Read Online The Shibboleth by John Hornor Jacobs - Free Book Online Page A

control over anything because every muscle is tight and contracted and I teeter and hit the ground.
    I try to do the Ghost Dance like so long ago, back in Casimir, when the admin bull ordered me to stay behind the line, but the candy swims through my bloodstream, full bore, and I’m locked incarcerado. Blocked from the shibboleth.
    Buster fills my vision, a half-sad, half-determined lookon his face, saying to Steve-O, “Get the pills. One went over there!” He forces open my mouth with his big paws—there’s no resisting him—and after a moment of scrabbling and muttered profanity, Steve-O roughly shoves them in.
    Buster covers everything that can take in air on my face and says, “Swallow or you’ll suffocate. More paperwork for us, but no one’s gonna bat an eye at some punk kid who asphyxiates. You got me?”
    With his face in mine, I make one more attempt to get behind his eyes. There’s the faintest scent of flame, and for a moment, I think I’m about to fly into the wild blue yonder, to touch the shibboleth, but the spark dies and I’m still firmly seated in good ole Shreve.
    â€œYou got me?”
    The air in my lungs is exhausted of oxygen, and black is pushing around at the edges, but,
yeah
, I get him.
    I swallow and the pills, without the sluice of water, feel like stones traveling down my throat, rough and gigantic and full of sleep.
    He pats me on my cheek and says, “Good boy,” and lifts me off the floor and places me on my feet once again. Turning his head, he nods at Steve-O, saying, “Okay, he’ll be good from here on out.” He looks back to me. “I’m watching you, kid. There’s no fun and games in here. Next time you don’t want to eat your candy, Steve-O will pop you in the ass with a syringe full of juice. Understand?”
    â€œOui, oui.”
    â€œWhat?”
    I can’t understand why my tongue said that so I just nod and duck my head.
    â€œAll right, be a good boy and don’t cause any trouble.” He pats my head.
    I toddle off. My body is sore all over from the electrical charge and my shoulder hurts where Buster almost pulled out my arm and my back stings where the Taser’s prongs pricked my skin.
    Not my favorite morning ever, that’s for sure.

    Rollie catches up with me as I shamble over to the reading room.
    â€œHey, beautiful,” she says, putting a bony hand on my shoulder—the smarting one—and stopping my forward movement. “When Buster gives an order, you
gotta
do it.” Her ammonia breath washes over my face. “
He doesn’t play, you know?
”
    â€œYeah, I kinda figured that out.”
    â€œMakes you all jumpy, don’t it? The zapping?”
    She’s looking at me with those big liquid eyes and a grin on her face. She’s too happy for a prisoner in a mental ward.
    â€œDon’t you ever want to bust out of this place?”
    â€œYou mean, escape?” Rollie grimaces and looks at me as if I am insane. More insane. Whatever.
    â€œYeah, escape. You know—” I wave my hand at the green walls and unbreakable plastic windows. “The wild blue yonder? Baseball fields? Children of the corn?”
    She shudders. Her emotions seesaw across her face. Her bony shoulders hunch up into a tight knot. Her hands jitter. “No. It’s terrible out there. That’s why I’m here. Safe.” Her face clears. She tries her smile back on.
    â€œSafe? I just had a gorilla electrocute me. It’s not safe in here,” I say.
    Her newfound smile withers and dies. She whispers, “It’s terrible out there. Something’s coming. Some cancer is growing, and I can feel it.”
    â€œHave you slept recently?”
    She ignores that, closing her big peepers and touching her eyelids with her two tremulous index fingers. “Sometimes I can feel it growing behind here. My eyes. Growing. Passing into the