Taken (Erin Bowman)

I’ve been stripped of my rifle.
    Suddenly there’s a large crack that cuts through Union Central, a screeching static on the intercom. Bree’s signal. My cue.
    “What was that?” one of the guards asks. The others shake their heads. And then it starts, softly at first, like the pitter-patter of an evening rainstorm. It is delicate and patient, and then it builds, the notes getting louder, the melody stronger.
    “Is that . . . music?”
    “It sounds like it.”
    “I haven’t heard music since I was a kid. It’s beautiful.”
    Even I am in awe. It is like nothing I have ever witnessed, so much more powerful than the few drums or flutes played about Claysoot campfires. It cuts into my soul, stops my breathing. I am suspended in time. The music courses through the Union. It fills the hallways, projects into the training field outside. I look out the window behind me, and find everyone frozen as they look into the sky for the source of the music.
    “It’s playing everywhere. Even outside,” a guard says.
    “Frank is going to be furious,” says another, and as he does, the internal alarm system goes off. Red lights flash. Sirens blare. They sound identical to the ones I heard from the rooftop during AmWest’s attack.
    There is a voice this time though, audible in the hallways. “Code Red Lockdown,” it declares without an ounce of emotion. “Order members report for duty. Code Red Lockdown.” The voice continues, along with the blaring alarm, but neither can fully drown out the music.
    Order members begin to flood the hallways, racing left and right, scrambling into action. Harvey’s guards abandon their post and as they race by, I trip one. I grab his handgun and then use the weapon to strike his head. He crumples to the ground and the others, swept up in the panicked hallway, don’t even notice their fallen companion. I drag the unconscious guard to Harvey’s room and use his wrist to open the door.
    Harvey stands before me, looking phenomenally better than when I’d last seen him. His nose is still swollen, but the medics have fixed his shoulder and given him a clean shirt. “Mozart,” he exclaims. “Used to listen to this overture all the time when I worked in the labs.”
    “How long do you think we have ’til they override the system?”
    “Twenty minutes, maybe? Thirty, tops.”
    “Then let’s get going.”
    Union Central has descended into utter chaos. Workers tear through the corridors, filing into elevators that will drop them into the lockdown safe chambers. Order members attempt to report for duty as the intercom voice demands. No one notices us cutting down staircases and into rooms we should not be entering.
    Harvey leads, turning down now-empty hallways and waving his wrist before panels that have not had their access codes changed. We end up in a windowless corridor far underground. It is pristine, though, with glass panels and shiny floors. We pass a section Harvey refers to as his old station. It has been abandoned in the uproar, workers seeking refuge in the underground shelters, but various weapons and machinery can be seen lying on metal tables, illuminated screens lit up with numbers and graphics.
    “This one,” Harvey says, approaching a door with another silver access box. He waves his wrist but the unit flashes red. He tries again, but to no avail.
    “You boys need assistance?” a voice asks from behind us. A tall, thin woman in a white lab coat stands in the hallway. There is a red triangle atop her chest. I instantly point the gun at her, and she raises her hands.
    “I’m Christie. Ryder contacted me, said you might need some help?”
    Harvey nods, and I lower my weapon.
    Christie swipes us into the medical research facility and tells us she’s been working undercover for the Rebels for over a year now, reporting findings, news, and supply shipment information back to Mount Martyr.
    “We had no clue about the virus,” she says as Harvey examines computer files. “It was explained to citizens as a generic shot, a precautionary measure against the winter flu season. When Ryder got the message to us that you were coming, we made sure someone gained access to this room. I wish we could offer you better information.”
    “You’ve done more than enough,” I say.
    Harvey finds the data he’s looking for and then locates the supposed vaccine in a steel cabinet. He takes numerous bottles while Christie packs a canvas bag with syringes and other