Shank

by Robert J. Krog

“This man died for you,” he stammered.

  “Yeah, he did,” Shaw said flatly, looking up from the face of his opponent, skipping right over Ken.

  “I can’t believe it,” the real estate agent said. “He gave his life for you.”

  “Yeah, he should have been quicker on the draw and checked the windows better.”

  “What?”

  “I said he should have checked better, and he might still be alive.” He was losing the conversation already.

  In the office behind the agent and his frightened assistant was a stack of papers that should have given him his island. It had all become meaningless in the aftermath of a single phone call.

  “Who cares that he saved me?” Shaw said. “I’m nothing. I have nothing.”

  “You’re alive, and they’re dead.”

  “I can never get it back,” he replied, but he was talking to himself. His skin itched all over, and he scratched himself. His millions were gone, irretrievably gone—how, he had no idea. His apartment, his antique rifles, the Luger, and his WWII book collection were gone. He had no bed and almost no money. He looked down and saw where the Beretta had fallen. He picked it up.

  “We’ve called 911,” the real estate agent said, not knowing what else to say.

  “I can never get it back. Frustration and a heap of bloody flesh,” Shaw said, turning and heading for the door.

  “Mr. Shaw?” the agent began, not sure what he was asking.

  Shaw shot him a last look and said, “In his frustration, he clawed his way out of his skin and stalked away bloody, leaving it there in a heap on the ground.”

  “What?” the agent stammered.

  Shaw neither saw nor heard him anymore. He stepped out and stood on the front step, letting the door bang shut behind him. He stuffed the Beretta back in its holster. Not far away, the sirens of various emergency vehicles were wailing as they approached.

  Itching all over, itching so that no amount of scratching would assuage it, he walked from the front step down to the sidewalk and turned right, following the road east, heading for the coast, leaving his Jaguar behind. As he scratched, he muttered names. “Brenda, Witherbot, Hooker.”

  After several miles, he gave up the futile scratching, pulled Clawson’s Beretta back out of its holster, and carried it in his left hand, thinking about where to point it. Ahead of him, he saw bloody footprints on the sidewalk, leading out into a desolate landscape.

  Chapter 13

  Satisfaction of a Kind

  Sometime between eight and nine in the evening, Augusta Sanders prayed with her boys, blessed them, and tucked them into their beds. She found a book—the one she’d been working on, back before George had been murdered—and took it to bed with her to read until she got sleepy. Eventually, eyes tired, satisfied that some things, at least, were right again, she set the book on the bedside table, rolled over, laid her head on George’s pillow, and drifted off to sleep.

  About Robert J. Krog

  Robert J. Krog is a writer/sometimes anthology editor living and working in the Memphis area. He is the author of the collections, The Stone Maiden and Other Tales and Hazards and Harrows. His novelette, A Bag Full of Eyes, won the Darrel Award. His short Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror have appeared in various journals and anthologies. Anthologies he has edited include A Tall Ship, a Star, and Plunder from Dark Oak Press and No Greater Love: Martyrs of Earth and Elsewhere from Hiraeth SFFH. Shank, the fifth novel set in CKP’s Hit World, is his first novel.

  * * * * *

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  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy:

  Salvage Title

  ___________________

  Kevin Steverson

  Now Available from Theogony Books

  eBook, Paperback, and Audio

  Excerpt from “Salvage Title:”

  A steady beeping brought Harmon back to the present. Clip’s program had succeeded in unlocking the container. “Right on!” Clip exclaimed. He was always using expressions hundreds or more years out of style. “Let’s see what we have; I hope this one isn’t empty, too.” Last month they’d come across a smaller vault, but it had been empty.

  Harmon stepped up and wedged his hands into the small opening the door had made when it disengaged the locks. There wasn’t enough power in the small cells Clip used to open it any further. He put his weight into it, and the door opened enough for them to get inside. Before they went in, Harmon placed a piece of pipe in the doorway so it couldn’t close and lock on them, baking them alive before anyone realized they were missing.

  Daylight shone in through the doorway, and they both froze in place; the weapons vault was full. In it were two racks of rifles, stacked on top of each other. One held twenty magnetic kinetic rifles, and the other held some type of laser rifle. There was a rack of pistols of various types. There were three cases of flechette grenades and one of thermite. There were cases of ammunition and power clips for the rifles and pistols, and all the weapons looked to be in good shape, even if they were of a strange design and clearly not made in this system. Harmon couldn’t tell what system they had been made in, but he could tell what they were.

  There were three upright containers on one side and three more against the back wall that looked like lockers. Five of the containers were not locked, so Clip opened them. The first three each held two sets of light battle armor that looked like it was designed for a humanoid race with four arms. The helmets looked like the ones Harmon had worn at the academy, but they were a little long in the face. The next container held a heavy battle suit—one that could be sealed against vacuum. It was also designed for a being with four arms. All the armor showed signs of wear, with scuffed helmets. The fifth container held shelves with three sizes of power cells on them. The largest power cells—four of them—were big enough to run a mech.

