Among the Brave

“Looks like you survived, being out,” Mark said.

“Soldiers haven’t made it out to Hurleyton,” Hobart said. “Yet.”

“Was the bank open?” Mark asked. Even Trey, who could never detect subtle innuendo in any conversation, could tell that Mark wasn’t just making idle chitchat

“Nah,” Hobart said. ‘Whole town’s shut down tight.”

“It generally is at five in the morning,” Mark said.

“You questioning my story, boy?” Hobart growled. “I came out yesterday afternoon. When I couldn’t get into the bank, I spent the night at my nephew’s house in town.”

“Playing cards and gambling and drinking,” Mark said.

“So? They haven’t made that illegal yet too, have they?” Hobart practically whined.

“They will if your wife starts telling the soldiers what to do,” Mark said.

Hobart laughed, and Trey was surprised. Hobart and Mark had seemed to be on the verge of an argument, but suddenly it was like they were best friends sharing a private joke.

“Tell you what, boy,” Hobart said. “You don’t tell no one you seen me, I won’t tell no one I seen you.”

“Deal,” Mark said.

“Okay, then,” Hobart said. But he didn’t drive away yet. He peered straight at Mark and Trey, and for a second Trey was certain that the old man’s glittering eyes had taken in the contrast between Trey’s flannel shirt and his stiff servant pants. Trey even feared that the old man could see through the dusty seat to the papers Trey had taken from the Grants’ and the Talbots’ houses.

“I don’t know what you two are up to,” Hobart said. “But you be careful now, you hear? Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do.”

“Well now, that don’t restrict us much, does it?” Mark teased back.

Hobart chuckled and began rolling his window up. Slowly, he drove on.

Trey let out a deep breath. He felt dizzy — now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he’d let himself breathe the whole time Mark had been talking to Hobart.

Mark was rolling up his window now, too, and expertly shifting gears to get the truck going faster and faster.

“Can we trust Hobart?” Trey asked in a small voice that seemed to get lost in the sound of the truck’s engine. He was trying to decide if the question was worth repeating, when Mark answered.

“Hobart’s terrible about cheating at cards,' Mark said. 'But if he says he won’t tell nobody about us, he won’t.'

And Trey wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. If Hobart had insisted on telling Mark’s parents — maybe even dragged Mark and Trey straight back to Mark’s house — their dangerous journey would be over practically before it started. Trey could have said, “Oh, well, we tried,” and given up with a clear conscience.

But the way it was now, he felt guilty for wanting to quit.

And he was still heading straight into danger.

Chapter Thirteen

The Grants’ house was on the outskirts of a huge city miles and miles away from the Talbots’ mansion and Mark’s family’s farm. That meant Trey had hours of sitting in the pickup truck, regretting every revolution of the wheels beneath him.

Mark provided no conversation to distract him. Trey wondered if the fear was catching up with Mark as well, because his face seemed to grow paler and paler the farther Trey went his skin seemed to stretch tighter and tighter across the bones of his face.

At least Trey saw no other vehicles after Hobart’s. Indeed, the landscapes Trey traveled through seemed utterly deserted, utterly devoid of any signs of life. Trey wondered if Hobart’s tales of soldiers everywhere were mere figments of his imagination; he wondered if the news reports of riots were lies as well. Riots required people, and there appeared to be no people anywhere.

Finally, when Trey had lost all track of time, and all sense of how long Trey’d been traveling and how much farther Trey had to go, Mark suddenly veered off the road.

“Wha — Mark! Wake up! You’re driving crazy!” Trey screamed, convinced that Mark had fallen into a trance of sorts as well.

“I’m going this way on purpose, stupid,” Mark hissed through clenched teeth as he steered the truck down a steep dirt slope. A river lay directly ahead.

Trey clutched the dashboard and squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn’t the way he’d expected to die.

The truck stopped suddenly Trey hadn’t felt any dramatic leap over the riverbank, and he felt no water lapping at his feet, so he dared to look again.

They’d stopped in a small woods. All he could see through the windshield now were thick branches and leaves, jarringly red and orange and yellow.

“Has there been some sort of nuclear contamination here?” Trey asked.

“Huh?” Mark said.

“The leaves,” Trey said. “They’re — not green. Is there radiation? Is it safe?”

Mark’s jaw dropped, ever so slightly.

“It’s October,” he said. “Fall. Didn’t nobody never tell you that leaves change colors in the fall? Didn’t you ever notice?”

“Oh,” Trey said. He remembered now. He’d seen pictures in books, of course, but the autumn leaves had never looked so bright and gaudy in pictures. “I was never outside until last December,' he said defensively. Mark was staring at him.

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You never once stepped foot outdoors until last year?”

“No,” Trey said.

“Didn’t you ever even peek out a window?”

“No. It was too dangerous.”

Mark’s jaw was practically dragging the floor of the truck now, he looked so stunned.

“I think. .,'he started. “I think if I’d never seen the outdoors, I’d keep my eyes open once I was in it.”

“I do!” Trey said.

“No you don’t. You had your eyes closed practically the whole way here.”

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did! I bet we passed dozens of trees with turned leaves. Why didn’t you ask if any of them was contaminated?”

Now that Trey thought about it, he remembered a few swirls of colors along the way. But he wasn’t going to admit to Mark that his way of looking out windows was mostly by way of quick, fearful glances. He had kept his eyes open, but he’d mainly been looking at the dashboard.

“Never mind,” Mark said suddenly, in a rough voice. “It don’t matter.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I was thinking, we’re almost there. If we hide the truck here and go the rest of the way on foot, we won’t stick out so much.”

‘We don’t want to be conspicuous,” Trey agreed. So he didn’t know anything about trees and leaves — so what. At least he could supply Mark with a better word than “stick out so much.”

“Uh, yeah,” Mark said. “I have maps for getting over close to the city, and Peter — Smits… whatever you want to call him — he told me where his house was. So I know where to go. But, um…”

Trey waited, but Mark didn’t seem inclined to keep talking. He just sat there, staring out the windshield at the branches and brilliant leaves.

“What?” Trey prompted.

“We was on back roads up till now,” Mark said. “I avoided every single bit of civilization I could. But now… I ain’t never been in a city Is there anything I should know? So I don’t make any mistakes, I mean?”

Trey looked at Mark, in his flannel shirt, faded jeans, and heavy work boots. Under his dusty cap, Mark’s face