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much right to these things as I did. The stuff didn’t
belong to any of us, we were just taking it, and if that’s how they
enjoyed the objects, then I had to let them. If I wanted to
rearrange the things or use something myself, I could just wait
till they lost interest and wandered off, which all of them did
after a few minutes of going through the things in the
compartment.
    Inside the compartment was a sofa, and I sat on it
and examined some of the things that had fallen out of boxes. There
were all sorts of little things. Some I could identify, some looked
vaguely familiar, and some were a mystery. But I liked all of them
and was glad to have them. It wouldn’t be so bad here, if I had
some objects to look at, some things to learn about and study. My
heart leaped as I thought there might be books in some of the
boxes; I had been able to read the signs outside, so I thought I
could probably read more complicated things, and even if it was
hard, getting more practice and learning to read better would give
me something to do.
    It still made me a little sad to be locked in here,
but as I sat there looking at an album full of pictures and running
my hand over an old quilt, I had to admit that even if the gate
were open, I wouldn’t know where to go. I had no idea what was out
there. There could be things that were dangerous—wild animals or
violent people or even fire. I shivered when I remembered that Will
and Milton had built a fire at night when we were walking here. It
had scared me almost as much as being near Milton. I looked at all
the boxes, and I thought that for a while, maybe a long while, this
would be a really nice and safe place to stay and learn about the
world. Maybe later I could go out and see other things, once I’d
learned what was safe and how to get around better, and if they’d
let me.
    I looked sideways at Milton and Will, trying not to
let them notice that I was looking at them, letting them think I
was focused on the things in the compartment. They, on the other
hand, made no attempt to conceal how fascinated they were by
watching my every move.
    “Why’s he different from the others?” Will asked
Milton quietly. “It’s like he remembers things from when he was
normal,”
    I didn’t know what he meant by that. I know more
now, but I still don’t understand everything that happened or why
some people are different from others. I don’t remember enough of
it to understand. I still think I am normal, even today. So are
these people in here with me. We’re different from the people who
can talk, but we’re all different from each other, and they’re
different from one another, too. I didn’t like the way they watched
me, and talked like I was so different, or even that there was
something wrong with us. I remembered that we’d killed and eaten
some people, so maybe we deserved to be punished, but there was
something else in how they talked that made it wrong. I’d forgotten
the word, but I read it in a book later—”condescension.” It made me
feel a little angry and insulted, but I had to admit that whether
or not one could talk seemed to make a big difference in how one
got along with others. Maybe it was an accurate measure of our
worth, and whether we were good or bad people. Besides, Milton and
Will had opened the doors for me. Maybe they weren’t so bad. I
didn’t want to be angry at them.
    “I’ve been studying them more than you have, Will,”
Milton answered him. “I’ve had more time, since I started rounding
them up. I’m out here with them for days and days.” He shook his
head. “It seems to affect each one differently. Some of them are
worse than the wildest animals. They’re violent, completely alone
even when they’re in a crowd, lashing out at others and even
hurting themselves. And others—they look at me and at each other
like they love and trust everyone. I know it’d be different if they
saw a normal person and their hunger took over, but with