Among the Brave

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  “You were,” the official said calmly. He seemed to be relishing his role. “And now I will pronounce your sentence. You will be executed at dawn.”

  Mark gasped. Trey reeled backward, hitting the wall. He barely managed to avoid crying out in pain. This was all his fault. Why had he kicked that knapsack and then just left it behind? Why hadn’t he taken it with him, or hidden it somewhere safe?

  Even bravery’s not enough when you make stupid mistakes, Trey thought. It was ironic—yes, now he truly understood that word. Trey had always prided himself on his brilliance and been ashamed of his cowardice. But now that he’d actually shown a little courage, his idiocy had condemned his friend to death.

  All I’m really good for is remembering foreign languages, and they’re useless, Trey thought. But then he had a flash of memory: When he’d been crouching in terror on the Talbots’ front porch, his knowledge of Latin had actually seemed to be the thing that saved his life. Why? What was so special about translating “liber” into “free”?

  For the first time, Trey thought maybe he understood. What if “liber” and “free” were code words—code words for people who believed in more freedom than the Population Police allowed?

  Trey waited until the official had walked away, and then he whispered to Mark, “I think I know how to save you. Yell, ‘liber!’”

  “Huh?” Mark said.

  “Liber,” Trey said. “It means ‘free.’”

  “Liber!” Mark yelled.

  “Do it again,” Trey whispered. “And again. And throw some ‘Free’s’ in there too.”

  “Liber!” Mark repeated obediently. “Liber! Liber! Free! Liber! Free! Liber! Free!”

  At first, he was just saying the words. But soon his voice took on a plaintive strain, as if he were truly begging for freedom. It gave Trey chills. He hoped the sound would seep through the broken duct and out the fancy grilles into Aldous Krakenaur’s office.

  Mark yelled until he was hoarse. But the only thing that happened was that the guard turned the light out, and Mark fell silent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Mark?” Trey whispered. “It’s all my fault. I left the knapsack out there. I kicked it away, and then I forgot about it.”

  “I forgot about it too,” Mark whispered back in a husky voice.

  “They gave me a uniform. Maybe if I put it on and pretend to be a guard, I could—oh, no,” Trey groaned.

  “What?” Mark said.

  “I left the uniform back in the heat duct on the first floor,” Trey confessed. He hadn’t pulled it along with him when he’d shimmied down the duct to the basement. He hadn’t even thought about the uniform then.

  “Oh,” Mark said. That one short word, a mere syllable, spoke volumes. Mark had given up. “You—you should probably go now,” Mark added. “So they don’t catch you, too.”

  “No,” Trey said, finally sitting down, rather than crouching, behind the boxes. “Nobody’s looking for me, and you got the guard scared of mice and rats. I’ll stay until—as long as I can.”

  He wasn’t about to say, “until they execute you.” Still, the unspoken words seemed to hang between them. After a few moments, Mark whispered, “Thanks.”

  For all the bad things that had happened in Trey’s life, this was the first time that he’d known about a tragedy beforehand. His father dying, his mother abandoning him, the chauffeur leaving him behind, the Population Police taking over the Government—all of those calamities had been sudden and unexpected. It didn’t seem fair to know that Mark was about to die, and not be able to stop it.

  “Mark, what if you bend back the bars of the cage?” Trey asked. “You’re strong—”

  “I already tried,” Mark said. “The cage is stronger.” He was quiet for a minute, then said, “I think I understand better now how Luke always felt. It was like he was in a cage his whole life. And I just thought he was wimpy.”

  This was no time to remind Mark that it was dangerous to call Luke by his real name, that the fake name, Lee, was safer.

  “And then he came back, and it was almost like he’d grown past me,” Mark said, sounding as if he was in a daze. “He’d had adventures and he’d seen the world, and you know, that Peter kid—Smits—he treated Luke like he was the biggest hero ever.” Mark hesitated, then went on. “I think I was jealous,” he confessed.

  Trey didn’t think Lee had seen anything of the world besides Hendricks School and the Talbot house, but he knew what Mark meant. Trey had always felt the same way about Lee. Back at Hendricks, Lee had even stood up to the traitor, Jason. And he’d run back into a burning building to save other boys. Trey had never understood where Lee got his courage. But—he thought of Mark as strong and brave as well.

  “Mark, you came here trying to rescue your brother. You’re a hero too,” Trey argued.

  “I didn’t succeed,” Mark whispered. “I don’t even know where Luke is. And they’re going to kill me, and my parents will never know what happened to either of us. Or—or maybe—maybe because of me, they’ll track down Mother and Dad and Matthew and punish them, too….”. His voice cracked.

  “Everything’s a mess,” Trey said. “But it’s not your fault.”

  He didn’t even know how he was going to manage to escape after Mark was gone. But it seemed selfish to think about his own future when Mark didn’t have one.

  “It was stupid to come here, to think I could help Luke,” Mark said bitterly.

  “No it wasn’t,” Trey argued. “We had to try.”

  His words sounded false to his own ears. Whatever danger Trey was in, he wasn’t sitting in a cage, condemned to death, like Mark was. Who was Trey to tell Mark they’d done the right thing?

