Among the Brave (19 page)

He still thinks I’m a gun g-ho Population Police recruit,
They thought.
He still thinks I’ll have classified clearance someday.

“Here, sir, I’ll get the fax for you,” They said. “I won’t look at it. I promise.”

He did his best to sound earnest and overeager, not like a boy who was terrified of what that fax might say. But he didn’t have to look to know. “We’ll be notifying everyone involved as soon as possible,” Krakenaur had said. The phone call had failed, so of course the Population Police were using other methods.

“All right,” the warden said in an even tone. But he was watching Trey carefully.

The fax machine kept spitting out paper. They stood waiting, his hands over the machine, the dread growing inside him. Should he rip the papers in half when he picked them up? Should he run away with them? How could he do anything about the fax without giving himself away—and destroying any chance that Mark, Lee, and the others had for escape?

But what chance do any of us have anymore anyway?
Trey wondered in despair.

The last sheet of paper churned out, and the machine lapsed into silence. Trey reached down and scooped up the papers. Without looking, he thumped them against the counter, straightening out the edges.

Do I dare to drop them? Buy myself a little time?

But he was too nervous to try that, and too scared of infuriating the warden.

The noise of a truck outside distracted him temporarily “Your prisoners from Slahood have arrived,” the warden said, glancing out the window.

Trey let the hand holding the papers fall to his side. He rushed over to the window as if his eagerness to see his prisoners had made him forget about the fax.

“We were giving our prisoner one last beating before he leaves,” the warden said. He leaned over and spoke into the intercom, “Snyder, you may send him up now.”

Trey peered out the window as a truck pulled up in front of the warden’s office. Lee, Nina, Joel, and John were chained together in the back. So was a fifth person, a man.

The chauffeur?
Trey suddenly thought. He hadn’t recognized him at first, because the chauffeur looked twenty years older than he had the last time They had seen him, back at the Talbots’ house only a week or so earlier.
Mark and I didn’t ask to have the chauffeur released,
Trey thought.
We didn’t even mention his name. We don’t even know his name.

The chauffeur’s appearance only intensified Trey’s fears. Everything was spinning out of control, even without the danger presented by the fax papers burning in his hand.

“I’ll go help unload the prisoners,” Trey said.

“But my fax—young man! You haven’t been dismissed!” the warden yelled from behind him.

Trey pretended not to hear, though it was a shaky pretense. He would have had to be deaf to miss those shouts. He rushed out the door anyway How long would it take the warden to catch up to him? A minute? Two? Would the warden pause to summon other guards over the intercom—guards who would come to beat him up?

Trey tried not to think about it.

Outside, the driver from Slahood was already jerking Trey’s friends and the chauffeur out of the truck bed. They stumbled and fell, knocking against one another. But the guard gave them no time to right themselves, just kept pulling on their chains until they were all in a heap on the ground.

None of them so much as cried out in pain.

“Who’s signing for this riffraff?” the guard asked.

“Me,” Trey said, blindly grabbing for the clipboard and pen the guard held out. He scrawled his most illegible signature at the bottom of the forms.

“Okay, then,” the guard said, and climbed back into his truck and drove away.

Trey knew he should be running, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the warden. Using every last second to save himself. But time seemed to stop as he stood there regarding his friends. They lay like corpses at his feet, not making the least attempt to untangle themselves. He wasn’t sure if they recognized him or not

“Everything’s okay now,” he wanted to tell them. “I’m rescuing you.” But he knew that would be a lie—he had no hope of carrying off a rescue now. Failing that, Trey at least wanted to ask some questions: “Why did you leave me? Why did you go back to the Grants’ house? Why didn’t you come back for me?”

But it was too late for questions. The warden came storming out of his office, screaming, “Give me that fax this instant!”

At the same time, the guard who had taken Mark away, Nedley, was pulling up in Mark’s battered truck Mark sat in the passenger’s seat, looking groggy but blessedly alive—for now, anyway. A body also lay in the back, but Trey couldn’t tell if he was looking at a corpse or at a living, breathing human.

That must be the prisoner that Jonas Sabine risked his life for. Wonder why Sabine cared so much?
They thought dully Probably none of his questions would ever be answered. He’d die still wondering why everything had happened, what any of his bravery had been worth.

Nedley put the truck in park and sprang out of the driver’s seat.

“Don’t just stand there—help me load,” he hissed at Trey.

Trey glanced from Nedley to the warden, rushing toward him. He didn’t really make a choice. He still had no hope of escape, but why confront his doom any sooner than he had to?

Trey crammed the fax into his pocket Then, with Nedley’s help, he hoisted Nina, Lee, Joel, John, and the chauffeur onto the truck. Out of the corner of his eye, Trey could see the warden, huffing furiously, and two guards marching up behind him.

Of course. The warden wouldn’t do anything as undignified as grabbing Trey himself. He’d have someone else do the dirty work for him.

“You climb in too,” Nedley whispered to Trey

“Huh?” They said.

In answer, Nedley shoved Trey, knocking him forward into the open truck bed. Nedley half-fell, half-climbed in on top of him.

“Stop! Wait! My hand’s caught in the chain!” Nedley called out loudly.

As if that were a cue, the truck suddenly jerked forward. Frantically, They clutched at the chains to keep from falling out the back. Nedley yanked up on the liftgate, trapping them all in the truck bed. The truck surged on, gathering speed.

“Help! The prisoner—we’re being kidnapped! Wait! Don’t shoot—I’ll get him!” Nedley stood up in the truck bed and began weaving toward the front of the truck, stepping over Lee and Nina and the others.

