Edward Owen – Author

Ray Bradbury Challenge #40- Kat’s Story

Kat’s Story

Kat

A Shoot First, Forget the Questions Kinda Gal

Katherine “Kat the Gat” McIntyre is one of the characters in “Black Rabbit”, a web series and digital comic I am developing with my partner Dave King. I am killing two birds with one stone as I need backgrounds for these characters and I need ideas for my short stories.

 WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE OF A SEXUAL NATURE.

This is not gratuitous, it serves the purpose of explaining part of Kat’s volatile personality. She is one of the first characters we imagined for Black Rabbit and her history was pretty self evident once she started speaking to us. This will also give you an idea of the level of realism we are planning for the series. The world is a messy, dangerous place and terrorists don’t discriminate.

I will say these stories may span more than one week so I can meet my self imposed word count limit. Thirteen weeks to go in the Challenge, counting today.

London 2006

Kat might have taken the two big ones or the three smaller boys but not all five at once. Not without a weapon. At five foot seven and a hundred and thirty pounds she was not a little girl. Seventeen tough years had tempered her to fighting in large part because of the shit that came out of her mouth.

The five of them formed a circle around her in the alley behind the Four Dogs Tavern, the biggest a head taller than her. He had cold, dark eyes and a crooked grin. His leather jacket made him look older than his eighteen years.

“You lads fancy yourself tough guys now, all five of ya against one wee girl?” Kat’s eyes burned with anger, her fists clenched at her sides.

“What we fancy is a bit of Irish whore meat,” said the boy in the leather jacket. The other boys’ laughter was joyless and cruel.

“What’s the matter?” Kat said. “You get tired o’ poundin’ each other up the arse?”

Their laughter died as if someone had cut their throats. The boys closed the gap, their faces contorted in masks of hatred.

“Mouthy cunt, time someone taught you to respect your betters,” said the boy in the leather jacket as he pulled a knife from his pocket and flipped open the blade.

“Grab the bitch, mates.”

Emboldened by his friend’s weapon, one of the boys grabbed Kat’s left arm and was rewarded with a solid kick to the groin. He crumpled to the ground and Kat kicked him again in the stomach. He retched, his breakfast coloring the asphalt in browns and grays.

Another boy her grabbed her by the hair from behind and yanked her backwards while a third punched her in the side of the head. Tears and flashes of light clouded her vision. Kat stumbled, reached back and grabbed the wrist of the hand in her hair. She twisted around and the boy’s wrist joint snapped under the force of her grip. He howled in pain, his cries echoing down the alley. The boy who had punched her took another swing but Kat ducked and hit him in the mouth. Blood sprayed from his busted lip as he said, “Fuckin’ bitch. Cut her up, Denny.”

The way he held the knife showed her he knew how to use it. He took a swipe at her and she dodged backwards. With her eyes on the blade she missed the boy with the busted wrist. He kicked her feet and sent her sprawling to the ground. They were on her in seconds. She bloodied one of their noses before Denny stuck the knife in her arm. She screamed and he placed the blade against her throat.

“One more stupid move like that and I’ll open you like a hot little piggy.”

Groping hands tore her clothing away from her body. When her jeans proved too difficult to remove, Denny sliced them apart with the knife. He ran the side of the blade over her ample breasts. With one of them holding her arms and two on her legs, Kat was unable to fight back. She grimaced as Denny ran his fingers up her bare thigh then slid them inside her.

“You know you be likin’ that now,” said Denny. “Well, I got something a whole lot better right here.”

He unzipped his pants and slid them down, his erection at full mast. The knife blade gleamed under the dull street lamp as his dropped to his knees and placed the blade against her throat.

“Now you and me’s gonna have us a little fun. An remember, I’d as soon cut ya as fuck ya.”

The penetration was sudden and brutal. Denny grunted and groaned as he thrust himself into her. He climaxed with two final thrusts and pulled away from her.

“Who’s up for sloppy seconds?” he said as he zipped his pants.

Each of them had a go at her. The one with the busted lip punched her in the mouth when he finished. Denny held the cold steel against her throat as the other boys released their grip on her.

“Now then, whore, you just stay put. And don’t be runnin’ your big mouth off to the cops cause we’ll just vouch that we was in Sean’s room playin’ video games.”

The five of them ran from the alley, jeering and slapping each other on the back. Kat pulled as much of her clothing over her as she could and limped home. She did not go to the hospital nor the police. She rested and let her wounds heal. And she asked questions.

Did the barkeep know a boy named Denny who had black hair and wore a leather jacket?

The woman who owned the bakery said she knew him and his friend Sean. The latter boy had his arm in a cast because of a bicycle accident. As soon as she left the shop Kat relished the thought of Sean’s injury.

That broken wrist won’t be the last or the least of his problems.

She took her time and made mental notes of where the boys lived and where they spent their time together and alone. Her boss gave her a week off with pay and didn’t ask any questions.

“You buying this for your fella?” asked the owner of the sports shop as she laid the cricket bat on the counter.

“Nah, it’s for me to use,” she answered, handing him two notes. “You can keep the change if you’ll forget you saw me.”

The man nodded, stuck the cash in his pocket, and never rang up the sale.

*****

Kat waited in the alley. Two of the boys, Jimmy and Horace, exited the back of the arcade and headed toward her, engaging in the general horseplay to which most teenage boys are prone. She ran her gloved hand over the taped handle of the bat.

(to be continued)

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