Margaret Haddix: Among the Enemy

He was closer to the red light now. It was coming from inside a long, dark car parked on a dirt road in the shadows. Matthias covered the last few yards in a mad rush. He yanked on the door handle of the car and dived through the opening.

"Go!" he burst out before he'd shut the door, before he'd seen who was holding the light, whom he'd landed next to.

"Sure thing," a voice drawled, and the car shot forward into the dark night.

Matthias jerked the door shut, and it dawned on him: He knew that voice. He looked over, squinting into the darkness. The driver was illuminated only in the glow from the dashboard, but Matthias recognized his face.

It was Mike.

“You?” Matthias asked. He glanced around frantically. The rest of the car was empty. “Where’s—?” He stopped himself just in time. He couldn’t give away Nina and Trey.

"Relax," Mike said. "I'm on your side. Didn't you figure that out when I gave you and Nina that great cover story last night?"

Now that Matthias thought about it, Mike had tried awfully hard to keep the other guard from telling the commander.

"I thought you were just obsessed with people having girlfriends," Matthias muttered.

Mike chuckled.

"Everyone wants to believe in love," he said. "Even ugly Population Police guards."

Mike was speeding up. He rounded a bend and hit a staightaway that allowed him to zoom through the woods. Matthias looke cautiously over his shoulder. No headlights were following them — maybe Matthias could dare to believe that he'd get away safely.

That is, if he was safe with Mike.

'Are we meeting Nina and the others somewhere else?" Matthias asked hesitantly. Mike obviously knew about Nina; it wouldn't be a betrayal to mention just her name.

"Nope," Mike said.

"But the plan—"

"We had to modify it a little," Mike said. "It took everyone working together just to get you and me away from headquarters. Someone to watch you at the front gate and signal the person cutting the wires, someone to plant the dead squirrel beside the cut wires, someone to hide this car outside the fence… We're just hoping that everyone back at HQ is so busy looking for you that they don't check out any of the other suspicious activities this afternoon."

"Oh," Matthias said.

He still wished Nina were with them, or someone else he was sure he could trust. He shrank lower in his seat. The car was going so fast now, it made him feel a little sick.

"You think the two of us can do everything in time?" Matthias asked.

"Of course not," Mike said calmly. "We're getting help with that. From people who aren't on our side."

"What?" Matthias asked, thoroughly confused now.

"There's a zipper on the left side of your seat," Mike said. "It's hard to find, but if you can, open it and pull out one of the flyers."

Matthias obediently felt along the side of his leather seat. The zipper was in a seam near the top, and its teeth gave way reluctantly as Matthias pulled on it. By feel, he found, first, foam stuffing and then a stack of hundreds of papers. He eased one out.

"Here," Mike said, handing Matthias the penlight.

Matthias switched it on and directed the tiny red glow at the paper. In huge letters at the top, the paper read: THE POPULATION POLICE NEED YOUR HELP! Smaller type below proclaimed:

Under the leadership of President Aldous Krakenaur, we have uncovered a plot to steal and/or destroy food that rightfully belongs to all the legal citizens of this great nation. With your assistance, we can protect our food supply. We need all loyal citizens from your sector to go to 108 Warehouse Row at 1:00 a.m. on February 2….

The red light and the tiny words made Matthias feel queasier than ever. He shook his head dizzily.

"This can't be right," he said.

"Why not?" Mike asked.

"This makes it sound like the Population Police are the good guys," Matthias said. "Like they're just trying to pro' tect the food from the rebels. Us. That's wrong — we're the ones who want to hand the food out."

Mike took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot a sharp glance at Matthias.

“And what do you think the people would do if we passed out notes saying, The rebels invite you to take food away from the Population Police'?" Mike asked. "Do you think anybody would show up? I don't know about you, but I think I'd cower in my bed. I'd avoid Warehouse Row as if my life depended on it."

Mike had a mocking tone in his voice — it was almost like he was mocking Matthias's original idea.

'And there aren't enough of us rebels to pass out all the notes in time," Mike continued. "No, we have to do this under the guise of the Population Police. It's the only way this can work."

Matthias was still shaking his head.

"But. . does the commander know? Does the president?" he asked.

"Of course not," Mike said. "We're using flunkies who are supposed to think that I'm a top-ranking officer."

Matthias noticed that Mike had extra medals and ribbons pinned to his chest, extra patches sewn to his arm.

More lies, Matthias thought. He'd seen the food giveaway as something straightforward: Here, poor people, take this food that the Population Police have been keeping from you. Go and starve no more. But his plan had been tweaked and twisted almost beyond recognition. Did he even want to be a part of the plan now?

What else could he do?

Matthias didn't say anything.

They were out of the woods now and on the outskirts of the city. Burned-out, tumbledown houses gave way to tidy streets. Mike pulled up alongside a low, newly white-washed building with a glittering sign out front proclaiming, population police substation — eastern BRANCH.

"Just when I get away from one Population Police headquarters, we go straight to another one?" Matthias moaned.

"Stick close by me and keep your mouth shut," Mike said. "They're supposed to think you're my servant. So you get to carry all the flyers."

It took Matthias four trips to transport all the papers from the car to a long row of tables inside a meeting room. The job took even longer because each time he went into or out of the building, he had to sign in or sign out and pass through a security screening. Each time Matthias scrawled, Roger Symmes on the security pad, he was certain someone would scream out, Wait] You're the kid who's missing from main headquarters!

But all the guards were watching Mike. Matthias got the feeling that this particular substation had never received a visit from such a decorated officer before.

"I need all your men assembled in the briefing room!" Mike roared. "Now!"

"Urn, some of them are sleeping, like if they're going to be on guard duty overnight—," a guard timidly started to explain.

Mike cut him off. "I said everyone! Now!"

By the time Matthias had all the flyers lined up on the tables, the room was overflowing with men in uniform— some of them, indeed, looking as though they'd just been awakened. Mike strode to the front of the room, and the room instantly became silent.

"This is an emergency!" Mike screamed.

He gave a quick explanation of the supposed crisis, making the "rebels" who intended to destroy the food supply sound so vile and disgusting that Matthias began picturing them with horns and forked tails.

"My assistant will pass out street assignments for each of you," Mike said, handing Matthias yet another stack of papers. "Go to every habitation — every house, every apartment, every makeshift shed — and give the people their orders for picking up the food."

"But what if the people eat the food?" someone asked.

"Oh, they won't dare do that. They'll know that we're keeping track, and we'll know if they don't return it after the crisis has passed," Mike said. "Is that clear?"