Trey wasn’t sure what was happening—whose side was Nedley on? Just in case, Trey tackled him, kicked him away to the side, then dived through the open window into the cab of the truck.

Mark was in the driver’s seat now, looking grim. His broken leg was covered with white plaster, from his knee down to his foot. He had the bottom of his cast jammed against the gas pedal.

“What are you doing?” They screamed at Mark. “Didn’t you see those trucks back there? They’ll catch us in nothing flat!”

“No they won’t,” Mark said, glancing over his shoulder anyhow. “We slashed all their tires.”

“You did?” Trey marveled.

Mark weaved around a guard running toward them waving a gun.

“Pretend to hit me,” Mark said. “Then lean down and push on the gas pedal as hard as you can. My leg's killing me.”

Trey swung broadly at Mark, slipped down, and reached over Mark’s cast for the pedal.

“Faster? Slower?” he called up to Mark.

“Faster. Always faster,” Mark muttered.

Trey pushed even harder, straining the muscles in his arms. It was terrifying not to know what they were speeding toward. He remembered the high fences, the razor wire everywhere.

“The gates!” he screamed at Mark. “The guard! How are we going to get past—”

“The gates are still open for the other truck, the one from Slahood,” Mark muttered. “And the guard—”

Trey heard a pinging sound off to the side.

“Well, he missed,” Mark said matter-of-factly “He just wasn’t a very good aim.”

Trey pushed even harder on the accelerator. Mark was swerving now, turning the steering wheel in wide arcs above Trey’s head. Trey could still hear gunfire.

“I thought we were past the gates!” he yelled. “Who’s shooting at us now?”

“Remember that truck from Slahood?” Mark asked, turning the wheel even more widely.

They heard more shots. They sounded closer than ever. But Mark just started laughing.

“What’s happening?” Trey screamed. He hated not knowing, not being able to see.
If I get out of this alive,
Trey vowed,
I’m never hiding again.

“All right!” Mark called out joyously “That Nedley— what a guy!”,

“WHAT IS GOING ON?” Trey screamed. “WHAT DID NEDLEY DO?”

“He shot out all the tires on the other truck,” Mark said. “They just stopped. They’ve lost us now. Oh, man—we are home free!”

Chapter Thirty-Two

They weren’t, of course. They were still miles from anyone’s home. They were fugitives now, likely to be shot on sight. And Trey still didn’t know why Nedley was helping them, who the mysterious prisoner was, or why the chauffeur had ended up in the back of their truck

Still, after about fifteen minutes, they felt safe enough to pull over by the side of the road and let Trey take over all the driving responsibilities. (Trey was so happy to finally be able to see out that he didn’t mind the bright sun in the least) Another fifteen minutes later, Trey steered the truck into a small copse of trees, totally hidden from the road. He and Nedley went back and brushed the gravel back into a normal formation, erasing all signs of their tracks.

“Why?” Trey asked. “Why did you help me and Mark?”

"Liber,"
Nedley breathed.

“Oo-oh,” Trey said slowly. "Then there were more in the
liber
club than just two.”

“There were dozens of us,” Nedley said.

“That’s great. I mean—” Trey was trying to grasp it.

“Most of us are dead now,” Nedley said. “But at least you and Mark and I have saved our leader.”

“Who?” Trey said.

“The extra prisoner in the back of the truck,” Nedley said. "Don’t you know who that is?”

Trey shook his head. Everything had happened too fast; it wasn’t like there’d been time for introductions.

“Whoever it is, are you sure he’s still alive?” Trey asked.

“Let’s go see,” Nedley said grimly

They trudged back to the truck. Lee and the others were just beginning to sit up, to cautiously peer over the edge of the truck bed.

“Trey?” Lee gasped, his voice cracking in astonishment.

“At your service,” They said.

“You're wearing a Population Police uniform,” Lee said.

“I told you you wouldn’t believe what we had to go through to rescue you,” Mark said peevishly from the front of the truck.

“But you look so.
. .
real,” Lee said.

Trey nodded silently He saw fear in Nina’s eyes, in Joel’s and John’s. Their gaze flickered from They to Nedley in terror. For the first time, They felt the full weight of the uniform he was wearing.

"Aw, Luke,” Mark said. “That’s no way to thank somebody who just rescued you from jail.”

Lee’s gaze steadied.

“I owe you,” he said quietly

‘And I owe you,” Trey said. He hoped there’d be time later to explain what he meant, how grateful he was to Lee for teaching him how to run, how to tackle—how to do something besides hide.

How to be brave.

“I think Mr. Talbot needs a doctor,” Nina announced.

Trey stared—the extra prisoner in the truck was, indeed, Mr. Talbot. Trey hadn’t recognized him before because he was so battered. Both his eyes were swollen shut and surrounded by huge purple bruises, his lip was split in several places, his breathing was shallow and raspy

But suddenly it all made sense. Mr. Talbot had been a double agent within the Population Police. So had the
Jiber
group. Of course they were connected. Of course Mr. Talbot had been the
liber
leader. Jonathan Sabine must have been trying to mount a rescue mission for his leader that day back at the Talbots and he’d mistaken They for another member of the group. That mistake had saved Trey’s life.

But someone inside the
liber
group must have betrayed Mr. Talbot, the Sabines, and all the others who were dead now.

Nina was feeling for Mr. Talbot’s pulse.

“I don’t know—shouldn’t his heartbeat be stronger than this?” she asked.

“Average resting adult heart rate is fifty to a hundred beats per minute,” Trey said. “But an elite athlete in really good shape could have a rate as low as twenty-eight to forty”

Lee and Nina started laughing. They stood stunned for a minute, then realized it was hilarious he’d been able to spit that out, on cue, in the midst of everything else that was going on.