"No, it isn't," the slim one said quite seriously. "That isn't where they go. They die."
"I didn't say dead people!" the fat boy retorted. "It's where you go when you don't have to work any more, when you're free!"
And then Hendley remembered. His father had talked about the Freeman Camps, during those early years which Hendley remembered only as a brief and pleasant interlude before he was taken from his parents and enrolled in the Organization's training schools.
The three boys walked in silence alongside the high wall for a while. The fat boy said, "I bet we could get over if we really wanted to."
"How?" Hendley wanted to know.
"We could climb it."
"No, we couldn't. What would you get hold of?"
"We could use a rope."
They reached a break in the wall, which turned out to be a high, metal-barred gate coated with an opaque plastic between the bars so that you could not see through it. There was no one around.
"Look!" the slim, black-haired boy said, pointing.