It’s Not Water-Boarding…

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Excerpt from Crimson Lake:  The Surge

Authored by Allyson Wayne

Sold as an Ebook/Epdf on Barnes and Noble Nook, Lybrary.com Sony Ebookstore.com, Bookmasters.com, Atlasbooks.com, Net Galley and many other Ebook purchasing sites…

ISBN EBOOK: 9780989248907

ISBN EPDF:     9780989248921

 

10:00PM 14 February 1980

Desire Housing Project, 9th Ward,

New Orleans, Louisiana

 

“Man, it is cold as fuck out here,” said Jason Jackson, street Captain, he runs the most successful drug corner in the 9th Ward. 

“Don’t these people ever take a break from getting high?”

“Hell naw if they did you would be frying and selling chicken instead of getting paid.”

“Look at this hippy ass van,” said one of Jackson’s runners.

A green and white beat up Volkswagen van pulled up with smoke streaming out the windows.

“How many times,” asked the corner worker?

“Four times, Man,” yelled the driver!

“$80 nigger!”

The van door swung open and out jumped two dreadlocked Shottas firing AK-47’s, 7.62 rounds ripped into the chest of the 15 year old.

“Drop your guns or we execute cha Project boy,” said the Shotta.

“Drop your gun,” said Jason.

 

“Get in rude boy!”

 

The Shotta retrieved a machete, cut the head off the dead street hustler, and placed it upside down upon his shoulders.  The van entered the traffic on Interstate-10 East headed to a safe house in Pascagoula, Mississippi.

 

 

 

1:30AM 15 February 1980

Pascagoula, Mississippi

 

The van turned into the driveway of a house and went to the backyard.  Three men were waiting to remove Jason Jackson and his cohort from the van.  You could barely smell the shit and piss, over the smell of marijuana.  On the ride to the safe house, the Shottas had taken turns snuffing out cigars and cigarettes on the faces and torsos of their captives.

“Bring me the hose turn the water on and unlock those handcuffs.  Country boy strip,” instructed the Shotta.

With three AK-47’s aimed at the two young men, they had no choice.  The water from the hose was ice cold as they stripped down naked with duct tape still on their mouths.  They escorted them into the garage and tied them to chairs.  A Jamaican with rubber gloves placed metal clips on their nipples, testicles, and heads of their penises.

“Swamp boys we gonna ask ya one question, who you work for?”

“Fuck you,” defiantly yelled Jason!

“Start the generator!”

“Lil Man we are dead already, don’t give’em shit we will be avenged, they will kill them all I know it they will kill them all,” said Jason.

“I ain’t saying a fucking thing.”

The Jamaican turned on a switch and both men screamed until they passed out from the pain.

“Wake them up.  Who do you work for Project boy?”

The smell of burnt flesh, hair, and electricity was in the air.

“We will see you in hell,” said Jason.

They turned the switch on, you couldn’t tell if the screams were from humans, animals, or from space creatures.  The two men passed out, again.  When they awakened, something was different, metal rods shoved into their asses.  Jason’s teeth were cracking because he was biting down so hard Lil Man bit off part of his cheek and tongue.

“Again, who do you work for, swamp boy?”

Barely alive Jason looked at his torturer saying, “Arc-Angels are gonna come for you.”

The switched turned on and the screams were brief, eyes popped out, biting off tongues, and blood flowing from ears and rectums, they were dead.

“Roll them up in carpet and take them back to the Desire, brand them before putting them in the van,” said the Shotta.

 

 

 

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