Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing
of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the
author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review
purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
WELCOME
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1: Clarke
CHAPTER 2: Wells
CHAPTER 3: Bellamy
CHAPTER 4: Glass
CHAPTER 5: Clarke
CHAPTER 6: Wells
CHAPTER 7: Bellamy
CHAPTER 8: Glass
CHAPTER 9: Clarke
CHAPTER 10: Bellamy
CHAPTER 11: Glass
CHAPTER 12: Clarke
CHAPTER 13: Wells
CHAPTER 14: Bellamy
CHAPTER 15: Clarke
CHAPTER 16: Glass
CHAPTER 17: Wells
CHAPTER 18: Clarke
CHAPTER 19: Bellamy
CHAPTER 20: Glass
CHAPTER 21: Clarke
CHAPTER 22: Wells
CHAPTER 23: Bellamy
CHAPTER 24: Glass
CHAPTER 25: Bellamy
CHAPTER 26: Clarke
CHAPTER 27: Wells
CHAPTER 28: Glass
CHAPTER 29: Bellamy
CHAPTER 30: Clarke
CHAPTER 31: Glass
CHAPTER 32: Wells
CHAPTER 33: Bellamy
CHAPTER 34: Glass
CHAPTER 35: Clarke
CHAPTER 36: Wells
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A SNEAK PREVIEW OF LIGHT YEARS
To my parents and grandparents, with love and gratitude
CHAPTER 1
Clarke
The door slid open, and Clarke knew it was time to die.
Her eyes locked on the guard’s boots, and she braced for the rush of fear,
the flood of desperate panic. But as she rose up onto her elbow, peeling her
shirt from the sweat-soaked cot, all she felt was relief.
She’d been transferred to a single after attacking a guard, but for Clarke,
there was no such thing as solitary. She heard voices everywhere. They
called to her from the corners of her dark cell. They filled the silence
between her heartbeats. They screamed from the deepest recesses of her
mind. It wasn’t death she craved, but if that was the only way to silence the
voices, then she was prepared to die.
She’d been Confined for treason, but the truth was far worse than
anyone could’ve imagined. Even if by some miracle she was pardoned at
her retrial, there’d be no real reprieve. Her memories were more oppressive
than any cell walls.
The guard cleared his throat as he shifted his weight from side to side.
“Prisoner number 319, please stand.” He was younger than she’d expected,
and his uniform hung loosely from his lanky frame, betraying his status as a
recent recruit. A few months of military rations weren’t enough to banish
the specter of malnutrition that haunted the Colony’s poor outer ships,
Walden and Arcadia.
Clarke took a deep breath and rose to her feet.
“Hold out your hands,” he said, pulling a pair of metal restraints from
the pocket of his blue uniform. Clarke shuddered as his skin brushed against
hers. She hadn’t seen another person since they’d brought her to the new
cell, let alone touched one.
“Are they too tight?” he asked, his brusque tone frayed by a note of
sympathy that made Clarke’s chest ache. It’d been so long since anyone but
Thalia—her former cell mate and her only friend in the world—had shown
her compassion.
She shook her head.
“Just sit on the bed. The doctor’s on his way.”
“They’re doing it here?” Clarke asked hoarsely, the words scraping
against her throat. If a doctor was coming, that meant they were forgoing
her retrial. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. According to Colony law,
adults were executed immediately upon conviction, and minors were
Confined until they turned eighteen and then given one final chance to
make their case. But lately, people were being executed within hours of
their retrial for crimes that, a few years ago, would have been pardoned.
Still, it was hard to believe they’d actually do it in her cell. In a twisted
way, she’d been looking forward to one final walk to the hospital where
she’d spent so much time during her medical apprenticeship—one last
chance to experience something familiar, if only the smell of disinfectant
and the hum of the ventilation system—before she lost the ability to feel
forever.
The guard spoke without meeting her eyes. “I need you to sit down.”
Clarke took a few short steps and perched stiffly on the edge of her
narrow bed. Although she knew that solitary warped your perception of
time, it was hard to believe she had been here—alone—for almost six
months. The year she’d spent with Thalia and their third cell mate, Lise, a
hard-faced girl who smiled for the first time when they took Clarke away,
had felt like an eternity. But there was no other explanation. Today had to
be her eighteenth birthday, and the only present waiting for Clarke was a
syringe that would paralyze her muscles until her heart stopped beating.
Afterward, her lifeless body would be released into space, as was the
custom on the Colony, left to drift endlessly through the galaxy.
A figure appeared in the door and a tall, slender man stepped into the
cell. Although his shoulder-length gray hair partially obscured the pin on
the collar of his lab coat, Clarke didn’t need the insignia to recognize him as
the Council’s chief medical advisor. She’d spent the better part of the year
before her Confinement shadowing Dr. Lahiri and couldn’t count the
number of hours she’d stood next to him during surgery. The other
apprentices had envied Clarke’s assignment, and had complained of
nepotism when they discovered that Dr. Lahiri was one of her father’s
closest friends. At least, he had been before her parents were executed.
“Hello, Clarke,” he said pleasantly, as if he were greeting her in the
hospital dining room instead of a detention cell. “How are you?”
“Better than I’ll be in a few minutes, I imagine.”
Dr. Lahiri used to smile at Clarke’s dark humor, but this time he winced
and turned to the guard. “Could you undo the cuffs and give us a moment,
please?”
The guard shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not supposed to leave her
unattended.”
“You can wait right outside the door,” Dr. Lahiri said with exaggerated
patience. “She’s an unarmed seventeen-year-old. I think I’ll be able to keep
things under control.”
The guard avoided Clarke’s eyes as he removed the handcuffs. He gave
Dr. Lahiri a curt nod as he stepped outside.
“You mean I’m an unarmed eighteen-year-old,” Clarke said, forcing
what she thought was a smile. “Or are you turning into one of those mad
scientists who never knows what year it is?” Her father had been like that.
He’d forget to program the circadian lights in their flat and end up going to
work at 0400, too absorbed in his research to notice that the ship’s corridors
were deserted.
“You’re still seventeen, Clarke,” Dr. Lahiri said in the calm, slow
manner he usually reserved for patients waking up from surgery. “You’ve
been in solitary for three months.”
“Then what are you doing here?” she asked, unable to quell the panic
creeping into her voice. “The law says you have to wait until I’m eighteen.”
“There’s been a change of plans. That’s all I’m authorized to say.”
“So you’re authorized to execute me but not to talk to me?” She
remembered watching Dr. Lahiri during her parents’ trial. At the time, she’d
read his grim face as an expression of his disapproval with the proceedings,
but now she wasn’t sure. He hadn’t spoken up in their defense. No one had.
He’d simply sat there mutely as the Council found her parents—two of
Phoenix’s most brilliant scientists—to be in violation of the Gaia Doctrine,
the rules established after the Cataclysm to ensure the survival of the human
race. “What about my parents? Did you kill them, too?”
Dr. Lahiri closed his eyes, as if Clarke’s words had transformed from
sounds into something visible. Something grotesque. “I’m not here to kill
you,” he said quietly. He opened his eyes and then gestured to the stool at
the foot of Clarke’s bed. “May I?”
When Clarke didn’t reply, Dr. Lahiri walked forward and sat down so he
was facing her. “Can I see your arm, please?” Clarke felt her chest tighten,
and she forced herself to breathe. He was lying. It was cruel and twisted,
but it’d all be over in a minute.
She extended her hand toward him. Dr. Lahiri reached into his coat
pocket and produced a cloth that smelled of antiseptic. Clarke shivered as
he swept it along the inside of her arm. “Don’t worry. This isn’t going to
hurt.”
Clarke closed her eyes.
She remembered the anguished look Wells had given her as the guards
were escorting her out of the Council chambers. While the anger that had
threatened to consume her during the trial had long since burned out,
thinking about Wells sent a new wave of heat pulsing through her body, like
a dying star emitting one final flash of light before it faded into
nothingness.
Her parents were dead, and it was all his fault.
Dr. Lahiri grasped her arm, his fingers searching for her vein.
See you soon, Mom and Dad.
His grip tightened. This was it.
Clarke took a deep breath as she felt a prick on the inside of her wrist.
“There. You’re all set.”
Clarke’s eyes snapped open. She looked down and saw a metal bracelet
clasped to her arm. She ran her finger along it, wincing as what felt like a
dozen tiny needles pressed into her skin.
“What is this?” she asked frantically, pulling away from the doctor.
“Just relax,” he said with infuriating coolness. “It’s a vital transponder. It
will track your breathing and blood composition, and gather all sorts of
useful information.”
“Useful information for who?” Clarke asked, although she could already
feel the shape of his answer in the growing mass of dread in her stomach.
“There’ve been some exciting developments,” Dr. Lahiri said, sounding
like a hollow imitation of Wells’s father, Chancellor Jaha, making one of his
Remembrance Day speeches. “You should be very proud. It’s all because of
your parents.”
“My parents were executed for treason.”
Dr. Lahiri gave her a disapproving look. A year ago, it would’ve made
Clarke shrink with shame, but now she kept her gaze steady. “Don’t ruin
this, Clarke. You have a chance to do the right thing, to make up for your
parents’ appalling crime.”
