Among the Brave

Chapter Eighteen

Trey slid down the duct backward, dragging the Population Police uniform behind him. It was slow going, because he had so little room to maneuver, and because he was terrified of making any noise. More than once the buttons of his flannel shirt scraped against the metal duct, and then he froze, horrified at the thought that someone might be about to rip the duct apart, screaming out, ‘Aha! You! We know everything now! You’re not Travis Jackson! You’re about to die!”

No, they’ll just think that the Grant house has mice, Trey comforted himself. They’ll put out poison, and I can avoid that.

Trey knew he wasn’t thinking very rationally. But he kept inching onward, feet first That began to bother him. He wished he had eyes on his toes. What if he was about to kick out another brass grille? What if he were about to slide out into another room — one less innocuous than the bathroom? What if he was at this very moment slipping past some sort of opening that anyone could see? Trey kept turning his head and looking back over his shoulder, but that gave him a terrible crick in his neck, and he could barely see past his own body anyway. And there seemed to be nothing but darkness ahead.

He kept going.

When it seemed as though he had been crawling backward for hours, he hit a metal wall where he’d expected open air. Was he disoriented, crawling crooked? No — the wall extended on, straight and smooth, totally blocking his path. Had he reached a dead end? How could a duct just end like that? He didn’t let himself panic. He stretched his legs out, tapping experimentally in all directions with his toes, and discovered that the metal walls he’d expected to find were missing to his left and right. Suddenly it all made sense: He’d reached a fork in his path, the place where the duct leading to the bathroom branched off from some main line. This was his route to the rest of the house.

"Right or left? Which will it be?” he muttered to himself He tried to picture the ductwork in relationship to the floor plan of the entire house. He thought the left fork led toward the front door, and so was probably useless, but that was mostly just a guess. He moved his feet toward the right and began painstakingly turning the corner. Then he stopped, mid-turn.

"Stupid,?" he said under his breath. “Don’t you know you can go face first now?”

He retreated, shoved his feet the opposite direction down the duct, and soon was crawling forward, feeling his way with his hands and fingers instead of his feet and toes. He still couldn’t see anything ahead of him, but the change made him feel better.

I ought to challenge Lee and the other boys to a heat duct race as soon as we get back to school, he thought I’d beat everyone.

He was almost enjoying crawling through darkness.

Heroism by hiding, he thought. Now, that I can handle. I’ll have to change my motto. What would it be in Latin ? — Virtus, I think. for “heroism,” and latente for “hiding….”

That was when he saw the light.

At first it was just a gray shadow up ahead, a slight variation on all the endless blackness. But as he scurried forward, trying harder than ever to crawl silently, the brightness grew. Soon he could see a whole patterned grid of light in the duct in front of him. And he could hear voices.

“Unacceptable! Unacceptable, I tell you!” a man sputtered.

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but at first Trey couldn’t place it. It wasn’t Mr. Talbot or Mr. Hendricks or any of his teachers at school. It wasn’t the screaming man from the uniform room. What other men’s voices had Trey ever heard?

Cautiously, he moved toward the light and peeked out a grille that was even larger and fancier than the one in the bathroom. He was looking down at a dark-haired man sitting at a huge desk. Rows of uniformed Population Police officers sat before him, like schoolchildren being scolded. Trey jerked back quickly, afraid one of them might look up at the wrong time. He rested his cheek against the cool metal of the duct, and listened to the pounding of his heart What if they’d already seen him? What if they could hear his heartbeat too?

But nobody screamed out, “Hey! There’s a boy hiding behind that grille!” Nobody yelled, “Capture him!” Gradually, Trey’s terror ebbed, and he could listen again.

“We are in charge now!” the man continued his tirade. “I am in charge now!”

And suddenly Trey knew who the man was. Trey had heard his voice only once before, on television, at the Talbots’ house. Trey was eavesdropping on Aldous Krakenaur, the head of the Population Police, and now, the head of the entire country.

And unless Aldous Krakenaur decided to send all his men away, letting Trey crawl on past, They was trapped there, a mere sneeze or a cough away from being discovered by his worst enemy.