enjoy it category.” He laughed again, “That’s more job security for me, I guess.”
Stewart walked to the wall and pushed a button. Doors behind the screaming man opened, and chains on the ceiling lifted him from the pool and moved along a track to the opening. Beyond the opening, a pit ten feet deep by thirty in diameter came to view. It was filled with a dozen large pigs.
The chains carried the writhing man over the pit, then the shackles suddenly released, dropping him into the midst of the swine. The reaction was immediate and more terrifying than seeing Stewart working with his skinning knives. The swine tore into the man, ripping him to shreds and eating him alive. His limbs tore easily from his body by the five hundred pound beasts. Stewart laughed at Flinch, who resumed his vomiting.
“Want to bet on the time?” Stewart said to Flinch.
Flinch’s face was pale and he looked near passing out.
“The record is two minutes, thirty-five seconds, but I guess this group isn’t hungry enough to get the record.” Stewart grinned. After a few moments, Stewart announced, “Three minutes and eighteen seconds. Not bad.”
He pushed another button. A side door in the pit opened and the swine ran through it. Other than a few bloodstains on the floor, there were no signs the prisoner ever existed. Stewart looked at John and said, “I’ll get hungry ones for you, Doctor. Maybe you’ll get the record.”
Both hooded men began moving toward John.
CHAPTER 12
EXTRACTION
John attempted a valiant escape as his bindings were cut. Unfortunately, his captors were experienced in transporting the unwilling. John quickly found himself in shackles; arms pulled above his head by chains. His feet were in the blue pool and, looking down, he could see several measuring probes and coils in the base. Upon lifting his head, he met the smiling features of Captain Stewart. Stewart stuck his face three inches from John’s nose.
“Doctor, I have to cause extreme pain so your sebaceous glands will release the needed protein,” said Stewart, “Benzene will solubilize and wash it into the collecting basin. I’ll then extract the protein from the benzene. I hope you’ll be cooperative.” Stewart laughed.
“I can’t believe Senator Snivaling knows what you’re doing,” said John.
“Not only does she know, she placed a special order just for you,” Stewart said and poked John in the chest.
“Impossible,” said John, “There’s no way a United States senator and ASC official could be aware of what goes on here.”
“Now that’s a laugh,” said Stewart, “Not only is she aware, but she personally developed the residual extraction process. You didn’t know it, but before she replaced her deceased husband in the senate, she was a biochemist. Before Snivaling, we were tossing bodies to pigs after we extracted only ninety percent of the protein.”
Stewart picked up an apparatus off the dissection instrument table. It looked like a hot glue gun with three tips. He pulled the trigger, and the tips glowed orange. He smiled.
“The last ten percent we couldn’t recover by the live stimulation wash technique,” Stewart continued, “She postulated a slow benzene drip over several days might capture another seven to eight percent, and she was right. When we tried using the drip on skins without a previous live stimulation, we recovered less overall than the combination.”
“Why on earth kill people?” said John. “You could harvest more protein later.”
“Good try, Doctor, but we already attempted that,” said Stewart. “After the benzene wash, whatever was making those glands produce the protein stopped working. So we extract what we can get and discard the offal. So sorry.” Then he laughed and said, “Not really,” and laughed again.
“For God’s sake, what protein do you want from my skin?” John shouted.
“Doctor, my question and answer time is over,” Stewart turned, “You may direct further questions to our porcine friends shortly.” He then started laughing loudly.
Captain Stewart motioned to one of the hooded men and commanded, “Prep him and strip him.”
The “prep” was a bucket of ice water tossed on John. The hooded man grabbed John’s pale blue surf shorts and stripped them down. As the shorts caught on his feet, they turned inside out, revealing the red inner lining. The man bent farther to get a better grip, and John wrapped his legs around the man’s neck and squeezed.
John thought, in a movie, the henchman would pass out. He would free himself, then kick Captain Stewart’s ass. This didn’t happen. The hooded man’s cohort slugged John once in the solar plexus, and John, for the second time in one day, lost consciousness.
When John awoke, he was lying on the ground outside the processing building. His shorts were back on, and his hands remained bound behind his back. He looked around and didn’t see Captain Stewart nor the hooded guards. Captain Flinch was standing over him talking on his cell phone.
John couldn’t hear the conversation on the other end of the line, but on this end, the captain was saying a lot of “yes sirs” and “no sirs.” The captain pulled a knife from a sheath strapped to his ankle. John tensed.
“Dr. Long,” said Flinch in a formal tone, “there appears to have been a slight misunderstanding. You have my apology. I’ll be removing your restraints.”
At that moment, the van that brought them pulled up. Captain Flinch turned toward the van and shouted, “We’re heading to Central ASAP.” He then looked back to John and said, “Dr. Long, I was following orders. I’m sure you understand. I’ve been instructed to aid you.” He bent down and cut John’s restraints.
“Well then,” said John, “send the limo on its way. I think I’ll walk.”
Captain Flinch, who seemed disappointed in the change in John’s status, said, “That I can’t allow. I’m under orders to deliver you to Central.”
Sergeant Clark, now out of the van, extended his hand to John to help him to his feet.
As the three were walking toward the van, Captain Flinch asked, “By the way, just how did you kill the airwar?”
John, who was seething, hesitated, then spoke, “Well, the airwar had me trapped inside. I tried everything, but nothing worked. Then I thought back to my medical school days.”
Flinch was listening intently as John continued, “I located the airwar ’s rectum, and I shoved my head in it. I held it there until the airwar died of constipation. I’m naming it the ‘Flinch maneuver.’ I hope you enjoy the reverse eponym; I plan to make it famous.” Sergeant Clark smiled and suppressed a laugh. Captain Flinch stalked ahead and sat in silence the remainder of the trip.
It was a two-hour drive and John tried to glean some information from Sergeant Clark. The only answer he could get was, “Sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to discuss anything with you at this time.” The other marines’ response was the same.
Once the van reached Central, it was another thirty minutes before they entered the building. Three checkpoints needed clearance.