There was a dull crack as Clarke’s fist made contact with the doctor’s
face, followed by a thud as his head slammed against the wall. Seconds
later, the guard appeared and had Clarke’s hands twisted behind her back.
“Are you all right, sir?” he asked.
Dr. Lahiri sat up slowly, rubbing his jaw as he surveyed Clarke with a
mixture of anger and amusement. “At least we know you’ll be able to hold
your own with the other delinquents when you get there.”
“Get where?” Clarke grunted, trying to free herself from the guard’s
grip.
“We’re clearing out the detention center today. A hundred lucky
criminals are getting the chance to make history.” The corners of his mouth
twitched into a smirk. “You’re going to Earth.”
CHAPTER 2
Wells
The Chancellor had aged. Although it’d been less than six weeks since
Wells had seen his father, he looked years older. There were new streaks of
gray by his temples, and the lines around his eyes had deepened.
“Are you finally going to tell me why you did it?” the Chancellor asked
with a tired sigh.
Wells shifted in his chair. He could feel the truth trying to claw its way
out. He’d give almost anything to erase the disappointment on his father’s
face, but he couldn’t risk it—not before he learned whether his reckless
plan had actually worked.
Wells avoided his father’s gaze by glancing around the room, trying to
memorize the relics he might be seeing for the last time: the eagle skeleton
perched in a glass case, the few paintings that had survived the burning of
the Louvre, and the photos of the beautiful dead cities whose names never
ceased to send chills down Wells’s spine.
“Was it a dare? Were you trying to show off for your friends?” The
Chancellor spoke in the same low, steady tone he used during Council
hearings, then raised an eyebrow to indicate that it was Wells’s turn to talk.
“No, sir.”
“Were you overcome by some temporary bout of insanity? Were you on
drugs?” There was a faint note of hopefulness in his voice that, in another
situation, Wells might’ve found amusing. But there was nothing humorous
about the look in his father’s eyes, a combination of weariness and
confusion that Wells hadn’t seen since his mother’s funeral.
“No, sir.”
Wells felt a fleeting urge to touch his father’s arm, but something other
than the handcuffs shackling his wrists kept him from reaching across the
desk. Even as they had gathered around the release portal, saying their final,
silent good-byes to Wells’s mother, they’d never bridged the six inches of
space between their shoulders. It was as if Wells and his father were two
magnets, the charge of their grief repelling them apart.
“Was it some kind of political statement?” His father winced slightly, as
though the thought hit him like a physical blow. “Did someone from
Walden or Arcadia put you up to it?”
“No, sir,” Wells said, biting back his indignation. His father had
apparently spent the past six weeks trying to recast Wells as some kind of
rebel, reprogramming his memories to help him understand why his son,
formerly a star student and now the highest-ranked cadet, had committed
the most public infraction in history. But even the truth would do little to
mitigate his father’s confusion. For the Chancellor, nothing could justify
setting fire to the Eden Tree, the sapling that had been carried onto Phoenix
right before the Exodus. Yet for Wells, it hadn’t been a choice. Once he’d
discovered that Clarke was one of the hundred being sent to Earth, he’d had
to do something to join them. And as the Chancellor’s son, only the most
public of infractions would land him in Confinement.
Wells remembered moving through the crowd at the Remembrance
Ceremony, feeling the weight of hundreds of eyes on him, his hand shaking
as he removed the lighter from his pocket and produced a spark that glowed
brightly in the gloom. For a moment, everyone had stared in silence as the
flames wrapped around the tree. And even as the guards rushed forward in
sudden chaos, no one had been able to miss whom they were dragging
away.
“What the hell were you thinking?” the Chancellor asked, staring at him
in disbelief. “You could’ve burned down the whole hall and killed everyone
in it.”
It would be better to lie. His father would have an easier time believing
that Wells had been carrying out a dare. Or perhaps he could try to pretend
he had been on drugs. Either of those scenarios would be more palatable to
the Chancellor than the truth—that he’d risked everything for a girl.
The hospital door closed behind him but Wells’s smile stayed frozen in place, as if the force it had
taken to lift the corners of his mouth had permanently damaged the muscles in his face. Through the
haze of drugs, his mother had probably thought his grin looked real, which was all that mattered.
She’d held Wells’s hand as the lies poured out of him, bitter but harmless. Yes, Dad and I are doing
fine. She didn’t need to know that they’d barely exchanged more than a few words in weeks. When
you’re better, we’ll finish Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. They both knew that she’d never
make it to the final volume.
Wells slipped out of the hospital and started walking across B deck, which was mercifully empty.
At this hour, most people were either at tutorials, work, or at the Exchange. He was supposed to be at
a history lecture, normally his favorite subject. He’d always loved stories about ancient cities like
Rome and New York, whose dazzling triumphs were matched only by the magnitude of their
downfalls. But he couldn’t spend two hours surrounded by the same tutorial mates who had filled his
message queue with vague, uncomfortable condolences. The only person he could talk to about his
mother was Glass, but she’d been strangely distant lately.
Wells wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing outside the door before he realized he’d arrived
at the library. He allowed the scanner to pass over his eyes, waited for the prompt, and then pressed
his thumb against the pad. The door slid open just long enough for Wells to slip inside and then
closed behind him with a huffy thud, as if it had done Wells a great favor by admitting him in the first
place.
Wells exhaled as the stillness and shadows washed over him. The books that been evacuated onto
Phoenix before the Cataclysm were kept in tall, oxygen-free cases that significantly slowed the
deterioration process, which is why they had to be read in the library, and only then for a few hours
at a time. The enormous room was hidden away from the circadian lights, in a state of perpetual
twilight.
For as long as he could remember, Wells and his mother had spent Sunday evenings here, his
mother reading aloud to him when he was little, then reading side by side as he got older. But as her
illness progressed and her headaches grew worse, Wells had started reading to her. They’d just
started volume two of Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire the evening before she was admitted to
the hospital.
He wove through the narrow aisles toward the English Language section and then over to
History, which was tucked into a dark back corner. The collection was smaller than it should’ve been.
The first colonial government had arranged for digital text to be loaded onto Phoenix, but fewer than
a hundred years later, a virus wiped out most of the digital archives, and the only books left were
those in private collections—heirlooms handed down from the original colonists to their descendants.
Over the past century, most of the relics had been donated to the library.
Wells crouched down until he was eye level with the Gs. He pressed his thumb against the lock
and the glass slid open with a hiss, breaking the vacuum seal. He reached inside to grab Decline and
Fall but then paused. He wanted to read on so he’d be able to tell his mother about it, but that would
be tantamount to arriving in her hospital room with her memorial plaque and asking for her input on
the wording.
“You’re not supposed to leave the case open,” a voice said from behind him.
“Yes, thank you,” Wells said, more sharply than he’d meant. He rose to his feet and turned to see
a familiar-looking girl staring at him. It was the apprentice medic from the hospital. Wells felt a flash
of anger at this blending of worlds. The library was where he went to forget about the sickening smell
of antiseptic, the beep of the heart monitor that, far from a sign of life, seemed like a countdown to
death.
The girl took a step back and cocked her head, her light hair falling to one side. “Oh. It’s you.”
Wells braced for the first swoon of recognition, and the rapid eye movements that meant she was
already messaging her friends on her cornea slip. But this girl’s eyes focused directly on him, as if
she were looking straight into his brain, peeling back the layers to reveal all the thoughts Wells had
purposefully hidden.
“Didn’t you want that book?” She nodded toward the shelf where Decline and Fall was stored.
Wells shook his head. “I’ll read it another time.”
She was silent for a moment. “I think you should take it now.” Wells’s jaw tightened, but when he
said nothing, she continued. “I used to see you here with your mother. You should bring it to her.”
“Just because my father’s in charge of the Council doesn’t mean I get to break a three-hundredyear rule,” he said, allowing just a shade of condescension to darken his tone.
“The book will be fine for a few hours. They exaggerate the effects of the air.”
Wells raised an eyebrow. “And do they exaggerate the power of the exit scanner?” There were
scanners over most public doors on Phoenix that could be programmed to any specifications. In the
library, it monitored the molecular composition of every person who exited, to make sure no one left
with a book in their hands or hidden under their clothes.
A smile flickered across her face. “I figured that out a long time ago.” She glanced over her
shoulder down the shadowy aisle between the bookcases, reached into her pocket, and extracted a
piece of gray cloth. “It keeps the scanner from recognizing the cellulose in the paper.” She held it out
to him. “Here. Take it.”
Wells took a step back. The chances of this girl trying to embarrass him were far greater than the
odds of her having a piece of magical fabric hidden in her pocket. “Why do you have this?”
She shrugged. “I like reading other places.” When he didn’t say anything, she smiled and
extended her other hand. “Just give me the book. I’ll sneak it out for you and bring it to the
hospital.”
Wells surprised himself by handing her the book. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“So you know to whom you’ll be eternally indebted?”
“So I know who to blame when I’m arrested.”
The girl tucked the book under her arm and then extended her hand. “Clarke.”
