Among the Free

from our guilt?'

Luke backed away from Eli. He kept shaking his head, wanting to protest: No, no, you're good people, you were nice to me, you couldn't have sent anyone to their death…. But Eli was looking back at the line of headlights again.

'You should leave now,' he said. 'You've got no part in our guilt. Here, take a quilt with you. And take our bread — we'll have no need of it.'

Eli was rummaging through cupboards, shoving food into a bag. He thrust the bag into Luke's arms and wrapped a quilt around Luke's shoulders.

'If you go that way up the path, no cars can follow you,' he said, pointing around the corner of the house. 'They'd have to chase you on foot, and you'll have a head start.'

Eli shoved Luke out the door, and Luke took off running, the food sack thumping against his legs. Every few steps he had to slow down and pull up the quilt so it didn't drag on the ground. Once he got into the woods it caught on branches, broke off twigs.

I'm probably leaving a trail, he thought bitterly. I should just throw it down and keep running.

But he feared that that would give him away too. And as he kept hugging the quilt around his neck, it began to seem wrong to leave Eli's gift behind. He remembered how tenderly Eli had handled the quilt, how sadly he'd mumbled, 'This is Aileen's handiwork….'

He also remembered how Eli had said, 'We informed the Population Police…. We were like little children, tattling… '

Luke was still close enough to the village to hear the cars and trucks arriving, their engines rumbling and then, one by one, shutting off. He pressed the quilt over his ears because he didn't want to hear the screams and cries. But even through the quilt he could hear someone behind him shouting, 'Wait! Stop!'

Luke veered off the path and ran even faster.

Chapter Seventeen

Even with the moonlight guiding him, it was a nightmarish journey. Luke was in a section of the woods where the trees grew thick and close together. He couldn't tell the trees from their shadows. He ducked around trunks that weren't really there; he banged his head on too-real branches he thought were phantoms. When he tripped on a root and sprawled on the ground, he found he no longer had the will to spring back up immediately. He lay huddled under the quilt, listening.

'Lu-uke! Lu-uke!' someone called in the distance.

Was it only his imagination? Only the wind? Or was someone from the village trying to find him?

They probably want to turn me in, he thought bitterly. They've changed their minds.

He pulled the quilt tighter around himself, sealing off his entire body from the howling wind. He dozed fitfully, jolting awake every time he heard a noise. Then he'd lie awake in the darkness, his heart pounding, his ears straining to make sense of silence.

Someone's creeping up on me. . They're about to pounce. . He'd wait, but nothing would happen. Nobody's there, he'd try to assure himself. Nobody's there at all.

Finally he woke up to light. Even through the thick quilt, he could tell that the sun was high overhead now. The quilt was made of scraps of different colored material, and the effect was like stained glass, the cloth tinting the sunlight red and blue, yellow and green, orange and purple. For a while Luke lay still, marveling at the colors. Somehow he didn't care about being caught; he didn't worry about where he was going or where he had been. He didn't think.

Then the sun went behind a cloud, and the spell was broken. Luke lifted one corner of the quilt and peeked out.

Trees. Leaves. Sky.

He shoved his head out farther so he could survey his surroundings a little better. Then he burst out laughing.

This is perfect! It almost looks like I planned it!

He was at the bottom of a gentle hill. One whole side of his quilt — the side closest to the hill — was covered with leaves, blown there by the howling wind the night before. Anyone walking by would have thought he and his quilt were just a small hillock, a natural part of the woods.

I'll have to remember this trick, he thought, and that seemed incentive enough to go on, to have another chance to use such clever camouflage.

He stood up and shook out the quilt. He nibbled on a little of the bread Eli had given him the night before, then wrapped the food sack around his waist and the quilt around his shoulders. The sun came out from behind the cloud again, and Luke took that as a blessing of sorts.

I'm fine, Luke told himself as he took off walking toward the east again. It's warmer today; I have food in my stomach. I'm safe. But it'd be nice to have someone to talk to, you know?

He thought about how he'd felt standing with Eli and Adriana and the rest of the villagers. With their arms linked and their shoulders touching, they'd seemed so united. They'd had a common purpose. Luke had been much less terrified than he would have expected, because he'd had all the other people on his side.

Now Luke was alone again. And Eli and the others were—

Luke decided to think about something else.

Wonder who's taking care of my horses back at Population Police headquarters. Whoever it is had better be brushing Jenny down really well. It better not be some slacker who doesn't know anything about animals, like. .

The image that came into his mind was the face of the boy who'd gone to Chiutza with him, who'd stolen Luke's cornbread and refused to share 'his' territory with Luke. The boy Luke had last seen in the middle of a circle of threatening men. Luke couldn't see that boy caring much about horses, but Luke didn't want to think about him either.

What's there left to think about? Is there any part of my mind that isn't booby-trapped, laid with secret passageways back to thoughts I don't want to think?

Luke could imagine the kind of answer Jen would have given to that question: No, there isn't, Luke. As long as third children are illegal, as long as we're not supposed to exist, you'll always feel trapped. You'll always be trapped. That's why you have to work for freedom.

Luke wished Jen were still alive just so he could tell her to shut up.

The sun hovered overhead for a long time, then began to slip over Luke's shoulders, behind the trees. That was the only way Luke could gauge how long he'd been trudge ing forward. He tried to keep alert, to watch for any sign of Population Police officers or rebels with guns or even just ordinary people going about their usual business. But there was nothing to see. Trees, sky, uneven ground — oops, watch out for that root over there. You don't want to trip again. A couple of times Luke could see the edge of a field, just beyond the trees. Once he dared to detour toward the field, thinking he might find withered soybeans again. But this field, when he came to it, looked more like a meadow, abandoned to thistles and weeds. Luke could see the ruts in the field where tractor tires had once rolled. But it looked like that had been years earlier; clearly the weeds had replaced crops many growing seasons ago.

But why? Luke wondered. Why wouldn't someone try to grow food here? People are starving. .

Luke moved back into the woods, feeling more disturbed than he wanted to admit.

As sunset approached, Luke had a more urgent concern: water. His throat was parched after his hours of walking, and he hadn't come to a single stream or pond the entire day. The only water he'd seen had been dew