Margaret Haddix: Among the Free

Luke knew better than to ask the next question. He knew about officers' tempers. But he couldn't stop the words bursting out of his own mouth: "Why do people need new I.D.'s? What's wrong with the old ones?"

Officer Houk narrowed his eyes at Luke, studying Luke's face. He really sees me now. He'll remember me, Luke thought, fighting the familiar terror that had haunted him ever since he'd come out of hiding, the familiar desire to scream, Don't look at me! Luke didn't even bother to brace himself to be hit, because it didn't matter. No punishment was worse than being stared at.

But Officer Houk only shrugged.

"There's nothing wrong with the old I.D.'s," he said. "The new ones are just better."

And Luke, who had to fight so hard to read facial expressions, who had to struggle to interpret tones in strangers' voices, watched carefully as Officer Houk turned back around to face the wind rushing at them.

He's lying, Luke thought, hopefully. Then, with less certainty: If he's lying, I think I know the truth. Could it be —?

It had been one of their riskiest plans. At Population Police headquarters, Luke and his friends had heard rumors that the leaders were collecting identity cards for some big test, to sort out legal citizens and illegal third children once and for all.

"They're all in one spot," Nina had whispered in Luke's ear once when she'd brought food out to the stable. Nina worked in the headquarters kitchen; she was the only one of his friends that Luke ever saw. That day he'd blinked stupidly at her, not quite understanding until she hissed, "We can destroy them."

Then Luke had wanted to ask, How? and What good would that do? and What if it's all a trap? and What makes you think we have any prayer of succeeding? But Nina had stepped back quickly, gathering up serving trays, so he'd had no time to say anything after she told him what to do.

Luke's assignment had been to place a particularly pungent glob of horse manure in the middle of a path, in order to delay an officer who was rushing to repair a security fence. Luke had taken the manure from Jenny's stall; he'd arranged it carefully to look fresh and accidental and unplanned. After that he'd heard nothing more about I.D/s, nothing more about the plan.

He thought it must have failed. Failed, like every other plan.

But if they're issuing new I.D.'s to everyone in the country, maybe the old ones really were destroyed. Maybe. .

Maybe it didn't matter. And even if it did, how could Luke take any pride in the plan's success when all he had done was arrange horse manure?

Luke shivered in the bitter wind pushing its way into the jeep. The bleak countryside flashed past him: leafless trees and lifeless fields.

"My dad had a mechanic's shop, back home," the other boy said suddenly. "I'm good with cars."

Luke forced himself to turn and look at the other boy.

"Yeah?" Luke said. Did this kid actually think Luke would want to be friendly with someone who'd stolen his bread?

"Yeah," the boy said. "So it was stupid that they had me polishing shoes at Population Police headquarters."

He said this softly, as if he didn't want the officer and the driver in the front to hear.

Luke shrugged.

"What did you expect?"

The boy got a dreamy look on his face that softened all his features.

"Food," he said. "I just wanted to eat. To have a full stomach for once in my life. Isn't that why everyone joined up?"

Luke shrugged again, and went back to staring out at the dead landscape. He knew that the Population Police had control of the entire country's food supply; he knew that every family had to have someone working for the Population Police or they'd get no food. But he still felt like yelling at the boy, The Population Police kill children, don't you know that? Do you even care? Is your full stomach worth other kids' lives?

Luke and the other boy were silent for the rest of the drive. The men in the front seat didn't seem to be talking to each other either, but Officer Houk kept holding the radio to his mouth and muttering, "Seeking report on identification process in Searcy," or, "What's the progress in Ryana?" Luke wondered vaguely if he was in charge of other units as well, or if he was just nosy.

Then the ruts and potholes in the road grew so huge that Officer Houk put his radio down and concentrated on telling the driver which way to go: "Ease it out gradually— oof! That just caught the right rear tire. You don't think the axle's bent, do you?" Twice Luke and the other boy had to get out and push. Luke thought he heard the other boy muttering, "Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is no way to treat a motor vehicle." But Luke made no attempt to catch the boy's eye or to exchange "at least we're in this together" shrugs.

When they finally reached Chiutza, hours later, Luke was sweating despite the cold, and his bones were jarred from so much bouncing.

"Quickly," Officer Houk ordered, hurrying everyone out of the jeep. "Get everyone in the town square by" — he glanced at his watch—"eleven o'clock. Each of you take one street then report back and I'll assign the next one."

"Street" was too fancy a word for the trash-strewn paths lying before them. Luke could tell that once upon a time, years and years and years ago, Chiutza had had nicely paved streets and concrete sidewalks and sturdy houses. Now the streets were more gravel than pavement, the sidewalks fell off into gaping holes, and the houses were ramshackle, with doors hanging loose and windows patched with plastic.

"Stop gawking and go!" Officer Houk shouted.

Luke saw that the driver and the other boy were scur-rying to the right and straight ahead, so Luke veered to the left. The first house he came to looked somehow sadder than all the rest, because it had clearly once been quite grand. It had two stories while most of the others had only one, and it was surrounded by a painted fence, now broken down in decay.

Don't look, Luke told himself.

He pushed aside a cracked gate and went to pound on the front door.

"Open up! Population Police!" he shouted.

And then he shivered, because who was he to be yelling those words? He remembered his brother Mark playing cruel tricks on him when he was a child, pretending Luke's worst nightmares had come true. He remembered a time he'd heard those words from the inside of a house, when he'd had to hide to save his life.

And he remembered another time, when he'd been caught and carried away….

Desperately, Luke shoved himself against the door, as if he could escape his own memories. The door gave way, rusty hinges tearing away from rotting wood. Luke stumbled into a dim living room and found an old woman sitting on a faded couch. Sitting there knitting, as if she'd had no intention of answering the door.

Luke stared at her and she stared at him. Then she said, almost mildly, "It wasn't locked. You didn't have to break it down."

The light caught in the woman's glasses, which threw off slivers of color, like a prism. A cloud of white hair swirled around her face, making her seem unearthly. She looked frail without seeming delicate or feeble. Luke found himself wondering if this was what his own grandmother looked like — the grandmother who'd never even been allowed to know of Luke's existence.

"The Population Police require your attendance at a meeting at eleven o'clock in the town square. You will be issued a new identity card. No other cards or papers will be valid after these cards are issued," Luke said in a rush. And then he turned to go, because he didn't want to think about how he'd broken the woman's door, how he was act-ing like a typical, brutish Population Police recruit, how this woman's eyes seemed to accuse him. But even as he turned, Luke could see that the woman was making no effort to rise from her couch.