  But Mark didn’t seem mad at him.

  “Trey?” Mark said. “If it’d been you in here and me outside—I wouldn’t have been brave enough to do what you did. I wouldn’t have thought of joining the Population Police. And crawling through those ducts? A small space like that? I couldn’t have done it. You’re braver than me.”

  “People are brave in different ways,” Trey said. The idea had just occurred to him.

  “But—why did you do it?” Mark said. “No offense, but before I thought you were the most chicken kid I’ve ever met. Why did you come into Population Police headquarters looking for me?”

  Trey pondered Mark’s questions.

  “I’m not sure,” he finally answered. “Maybe I just didn’t want to be left alone.”

  Mark choked back a laugh.

  “There are a whole lot of easier ways to avoid being lonely,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” Trey said. “People are always leaving me behind. My dad died, my mother abandoned me, the chauffeur drove off without me …. You were the first person who didn’t leave me behind on purpose. The first person who was planning to come back. So I had to do everything to find you.”

  Mark seemed to be absorbing this. Then he said, “Wait a minute. If your father died—well, it’s not like he died on purpose, right?”

  “I guess not,” Trey said. He knew he couldn’t really blame his dad for having a heart attack and dying. But he wasn’t willing to let his dad off the hook so easily. He didn’t want Mark thinking Trey’s father had been some great guy who’d just died too soon.

  “Listen to this, though,” Trey said, the anger he’d been holding down for a year suddenly boiling over. “My dad got a fake I.D. for me way back when I was still a baby. But he kept me hidden, he didn’t let me go anywhere—he didn’t even tell me I had that I.D. Ever.”

  “Maybe your dad didn’t think the I.D. was good enough. Like it was only an emergency backup. Just in case,” Mark said.

  “But then my mom, after my dad died, she just drove me to Hendricks School and dumped me out. Said it wasn’t safe for me to see her ever again.”

  “That’s what everyone said about Luke, too, when he left,” Mark said.

  “But which one of my parents was right?” Trey whispered.


  “I don’t know,” Mark said. “What would you do if you had a third child?”

  Trey had never asked himself this question. He’d never thought about what it would be like to be the one in control, with power over somebody else’s fate. He remembered all the attention his father had given him, the way he’d always raved, “Your older brothers never cared for Latin. I’m so glad I have you!” And Trey, who’d never met his older brothers because they were much, much older and lived far, far away, had just glowed.

  But he also remembered the strained look on his mother’s face the day she left him behind at Hendricks. She’d been crying as she left.

  Was it possible his parents both thought they were doing the right thing?

  He and Mark had thought they were doing the right thing too, driving off in search of Lee. But Mark’s parents probably didn’t think so, now that they had two sons missing.

  It was all too confusing, all the choices out in the world. All the mistakes that were possible.

  No wonder Trey’s dad had thought he was doing Trey a favor keeping him at home, teaching him grammar rules that made the world seem safe and orderly.

  Trey closed his eyes briefly, as if that could ward off the confusion and the darkness. When he opened them again, he could see a dim light bobbing at the opposite side of the basement. A flashlight.

  “Is it—is it dawn already?” Mark moaned. “Are they coming for me?”

  “Shh,” the person behind the flashlight hissed.

  If some Population Police officers or guards were coming to take Mark away, why would they be concerned about silence? Why wouldn’t they just turn on the light? What was going on?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The light drew nearer.

  “Whisper,” a voice instructed Mark. “Why were you yelling, ‘liber’?”

  “I thought it might save my life,” Mark said in a hushed tone. “Will it?”

  The guard—for it was a guard; a different one, but still in a Population Police uniform—shone the light into Mark’s face.

  “How can a word save your life?” the guard asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mark admitted.

  Trey’s heart sank. He hadn’t explained. Mark didn’t know. But then, it wasn’t like Trey understood much either. He’d just been making guesses in the dark.

  “Why that word?” the guard continued. “How did you know the word ‘liber’

  “A friend told me,” Mark said.

  “Who is this friend?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Didn’t this friend tell you to whisper, not to yell?”

  “No,” Mark said. “He told me to yell.”

  The guard kept his light trained on Mark’s face. He seemed to be studying Mark very carefully.

  “You are not one of us,” the guard finally said. “You are a threat, not an ally. I cannot help you.”

  “Please—,” Mark said.

  But the guard was already walking away, his flashlight directed back toward the stairs.

  “I’m begging you—” Mark pleaded.

  The guard turned around.

  “Perhaps your friend is a threat to us too. Perhaps you could tell us his name,” he said.

  Trey winced. The guard was bargaining now—bargaining for Trey’s life as well as Mark’s. What would Mark do?

  “Why should I care about you?” Mark argued. “Remember? I’m not ‘one of us.’”

  The guard shrugged.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, and kept walking toward the stairs.

  The sound of his footsteps pounded in Trey’s ears like a cadence of doom. Each step made it less likely that Mark could be saved.

  At what point would it become impossible?

  Trey listened in agony. Then, just as the guard reached the bottom of the stairs, he could contain himself no longer.

  “How can you use ‘liber’ as a password if you don’t really believe in freedom?” Trey shouted. “How can you just stand by and let an innocent boy die?”

