Three weeks into the year 2009, terrible convulsions gripped the world. As John McCain was sworn in as President, terrorists detonated a nuke in Washington wiping out the government. As a precaution for such an unlikely event, Secretary of The Interior Jake Garn, the "designated survivor," had remained away in Utah during the inauguration and was sworn in at once in Salt Lake City. Deputy military comanders took over the armed forces smoothly but there was still widespread chaos as a stunned nation struggled to cope with the disaster. There was no Congress, no Supreme court, no Pentagon, no Cabinet Departments functioning.
The deed was traced to the Iraqis and Bagdad was shortly turned into a radioactive crater. The North Koreans chose the occasion to launch an ill-advised attack over the DMZ and the Americans were not in the mood to pull their punches. Tactical nukes were unleashed to stop the swarming northern armies and Pyongyang, like Bagdad, ceased to exist in a blinding flash of light and heat. Taking advantage of the sudden destabilization of the world, India swiftly overran Pakistan in a devestating sneak attack but not before three Pakistani A-bombs took out Bombey, Calcutta and New Delhi.
The Chinese threatened to intervene against India and the Russians warned them not to do so. As the quaking world held its breath, both nations mobilized along their borders, furious rhetoric flying back and forth. A Sino-Russian war was, however, averted and gradually conditions stabilized as the human race licked its wounds and debated the madness that had been unleashed.
The conclusion? It must never be allowed to recur.
Twelve million deaths had been enough of an impetus to provoke meaningful, decisive reaction. The deeply shaken major powers launched a crash nuclear disarmament program and formed a powerful international armed force to maintain peace and combat terrorism. The bandit regime in the Sudan became the first to "test" the new police system by harboring terrorists and was swiftly overrun. Ironically an amazing degree of international stability arose from the ashes of January, 2009.
Not surprisingly, the order of power in the reorganized US was also going to be different.
The new congress was entirely appointed by the respective governors. There was collusion among the thirty-two Republicans in state houses, including nine of the ten largest states, to appoint members of the senate and house dedicated to ending federal interference with the states in virtually all matters except foreign affairs, military operations, interstate activities and economic issues.
The huge states-rights congressional majority met in the temporary capital, Philadelphia, to enact the necessary legislation and constitutional changes (which two-thirds of the states promptly ratified). President Garn, a states-righter himself, signed the measures into law and the new "Garn" supreme court summarily struck down all legal challanges.
Each state was suddenly free to enact whatever legislation it deemed best for its welfare. Among the first issues addressed as the legislatures flexed their new muscle were the criminal codes and court systems with handling of the death penalty varying widely among the states.
Kansas elected to apply the maximum sanction liberally making it available for any felony if the judge found it to be "appropriate under all of the circumstances." Speedy trial provisions and streamlining of appeals reduced the time from offense to execution to an average of less than ninety days in the Jayhawk state. Further, executions were carried out as public spectacles at local sites around the state to provide graphic deterence to would-be criminals.
It was Monday and I was due down in Olath by noon to deliver Brad Close to his rendezvous with death. The bronze-blond teen hunk was to be the first prisoner executed for the new felony crime of "riotous behavior." In Brad's case he and six of his high school football teammmates had trashed the hell out of their hotel rooms while on an "away" game and then assaulted a security guard who tried to arrest them.
In the past, that wouldn't have gotten their fuzzy young asses killed but there had been a rash of such behaviour and the authorities were tired of it. Examples were to be made. The new offense was codified as a felony and the district judges initiated a period of rigorous "zero tolerance" enforcement.
Wham bam ... five incidents in less than a month produced twenty-seven eighteener boy jocks housed on death row in the prison at Leavenworth. "The Madison High School Seven's" fast-tracked appeals were denied Friday and the death warrants rushed to the prison some eighty-seven days after their offenses had been committed. Their killings would commence at once. The other twenty boys would not be far behind as their cases were rushed through the court system as well.
Justice these days in Kansas was swift and mercilous and the citizenry loved it. The crime rate was down drastically, far fewer prisoners were being housed at public expense freeing up scads of money for education, and the gory public executions proved to be immensely popular entertainment.
