“Pig Lab,” by Will Mackin

Illustration by Henning Wagenbreth Save this story Save this story Save this story Save this story Late as I was, I figured I’d be walking right into an active scenario. Crazy Omar, maybe. Or Outnumbered and Outgunned. I thought I’d hear the thud of stun grenades and hillbilly shouts of “Allahu akbar! ” I expected to taste the bitter clouds of cordite drifting over the lawn and see the green muzzle flash of machine guns firing blanks on full auto. Above all, I assumed I’d find wounded pigs dying on the grass, and the boys elbow deep in their salvation.

Turned out, however, that I hadn’t missed much. The pig men were in the trailer, knocking out the pigs with anesthesia. The pigs, perhaps sensing the looming betrayal, or at least recognizing a serious departure from their bottle-fed, sunny upbringing, fought back. Hooves banged against the metal floor. Squeals cut through the cool air. Steam leaked through the trailer’s slats. Pig fear had the same sour reek as our fear.

I found the boys stooging in a patch of morning sun at the base of our compound’s tower.