Among the Brave Read online

  And unless Aldous Krakenaur decided to send all his men away, letting Trey crawl on past, Trey was trapped there, a mere sneeze or a cough away from being discovered by his worst enemy.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Of course, thinking about sneezing or coughing instantly made Trey want to do both. He thought about crawling backward, maybe even all the way to the bathroom where he’d started. But his fears about buttons rattling against the duct had multiplied tenfold. He didn’t think he was physically capable of moving right now. He lay paralyzed, listening in terror.

  “Don’t you understand that we are everything now?” Krakenaur lectured. “I appropriated this house because it was the only building in the entire country suitable to the grandeur of my Government, the glory of my vision.”

  And because the Grants were dead and couldn’t object, Trey thought. He wondered if any of the Population Police sitting so obediently before their leader knew the truth. He felt a little more daring just to be able to think defiant thoughts.

  “So I arrive today, ready to rest and savor the accomplishments of my first few glorious days in office. And what do I discover? Ragamuffins trampling my front yard, tracking dirt into my glorious entry hall. Prisoners in the basement—where is the glory and dignity and vision in that? I want a headquarters worthy of my honor!” He seemed to be pounding his fist on the desk to punctuate that last sentence.

  There was a shocked silence, as if none of the officers knew how to respond. Trey felt equally stunned.

  Prisoners in the basement … prisoners in the basement … Had Krakenaur just told Trey exactly where to find his friends? What other prisoners could there be?

  Now the officers were mumbling among themselves.

  “You issued the order to take new recruits,” someone said resentfully.

  “But surely there’s a back entrance?” Krakenaur spat out. “Or some hut nearby that we could appropriate for processing purposes?”

  Nobody answered. Trey wondered if the officers were nodding obediently or looking dubious.

  “And it’s not like there are hundreds of prisoners in the basement,” someone else muttered. “There’s just one.”

  One? Trey’s heart sank. Then it was probably just Mark down there. Where could Lee and the others be?

  Another officer was adding in a soothing voice, “Anyhow, we’re just keeping that prisoner here until we finish our interrogation. Then we’ll dispose of him. It won’t be more than a few more hours.”

  Trey gulped so hard he feared the entire roomful of men could hear him. A few more hours … Trey didn’t have time to wait for Krakenaur to finish browbeating his officers and dismiss them all. He would have to crawl past them and go rescue Mark now.

  Trey stared at the pattern of light coming in through the fancy grille as though he could will it into darkness. Wait a minute—maybe he could. It probably looked dark to the people outside right now. He just had to make sure they didn’t see a changing pattern of skin, hair, flannel shirt, dark pants…. Carefully, he spread out the shirt of the Population Police uniform on the bottom of the duct. Then, very quickly—so quickly he didn’t have time to think about the danger—he lifted the shirt so it covered the entire grille from the inside.

  Nobody noticed.

  Trey gave himself a few moments to take deep breaths of relief. Then he slipped forward, holding the shirt in place over the grille with his hands, then his torso, then his legs.

  He didn’t worry about rattling buttons once.

  The entire procedure was going so smoothly, Trey was starting to think he had a future as a contortionist. And then, just as he was moving his leg away from the grille, he glanced back and realized: The uniform shirt had caught on his belt as he’d slid past. He’d been in full view of anyone who cared to look for the past two minutes.

  Instantly, he jerked his leg away from the grille, only barely managing to stop himself from kicking the other side of the duct with a solid thump. And then he waited.

  Did anybody see me?

  It was torture, waiting, knowing he could do nothing now to correct his mistake. But down below, Krakenaur just kept berating his men.

  “We have a duty to our people!” he was yelling.

  Nobody had been looking at the grille. Nobody had seen Trey.

  Oh, thank you, he thought, feeling as if every moment for the rest of his life would be a pure gift. Because it was. He’d deserved to be discovered, and he hadn’t been.

  He turned his attention to finding Mark.