“Wells,” he said, reaching forward to shake it. He smiled, and this time it didn’t hurt.
“They barely managed to save the tree.” The Chancellor stared at Wells, as
if looking for a sign of remorse or glee—anything to help him understand
why his son had tried to set fire to the only tree evacuated from their
ravaged planet. “Some of the council members wanted to execute you on
the spot, juvenile or not, you know. I was only able to spare your life by
getting them to agree to send you to Earth.”
Wells exhaled with relief. There were fewer than 150 kids in
Confinement, so he had assumed they’d take all the older teens, but until
this moment he hadn’t been sure he would be sent on the mission.
His father’s eyes widened with surprise and understanding as he stared
at Wells. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Wells nodded.
The Chancellor grimaced. “Had I known you were this desperate to see
Earth, I could have easily arranged for you to join the second expedition.
Once we determined it was safe.”
“I didn’t want to wait. I want to go with the first hundred.”
The Chancellor narrowed his eyes slightly as he assessed Wells’s
impassive face. “Why? You of all people know the risks.”
“With all due respect, you’re the one who convinced the Council that
nuclear winter was over. You said it was safe.”
“Yes. Safe enough for the hundred convicted criminals who were going
to die anyway,” the Chancellor said, his voice a mix of condescension and
disbelief. “I didn’t mean safe for my son.”
The anger Wells had been trying to smother flared up, reducing his guilt
to ashes. He shook his hands so the cuffs rattled against the chair. “I guess
I’m one of them now.”
“Your mother wouldn’t want you to do this, Wells. Just because she
enjoyed dreaming about Earth doesn’t mean she’d want you to put yourself
in harm’s way.”
Wells leaned forward, ignoring the bite of the metal digging into his
flesh. “She’s not who I’m doing this for,” he said, looking his father straight
in the eye for the first time since he’d sat down. “Though I do think she’d
be proud of me.” It was partially true. She’d had a romantic streak and
would have commended her son’s desire to protect the girl he loved. But his
stomach writhed at the thought of his mom knowing what he’d really done
to save Clarke. The truth would make setting the Eden Tree on fire seem
like a harmless prank.
His father stared at him. “Are you telling me this whole debacle is
because of that girl?”
Wells nodded slowly. “It’s my fault she’s being sent down there like
some lab rat. I’m going to make sure she has the best chance of making it
out alive.”
The Chancellor was silent for a moment. But when he spoke again, his
voice was calm. “That won’t be necessary.” The Chancellor removed
something from his desk drawer and placed it in front of Wells. It was a
metal ring affixed with a chip about the size of Wells’s thumb. “Every
member of the expedition is currently being fitted with one of these
bracelets,” his father explained. “They’ll send data back up to the ship so
we can track your location and monitor your vitals. As soon as we have
proof that the environment is hospitable, we’ll begin recolonization.” He
forced a grim smile. “If everything goes according to plan, it won’t be long
before the rest of us come down to join you, and all this”—he gestured
toward Wells’s bound hands—“will be forgotten.”
The door opened and a guard stepped over the threshold. “It’s time, sir.”
The Chancellor nodded, and the guard strode across the room to pull
Wells to his feet.
“Good luck, son,” Wells’s father said, assuming his trademark
brusqueness.
“If anyone can make this mission a success, it’s you.”
He extended his arm to shake Wells’s hand, but then let it fall to his side
when he realized his mistake. His only child’s arms were still shackled
behind him.
CHAPTER 3
Bellamy
Of course the smug bastard was late. Bellamy tapped his foot impatiently,
not caring about the echo that rang throughout the storeroom. No one came
down here anymore; anything valuable had been snatched up years ago.
Every surface was covered with junk—spare parts for machines whose
functions had been long forgotten, paper currency, endless tangles of cords
and wires, cracked screens and monitors.
Bellamy felt a hand on his shoulder and spun around, raising his fists to
block his face as he ducked to the side.
“Relax, man,” Colton’s voice called out as he switched on his
flashbeam, shining it right in Bellamy’s eyes. He surveyed Bellamy with an
amused expression on his long, narrow face. “Why’d you want to meet
down here?” He smirked. “Looking for caveman porn on broken
computers? No judgments. If I were stuck with what passes for a girl down
on Walden, I’d probably develop some sick habits myself.”
Bellamy ignored the jab. Despite his former friend’s new role as a guard,
Colton didn’t stand a chance with a girl no matter what ship he was on.
“Just tell me what’s going on, okay?” Bellamy said, doing his best to keep
his tone light.
Colton leaned back against the wall and smiled. “Don’t let the uniform
fool you, brother. I haven’t forgotten the first rule of business.” He held out
his hand. “Give it to me.”
“You’re the one who’s confused, Colt. You know I always come
through.” He patted the pocket that held the chip loaded with stolen ration
points. “Now tell me where she is.”
The guard smirked, and Bellamy felt something in his chest tighten.
He’d been bribing Colton for information about Octavia since her arrest,
and the idiot always seemed to find twisted pleasure in delivering bad news.
“They’re sending them off today.” The words landed with a thud in
Bellamy’s chest. “They got one of the old dropships on G deck working.”
He held out his hand again. “Now come on. This mission’s top secret and
I’m risking my ass for you. I’m done messing around.”
Bellamy’s stomach twisted as a series of images flashed before his eyes:
his little sister strapped into an ancient metal cage, hurtling through space at
a thousand kilometers an hour. Her face turning purple as she struggled to
breathe the toxic air. Her crumpled body lying just as still as—
Bellamy took a step forward. “I’m sorry, man.”
Colton narrowed his eyes. “For what?”
“For this.” Bellamy drew his arm back, then punched the guard right in
the jaw. There was a loud crack, but he felt nothing but his racing heart as
he watched Colton fall to the ground.
Thirty minutes later, Bellamy was trying to wrap his mind around the
strange scene in front of him. His back was against the wall of a wide
hallway that led onto a steep ramp. Convicts streamed by in gray jackets,
led down the incline by a handful of guards. At the bottom was the
dropship, a circular contraption outfitted with rows of harnessed seats that
would take the poor, clueless kids to Earth.
The whole thing was completely sick, but he supposed it was better than
the alternative. While you were supposed to get a retrial at your eighteenth
birthday, in the last year or so, pretty much every juvenile defendant had
been found guilty. Without this mission, they’d be counting down the days
until their executions.
Bellamy’s stomach clenched as his eyes settled on a second ramp, and
for a moment, he worried that he’d missed Octavia. But it didn’t matter
whether he saw her board. They’d be reunited soon enough.
Bellamy tugged on the sleeves of Colton’s uniform. It barely fit, but so
far none of the other guards seemed to notice. They were focused on the
bottom of the ramp, where Chancellor Jaha was speaking to the passengers.
“You have been given an unprecedented opportunity to put the past
behind you,” the Chancellor was saying. “The mission on which you’re
about to embark is dangerous, but your bravery will be rewarded. If you
succeed, your infractions will be forgiven, and you’ll be able to start new
lives on Earth.”
Bellamy barely suppressed a snort. The Chancellor had some nerve to
stand there, spewing whatever bullshit helped him sleep at night.
“We’ll be monitoring your progress very closely, in order to keep you
safe,” the Chancellor continued as the next ten prisoners filed down the
ramp, accompanied by a guard who gave the Chancellor a crisp salute
before depositing his charges in the dropship and retreating back up to stand
in the hallway. Bellamy searched the crowd for Luke, the only Waldenite he
knew who hadn’t turned into a total prick after becoming a guard. But there
were fewer than a dozen guards on the launch deck; the Council had clearly
decided that secrecy was more important than security.
He tried not to tap his feet with impatience as the line of prisoners
proceeded down the ramp. If he was caught posing as a guard, the list of
infractions would be endless: bribery, blackmail, identity theft, conspiracy,
and whatever else the Council felt like adding to the mix. And since he was
twenty, there’d be no Confinement for him; within twenty-four hours of his
sentencing, he’d be dead.
Bellamy’s chest tightened as a familiar red hair ribbon appeared at the
end of the hallway, peeking out from a curtain of glossy black hair. Octavia.
For the past ten months, he’d been consumed with agonizing worries
about what was happening to her in Confinement. Was she getting enough
to eat? Was she finding ways to stay occupied? Stay sane? While
Confinement would be brutal for anyone, Bellamy knew that it’d be
infinitely worse for O.
Bellamy had pretty much raised his younger sister. Or at least he’d tried.
After their mother’s accident, he and Octavia had been placed under
Council care. There was no precedent for what to do with siblings—with
the strict population laws, a couple was never allowed to have more than
one child, and sometimes, they weren’t permitted to have any at all—and so
no one in the Colony understood what it meant to have a brother or sister.
Bellamy and Octavia lived in different group homes for a number of years,
but Bellamy had always looked out for her, sneaking her extra rations
whenever he “wandered” into one of the restricted storage facilities,
confronting the tough-talking older girls who thought it’d be fun to pick on
the chubby-cheeked orphan with the big blue eyes. Bellamy worried about
her constantly. The kid was special, and he’d do anything to give her a
chance at a different life. Anything to make up for what she’d had to
endure.
