Pike shrugged. "Near as anyone can tell, the government came in and tore it all down, and then they replanted the area. And they did it quick." He surveyed the open field that was once a campus. "Yeah, if you hadn't lived here and hunted here and seen it for yourself, you'd never know there was such a thing."

They returned to Borland, a former mining town trying to put on a new face for tourists. There were tackle shops, Joe Pike's Borland Resort, a mine tour, trout ponds, and a tourist center that offered snowmobiling in the winter and river rafting in the summer.

Joe treated them to lunch in his restaurant. "Sure. I can remember busloads of kids coming in for a few weeks at the academy. They'd stop in here for snacks and film and to use the restroom, but after that we never saw them. They'd spend all their time up there."

"And how many years was it here?" Sarah asked between bites of salad.

Joe gave a strange, apologetic look. 'Just one."

Both Nate and Sarah had to double-check, leaning over the table toward him. "Just one?"

Steve Mackleberg, the owner of the local filling station, shed a little more light on it. "There was a work camp up there for several years, and then the government came in and fixed the whole place up like a YMCA camp. We saw the big yellow buses go by, full of kids, and then two weeks later we saw them all go by again, heading home. I'm not sure what they were doing up there. But you know, you ought to talk to Vicky Johnson, the hairdresser. She and Gus worked up there."

Vicky Johnson, a local lady who did hair, polished nails, and raised trout, talked while she cut a customer's hair in her one chair beauty shop. "My husband and I got on as a.s.sistant caretakers-you know, cutting the gra.s.s, sweeping the walks, hauling the garbage, whatever. We worked there for a month to get the place ready for the kids, and then kept it up for the two weeks while the kids were there."

'Just two weeks?" Nate asked.

"And then they said thank you and ran us out of there. We got our paychecks, put a new roof on the house, and the next thing we knew, the academy wasn't there anymore. Your tax dollars at work."

"Where did the kids come from?" Sarah asked, ready to write down the answer.

"Oh, all over the country. I know we had a few kids from Denver. The academy recruited kids in the high schools."

"Urn ... any particular schools?"

"Oh, you'd have to talk to-what was her name, anyway? She was the recruiter, in charge of getting kids signed up."

Sarah looked at the back of the brochure again. "Suzanne Dorning?"

"No, no, it was something like Katy or Kathy ..." With her scissors, she pointed out one of the many photographs and snapshots she had taped to the walls. "Well that's her right there, standing between me and Gus." Sarah and Nate took a close look. There, standing between her two smiling friends, was a cute, red-haired lady proudly holding up an impressive trout. "Every time somebody catches a trout out of our pond we snap a picture for them to take home. We enjoyed Kathy-that was her name-so we kept a copy"

Sarah gave Nate another second to study the photo, and then looked at him.

"That's her," he said. "That's Margaret Jones."

The next night, it was Elijah's turn to make a radio report just in case Mom and Dad were listening. He took his radio from its hiding place under his mattress and recapped the day.

It had been one very tense day. All the darkness and all the stealth of the previous night didn't keep everyone in dorm D from knowing exactly who raided them, whose idea it was, and exactly what was taken. The talk was all over the campus. Alex, the big man of dorm B, and Brett, the big man of dorm D, had been rivals from the beginning, and now they were staring daggers at each other and exchanging vicious little promises.

"Tom Cruise" was trudging around the campus with a puffy face, trying to borrow KMs. Alex and the guys from dorm B kept making little wisecracks about having things that Brett and the guys from dorm D no longer had, and the word sharing was floating around like the punch line of a joke. Mr. Easley was laughing about it, confident that everyone had learned a valu able lesson and that, once each person had had time to search his or her heart, the solution to the whole problem would become clear to everyone. Mr. Booker didn't care to hear any whining about it and forbade anyone to talk about it, at least in his cla.s.s. "This is your world," he said. "You made the bed; you can sleep in it." Mrs. Meeks and Mr. Stern weren't quite as detached; they just handed the whole problem back with the challenge, "This is your world and you know best. See what you can do and we'll back you."

That evening, the music was playing as loud as ever in the recreation center, but half the video games were blurping, beeping, and roaring with no one there to hear them and the pool table was deserted. Most of the kids didn't want to leave their rooms for fear that what little possessions they had would not be there when they returned. The talk had gotten around and everyone expected trouble.

It came. Only moments after Elijah had finished his report and hidden his radio, he heard a loud rapping on his window "Elijah! Elijah!" It was his sister.

He cracked the window open. "What are you doing here?"

"You're going to be raided! Brett and a whole gang of kids are on their way over here right now!"

Elijah heard a terrible crash at the end of the hall. "I think they've arrived."

"Don't let them find your radio!"

"Don't worry"

"I'm going to get somebody in charge. We can't let this go on."

"Go for it."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know-see if I can keep anybody from getting killed, I guess."