It had been a brilliant stroke to stage the spectacles in towns and cities around the state letting each site conduct the actual killing in whatever method it chose. It had given each locale a buy-in to the whole process. They became gala events and often served as charitable fundraisers. Teachers regularly brought classes down to "scare them straight" by watching the "bad young men" put to their usually agonizing, often protracted deaths.
Each week's "circuit" of six sites was localized in one region of the state, this week's hitting in the northeast quadrant at locations not too far from the prison itself. Normally just one man died at each location, but to accommodate the Madison High group, Saturday out at Lawrence there would be a double header as the buff Lawson cousins were snuffed one after the other. No executions were ever scheduled for a Sunday. Well ... it just didn't seem like quite the thing to do on the sabbath, did it?
I supervised Brad's preparation. He had been on a liquid diet for twenty-four hours to clean out his system and his bowels washed out with repeated enemas. He was naked now in the prepping cell, looking numb and resigned to his fate, quietly cooperating with all our instructions. He splayed his thighs and thrust out his crotch as a thin rubber dowel was inserted into the lips of his penis and forced on up its length to plug it.
With a big crowd looking on, you didn't want a guy defecating or pissing involuntarily as he was killed ... a real turn-off to the folks enjoying the show. The cock plug hurt like hell and he grimaced as his rock hard muscles trembled and flexed at the burning sensation. It also hardened the organ into a near full erection which would last throughout the day.
That was always a big crowd pleaser. The rumor was that we used some secret balm on their cocks to keep them up and hard like that but we didn't. The rubber dowels worked just fine in that regard.
Brad would be a popular kill. He was one good looking young stud with a really perfect body and huge hung crotch. We buzz-cut his blond hair to a golden stubble and that just emphasized his boyish charm and sensuality.
An electric security vest was strapped around his chest and back. A punch by me to the button on my control device and a prisoner would be on the ground in convulsions, utterly imobilized, in less than a second. They knew what it would do and I'd never had to fire one. I was sorta sorry about that since I'd seen it demonstrated in training and it looked like a lot of fun to use. Still, the whole idea was control and just the threat of using the juice in the battery pack attached to the left back shoulder was enough to get immediate attention from the convict.
Brad's hands were manacled behind his back and his ankles hobbled by another chain. From that one we stretched a connecting chain up and locked its attached cuff tightly around the neck of the boy's big genital package. That really got his pecker up and throbbing.
He was ready to go.
I could feel his muscles trembling as he made the awkward duckwalk with me to the waiting van. I knew he was scared silly ... but then he was just barely eighteen years old and about to be put to a brutal death, stark naked before a screaming, jeering crowd.
I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him. He actually seemed like a really nice boy.
Still, I had my job to do. It was just work to me and I was going to enjoy watching the execution as much as the rest of the audience. Nonetheless I did not treat him harshly or abusively, trying to keep him as calm as I could as we made the drive south to Olath.
He hadn't talked much but finally, in a weak, low voice he asked if I knew how the Olath Public Protection Committee planned to execute him.
"I do, Brad, but maybe you oughta just wait to find out, okay son?"
He read me loud and clear and swallowed hard.
It was obviously not going to be a particularly swift or painless affair. In truth, I regarded the Olath style of killing to be really quite innovative. I think it originated in a design contest in the local high school.
Brad was literally going to be put between the proverbial "rock and a hard place."
The crowd was already gathering when we reached the big athletic field where the killing would be carried out. It was an unusually nice day for February in Kansas and attendance was high. School had been let out for the event and the band was serenading with spirited march music. The mayor had just delivered a brief welcoming speech.
Flags and bunting were everywhere while concession stands sold beer, pop, snacks and photos of previous Olath executions. There was a five dollars per head admission (free under twelve and over sixty) to benefit the local Boys and Girls Club. The atmosphere was bright and cheery, laughter rising into the air as people chatted and told jokes. When the state prison van pulled up to the foot of the broad scaffold in the center of the field, every eye turned to it in open curiosity and rising anticipation.
When we helped Brad step from the van into the bright sunlight, there were audible gasps of pleasure and surprise that they had such a fine specimen of vibrant young manhood for their victim today. A spontaneous burst of applause broke out and swelled through the audience. Young toughs in the crowd starting chanting,
The high school cheerleaders joined right in ...
Brad, Brad, has no class...
Now we're gonna kill his ass!
One, two, three four ...
the Olath rock's at work once more!