  Over the next hour or so, Trey despaired repeatedly of ever finding a way down to the basement. The ducts of the Grant mansion were like a maze, twisting and turning and branching off at odd intervals. More than once, Trey considered just turning around, climbing out a vent in some empty room, and then looking for actual stairs down to the basement. But seeing Krakenaur had chilled him. Trey could practically feel the danger in every room of the house—everywhere outside the ducts. He wore a hole in the knee of his pants, crawling; he rubbed the palms of his hands raw from feeling his way along. But that was still better than being out in the midst of the Population Police.

  And then, finally, as Trey reached a tired arm out yet again into the endless darkness, he touched—nothing. Just a hole where the duct plunged straight down.

  Trey hadn’t thought about its working that way. He’d been thinking of a nice gentle slope—something like the slides he’d seen in pictures of playgrounds.

  I can do this, Trey told himself. I have to.

  He reached across the hole, feeling around for the wall on the other side. As soon as he touched metal, he pulled his upper body over the hole and thrust his legs down it, bracing his feet and knees along the side of the metal chute. He banged his head on the top of the duct, and his leg muscles began trembling with the strain almost immediately. But he didn’t fall. He inched down, each move absolute agony.

  How much farther can it possibly be? Trey wondered. How high are the Grants’ ceilings?

  Finally, Trey’s foot brushed something directly below him. He straightened out his legs, delighted that he’d soon be standing on solid ground.

  Well, solid duct, anyway, he corrected himself.

  He eased his stiff, aching arms away from the walls of the duct so all his weight was on his legs and the duct below.

  Suddenly there was a ripping sound. Trey plunged straight down. As he reached out frantically, clutching for anything that might stop his fall, his fingers brushed plastic. He grabbed what seemed to be a plastic tube, which swung down to the right. Seconds later, he hit a concrete floor with a muffled thud.

  Trey lay still, too stunned even to try out his arms and legs and make sure that nothing was broken. In near-darkness, he peered straight up, trying to comprehend what had happened. He’d broken through the duct, of course, but why? He looked at the plastic tube he still hugged to his chest. Oh. He was in the basement, and the ducts down here were evidently plastic, not metal. The tube he was clutching was about as flimsy as a garbage bag.

  At least it was strong enough to break your fall, he told himself reassuringly. And nobody knows I’m here.

  “What was that?” someone yelled.

  Correction, Trey thought. At least they haven’t found me yet. At least I have time to hide.

  He glanced around, but he was in an empty room.

  I’ll hide in the tube, then, he told himself. But the plastic duct was too narrow. Even if he managed to climb into it in time, his shoulders would cause the tube to bulge. He’d be discovered instantly if anyone came to investigate.

  Then it’s back into the metal duct, Trey thought, still feeling amazingly calm.

  He stood—his legs did still work, after all—and reached up.

  The bottom of the metal duct was a good two feet above his fingertips. He had nothing to stand on, he couldn’t jump that high—there was no way out.

  And he could hear footsteps coming his way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

&nb
sp; Know what I think that noise was?” a second voice called out. “Mice. Or rats, maybe. Hey, tell you what. You run back there and flush them out, drive them straight toward my cage, and I’ll catch them with my bare hands. I’ve done it before. Ever had rat roasted on an open flame? Mmm-mmm. Delicious.”

  It was Mark’s voice, sounding twangier and more hickish than ever. Trey’s knees went weak with relief.

  But so what? Trey reminded himself. That just means the two of us will be imprisoned together.

  The footsteps stopped.

  “I am a master guard in the Population Police,” the first voice snapped. “I don’t eat rats.”

  “Hey, hey, didn’t mean to insult you,” Mark said. “I should have thought about who I was talking to. I ain’t used to being around fancy officials and all. It probably ain’t rats or mice, nohow. Not here. Not some highfalutin place like this.”

  “Hmmph,” the guard said. But, miraculously, he didn’t continue walking toward Trey’s room. Instead, he muttered, “No funny business.” And then his footsteps began to retreat. Trey thought, by the way they echoed, that he might even be climbing stairs.

