The space opera isn’t too gory yet. Altogether it’s also more sci-fi than horror. As for how I handle gore otherwise, I mainly just try to make it sound as realistic as possible. Here’s a taster:
Chapter 10 Stop Resisting!
There weren’t just different kinds of people, Katherine had realized shortly after leaving Oxford. There were whole other intellectually dumbed-down, and hormonally wound-up sub-species of human beings. Moreover, as much as Katherine knew the idea was tantamount to mass murder, the best thing for the world, she often thought, would be for the most emotionally delinquent of sub-species just to disappear.
With the police, for example, especially the English ones, you could point at ever-increasing numbers of Eastern European and Middle Eastern officers, and you could explain to them that that they too would soon be on the other side of Fulfillment Center picket lines, but they simply couldn’t get it.
Likewise, you could put ex-officers in front of them who’d been microwaved alive by the Trans-European Trunked Radios they were all forced to carry, yet still-serving officers still managed to convince themselves that everyone but them was intellectually remiss.
Katherine realized, of course, that it was much more complicated than the police just being hand-picked thugs and goons made to feel special by being put in uniform. The police represented a society inside a society. One which classed itself not just apart from, but superior to, the society whose rule of law it was tasked with upholding.
However, it didn’t matter to Katherine how or why the police were the way they were. Instead, whenever she was forced to look upon them, all she ever saw was a contingent of pale, overweight and spiritually vacant human beings; ones who deserved all the microwave radiation-induced cancers, and sinking into alcoholism after being made redundant. Mother Nature might even, Katherine considered, already be busy whittling out the most morally and intellectually delinquent of humans, by virtue of their being inclined to join the police in the first place.
All this being the case, Katherine had never feared the police in the same way that Ashya and everyone else did. To her they were nothing more than mentally stunted hooligans to whom she was in every respect superior.
The problem, then, Katherine considered as she looked up at the balaclava-wearing officer who had dragged her out of the phone box, squatted on her chest, and was swinging blow after blow against each side of her head with the hammers he had for hands, was that she had grossly underestimated the power and prowess of fools.
“STOP RESISTING!” the officer on top of her screamed into her face again as she started to lose herself in the criss-cross of the overhead airplane trails and the too-close sound of boots scrunching against loose asphalt.
How was she possibly resisting? Katherine thought at him. She couldn’t speak because her jaw was already broken, and she couldn’t move because of the dead weight he had pinned her under. Then again, this was probably what Mr Hammers For Hands had to say for the sake of his clipped on mic.
Then, as Katherine’s head was being smashed from side to side, she caught sight of something through the pink watery blur of her peripheral vision. A BBC news team had arrived and had set up cameras by the train station. Meanwhile, a Secure-U police sergeant had knelt down in front of them. Just as one of the crew finished counting down from three, a series of for-effect explosions nearby sent the sergeant in a contrived roll across the roadside. Someone then seemed to say cut and the sergeant got up and started shaking hands with everyone.
Katherine’s head swung back the other way and something in her neck cracked. Then, as the officer on top of her swung at her head from the other side, Katherine felt a tooth in her already broken jaw shunt free and fall to rest in the coppery tasting pool fast accumulating ed at the back of her throat.
“No. No. Please. I’m choking now. Stop it.” She tried to say. “I’m not resisting. I’m…” but Katherine’s voice only managed to come back at her in a suffocated, incomprehensible mumble. Worse, the sergeant on top of her seemed to interpret her trying to speak as some new act of resistance.
“I SAID, STOP RESISTING!”
Shaking with fury, the sergeant unclipped something from his thigh.
“No!” Katherine tried and this time did manage to form the word correctly.
However, the baton was already bearing down on her. As it thwacked against her temple for the first time, Katherine felt her mouth drop open and her eyes extricate themselves from their ability to focus, as if her whole head had been rendered useless.
Numb with shock, she didn’t feel much pain. In fact, the second and third pummelling blunt force blows felt more like far away and barely perceptible raps against a hardwood door, not the bloody contours of what used to be her cranium. However, Katherine did still have a grotesque and nightmarish awareness of what was happening to her.
What will I look like when this is over? she wondered, hoping like she did in nightmares, that everything she could feel happening to her was just illusion.
However, then something seemed to loosen and Katherine realized that she could resist. She was free of herself and could feel her mother and father down the line of the still close by payphone she’d used to call them. She could try and go to them, she realized dreamily. She could…
Something cracked like a coconut and Katherine’s eyes closed.