cattle prod oor Kornies
cattle prod
en
A stick designed to goad cows, steers, and similar animals in order to prompt them to move in a desired direction, now usually electrified to administer a stimulating shock to the animal.
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cattle prod
Yw res dhymm mos?langbot langbot
cattle prod
Ev a gemmer mel yn le sugra.langbot langbot
cattle prod
My a’gas konvedh.langbot langbot
cattle prod
Py lyver a brensys?langbot langbot
cattle prod
Fatla genes?langbot langbot
cattle prod
My a dhe’n skol pub myttin.langbot langbot
cattle prod
Res yw dhymm dybri.langbot langbot
cattle prod
Ev a yll neyja.langbot langbot
cattle prod
Kas yw genev henna.langbot langbot
cattle prod
My a bew an ki ma.langbot langbot
cattle prod
Da yw gensi Mary.langbot langbot
cattle prod
Noth o an baban.langbot langbot
cattle prod (n.)
Byghan lowr yw an stevel.langbot langbot
cattle prod
My a dhybris an avalow rudh.langbot langbot
cattle prod
My a vynn y elwel.langbot langbot
DOCTOR INGRID “Are you in need of pain relief?” The voice was that of Ingrid, through the peephole of our cell door. I was ready for her – I had given this meeting some thought. “Tell me, doctor,” I replied. “What’s it like working with Doctor Josef Mengele? What’s it like working in Auschwitz instead of Puckapunyal?” She gasped involuntarily – evidently, she knew of the evil reputation of the bestial Nazi doctor and how that reputation had been earned. I had struck a real nerve. I had intended to. So, I pushed hard on that nerve. “Tell me, doctor. If you can’t answer that question, what about this one: when did you decide to renounce your Hippocratic Oath? When did you decide it was okay to ‘do harm’?” The peephole was abruptly snapped shut. I heard the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. Advantage: me. The peephole stayed shut for some hours until Ingrid (who had apparently now composed herself) returned once again. “Are you in need of pain relief?” she repeated without emotion. Of course, I was. My skin was still on fire from all the scorch marks inflicted upon my body – and my genitals were very bruised and achy. (There had been no need to put the cattle-prod in my groin to get the desired reaction from David – this had been pure malice, pure payback. Then again, as he’d been so thorough in applying the prod to David’s testes, he probably just thought he needed to be completely even-handed about the matter. Hmmmph!) I decided I could put my mind games to one side until I had gotten the relief I’d been craving for some hours. Even so, I tried to make light of my suffering: “Yes, as it happens, an Aspro or two would be most welcome,” I said, as sweetly as I could.
Ki Tom a yll neuvya yn ta.langbot langbot
David didn’t “come quietly” – but he did come. The cattle-prod is a remarkably effective tool of persuasion, even on a zombie. Once again, we were blindfolded. Why I cannot say. Perhaps they didn’t want us getting familiar with the layout of the place. Perhaps they wanted to calm David down – though the cattle-prod had done a terrific job of revving him up. It’s amazing what 10,000 volts will do to even dead flesh. Soon enough, David and I found ourselves on stage in a large meeting hall. A lecture had apparently already commenced and we could hear the Captain’s voice droning on and on. He obviously enjoyed the sound of his own voice but I could not be so sure of the audience. Our blindfolds were removed and a curtain was raised to reveal all. David roared as if on cue and the hundreds of fresh-faced Yankee soldiers gasped as one. Pure theatre. I looked towards the Captain, standing at the microphone. He was in Seventh Heaven. I didn’t begrudge him his petty pleasure (not that one, anyway). After all, I was still alive and he held power of life and death over me and David. The audience resumed breathing. The lecture continued. Damn this man was boring! Over and over again he repeated the same broad observations concerning the appearance of zombies: grey skin colour, dull eyes, unkempt appearance, enlarged lips, ... Really basic stuff that any member of the audience could observe for himself within a matter of seconds. Did this man not have any insights of his own to offer? Evidently not. Still, this was hardly surprising. How long had he actually spent observing zombies and how many had he observed? Answers: not very long and probably only one. So, what made him think he was qualified to give a lecture to the troops on zombies?
