Margaret Haddix - Among the Brave

The head of the Population Police is in charge of the Government now, he reminded himself. What do you think’s happening? Peace and joy and happiness?

Most of the time, Trey felt the same near-panic he’d experienced barely a year earlier, waiting for his mother to return from his father’s funeral. He’d been too griefstricken and bewildered then even to read, and he kept trying to imagine his life without Dad.

Will Mom take over teaching me Latin and French and Greek? he’d wondered. Will she talk to me in the evenings instead of glaring resentfully while I study? In between his bouts of anguish, Trey had felt almost hopeful, imagining Mom finally taking care of him — loving him — like mothers did in books.

It’d been beyond his imagination to think that she would get rid of him.

Now, wandering aimlessly through the Talbots’ huge house, Trey kept wondering about Lee.

Has he forgotten his friends? Has he forgotten how badly he wants to make third children free? Or is he too scared of the new Government to show his face in public again?

It was this last question that worried Trey the most If even Lee was scared, then Trey should be terrified, petrified, frightened out of his wits.

Sometimes he was.

On the third day, the electricity in the Talbots’ house went off. It happened at dusk, just as the lights that Trey had left on — one in the TV room, one in the basement— had begun to seem cozy and threatening all at once. In a split second Trey lost the lights, the refrigerator’s hum, the heating system’s purr.

Cautiously, he stepped over to a window and peeked out. The whole neighborhood had gone dark — every huge house on the Talbots’ street had been plunged into blackness.

Every single one of them looked dead.

Trey moved to the back of the house, to a window in the TV room. Only one small house stood behind the Talbots~ It was dark too, but as Trey watched, he saw dim, flickering lights — candles? — spring to life inside, throwing shadows around tiny rooms.

A woman stood at the back door of the small house, and a boy came up beside her. He said something to her, and she nodded. Then the boy scampered out the door, across the yard, and into another building — a barn? — off to the side.

Trey blinked. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. Maybe the uncertain light had fooled him.

Or maybe the boy was someone Trey knew. Not Lee— Trey would have instantly run out of the house, screaming with joy, if he’d thought it was Lee. No, he thought the boy he’d seen was Smits Grant, the boy Lee had taken to safety.

And wherever Smits was, Lee had to be too.

Didn’t he?

Trey began thinking very strategically.

First, he ate as much of the food from the stopped refrigerator and freezer as he could, before it spoiled. He drank nearly a gallon of milk, gobbled down a frozen dinner, forced himself to swallow a pint of ice cream — a delicacy he’d never had before, but that seemed cloyingly sweet after the first two bites. He ate it anyway.

Then he set up a lookout station beside the TV room window. If the boy wasn’t Smits, Trey didn’t want to reveal himself. But if Smits and Lee had been staying in the house behind the Talbots’ the whole time. well, Trey wanted to get over there as soon as possible.

The boy stayed in the barn for a very long time.

When he came out, it was too dark for Trey to see anything but a shadowy shape. Disappointment bit at the back of Trey’s throat, but he forced himself to sit still and wait and watch some more.

The boy went into the house, where the candles were still glowing in the windows. Maybe with the candlelight, Trey would be able to see— Somebody drew the drapes.

Trey was so frustrated that he kicked over one of the few coffee tables that the uniformed men had left upright.

But after a little while, the boy came outside again— Trey was sure it was the same boy He stood in the doorway of the house and seemed to be saying something over his shoulder, to someone Trey couldn’t see.

Trey dared to open the TV room window, just a crack. If he couldn’t see, maybe at least he’d be able to hear something. If only it was Lee’s voice…

Faintly, Trey heard someone call out, ".. too late in the year for fireflies.”

And the boy in the doorway called back, “No, it isn’t. I see one. There!” And he pointed at a tiny gleam of light hovering near a bush by the barn.

Trey couldn’t tell if the voices were Smits’s and Lee’s; Trey were too far away And besides, Trey’s ears weren’t working too well — every sound he heard right now was distorted by his hopes and fears.

He’d have to go out there and see for himself if the boy was really Smits.

Daringly Trey reached over to a full-length glass door beside his spying window. With trembling hands, he unlocked it and slid it open. Then he took a deep breath and stepped outside.

The night air felt cool and menacing on his face. Trey grimaced and reminded himself that he had the cover of darkness to protect him, that he was in no greater danger outdoors than he’d been while cowering inside the Talbots’ house.

You’re probably even safer now, he told himself. You could have been trapped indoors if someone dangerous showed up.

Trey could think that — but he couldn’t quite believe it. Outdoors was always scarier than indoors, no matter what.

Inching forward, Trey kept his gaze fixed on the boy. He was running around his backyard now, chasing a tiny pinpoint of light that flashed off and on. Trey reached a line of trees that separated the Talbots’ yard from the boy’s. Trey squinted, trying frantically to tell if the boy was Smits, but against the lights of the house, the boy was just a dark silhouette.

Wrong angle, Trey thought As long as the boy’s between me and the light, I’m never going to be able to see him clearly. Same principle as a solar eclipse.

Pleased that his knowledge had been useful for once, Trey crept toward the barn and crawled behind a bush. Now he was closer to the light, but there wasn’t enough of it to illuminate the boy’s face, no matter where the boy was in the yard. Suddenly the boy dashed right past Trey’s hiding place, and, without thinking, Trey reached out and grabbed him.

The boy screamed. Trey slapped his hand over the boy’s mouth, whirled him around, and held him against the side of the barn.

“Smits!” he hissed into the boy’s ear. “Are you Smits Grant?”

The boy began to shake his head violently Trey moved his hand back a little.

“No! I’m — I’m Peter Goodard! I’m — help!”

Trey clapped his hand over the boy’s mouth again. No matter how much he denied it, the boy was Smits; Trey had finally recognized the voice. Now Trey just had to get Smits to recognize him.

“Smits! It’s okay. It’s me — Trey I’m just looking for Lee—”

Out of nowhere, a fist walloped the side of Trey’s face. He lost his balance and crashed through the branches of the bush, plunging straight to the ground and pulling Smits along with him.

“Hey Peter,” a deeper voice said from above them. “This punk bothering you?”

Trey looked up at the dark figure looming over him. Somehow, not being able to see the boy’s — the man’s? — face made him even scarier.

“Anybody messes with Peter, you’ve got to answer to me,” the voice continued.

Trey huddled in terror on the ground.

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Trey pleaded. “I know Smits. Or Peter — whatever he’s calling himself now. I just want him to tell me where one of my friends is. Smits, come on, you’ve got to remember me….”