Taken (Erin Bowman)

necessary. The others Ryder called on are fighting right now, keeping the Order busy so that you can get out of here. It’s a cover, don’t you see? A fight breaks out, the square goes up in flames, and you guys run in the thick of it.”
    I look down at my stomach, the place I had been clutching in pain. There is blood, but not nearly as much as I expect. Beneath my sweaty palm is a nasty welt, red and raised and already blossoming into a bruise. Painful, yes, but not deadly. If anything, the wound I should worry about is my burned left arm, blistering from the shirt I have since shed.
    “Nothing is more convincing than authentic shock, and you wouldn’t have acted the same if you knew the true plan,” Bo continues. “We only get one shot at this, and Ryder thought this was the best chance at getting all three of you out alive.”
    “Harvey!” I exclaim, looking back toward the square. “Where is he?”
    “He got hit by some crossfire—I saw that much. And then someone dragged him off the stage. I was told to get you both, if I could, but I think we’ve lost him. And if you and Bree want to get out of here, we have to move. Now.”
    And right then, when her name is not included, I know I can’t leave without her.
    “We have to go back for someone,” I say.
    “Yes. Bree,” Bo agrees. “She is meeting us back at Union Central. We’ll hop a car from there.”
    “Of course Bree. But Emma, too. I have to go back for Emma.”
    He smiles a crooked grin. “Emma. She spoke about you.”
    I pause, confused. “You know her?”
    “We were cell mates for a few days, until they discovered that she was handy with a scalpel.”
    “And she talked about me?”
    “Wouldn’t shut up. I had to launch into real dark stories to keep her quiet. Stories about the Laicos Project and Claysoot and Frank’s Heists.”
    So she knows. Emma knows everything. I picture her now, somewhere in Union Central, walking around with that burden of knowledge. Knowledge she can’t share with anyone. Her only proof is the word of a crazy man; if she spoke up, she’d be deemed as insane as him. Emma is free of her cell but still locked in a prison. I may not be ready to forgive her, but I love her too much to leave her stuck in that state.
    “We have to get her. After we meet up with Bree.”
    Bo taps his fingers frantically against the wall. “We can try.”
    And in that moment, trying is enough.
    I am on my feet quickly, ripping an undamaged section from my discarded shirt and wrapping it around my burned arm. I sling the bag holding the vaccine on my back, Bo hands me his rifle, and we take off down the deserted alley.
    Union Central is once again in an uproar, the alarm jarring people into action. Workers who had vacated the shelters since the previous Code Red now scurry to get back in them. Order members race to organize troops and head downtown. It is not hard for Bo and me to blend in among them. People are too panicked to really look at anyone’s face.
    We meet up with Bree near the dining halls. When I see her, a million thoughts fly through my head: relief, hatred, betrayal. It’s confusing, and not knowing which one to act upon, I simply glare at her. She, on the other hand, runs to me and throws her arms around my neck with such force that I stumble backward.
    “You’re okay,” she gasps, as if she doesn’t believe it’s possible. Her mouth hangs open, as though there is something important she wants to say, but she settles on an emotionless command in the end. “Let’s go. The garage is this way.”
    But I can’t. Not yet. “I have to make a detour first.”
    “We don’t have the time,” she argues.
    “There is time for this.”
    Not waiting for her answer, I take off down the hallway. I hear Bo and Bree fall in line behind me. Given the panicked state of Union Central, someone has overridden the access panels so that workers can run freely between corridors and rooms. Taking the stairs, I sprint until I get to Emma’s quarters. Her door is already open. She runs from the room, and I collide with her.
    “Gray!” Emma exclaims. “I was just heading to the hospital. What are you doing here?” She holds a medic bag in her arms. My eyes connect with hers and I lose myself in their color. I forget what I had wanted to say.
    “Who is this?” Bree erupts behind me. “And why does she know who you are?”
    “It’s okay,” I say, without turning around. “I know her. She’s from Claysoot. I left