Among the Enemy

Chapter Eleven

Once, back at Niedler School, Matthias's history ^f teacher had told a story about a soldier who ran twenty-five miles to tell his king about a victorious battle. The soldier covered all that distance at top speed, delivered his news, and immediately dropped over dead.

If this run is going to kill me, Matthias thought as he raced through the woods, let me be like that soldier. Let me deliver my news first.

Within a few minutes of leaving the cabin, Matthias got a stitch in his side. His feet got wet when he failed to see a stream until he was already in it. He could get his breath only in ragged gasps. But none of that worried him as much as the danger of being caught. He forced himself to slow down, look around, strive for silence.

Under different circumstances — if Percy and Alia were healthy and by his side, if he weren't worried about the Population Police chasing him — Matthias knew he could have appreciated his constantly changing view of the snowy woods. Samuel had taught the three kids to soak up beauty wherever they found it. But on this day, even the most beautiful trees were only obstacles and potential hiding places for enemies. The snow was only a threat: It melted into a wet, slippery mess as the day wore on, then turned to dangerous ice as evening approached. Matthias lost track of the number of times he slipped and fell. But he always forced himself back up onto his numb feet, forced himself to keep plodding onward.

By the time Matthias finally came in sight of Mr. Hendricks's cottage, it was night again and he was navigating by moonlight, straining his eyes just to see the road before him. Mr. Hendricks's windows let out a dim glow through drawn curtains, and Matthias stumbled toward that glow. He misjudged the size of the doorstep and careened directly into the side of the house.

"Who's there?" a voice called from inside, sharp and cautious. The glow in the windows immediately went dark. "Identify yourself."

"Ma — hias," Matthias mumbled. His tongue felt so swollen, he could barely say his own name. Odd — he couldn't remember stopping to take a drink of water even once the entire day. Maybe that was why he was having such trouble talking. Had he forgotten to eat, too? Maybe that was why he found himself sprawled on the ground, as if his spine and legs had given out at the same time.

A porch light clicked on.

"Matthias? Matthias, is that you?"

Someone opened the door and drew Matthias into the warmth. Someone shone a flashlight out into the darkness, searching.

"Matthias, what happened? Are you alone? Where are Percy and Alia?"

"Sick. . hurt… go help them," Matthias managed to say. It was so tempting to give way to his exhaustion, even though he wasn't sure whether he'd fall asleep or die if he did. Maybe he would be like the marathon runner after all. But he hadn't delivered enough of his message yet. He hadn't told where Percy and Alia were.

"Cabin, big road," he mumbled.

"Matthias, for God's sake, just rest for a minute. You, John, go get him something to eat and drink — some broth, maybe?"

And probably Matthias did pass out then, because the next thing he knew he was lying in a huge bed. Mr. Hendricks was right beside his bed, spooning broth into his mouth. Mr. Hendricks's friend Mr. Talbot was there too, along with a red-haired woman and two young boys.

"He's not as bad as he looks. Most of the blood on his face and sweater isn't his. He's mostly just got scratches," the woman was saying. "Maybe a touch of frostbite on his feet too, but it's not bad."

"I'm fine. It's Percy and Alia—," Matthias struggled to Say. The broth must have been helping because his tongue seemed to have returned to its usual size now. He found he could put words together in complete sentences again. "They're the ones to worry about."

"Hush," Mr. Hendricks said soothingly. "You don't have to tell us anything yet."

"Yes, I do!" Matthias sat up, even though Mr. Hendricks's hand was on his shoulder, trying to keep him still. Some of the broth spilled on the bed's comforter. "You've got to help Percy and Alia, not me!"

Matthias saw the grown-ups exchange troubled glances.

"Tell us, then," Mr. Hendricks said.

The whole story spilled out. At first the grown-ups interrupted with questions and comments. "The Population Police took away our students too, but they did that weeks ago," Mr. Hendricks said.

"Niedler is quite a bit farther out," Mr. Talbot said. "Do you suppose there are places they haven't reached yet?"

By the time Matthias began describing the massacre of the seventeen rebels, everyone was listening in silence.

"And after the Population Police left, I took Percy and Alia down into the cabin. There was a secret underground room, so I thought it was safe leaving them while I went for help. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't carry them both. So, please, give me some medicine and tell me how to cure them and I'll go back right now and—"

"You're in no shape to go anywhere right now, young man," Mr. Hendricks said.

"But I've got to—"

"It doesn't have to be you who helps them," the red' haired woman said. She frowned. "I'll go."

"Theodora, no," Mr. Talbot said quickly. "You, alone, at night? That'd be like asking for—"

"I'm the only doctor here," the woman said sharply.

A doctor? Matthias felt better already.

"Let's discuss this elsewhere," Mr. Hendricks said, signal' ing with his eyes. "Let the boy rest while we figure out what to do. Joel, John, watch out for him. Keep feeding him."

Mr. Hendricks used a wheelchair, and there were times when that made him seem more powerful, more in control. This was one of those times. As Mr. Hendricks rolled out of the room on his bright silver wheels, it didn't seem like the grown-ups had any choice but to follow him; it didn't seem like the two boys half hiding at the foot of the bed had any choice but to shuffle up toward the head of the bed, to pick up the bowl and spoon Mr. Hendricks had left there.

But Matthias knew he had choices. As soon as the grown-ups shut the door behind them, he slipped out of bed, almost knocking over the other boys with their bowl of broth.

"What are you doing?" the one boy said. Matthias didn't know if it was Joel or John. He didn't care, either.

"Shh," he said.

He wobbled on his rubbery legs, but he made it to the door. He pressed his ear against the cool wood and listened for murmurings.

As he'd suspected, the grown-ups hadn't gone far for their discussion. They were right out in the hall.

"What are the chances that either of those children are still alive, even now?" Mr. Talbot was saying in a hushed voice.

"It sounds like the girl has a concussion and an infected wound," the woman's voice answered. "She should be okay, as long as the infection hasn't progressed too far. The boy — Percy? — I don't know. It depends on how the bullet went in, how much blood he's lost, how well Matthias managed to dress the wound…."

"You think you have to go help them," Mr. Talbot said. It was a question without being a question.

"Well, of course, but—"

"You can't!" Mr. Talbot said. "The whole countryside's unstable, it'd be like walking through a minefield — I don't know how Matthias got here without being killed. If the mobs don't get you, the Population Police will."

"I'll drive," the woman said.

"Oh, that's a great idea. Why not just send out flares: I'm a Baron; I used to be richer than sin; I'm the very person you hate most!'"

"George, what if it were Jen, lying there in that cabin, on the verge of death? What if it were her and everyone refused to help?"

Mr. Talbot fell silent Even Matthias knew who Jen was: She was Mr. Talbot's daughter, an illegal third child who'd been raised in luxury but who had died seeking her freedom.

She and Samuel had died together.

Through the door, Matthias heard Mr. Talbot take a ragged breath.

"Theodora, I just — I don't want to lose you, too." "I know," the woman said softly. "But I have to go." Matthias reached down and turned the doorknob. He jerked the door open.

"I'm going too," he said. "You're not leaving me behind." The three grown-ups all startled at the sound of the door opening. Then Mr. Hendricks shook his head wryly.

"Theodora," he said, "I think you've got an assistant whether you like it or not."