Among the Free by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page B

Even if the men in the house didn’t notice the fresh mud on the floor, they’d certainly see this enlarged hole.
    What other choice do I have?
    Luke broke through and landed in a thicket outside. He rolled onto his feet and around glanced quickly—he saw just the bumper of some vehicle parked at the front of the house, but no sign of other Population Police officials wandering through the ruins. He took off running for the woods.
    â€œHey! You! Stop! We’re the Population Police!” someone yelled behind him.
    Luke tried to run faster, but it was hard with his legs so stiff and sore. He’d run so much the day before; he’d used up so much of his energy walking all morning.
    â€œYou can’t escape! We’ll find you! We’ll hunt you down!”
    Luke crashed into the woods, and it was like a flashback to his terror-stricken dreams the night before: running, being chased, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide . . .
    â€œWe’re still in charge!” someone shouted behind him. How far away was the voice? Was it just behind him or several yards back, still in the ruins of the village?
    Maybe Luke was a little delirious; maybe his brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen to think straight. For whole minutes, he had trouble remembering whom he was running from: the Population Police officers doing their house-to-house search? The Chiutzan villager with the gun? Officer Houk? Somehow Luke’s legs were carrying him so fast that his eyes couldn’t absorb the sights around him quickly enough. Trees. Grass. Sky. Branches. No more branches. Lots more sky. Houses. Faces. A lot of faces, all looking down at him.
    Luke blinked, fighting an awful blackness.
    â€œI think he’s passing out,” someone said. A woman. The voice seemed to come from a million miles away. Luke knew he couldn’t surrender to unconsciousness now. He forced his eyes back open, trying to focus on the circle of faces around him.
    â€œHere. Here’s something to drink,” a new voice said, and someone poured liquid down his throat. Luke couldn’t have said whether it was cold or hot, water or broth. But somehow it brought him back to himself. He struggled to sit up.
    â€œGot—to—go—,” he moaned, trying to get his muscles to work, to pull himself upright, to propel himself forward again.
    â€œEasy there, pal.” It was a man’s voice this time. Friendly-sounding. Luke tried to focus on the source of the voice, the face of the man who had spoken. He saw white whiskers, blue eyes, a craggy nose. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to go anywhere for a while. Not on your own, anyway. Where were you trying to get to? Was someone chasing you?”
    â€œYes,” Luke whispered.
    â€œWho was it?”
    Dizzily, Luke managed to stand, though he didn’t quite trust his legs to hold him up. He rubbed his hand across his face. Which side would these people be on? Would they be like the villagers back in Chiutza—eager to attack the Population Police? Or would they be Population Police sympathizers—eager to help Luke if he said he worked for the Population Police, eager to turn him in if he didn’t?
    â€œIs that a Population Police uniform you’re wearing?” someone asked.
    Luke kept his hand over his eyes. Through the slits between his fingers, he tried to peer out at the faces around him, to gauge their expressions. Anxious? Angry? Sympathetic? Luke couldn’t tell. Was it good or bad that he still had the shirt of his uniform turned inside out? Which side of the shirt would these people rather see? Luke had had to lie and pretend so much during the pastyear, ever since leaving home. What was he supposed to do now, when he had no way of knowing which lie would save him, which pretense would keep him alive?
    Maybe he’d have to tell the truth.
    â€œI—I’m running away from the Population Police,” he