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  Then Luke had wanted to ask, How? and What good would that do? and What if it’s all a trap? and What makes you think we have any prayer of succeeding? But Nina had stepped back quickly, gathering up serving trays, so he’d had no time to say anything after she told him what to do.

  Luke’s assignment had been to place a particularly pungent glob of horse manure in the middle of a path, in order to delay an officer who was rushing to repair a security fence. Luke had taken the manure from Jenny’s stall; he’d arranged it carefully to look fresh and accidental and unplanned. After that he’d heard nothing more about I.D.’s, nothing more about the plan.

  He thought it must have failed. Failed, like every other plan.

  But if they’re issuing new I.D.’s to everyone in the country, maybe the old ones really were destroyed. Maybe . . .

  Maybe it didn’t matter. And even if it did, how could Luke take any pride in the plan’s success when all he had done was arrange horse manure?

  Luke shivered in the bitter wind pushing its way into the jeep. The bleak countryside flashed past him: leafless trees and lifeless fields.

  “My dad had a mechanic’s shop, back home,” the other boy said suddenly. “I’m good with cars.”

  Luke forced himself to turn and look at the other boy.

  “Yeah?” Luke said. Did this kid actually think Luke would want to be friendly with someone who’d stolen his bread?

  “Yeah,” the boy said. “So it was stupid that they had me polishing shoes at Population Police headquarters.”

  He said this softly, as if he didn’t want the officer and the driver in the front to hear.

  Luke shrugged.

  “What did you expect?”

  The boy got a dreamy look on his face that softened all his features.

  “Food,” he said. “I just wanted to eat. To have a full stomach for once in my life. Isn’t that why everyone joined up?”

  Luke shrugged again, and went back to staring out at the dead landscape. He knew that the Population Police had control of the entire country’s food supply; he knew that every family had to have someone working for the Population Police or they’d get no food. But he still felt like yelling at the boy, The Population Police kill children, don’t you know that? Do you even care? Is your full stomach worth other kids’ lives?

  Luke and the other boy were silent for the rest of the drive. The men in the front seat didn’t seem to be talking to each other either, but Officer Houk kept holding the radio to his mouth and muttering, “Seeking report on identification process in Searcy,” or, “What’s the progress in Ryana?” Luke wondered vaguely if he was in charge of other units as well, or if he was just nosy.

  Then the ruts and potholes in the road grew so huge that Officer Houk put his radio down and concentrated on telling the driver which way to go: “Ease it out gradually—oof! That just caught the right rear tire. You don’t think the axle’s bent, do you?” Twice Luke and the other boy had to get out and push. Luke thought he heard the other boy muttering, “Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is no way to treat a motor vehicle.” But Luke made no attempt to catch the boy’s eye or to exchange “at least we’re in this together” shrugs.

  When they finally reached Chiutza, hours later, Luke was sweating despite the cold, and his bones were jarred from so much bouncing.

  “Quickly,” Officer Houk ordered, hurrying everyone out of the jeep. “Get everyone in the town square by”—he glanced at his watch—“eleven o’clock. Each of you take one street then report back and I’ll assign the next one.”

  “Street” was too fancy a word for the trash-strewn paths lying before them. Luke could tell that once upon a time, years and years and years ago, Chiutza had had nicely paved streets and concrete sidewalks and sturdy houses. Now the streets were more gravel than pavement, the sidewalks fell off into gaping holes, and the houses were ramshackle, with doors hanging loose and windows patched with plastic.

  “Stop gawking and go!” Officer Houk shouted.

  Luke saw that the driver and the other boy were scurrying to the right and straight ahead, so Luke veered to the left. The first house he came to looked somehow sadder than all the rest, because it had clearly once been quite grand. It had two stories while most of the others had only one, and it was surrounded by a painted fence, now broken down in decay.

  Don’t look, Luke told himself.

  He pushed aside a cracked gate and went to pound on the front door.

