely wife.