And You Think Your Job's Tough

This is an excerpt from my first e-book, "Shock Effect," available here and here. Hope you like. Let me know what you think by reaching me on Twitter or by emailing bwzwriter@yahoo.com.

"Thank god that squeaky wheel got fixed," John thought as he pushed the meal cart down the bright hallway.

As a member of the government's interior-services department, he had been delivering meals to all kinds of people over the years ― terrorists, witnesses needing special protection, the always-puzzling “people of interest” ― and made the most of the job. He figured his duty was to make sure people under stress were taken care of. Maybe that gave them a slightly better impression of a place like Ligmeco.

Part of that impression, however, was professionalism. And few things were less professional than a meal cart with a wheel that sounded like a mouse being tortured.

John begged maintenance to fix the cart. On one level, he understood the delay: They had some important things to do. Still, he was a part of the operation, too.

He tried to guess the food in the cart. Smelled like turkey. Maybe some asparagus, too.

As he approached the only occupied cell on the floor, John began to get a little queasy. He hadn’t ever felt like that. It was like he was in danger. John always felt secure on the floor. He knew all kinds of hidden weapons were pointed at the cells in case one of the prisoners got past the electronic locks, which had all kinds of fail-safes and backups.

Still, the cells hadn’t ever had to keep a prisoner like the latest one. Even John had never seen this before. At least, as far as he knew.

John slowed in front of the cell. The door was solid steel, but it had a special slot covered with a small metal flap for the food trays. John took the tray out. It was turkey and asparagus. He chuckled; at least something was familiar here, he thought.

John looked at the flap. He was concerned with what was going to come out of there. A tentacle? Poison? Would he get dragged into the cell somehow?

John took a deep breath.

"OK, maybe I’m overreacting here," he thought. He immediately chalked it up to to watching too many movies.

Still, he slowly reached for the flap. He flicked it open and hopped out of the way, in case something came out. Nothing happened. Standing to the side of the door, John reached again for the flap, opened it slowly and slid the tray in the slot.

“Food for you,” John croaked with a dry throat.

Something tugged at the other end of the tray, and John jumped back. The tray slowly went through the slot. John was flat against the wall and breathing quickly. He stared at the door, not sure of what he would do in case something came out of there.

There was silence for what seemed like hours. Then, from the other side of the door, came a calm, pleasant voice.

“Thanks,” it said.

John was confused. "What did it mean, 'Thanks?'" he thought.

“OK,” John said, trying to sound relaxed. 

He grabbed the cart and wheeled it back around. It was going to be a long four hours until the next meal, he thought.