Read Keepers for Free Online Page B

experimented on before accidentally creating a giant spider that broke loose and did all sorts of yeechy things.
    Pigs have human eyes, blue, with round pupils. After staring at you, they’ll look away and you can see the whites of their eyes. Something about the pigs and the sheep seemed wrong to me, and I didn’t want to get any closer to them.
    The three of us stood there in the doorway. I remember that things were said, but exactly what and to whom I can’t remember. We’d come this far, we’d survived the Decent into Darkness and the Hallway of Frozen Ghosts and wouldn’t turn back until we had something to show for it.
    A tough bunch, us.
    As the sheep paced around I saw that sections of fleece had been shaved away in squares for recently sutured incisions. One of them had what looked like a plastic bag sewn to its side. It was filled with something thick and dark and swirling with small chunks. I turned away.
    We moved to the next room, where dogs had started barking. Half a dozen of them in large cages greeted us joyously as we entered. One of them looked sad and sick and ignored us, but the rest pushed their weight against the bars as we approached.
    As I neared the first one’s cage, however, he stopped barking and growled. Beth heard this and warned me not to get any closer to the dogs, most of whom looked desperate for attention—just a rub, a touch, a sniff of your hand so I can lick it, please, oh, please-please-please.
    At that moment I both loved and despised them, with their shrill yelps and wag-wagging tails and bright eyes. Sorrow and discouragement soaked the room in those loud cries, pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I was overwhelmed. On each cage door was a chart with handwritten details about the dog, filled with alien words and baffling mathematical and chemical symbols. Instead of water dishes they had bottles attached to the cages, with tubes they could lick, giant versions of the ones used by the gerbils at school. Despite the warnings and my own confused feelings, I decided to let one of the dogs lick my fingers through the bars. I knew it wouldn’t bite me; it seemed far too lonely.
    It was friendly and warm, and I wanted to open the door and take it back to my room. I took a chance and pushed my hand a little farther into the cage so I could scratch its neck. There was a light-blue plastic tag attached to the back of its ear. I bent its ear down, gently, and saw the tag had only three words on it: Property of Keepers. Below that was a series of numbers. I pulled my hand out and looked back at the silent dog. It was staring at me, unblinking, as if it either recognized me or was waiting for me to figure something out. I smiled at it, feeling sorry for the poor thing, and took a step toward it.
    It shook its head back and forth, once, quickly: an emphatic no .
    Beth and the orderly didn’t seem to have noticed, so maybe I’d imagined it. Shaking your head no like that was something people did, mostly parents and teachers when they didn’t want you to accidentally have fun: cold stare, tight lips, head back and forth once and once only: No, absolutely not .
    I took another step toward the silent dog. This time I watched carefully. This time I did not imagine it. It definitely looked at me and shook its head No!
    I remained still, then mouthed the word Why?
    The dog looked away from me for a moment, making certain that no one else was watching, then with its front left paw reached up and bent forward its left ear, holding it like that so I could see the plastic tag: Property of Keepers.
    A sense of adventure almost emerged for a few seconds. I knew what was really going on here. They were making the animals smarter, smarter maybe than people, and this dog was trying to let me in on the secret. Maybe because the animals were planning a revolt and would need human friends once they were outside and free? Could that be it? I started to mouth the question but then my