Once the contented wife of a mercenary, the battlefield was the last place Cathy envisioned herself to be in. But when her husband was killed while protecting her from the nuclear havoc, this woman decided to take her burning hatred to the battle grounds for the ultimate carnage. The rest, they say, is history.
Cathy was 28-years-old when she lost her husband in nuclear war of 2033. The story will cover her issues with her husband, leading up to the incident where he dies while saving her from the blasts. It will be a personal and intimate story for her. It will give a bit more substance to a character most people just see as "that angry chubby lady" in BlackShot.
She rolled over and felt him next to her. She turned to see him stir a bit and fall back to sleep, snoring softly. The feeling of post coital bliss was still lingering as she let out a sigh, still keeping her eyes on him. And for a perfect moment, she was calm.
"What a pretty young, thing," she thought to herself and stroked his arm lightly. She couldn't believe he wanted to be with her. She's always been one of the girls that you never notice. Starting way back in high school and through college, university, all the way till she joined her old man's business. Well, you seldom get noticed when you're holding a meat hammer and selling sirloins.
But he did notice her and from the get-go, it was full-on flirting. Within a week, they were getting intimate, heck no, they were living out their wildest fantasies. He was young and strong and full of energy. And it was contagious too. She felt like a young woman again, even though she was pushing thirty. She had never been so confident or comfortable with her own body before. Passion could be the way to immortality.
She slowly got up and out of bed, making sure she didn't wake him. Outside, dawn was breaking softly and the sounds of early morning were filtering into the room. She would have to put on that blood-stained apron and chop up more dead cows for the whole day. But she'd be fine. For she knew, she would be back in his arms come sundown.
He was a shy and private man. Brought up in a strict and religious family, he enlisted the day he turned eighteen. Girls were alien to him and he hardly had time to pursue. All he did was serve his country and made sure his family was safe from harm.
Then he met her.
He was the age of thirty by then and was back in town for a short while. She was just twenty years old and as shy as him. He noticed her in the corner of his eye at an army ball, cliched as it may sound, standing listlessly at the back. The other girls and army boys were mingling and making merry but she seemed rather reclusive and hard to approach.
If it were an ordinary day, he would've just stood there and have never made the first move. But as he finished his third whisky, some courage started building up in him (much thanks to the vice that is alcohol) and ended up making conversation with her.
And he would never regret doing that.
The night passed with them finding out more about each other and one thing led to another. By the next month when he shipped out again with the troops, they were already engaged to be married. On his next trip back, they were married in a little ceremony. It was nothing extravagant but she wore a pretty white dress and he was in his smart uniform.
They both didn't care. It was a perfect day.
Rumours started spreading about the impending war and the unrest that had been getting intensified with each passing day. Everywhere she looked, there were people with worried faces, anxiously waiting for their loved ones' return.
She waited each day as well.
He kept telling her that they should start making their way to the bunkers, which are more than a handful of miles away. Some ships came to pick up anyone who would want to travel to the bunkers, but the stubborn ones, those who haven't given up hope, stayed behind.
A few weeks passed and most people in the town have left and gone. But she was still there. And so was he. He had been nagging her, and begging her to leave the town with him, but she was stubborn. Her shop has been closed as well and her work utensils, most notably her meat hammer, were laid out on the dining table.
By then, it wasn't just rumours anymore. Official government announcements had come out, urging people to make their way to the bunkers. They also heard news about ships being attacked and wars being declared all over the world. Everything was dark and grim.
Still, she waited.
For she knew, somehow, somewhere, he was still alive and making his way back to her.
The date was the fifteenth of November, 2033.
It was a gloomy day, she remembered. Grey clouds filled the sky, impatiently waiting to let loose the rain. The town was almost completely deserted. The cold winds blew through the streets like a bellowing call for the hopeless.
That was the day they fought.
They were arguing about leaving once more and it got heated and tempers flared, leading to physical abuse, leading to passionate intimacy. As they were in the midst of it, right there in the living room, the front door slammed open, and there he was.
Battle-worn and nearly unrecognizable. Shocked and not believing his eyes. He stood there at the doorway and stared at her, and her lover. She cursed her luck under her breath and was the first to move. She quickly got up and called out to him.
That was when he snapped and charged towards the younger man. He whipped out his pistol and tried to shoot. But the younger man was faster, much, much faster. She was pushed aside and she watched as her husband received a swift kick to the face. The pistol went flying and the young man grabbed a meat cleaver from the table. Her husband got back to his feet but was immediately slashed across the chest and abdomen with the cleaver.
Her scream of anguish rang out loud.
Her husband went down, bleeding profusely. She screamed at the younger man to stop but he told her to keep quiet. She whimpered and backed away towards the dining table. She could see her husband struggling up to his knees. The younger man, still holding the cleaver, stood tall and began mocking her husband, telling him about how his wife squealed and wiggled in delight thanks to him. She could see the bitter dark eyes of her husband as the younger man raised the cleaver to deliver the killing blow.
There was a very loud splat. The younger man's eyes went blank and his lifeless body slumped to the floor. Her husband looked up and saw her standing, shaking in anger and remorse. In her right hand, gripped tightly, was the bloodied meat hammer, the one she had been using throughout her whole life.
She let the meat hammer drop and kneeled down, embracing him. And started sobbing. And at that moment, despite the hatred that was burning inside him, he remembered her. She was the girl he spoke to at that army ball many years ago. She was his bride in the pretty white dress on that perfect day. She was his wife who kept waiting for him to come back from each tour of duty.
And she waited for him.
He could feel his breaths getting heavy, his lungs filling up with blood. He collapsed onto the floor. "The last ship..." he told her, gasping. "The last ship will leave in the hour." She told him she would fix him up first and then the two of them could go together. "There's no time," he said. "The wounds are too deep." He brushed his hand on her cheek.
That was what he said with his last breath. All was still afterwards and the silence was broken only by the sirens starting up. Kathy grabbed her bags, stuffing the bloodied meat hammer in as well, and walked out of the house. She didn't look back.
And like that, she left her husband and her lover.
And like that, she left her old life.