WittenbergW
e’re gonna move.” Samuel Imshana punched off the call and tossed the phone on his bed.
“When?” Marco Sanpere was just stepping back into the room from the shower he badly needed after four hours of toil on a bobcat, digging deep graves out in the woods that surrounded the facility.
“Soon as we can get it cleaned up and get the kafirs loaded. He’s sending two men down from St. Louis to give us a hand. He said to be sure there were no more escapes or f**k ups.”
“Wasn’t my fault. I told you we should never have taken them outside. Fuckin’ PT session. That was bullshit and you fell for it.”
“It was designed to keep them healthy. We keep the kafirs locked up in the dark like f*****g mushrooms, and they’re gonna get sick.”
“Who gives a s**t? They’re all gonna be dead soon anywa
