“We’re here!” Don called out, unnecessarily. “Everybody out!”
The others climbed down quickly, whooping and hollering and racing for the gate. Luke followed more slowly. He couldn’t quite trust what he was seeing—his mind kept putting the barbed wire back in place, picturing the grim guards along the wall once again. The woman who had feared danger, Don’s wife, hung back a little too. She gave Luke an uncertain smile.
“You never did tell us where you came from, did you?” she asked. “In all the excitement, did anyone even bother to ask your name?”
“No,” Luke said. He didn’t like the way she kept watching him. “I don’t think names matter much anymore.”
She started to say something else, but a crowd was shoving behind him, and Luke let the people push through, separating him from the rest of the group. By the time the tide had carried him to the gateway, he had lost sight of Ricky and Don and everyone else he’d ridden with in the pickup.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve been alone before. And that woman seemed so suspicious.
At the gateway, the crowd bottlenecked, with people pushing from behind and everyone moving slowly at the front. Luke stood on tiptoe, trying to see what the holdup was. He had a quick flash of fear: Maybe they’re checking I.D.’s after all. Maybe this was just a trap, an elaborate hoax set up by the Population Police to catch people like me. . . .
The fear didn’t recede much when he saw the reason for the holdup: TV cameras. Simone and Tucker were interviewing people as they came through the gate, and even the people who weren’t being interviewed were slowing down to gawk.
“We’re not broadcasting this live,” Simone was telling a thin, hunched-over man. “Philip is over by the wall doing the main broadcast right now. We’re just creating a video archive that can be used later, after we edit everything. Philip says this will be like a historical document, almost. So tell me. Why did you come here tonight?”
The man straightened up a little.
“I came here,” he began slowly, “because the Population Police beat me up when I asked for more food for my wife when she was pregnant. And she was pregnant legitimately. This was going to be my first child. She deserved that food. She needed it.”
“Wow, sir—that’s really sad. If you don’t mind me saying so, you do still look kind of, um, scarred up,” Simone said.
Luke could see the man’s face now. He had a badly healed gash running from his right eyelid down to his mouth. His nose sagged, as though the bones and cartilage inside had given up.
The man stared straight into the TV camera.
“That don’t matter,” he said. “What matters is, my baby was born dead. Malnourishment, the doctors said. He—he would have been absolutely fine otherwise. So it’s like the Population Police murdered my son. And I came to see for myself . . . if they really did have plenty of food here the whole time . . . ”
His face seemed to break up along the lines of scars. It was a horrifying sight, until Luke realized the man was only sobbing.
“I just—had—to—see—,” he wailed.
Luke stopped standing on tiptoe and turned away. He couldn’t watch anymore. He kept his eyes trained on the gray sweatshirt of the man standing in front of him. He hugged the quilt around himself even tighter as he inched forward. Then suddenly there was a break in the crowd and a bright light shone directly into Luke’s eyes.
“What’s your story, young man?”
Simone’s voice. She was standing there right beside him, holding a microphone out toward his face.
“Huh?” Luke grunted. He could see himself reflected in the lens of the camera, a caveman huddled in an old quilt, with dirt smeared across his face and twigs sticking out of his matted, messy hair. He looked back at Simone, and she was even more beautiful close up than she’d been from a distance or on the TV screen. Her waterfall of blond hair shimmered; her blue eyes twinkled.
“We’re asking everyone why they came here tonight,” Simone said gently. “What interactions they’ve had with the Population Police previously, why they’re rejoicing now . . . This is your chance to tell the whole country your story.”
Luke stared at Simone, too many thoughts tumbling through his head at once. He could admit that he was the one in Chiutza who had refused to shoot the old lady. He could say that he really hadn’t handed the gun to the rebels—that he’d just dropped it and run away, so he didn’t deserve too much credit. He could tell her about what he and Nina and Trey had tried to do at Population Police headquarters, how they’d persevered even when they’d gotten discouraged. He could tell about how his friends had rescued him from a Population Police holding camp. He could tell about seeing two people murdered, right on this property. He could tell about Jen, and how he felt haunted by her even now, nearly a year later.
He could talk about being a third child.
Then he remembered how the scarred man had talked about his wife: “She was pregnant legitimately.” He remembered the woman back in front of the TV set arguing: “Any minute now, the Population Police could come back with tanks and guns and—and—” He remembered Eli talking about informing on the third child in their village. He remembered twelve years of hiding and watching his parents struggle with the fear that one day their secret would be revealed, that one day Luke would be killed.
“You—you’re calling this Freedom News, right?” Luke finally said.
“Yes, that’s right,” Simone said. “We are.”
She stood there expectantly, ready to record every one of his words, to broadcast his story out to the whole country.
“Then I’m free not to talk,” Luke said. “I’m free not to tell you a single thing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Simone stared at Luke as though he’d slapped her. “Well, ex-cuse me,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You don’t have to be such a party pooper.”
Luke brushed past her and her microphone and camera and tried to blend in with the crowd. He began trembling immediately and couldn’t stop. He felt as shaky and endangered as he had after running away from Officer Houk, from the Chiutzans, from the Population Police in the abandoned village, from Eli’s home.
