Breanne sat next to Cole in the circle of deck chairs around the spit. They’d arrived after the spit muffin had been mounted and carried onto the rotisserie. The flames had died down to a bed of low burning flames slowly eating away at solid logs. The boys were… boys – drinking beers and staring at the bronzed skin of the naked spit muffin as she turned, glistening in oil and juices. Cole was ignoring his friends who had greeted Breanne but stuck to their click groups. The few social sluts who circulated between work friends, the baseball team and colleague friends hadn’t gotten around to them yet. Breanne sipped her lollypop drink, a premixed and chilled vodka and cranberry, and took her eyes off the nameless girl cooking at the centre of the festivities.
“See I told you it wouldn’t be so bad.” Cole nudged her shoulder with his as she took another nervous sip. She almost spilled some on her light blue singlet. Her shapely tanned legs protruded from the tiny shorts she’d worn. Vogue magazine had said slutty country was the look for spitting’s and the high cut denim shorts whose pockets hung lower than her hem were a must wear item. Looking around the group of casually dressed young adults she realised she’d overdone it a bit. She was almost as naked as the spit muffin.
A slightly chubby lad from the baseball team was looking at her legs from the other side of the circle instead of watching the spit. She could tell he’d already had one too many and his interest in her over the spectacle of the spit muffin made her uncomfortable – as if he’d prefer her on the menu. She ran her head up her brow and through her black straight hair. “I guess its fine.” Her voice lacked enthusiasm.
“Fine?” Cole smirked thinking he was charming. “You know we all chipped in to get her.” What Cole hadn’t said was they all chipped in two weeks ago. The spit muffin had been passed around, each guy at the barbeque having his fun with her before she ended up at the house where she would meet her end.
“Russian?” Breanne asked, not really curious just deciding polite chit-chat was the way to go.
“Ukraine.” They shouldn’t have lost the war.
Eastern Europe was a land occupied by women. The rules of the cold war sat. Neither side launched. Though The Confederation of Russian States had the man power it was mitochondrial DNA that had undone them. The Syphon Filter Virus was as lethal as a chemical weapon, but could be tailored to target specific sequences of DNA in the mitochondria. War is fought by men so the safeguard that the virus only attacked those of the Prussian lineage with a Y chromosome was considered humane. Only the women survived. American men had crossed over the Bering Sea to assume the technical roles the chauvinistic eastern bloke required. The surviving women became slaves in their own countries and once the economic and social benefit was felt in Europe it was not long till they were exported as slaves. A higher standard of living led to hedonism and finally indulgences in the taboo. Cannibalism was the latest fad.
“I think she was pretty.” Past tense.
“She is pretty.” Cole corrected and to Breanne’s horror the spit muffins gasped for air. The trauma of being cooked had sent her into shock, but the poor girl lashed to the spit was very much alive.
“Jesus!” Breanne leaped up. Very socially awkward. She spilt her drink and raised her hand to her mouth in horror. ‘She’s still alive!’
“Hey”, Cole spoke softly and with a calming voice. A couple of people had noticed Breanne’s reaction but it received little more attention than a smirk or look of manic amusement at her naivety. “Hey of course she’s alive. She’s a spit muffin.” He reached forward and grabbed her forearm. Cole didn’t have much standing amongst the crowd. To most he was the equivalent of a Facebook friend.
“I…I…” Breanne was strangely calmed by everyone’s complacency with the situation.
“You didn’t know?” Cole was still gentle, a little bemused by Breanne’s ignorance.
“No.” Breanne relaxed, not to the spit muffins plight, but to the crowd socializing around her slow a painful conversion to something edible. She felt Cole pulling her back to her seat and she allowed herself to be led. She sat and Cole reached into his cooler to produce another drink to replace the one she’d spilt. She accepted it and forced a smile. Cole extended his beer for her to clink. The pair saluted and Cole pursuit of Breanne began around the delicious smell of girl meat.