As Octavia’s guard led her onto the ramp, Bellamy suppressed a smile.
While the other kids shuffled passively along as their escorts led them
toward the dropship, it was clear Octavia was the one setting the pace. She
moved deliberately, forcing her guard to shorten his stride as she sauntered
down the ramp. She actually looked better than the last time he’d seen her.
He supposed it made sense. She’d been sentenced to four years in
Confinement, until a retrial on her eighteenth birthday that would very well
lead to her execution. Now she was being given a second chance at a life.
And Bellamy was going to make damn sure she got it.
He didn’t care what he had to do. He was going to Earth with her.
The Chancellor’s voice boomed over the clamor of footsteps and
nervous whispers. He still held himself like a soldier, but his years on the
Council had given him a politician’s gloss. “No one in the Colony knows
what you are about to do, but if you succeed, we will all owe you our lives.
I know that you’ll do your very best on behalf of yourselves, your families,
everyone aboard this ship: the entire human race.”
When Octavia’s gaze settled on Bellamy, her mouth fell open in
surprise. He could see her mind race to make sense of the situation. They
both knew he’d never be selected as a guard, which meant that he had to be
there as an impostor. But just as she began to mouth a warning, the
Chancellor turned to address the prisoners who were still coming down the
ramp. Octavia reluctantly turned her head, but Bellamy could see the
tension in her shoulders.
His heart sped up as the Chancellor finished his remarks and motioned
for the guards to finish loading the passengers. He had to wait for just the
right moment. If he acted too soon, there’d be time to haul him out. If he
waited too long, Octavia would be barreling through space toward a toxic
planet, while he remained to face the consequences of disrupting the launch.
Finally, it was Octavia’s turn. She turned over her shoulder and caught
his eye, shaking her head slightly, a clear warning not to do anything stupid.
But Bellamy had been doing stupid things his whole life, and he had no
intention of stopping now.
The Chancellor nodded at a woman in a black uniform. She turned to the
control panel next to the dropship and started pressing a series of buttons.
Large numbers began flashing on the screen.
The countdown had begun.
He had three minutes to get past the door, down the ramp, and onto the
dropship, or else lose his sister forever.
As the final passengers loaded, the mood in the room shifted. The
guards next to Bellamy relaxed and began talking quietly among
themselves. Across the deck on the other ramp, someone let out an
obnoxious snort.
2:48… 2:47… 2:46…
Bellamy felt a tide of anger rise within him, momentarily overpowering
his nerves. How could these assholes laugh when his sister and ninety-nine
other kids were being sent on what might be a suicide mission?
2:32… 2:31… 2:30…
The woman by the control panel smiled and whispered something to the
Chancellor, but he scowled and turned away.
The real guards had begun trudging back up and were filing into the
hallway. Either they thought they had better things to do than witness
humanity’s first attempt to return to Earth, or they thought the ancient
dropship was going to explode and were headed to safety.
2:14… 2:13… 2:12…
Bellamy took a deep breath. It was time.
He shoved his way through the crowd and slipped behind a stocky guard
whose holster was strapped carelessly to his belt, leaving the handle of the
gun exposed. Bellamy snatched the weapon and charged down the loading
ramp.
Before anyone knew what was happening, Bellamy jabbed his elbow
into the Chancellor’s stomach and threw an arm around his neck, securing
him in a headlock. The launch deck exploded with shouts and stamping
feet, but before anyone had time to reach him, Bellamy placed the barrel of
the gun against the Chancellor’s temple. There was no way he’d actually
shoot the bastard, but the guards needed to think he meant business.
1:12… 1:11… 1:10…
“Everyone back up,” Bellamy shouted, tightening his hold. The
Chancellor groaned. There was a loud beep, and the flashing numbers
changed from green to red. Less than a minute left. All he had to do was
wait until the door to the dropship started to close, then push the Chancellor
out of the way and duck inside. There wouldn’t be any time to stop him.
“Let me onto the dropship, or I’ll shoot.”
The room fell silent, save for the sound of a dozen guns being cocked.
In thirty seconds, he’d either be heading to Earth with Octavia, or back
to Walden in a body bag.
CHAPTER 4
Glass
Glass had just hooked her harness when a flurry of shouts rose up. The
guards were closing in around two figures near the entrance to the dropship.
It was difficult to see through the shifting mass of uniforms, but Glass
caught a flash of suit sleeve, a glimpse of gray hair, and the glint of metal.
Then half the guards knelt down and raised their guns to their shoulders,
giving Glass an unobstructed view: The Chancellor was being held hostage.
“Everyone back up,” the captor yelled, his voice shaking. He wore a
uniform, but he clearly wasn’t a guard. His hair was far longer than
regulation length, his jacket fit badly, and his awkward grip on the gun
showed that he’d never been trained to use one.
No one moved. “I said back up.”
The numbness that had set in during the long walk from her cell to the
launch deck melted away like an icy comet passing the sun, leaving a faint
trail of hope in its wake. She didn’t belong here. She couldn’t pretend they
were about to head off on some historic adventure. The moment the
dropship detached from the ship, Glass’s heart would start to break. This is
my chance, she thought suddenly, excitement and terror shooting through
her.
Glass unhooked her harness and sprang to her feet. A few other
prisoners noticed, but most were caught up watching the drama unfolding
atop the ramp. She dashed to the far side of the dropship, where another
ramp led back up to the loading deck.
“I’m going with them,” the boy shouted as he took a step backward
toward the door, dragging the Chancellor with him. “I’m going with my
sister.”
A stunned silence fell over the launch deck. Sister. The word echoed in
Glass’s head but before she had time to process its significance, a familiar
voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Let him go.”
Glass glanced at the back of the dropship and froze, momentarily
stunned by the sight of her best friend’s face. Of course, she’d heard the
ridiculous rumors that Wells had been Confined, but hadn’t given them a
second thought. What was he doing here? As she stared at Wells’s gray
eyes, which were trained intently on his father, the answer came to her: He
must have tried to follow Clarke. Wells would do anything to protect the
people he cared about, most of all Clarke.
And then there was a deafening crack—a gunshot?—and something
inside of her snapped. Without stopping to think, to breathe, she dashed
through the door and began sprinting up the ramp. Fighting the urge to look
back over her shoulder, Glass kept her head down and ran as fast as she’d
ever run in her life.
She’d chosen just the right moment. For a few seconds, the guards stood
still, as if the reverberation from the gunshot had locked their joints in
place.
Then they caught sight of her.
“Prisoner on the run!” one of them shouted, and the others quickly
turned in her direction. The flash of movement activated the instincts drilled
into their brains during training. It didn’t matter that she was a seventeenyear-old girl. They’d been programmed to look past the flowing blond hair
and wide blue eyes that had always made people want to protect Glass. All
they saw was an escaped convict.
Glass threw herself through the door, ignoring the angry shouts that rose
up in her wake. She hurtled down the passageway that led back to Phoenix,
her chest heaving, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “You! Stop right
there!” a guard shouted, his footsteps echoing behind her, but she didn’t
pause. If she ran fast enough, and if the luck that had been eluding her all
her life made a final, last-minute appearance, maybe she could see Luke
one last time. And maybe, just maybe, she could get him to forgive her.
Gasping, Glass staggered down a passageway bordered by unmarked
doors. Her right knee buckled, and she grabbed on to the wall to catch
herself. The corridor was beginning to grow blurry. She turned her head and
could just make out the shape of an air vent. Glass hooked her fingers under
one of the slats and pulled. Nothing happened. With a groan, she pulled
again and felt the metal grate give. She yanked it open, revealing a dark,
narrow tunnel full of ancient-looking pipes.
Glass pulled herself onto the small ledge, then scooted along on her
stomach until there was room to bring her knees up to her chest. The metal
felt cool against her burning skin. With her last milligram of strength, she
crept deeper into the tunnel and closed the vent behind her. She strained her
ears for signs of pursuit, but there was no more shouting, no more footsteps,
only the desperate thud of her heart.
Glass blinked in the near darkness, taking stock of where she was. The
cramped space extended straight in both directions, thick with dust. It had
to be one of the original air shafts, from before the Colony built their new
air circulation and filtration systems. Glass had no idea where it would lead,
but she was out of options. She started to crawl forward.
After what felt like hours, her knees numb and her hands burning, she
reached a fork in the tunnel. If her sense of direction was right, then the
tunnel on the left would lead to Phoenix, and the other would run parallel to
the skybridge—onto Walden, and toward Luke.
Luke, the boy she loved, who she’d been forced to abandon all those
months ago. Who she’d spent every night in Confinement thinking about,
so desperate for his touch that she’d almost felt the pressure of his arms
around her.
She took a deep breath and turned to the right, not knowing if she was
headed toward freedom or certain death.
Ten minutes later, Glass slid quietly out of the vent and lowered herself to
the floor. She took a step forward and coughed as a plume of dust swirled
around her face, sticking to her sweaty skin. She was in some kind of
storage space.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, shapes began to materialize on the
wall—writing, Glass realized. She took another few steps forward, and her
eyes widened. There were messages carved into the walls.
