Legacies Reborn by Pittacus Lore Page B

in?” I ask an older Asian guy in front of me.
    All he does is nod a little. His eyes are wide and he looks like he’s in shock, like he might pass out at any moment. He turns away from me. Others in the line arelouder. Some cry. A few just keep talking about how they’re going to kill every alien they see as soon as they find a gun. I keep quiet, wishing I’d brought one of the phones with me or that I had my headphones. Even the broken ones, which are back in an apartment I might never get to return to. Without music or some kind of distraction, I’m left alone with my thoughts. I worry.
    After what feels like hours, I’m finally at the front of the line.
    â€œCan I get your name?” a woman asks. Her hair’s tied back in a black bandanna and there are dark bags under her eyes. I wonder how long she’s been at this.
    â€œDaniela Morales,” I say. “Look, I’m trying to find my mom.”
    â€œWe’re just taking information here,” she says, looking up from her electronic tablet. “There are systems being put into place at our secondary evac site to connect missing persons. The bus will take you there once I have your info.”
    â€œBut I need to know if she’s there,” I say. “If she’s not . . .” I’m not sure what to say next. I’ll go back to Manhattan? Would they even let me back across the bridge? Doubtful, but I could find a way.
    The woman’s eyebrows draw together and she purses her lips. She looks like she’s tired of hearing this. I’m guessing I’m not the first person trying to find someone I love.
    â€œIf you’ll spell your full name—,” she starts.
    â€œYou’re checking everyone in? My mom’s name is Roxanne Morales. She’s a waitress downtown. Please, can you just look?”
    She looks at me for a few seconds. I can feel my eyes stinging. Finally, she taps on the electronic screen a few times. After scrolling through some lists, she lets out a small sigh. She doesn’t say anything, just looks up at me and shakes her head.
    The stinging gets worse.
    â€œMorales,” I say again. “M-O-R-A-L-E-S.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Daniela, but there’s no Roxanne Morales in my database. Now, we’re only getting updates from the other sites every hour or so. Maybe she went to one of the other evacuation points farther uptown.”
    I shake my head. My fingers grip the edge of the table in front of me. I don’t want to leave. I can’t walk away.
    â€œNo, she worked in the Financial District.”
    The woman’s eye twitches a little.
    â€œWhere, exactly?” she asks. “Where does she work?”
    I tell her the location, just off Wall Street, not taking my eyes off hers. I’m so focused that I don’t even notice she’s moving her hand until it’s on top of mine.
    â€œThat area was hit really hard in the initial attack, Daniela,” she says quietly but firmly. “We haven’t seen many survivors from that location. There’s always hope, but our rescue teams are still having troublenavigating much of downtown. The best thing for you to do is to give me the rest of your info and go to the secondary site. That way if your mom comes through here, she’ll—”
    I run. I don’t know where I’m going, I just go. The woman shouts my name but doesn’t follow. I pass a makeshift emergency room, doctors, injured bystanders, firemen, policemen who look like they haven’t slept in days. National Guardsmen and -women eye me as I pass by, but no one stops me. I keep going, until I finally find myself down by the water, staring at the smoke rising from lower Manhattan.
    We haven’t seen many survivors from that location.
    She told me to go home. There was an explosion—of course it was an explosion, no matter how much I try to tell myself that it wasn’t—and then silence. We