It’s okay! You didn’t say anything. No one’s chasing you. Calm down!
He tried to focus on the people around him, to distract himself, to remind himself that everyone else was celebrating and happy. In the bright lights, their colorful clothes seemed to swirl around him, too intense to look at directly. Someone started singing what seemed to be a made-up song:
Oh, ho, ho
No more Poppies
They’re all gone
We’re so glad
Oh, ho, ho . . .
A group of teenagers was dancing along to the music, ending each stanza with an elaborate stomp on the ground.
“That’s right! Stomp those poppies!” someone screamed near Luke’s right ear. “Stomp them all dead!”
The screamer moved on, disappearing into the crowd again. Luke went from trembling to feeling dizzy. The colors and sounds blurred together. Food might help, he told himself, and he fumbled to loosen the bag still tied around his waist. He drew out the last crumbly crust of bread that Eli had given him and brought it up to his mouth.
“Hey, kid, you don’t need to be eating that,” someone said beside him. “There’s lots of good stuff up in that house. Free for the taking.”
“That’s okay,” Luke mumbled, chewing the hard, dry bread.
Some of his dizziness subsided. He had energy now to shove his way through the crowd. If I can just find Nina or Trey, Luke told himself. Everything will be all right if I find them. Maybe Mr. Talbot and Mr. Hendricks had come to join in the celebration. And Luke’s brother Mark might be there. And even his parents and Matthew. Everybody else in the entire country seemed to be crowded onto the Population Police grounds—why not Luke’s family and friends?
Luke stumbled forward, looking right and left, pausing every few moments t
o scan the crowds cheering and dancing on top of the walls. When he’d first come out of hiding and gone to Hendricks School, he’d had a hard time telling people apart. One face looked pretty much the same as another to him, and he’d had trouble holding a mental picture of all the other students and teachers in his head. He had a momentary fear that a similar disorder might strike him now: In this crowd of strangers, what if even the familiar faces looked different to him, and he passed them by?
He reminded himself of what Nina looked like, with brown braids framing her lively features. And he could picture his parents’ careworn faces, with wrinkles he’d memorized without realizing it. And Mr. Hendricks was in a wheelchair—how could Luke fail to notice a wheel-chair gliding by?
He felt a little better, but he still didn’t recognize any of the faces around him.
“Come on! Dance with us!” a girl called, reaching out and grabbing his hand. Luke pulled away.
“No, thanks—not right now,” Luke mumbled, stumbling backward to get away from her.
He glanced past her and the other dancers toward the huge Population Police headquarters building. The first time Luke had come to this building, it had belonged to the Grants, the family who had donated his first fake name. Luke had felt terrified for most of the time he’d spent with the Grants, and he could still remember the panic that had gripped him when he’d returned to enlist in the Population Police. Now all the lights in the building were blazing, and he could see people passing the windows carrying food. They were laughing and hollering and cheering and dancing, just like the people outside on the lawn.
Where are the fierce Population Police officials who used to yell at us? Where’s Aldous Krakenaur, the head of the Population Police? Luke wondered. Somehow he couldn’t believe that all the top leaders would have run away, or given up so easily.
Luke’s feet hurt, and the music and shouting were making his head ache. He wanted to find his friends, but he was so tired of searching. After he circled the crowd a second time without luck, he backed away until he found himself under an isolated tree, away from everyone else. He squinted up at the tree stupidly, trying to figure out why it looked so familiar.
Oh, yeah, he finally thought. He was back by the stables. This tree was one he had often faced when he’d had to stand waiting for inspection. He swayed dizzily, staring up at the tree. Then he turned around and crept into the stable.
The building was dark inside; evidently, the crowd hadn’t made it so far back on the grounds. Or maybe someone had checked it out early in the celebration and decided it was beneath the crowd’s notice. Luke stood just inside the door, inhaling the familiar smell of hay and horse. And manure, too—the manure smell seemed a little stronger than usual, probably because Luke had been away from it for so long.
“Hello?” Luke called softly.
A horse whinnied in reply. Luke was so sure it was Jenny that he threw caution to the wind and switched on the light.
“Hey, girl. Did you miss me?” he whispered, striding toward her stall.
But all the horses were watching him now, some of them whinnying loudly and banging their heads against their stall doors.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Luke muttered. “Calm down, everybody—you’ll have the whole crowd in here checking to see what’s going on.”
Some of the horses began rattling their feed troughs. The empty pans echoed against the floor.
“Geez, you guys are acting like nobody fed you today,” Luke complained.
Oh, he thought. He remembered Simone in the TV broadcast saying that most of the workers at Population Police headquarters had left the day before. They left, and nobody thought about the horses.
Luke stared down the row of stalls—a dozen on each side, twenty-four altogether. He thought about how many stableboys had done the work of caring for the horses. His vision blurred a little. He stalked over to Jenny’s stall. He pulled the pin out of the latch and swung the door open.
“There you go, Jenny!” he said. “If the people are free, the horses are going to have to be free too! Go find your own food!”