Rest in peace
In memoriam
From the stars to the heavens
She was on the quarantine deck, the oldest section of Walden. As
nuclear and biological war threatened to destroy Earth, space had been the
only option for those lucky enough to survive the first stages of the
Cataclysm. But some infected survivors fought their way onto the transport
pods—only to find themselves barred from Phoenix, left to die on Walden.
Now, whenever there was the slightest threat of illness, anyone infected was
quarantined, kept far from the rest of the Colony’s vulnerable population—
the last of the human race.
Glass shivered as she moved quickly toward the door, praying that it
hadn’t rusted shut. To her relief, she was able to wrench it open and began
dashing down the corridor. She peeled off her sweat-soaked jacket; in her
white T-shirt and prison-issue pants, she could pass for a worker, someone
on sanitation duty, perhaps. She glanced down nervously at the bracelet on
her wrist. She wasn’t sure whether it would work on the ship, or if it was
only meant to transmit data from Earth. Either way, she needed to figure out
a way to get it off as soon as possible. Even if she avoided the passages
with retina scanners, every guard in the Colony would be on the lookout for
her.
Her only hope was that they’d be expecting her to run back to Phoenix.
They’d never guess that she would come here. She climbed up the main
Walden stairwell until she reached the entrance to Luke’s residential unit.
She turned into his hallway and slowed down, wiping her sweaty hands on
her pants, suddenly more nervous than she’d been on the dropship.
She couldn’t imagine what he’d say, the look he’d give her when he saw
her on his doorstep after her disappearance more than nine months earlier.
But maybe he wouldn’t have to say anything. Perhaps, as soon as he saw
her, as soon as the words began to pour out of her mouth, he would silence
her with a kiss, relying on his lips to tell her that everything was okay. That
she was forgiven.
Glass glanced over her shoulder and then slipped out the door. She didn’t think anyone had seen her,
but she had to be careful. It was incredibly rude to leave a Partnering Ceremony before the final
blessing, but Glass didn’t think she’d be able to spend another minute sitting next to Cassius, with his
dirty mind and even fouler breath. His wandering hands reminded Glass of Carter, Luke’s two-faced
roommate whose creepiness only slithered out of the darkness when Luke was out on guard duty.
Glass climbed the stairs toward the observation deck, taking care to lift the hem of her gown
with each step. It’d been foolish to waste so many ration points collecting the materials for the dress,
a piece of tarp that she’d painstakingly sewn into a silver slip. It felt utterly worthless without Luke
there to see her in it.
She hated spending the evening with other boys, but her mother refused to let Glass be seen at a
social event without a date, and as far as she knew, her daughter was single. She couldn’t understand
why Glass hadn’t “snatched up” Wells. No matter how many times Glass explained that she didn’t
have those types of feelings for him, her mother sighed and muttered about not letting some badly
dressed scientist girl steal him away. But Glass was happy that Wells had fallen for the beautiful if
slightly overserious Clarke Griffin. She only wished she could tell her mother the truth: that she was
in love with a handsome, brilliant boy who could never escort her to a concert or a Partnering
Ceremony.
“May I have this dance?”
Glass gasped and spun around. As her eyes locked with a familiar pair of brown ones, her face
broke into a wide smile. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, looking around to make sure
they were alone.
“I couldn’t let those Phoenix boys have you all to themselves,” Luke said, taking a step back to
admire her dress. “Not when you look like this.”
“Do you know how much trouble you’ll get in if they catch you?”
“Let them try to keep up.” He wrapped his arms around Glass’s waist, and as the music from
downstairs swelled, he spun her through the air.
“Put me down!” Glass half whispered, half laughed as she playfully hit his shoulder.
“Is that how young ladies are taught to address gentlemen admirers?” he asked, using a terrible,
fake Phoenix accent.
“Come on,” she said, giggling as she grabbed his hand. “You really shouldn’t be here.”
Luke stopped and pulled her to him. “Wherever you are is where I’m supposed to be.”
“It’s too risky,” she said softly, bringing her face up to his.
He grinned. “Then we better make sure it’s worth our while.” He placed his hand behind her
head and brought his lips to hers.
Glass raised her hand to knock a second time when the door opened. Her
heart skipped a beat.
There he was, his sandy hair and deep-brown eyes exactly as she
remembered them, exactly as they’d appeared in her dreams every night in
Confinement. His eyes widened in surprise.
“Luke,” she breathed, all the emotion of the past nine months
threatening to break through. She was desperate to tell him what had
happened, why she’d broken up with him and then disappeared. That she’d
spent every minute of the nightmarish last six months thinking of him. That
she never stopped loving him. “Luke,” she said again, a tear sliding down
her cheek. After the countless times she’d broken down in her cell,
whispering his name in between sobs, it felt surreal to say it to him.
But before she had a chance to grab hold of any of the words flitting
through her mind, another figure appeared in the door, a girl with wavy red
hair.
“Glass?”
Glass tried to smile at Camille, Luke’s childhood friend, a girl who’d
been as close to him as Glass was to Wells. And now she was here… in
Luke’s flat. Of course, Glass thought with a strained kind of bitterness.
She’d always wondered if there was more to their relationship than Luke
had admitted.
“Would you like to come in?” Camille asked with exaggerated
politeness. She wrapped her hand around Luke’s, but Glass felt as if
Camille’s fingers had plunged into her heart instead. While Glass had spent
months in Confinement pining for Luke until his absence felt like a physical
ache, he’d moved on to someone else.
“No… no, that’s okay,” Glass said, her voice hoarse. Even if she
managed to find the words, it would be impossible to tell Luke the truth
now. Seeing them together made it all the more ridiculous that she’d come
so far—risked so much—to see a boy who had already moved on.
“I just came to say hello.”
“You came to say hello?” Luke repeated. “After almost a year of
ignoring my messages, you thought you’d just drop by?” He wasn’t even
trying to hide his anger, and Camille dropped his hand. Her smile hardened
into a grimace.
“I know. I’m—I’m sorry. I’ll leave you two alone.”
“What’s really going on?” Luke asked, exchanging a look with Camille
that made Glass feel both desperately foolish and terribly alone.
“Nothing,” Glass said quickly, trying and failing to keep her voice from
trembling. “I’ll talk to you… I’ll see you…” She cut herself off with a weak
smile and took a deep breath, ignoring her body’s furious plea to stay close
to him.
But just as she turned, she saw a flash of a guard uniform out of the
corner of her vision. She inhaled sharply and turned her face as the guard
passed.
Luke pressed his lips together as he looked at something just beyond
Glass’s head. He was reading a message on his cornea slip, Glass realized.
And from the way his jaw was tightening, she got the sickening sense it was
about her.
His eyes widened with understanding, and then horror. “Glass,” he said
hoarsely. “You were Confined.” It wasn’t a question. Glass nodded.
He shifted his gaze back to Glass for a moment, then sighed and reached
out to place his hand on her back. She could feel the pressure of his fingers
through the fabric of her thin T-shirt, and despite her anxiety, her skin
thrilled at his touch. “Come on,” he said, pulling her toward him. Camille
stepped to the side, looking annoyed, as Glass stumbled into the flat. Luke
quickly shut the door behind them.
The small living area was dark—Luke and Camille had been inside with
the lights off. Glass tried to push the implications of that fact out of her
head as she watched Camille sit down in the armchair that Luke’s greatgrandmother had found at the Exchange. Glass shifted uncomfortably,
unsure whether to take a seat. Being Luke’s ex-girlfriend somehow felt
odder than being an escaped convict. She’d had six months in Confinement
to come to terms with her criminal record, but Glass had never imagined
what it would be like to stand in this flat feeling like a stranger.
“How did you escape?” he asked.
Glass paused. She had spent all her time in Confinement imagining what
she would say to Luke if she ever got the chance to see him again. And now
she had finally made her way back to him, and all the speeches she’d
practiced felt flimsy and selfish. He was doing fine; she could see that now.
Why should she tell him the truth, except to win him back and make herself
feel less alone? And so, in a shaky voice, Glass quickly told him about the
hundred and their secret mission, the hostage situation, and the chase.
“But I still don’t understand.” Luke shot a glance over his shoulder at
Camille, who had given up pretending that she wasn’t paying attention.
“Why were you Confined in the first place?”
Glass looked away, unable to meet his eyes as her brain raced for an
explanation. She couldn’t tell him, not now, not when he’d moved on. Not
when it was so obvious he didn’t feel the same way for her.
“I can’t talk about it,” she said quietly. “You wouldn’t underst—”
“It’s fine.” Luke cut her off sharply. “You’ve made it clear that there are
lots of things I can’t understand.”
For the briefest of moments, Glass wished she’d stayed on the dropship
with Clarke and Wells. Although she was standing next to the boy she
loved, she couldn’t imagine feeling any lonelier on the abandoned Earth
than she did right now.
CHAPTER 5
Clarke
For the first ten minutes, the prisoners were too rattled by the shooting to
notice that they were floating through space, the only humans to leave the
Colony in almost three hundred years. The rogue guard had gotten what he
wanted. He’d pushed the Chancellor’s limp body forward just as the
dropship door was closing, and then stumbled into a seat. But from the
shocked expression on his pale face, Clarke gathered that gunfire had never
been part of the plan.
