Carnifex

21/8/469 AC

The sun stood up just over the mountains to the east. At Carrera's nod, Masood sent his men around with heavy steel bars. In groups of two, forty Pashtun scouts walked the lines of burdened crosses. At each they stopped just long enough to take one or sometimes two swings with the steel bars, breaking the shins of the condemned. Half the men on the crosses were too far gone to so much as scream when their bones were splintered. The loudest sound was often the grunt of exertion followed by the dull thud of heavy steel on thin flesh and thick bone.

"Never underestimate the benefits of a classical education," Carrera quipped, half drunkenly, to Mustafa.

Thereafter, all that stood between the victims and death was whatever strength remained in their weakened arms. For most, this was little enough. They hung down freely, the position of their arms forcing their chests out to where exhalation was almost impossible. Within an hour and a half all were dead and cooling. The Pashtun went around, prodding the bodies with bayonets to ensure they were indeed dead. Once satisfied, they took the corpses down and carried them to a mass grave.

With each thud, and then with each body removed, Carrera felt himself weakening: Click . . . click . . . click . . . click . . . . click. Soon he was almost as drained of life and energy as his victims had been. His chin slumped down on his chest. His breathing became labored. His eyes closed and he dreamt.

* * *

He found himself in the same chair. Now though, all the crosses were emptied. The Pashtun were removing them from the earth and stacking them in bundles. Distantly he heard helicopters coming. He thought it must be to remove the last of his troops and the few prisoners they'd kept alive.

Carrera stiffened at feeling a too-long-absent hand on his shoulder. He heard a voice say, "Don't turn around, Patricio, my beloved."

"Linda?" he asked. "What will . . . "

"Shshsh," she answered. "It's almost over now. Soon, no more war for you, not for a while, anyway. Go home, home to Balboa. Enjoy your new family. Live your new life. When the time comes, we will be waiting for you."

He shook his head and answered, "I have done awful things, Linda, here not least. How can I . . . "

"You did what you were required to do. That part is done now. You will not be well for some time, but you will recover. In time, you will come to join us. We will be waiting."

"There is one more thing to do," Carrera said. "A terrible thing."

"We know."

A second hand came to rest on the other shoulder, along with the sensation of six smaller and lighter ones . . . . and, too light to be sure, maybe a seventh and eighth. Then Carrera felt a gentle kiss on the top of his head and . . . they were gone.