  Harmon tried to force the handle open on the last container, thinking it may have gotten stuck over time, but it was locked and all he did was hurt his hand. The vault seemed like it had been closed for years.

  Clip laughed and said, “That won’t work. It’s not age or metal fatigue keeping the door closed. Look at this stuff. It may be old, but it has been sealed in for years. It’s all in great shape.”

  “Well, work some of your tech magic then, ‘Puter Boy,” Harmon said, shaking out his hand.

  Clip pulled out a small laser pen and went to work on the container. It took another ten minutes, but finally he was through to the locking mechanism. It didn’t take long after that to get it open.

  Inside, there were two items—an eight-inch cube on a shelf that looked like a hard drive or a computer and the large power cell it was connected to. Harmon reached for it, but Clip grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t! Let me check it before you move it. It’s hooked up to that power cell for a reason. I want to know why.”

  Harmon shrugged. “Okay, but I don’t see any lights; it has probably been dead for years.”

  Clip took a sensor reader out of his kit, one of the many tools he had improved. He checked the cell and the device. There was a faint amount of power running to it that barely registered on his screen. There were several ports on the back along with the slot where the power cell was hooked in. He checked to make sure the connections were tight, he then carried the two devices to the hovercraft.

  Clip then called Rinto’s personal comm from the communicator in the hovercraft. When Rinto answered, Clip looked at Harmon and winked. “Hey boss, we found some stuff worth a hovercraft full of credit…probably two. Can we have it?” he asked.

  * * * * *

  Get “Salvage Title” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H8Q3H
BV.

  Find out more about Kevin Steverson and “Salvage Title” at: https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/kevin-steverson/.

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of the Singularity War:

  Warrior: Integration

  ___________________

  David Hallquist

  Now Available from Theogony Books

  eBook and Paperback

  Excerpt from “Warrior: Integration:”

  I leap into the pit. As I fall in the low gravity, I run my hands and feet along the rock walls, pushing from one side to another, slowing my descent. I hit the pool below and go under.

  I swim up through the greenish chemicals and breach the surface. I can see a human head silhouetted against the circle of light above. Time to go. I slide out of the pool quickly. The pool explodes behind me. Grenade, most likely. The tall geyser of steam and spray collapses as I glide into the darkness of the caves ahead.

  They are shooting to kill now.

  I glide deeper into the rough tunnels. Light grows dimmer. Soon, I can barely see the rock walls around me. I look back. I can see the light from the tunnel reflected upon the pool. They have not come down yet. They’re cautious; they won’t just rush in. I turn around a bend in the tunnel, and light is lost to absolute darkness.

  The darkness means little to me anymore. I can hear them talking as their voices echo off the rock. They are going to send remotes down first. They have also decided to kill me rather than capture me. They figure the docs can study whatever they scrape off the rock walls. That makes my choices simple. I figured I’d have to take out this team anyway.

  The remotes are on the way. I can hear the faint whine of micro-turbines. They will be using the sensors on the remotes and their armor, counting on the darkness blinding me. Their sensors against my monster. I wonder which will win.

  Everything becomes a kind of gray, blurry haze as my eyes adapt to the deep darkness. I can see the tunnel from sound echoes as I glide down the dark paths. I’m also aware of the remotes spreading out in a search pattern in the tunnel complex.

  I’ll never outrun them. I need to hide, but I glow in infra-red. One of the remotes is closing, fast.

  I back up against a rock wall, and force the monster to hide me. It’s hard; it wants to fight, but I need to hide first. I feel the numbing cold return as my temperature drops, hiding my heat. I feel the monster come alive, feel it spread through my body and erupt out of my skin. Fibers spread over my skin, covering me completely in fibrous camouflage. They harden, fusing me to the wall, leaving me unable to move. I can’t see, and I can barely breathe. If the remotes find me here, I’m dead.

  The remote screams by. I can’t see through the fibers, but it sounds like an LB-24, basically a silver cigar equipped with a small laser.

  I can hear the remote hover nearby. Can it see me? It pauses and then circles the area. Somehow, the fibers hide me. It can’t see me, but it knows something is wrong. It drops on the floor to deposit a sensor package and continues on. Likely it signaled the men upstairs about an anomaly. They’ll come and check it out.

  The instant I move, the camera will see me. So I wait. I listen to the sounds of the drones moving and water running in the caves. These caves are not as lifeless as I thought; a spider crawls across my face. I’m as still as stone.

  Soon, the drones have completed their search pattern and dropped sensors all over the place. I can hear them through the rock, so now I have a mental map of the caves stretching out down here. I wait.

