The Dream Thief, Kari Kilgore [reading well TXT] 📗

to sound like such a coward, but he wasn't feeling nearly as adventurous as he usually did when he actually did something new. His troublesome curiosity had no interest in this, not with George so nervous.

"Safe enough," George said. "We're not going to where they keep the really bad ’sters. This one's brand new. Just birthed last night."

"But why?" Karl said, close to shouting. "Tell me what the hell is going on!"

Karl grabbed his friend's arm again, and this time George stopped and turned to face him. The worry was still there, but anger was pushing it aside.

"Listen, I'm not going to try to explain this to you," George said. "But you have to see. I'm sorry, Karl. I really am. Doing this with no warning feels like a really shitty way to act. I can't think of anything else to do. Now please, just come with me."

After George was a few steps away, Karl finally got his own feet moving. His lungs were useless for breathing or anything else except clenching up around his pounding heart.

Karl was afraid he was going to pass out for the first time since his first few days at the Columns, that some poor green orderlies were going to have to haul his huge carcass back to the infirmary. Having to explain what he was doing out here in the first place might be easier than whatever he was walking toward.

George was waiting beside a heavy steel door, corroded and scarred, probably older than the two of them put together. When Karl finally stood beside him, he turned the handle.

The first thing that hit Karl was the smell. A thousand times worse than the soiled sheets he and George had changed, and punctuated with sweat and blood and fear.

Worst of all, this didn't smell like it had just happened today, this week, or maybe this year. The stench was thick enough that Karl could taste it at the back of his throat.

"Doesn't anyone ever shovel this place out?"

"I doubt they have time," George said. "If they did, it would smell this way again in a day or two. They bring it with them."

"Who?" Karl said. "Who brings it?"

"The ’sters, Karl. These are the new ones, too. You should smell where the old ones live sometime."

Karl covered his nose with his sleeve, hoping he never had that opportunity as long as he lived. He was wondering how human beings could possibly work in this when George stopped beside a huge wooden cabinet. He pulled out shiny black things with tubes dangling all over and handed one to Karl.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's a gas mask," George said. "You won't last long in here without one, and it'll help cover your face anyway. Here, I'll show you..." George held the glass pieces shaped like goggles up to Karl's eyes, squeezing another part against his mouth. "No, don't jerk away from it. Just breathe. It won't smell nearly so bad. Once you're still, I'll adjust the straps."

Karl forced his breath to slow, holding the heavy mask with both hands. After several seconds, George reached up. He pulled several straps tight against Karl’s head, tugged on the mask, and adjusted the straps again. Once he was finished, he turned away to get his own.

Karl let go, expecting the heavy thing to hurt his neck or just fall off, but it wasn't as bad as he thought. And George had been telling the truth. The awful smell was still there but the mask cut it down to almost nothing. Karl would have put up with a lot more discomfort for that.

He followed George for a few minutes down a narrow, dimly lit hall. The sides and roof were rough, dark gray stone, the floor the same but worn smooth in a path down the middle. Various types of doors lined the hall on both sides. Dark, aged wood with open barred windows, solid wood, black metal with glass windows.

Karl was relieved enough to be breathing almost normally that he almost forgot why they were here. Something urgent that he had to see, that his normally gossipy friend was not willing to describe.

He still wasn't curious, not one bit.

Karl wished any of his supervisors, old or new, would walk around the next corner and demand he get back to his own side of that huge fence. George stopped in front of a metal door with no window and lifted his mask for a second.

"You ready?"

Karl shook his head, but George opened the door anyway. The room seemed empty at first, and Karl dared to hope whatever it was had already been taken somewhere else. Bars stretched from wall to wall, floor to ceiling just in front of him.

Nothing was in the cell but a large ceramic bowl sitting on the bunk. It was oval like a bassinet, the kind of thing Rethia would bring his niece or nephew home in before much more time had passed, but Karl couldn't imagine putting a baby in such a hard container. He took a step toward the bars, and the basket jerked.

"Is it in there?" he whispered, his gaze locked onto the bed. His own voice sounded distant and distorted through the mask.

"They're small in the beginning," George said. "Just like we are. I'm sorry, Karl. I'm really sorry."

Karl took another step forward, but George stayed by the door. He finally stood close enough to touch the bars, and close enough to see what needed to be locked up before it was one day old.

The ’ster, if that's what it was, looked like a perfectly healthy newborn baby. It was naked, with pink, perfect skin and wispy blond hair, and Karl couldn't help noticing it was a boy. He turned around to ask what kind of sick joke George was up to, and the metal buckle on his belt sang out against the bars.

The baby opened its eyes.

They looked normal at first too. What took Karl's breath was the