At first, though, his worries seemed unnecessary The street leading away from the Grants’ house was absolutely deserted. The streetlights weren’t on, but Trey could see well enough in the dim glow from the moon. He didn’t mind the darkness anyhow. It made it easier for him to believe that he was unseen, gliding through the shadows.
After a mile or two, he turned onto another street that made him remember the first bit of news he’d heard from Mrs. Talbot, about the riots. This street was full of stores that might once have been expensive boutiques. But every plate glass window had been smashed in. Some were now boarded up; others were just gaping open, their shelves picked clean.
After five blocks, They heard footsteps approaching. He froze, looking for a place to hide, already worrying that he’d be too late to save Mark if he had to hide for very long. But the glow of a flashlight caught him before he had the chance to move.
“Identify yourself!” a voice called out.
Two men were approaching him. Trey’s heart sank when he saw they were in Population Police uniforms. He didn’t have his I.D. with him. It was still back at the Grants’ house, in the stack with the other new recruits.
“Don’t be silly, Henrik,” the second man said. “Can’t you see he’s Poppo?
“Oh, sorry” the first man said, sounding humbled. “Where are you going, sir?”
Just from the voices, Trey guessed that both men were at least a decade older than him. But he decided to take a chance.
“My destination is classified information,” he growled — figuring that growling would do more to lower his voice than anything else. His uniform had come with a cap, and he made sure it was pulled down, covering most of his face, so they couldn’t see that he wasn’t even old enough to shave. “And what’s with this ‘Poppo’ business? That’s disrespectful. You’re proud members of the Population Police, and don’t you forget it.”
“Yes, sir,” the two said in unison.
“What’s your assignment?” Trey asked.
“We’re patrolling,” the first man said. “Enforcing curfew.”
“Then get busy,” Trey commanded. 'I thought I heard noises back there!” He pointed in the opposite direction.
“Yes, sirl” the men said, and rushed off.
Trey had to hold back a giggle as he watched them scurry away. He’d outsmarted and outbiuffed the Population Police. Just because he was wearing a uniform. Just because they thought he outranked them.
He walked on, practically strutting, working out rhyme schemes in his head. Epic poems were always best in French.
He was so absorbed, he didn’t hear the whispering until he was already surrounded.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“He’s all by himself….”
“Maybe he’s carrying food…
“Maybe
“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.
“Reinforcements are coming!” Trey screamed. “They’ll have more food!
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?”
