Free Among the Brave by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page B

the Talbots’ house and sat down in the brush to eat
    “Eat the heaviest stuff first,” Mark told him. “We’ll carry the lighter food with us.”
    And then Trey had to compare. Was a banana heavier than a peach? Was a bag of peanuts heavier than a box of raisins? Mark watched him in disgust.
    “Just eat whatever you want,” Mark said. “We’re strong enough to carry it all. Or—I am.”
    Trey wanted to say, “Why are you bringing me along? What good am I if you don’t even think I can carry a knapsack?” But he swallowed his words, along with the peanuts. Both stuck in his throat.
    Their meal was a quick affair. In a matter of minutes, Mark was on his feet again, pouring food into the knapsack. Trey climbed back into the cab of the truck and pulled out the papers he’d taken from first the Grants’ house, then the Talbots’.
    “Put these in there too,” he said.
    Mark hesitated.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “If anybody stops us—if Trey search our bag..
    Trey knew what Mark meant The papers could make them look like thieves. How could he explain where he’d gotten them? But the papers were all he had left. He had nothing from his life with his parents, nothing from his life at Hendricks. The papers were the only link he had to any point in his life when anyone cared about him.
    “I’ll carry them myself then,” Trey said. He stuffed the most important Grant papers—and a few of the Talbots’ papers he’d grabbed blindly—into an inside pocket of his flannel shirt. He wanted to take everything, but it wouldn’t fit without bulging. He knew he couldn’t push his luck too far. He shoved the leftover papers back into the slit in the seat.
    Mark’s eyes looked troubled, but he didn’t object. He turned away and rearranged the branches over the truck one last time.
    “I thought we could walk along the river,” Mark said quietly. “If we’re lucky, there’ll be trees the whole way.”
    Trey nodded, but panic clutched him. Trey were leaving the truck behind. For all Trey knew, the Grants’ house might still be miles away. Did Mark really expect Trey to walk that far outdoors? And once they arrived, they had no guarantee whatsoever that Lee would be there too.
    “Are you sure this is the best way?” Trey asked. “What if—what if the phones are working now? Shouldn’t we at least check?”
    “You see anyone standing around offering us a free call?” Mark asked mockingly. “Would you trust anyone who did?”
    “No,” Trey whispered.
    Mark turned and started off walking. Trey scrambled to keep up.
    Walking, Trey found, was possible as long as he stayed right behind Mark. He kept his eyes on the gray plaid of Mark’s flannel shirt, and didn’t look up or down or side to side. This made Trey stumble every so often, and he probably looked like a total fool, always lifting his feet too high, just in case there were any logs or undergrowth in his path. But Mark didn’t say anything about it, just looked around every now and then to make sure Trey was still nearby.
    After they’d gone a few yards, Mark whispered back over his shoulder, “Down!” When Trey didn’t respond right away, Mark grabbed him by the arm and jerked him toward the ground. Trey lay flat, his right ear pressed hard into the dirt. Was he hearing tramping feet or just the beating of his own heart?
    “We’ll crawl from here on out,” Mark whispered.
    Trey didn’t ask why, just silently panicked. How could he keep his eyes on Mark’s shirt if Trey were crawling?
    Mark was already sliding away from him. The toe of Mark’s boot disappeared over the edge of a branch, and suddenly Mark was out of sight. Trey was alone again.
    “Wait!” Trey whispered urgently, and dived over the branch.
    Mark was right there, waiting in a hollow of dirt and leaves. Silently he started moving once more, and Trey followed, terrified of losing sight of Mark again.
    What they were doing couldn’t properly be called “crawling.” It