  They send the recall, and the drones whine past on the way up. They lower ropes and rappel down the shaft. They pause by the pool, scanning the tunnels and blasting sensor pulses of sound, and likely radar and other scans as well. I wait.

  They move carefully down the tunnels. I can feel their every movement through the rock, hear their every word. These men know what they are doing: staying in pairs, staying in constant communication, and checking corners carefully. I wait.

  One pair comes up next to me. They pause. One of them has bad breath. I can feel the tension; they know something is wrong. They could shoot me any instant. I wait.

  “Let’s make sure.” I hear a deep voice and a switch clicks.

  Heat and fire fill the tunnel. I can see red light through the fibers. Roaring fire sucks all the air away, and the fibers seal my nose before I inhale flame. The fibers protect me from the liquid flame that covers everything. I can feel the heat slowly begin to burn through.

  It’s time.

  * * * * *

  Get “Warrior: Integration” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0875SPH86

  Find out more about David Hallquist and “Warrior: Integration” at: https://chriskennedypublishing.com/

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Devil Calls the Tune:

  Devil Calls the Tune

  ___________________

  Chris Maddox

  Now Available from Theogony Books

  eBook, Paperback, and (Soon) Audio

  Excerpt from “Devil Calls the Tune:”

  Kenyon shouted, “Flyer! Fast mover!”

  Everyone grabbed their packs and started running. When McCarthy didn’t, Devlin grabbed him by his uniform shirt and yelled, “Come on!”

  The little outcropping they had weathered under was part of a larger set of hills. Devlin and McCarthy made for a sheer cliff face that was tall enough that it would make strafing difficult. They dove behind a few rocks, and Devlin peered over one. The flier had overshot the group and was circling.

  McCarthy reached into his pack and pulled out a rail pistol and magazine. He slapped the magazine home into its well and charged the pistol.

  “Where the fark did you get that!” Devlin panted. He reached over and took the pistol. McCarthy let him.

  “This was the surprise,” McCarthy said. “I found the pistol, then searched the wreckage for ammo. I found some and parts to a bunch of rifles. Most were in bad shape, but Pringle figured he might be able to cobble together a couple from the parts. He was going take the lot back to the camp so they would have something to defend the wounded with. He sent me with this for you. Best we could get together at the time. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. This is pretty good. I won’t beat the shit out of you now for the fire.”

  “The fire?” McCarthy looked blank for a moment, then realization hit. “Oh, you think that the fire attracted—”

  “Our flying friend over there. Yeah, I just—get your head down!” He pulled at McCarthy as rounds from the flier dug into the earth. There was something odd about this one.

  He took a quick look. This wasn’t the same flier that had attacked the camp, this one was…

  “Drone!” Devlin yelled. He watched the thing from the rocks, watched it circle around again. He braced the pistol on the rocks, steadied, and waited.

  When the drone started its run again, Devlin sighted in, breathed out, and fired.

  The drone disintegrated in a fiery cloud as the MAC round entered its main capacitor bank. He watched it fall and then rose from behind the rocks. McCarthy joined him.

  Devlin looked over at the tree line and waved his arm. A moment later, Kenyon appeared, followed by Gartlan and MacBain.

  “Devlin!” Decker’s voice came out of the tree line. Kenyon and the others started to where Decker’s voice had come from. Devlin started to run.

  He found the group gathered around Decker. She was holding Moran’s head in her lap. Moran’s uniform had a red stain in the abdomen that was growing larger by the moment.

  “Got hit as I dived into the woods,” Moran croaked. Her blond hair was already slick with sweat, her face pale.

  “Sorry, Devlin. I…I…” her voice trailed off as her implant fed nanites and nighty-night into her system. A moment later she looked dead, which for all intents and purposes she was.

  Devlin rubbed his scalp. He glared over at
McCarthy, whose shocked face got even paler as he looked at the body, hibernating though it was, of Lisa Moran. He bowed his head and started to stammer, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

  “Shut up, Tom. Just shut up,” Devlin said tiredly. “You didn’t know; you had no way of knowing. This wasn’t even the same flier that attacked the camp. Just a stupid mistake, but it’s one that we have to deal with now. Is anybody else hurt?”

  Arnette was sitting on the ground beside Decker with her legs crossed. She held one ankle in her hands. “Well, now that you mention it…” She looked at Devlin with pain-filled eyes. “I think my ankle is broken. I stepped straight into a hole as I came into the woods.”

  Decker moved her legs out from underneath Moran’s head and laid it gently on the ground. She made her way to the other woman. Gartlan bent down as well and said, “Let’s get your boot off.”

  Together, the two started trying to get the girl’s boot off. When Arnette hissed once and nearly passed out, they realized they’d have to cut it off. Gartlan produced a tactical knife and used the monomolecular edge to slice down the side of the boot. His cut made, he handed the knife to Decker, who sliced down the foot portion of the boot, careful not to cut too deeply.