The Prey Read Online Free PDF Page A

shooting arrows or kicking soccer balls, he was drop-dead good. Yet another reason he pissed me off.
    Now that he wore the camp uniform—jeans, white T-shirt, blue cotton shirt—his old name no longer cut it. So we called him Cat, because he was athletic and mysterious and half the time we didn’t hear him sneak up beside us.
    â€œLemme ask you a question.” There he was again, standing beside me at the mess hall door. “You’re called LTs, right?”
    â€œThat’s right,” I said.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s short for lieutenant . A military abbreviation. ’Cause we’re the future lieutenants of the world.”
    â€œSays who?”
    â€œThe camp leaders. Westbrook, Karsten, Dekker, all of ’em.”
    Cat shot me a look of disbelief. “Seriously?”
    The hair rose at the base of my neck. What wasit about this guy that rubbed me the wrong way? “Seriously,” I said.
    He tried—not very hard—to stifle a laugh. “So what happens when they leave here? The graduates?”
    â€œYou mean after they go through the Rite?”
    â€œYeah, tell me about the Rite ,” he mocked.
    â€œThere’s a big ceremony where all the seventeen-year-olds pledge allegiance to the Republic, then they’re bussed to leadership positions elsewhere in the territory. It’s a pretty big deal.”
    This time Cat didn’t bother trying to hide his laughter. It was a harsh, mocking laugh, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I brushed past him and stepped outside into the pouring rain. Cat was beside me in a second.
    â€œYou don’t have to get all pissy,” he said. “I’m just trying to help.”
    â€œYeah, well, maybe I don’t need your help.”
    â€œFine. Your funeral.”
    Something about his tone pushed me over the edge. I turned and gave him a shove.
    â€œWho the hell do you think you are?” I demanded.
    His expression was blank. Icy rain plastered his hair to his forehead.
    â€œI’ve lived here nearly all my life,” I went on, “but you’re the one who acts like he knows everything. Well, screw you!”
    â€œI don’t know everything . . .”
    â€œWell, you definitely act that way.”
    â€œ. . . but I know some things. Like you’re crazy to think they call you LT because it’s short for lieutenant .”
    â€œSo if you’re so smart, what is it?”
    â€œYou really want to know?” His words cut through the rain like a knife. “It’s short for Less Than. Which is exactly what all of you are: a bunch of Less Thans.”
    I felt like I’d been sucker punched. I was too stunned to respond.
    Cat went on. “When you were a little kid, the Republic decided your fate. They determined where you were going to go, what you were going to be. Soldier, worker, Less Than, whatever.”
    â€œThen how come none of us have ever heard that?” I asked.
    â€œProbably ’cause the Brown Shirts didn’t tell you.”
    I struggled to form thoughts. “How do they decide who’s a . . . Less Than?” Just saying the words made me uncomfortable.
    â€œHandicaps, obesity, skin color, politics, who knows. They don’t announce the criteria, but it’s pretty clear. I mean, look around.”
    I thought of the two hundred or so guys in Camp Liberty. Some of it might’ve been true, but that didn’t mean anything. Sure, I had brown skin, and Twitch and June Bug had black. Dozer had a withered arm, Red a splotch on his face, and Four Fingers, well, fourfingers on each hand. But all that was just a coincidence. Right?
    â€œPolitics?” I asked. “What kid knows anything about politics?”
    â€œNot you, your parents. If they’re dissidents, then you’re branded Less Thans for sure.”
    â€œBut why?”
    â€œBecause if the normal people want to survive the next Omega, we