  Trey exhaled very slowly. He took another deep breath, then tiptoed to a doorway that seemed to lead out into the rest of the basement. Feeling ridiculously brave, he peeked around the corner.

  Mark was, indeed, crouched inside a cage, out in the middle of the floor. The cage was small—Mark couldn’t have stood up in it. Trey had the impression that the cage wasn’t even meant for humans. It was like the Population Police were just improvising, using whatever they could find lying around at the Grants’.

  Will that make it easier for me to set him free? Trey wondered.

  The guard wasn’t anywhere in sight now, but Mark’s cage was directly under a large, glaring overhead light. I’ll wait until they turn that out, Trey thought. Then I’ll creep nearby. A pile of boxes stood behind the cage. Trey could hide there.

  Trey’s plans were shaping up nicely. The only problem was, what were he and Mark going to do after Trey released him? If they had time to slide a stack of boxes over under the broken metal duct … if they could do it quietly … if the boxes were sturdy enough to climb on … if they were able to climb back up the duct … if everything fell into place, he and Mark would be safe.

  Trey didn’t like dealing with so many ifs, but he didn’t think he had a choice. He sat back, waiting until the light went out.

  Instead, after just a few minutes, the guard called down, “Prisoner, prepare to be interrogated.”

  Trey grimaced, remembering the conversation he’d overheard earlier. We’re just keeping that prisoner here until we finish our interrogation. Then we’ll dispose of him. It won’t be more than a few more hours. What if he didn’t have time to rescue Mark before they took him away? How much time had Trey already lost wandering around in the heat ducts?

  Trey glanced around the corner into the next room once more. And then, before he had time to reconsider, he dashed out and slipped between the pile of boxes and the wall.

  Trey ran as silently as possible, but Mark saw him. And positively beamed.

  Then he had to erase the smile from his face. Footsteps were coming down the stairs toward them. Trey ducked behind the boxes. A small gap between them gave him a narrow view of Mark’s cage. Trey saw a Population Police officer striding toward Mark. The chest of the officer’s uniform was completely covered with medals. Trey had a feeling that this guy ranked a lot higher than the guard.

  “Explain why you were trying to sneak into our headquarters,” the officer snapped at Mark.

  “We-ell, see, I didn’t actually know it was your headquarters,” Mark said, drawing out his words to make himself sound slow and stupid. “And I weren’t trying to sneak in.”

  Mark sounded so dumb and innocent, Trey had to smile. Who would have guessed Mark would be such a great actor?

  “I was just out in the woods looking for food when I seen the fence,” Mark continued. “I didn’t know nothing about this place ‘cept it belonged to somebody rich. Wouldn’t have even come near the fence, ‘cepting that this squirrel, see, he run right under the barbed wire. And I was chasing him so hard, I didn’t never think about it being a problem, me stepping past that fence. I wasn’t hurting nothing. And then—zap! That’s the last thing I remember until I woke up here. So how about it? How about setting me free so I can go get that squirrel?”

  The Population Police officer snorted.

  “Hunting is a violation of numerous governmental codes. Do you realize you’ve just confessed to a serious crime?”

  Mark hung his head.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “Now I do. But it weren’t like I had a gun or nothing—just a bow and arrow. And I was awful hungry.”

  “Didn’t you know the Population Police offered food to anyone who joined up—them and their families?” the officer asked.

  “No, sir,” Mark said. “Ain’t never heard that. Can I still do it? Where do I go to join up? I’d be a good employee. And it’d just be me you’d have to feed—my mam and pap passed on near about five year ago, and I ain’t got no brother or sister or other kin at all.”

  The officer regarded Mark in silence. Then he asked, “What happened to your bow and arrow?”

  Mark blinked at him.

  “Well, shoot,” he said. “I don’t know. Reckon I must have dropped it when that fence zapped me.” His face brightened. “Hey, I know. You go find my bow and arrow. Then you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

  The officer narrowed his eyes, as if suspecting a trap. Then he seemed to decide that Mark wasn’t smart enough to try a trap.

