Among the Brave

Chapter Twenty-Four

“He’s all by himself….”

“Maybe he’s carrying food…

“Maybe his food’s not rotten….”

“Who’s there?” Trey called out, in a panic. “I said, who’s there?”

He glanced around frantically, but he could see nothing but vacant storefronts and dark, impenetrable shadows. The tattered remains of a window-display dress blew in an unseen breeze, and Trey stiffened. But it was hanging from a mannequin, not a real live human.

“There are lots of Population Police patrolling in this area!” Trey cried out, even though he’d seen only the two men. “Watch out!”

“Maybe he has food….”

“Food. .”

“Food. .”

The word echoed down the empty street. And then, in the blink of an eye, a mob of creatures rushed at Trey from all sides. At first, he almost thought they were animals, not humans — how big did feral cats get? But then they all began screaming at him at once.

“‘Where is it?”

“Give us your food!”

‘Wait!” Trey protested. “I’m not—” But did he really want to announce that he wasn’t truly a Population Police member? He got one glimpse of glittering eyes in an emaciated face — a woman’s, he thought — and realized that these people wouldn’t care if he was a third, fourth, or fifteenth child. They just wanted food.

He changed tactics.

“Listen!” he tried to explain. “I don’t have any food with me. But if you join up, the Population Police will feed you and your family….”

Somebody punched him.

“The Population Police’s food was rotten!”

“It had weevils!”

“A dog couldn’t eat that!”

“And now I won’t see my little Johnny for three years!” the glittering-eyed woman finished up.

Trey was still reeling from the punch.

“I just — I’m not in charge of the food,” he said. “I’ve got nothing to do with that”.

The mob was closing in on him. They didn’t even seem to hear his arguments. They didn’t care.

Great, Trey thought All this time I thought I’d be killed for being a third child. Instead, I’m going to be killed for being in the Population Police. Isn’t irony fun?

“Reinforcements are coming!” Trey screamed. “They’ll have more food! Good food! They won’t give it to you if you hurt me!”

Nobody was fooled. Hands were still reaching for him. Fists, too. Trey squirmed away and dived through the crowd. It was just like playing Red Rover back at Hendricks School — everything hurt, but he broke through. He landed in a heap on the ground, and immediately scrambled up and took off running.

“Get him!” somebody yelled.

They ran faster than he’d ever run before. He could hear the crowd behind him, roaring. Once or twice a hand wrapped around his arm, but he always managed to shake it off

“Help!” he called. “Help!”

And then he didn’t have enough air to spare for yelling. He just kept running and running and running, blindly forcing his body on long after he felt like his lungs would explode and his legs would crumble and his heart would thump itself apart He was too terrified to look back to see if the mob was gaining on him. He crashed into brush, and it felt enough like running into the woods back at Hendricks that he just kept going. Then he landed in water.

He couldn’t swim.

“Uhb, hel—” he sputtered, too breathless even to call for help. He struggled back to the shoreline and clutched a rock for safety. He was too exhausted to pull himself out right away He waited for someone to push him back in, to kill him by drowning rather than beating.

It took him a few minutes to realize the mob was far behind him. He could hear them calling in the distance, “Where is he? Where’d he go?”

I outran them, he thought, astonished. It was all because Lee had taught him how to run back at Hendricks.

Of course, how much of an accomplishment is it to outrun people who are starving to death? he reminded himself.

On shaking legs, he stood up. He was lost now. Except — this was the river, wasn’t it? Could he just continue along the shore? In which direction?

He looked from side to side, up and down the river. In the distance, he could see a dimly lit bridge. Was that the bridge near where he and Mark had hidden the truck? Or had he already run past that bridge, past the truck? What if he took too long finding it?

He took off toward the bridge, rushing through the weeds and brush. A branch lashed across his face, and brambles tore at his uniform, but he kept going. It was much harder walking along the river without Mark ahead of him, clearing the way.

He was so intent on just moving forward and dodging branches that he practically ran into the concrete side of the bridge.

“Uff,” he grunted.

He looked up. Two lanterns stood on posts on either side of the bridge, casting feeble light into the wisps of fog rising from the river. He heard footsteps, but it was only a sentry pacing from one side of the bridge to the other. Trey could see the Population Police insignia on the sentry’s sleeve, and he relaxed.

How can I be relieved to see the Population Police? he wondered.

He just didn’t want to face another mob.

Backing blindly away from the bridge, he felt around in all directions, desperately hoping that his hand would brush a hubcap or a fender. But there was no truck hidden here.

“No,” Trey moaned. The muscles in his legs began to tremble, exhaustion and panic catching up with him. If he didn’t find the truck soon, he had no hope of rescuing Mark. Why had he agreed to such an impossible plan? How could he possibly find the truck now?

He peered up and down the river once again, looking for another bridge. Why hadn’t he paid closer attention when he and Mark were hiding the truck? Why hadn’t he memorized every detail of their surroundings? Why wasn’t it daylight so he could see better?

No, he didn’t want it to be daylight When it was daylight, Mark would die.

In desperation, Trey looked around yet again. This time, when he was swinging his head back and forth, he caught a glimpse of something shiny on the opposite shore — metal, or maybe glass, catching the dim reflection of the lanterns on the bridge.

Trey locked his head in place and stared. Maybe, maybe…

What if this was the right bridge, but the truck was on the opposite side?

Trey squinted, trying to turn the small gleam into an entire truck, tucked away under leaves and branches.

Did I cross a bridge over the river? Could I have done that without noticing?

Of course he could have — when he was running away from the mob, or even before, when he was trying to stay in the shadows. He remembered the way Mark had taunted him, “I think if I’d never seen the outdoors, I’d keep my eyes open once I was in it” Trey’s not paying attention had almost cost Mark his life.

And it still might turn out to.

Trey stepped tentatively back into the water, but it was cold and the current rushed at him. The riverbed sloped so severely that he could tell: Only a few more steps and the water would be over his head.

Why hadn’t Lee included swimming in the roster of athletics he pushed at us back at Hendricks? Trey thought ruefully.

But he hadn’t, and there was no time to waste regretting that now.

Trey was going to have to cross the bridge.