Yet for Clarke, watching the Chancellor get shot was less alarming than
what she’d seen in the moments beforehand.
Wells was on the dropship.
When he’d first appeared in the door, she’d been sure it was a
hallucination. The chance of her losing her mind in solitary was infinitely
higher than the chance of the Chancellor’s son ending up in Confinement.
She’d been shocked enough when, a month after her own sentencing,
Wells’s best friend, Glass, had appeared in the cell down the row from her.
And now Wells, too? It seemed impossible, but there was no denying it.
She’d watched him jump to his feet during the standoff, then crumple back
into his seat as the real guard’s gun went off and the imposter burst through
the door, covered in blood. For a moment, an old instinct gave her the urge
to run over and comfort Wells. But something much heavier than her
harness kept her feet rooted to the floor. Because of him, she’d watched her
parents be dragged off to the execution chamber. Whatever pain he was
feeling was no less than he deserved.
“Clarke.”
She glanced to the side and saw Thalia grinning at her from a few rows
ahead. Her old cell mate twisted in her seat, the only person in the dropship
not staring at the guard. Despite the grim circumstances, Clarke couldn’t
help smiling back. Thalia had that effect. In the days after Clarke’s arrest
and her parents’ execution, when her grief felt so heavy it was difficult to
breathe, Thalia had actually made Clarke laugh with her impression of the
cocky guard whose shuffle turned into a strut whenever he thought the girls
were looking at him.
“Is that him?” Thalia mouthed now, tilting her head toward Wells.
Thalia was the only person who knew everything—not just about Clarke’s
parents, but the unspeakable thing that Clarke had done.
Clarke shook her head to signal that now wasn’t the time to talk about it.
Thalia motioned again. Clarke started to tell her to knock it off when the
main thrusters roared to life, shaking the words from her lips.
It had really happened. For the first time in centuries, humans had left
the Colony. She glanced at the other passengers and saw that they had all
gone quiet as well, a spontaneous moment of silence for the world they
were leaving behind.
But the solemnity didn’t last long. For the next twenty minutes, the
dropship was filled with the nervous, overexcited chatter of a hundred
people who, until a few hours ago, had never even thought about going to
Earth. Thalia tried to shout something to Clarke, but her words were lost in
the din.
The only conversation Clarke could follow was that of the two girls in
front of her, who were arguing over the likelihood of the air on Earth being
breathable. “I’d rather drop dead right away than spend days being slowly
poisoned,” one said grimly.
Clarke sort of agreed, but she kept her mouth shut. There was no point
in speculating. The trip to Earth would be short—in just a few more
minutes, they’d know their fate.
Clarke looked out the windows, which were now filling with hazy gray
clouds. The dropship jerked suddenly, and the buzz of conversation gave
way to a flurry of gasps.
“It’s okay,” Wells shouted, speaking for the first time since the doors
closed. “There’s supposed to be turbulence when we enter Earth’s
atmosphere.” But his words were overpowered by the shrieks filling the
cabin.
The shaking increased, followed by a strange hum. Clarke’s harness dug
into her stomach as her body lurched from side to side, then up and down,
then side to side again. She gagged as a rancid odor filled her nose, and she
realized that the girl in front of her had vomited. Clarke squeezed her eyes
shut and tried to stay calm. Everything was fine. It’d all be over in a minute.
The hum became a piercing wail, punctuated by a sickening crush.
Clarke opened her eyes and saw that the windows had cracked and were no
longer full of gray.
They were full of flames.
Bits of white-hot metal began raining down on them. Clarke raised her
arms to protect her head, but she could still feel the debris scorching her
neck.
The dropship shook even harder, and with a roar, part of the ceiling tore
off. There was a deafening crash followed by a thud that sent ripples of pain
through every bone in her body.
As suddenly as it began, it was all over.
The cabin was dark and silent. Smoke billowed out of a hole where the
control panel had been, and the air grew thick with the smell of melting
metal, sweat, and blood.
Clarke winced as she wiggled her fingers and toes. It hurt, but nothing
seemed to be broken. She unhooked her harness and rose shakily to her feet,
holding on to the scorched seat for balance.
Most people were still strapped in, but a few were slumped over the
sides or sprawled on the floor. Clarke squinted as she scanned the rows for
Thalia, her heart speeding up each time her eyes landed on another empty
seat. A terrifying realization cut through the confusion in Clarke’s mind.
Some of the passengers had been thrown outside during the crash.
Clarke limped forward, gritting her teeth at the pain that shot up her leg.
She reached the door and pulled as hard as she could. She took a deep
breath and slipped through the opening.
For a moment, she was aware of only colors, not shapes. Stripes of blue,
green, and brown so vibrant her brain couldn’t process them. A gust of
wind passed over her, making her skin tingle and flooding her nose with
scents Clarke couldn’t begin to identify. At first, all she could see were the
trees. There were hundreds of them, as if every tree on the planet had come
to welcome them back to Earth. Their enormous branches were lifted in
celebration toward the sky, which was a joyful blue. The ground stretched
out in all directions—ten times farther than the longest deck on the ship.
The amount of space was almost inconceivable, and Clarke suddenly felt
light-headed, as if she were about to float away.
She became vaguely aware of voices behind her and turned to see a few
of the others emerge from the dropship. “It’s beautiful,” a dark-skinned girl
whispered as she reached down to run her trembling hand along the shiny
green blades of grass.
A short, stocky boy took a few shaky steps forward. The gravitational
pull on the Colony was meant to mimic Earth’s, but faced with the real
thing it was clear they hadn’t gotten it quite right. “Everything’s fine,” the
boy said, his voice a mixture of relief and confusion. “We could’ve come
back ages ago.”
“You don’t know that,” the girl replied. “Just because we can breathe
now, doesn’t mean the air isn’t toxic.” She twisted around to face him and
held her wrist up, gesturing with her bracelet. “The Council didn’t give us
these as jewelry. They want to see what happens to us.”
A smaller girl hovering next to the dropship whimpered as she pulled
her jacket up over her mouth.
“You can breathe normally,” Clarke told her, looking around to see if
Thalia had emerged yet. She wished she had something more reassuring to
say, but there was no way to tell how much radiation was still in the
atmosphere. All they could do was wait and hope.
“We’ll be back soon,” her father said as he slipped his long arms into a suit jacket Clarke had never
seen before. He walked over to the couch where she was curled up with her tablet and ruffled her
hair. “Don’t stay out too late. They’ve been strict about curfew lately. Some trouble on Walden, I
think.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Clarke said, gesturing toward her bare feet and the surgical pants
she wore to sleep. For the most famous scientist in the Colony, her father’s deductive reasoning left
something to be desired. Although he spent so much time wrapped up in his research, it was unlikely
he’d even know that scrubs weren’t currently considered high fashion among sixteen-year-old girls.
“Either way, it’d be best if you stayed out of the lab,” he said with calculated carelessness, as if
the thought had only just crossed his mind. In fact, he’d said this about five times a day since they’d
moved into their new flat. The Council had approved their request for a customized private
laboratory, as her parents’ new project required them to monitor experiments throughout the night.
“I promise,” Clarke told them with exaggerated patience.
“It’s just that it’s dangerous to get near the radioactive materials,” her mother called out from
where she stood in front of the mirror, fixing her hair. “Especially without the proper equipment.”
Clarke repeated her promise until they left and she was finally able to return to her tablet,
though she couldn’t help wondering idly what Glass and her friends would say if they knew that
Clarke was spending Friday night working on an essay. Clarke was normally indifferent toward her
Earth Literatures tutorial, but this assignment had piqued her interest. Instead of another predictable
paper on the changing view of nature in pre-Cataclysmic poetry, their tutor had asked them to
compare and contrast the vampire crazes in the nineteenth and twenty-first centuries.
Yet while the reading was interesting, she must have dozed off at some point, because when she
sat up, the circadian lights had dimmed and the living space was a jumble of unfamiliar shadows.
She stood up and was about to head to her bedroom when a strange sound pierced the silence.
Clarke froze. It almost sounded like screaming. She forced herself to take a deep breath. She should
have known better than to read about vampires before bed.
Clarke turned around and started walking down the hallway, but then another sound rang out—a
shriek that sent shivers down her spine.
Stop it, Clarke scolded herself. She’d never make it as a doctor if she let her mind play tricks on
her. She was just unsettled by the unfamiliar darkness in the new flat. In the morning, everything
would be back to normal. Clarke waved her palm across the sensor on her bedroom door and was
about to step inside when she heard it again—an anguished moan.
Her heart thumping, Clarke spun around and walked down the long hallway that led to the lab.
Instead of a retinal scanner, there was a keypad. Clarke brushed her fingers over the panel, briefly
wondering if she’d be able to guess the password, then crouched down and pressed her ear to the
door.
The door vibrated as another sound buzzed through Clarke’s ear. Her breath caught in her
throat. That’s impossible. But when the sound came again, it was even clearer.
It wasn’t just a scream of anguish. It was a word.
“Please.”
