Julian Vance did not blink.
Six inches from the spinning vanadium-steel blades of the Cummins shredder, Clara’s sneaker heels were smoking against the moving rubber belt. The friction threw off a sickening stench of scorched rubber and ozone.
“Julian!” Clara screamed over the roar of the motor. “The blades are pulling my shoelaces!”
“Hold your footing, Clara!” Elena shouted from the border. “Do not kick your legs!”
Beside Clara, Lin Mei dug the steel tips of her shoes into the belt ribs, her forehead slick with chilled perspiration.
“The motor is pulling fifty horsepower!” Lin Mei cried. “In four seconds, our feet enter the intake chute!”
High above them on the catwalks, Director Wardell Kray’s articulated right claw brought his gold-nibbed Esterbrook pen down toward the red-bordered death certificate.
[click-whir]