Not to be left out, the band exploded into a hearty rendition of the high school fight song.
"What'd I ever do to all these people!" Brad whispered to me in utter dismay.
He was stunned and on the verge of tears at the wild enthusiasm for his approaching torture and death.
I squeezed his shoulder.
"Nothing, son. It isn't about you. It's like the old Roman arena ... a kind of lynch mob syndrome where they get all worked up lusting for blood."
"What ... what's the 'Olath rock' they're referring to?"
"Forget it, son." I advised.
He'd find out soon enough!
I removed his electric vest and manacles and turned the stark naked boy over to the local guards who hustled him up onto the scaffold. My role was over. Even the corpse would be disposed of locally.
I could imagine Brad's curiosity as he saw the heavy wooden kiosk with the massive, black, rough surfaced basalt boulder securely embedded at waist level to a man. It was roughly three feet in diameter and jutted out from its supporting wooden frame by a good foot. The brawny teen would likely be getting more and more jittery as he was made to stand before the rock and a heavy metal frame positioned around his lower back and butt.
This iron cradle cuddling his backside had a heavy round shaft extending from behind into a big squared-off machine.Even then he probably was still trying to figure out exactly what was about to occur. though a nasty hunch ought to be forming inthe young brain by now.
The chairman of the local Public Protection Committee was introduced.
"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the fourteenth Olath public execution. We are honored today to host the first of the so-called 'Madison High Seven' to be put to death. As required by the law, I will now read his death warrant to him:
Bradley Alan Close,
"And now ladies and gentlemen, if you feel ready, we'll get right on with this young criminal's much deserved execution!"
A roar filled the air as the crowd screamed for Brad's death. A chant of,
began to rock all around the scaffold.
The machine behind him was activated and a low electric hum
filled the air. With a soft hiss a hydraulic drive began
to press the shaft of the iron cradle forward. Slowly,
steadily he was being forced towards the waiting rock. Surely by then
understanding must have come for young Brad.
With real horror he must have realized he was going to be crushed to death like some type of big insect. It was not done in a hurry, but shortly Brad's big man parts made the first contact with the unyielding rock and were compacted against his flat gut.
After a bit, the delicate organs began to tear and bleed as they were pressed tighter and tighter into the jagged surface of the boulder, the machine designed to vibrate slightly to rub the victim's flesh over the abrasive stone.
With maddening slowness the crushing process continued and the lusting crowd worked itself up to a fine rage.
As the steadily increasing pressure turned his cock and balls into hamburger and his belly started to be mashed, Brad began to writhe and flex and emit loud animal moans of abject suffering. Shortly his moans turned to screams as his abdominal wall collapsed and the rock began working its way through his flesh, turning it to mush and fracturing bone as it went. Blood was oozing and spurting from the teen's smashed gut and running away in crimson ribbons into the gutter positioned just below him.
His screams became piercing and demented as all of his resolve broke and he gave in to the excruciating pain. He pushed desperately with his hands against the rock in a pathetic, comical attempt to somehow stop the remorseless process that was slowly grinding the life from him.
Even when his mid section had been virtually flattened, Brad lived on in mind-bending agony for long minures that seemed like an eternity. He was strong and vibrant and the life force refused to be extinguished easily. Finally, after nearly fourty-five minutes of suffering, he sagged in a faint and shortly was pronounced dead.
The Olath killing machine was certainly diabolical, but I personally thought the process used by the committee over in Abilene was probably the very worst. It made me shudder just to contemplate how horribly it must be to be put to death using that contraption. That would come on Friday when I took super-stud Kurt Rudke there to be killed.
If this is Tuesday, it must be Topeka. The next day, after he was prepped at the prison, I drove another buff blond hunk, Arik Adams to the old grist mill outside of Topeka where he would be killed. As usual, the crowd here was quite large and Arik's execution would last for a long time while they picnicked on the banks of the stream and enjoyed the sight of his suffering.
It was pretty simple really. He was to be drowned if he didn't freeze to death first. The old paddle wheel of the mill had been stripped to its hardwood foundation and sat half submerged in the frigid water. Arik was bound to it in a widely spread-eagled stance. The wheel had originally been turned by the creek water to drive the grist mill gears, but now the wheel was rigged up to an electric belt apparatus and when it was activated it would slowly rotate.
