But sir, this is an unauthorized village," someone was arguing from the front room of the house. "Can't you see no one's been here in years?"
'A lot has happened lately that the Population Police didn't authorize," another voice growled. "Our orders are to search every house in every village we come to and kill any unauthorized person we find. And we will follow orders."
Luke's eyes sprang open. With his head against the linoleum, he had a clear line of sight to the muddy footprints he'd tracked across the floor. He scrambled up, and began frantically scrubbing the mud away with his sleeve. But that just left streaks.
They'll still be able to see that it's fresh mud.
"The Population Police will prevail," the growly voice went on. "We always have. It's just a matter of time."
The sound of footsteps echoed through the house, moving closer to the kitchen.
Did I leave muddy footprints everywhere? Luke wondered. How much time do I have before they notice?
He was standing now, glancing around for any exit. Why hadn't he looked for anything in the kitchen besides food? Incredibly enough, the window in this room wasn't broken, and when Luke shoved against the window frame, it seemed to be warped permanently shut. But beneath the window there was a hole in the wall, a place where mold had eaten the drywall away and the boards behind didn't meet exactly. Luke thought it looked like small animals had crawled in and out through that hole — raccoons, perhaps, or possums. Could Luke fit through too?
He didn't have time to measure carefully. He dived for the hole, shoving his shoulders against the rotting, splintering wood. Even if the men in the house didn't notice the fresh mud on the floor, they'd certainly see this enlarged hole.
What other choice do I have?
Luke broke through and landed in a thicket outside. He rolled onto his feet and around glanced quickly — he saw just the bumper of some vehicle parked at the front of the house, but no sign of other Population Police officials wandering through the ruins. He took off running for the woods.
"Hey! You! Stop! We're the Population Police!" someone yelled behind him.
Luke tried to run faster, but it was hard with his legs so stiff and sore. He'd run so much the day before; he'd used up so much of his energy walking all morning.
"You can't escape! We'll find you! We'll hunt you down!"
Luke crashed into the woods, and it was like a flashback to his terror-stricken dreams the night before: running, being chased, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide…
"We're still in charge!" someone shouted behind him. How far away was the voice? Was it just behind him or several yards back, still in the ruins of the village?
Maybe Luke was a little delirious; maybe his brain wasn't getting enough oxygen to think straight. For whole minutes, he had trouble remembering whom he was running from: the Population Police officers doing their house-to-house search? The Chiutzan villager with the gun? Officer Houk? Somehow Luke's legs were carrying him so fast that his eyes couldn't absorb the sights around him quickly enough. Trees. Grass. Sky. Branches. No more branches. Lots more sky. Houses. Faces. A lot of faces, all looking down at him.
Luke blinked, fighting an awful blackness.
"I think he's passing out," someone said. A woman. The voice seemed to come from a million miles away. Luke knew he couldn't surrender to unconsciousness now. He forced his eyes back open, trying to focus on the circle of faces around him.
"Here. Here's something to drink," a new voice said, and someone poured liquid down his throat. Luke couldn't have said whether it was cold or hot, water or broth. But somehow it brought him back to himself. He struggled to sit up.
"Got — to — go—," he moaned, trying to get his muscles to work, to pull himself upright, to propel himself forward again.
"Easy there, pal." It was a man's voice this time. Friendly-sounding. Luke tried to focus on the source of the voice, the face of the man who had spoken. He saw white whiskers, blue eyes, a craggy nose. "I don't think you're going to be able to go anywhere for a while. Not on your own, anyway. Where were you trying to get to? Was someone chasing you?"
"Yes," Luke whispered.
"Who was it?"
Dizzily, Luke managed to stand, though he didn't quite trust his legs to hold him up. He rubbed his hand across his face. Which side would these people be on? Would they be like the villagers back in Chiutza — eager to attack the Population Police? Or would they be Population Police sympathizers — eager to help Luke if he said he worked for the Population Police, eager to turn him in if he didn't?
"Is that a Population Police uniform you're wearing?" someone asked.
Luke kept his hand over his eyes. Through the slits between his fingers, he tried to peer out at the faces around him, to gauge their expressions. Anxious? Angry? Sympathetic? Luke couldn't tell. Was it good or bad that he still had the shirt of his uniform turned inside out? Which side of the shirt would these people rather see? Luke had had to lie and pretend so much during the past year, ever since leaving home. What was he supposed to do now, when he had no way of knowing which lie would save him, which pretense would keep him alive?
Maybe he'd have to tell the truth.
"I–I'm running away from the Population Police," he said. "I deserted. They wanted me to shoot someone and I… I didn't want to do that."
He kept his body hunched over, cowering. He dreaded the moment when he'd have to look up and see how the people around him had reacted to his words. But nobody spoke for a long time. Luke heard a car engine approaching, then idling. He heard a familiar, growling voice shout out, "Population Police! Submit to a house-to-house search! Show all your identification papers! Turn in any unauthorized persons!"
He felt his body begin to quiver, his muscles turn to helpless jelly, his dread turn to paralyzing certainty.
Then he heard another voice, just as loud, coming from someone in the circle around him. This voice spoke only one word:
"No."