Chapter 6: Going Over the Wall, Part 2

The Principal turned and stared at Trey while Harry covered his eyes with his hand.

"Are you disobeying me?" He grabbed the ruler off the desk. "You ungrateful punk, do you know how many years I have been trying to help people like you?" He swung the ruler at Trey and caught him across the face. Trey backed up and tripped over a desk. The principal lumbered up and kicked at the young man. Mr. Destir grabbed the Principal from behind and tried to pull him back. Instead the Principal, his face still purple, turned and swung at his subordinate.

"You are fired. FIRED. I will make sure you never..." The ruler fell with a clatter as the Principal clutched his chest. His florid face suddenly turned white and he collapsed to the floor.

"Help me.... medication...in office....go. Password is December, I was supposed to retire..." His head fell back.

Trey and Mr. Destir stared at the form of the man who, seconds before had held the power to destroy their lives. Killing the Principal might even be worse than sedition.

"Oh dear." Harry sat abruptly in his chair. "Now what do we do?"

"We can call the Administration and someone will come and clean up the mess." Trey still lay on the floor, not sure his legs would hold him yet. "But I think you'll find we're part of the mess. The Geris don't like this kind of business. I'm leaving. Now, before they get here to find out I was in the middle of this. I'm fairly sure my value as a bargaining chip with my old man won't keep them from pinning this on me and parting me out." Trey pushed himself to his feet and took a careful breath. "I don't think he broke anything." He limped toward the door. "It's been real."

"Wait." Harry held up his hand then let it drop. "If you wait until dark you'll have a better chance." Harry shrugged. "I'll close the door and keep his death quiet as long as I can. Good luck, lad."

Trey stared at Harry then shrugged, too and went out the door.

He didn't meet anyone on the way to the room he shared with Hank and two other boys. All three were relaxing on Hank's bed playing cards. They glanced up then stared at Trey's face. He was sure there was a huge red mark where the ruler had hit. A glance in their mirror showed he'd underestimated the damage. A thin red line oozed blood, while the skin around it had turned a sullen purple. He smiled at himself. Terrific, maybe it would scar and he could spend his life explaining how he'd been marked by a teacher's ruler.

"What happened to you?"

"I shouldn't have used my teeth," Trey said with an inward apology to Mr. Destir. In the awestruck silence greeting his remark he went over to the single drawer he was allowed and turned all his clothes onto the bed. It was a matter of seconds to sort through the pile and roll up the couple of spare shirts and pants. He put them into his pillowcase.

"What are you doing?" Hank loomed over him.

"I'm going over the wall," Trey looked around for anything else that might be useful. Hank went to his drawer and reached all the way to the back. He pulled out a crudely shaped knife with a rope handle.

"Here." Hank pushed the knife into Trey's hand. "I can always make another one." He turned back to the cards and the others followed his example. Trey put the blade into the makeshift bag and left the room without another word.

On the other side of the exercise yard's dull grey walls was the outside - no fence, no guards. This was supposed to be a Reserve, not a prison, but the yard with the gate to the outside was still out of bounds. All the boys knew stories of wall jumpers being caught, the news made a big show of capturing runaways, but no one who left the reserve returned. The popular theory said runners were cut up for organs.

Trey dropped his bag in a corner and picked up a basketball. He shot hoops until dark. Some other boys came into the yard, but after a glance at his face they let him be. The dinner bell rang before darkness fell, so Trey left the bag in the corner and went to eat. He struggled to choke down the tasteless food. The cut throbbed and chewing was painful.

The room monitors seemed to have developed selective blindness. Not one of the older students came to ask about his face. Whispers floated around him, but he did his best to ignore them. He didn't know the reasons but he was glad to be left alone. As Trey placed the dishes on the rack someone bumped him and whispered, "Good luck." Trey walked out of the room for the last time.

Grief or anger he'd expected, but not the depth of relief he experienced at the possibility of escape from the harsh, soul-crushing expectation of a wasted life.

He went straight to the yard and found his bag. He stared at the eight-foot wall and wondered how he was going to get over.

"Need a boost?" Hank stood in the shadows. "When you get over, go to your left 'til you find the ravine. Follow the water to the road then head north. Don't go south, you'd just be asking for trouble. Follow the signs, and you'll be OK. The Underground will find you." He made a stirrup with his hands, and without effort lifted Trey to the top of the wall. "Good luck. You ain't the first to go over the wall, won't be the last." He melted back into the shadows.