The death warrant was formally read as required. Then the wheel was activated and Arik began his first rotation. The crowd cheered loudly, every bit as blood-thirsty as the folks in Olath had been on Monday..
"Don't forget to hold your breath, stud!" someone yelle.
A roar of laughter accompanied the naked prisoner as he was inverted and dipped beneath the water. When he eventually surfaced he was choking and sputtering, water streaming from his magnificent naked form in thick rivulets.
Again and again Arik made the gradual loop as the wheel carried him around. He was dunked long enough on each turn that he could not continue to hold his breath the full time and was forced to take in some water. It was a horribly gradual process but slowly he weakened, taking in more of the icy liquid each cycle and recovering less before his head again went under.
From across the small stream, a crowd of local boys gathered with bb guns, pellet pistols and sling shots and used the naked prisoner for a target adding greatly to his suffering. His big-hung crotch, rather naturally, was singled out as the "bulls-eye" and some of the boys proved nicely accurate in aiming their projectiles directly into Arik's genitals. Of course anyone who has ever stubbed a really cold toe can imagine what those impacts on his cold flesh felt like. I cringed at the thought.
Arik proved to have a great set of lungs. In warmer weather, he'd have lasted for a much longer time, but hypthermia began to set in and hastened the killing process. The young jock finally was dead after being on the wheel for two hours and ten minutes, his crotch a bloody mess, almost castrated by the steady rain of bb's, pellets and pebbles aimed at him by his youthful tormenters across the creek.
Wednesday ... the next day's prisoner was the lucky one for the week and I was glad it was Billy Andrews. The slightly built youngster was as cute as a bug and looked more like sixteen than his real eighteen years, evoking some real emotion in me as he looked so much like my own son. He was going to more conservative Atchison where just a small, respectfully subdued crowd of regulars would be on hand to see him killed. It's interesting how much things varied among the communities participating in the execution circuit.
The carnival atmosphere of Olath and Topeka was totally lacking here with no ribald jeering and no-one under eighteen in attendance. Perhaps more important from Billy's point of view, his would be about the swiftest and least painful mode of death that a man can undergo except perhaps lethal injection.
The local Committee was simply going to behead the boy.
Billy was utterly cooperative as he was positioned on his back on the scaffold, hands bound behind his back. His head was bent backwards over a sturdy block of wood to stretch out his neck and fully expose his throat. A leather chin strap held his head steadily in place once he was properly positioned. The death warrant was read and the chairman ended by extending condolences to Billy's "innocent" family and asking the crowd to join him in a brief prayer for the prisoner's young soul .
The the executioner stepped forward and smiled gently down at the terrified kid whose neck lay poised over the chopping block.
"Just close your eyes, son, and hold real still. I'll make it quick."
Billy did as told and the axeman carefully aligned his blade with the youth's gulping, pulsing throat. He raised the axe high and it glinted in the sunlight as it whooshed down through the air. The sound must have stirred some instinct within the boy for at the last moment his muscular body flexed in a powerful contraction, one of his legs jerking up into the air in a spastic little kick.
A thick spray of bright crimson vapor pulsed through the air as Billy's head came off cleanly. That axeman was a real pro, his stroke a masterpiece. I thought they marred the otherwise rather stately execution by displaying Billy's head on a small wooden spike where it would remain for twenty-four hours, but it was their choice to make so who am I to criticize.
I suspect Jason Marks would have given anything to trade places with Billy. On Thursday, I took Jason to Manhatten for a death about as agonizing and hideous as any I could imagine. Truthfully, I was secretly quite happy about that.
Of all the boys Jason was the one I really disliked. He imagined himself a tough guy and copped a real bad attitude. He was reputed to be the ring leader of the jock group's little rampage at the hotel, the one who had slugged the security guard. It seemed fitting that he die real hard.
The cocky young bastard was nonetheless one fine looking piece of male flesh, wonderfully buff and proportioned and hung like a stallion. He would have been stunningly handsome save for the perpetual sneer on his full lips and the mean look in his eyes.
He resisted every step of his preparation, making life miserable for all of us. He had to be restrained for his repeated enemas and I'll confess that in reprisal we used water a bit more hot in his gut than we had the other boys and weren't too gentle with the nozzle when we inserted it up his asshole.
