The Mary Shelley Club by Goldy Moldavsky (ebook reader for manga TXT) 📕

and prepared for the pain of the knife slicing into his flesh. A desperate, muffled cry whimpered from his throat.

Anderson slashed the knife across the shoulder of Choi’s parka and proceeded to shred the sleeves and the main part of the coat and the shirt underneath, except for the areas in contact with the ropes. Once he was done, strips of cloth and parka stuffing hung raggedly between the strands of rope that still held Choi tight against the chair, his naked flesh bared.

Stingle and Forth lifted the chair and carried the terrified and confused North Korean outside into the frozen night air. Anderson followed, the knife blade gleaming in the moonlight.

They set Choi down hard on the snow-covered parking area and turned to leave. As the trio walked back to the cabin, Forth looked at the thermometer next to the front door. The temperature had dropped considerably in the past hour. It was nearly thirty below zero.

“Ooh!” Forth called out. “That’ll shrink your manhood!”

When they came back in, Wasner asked, “Did you see the temperature out there?”

“Yep, thirty below. Talk about a nutcracker.”

Marcus spoke. “Frostbite won’t start for fifteen minutes on his bare skin, so leave him for about ten. After that, bring him back in and set him back down next to the fire.”

Ten minutes later they went out to Choi. The chair rattled on the icy gravel beneath his shivering body. The young soldier’s teeth chattered so loud, it sounded as if they would shatter from the impact.

The men brought him back in and sat the chair next to the stove. No one questioned Choi. They left him alone until the sweat was again rolling over his skin. Five minutes passed, then they took him back outside. The sequence was repeated three times.

At fifteen minutes till midnight, Choi was brought in and placed in front of and facing the stove. It had been stoked with several more pieces of wood. The iron door was left open, and its sides glowed cherry red. Yellow tongues of dancing flame licked upward. Shimmering red coals wavered hypnotically in the bottom of the stove. The room had grown so hot that the SEALs had opened several windows to vent the space. Most of the men went outside to stay cool. Next to the stove, even with the windows open, it was still like a furnace.

Choi’s gaze was fixed on the flames that burned brightly inside the black iron box. The glow illuminated everything around him with an eerie, quivering light. His skin stung from the intense heat. The fabric of his clothing was drawing near its flashpoint. It could erupt into flames at any moment

Marcus took a long, hooked metal poker from its rack against the wall and jammed it into the coals. No one talked or moved.

Choi squirmed in the chair. “What are you doing?” he cried out in Korean. “This is against the law! Against the Geneva Convention!”

“So is terrorism,” Forester replied flatly.

Marcus left the room for a moment and returned with a large white oven mitt on his right hand. He took the poker out of the flames and turned to Choi. The end of the poker glowed bright red. Heat waves wiggled into the air as the Marine slowly moved the long iron rod to within two inches of Choi’s thigh.

Choi’s breath came in short gasps. His eyes widened into a wild stare as he anticipated the searing agony of the poker being jabbed into his legs.

“Tell us where your comrades will meet with the rest of the team,” Forester said calmly.

“No! I will not tell you!”

Marcus jabbed at his inner thigh with the red-hot iron.

Choi screamed.

The hot metal instantly singed the fabric of his pants. Heat coursed through the thick layers of snow pants and thermal underwear. The smell of burned cloth stung his nose. Choi panted uncontrollably. His nose crinkled and his lips curled on the verge of weeping. Marcus shoved the iron back in the fire. Sparks exploded from the glowing coals.

“Look!” Forester shouted. “You had better tell us where your friends are. I cannot control these men much longer. They are very upset and may kill you, but only after hurting you for a long time.”

Choi’s body shook with sobs. The exposed skin on his chest was red from the heat of the stove. Marcus took the iron back out and shouted in Korean. “Chigum, no gochu!” “Now your penis!”

Forester made a show of pleading with Marcus for mercy. “Please, no!” he said.“Give him another chance. I know he will talk. Don’t hurt him yet.”

“He must talk now, or I will emasculate him,” Marcus said. Hatred and cruelty flashed in his eyes as he glared at the panic-stricken Choi.

Forester turned back to Choi, a desperate look in his face. “If you don’t tell us now, this man is going to burn your balls off, maybe even more!”

Choi grimaced in terror, his face tight with fear. He pleaded with Forester. “No! Please no!”

“Tell us where the others went!” said Forester

“No, I can’t! They will kill me!”

Forester pointed to Marcus and shouted, his voice full of exasperation. “That man will burn your balls off if you don’t talk now!”

At that, Marcus pushed Forester aside and moved in, jutting the poker into the chair inches from Choi’s crotch. Blue swirls of acrid smoke curled up from the wooden surface, drifting into Choi’s nose and eyes. An audible sizzle scratched the air.

“Tell me!” Marcus shouted in Korean. “Speak now!” He grabbed Choi by the hair of his head, raised the poker, and slammed it back into seat of the chair close enough that the North Korean could feel the heat on his private parts.

Choi let out a scream and shouted, “A house on Farmer’s Loop road! We were to meet at a house on