Clarke’s fingers flew over the keypad as she entered the first thing that came to her head:
Pangea. It was the code her mother used for her protected files. The screen beeped and an error
message appeared. Next she entered Elysium, the name of the mythical underground city where,
according to bedtime stories parents told their children, humans took refuge after the Cataclysm.
Another error. Clarke tore through her memory, searching for words she’d filed away. Her fingers
hovered above the keypad. Lucy. The name of the oldest hominid remains Earthborn archaeologists
ever discovered. There was a series of low beeps, and the door slid open.
The lab was much bigger than she’d imagined, larger than their entire flat, and filled with rows
of narrow beds like in the hospital.
Clarke’s eyes widened as they darted from one bed to another. Each contained a child. Most of
the kids were lying there asleep, hooked up to various vital monitors and IV stands, though a few
were propped up by pillows, fiddling with tablets in their laps. One little girl, hardly older than a
toddler, sat on the floor next to her bed, playing with a ratty stuffed bear as clear liquid dripped from
an IV bag into her arm.
Clarke’s brain raced for an explanation. These had to be sick children who required round-theclock care. Maybe they were suffering from some rare disease that only her mother knew how to cure,
or perhaps her father was close to inventing a new treatment and needed twenty-four-hour access.
They must’ve known that Clarke would be curious, but since the illness was probably contagious,
they’d lied to Clarke to keep her safe.
The same cry that Clarke had heard from the flat came again, this time much louder. She
followed it to a bed on the other side of the lab.
A girl her own age—one of the oldest in the room, Clarke realized—was lying on her back, darkblond hair fanned out on the pillow around her heart-shaped face. For a moment, she just stared at
Clarke.
“Please,” she said. Her voice trembled. “Help me.”
Clarke glanced at the label on the girl’s vital monitor. SUBJECT 121. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Lilly.”
Clarke stood there awkwardly, but when Lilly scooted back on her pillows, Clarke lowered
herself to sit on the bed next to her. She’d just started her medical training and hadn’t interacted with
patients yet, but she knew one of the most important parts of being a doctor was bedside manner.
“I’m sure you’ll get to go home soon,” she offered. “Once you’re feeling better.”
The girl pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head, saying something too muffled for
Clarke to make out.
“What was that?” she asked. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering why there wasn’t a
nurse or a medical apprentice covering for her parents. If something happened to one of the kids,
there’d be no one to help them.
The girl raised her head but looked away from Clarke. She chewed her lip as the tears in her
eyes receded, leaving a haunting emptiness in their wake.
When she finally spoke, it was in a whisper. “No one ever gets better.”
Clarke suppressed a shudder. Diseases were rare on the ship; there hadn’t been any epidemics
since the last outbreak they’d quarantined on Walden. Clarke looked around the lab for something to
indicate what her parents were treating, and her eyes settled on an enormous screen on the far wall.
Data flashed across it, forming a large graph. Subject 32. Age 7. Day 189. 3.4 Gy. Red count. White
count. Respiration. Subject 33. Age 11. Day 298. 6 Gy. Red count. White count. Respiration.
At first Clarke thought nothing of the data. It made perfect sense for her parents to monitor the
vitals of the sick children in their care. Except that Gy had nothing to do with vital signs. A Gray was
a measure of radiation, a fact she well knew as her parents had been investigating the effects of
radiation exposure for years, part of the ongoing task to determine when it’d be safe for humans to
return to Earth.
Clarke’s gaze settled on Lilly’s pale face as a chilling realization slithered out of a dark place in
the back of Clarke’s mind. She tried to force it back, but it coiled around her denial, suffocating all
thoughts except a truth so horrifying, she almost gagged.
Her parents’ research was no longer limited to cell cultures. They’d moved onto human trials.
Her mother and father weren’t curing these children. They were killing them.
They’d landed in some kind of clearing, an L-shaped space surrounded by
trees.
There weren’t many serious injuries, but there were enough to keep
Clarke busy. For nearly an hour, she used torn jacket sleeves and pant legs
as makeshift tourniquets, and ordered the few people with broken bones to
lie still until she found a way to fashion splints. Their supplies were
scattered across the grass, but although she’d sent multiple people to search
for the medicine chest, it hadn’t been recovered.
The battered dropship was at the short end of the clearing, and for the
first fifteen minutes, the passengers had clustered around the smoldering
wreckage, too scared and stunned to move more than a few shaky steps. But
now they’d started milling around. Clarke hadn’t spotted Thalia, or Wells,
either, although she wasn’t sure whether that made her more anxious or
relieved. Maybe he was off with Glass. Clarke hadn’t seen her on the
dropship, but she had to be here somewhere.
“How does that feel?” Clarke asked, returning her attention to wrapping
the swollen ankle of a pretty, wide-eyed girl with a frayed red ribbon in her
dark hair.
“Better,” she said, wiping her nose with her hand, unintentionally
smearing blood from the cut on her face. Clarke had to find real bandages
and antiseptic. They were all being exposed to germs their bodies had never
encountered, and the risk of infection was high.
“I’ll be right back.” Clarke flashed her a quick smile and rose to her feet.
If the medicine chest wasn’t in the clearing, that meant it was probably still
in the dropship. She hurried back to the still-smoking wreck, walking
around the perimeter as she searched for the safest way to get back inside.
Clarke reached the back of the ship, which was just a few meters from the
tree line. She shivered. The trees grew so closely together on this side of the
clearing, their leaves blocked most of the light, casting intricate shadows on
the ground that scattered when the wind blew.
Her eyes narrowed as they focused on something that didn’t move. It
wasn’t a shadow.
A girl was lying on the ground, nestled against the roots of a tree. She
must have been thrown out of the back of the dropship during the landing.
Clarke lurched forward, and felt a sob form in her throat as she recognized
the girl’s short, curly hair and the smattering of freckles on the bridge of her
nose. Thalia.
Clarke hurried over and knelt beside her. Blood was gushing from a
wound on the side of her ribs, staining the grass beneath her dark red, as if
the earth itself were bleeding. Thalia was breathing, but her gasps were
labored and shallow. “It’s going to be okay,” Clarke whispered, grabbing on
to her friend’s limp hand as the wind rustled above them. “I swear, Thalia,
it’s all going to be okay.” It sounded more like a prayer than a reassurance,
although she wasn’t sure who she was praying to. Humans had abandoned
Earth during its darkest hour. It wouldn’t care how many died trying to
return.
CHAPTER 6
Wells
Wells shivered in the late afternoon chill. In the few hours since they’d
landed, the air had grown colder. He moved closer to the bonfire, ignoring
the snide glances of the Arcadian boys on either side of him. Every night
he’d spent in Confinement, he’d fallen asleep dreaming about arriving on
Earth with Clarke. But instead of holding her hand while they gazed at the
planet in wonder, he’d spent the day sorting through burned supplies and
trying to forget the expression that crossed Clarke’s face when she spotted
him. He hadn’t expected her to throw her arms around him, but nothing
could’ve prepared him for the look of pure loathing in her eyes.
“Think your father kicked the bucket already?” a Walden boy a few
years younger than Wells asked as the kids around him snickered. Wells’s
chest tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. He could take one or
two of the little punks without breaking a sweat. He’d been the undisputed
champion of the hand-to-hand combat course during officer training. But
there was only one of him and ninety-five of them—ninety-six if you
counted Clarke, who was arguably less of a Wells fan than anyone on the
planet at the moment.
As they’d loaded onto the dropship, he’d been dismayed not to see Glass
there. To the shock of everyone on Phoenix, Glass had been Confined not
long after Clarke, though no matter how many times he pressed his father,
Wells had never discovered what she’d done. He wished he knew why she
hadn’t been selected for the mission. Although he tried to convince himself
that she could’ve been pardoned, it was far more likely that she was still in
Confinement, counting down the days until her fast-approaching eighteenth
birthday. The thought made his stomach twist.
“I wonder if Chancellor Junior thinks he gets first dibs on all the food?”
asked an Arcadian boy whose pockets were bulging with nutrition packs
he’d collected during the mad scramble after the crash. From what Wells
could see, it looked like they’d been sent down with less than a month’s
worth of food, which would disappear quickly if people kept pocketing
everything they found. But that couldn’t be possible—there had to be more
in a container somewhere. They would come across it once they finished
sorting through the wreckage.
“Or if he expects us to make his bed for him.” A petite girl with a scar
on her forehead smirked.
Wells ignored them, looking up at the endless stretch of deep-blue sky. It
really was astonishing. Even though he’d seen photographs, he had never
imagined the color would be quite so vivid. It was strange to think that a
blanket of blue—made of nothing more substantial than nitrogen crystals
and refracted light—separated him from the sea of stars and the only world
he’d ever known. He felt his chest ache for the three kids who hadn’t
survived long enough to see these sights. Their bodies lay on the other side
of the dropship.
“Beds?” a boy said with a snort. “You tell me where we’ll find a bed in
this place.”
“So where the hell are we supposed to sleep?” the girl with the scar
asked, looking around the clearing as if she expected sleeping quarters to
magically appear.
Wells cleared his throat. “Our supplies included tents. We just need to
finish sorting through the containers and collect all the pieces. In the
meantime, we should send a few scouts to look for water so we know where
to set up camp.”