He cursed us in the foulest terms as we buzz-cut his hair and bucked like a fucking bronco as the rubber dowel was forced the length of his big, juicy sex rod. Yeah ... I really enjoyed doing that to him. After it was in I seized his dick and gave it a brutal twist and squeeze that just about crossed his eyes with pain.
After he stopped squealing like a stuck pig, I stuck my face to his, ours eyes an inch apart.
"Look, you miserable little mother-fucker, I've had enough of your attitude. This can be as hard or easy as you want to make it. But if you so much as twitch a muscle on the drive over to Manhatten, I'll rip your fucking cock right off and beat you half to death with it ... do you understand me?"
The hatred in his eyes was pretty clear and he was furious but he wasn't a complete idiot. He quieted down and sullenly cooperated as we put on his manacles and electric jacket. I showed him the control box in my hand.
"Any more of your shit, punk, and I'll take the greatest of pleasure in popping this switch. Then you won't have to wait to get to Manhatten to learn how it feels to be cooked alive."
His eyes got real big at that. It was his first inkling of the fate awaiting him at the savage hands of the Manhatten, Kansas, Committee for Public Protection.
Yeah, they bar-b-qued young Jason's fuzzy bubble butt in front of a rabidly enthusiastic crowd of several thousand in the stadium at Kansas State University. A shoulder harness was used to dangle his naked body inside three heavy copper rings mounted on posts.
When the juice was turned on, the rings were very, very slowly heated until they were eventually a pulsing, glowing red. The sadistic genius who'd designed that toy had created a big human toaster and man did it work just great!
Jason's suffering increased with diabolic slowness from just a rather nice, warm sensation in the otherwise chilly Kansas air. Soon it turned to discomfort and he squirmed.
Then his skin began to redden and sweat in bands around his lower chest and back, hips and legs, those parts of him in the most direct line of the heat radiating from the coils.
Shortly he was writhing in deep anguish, his face contorted, dancing on his harness as his body flexed and contracted beautifully.
Sweat began to pour from him as his body fought valiantly to cool itself. As little blisters began to appear on his smooth skin, he began to cry out. Then the screaming began as he really started cooking.
The initial smell was actually surprisingly pleasant, like a nice roast browning up in the oven ... savory and even mouth-watering. By the time Jason finally died from his burns and elevated body temperature, about half an hour after his ordeal began, his lower body was pretty much a blackened, deeply blistered mess and his genitals had actually burst into flame and briefly burned as he shrieked out his lungs and bucked wildly within the copper coils circling his dangling form. His smell now was the nasty stench of over-done meat ignored in the oven for way too long.
All in all a most satisfying and fitting end for the young jock bastard.
And then it was Friday. I almost hated delivering tall, graceful Kurt Rudke to his awful doom out to the west in Abilene. As demonic as Manhatten's "toaster" was, I personally thought Abilene's mode of execution was worse. The old cattletown had outdone itself in devising its vicious killing tool.
Kurt, unlike Jason, was well behaved and even courteous, shyly apologizing for having put us to so much trouble as we were shaving his dark-haired skull. He was also the most talented of the seven jocks we were killing that week, captain and center of his basketball team as well as the quarterback for his football squad.
To boot, he was a straight A student and an eagle scout. His involvement in the riotous group had shocked everyone who knew him as way out of character. Some serious pressure had been exerted on the governor to pardon him or at least commute his sentence but the governor had declined clemency. In fairness to the others, like sweet young Billy whose head had already been chopped off, I had to agree with the governor's decision in that regard.
Kurt really did need to be executed with the rest of the group if the new law was to have credibility. In fact, his killing would send the strongest possible message to his peers.
Nonetheless, on the way to Abilene I administered a pretty strong tranquilizer to him to help dull his pain as he was killed. A lot of prisoners looked dull and stunned with shock as they were hauled onto the killing scaffolds around the state so my minor extension of mercy to the gorgeous young stud would not likely be noticed.
It was still a horrible ordeal for young Kurt after the Committee got their eager hands on him. He shortly found himself poised over a small trapdoor on his ass, his knees bent and widely splayed by strong leather straps so that his tight puckered asshole was uttlerly exposed and accessable.