He could already hear a terrible tumult in the hallway. He quickly stepped outside his door, closed it behind him, and stood there, overwhelmed.

There were no fun and games out here. A mob of guys, maybe two dozen strong, were muscling their way into the rooms, getting shoved back by the occupants, kicking the occupants. Two guys trying to push their way into room 13 were rammed backward by a chair in their gut, then tripped over two other guys wrestling and slugging on the floor. Alex was in the hall, taking on all comers with what appeared to be a chair leg. A drawer from a dresser came flying out of room 9, tumbling and spilling shirts and socks on the floor. Brett and a hulking buddy burst from room 10, bellowing in triumph as they stuffed KMs in their pockets, and immediately began trying to shove their way into room 8, right next door to Elijah. It was all happening so fast, so noisily. There were so many bodies running everywhere, banging, throwing, shoving, kicking, hitting. The hallway was filling with drawers, clothing, shoes, bars of soap, towels, anything that could be tossed, trashed, or spilled just to rile the owner. Another chair came flying into the hall, then three drawers, and then a mattress. By now there might have been five all-out fistfights going on, but the fighters were changing opponents so often it was hard to keep track.

Three of Elijah's neighbors, from rooms 3, 4, and 5, were now in the hallway, visibly frightened as they stood near their doors watching a wave of violence come their way.

Elijah knew what to do in their case. He spread his arms toward them like a cop doing crowd control. "Guys, get out of here. It isn't worth it."

Shawn, a meek and mixed-up kid severely lacking in muscle, took Elijah's advice and fled out the far door. Jim, big enough to hold his own but too timid to try it, followed him. That left Warren, the neighborly kid Elijah'd gotten to know. Warren was angry, and stood his ground. "They're not taking my stuff."

Elijah turned just in time to see three guys coming their way, ready to challenge that. "Warren, it isn't worth it."

The guy in front, an obvious sc.r.a.pper with a missing tooth and a face full of pimples, looked at Warren and announced, "Hey, I like those pants!"

It took only microseconds for Elijah to think it through: three against one; if Warren runs, they'll chase him and get what they want. Three against two? Well, at least the odds were better.

"It's worth it," he concluded, and stepped into their path.

Chapter 8: Crusades and Inquisitions.

lisha was Furious as she stormed across the field toward her own dorm building, rehearsing in her mind what argument-or wrestling hold-she would use to get that stupid, inept, irresponsible wimp-of-a-woman Mrs. Meeks to get off her relativistic rump and do something about all this! Whether Meeks was in her room or anywhere else, Elisha was going to find her, and no matter what cutesy, feel-good, we-are-the-world, global village glop Meeks might use to excuse all this nonsense, Elisha was going to get some action!

Then Marcy came galloping by, screaming and giggling along with some other girls, including Charlene and Melinda. There was no question they were making a beeline for the trouble, and that instantly changed Elisha's plans. She did a 180 and headed back. "Marcy! Marcy, don't!"

The girls didn't even turn around.

Dorm A had become a battleground just like dorm B, only a few octaves higher. The hallway was a blizzard of clothing, pillows, combs, makeup, everything flying everywhere, including the frequent flash and tinkle of pilfered KMs. There were slap-clashes, tugs-of-war, shrieks, cursings, screams, and threats; girls were scratching, biting, kicking, pulling hair. Elisha went into the melee only deep enough to grab a fistful of Marcy's blouse and yank her out the door. "How dare you! Are you out of your mind?"

Marcy was indignant over the interruption. "What's your problem?"

"What's my problem? Don't you remember last night, how scary that was, how scared we were? Don't you remember saying 'Ooo, what if they'd come in here?"'

Marcy's eyes seemed totally blank. "So?"

Elisha wanted to slap her. "So kids got hurt last night! And they're getting hurt tonight! Stealing things and wrecking things, and fighting, it's wrong!"

"No, it isn't. We're just getting back at them."

Just then, Melinda came running out the door with a brandnew Walkman in her hand. "Hey, Cher, you're missing out!"

Again, Elisha was incredulous. "Melinda! What are you doing? You can't take that!"

"Sure I can. I want it."

Elisha was trying to believe that a brain cell, just one tiny brain cell, might still be working behind those dead-as-a-dolly, baby blue eyes. "Melinda, aren't you the one who was all upset because somebody stole your Walkman? Don't you remember how it felt to be ripped off?"

"I feel good now," Melinda answered.

"We're just having fun," said Marcy. "It isn't wrong if we're having fun."

"It isn't wrong," Melinda said flatly. "Come on, Cher."

"Cher?" Elisha questioned.

"I got tired of Marcy," said Elisha's roommate as Melinda pulled her back inside.

"Had enough?"

Elijah wanted to show mercy to the big guy with pimples and the missing tooth, but from a safe distance. Standing several feet away, he stretched out his hand as a token of friendship.

The big guy was still on the floor, half doubled over from having his wind knocked out. He and his buddies were able to throw a few good punches before- He looked around. Where were his buddies?