  “I’m not about to go traipsing out there in the woods looking for your illegal weapons,” the officer said indignantly. “But—I’ll send one of my men after it. Then maybe we’ll just see what to do about you.”

  And he turned on his heel and walked away.

  Trey stayed hidden until he was sure the officer had climbed the stairs again. Then he poked his head out.

  “Wow, Mark, how’d you know he’d fall for that?” Trey whispered.

  “It was written all over his face, that he was dying to go order someone around. And that he thought I was dumber than pond slime. I thought about what you’d said about grammar, and I turned it around—I was saying ‘ain’t’ on purpose, you know.”

  “I know,” Trey said.

  “So I bought us some time, but I don’t know how much. I can always say somebody must have stolen the bow and arrow if he comes back soon. But I hope it don’t come to that—how about getting me out of here now?”

  “Okay, okay,” Trey muttered. He slipped out from behind the boxes. Squinting in the glare—and terrified of being so exposed—Trey felt around for some sort of latch to release the door of the cage.

  But the cage didn’t have a latch. It was fastened with a thick lock.

  “Mark—I’d need a key—,” Trey sputtered.

  “No you don’t,” Mark said soothingly. “Just some pliers or wire cutters—even a piece of bent wire to pick the lock.”

  “Where am I supposed to get that?” Trey asked.

  “This is a basement, isn’t it? Look around!”

  Trey retreated to his boxes, figuring he could at least stay partially hidden while he looked there. The first box held table linens. The one beside it held china wrapped in layers and layers of thin crinkly paper.

  “Trey?” Mark whispered. “Thanks for coming to get me. I never in a million years thought you’d be so brave. I thought I was on my own.”

  “I haven’t saved you yet,” Trey said through gritted teeth. He was on the third box, which held more tablecloths.

  “How’d you get down here?” Mark asked.

  Quickly, talking as he searched, Trey told him. Mark gave a soft, admiring whistle.

  “You joined the Population Police?” he asked. “You crawled through heat ducts past Aldous Krakenaur? I had you figured all wrong. You’re the bravest kid I kn
ow!”

  Trey didn’t have time to get puffed up with pride. He was on the last box in the stack. This one was full of fancy crystal vases.

  Panic-stricken, he looked around. Were there boxes in some other part of the basement? Wouldn’t the Grants have had something useful down here?

  But the boxes and Mark’s cage were the only things in the entire basement.

  Trey fought to hide his fear from Mark. He tugged on the lock as if he thought he could break it with his bare hands. Mark saw.

  “Oh,” Mark said, and turned his face away.

  “Maybe—,” Trey said, but he didn’t have a plan to suggest.

  Just then they heard footsteps on the stairs again. Trey dove behind the boxes once more, just before the Population Police official burst around the corner.

  “You were not hungry,” the official snarled at Mark. “How do you explain this?”

  He held something out to Mark. Trey couldn’t tell what it was at first, but when he shifted his position and saw what was dangling from the official’s hand, it was all he could do not to gasp.

  The official was holding the knapsack Mark had carried from the truck. It was the knapsack Mark had put down right before he’d tried to crawl through the barbed-wire fence, the knapsack Trey had kicked away in disgust.

  The knapsack full of food.

  “What do you mean, ‘How do you explain this?’” Mark asked. “I’ve never seen that before in my life. What is it?”

  But his voice shook, and he’d waited a second too long in answering. It was all too clear that he had seen that knapsack before. That it belonged to him.

  The official slowly loosened the knapsack’s strings and began pulling out its contents. A box of raisins. A bag of peanuts. An apple. Two apples. Three. Potatoes. Bananas. Peaches. Cereal.

  “I’ll ask you again,” the official said. “Why were you trying to sneak into Population Police headquarters?”

  “I wasn’t,” Mark said. But his voice was even weaker now. The most gullible fool in the world wouldn’t have believed him.