Luke stood to the side, giving Jenny free access to the doorway. Jenny stared at Luke, then dipped her head down and nudged her feeding trough toward Luke. The horse might as well have spoken. I don’t want to be free. I want you to feed me.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Luke yelled. “You’re free! Free! Get out of here!”
Luke reached into the stall and gave Jenny a hard shove. Jenny balked, keeping her hooves firmly in place, right in front of the feeding trough. She raised her head again, looking pleadingly at Luke. Luke thought about how many times he’d been comforted by her gaze, how much sympathy she’d always seemed to carry in her dark eyes for his plight.
“All right!” Luke grumbled. “I understand! You’re just a dumb animal. You’ve never eaten anywhere but in your stall. You don’t know what freedom is!”
He shut Jenny’s gate again and strode toward the back of the stable to get the oats.
It took hours to feed all the horses and clean out their bedding. But when Luke finally collapsed in Jenny’s stall, on fresh hay he’d shoveled himself, he could still hear the music and cheering outside.
It sure seems like those people are free, he thought, pulling his quilt around him. Why can’t I be too?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Luke woke up the next morning still in Jenny’s stall. At some point in the night she’d lain down beside him, as if she were trying to guard him. Or hide him.
“You’re not just a dumb animal, are you, girl?” Luke muttered, reaching out and stroking her neck. “We’ll watch out for each other, okay?”
Luke got up and fed all the horses again. He was glad to have something to focus on, something he knew he had to do. But the sight of all the horses chewing reminded him that he’d had nothing but Eli’s dry bread the day before.
Unless I want to eat oats, he told himself, I guess I’ll have to go on up to the headquarters building.
That thought actually made the oats look appetizing.
Quit that, he told himself. What would Jen say if she knew the Population Police were gone, but I was still scared to leave the horse stables?
Remembering how filthy he’d looked reflected in Simone’s camera lens the night before, Luke took time to clean off his hands and face at the pump by the water trough. Then he threw caution to the wind and put his whole head under the rushing water, scrubbing at his hair with saddle soap. He traded his stained, ripped, inside-out uniform shirt for a long-sleeved T-shirt he found in a stack at the back of the stables where the officers always changed after riding. It wasn’t as warm, but no one would recognize it as Population Police clothing.
When he was finished, he stood in front of Jenny’s stall.
“I look a little more presentable now, don’t you think?” he asked her.
Jenny whinnied and rubbed her face against his shoulder.
“Yeah, I know,” Luke said. “Mother would be proud that I thought about washing up. But Jen would know that I was just putting off leaving. Hey—careful there with the oat slobber! I don’t want to have to change my shirt again!”
He backed away from the horse’s stall and resolutely moved over to the stable door. He opened it a crack and peeked out.
The sun was shining outside, and it was a beautiful day. Somehow it seemed that spring had arrived overnight.
Luke poked his head out cautiously so he could see around the corner of the building. The crowd was still there, out on the great expanse of lawn, but no one was singing and dancing and cheering anymore. People seemed to be talking quietly, some of them just now waking up. At the front, near the gate, Luke could just barely make out a figure with a camera on his shoulder and another person talking into a microphone. So the TV coverage was continuing.
Well, at least it doesn’t look like the Population Police came back in the middle of the night, Luke told himself as he stepped out of the stable.
&nbs
p; The walk to the main building wasn’t a long one, but he had to step over numerous bodies in his path—people who’d been so busy celebrating the night before that they’d just fallen over right in their tracks when they got so tired they had to go to sleep.
Lucky for them it’s so warm today, Luke thought.
He was glad that he could see their chests moving up and down—glad that he didn’t have to wonder if they were dead.
If the Population Police really are gone, if everyone really is free—how long will it be before I stop thinking about things like that? Luke wondered.
He reached the back door of the headquarters building and let himself in. He was in an unfamiliar room lined with aprons hanging from hooks.
“The food’s in here,” someone hollered at him.
He stepped into a larger room, this one full of tables. It reminded him of the dining hall back at Hendricks School, but there were no cooks bustling about, doling out food. Instead, people were lined up in front of a long countertop stacked with apples and oranges.
“Yesterday there was made stuff, not just fruit,” a kid whined in front of him. “Where’s the bread? Where are the waffles? Why aren’t there doughnuts anymore?”
“All the workers left, remember?” Luke said. “Nobody’s here to make bread or waffles or doughnuts.”
But he wasn’t thrilled about having just fruit for breakfast either. He circled the countertop and headed into the kitchen.
“Nina?” he called softly, remembering that this was where she had worked. He would feel so much better if she popped her head out from behind the row of stainless-steel refrigerators, or sprang out from beyond one of the long cabinets. But the sound of her name just echoed in the silent, empty kitchen.
I didn’t really expect her to be here, Luke told himself. She’s free now, remember?
He opened one of the huge refrigerators and saw stacks of egg cartons, enormous jugs of milk.
“Can I . . . ?” he started to ask, then shrugged. The Population Police were gone. Nobody was there to tell him what he could or couldn’t do, what he could or couldn’t eat.