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Glick crawled toward the front of the cabinet. Once again, the amount of food the Almighty was leaving in the trap was getting less and less. He was hungry all the time but he didn’t dare come out during the day. He’d have to search the room tonight for crumbs or a stray bug. He stilled, hand frozen in the air in front of him. Feast day had arrived.
He had no idea why, but the Almighty would cut back on the meat. Until one day—the best day ever—there was almost more food than Glick could eat. Today, a huge chunk of meat hung from the wire.
He forced himself to stay in the shadow of the counter. Even though this was a pattern, he couldn’t race out to feed. He didn’t want to die like Flea had, pinned down and cut apart.
He swallowed his desire for the food and studied the room. Everything was normal—the hum of machines, darkness broken by soft lights from some of the equipment, sounds from the Brush-Men enclosure and the cage with food.
He darted across the room, glancing up at the metal that hung above his head. He’d been nervous about it at first but it never moved and the Almighty had told the Guards that it was something his boss was making all the scientists set up in their labs.
He didn’t understand anything about science or labs, but he did understand hunger and how to make it go away. Thick, bloody meat always beat hunger. He grabbed the long stick that he used to get his treat, hurried to the cage and climbed the side closest to the meat. His arms trembled as he maneuvered the stick through the metal to the wire attached to the food. He hooked it on the first attempt. By now, he was an expert, but that hunk of meat was so big it didn’t budge as he tried to pull it toward him. He tried again, but it only swayed slightly. He pulled the stick back and re-angled it, trying to get it under the meat. There was a soft snap. He froze, staring at the stick. If it’d broken, he’d never get the food.
A rattle echoed through the room and then a crash. The cage shook from the impact. He let go of the stick and dropped to the floor. He had to get out of here. Something bad was going to happen. Something bad always happened with the new. He raced toward his home, his corner of darkness but the metal was down. The section that’d been tied up had fallen. He tugged on the wires but they were too strong. He tried to squeeze through but only his arm fit. He raced around the cage, tugging and pulling. This couldn’t be happening. He’d been so careful. He skidded to a halt in front of two large shoes. Shoes like the ones that’d stomped the hatchlings.