Cages by Chris Pasley Read Free Book Online

better, or were just better survivors.  And here we have a clearly
superior evolutionary species being hunted and killed by the weaker species. 
It's unnatural."
    Ben mumbled something, but
Remi ignored him. 
    "So...you want to
be a Beast?"  I asked.
    Remi snapped his
fingers.  "Absolutely.  I've been thinking, meditating,
preparing my mind so that when the change comes I'll retain my faculties. 
I'll escape from this dump . 
Then we'll see which is the superior species!"
    Remi had killed the Bitten
himself with a tire iron from the auto repair aisle, but his unbridled hatred
for adults did not really manifest until he reached the populated zones. 
No one had told him about Quarantine.  The only saving grace in this
prison, he claimed, was that they had a fairly good chemistry class.  And
he proposed putting it to work.
    He wanted to build a dirty
bomb.
    Of all my classes I enjoyed
Mr. Jarvis's best, in spite of the indignity of that first day.  He was
old, a bit past middle age, but he taught like I imagined someone would have
taught before the Outbreak.  Sometimes he would get so excited about the
things he was saying that he would be all grins and actually engage the
students at their level, coming close and sitting down eye-to-eye like none of
the other professors dared do.  He was a small man who enjoyed fulfilling
old professorial stereotypes about tweed jackets and glasses, but there was
often a self-mocking twinkle in his eye that said I think we've got 'em
fooled .  I thought there was more to him than a shuffling Quarantine
teacher. 
    Literature had always been my
favorite subject; of all my mother's sins, forcing me to read far beyond my
level was the one I most easily forgave.  I think she was desperate to see
me into adulthood and tried to force me there as fast as she could, before
Quarantine ended m e early . 
So while Mr. Jarvis taught things I had read long ago, I hadn't looked at these
books and stories the way he was making me look at them.  From what my
mother said, literature was about pattern recognition more than anything else,
and Jarvis seemed to ignore the obvious connections my mother had made.  Instead,
he focused on emotional impact and a shallow web of allusions that revealed
deeper meaning.  One day I
stayed after class and told him as much.
    "You're a bright kid,
Sam," Jarvis said.  "But from what you've told me, your mother
was a deconstructionist.  Scum of the earth, deconstructionists."
    Did he just call my mother
scum ? I wondered for a second, then remembered that I
wouldn't really have cared if he did.  "What do you mean?"
    "I'll cover
deconstructionism next week, just for you.  How's that?"  Jarvis
said, clapping me on the shoulder. 
    Outside the halls were lined
with the cool kids and filled with the offal.  Remi was waiting for me
there.  We had Geometry together and he was helping me study.  I
didn't need his help - my mom used to say my first word was "Euclid,"
but only when she was making me study math in the hours after normal school let
out.  Other times it was "Socrates" or
"Einstein."  I asked my Dad once and he said my first word was
"ball."  In any case, Remi liked to help me and I didn't want to
burst his bubble.  It didn't do to get on Remi's bad side.
    As we walked through the barricades between the English hall
and the Math hall, Alan Tallart stopped us.  Alan was a star on the
basketball team, not because he was very good, but mainly because he acted like
one.  He was far bigger and at least three years older than either Remi or I. 
"Remi.  I need some of your stuff."
    "I'm not doing that
anymore," Remi said, attempting to push past. 
    "No.  I need
it."  Alan's hand gripped tight on Remi's.  His eyes were dark
and dangerous.
    Remi stared right back, but he
looked up to see two guards paying careful attention to the encounter.  H e shrugged Alan's hand off. 
"Fine.  Not here.  After intramurals, Blind Hall."
    Alan grinned and