Taken (Erin Bowman)

shouts. Bullets race in both directions. How the Order is not shooting their own kind, I am not sure.
    “Fall back,” another voice demands. “Fall back now!”
    I duck behind the nearest boulder. Craw, too, is using the rock as shelter. “What happened?” he shouts over the gunfire, eyeing Blaine.
    “An arrow. It hit him.” My ears ring from the shooting.
    “He’ll be okay,” Craw says, reloading his gun.
    “I don’t know.” I watch him ready the weapon. He slams ammunition in place and then leans back over the rock, spraying bullets into the darkness. A series of arrows comes back at us, forcing us to flatten our bellies to the ground.
    Craw looks at me desperately, and then Blaine. “I can’t hold them off much longer,” he admits. “You should go. Now.”
    Bullets come flying at the rock. I’m struck with the realization that this might be it, that I might not make it beyond tonight or back to Taem and I never got to tell Emma how I really felt. She seems so distant suddenly. Irretrievable.
    “If you make it back to Taem, tell Emma I’ll come back for her. And that I love her. Can you tell her that?”
    If Craw is surprised at that word, he doesn’t show it. He gives a nod, one quick jerk of his chin, and then leans back over the rock. He points his weapon into the darkness and speaks without looking at me. “Go. Now,” he orders. “I’ll cover you.”
    I shift Blaine so that my arms are better locked beneath his shoulders, and as Craw opens fire, I run.

TWENTY
    I SPEND THE NIGHT IN a dark cave nestled among a small rise. I build a fire and tend to Blaine as best I can. Fearful of being unable to control the bleeding, I don’t pull out the arrow. Instead, I break it off low to the wound. He winces. I use most of the water left in my canteen to clear away the blood. He snarls. I wrap bandages from my pack around the remainder of the shaft and they quickly turn crimson.
    “I’ll be okay,” he says over and over and over. I nod.
    I had been running to the Rebels, and they’d shot my brother. I watch his chest rise and fall in unsteady waves. I already lost Blaine once. I can’t lose him again.
    In the morning, Blaine is weaker. We follow our footprints back to camp with him slumped against my shoulder. There is nothing left of the mission team but a mess of canvas and ash barely visible through a thick fog. The fire pit is run over, and most of the tents lay trampled in the dirt, smoldering. I salvage one and create a giant sling that I can rest Blaine in and drag behind me. I’m furious with the Rebels for what has happened to Blaine, but I would be foolish to not continue my trek there. I need Harvey and there is nothing but an execution waiting for me in Taem. Plus, Blaine requires medical attention. Badly.
    I count seven dead bodies among the wrecked camp. I feel like I should bury them, but don’t have the time. Instead, I pile the remains atop a still smoking tent and light them on fire. A team of black crows, annoyed that I have stolen their breakfast, lurk overhead as we leave the camp. They follow us for most of the morning, flying in low circles and cawing eerily as the fog dissipates.
    I head north, counting fifteen dead Order members over the course of the day. More than half of Evan’s mission team has been lost. The little water I have left goes to Blaine, and I have to hold his mouth open and force the liquid down his throat.
    That night I catch a rabbit for dinner. I try to feed Blaine, but he can’t stomach the meat. I run out of water the following morning and am forced to sip dew from cupped leaves in a futile attempt to quench my thirst.
    I continue this trend daily. I drag Blaine behind me. We eat what I can kill. I try to keep us hydrated. Blaine has been fading in and out of consciousness for the better part of a day when I begin to lose faith. The thirst is getting to me. Sometimes I’ll see a Rebel ahead or Craw, and then I blink and nothing is there. I keep heading north but cover less ground with each passing hour. Night and day become one and the same. North and south blend. I could be dragging Blaine in wide circles and I wouldn’t know the difference. My head hurts and my throat burns so intensely I’m afraid it may catch fire.
    Maybe I will never find water. Frank said it was scarce, a rare and coveted resource. What if this forest has already been stripped dry? What if its rivers are dammed, and its lakes pumped, and I find nothing but empty