Hi a vynn kewsel.langbot langbot
“Very well, Captain,” I said. “You’re in charge. I don’t want to have a ten- thousand volt cattle-prod rammed up my arse again. That was absolutely excruciating!” (This, of course, was another lie. No-one had used a cattle-prod on me yet – but the Captain did not know this.) There were three cattle-prods leaning carelessly against the wall on the side of the stage. I pointed to them and fell silent. However, the discontent among the members of the audience was palpable – and audible. The Captain was not so stupid as to ignore the fact that he was rapidly losing the troops’ attention and, along with that, his own credibility. He flashed that creepy smile again. (Yuck!) “Now, now, Mr Zombie’s brother,” said the Captain. (He’d forgotten my name – it was of no importance to him.) “There’s no question of using the cattle- prods on you. You know that, don’t you? Those are just in case your brother gets out of hand.” “Let him speak!” shouted one of the bolder GI’s at the back of the hall. “We want to know what he has to say.” (And thus I had him!) The Captain’s deep sigh was not heard above the general hubbub that had now broken out. “Very well”, he shouted above the din. “I will allow him to take your questions but do remember he is not on our side. He was caught protecting a zombie.” “Caught protecting my only brother!” I corrected, now gaining in confidence. A young GI stepped forward to the microphone, introduced himself (“Private First class Brendan Swooper from Idaho”) and asked: “How come you’re not a zombie yourself when your twin brother is?” The answer to this was obvious to me (I’d not been bitten and David had) but that answer would have been incomplete and so I decided to muddy the waters a little. I guessed that no-one in the hall was in a position to correct me.
Nadelik lowen!langbot langbot
THE EXPERIMENTS BEGIN I was, of course, perfectly prepared for the Captain and his assistant to take skin and blood samples. These would be completely useless because the key to the mystery of male zombification would later be found in the study of epigenetic changes in DNA wrought by the action of the virus. At that time, the study of DNA generally was exceedingly rudimentary (there would be no PCR or Human Genome Project for decades.) More than that, the study of epigenetics had hardly been thought of. (That is to say, unless you misguidedly included Lamarckianism within that scientific discipline.) (The relevant DNA of poor David had, of course, been well and truly ‘methylated’ by the virus.) Anyway, what I didn’t expect was the series of experiments that the Captain had in mind for both me and David – and I don’t think his original plans had been altered one iota by my ‘misbehaviour’ at his lecture. (At all subsequent lectures, when my attendance was required, I was bound and gagged.) Once the Captain’s experiments on us began, I took to referring to him as “Dr Mengele” – in remembrance of that awful medical monster, the “Angel of Death”, Josef Mengele, who performed some of his most hideous experiments on twins in the Nazi concentration camp at Auschwitz during WWII. The Captain sent for us. He sent his assistant doctor to collect us. She was the tall, striking woman who had escorted us to the lecture fiasco. Henceforth I shall call her Ingrid though this was not her real name. “The Captain is not very happy with you,” she said sternly. “So, don’t give me any trouble this time round.” ‘Trouble’? She hadn’t seen anything yet – not if I was to have my way. The three goons with the cattle prods came forward but I waved them away as if I were actually in charge. “No thanks,” I said. “There’s enough sparkle in my eyes already.” They took my ‘order’ and stood aside!
Yma’n edhen yn hy neyth.langbot langbot
Gately was not to be deterred so easily. He came from a long line of folk who never gave up. He continued: “He says he’s seen ‘em recover – come back to the world of the livin’ with no more to show for bein’ a zombie than a few scars from the bites. He says he saw a couple of his own friends get better – but he thinks they got burned up by the napalm our guys dropped at the University a couple of weeks back.” The Aussie ‘veterans’, as one, stopped drinking as they took in the significance of what Gately had just said. The Yanks said nothing for those same few seconds. The barmaid, naturally fearful of any sudden silence in her bar, turned and stared at them in wide-eyed alarm. One of the Aussies broke the silence: “How many of the zombie guys are supposed to get better? Only two? Three? How many?” Gately replied: “The guy didn’t tell us that. Your Captain Doctor silenced him with several jolts from a cattle-prod. Screamed like a stuck pig, he did. Then some of our guys tried to stop the guy being taken away ‘cos we wanted to hear what he had to say.” “And?” said the first Aussie. “The guards pulled their side-arms on us – and dragged him away.” “Very friendly indeed,” muttered another of the Aussies, not really surprised by this aspect of what he was being told. “So,” said the first Aussie – who had now put his beer aside completely (an extremely serious move) – “ we really don’t know whether it’s one thousand guys – or just two – who are supposed to get better and stop being zombies, do we?” “No, sir” admitted Gately, “we do not. But, if two of the guy’s own close friends got better, that means it must be pretty common. That means there could be thousands, tens of thousands of young guys – just like us that would recover. That is, if they weren’t bein’ ‘wasted’ by the rest of us right now.”