  The guard turned around instantly and scanned the entire basement with his flashlight.

  “Where are you?”

  For the first time, Trey heard uncertainty in the guard’s voice—maybe even fear.

  “You don’t know where I am,” Trey taunted.

  The beam of light came to rest on the pile of boxes Trey was crouched behind.

  “You don’t know how big he is,” Mark added. “You don’t know how many people are down here. And they’re all on my side.”

  Trey was silently cheering Mark on, grinning over the bravado in Mark’s voice. Mark sounded so confident, Trey almost felt like looking around for compatriots. Too late, the fear struck: What would Trey do if the guard stalked up the stairs and came back with a horde of Population Police officers?

  But the guard didn’t do that. He didn’t move at all.

  “Shh,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “To be free,” Trey answered, before Mark could.

  “You think yelling about it in the basement of the Population Police headquarters will do any good?” the guard asked.

  “It got you down here, didn’t it?” Mark asked.

  The guard swept his beam of light all along the boxes. Was it just Trey’s imagination, or did the guard let the light linger longest on the exact spot where Trey was hiding?

  “If you’ve got a whole legion of friends down here with you, why do you need me?” the guard countered.

  Mark didn’t answer, and Trey was afraid to.

  “Why did you come here?” the guard asked. “You and your friend?”

  “We were looking for my brother,” Mark said.

  Trey inhaled sharply. If he’d been Mark, he wouldn’t have answered that question.

  “Is your brother a new recruit?” the guard asked.

  “No,” Mark said. “He was here before the Population Police took over. Do you know what might have happened to him?”

  Now Trey was dizzy with fear. Maybe he was hyperventilating. He wanted to shout out to Mark, “Don’t tell him anything else! You might get Lee killed!” But he couldn’t speak.

  Then the guard did something incredible. He sat down on the bottom step of the stairs.

  “I, too, am worried about someone,” he said softly. “Perhaps …”

  “Perhaps what?” Mark asked.

  The guard shook his head.

  “I can’t trust you,” he said.

  “I’m about to be killed,” Mark said. “Don’t you think I’d do just about anything to stay alive?”

  The guard gave a little, amused snort, as if Mark had told a joke.

  “That’s not what I need. I need someone who’d hold on to principle and loyalty, even if it meant death,” he said. “Not that it matters. I need lots of impossible things. Access to secret records. Fake documents. A car.”

  “I have a car,” Mark said. “A truck, anyway”

  The guard snorted again, this time in disbelief.

  “You’re in a cage,” he said.

  Trey strained to hear over the ringing in his ears. He was definitely hyperventilating. He fought against the urge to black out. He needed to think—and to think clearly. All he could hear were the guard’s words, echoing in his mind again and again: You’re in a cage…. You’re in a cage….

  “I’m not,” he whispered.

  He stumbled out from behind the boxes. Act before thinking—that seemed to be his new motto. Ante cogitatum, factum. He stood on wobbly legs, but managed to keep his voice steady.

  “I’m not in a cage,” he said aloud, and waited for the guard’s beam of light to find him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  They worked out a deal, Mark and Trey and the Population Police guard. Their negotiations seemed to take hours, because all of them were afraid of saying too much.

  “How is it that you have a truck?” the guard asked. “And where is it?”

  “We can’t tell you,” Mark said.

  “
Who are you worried about?” Trey asked.

  “I will name no names,” the guard said. “It is better for you not to know.”

  “What’s your name?” Mark asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the guard said. Trey tried to sneak covert glances at him, to get a good look at his face, but he stayed carefully in the shadows, the flashlight trained away from his features. And he didn’t have a badge number or other identification on his uniform.

  Could Mark and Trey trust him?

  They didn’t have much choice.

  Trey had to give up one huge, valuable tidbit of information: He told the guard that it was possible to go between rooms at the Grants’ house by crawling through the heat ducts. The guard nodded soberly at this news.

  “So I can get access to the secret records,” he mumbled. “And I can find the documents I want to fake….”

  “I’ll do it,” Trey said. “Tell me where to go and I’ll get whatever you want. And then you’ll set Mark free.”

  “No,” the guard said. “Somebody else will do that job.”

  “Who?” Trey asked.

  “Never mind,” the guard said.

  Trey was secretly relieved not to have to crawl through the ducts again. But his relief died when he realized what he’d have to do instead: drive the truck.

  “My partner and I will have to confer,” Trey announced when the three of them had finished all the planning.

  “Fine,” the guard said.

  He walked to the other side of the room, but kept his flashlight trained on Mark and Trey.

  “Mark, I can’t!” Trey protested as quietly as possible. “Can’t we ask him to put me in the cage and just have you drive?”

  Mark looked across the room to where the guard sat, grim-faced.

  “He doesn’t trust us as it is,” Mark said. “He’ll think we’re trying to trick him. Or that we’re just bluffing. Besides, it’s easy to drive. Just remember to push the clutch in when you’re changing gears. And, oh yeah, you’ll be driving forward most of the time, so you look out the front window, not the back….”

  “I need a decision,” the guard said from across the room.