  “Open up! Population Police!” he shouted.

  And then he shivered, because who was he to be yelling those words? He remembered his brother Mark playing cruel tricks on him when he was a child, pretending Luke’s worst nightmares had come true. He remembered a time he’d heard those words from the inside of a house, when he’d had to hide to save his life.

  And he remembered another time, when he’d been caught and carried away. . . .

  Desperately, Luke shoved himself against the door, as if he could escape his own memories. The door gave way, rusty hinges tearing away from rotting wood. Luke stumbled into a dim living room and found an old woman sitting on a faded couch. Sitting there knitting, as if she’d had no intention of answering the door.

  Luke stared at her and she stared at him. Then she said, almost mildly, “It wasn’t locked. You didn’t have to break it down.”

  The light caught in the woman’s glasses, which threw off slivers of color, like a prism. A cloud of white hair swirled around her face, making her seem unearthly. She looked frail without seeming delicate or feeble. Luke found himself wondering if this was what his own grandmother looked like—the grandmother who’d never even been allowed to know of Luke’s existence.

  “The Population Police require your attendance at a meeting at eleven o’clock in the town square. You will be issued a new identity card. No other cards or papers will be valid after these cards are issued,” Luke said in a rush. And then he turned to go, because he didn’t want to think about how he’d broken the woman’s door, how he was acting like a typical, brutish Population Police recruit, how this woman’s eyes seemed to accuse him. But even as he turned, Luke could see that the woman was making no effort to rise from her couch.

  “This is mandatory,” he said, still moving toward the door.

  “No,” the woman said.

  Luke stopped, certain he’d heard wrong.

  “What?” he said.

  “I said no,” the woman said calmly. “I’m not going.”

  “Don’t you know what ‘mandatory’ means?” Luke demanded. “You have to go!”

  “No,” the woman said again. “I have a choice. You can call it mandatory. You can call it required. But I can make up my own mind. And I’m not going.”

  Luke heard footsteps outside.

  “What’s going on in there? Why is this taking so long?” Officer Houk screamed.

  Luke could hear him shoving the door, which then fell away completely from the frame, slamming to the floor. Luke jumped out of the way, but not before the door hit his leg.

  Officer Houk glanced at the door on the floor, then glared at the woman.

  “Come along,” he growled.

  “She says—,” Luke started to explain, but then he felt like he was tattling.

  “I’ll speak for myself,” the woman said. “I am through cooperating with the Population Police. You said if we followed your rules, obeyed your laws, we’d have peace and prosperity. Is this peace—men breaking into my house for no reason? Is this prosperity?” She gestured broadly at her house and yard, and Luke saw that her dress was held together with safety pins. “You said that if my son went off to work for you, we’d all have food. Now my son is gone, and I’m still starving. And you really think I care about identity cards?”

  Officer Houk reached down for something on his belt. A gun, Luke realized in horror. Officer Houk pointed it at the woman and said through gritted teeth, “You—will—obey.”

  “No,” the woman said once again, her voice s
teady, almost joyful.

  Officer Houk lowered his gun.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Luke stared in amazement. Could it really be that easy? Tell the Population Police no—and they back down? Had anyone else ever thought to try that approach?

  But Officer Houk wasn’t backing down.

  “I’m not wasting a bullet shooting her here, where no one else can see,” he said. “Carry her out to the town square and I’ll execute her there. Where all of Chiutza can learn a lesson.”

  He was talking to Luke. Luke was supposed to lift up this woman in his arms and take her to another place to be killed.

  I have a choice. . . . I can make up my own mind. . . . The woman’s words still seemed to be echoing in the room, reverberating in Luke’s mind. Do I have a choice? he wondered. If he refused Officer Houk’s order, he didn’t think Officer Houk would smile and put his gun away and say, Oh, you’re right. We’ll just leave this old lady alone. Have a nice day, ma’am. Officer Houk would probably decide to shoot the woman and Luke.