Honn yw agan skol.langbot langbot
Gately had the answer: “His brother, his identical twin brother, is a zombie. We saw him, too. Really nasty lookin’ he was. Very noisy. Roared a lot. Wasn’t very happy bein’ in a steel cage with everyone gawkin’ at ‘im.” “Nor bein’ shocked with a cattle prod neither!” added Private First Class Swooper, belatedly joining in the discussion and sitting beside his friend and comrade, Gately. The Aussie chewed this over: “So, you’re sayin’ that the zombie brother must have protected the living one?” Gately and Swooper shrugged their shoulders in unison: “Seems so.” The Aussie finished his drink and motioned to the tired-looking barmaid to order another – the two yanks did likewise. (So far, so good.) That essential business done, the Aussie continued: “So, one guy survives among the zombies because he has an identical twin brother to protect him. How many of us have an identical twin zombie? I mean, it’s just so unusual that it makes no difference to what we’re doin’ out there. So, I still don’t see what you’re driving at. You say that I’m wrong. But, as I said, as far as I’m concerned, they’re all fuckin’ zombies. They’re just useless fuckin’ zombies – and we should just wipe ‘em all out ... And, if some of the guys decide to let off a bit of steam by decorating the place with their ‘bits’, it simply doesn’t matter. There’s no dignity in bein’ a zombie, is there?” Gately’s temper was rising but he kept it in check. “No, sir. I still say you’re wrong. There’s somethin’ else this guy told us, my friend – somethin’ only he would know.” “And that is?” said the raw-boned Aussie, pulling on his new beer, freshly served by the barmaid. “He said that, if you give them a chance, in a few days, some of the zombie guys – some, not all – get better and return to normal.” “Bullshit! What utter bullshit!” said the Aussie soldier, involuntarily spitting out some of his froth – and now attracting interested support from his comrades. “Complete bull!” echoed some of the others, also pulling on their beers.
Yma dhymm kath ha ki.langbot langbot
Maybe, somehow, it was I who was feeling David’s pain. Then again, perhaps I was just registering my upset at what I was seeing – and being completely helpless to stop. “That’s given me an idea,” said the smiling Mengele. “An idea for a follow-up experiment, consequential on the results of the first.” And, with that, his gaze fell upon my own body. He ordered my clothes to be torn from me and stepped evenly towards me, cattle-prod still in his hand. I well remember the jolt of the first application of the rod to my skin – on the forehead, as it happens. And I also remember hearing my own screams echoing in that bare-walled room. But I only got to know (later) how often, and where, the prod was applied to me by the scorch marks it left on my skin. (I had blacked out pretty early in the process.) It looked like I got about the same treatment as I saw David get. It was some minutes, or some tens of minutes perhaps, after the last application of the prod – and therefore after Ingrid’s last data point – that my mind rose once again into consciousness. The first thing I heard was Mengele’s voice: “Remarkable. Truly remarkable.” (Apparently, the word ‘remarkable’ was his favourite descriptor.) A conversation followed between him and Doctor Ingrid. I was still too groggy to take in all of it but the salient point of it was that, once David had seen me being tortured, his EEG readout had suddenly ceased flat-lining and had shown unmistakable signs of neuronal activity. There was apparently nothing at all normal in the patterns recorded – some of the lines had remained completely flat – but there was no doubt that a discernible pattern was to be observed (but only while I was being subjected to serious torture.) “I hope this is not an experiment that those two need to replicate too often,” I thought. My skin felt like it was on fire and David’s continued roaring was adding to my headache. I passed out once again and did not wake until we were both back in our concrete cell.
Penn-bloodh lowen, Shishir!langbot langbot
“When I saw a US F4 Phantom drop napalm on thousands of my fellow students, burning them all to death in a most painful and horrific way, I knew that it was killing kids that would soon recover – hundreds of them. It was like Dresden. It was like the fire-bombing of Tokyo. Gentlemen, that’s a major war crime. That’s not a battle. That’s not war. That’s why they hanged Generals at Nuremburg!...” Time was indeed short. I could see the guards hurrying to the stage. I had to raise my voice to be heard above the other voices that were now being raised. I started screaming: “...I can’t tell you why your government sent you here. That’s political. But I can tell you that you’ve been sent to war on the basis of a lie! Does that sound familiar? Well, does it? Have you heard of the so-called ‘Gulf of Tonkin Incident’? How many of you have still got brothers risking their lives in ‘Nam because of it? ...” These were the last words I managed to get out before I, too, was hit with a cattle-prod – and screamed very heartily. The hall was in uproar. There was complete pandemonium – just as I’d hoped. The Captain approached my cage as I lay spasming in the floor and hit me with another powerful jolt of electricity from one of the other cattle prods. (Perfect for my plans – but painful all the same.) “Leave him alone, you bastard!” shouted one of the GI’s. “You’re killin’ him!” And, with that, he and several of his buddies rushed on stage to protect me. Cosmic! For an instant, I thought they might actually free me – though that had not been my immediate plan – but the guards drew their side-arms and aimed them squarely at the stage invaders. Sensibly, they retreated. The Captain dropped his prod, came close and looked me in the eye. There was deep hatred in his look. I had wilfully robbed him of his moment of glory. Good. Now to see what the GI’s would do with the (quite plausible) disinformation that I had provided them.
