Taken (Erin Bowman)

need Taem’s dome to hold. I need the Order to fend off its enemy.
    I snatch up a green gear bag and dig through it to distract my thoughts. Inside, I find an assortment of novelties. There’s an odd wand contraption that shines light out one end when twisted, maps, a box labeled Matches, a heavy-duty hunting knife, a medical kit, and a pair of bulky eye extensions that when held up to my face make everything seem far closer than it should. There is a canteen of water, too, and some dried fruit. I take a swig of water and then I wait.
    Several hours later, we slow to a crawl. I eye the guns along the wall, but instead fish the sheathed knife from the gear bag and stuff it into the waistband of my pants. Then I sling the pack on my back and wait for the rear doors to open.
    Voices come first.
    “We’ll rest here for the night.”
    “But delivering supplies to the field is never an overnight job.”
    “We only left early because of the attack. Couldn’t risk getting stuck in Taem when Evan is expecting supplies tomorrow.”
    Evan. The name sounds familiar, although I can’t remember where I heard it.
    The doors to the vehicle are pulled open and I let my boot connect with the head of a surprised Order member. He falls to the ground and I start running. There is some shouting behind me, and another speckling of bullets, but I slip into the forest unscathed. There are trees again. Green trees and open air and woods that make me feel at home.
    I have lots of labels now. Traitor. Rebel. Target. I am to be executed and my one hope lies deep within the forest. My arms pump, my feet fly north.
    Toward uncertainties. Toward Mount Martyr. Toward Rebels.

NINETEEN
    I WANT TO BE AS far from the Order as possible by nightfall, which gives me only a handful of hours to cover precious ground. I run until my lungs burn, and then slow to a brisk walk. The landscape has become rugged and rich. Trees seem uncommonly tall, and they grow so close together that I am forced to weave my way between them. It’s hard to imagine that just this morning I was recovering from a trip to the infirmary.
    A strong breeze whips at my back. The sky above me is barely visible through the thick leaves. It is a calm, pale blue, but the air smells like rain. A storm is coming. It’s nice to feel these things again, to know and understand the world around me. It almost makes me feel like I am back in Claysoot, hunting in the woods. Almost.
    I check my map. There’s a ledge ahead and some landform labeled the Hairpin, but it will be better to make camp now. The sun is already setting and the wind is too strong. I don’t want to get stranded on an open ledge in bad weather.
    In the very bottom of my pack is a hammock, which I tie between two trees, and a tarp, which I string overhead. Fearful of being spotted, I refrain from making a fire and instead pull the collar of my uniform up high around my neck. When the rain first begins, it is gentle. The drops fall daintily, landing in uneven beats as if the storm may pass right over, but then the sky unloads itself in one fell swoop. I dart beneath the tarp. Water comes down in sheets so thick the forest about me becomes a blur of motion.
    I wonder how long it will take for Blaine to realize I’m missing. I wonder what Frank will tell him. Emma and Gray were caught in a crossfire downtown. Emma and Gray walked beyond the dome of the city and were killed by Rebels. Emma and Gray ran away. Lies, lies, lies. I need to return for Emma, but I need Harvey, too, otherwise Claysoot will never be free. Continuing toward the Rebels makes sense, but I have no concrete plan, no strategy. Everything has been turned upside down and it’s giving me a headache.
    When it starts to hail, I abandon the dried fruit I am eating for dinner, climb into the safety of my hammock, and sleep.
    It rains all night.
    I eat more fruit the following morning. I seriously contemplate hunting but know it will take too much time. I have just the one knife, and setting a trap would require waiting for something to wander into it. I break down camp, check the rising sun and the map, and continue north.
    Maybe two hours later, I find myself walking alongside a cliff, the forest continuing beyond it, hundreds of feet below. From here, I can see for what seems like forever, an endless stretch of treetops spanning out before me. I follow a path along the ridge until suddenly it turns so sharply to the left, and downward, that it would be easy