Meanwhile, a makeshift society is being built in the school. Kids ride around on bicycles in the gym, where a biology class is also being taught. And...wait. Why wouldn't they use a classroom for that? They're in an actual school! Some kids play and laugh, not knowing the tentacle zombiehood that will comprise their adolescence. Little Matt is sitting on the bleachers, pouting as usual. He can't even muster up the energy to be happy that his dad has returned with his torso still attached to his legs. Why don't you go ride your Ripstick again so everyone can be enraptured about how poignant it is, you surly moppet? Ugh. He asks if Tom brought Ben back and Tom says that they didn't, but they did find him and he's safe and they're going back for him. Matt continues to pout until Tom asks him what the matter is, and Ben reveals that a classmate told him that when you take harnesses off, kids die. Parenting is full of awkward moments, right? Tom kind of lies and says that was before -- before a really smart doctor figured out how to take them off safely. I would correct that to, "Before an asswipe doctor theorized a way to take them off safely, which is still, in fact, untested." Tom does not go so far as to tell Matt that Ben will actually be okay, but the kid has a renewed spark of hope gleaming beneath his curly moptop.
Uncle Scott, replete in his fishing vest, enters Pope's cell (along with an armed guard) to give him dinner. Pope shovels in three bites before spitting his meal all over the floor. Uncle Scott asks if he's got a problem and Pope asks if he's been served Skitter a la King. You know some restaurant in Florida would totally have that on the menu. Uncle Scott explains that its chicken and rice and that Pope will have to excuse it not living up to his high standards since they all take turns in the kitchen. And...wait. Where would they even get chicken? The Purdue factory was magically spared from the attacks and complete lack of electricity? Pope surmises that it was Uncle Scott's turn to cook and then drops some knowledge on him: a) the chicken is way undercooked; b) there's enough salt in the dish to give his kid a stroke; and c) nobody puts paprika on chicken. The latter point is punctuated with, "What are you, Hungarian?" I take offense to that! Uncle Scott tries to play the old, "You do realize you're a prisoner," card, but Pope is undeterred. He continues dropping knowledge by saying that before you grill it, fry it, or put it on a barbeque, you poach the chicken first, preferably in stock with some herbs and spices. It absorbs everything and then all the moisture and flavor is cooked into it. Ladies and gentlemen, meet your next Food Network star! Uncle Scott asks, "What are you, a cook?" In fact, Pope is certified in culinary arts. And it's chef.