  But if he obeyed . . . if he played a role in her death . . .

  Oh, Trey, why didn’t you think about something like this happening, back when you said we should sabotage the Population Police from within? Luke agonized.

  “Pick her up now!” Officer Houk shouted. “Do it!”

  Luke stumbled forward and scooped the woman into his arms. Her body was incredibly light, like chicken bones. He thought about running out the back door to carry her to safety, but Officer Houk had the gun pointed at both of them now. Luke couldn’t ever run fast enough or far enough.

  Luke lowered his head, putting his face against the woman’s cloud of white hair.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll try—”

  The woman gave no sign that she’d heard him.

  Officer Houk guided them out the doorway. Luke tripped over the broken sidewalk, and barely managed to keep from dropping the woman.

  “Watch it!” Office Houk hissed.

  “It’s because of my leg,” Luke tried to explain. “When the door hit—” His leg was throbbing now, and even the woman’s slight weight seemed too much of a burden.

  “Put her down here, then,” Officer Houk said, pointing to a spot on the ground in front of a gathering crowd.

  It seemed wrong to just drop such an old woman into the mud. But she surprised him by sliding down and standing on her own two feet. The crowd took in the sight of the regal old lady being held at gunpoint and fell silent.

  “This woman,” Officer Houk shouted at the crowd, “refused to obey a direct order from a Population Police officer. This is treason. This is punishable by death. I hereby proclaim her sentence. Do all of you understand her crime?”

  The crowd stayed silent. Luke saw tears rolling down the face of a girl in the front row. He saw a man holding his hand over his mouth, in horror.

  And he heard from behind him a muffled “Sir?”

  It was the driver, back in the jeep. “Sir,” he hissed. “The radio—I think you should listen . . . ”

  Officer Houk frowned, obviously annoyed by the interruption. He glanced back and forth between the jeep and the crowd, between the straight-backed, silent woman and the radio the driver was holding out to him.

  “Here,” Officer Houk said, thrusting the gun into Luke’s hand. “Keep pointing it at her,” he whispered.

  The metal of the gun handle seemed to burn against Luke’s skin. I have a choice. . . . I have a choice. . . . The words seemed to roar in Luke’s ears, blocking out almost every sound. Dimly, Luke was aware of Officer Houk walking back toward the jeep, muttering into the radio. Was the crowd murmuring now, too? What was Officer Houk hearing over the crackle of static?

  “. . . resistance in Ryana . . . facing hostilities in several towns . . . calling all units back for reinforcement . . . ”

  Had Luke really heard that?

  Officer Houk was lowering the radio from his ear, turning to face Luke and the woman again.

  “Shoot her,” he said. “Shoot her and let’s go.”

  The gun shook in Luke’s hand. He remembered one other time he’d held a gun in his hand, held all the power. I have a choice. . . . I have a choice. . . .

  “Shoot her now!” Officer Houk screamed.

  Refused to obey a direct order . . . This is treason . . . punishable by death . . .

  Luke dropped the gun and ran.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Luke crashed through overgrown shrubs, dodged behind falling-down shacks. He heard gunshots behind him, but he didn’t stop to see who was shooting whom, or whether anyone was shooting at him. He ran faster than he’d ever run in any game of football or kick-ball or spud; he ran without stopping even when his leg ached and his breath came in ragged gasps.

  And then he fell to the ground and couldn’t get back up. He lay in a heap for uncountable minutes, and then he rolled over on his back to stare straight up at the sky. Wispy clouds covered a dim, faraway sun, and then all of it blurred into a sea of gray.

  He was crying. That was why everything looked so blurry.

  Luke wiped his sleeve across his face, smearing clumps of dirt onto his skin. Dizzily, he raised himself up on his arms.

  I didn’t shoot her, he thought. Oh, thank God, I didn’t shoot her.

  The tears kept coming, and it didn’t matter, because no one could see him. He was out in an empty field alone, and as far as he could tell, no one had followed him.