After the death warrant was duly intoned to the eager, expectant crowd, the trapdoor was opened and Kurt looked down. His dulled eyes opened wide as he saw the two inch diameter drill bit rising up, being carefully guided directly to his waiting anus.
"Oh my God, Noooooo!" he begged. "Ohhh Fuck! Please don't do THIS to me! Anything but this! PLEASE! AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
His pleading turned to screaming as the bit was activated and began to slowly rotate between his splayed thighs, blood and bits of flesh splattering out around his loins as his executioners began the very slow, gradual tansit of the drill up through his guts and into his belly.
It never ceased to amaze me how long guys lived while the rotating steel bit worked its way up inside their guts. They usually didn't actually die or even faint until the tip of the bit started ripping their lungs apart. Kurt was no exception.
He lived way, way too long under his excruciating torture for my taste, well over half an hour, suffering all the pangs of hell during each second of that time. Ah, but then I guess I'm kinda a softy deep inside. The crowd sure seemed to enjoy the protracted spectacle.
Saturday ... the next day saw a rarity ... a double header ... as we prepped the handsome golden-haired Lawson cousins, both strapping long-legged jock super-hunks. Brian and Greg were also both bull-hung. They were nineteen, almost twenty, older than their peers, probably because they had been held back a couple of grades over the years. Neither looked all that bright. They were surprisingly relaxed and resigned to whatever was to come.
"Show time, huh?"
Brian managed a weak little grin as I arrived at the prepping cell to get him ready.
"Yep," I nodded. "Today's the big day, sport. You and Greg are the stars of the show."
He shugged his broad shoulders,
"Then, as that guy in Utah said ... let's do it, man."
When Greg asked how they were to be killed, I was not being evasive when I told them I really had no idea. I then explained about our wildcard execution site, Lawrence, Kansas.
Lawrence was a college town and had taken the unusual step of turning over the whole execution thing to the student leadership at the University of Kansas. A "spirit squad" had been formed to oversee the shows and its chairman had also been designated as the head of the Lawrence Commitee for Public Protection. Different segments of the campus community were designated to choreograph different killings and no two executions were ever identical. I had been there delivering young victims on nearly a dozen previous occasions and had seen an amazing range of activity.
I had watched an ROTC firing squad do its thing. The boxing team had put a prisoner into the ring to face a series of opponents until he was finally beaten to death. The chemistry department had slowly immersed their man into an acid bath. The archery team created a human pincusion of barbed shafts. The mining school stuffed a condemned stud's gut canal with gunpowder and set it off. And so on.
I was aware that the engineering department was to execute Brian while the drama department was in charge of taking Greg's life. I suspected it would prove to be a most interesting day since collegiate minds are incredibly devious and inventive. I could hardly wait to see what happened after I delivered the condemned adonis cousins to the eagerly waiting executioners.
I was not disappointed. The boys at KU lived up to their growing reputation as the master executioners of the State of Kansas. The deaths accorded the hunky cousins were similar. Death certificates would have said each died from disembowelment. It was that the gutting was administered in such ingeniously different modes that made it so fascinating to witness.
Brian was strapped securely into a metal chair-like frame, his buttocks resting on shelves separated by a wide opening in its bottom. His knees were drawn up and widely parted, his calves and feet dangling loosely to each side. His wrists were chained to a metal collar about his neck that in turn was locked to the back of the frame. This kept him in a nice, straight upright posture as he gazed in mounting terror down the twin steel rails curving below him.
The frame was actually a sled attached to a fifty foot curve
of narrow-gage track with a razor-edged steel blade mounted between the rails,
just below at first and then slowly rising along the length of the span.
By the far end the deadly cutting edge rose roughly eighten inches above the rails.
A powerful spring lay coiled behind the sled and when its locking lever was released it would propel the make-shift chair, with its pinioned occupant, on a bolt-like shot down the tracks until stopped by shock absorber coils on the far end. The blade would have come slicing up through the slot in the bottom of the frame directly between Brian's splayed, muscular legs.
No-one could doubt what the effect of that short swift ride would be.
Even as the youthful chairman of the Committee was dutifully reading the death warrant to the assembled crowd of onlookers, the bookish-looking engineering student who had designed the ride had his hand on the lever that would release the spring.
He clearly could hardly wait to see his toy put to its intended use.
The chairman gave credit to the students who had put in so much time and effort to make today's executions a big success.
