Free The Forgotten Ones by Pittacus Lore

going anywhere, though—even if we opened their cages, how would we get them to follow us? Especially without risking whatever others we find?” I hate to abandon any of them, but I think we have to leave this pair here. I glance in the other cages quickly but they’re all empty. I see a second door against the sidewall, and I hurry over to that, pull it open, and rush through, almost slamming into a pair of Mogs that are standing in front of another row of cages. One of them is short and wiry and wearing a lab coat—definitely a scientist. The other one’s big and burly, though, and in military gear. They both look up as I barrel in, and the soldier’s hand automatically goes for the blaster at his side. Great.
    “What—who—?” the scientist starts, but I shut himup by slamming into him as hard as I can. He flies backwards into the soldier who stumbles a step, his hands going up automatically to catch his companion. They both turn to ash a second later, and I glance back to see Rex in the doorway, blaster in hand.
    He did that. Just like he killed the Mogs who were guarding my cell.
    “Why . . . ,” I start.
    “I promised you I’d help you and I’m helping you,” he says. “Let’s just leave it at that.” Then he looks past me. “Jackpot,” he whispers.
    I follow his gaze to see what he’s talking about. At least four of the cages here are occupied—no, five. And all of them . . . well, the first one has a small dog, the second a little pig, the third a cat, the fourth a raccoon, and the fifth a brightly colored bird. Then I blink, and now they’re an owl, a goat, a rat, a beaver, and a monkey. Then they shift again, and again, a lot like Dust did the other night, only this is constant, cycling from shape to shape to shape fast enough to make them dizzying to watch.
    “Is that normal?” Rex asks. He sounds just as surprised as I am. The continual shape-shifting is unsettling, to say the least.
    “I don’t know,” I admit. Then I notice a clipboard on the ground by my feet. The scientist must have dropped it. Picking it up, I see a list of subjects, with notes nextto each one. Notes like “100cc injected, change rate increased tenfold” and “lobotomy performed, cohesion shattered.” Bile rises in my throat, and I have to gulp a few times before I can answer. “No. They’ve been experimenting on them already.”
    At this point, I have no idea how useful these surviving creatures will be. I’d hoped to find a bunch more like Dust, and instead I have five out-of-control shape-changing animals. Still, there’s no question they’re Chimæra, and I don’t waste any more time wondering. Instead I step over to their cages and yank them open one by one.
    “It’s okay,” I assure them, loud enough for all of them to hear me at once but low enough that I hope my voice won’t carry beyond these walls. “We’re here to help.” I have no idea if they understand me, but I figure it can’t hurt.
    For a minute none of them move, and I can’t blame them. I don’t know how long they’ve been here, or what’s been done to them, but they don’t have any reason to trust a Mog—or, for all I know, humans. The one that’s now—for the moment—back to being a monkey is the first one to edge over to its open door, poke its head through and then chitter at the others, shifting back and forth between forms as they pour out of their prison. A second later they’re all loose, crawling and swinging and pacing and fluttering every which way.
    “Right,” I tell Rex. “Time to go.”
    Almost on cue, a siren starts blaring. Flashing lights accompany it out in the hall. Then a voice erupts from speakers in the ceiling.
    “Attention, a prisoner has escaped the brig. Adamus Sutekh was last seen wearing blue jeans and a black shirt. He is five-ten, slight of build, with long hair. He is unarmed but a known traitor. If found, detain if possible—shoot if necessary. The same for any