  I should hide, he thought, but he didn’t move. He sat there with broken cornstalks and clods of dirt poking at him, his muscles throbbing and his lungs still desperate for air. And somehow it was almost as comforting as leaning against his horse Jenny, letting her slide her warm nose under his arm.

  I’m free, he thought. I made my choice.

  His legs began to feel pleasantly numb, and his breathing slowed to a normal rate. Then a frightening thought crawled into his mind: I could freeze.

  Ice crystals glistened in the mud around him, and now there was a frosty haze in the air. The weather was changing. Carefully Luke rose to his feet, the numbness giving way to pins and needles and pain. He stood, swaying unsteadily, and looked around. The field was surrounded by trees on all sides, but one direction led back to the village, one direction led out to the road, and one direction seemed to lead to yet another field. Painstakingly Luke began walking away from all that, toward the only place where the trees were thickly clumped.

  Like the woods back home, Luke thought, and he had to choke back another sob that threatened to come bursting out. For most of his life, Luke’s family had owned a huge woods beyond the edge of their backyard. Luke had never been allowed to go into the woods, but they had been his shield from the outside world, the protection that allowed him to play and work outside rather than cower in the house all day. Only when the Government forced Luke’s family to sell the woods did Luke realize how trapped he was. Only then did he begin to long for freedom.

  And only Jen told me freedom was possible, Luke thought with a pang.

  He reached the edge of the woods and fought his way in through brambles and thorns. He had some vague notion of constructing a shelter for himself, just a place to stay until he could figure out what to do next. Just a place to stay until he stopped seeing the old woman staring at him every time he closed his eyes, until every random thought stopped throwing him into anguish. But most of the trees around him were soaring and thick-trunked, much too large to be felled by anything smaller than an ax or a chainsaw. The smaller trees and underbrush were worthless, barely fit to shelter a mouse or a squirrel.

  Then the trees ended, and a wall of rock rose up before him. In spite of himself, Luke stared in amazement. He was used to flat farmland or, at most, gently rolling hills. This made him think of the mountains he’d seen only in books, the kind of thing he’d had to pretend to know about when he was attending school under a fake identity.

  It’s a wonder everyone didn’t see through me, didn’t know
how ignorant I was, Luke thought. I never knew mountains were like this.

  In awe, he ran his hands along the rock, his fingers tracing the crevices. He found layers of different colored rock, some that chipped away easily and some that held firm even when he pried against them with a stick. One of the layers led down at an angle; following it, Luke found an opening in the rock that seemed to lead deep into the mountain.

  A cave, Luke thought, struggling to remember definitions and explanations he’d memorized for tests, never expecting the knowledge to have any use in the real world. Caves have a constant temperature, summer and winter. People used to live in caves.

  Luke had found his shelter.

  He crawled in, keeping his head down because the ceiling of the cave was only four or five feet above the ground. But it was warmer the farther he got from the opening. He slid back as far as he could go and still see, and he curled up against a wall of rock. He felt safer than he’d felt at any time since he’d joined the Population Police, maybe any time since the Government had torn down the woods behind his family’s house.

  He was just beginning to drift off to sleep when he heard the gunfire start up again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The gunshots didn’t sound nearby, but there were so many of them. When he’d been running away from Chiutza, he’d heard a pop! pop! pop! . . . Three or four shots. That had been frightening enough, and maybe in his fear and desperation he’d miscounted or misheard.

  This gunfire was even more terrifying, because it sounded like dozens of guns all firing at once, and firing again and again and again.

  War, Luke thought, straining again to remember a concept he’d studied in school and never expected to encounter for real. Lots of people fighting.

  Luke’s first instinct was to curl up more tightly in the safety of his cave, his knees against his chin, his body protected by thick rock from any and every bullet. He was willing to slide on into sleep, just so he wouldn’t have to hear the sounds of anyone else’s struggle.