I’m almost ready to publish my first story on Amazon! My Halloween horror story from last year, titled Here Comes the Reaper will be my first story available as an ebook! I’ve found an artist who is currently working on a cover and I’m going to do a final edit/rewrite of the story. It will be slightly different from the version that’s on the website right now. (Having read it again after almost a year, I found a few things that need to be fixed.) The artist is Kkylimos, a fellow Newgrounder. You should check out his profile, he’s got some good stuff and some warhammer pieces, which is how I found him. He’s shown me some basic sketches of what the cover will look like and I’m really impressed. I can’t wait for the real thing!
I’m really excited about finally getting one of my stories on the kindle for lots of people to read. I hope that people like it!
And now, back to Snow Can Kill. We’re nearing the end of the first chapter and I’d like to know what you think! Tell me things you liked, things you didn’t, and maybe things you’d like to hear more about in the future. What aspects of the story’s universe interest you and would you like to see developed?
As always, if you’re new, here’s a list of previous updates to get you caught up!
Snow Can Kill Part 7
Dimitri was no stranger to screaming. As a child, he remembered hearing an old man get beaten in the street just outside his window as he lay in bed. Since joining the army, he had seen and heard the hundreds of way men could be killed. During battle his radio was filled with the cries of the dying. He had heard the wails of crew who were burned alive, trapped in their mechs. Dimitri thought he knew all the sounds pain could cause, but as he pulled the tip of the pincer out of Yanin, he knew these screams would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The metal shard slid out with one solid tug. The tip of the pincer was red with blood, and Dimitri tossed it away. Ignoring the awful sounds coming from inside Yanin’s ride, Dimitri immediately grabbed the other pincer. He gave a fierce tug, but it didn’t come out. The howling increased in volume. The pincer must have gotten bent as it penetrated the armor of Yanin’s mech. If Dimitri pulled it straight out, it would tear Yanin’s side to shreds and he would bleed out. Dimitri gritted his teeth and began to work the pincer out, teasing the metal free painstakingly slowly.
Inside his ride, Yanin was cursing and screaming for someone, but Dimitri couldn’t make out who. Dimitri’s brow furrowed in concentration, not bothering to wipe the snow from his eyes. He slowly turned the metal blade, pulling it gently towards him. He felt something give and then it slid out smoothly. Holding it up so that he could get a good look at it, Dimitri shuddered as he saw the jagged, twisted state of the pincer’s tip. A fresh bought of screaming assaulted Dimitri’s ears. He dropped the treacherous claw and began to scrabble up the side of Yanin’s mech. The wind buffeted him as he climbed, trying to tear him from the machine’s metal body.
Dimitri fought his way to the top and hauled himself to the hatch. It had grown disturbingly silent. No screams clawed from the interior of the mech. “No,” Dimitri mumbled. He started to pull himself into the hatch. “No no no.” He saw the roll of gauze in Yanin’s lap, stained with blood. Yanin’s hands were slick with it, and his pants were uniformly crimson. A crude bandage had been applied to the wounds, but it was impossible to tell if Yanin was still bleeding. There was blood everywhere. Wriggling into the hatch and standing on the machines’ controls, he felt Yanin’s neck. He almost laughed when he felt the weak pulse.
Grabbing the roll of gauze, he wrapped it around Yanin’s waist. He undid Yanin’s restraints and, as gingerly as possible, lifted him up by the arms. Yanin moaned but did not wake up. “Looks like that alcohol is coming in handy after all,” Dimitri grumbled. After much struggling Dimitri finally succeeded in pushing Yanin’s form out through the hatch above him. Dimitri grabbed Yanin’s radio codebook, which was sticky and red like everything else in Yanin’s cockpit. How the hell was he still alive after losing this much blood? Well, maybe his durability made up for his plethora of other deficiencies.
He dragged Yanin over to the Roxolan mech before sitting down to rest for a moment. All this climbing up and down mechs, running through waist deep snow, and performing impromptu surgery was exhausting. He propped Yanin up against the open hatch. Dimitri looked over to the Roxolan pilot who was still sitting where Dimitri had left him. The Roxolan’s eyes were glassy, but cloudy puffs of breath still escaped from his scarf.
Dimitri raised his eyes to the purpling sky. The clouds looked like ugly bruises. The snow continued to billow through the air. They had to get moving. Yanin needed a real doctor. He looked at his two companions and then over to his own ride, still in its killing pose. The snow was drifting around its ankles. How was he going to get two wounded men back in a mech that uncomfortably seated one?