"They're gone," said Elijah. "They're okay-at least, they were walking."

The big guy's back pain and abdominal discomfort gradually gave way to embarra.s.sment and wonder. He remembered grabbing Elijah with every intention of putting his head through the plaster, but whatever happened between that moment and the moment his own body slammed into the floor was a stomachturning blur.

"What's your name?" Elijah asked.

"Rory."

"I'm calling myself Jerry. This here is Warren."

Elijah was still offering his hand. Rory took it, and Elijah helped him to his feet.

"You're good," Rory said, rubbing his bruised shoulder.

"You're pretty good yourself," said Elijah.

The big raid was over. Brett and his whole gang had done enough damage and received plenty, and now they were gone. Alex and the men of dorm B were picking themselves up, gathering up their scattered belongings, and counting what items weren't there anymore. Some of them were cheering, apparently winners in the brawl, but overall, the mood was sour.

Elijah spoke as a friend to Rory as he eyed his still-rowdy, still-angry dorm mates. "You'd better get out of here."

Rory hurried out the far door.

As soon as the door closed behind the last invader, Warren let out a whoop. "Wooo! Did we whip their b.u.t.ts or what?"

Elijah wasn't cheering. "Warren, take a look around. We don't want to make this a habit."

The next day, Elijah skipped lunch, choosing to spend some time sitting alone on the gra.s.s behind the library, scribbling away on a cla.s.s a.s.signment. Not far from him, a lonely fence post cast a short, noonday shadow on a dry, bare patch of ground. Every few minutes, with an eye on his watch, he took a small twig and poked it in the ground, marking the very tip of the post's shadow. After a half-hour, a single file of twigs traced a gradual arc across the ground as the shadow moved sideways and also grew shorter. Elijah started checking the time every minute, then every thirty seconds as he watched the shadow. As the shadow pa.s.sed through its shortest length-high noon-he checked the time repeatedly and wrote it down. "7:42 and 15 seconds ... 7:42 and 30 seconds . . ." He kept marking the time until the shadow began to lengthen again, then went back to the twig that marked the shortest shadow and from that, he determined the time the shadow had pa.s.sed that point. "7:43 and 12 seconds, Greenwich Mean Time. All right!"

Then, back to the unreal world. At 1:30-or thereabouts-Mr. Easley kept wearing that smile as he addressed a group of scowling, bruised, scratched, and torn students. The dress code was still casual, but today some of the kids weren't wearing a complete uniform because they no longer had one. There were b.u.mps on some of the heads, scratches and bruises on some of the faces, a puffy eye here, a split lip there. Apart from a small number of neutrals who found it best to sit somewhere in the middle, the whole group was clearly divided: the A and B dorms on Easley's left and the C and D dorms on his right-and sitting prominently on each side, eyeing each other like two roosters in the same chicken yard, were Alex and Brett.

Oh, you could feel the tension.

"We're actually getting better and better," said Easley. "Did you know that? As we keep evolving from generation to generation, our capacity for good, our ability to solve our own problems, just keeps improving, and we need to be a part of that. We need to pitch in for peace."

No one applauded, but Elijah did raise a hand. "Why? What's wrong with war?"

Alex suddenly came to life. "Yeah. What's wrong with war? I'd like to have a little war right now!" He shot a dirty look at Brett.

"Anytime you're ready," said Brett, returning fire.

The two sides exploded in shots and countershots. "And I want my stuff back, right now!" "It's mine now!" 'Just wait 'til tonight!" "You don't scare me!"

It took Easley several minutes and overworking that smile to get things quiet again. "Listen. War is exactly what we're trying to avoid, and Jerry, I don't appreciate your even bringing up the subject."

"I didn't bring it up. It's here, right in our faces, and I think you should deal with it."

"We all have our own beliefs-"

By this time, Elijah was running out of patience and getting visibly, red-facedly angry. "I want you to tell us that fighting and stealing are wrong. Can you do that?"

Easley looked across the group. "What does the group think?"

"Bring it on," said Alex, hitting his palm with his fist.

"Oh, yeah," said Brett.

More hollering, more threats, more dirty looks. If there hadn't been at least a few kids wanting peace, and if Easley hadn't taken a position between them, the whole discussion time might have ended in a riot right there. "Easy, now! Take it easy!" he said.

"Looks like the majority thinks fighting and stealing are okay," said Elijah.

"Except for one thing," said Easley, addressing all of them. "Respect."

Alex thought that was funny. "Respect?"

Both sides moaned with disgust and mockery as they eyed each other.

"Respect," Easley repeated. "Listen, our world is full of different cultures, different views of right and wrong, and we're seeing an example of that right here. But we don't have to believe the same things, we don't have to agree with anyone else's idea of right and wrong as long as we simply respect each other. If respect is there, then we have enough good within ourselves to rise above our differences."