Prag yth es’ta ow kul hemma?langbot langbot
And yet, of course, David could move about by himself, grunt a bit, eat people and so on. These were clear signs of life, of a sort. So, how come the flat-lines? Where was the brain activity that seemed to be going on? Don’t know. Not my problem. Then things got a bit more interesting – though ‘interesting’ is not exactly the word I would have chosen at the time. The Captain asked for one of the cattle prods. One of the goons duly handed it over. The Captain checked to see that it was on – by applying it to David’s ear. It was indeed on – as David’s reaction amply confirmed. Then: Zap. Zap. Zap. He applied it all over David’s grey-skinned body: face, hands, feet, genitals. He was very thorough, very thorough indeed. David roared loudly from start to finish and strained at the leather – doing his utmost to snap his bonds and get at his tormentors. One of the bolts holding a strap even worked loose from the wooden frame of the chair – but not enough to matter . The Captain was smiling that slimy smile of his. (Yuck – thrice.) He was obviously enjoying himself – particularly when he applied the electric charge to what would otherwise have been David’s most sensitive areas. It was at that moment that the parallels with the evil work of Dr Josef Mengele, the angel of Death, first came to my mind. While the torture of David was proceeding in a thoroughly well-planned and systematic fashion, Dr Ingrid was keeping her attention firmly fixed on the CRT screen and making appropriate notes of what she observed. It seemed she was less interested in the finer points of the Sadistic Arts class that was being conducted by her superior than in the ‘scientific’ data it was producing. “Still flat-lining, Doctor,” she reported, in a matter-of-fact way. “Remarkable. Truly remarkable,” commented Mengele. “But the readout of the other subject, the non-zombie twin, has gone completely wild, doctor,” Ingrid added. “Quite unexpected in my view.” The Captain looked at my own screen at the same time. She was right. The squiggles of my own readout were flying off the scale.
Yma’n maw na ow kewsel Sowsnek.langbot langbot
I had bivouacked several times in the vast tracts of bushland that surrounded this base and, I believed, still had a rough idea of how to get from base to inaccessible bush (if ever the opportunity presented itself.) Indeed, I had done several map-and-compass navigation exercises in that area. Did I still have a mental picture of the topographic maps I had used some years before? Well, no, that would be stretching it a little. But I did remember the names of one or two of the areas I’d been put in – as well as the sort of topography to expect in those areas and how to make my way round. David and I had been placed in the same cell. Obviously, they had realised he posed no threat to me. I wasn’t then sure if army lockups are any worse than civilian ones – I hadn’t been in a civilian prison previously (except at Port Arthur). This one, however, consisted of bare concrete and two thin mattresses for bedding. There was a bucket in the corner for ablutions and a solid steel door. I wasn’t warming to these facilities. As I lay there, in that cell, mining my memory banks for potentially useful, half- remembered, scraps of information, a guard’s voice shouted something unintelligible and the door was opened. The guard shouted “get back against the wall” and a woman appeared on the scene. She was wearing a white lab coat over a neatly pressed military uniform. She was an officer – a lieutenant, I thought. I felt the urge to salute her – but the need for that particular charade had now passed and I resisted the urge. This woman was an impressive sight. Tall, commanding and (apparently) severe. Her hair was cut reasonably short and pulled tightly away from her face. Very striking – but not really pretty. I took David’s hand – just in case he had thought of snacking on her. “You are both required for the Captain’s first lecture. You will be transferred into a portable cage – and restrained as may be required.” Behind her, in the hallway, I could see three very large soldiers – each with a fuckin’ cattle-prod! “Okay, lady,” I thought. “I’ll come quietly.” I wasn’t so sure about David.
Nyns yw da gans Tom nejya.langbot langbot
26 sinne gevind in 4 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.