"These guys are the epitome of Jayhawk pride! They've brought credit on all of us in the best KU tradition!"
And the roar of applause for the planning group showed the crowd heartily agreed.
Now it was time for Brian's brief ride.
The engineer's hand gripped the lever.
"Oh fuck me," I heard Brian whimper softly as he tensed in the sled, his blue eyes wide in a fixed stare at the deadly gleaming blade stretching out between his legs.
"By by, dude," the engineer grinned and jerked the lever down.
The air filled with dramatic sounds. THWANGGGG! The springing coil. SWRRRRRRROOOSH!
The sled streaking along its rails. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Above all else, Brian's piercing scream as the blade split him open from crotch to sternum like a knife through a ripe watermelon.
A rooster tail of crimson and gore billowed out behind the racing sled until with a loud thump it shuddered to a halt against the shock absorbers at the far end of the track.
Of course Brian was very much still alive. That's the worst part of this form of killing. The vital organs in the upper chest and the brain keep right on working for a while as if nothing is wrong. He just sat there staring down at the great slit in his lower body and the internal parts of him that were slowly spilling forth while his blood spurted and coursed everywhere around him. There wasn't the slightest trace left of his big sex package. The rising blade had minced the male organs and obliterated the delicate flesh.
After perhaps a minute, the gutted blond hunk shuddered convulsively and slumped in the frame. Moments later a medical student pronounced him dead. The crowd again gave an enthusiastic ovation to demonstrate how much they appreciated the excellence of the execution that had been presented for their enjoyment.
Then it was Greg's turn to "spill his guts." Literally ... not in the verbal sense of that old cop movie phrase.
Someone in the drama department had been reading his Edgar Alan Poe of late. No ... no ravens were employed on Greg's golden form. But do you recall a little Poe horror tale called The Pit and The Pendulum?
Yep. Only the blade that disemboweled handsome Greg did not slowly swing down to slice at him as he lay bound to a table below. It was the blade that was fixed here. Greg himself was the pendulum!
I've never seen anything like it before or since. The prisoner was securely harnessed to a stout wooden post extending from a clever belt, gear and spring coil arrangement up in the rafters. When released, the spring would start Greg swinging gracefully, slowly back and forth but with each swing the post to which he was bound would ratchet down by an inch.
He would start with his legs straddling the blade with the cutting edge a safe foot below his huge-hung crotch. But after twelve or so swings ... ouch!
It made me hurt between my legs just to think about it. Brian's killing had been quick and merciful by comparison. Greg was going to suffer horribly and at length as he was gradually fed to the waiting blade.
What a crowd pleaser this killing turned out to be! The last for the week turned out to be by far the best.
The death warrant was read, credit given as due to the creators of this scene, and then Greg was set to swinging.
"One," the crowd called out.
"Two!" counted the crowd.
On the fourteenth swing the edge of the blade first drew a whisper of crimson as it gave a feathery kiss to Greg's low-hanging balls and the crowd erupted into whoops of sheer joy at the sight of the crimson mist floating about his crotch.
Swing by swing, the knife worked on Greg's crotch, slowly slicing his scrotum and its oval contents to ribbons, then dividing his corded cockroot and puckered asshole about the time his cock was being diced. His screams were echoing off the walls of the gym in which he was being executed and his blood coursed and dripped from both his wounded loins and the blade itself.
It took eons of graphic suffering but eventually Greg died about the time the blade had progressed up through his belly and was approaching the base of his sternum.
When I returned to Leavenworth to file the certificates of execution for the Lawson cousins' death warrants, I learned that just that afternoon the state supreme court had denied the final appeal of a second group of high school jocks. These heros had vandalized a rival school, doing thousands of dollars in damage, and injured a night watchman who tried to stop them. There were nine in that bunch and their death warrants had just been signed by the governor. Next week would see a new circuit of executions, this time in the southwestern part of the state.
Wow, I thought. To get all nine done in a week ... gee, that would entail at least three double headers! Or ... maybe even something never done before. A triple execution as well as a double. Or even a really wild multiple kill blood bath of four young studs at one time.
I had quite a bit of comp time accumulated and had been contemplating taking some of it for a brief vacation next week. I cancelled any thoughts of that. I wouldn't miss next week's "circuit" for anything!