Among the Brave

Trey heard gunfire, but nothing struck him, and nothing struck the truck as far as he could tell. He rounded a corner onto a new street, so that a row of buildings now stood between him and the sentry.

What if he radios for help? They wondered. What if every Population Police official in the country starts looking for me?

Trey pulled into a dark alleyway and shut off the engine. It was torture not to know. He silently crept back toward the bridge, staying hidden in the shadows the entire way.

The sentry was still standing on the bridge, but he wasn’t screaming into a radio. For some strange reason, he was taking his shirt off Puzzled, They watched as the sentry lay the shirt on the ground, walked a few paces away, and fired his gun at it. Then he put the gun away and held the shirt up in the air. Light shone through the gunshot holes in the front and back. Then, laughing, the sentry tossed the shirt over the edge of the bridge and waved at something or someone in the shadows on the other side. Several dark shapes emerged from the shadows — men in dark shirts and pants, all carrying huge bags on their shoulders. The bags appeared to be burlap, or some similar material meant for holding food.

Food? Were these smugglers?

The shirtless sentry tucked his gun into his waistband and grabbed a bag of his own. Then all of the men disappeared into the dark, walking in the opposite direction from Trey.

Did the sentry just desert from the Population Police? Trey wondered. Or was he only pretending to begin with?

Either way, he didn’t seem worried about chasing down Trey, now that Trey was out of sight. Feeling vastly relieved, Trey crept back to the truck, started it, and began driving cautiously back to the Population Police headquarters.

After everything Trey had witnessed out in the streets, who could say what awaited him there?

Chapter Twenty-Six

Getting back to the Grants’ old house took only a fraction of the time it’d taken to get to the truck. But the whole time, Trey worried about the noise of the engine; he worried about another mob swamping him. He worried every time he accidentally killed the engine trying to shift gears and had to struggle to restart it. Every time that happened, he knew he was a sitting duck, a perfect target for anyone who might happen along. But nobody appeared.

Maybe the truck noise scares them off Trey tried to tell himself. Maybe it’s good I’m making so much racket.

Between the mob, the smugglers, and the easily fooled Population Police patrol, nothing seemed to fit with the strictly regimented world his parents had always described.

Has everything changed? Trey wondered. Is everything still changing?

He peered into the area illuminated by his headlights as if the air itself might suddenly become different.

Hey, Dad? he thought. There’s no way you could have prepared me for all of this. I know you did the best you could.

The sky was still blessedly dark when Trey pulled up to the gates of the Population Police headquarters. The sentry guarding the gates yawned over Trey’s authorization forms, and barely glanced at Trey.

“Permission granted to proceed,” he mumbled.

Trey drove around to the back, hoping that he could manage not to kill the engine yet again right in front of headquarters. The truck did die a few feet away from the servants’ door, but Trey decided to pretend that he’d parked there on purpose. The guard Mark and Trey had bargained with came rushing over immediately.

“Great!” he said. “Help me get the cage.”

Trey followed him through the door and down a dark hallway toward the basement stairs.

“Why don’t you just unlock the cage and let Mark walk?” Trey asked.

The guard shook his head.

“Can’t,” he said. “Bring me back my friend, and then I’ll give you the key to your friend’s cage.”

“That’s mighty manipulative of you, isn’t it?” Trey joked, though he’d already agreed to that part of the deal.

The guard gave Trey a warning look as they came up to another guard sitting at a desk.

“Hey, Stan,” the first guard said to the second one. “This guy just showed up with authorization to transfer our prisoner out to Nezeree.”

“Huh?” the other guard — Stan? — said. “I thought he was going to be executed at dawn.” He, didn’t sound like he cared. He sounded like Mark’s life didn’t matter any more than a gnat’s or a flea’s.

“Maybe they’re doing the execution out there,” the first guard said with a shrug, as if it didn’t matter to him either.

Stan peered carefully at the authorization papers.

“‘Should we call Commander Bresin and double-check?” he asked.

The first guard shrugged.

“You can if you want. I don’t feel like getting in trouble for waking him up.”

Stan seemed to be deliberating. He looked at the papers again. Trey sincerely hoped that every forged signature looked authentic. Then Stan looked at Trey.

“They let guards dress that sloppy out at Nezeree?” he asked.

Trey was suddenly conscious of the rips in his uniform, the dirt caked on his shoes, the mud streaked across his pants. And when had he lost his cap?

‘Aw, Stan, they’ve got a rough crowd out there in Nezeree. He was trying to subdue one of their prisoners and. .” The first guard shrugged, as if the rest of the explanation should be obvious.

“Remind me not to get transferred out there,” Stan said. He handed two of the papers back to Trey and laid the others down on his desk. “if the documents say our prisoner’s going to be transferred instead of executed, I guess he’s got to go. Need help loading?”

“Thanks, but the two of us can handle it,” the first guard said smoothly.

Trey followed him down the stairs. This time the guard hit the light switch. Mark gasped at first, then grinned when he saw Trey.

“Act like you still think you’re about to die,” the guard whispered.

Mark nodded, then began to flail about in his cage.

“No, no,” he screamed.

“Quietly,” the guard commanded.

Mark switched to making a horrified expression and tugging uselessly on his bars.

“That’s better,” the guard said. He picked up one end of the cage, and Trey took the other. It was a strain, but together they managed to carry the cage up the stairs. The other guard, Stan, stood aside and let them pass.

“You’re signing off on the paperwork on this,” he told the first guard. “I don’t want nobody blaming me for nothing.”

“No problem,” the first guard said. “Why would anybody blame anybody for anything? All the documents are right there.'

He and Trey continued carrying Mark on out to the truck. With great effort, they managed to hoist the cage into the truck bed. Too late, Trey thought that he should have faked weakness, forced the guard to let Mark out. But the guard probably wouldn’t have. He probably would have just gotten Stan to help.

The guard handed Trey even more papers.

“These’ll let you pick up my friend. Once the warden at Nezeree signs them, you’ll be authorized to pick up your other friends, too. They’re at the holding camp in Slahood. But I arranged these documents so you can’t get your friends without picking up my friend first If — if you try to double-cross me, in any way, I’ll find out You’ll both be on the most-wanted list. You’ll be shot on sight by any Population Police officer in the country”

“I understand,” Trey said, trying not to think about it.