Margaret Haddix: Among the Free

Oh, please. .

Luke couldn't even have said why the boy's life mattered so much to him. The boy had been no friend to Luke. He'd shared information only because he was scared. He'd refused to share shelter or food. Why had Luke risked his own life trying to save the other boy?

Isn't it enough that the boy was alive? Isn't that reason enough for me to want him to stay alive?

Luke remembered the boy's own comment on life and death: "Lots of people die who don't deserve it." If the roles had been reversed — if it had been Luke on the ground and the boy hiding in the woods — Luke didn't think the boy would have tried to save him.

I don't think like he does. I'm not that.. free. But was it freedom not to care about anyone but yourself? Not to care what side you were on, as long as you got food in your stomach?

Luke's own stomach felt squeezed in and petrified, almost beyond hunger. But he knew he wouldn't survive long without nourishment. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll have to find food. For now, even if his life depended on it, he couldn't force himself to crawl back out of his cave.

For a long time, Luke lay huddled against the rock wall, his ears straining to interpret every sound. Was that rustling noise a squirrel running through the fallen leaves or a person approaching Luke's cave? Was that scratching noise the wind blowing a twig against the mountain or a human lighting a match?

Eventually Luke slipped into a fitful sleep haunted by nightmares of guns firing and people chasing him. The woman he'd refused to shoot appeared in his dreams, but she never said anything. She just kept looking at Luke— why was she looking at him? The boy Luke had tried to save sat at a table spread with every delicious food Luke had ever seen, but every time Luke tried to approach, the boy said, "Oh, no, this is my gourmet meal. Nobody can make me share." The stiff threads of the Population Police insignia stabbed against his chest, and he tore at it in his sleep, not sure if the pain was imaginary or real.

When Luke woke up the next morning, he felt weak and trembly. His head ached from sleeping on rock, and his legs and arms felt bruised. He lay staring at the faint light filtering in through the cave's opening. He blinked one eye and then the other, making the light shift position, jump from side to side. That was the kind of thing he used to entertain himself with more than a year ago, when he was bored and lonely, hiding in his parents' attic. Before he met Jen.

You didn't shoot the woman. You tried to save the boy. Stop hiding, Luke. You're worth it, you really are. .

Luke decided this cave had to be the same one he'd dis" covered the day before, because it, too, was haunted by Jen's voice.

Get up. Go. Get out of here. Stop hiding.

'All right, all right," Luke muttered.

He stretched and started to stand up, forgetting how low the cave's ceiling was. His head slammed against solid rock.

"Ow! Oooh — thanks a lot, Jen. Got any other great advice?"

He rubbed his throbbing head and half crawled, half slithered toward the cave's entrance. Then he sat there, peering out into the waiting woods. He needed food — to be able to think clearly, if nothing else. Maybe with food he'd even stop thinking that he could talk to ghosts. Chiutza had to be the nearest place with food, but every time he started thinking about heading in that direction, his legs shook and his heart felt like it was quivering in his chest.

I don't have to go there, he told himself. Maybe I'll just go.. back.

He wasn't quite sure what he meant by "back." He had such a jumble of images in his head. He could see himself showing up at home, his mother's arms wrapped around him, her face glowing with joy at the sight of him. He could see himself returning to the school he'd attended, his old headmaster, Mr. Hendricks, rolling out in his wheelchair, crying, "Oh, Luke, it's so good to see that you're safe." He could see himself back at the stables, with his favorite horse, Jenny, whinnying and rubbing her nose contentedly against his arm. Luke thought that all of those places — home, Hendricks School, Population Police headquarters — were to the east. The sun had been behind him the whole time he'd been traveling yesterday morn' ing. If he just walked toward the sun now, surely he'd eventually get someplace he wanted to go. It made sense, didn't it?

Luke stepped out of his cave and began walking.

His legs were wobbly and his throat was parched, but the cool air and the motion cleared his head a little. If the other boy had been right the night before, if the Population Police were really out of power, Luke had plenty of reason for rejoicing. When he got away from Chiutza, maybe he'd even find someone who'd help him get home. He'd be done with Population Police headquarters, done with boarding school — he could live a normal life with his own family.

And if the boy was wrong? If he was lying?

Luke thought he could handle that possibility too. The Population Police had been in power in one way or another his entire life. He'd survived. If the Population Police stopped him now, he could… he could use the other boy's story, just like the other boy had tried to use Luke's.

I was on a mission to hand out new identity cards in Chiutza. The villagers attacked the officer in charge, and then the driver sped away. I didn't desert. I was abandoned.

Luke didn't let himself think about how badly pretend' ing had worked for the other boy. He didn't let himself wonder if the other boy had been killed after all.

Luke hadn't been walking for very long when he came to a stream gurgling with cool, clear water. He bent down to drink, taking long swallows from his cupped hands. As he rose, he saw that the stream led out of the woods toward a vast expanse of open land — another field. At the edge of the field was a row of trampled plants that Luke recognized as soybeans. For some reason, they'd escaped harvest. They'd been battered by the winter winds and snow and ice, but Luke could still see seed pods hanging from the thin, bent stems. Luke rushed over and pulled off pod after pod, cracking them open and tossing the withered beans into his mouth. It was hardly a gourmet meal, but Luke was so relieved to have something to chew, something to swallow. He was so absorbed in eating that it took him a few minutes to remember to look around, to be cautious.

That was when he saw the truck.

It was traveling down a road on the other side of the field, its engine purring, its tires rolling smoothly. Luke was pretty sure the truck's driver wouldn't have any reason to glance his way, but he crouched down anyway, flattening his body against the cold dirt.

The engine's hum changed, front speeding along to idling, Luke thought.

Did he see me? Is the driver climbing out of his truck to come and get me? Terror pinned Luke to the ground. He wanted to run, but he didn't seem to have control over his legs anymore.

Then he heard someone yell, "Hey, get that off the road! I'm on official Population Police business!"

Was the Population Police business coming to look for Luke? Did they know what he had done?

Gunfire sounded, and then the horn of the truck began to blare, endlessly, as if something or someone had fallen against it and wouldn't or couldn't move.

Then the blaring stopped, and another voice shouted out, "That's what we think of official Population Police business!"

Luke lay flat on the ground, his heart pounding, his mind scrambling to make sense of what he'd heard. Someone had blocked the road — the rebels? Someone had been shot — the person driving the Population Police truck?