The girl made a show of glancing from side to side. “This looks good to
me,” she said, prompting more snickers.
Wells tried to force himself to stay calm. “The thing is, if we’re near a
stream or a lake, it’ll be easier to—”
“Oh, good.” A low voice cut him off. “I’m just in time for the lecture.”
Wells glanced to the side and saw a boy named Graham walking toward
them. Aside from Wells and Clarke, he was the only other person from
Phoenix, yet Graham appeared to know most of the Waldenites and
Arcadians by name, and they all treated him with a surprising amount of
respect. Wells didn’t want to imagine what he’d had to do to earn it.
“I wasn’t lecturing anyone. I’m just trying to keep us alive.”
Graham raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting, considering that your
father keeps sentencing our friends to death. But don’t worry, I know you’re
on our side.” He grinned at Wells. “Isn’t that right?”
Wells glanced at him warily, then gave a curt nod. “Of course.”
“So,” Graham went on, his friendly tone at odds with the hostile glint in
his eyes, “what was your infraction?”
“That’s not a very polite question, is it?” Wells tried for what he hoped
was a cryptic smile.
“I’m so sorry.” Graham’s face took on an expression of mock horror.
“You have to forgive me. You see, when you’ve spent the past 847 days of
your life locked in the bottom of the ship, you tend to forget what’s
considered polite conversation on Phoenix.”
“847 days?” Wells repeated. “I guess we can assume you weren’t
Confined for miscounting the herbs you probably stole from the
storehouse.”
“No,” Graham said, taking a step toward Wells. “I wasn’t.” The crowd
fell silent, and Wells could see a few people shifting uncomfortably while
others leaned in eagerly. “I was Confined for murder.”
Their eyes locked. Wells kept his expression carefully devoid of
emotion, refusing to give Graham the satisfaction of seeing the shock on his
face. “Oh?” he said carelessly. “Who’d you kill?”
Graham smiled coldly. “If you’d spent any time with the rest of us,
you’d know that that isn’t considered a very polite question.” There was a
moment of tense silence before Graham switched gears. “But I already
know what you did anyway. When the Chancellor’s son gets locked up,
word travels fast. Figures you wouldn’t fess up. But now that we’re having
a nice little chat, maybe you can tell us exactly what we’re doing down
here. Maybe you can explain why so many of our friends keep getting
executed after their retrials.” Graham was still smiling, but his tone had
grown low and dangerous. “And why now? What made your father decide
to send us down all of a sudden?”
His father. All day, absorbed in the newness of being on Earth, Wells
had almost been able to convince himself that the scene on the launch deck
—the sharp sound of the gunshot, the blood blooming like a dark flower on
his father’s chest—had been a terrifying dream.
“Of course he’s not going to tell us,” Graham scoffed. “Are you,
soldier?” he added with a mock salute.
The Arcadians and Waldenites who’d been watching Graham turned
eagerly to Wells, the intensity of their gazes making his skin prickle. Of
course, he knew what was going on. Why so many kids were being
executed on their eighteenth birthdays for crimes that might have been
pardoned in the past. Why the mission had been hastily thrown together and
put in motion before there’d been time to plan properly.
He knew better than anyone, because it was all his fault.
“When will we get to go home?” asked a boy who didn’t look much
older than twelve. Wells felt an unexpected pang of pity for the
brokenhearted mother who was still somewhere on the ship. She had no
idea that her son had been hurtled through space onto a planet the human
race had left for dead.
“We are home,” Wells said, forcing as much sincerity as he could into
the words.
If he said it enough times, perhaps he’d start to believe it himself.
He’d almost skipped the concert that year. It had always been his favorite event, the one evening
musical relics were taken out of their oxygen-free preservation chambers. Watching the performers,
who spent most of their time practicing on simulators, coax notes and chords out of the relics was
like witnessing a resurrection. Carved and welded by long-dead hands, the only instruments left in
the universe produced the same soaring melodies that had once echoed through the concert halls of
ruined civilizations. Once a year, Eden Hall was filled with music that had outlasted humanity’s
tenure on Earth.
But as Wells entered the hall, a large, oval room bordered by a curved panoramic window, the
grief that had been drifting through his body for the past week solidified in his stomach. He normally
found the view incredibly beautiful, but that night the glittering stars that surrounded the cloudshrouded Earth reminded him of candles at a vigil. His mother had loved music.
It was crowded as usual, with most of Phoenix buzzing around excitedly. Many of the women
were eager to debut new dresses, an expensive and potentially maddening feat depending on what
sort of textile scraps you found at the Exchange. He took a few steps forward, sending a ripple of
whispers and knowing glances through the crowd.
Wells tried to focus on the front of the room where the musicians were gathering under the tree
for which Eden Hall was named. The legend was that the sapling had miraculously survived the
burning of North America and had been carried onto Phoenix right before the Exodus. Now it
reached to the very top of the hall, its slender branches stretching out more than ten meters in each
direction, creating a canopy of leaves that partially obscured the performers with a veil of greentinged shadows.
“Is that the Chancellor’s son?” a woman behind him asked. A new wave of heat rose to his
already flushed cheeks. He’d never grown immune to the comet tail of double takes and curious
glances he dragged behind him, but tonight it felt unbearable.
He turned and started walking toward the door, but froze as a hand grabbed his arm. He spun
around and saw Clarke giving him a quizzical look. “Where are you running off to?”
Wells smiled grimly. “Turns out I’m not in the mood for music.”
Clarke looked at him for a moment, then slipped her hand into his. “Stay. As a favor to me.” She
led him toward two empty seats in the back row. “I need you to tell me what we’re listening to.”
Wells sighed as he settled down next to Clarke. “I already told you they were performing Bach,”
he said, shooting a longing glance at the door.
“You know what I’m talking about.” Clarke interlocked her fingers with his. “This movement,
that movement.” She grinned. “Besides, I always clap at the wrong time.”
Wells gave her hand a squeeze.
There was no need for any sort of introduction or announcement. From the moment the first
notes burst forward, the crowd fell silent, the violinist’s bow slicing through their chatter as it swept
across the strings. Then the cello joined in, followed by the clarinet. There were no drums tonight,
but it didn’t matter. Wells could practically hear the thud of two hundred hearts beating in time to the
music.
“This is what I always imagined a sunset would sound like,” Wells whispered. The words slipped
out of his mouth before he had time to think, and he braced for an eye roll, or at least a look of
confusion.
But the music had also cast its spell on Clarke. “I’d love to see a sunset,” she murmured, resting
her head on his shoulder.
Wells absently ran his hand through her silky hair. “I’d love to see a sunset with you.” He bent
down and kissed her forehead. “What are you doing in about seventy-five years?” he whispered.
“Cleaning my dentures,” Clarke said with a smile. “Why?”
“Because I have an idea for our first date on Earth.”
The light was fading, the bonfire flickering across the faces standing around
Wells.
“I know this all seems strange and intimidating and, yes, unfair, but
we’re here for a reason,” he told the crowd. “If we survive, everyone
survives.”
Nearly a hundred heads turned to him, and for a moment, he thought
perhaps his words had chipped away at the layers of calcified defiance and
ignorance. But then a new voice crashed into the silence.
“Careful there, Jaha.”
Wells twisted around and saw a tall kid in a bloodstained guard uniform.
The boy who’d forced his way onto the dropship—who’d held Wells’s
father hostage. “Earth is still in recovery mode. We don’t know how much
bullshit it can handle.”
Another wave of snickers and snorts rippled around the fire, and Wells
felt a rush of sudden, sharp anger. Because of this kid, his father—the
person responsible for protecting the entire human race—had been shot, and
he had the nerve to stand there and accuse Wells of bullshit?
“Excuse me?” Wells said, lifting his chin to give the boy his best
officer’s stare.
“Cut the crap, okay? Just say what you really mean. If we do exactly
what you say, then you won’t report us to your father.”
Wells narrowed his eyes. “Thanks to you, my father is probably in the
hospital.” Being given the best possible care, and on his way to a swift
recovery, Wells added silently. He hoped it was true.
“If he’s even alive,” Graham interjected, and laughed. For a second,
Wells thought he saw the other boy wince.
Wells took a step forward, but then another voice yelled out from the
crowd, stopping him. “So you’re not a spy?”
“A spy?” Wells almost laughed at the accusation.
“Yeah,” the impostor guard agreed. “Spying on us just like these
bracelets, right?”
Wells looked at the kid in the ill-fitting guard uniform more closely. Had
he been told about the purpose of the bracelets, or had he figured it out on
his own? “If the Council wanted to spy on you,” he said, ignoring the
comment about the transponders, “don’t you think they’d choose someone a
bit less obvious?”
The boy in the bloody uniform smirked. “We can discuss the pros and
cons of your father’s administration some other time. But for now, just tell
us: If you’re not a spy, what the hell are you doing here? There’s no way
anyone will believe you were actually Confined.”
“I’m sorry,” Wells said in a tone that conveyed anything but regret. “You
appeared in a stolen guard’s uniform and held my father hostage in order to
break onto this ship. I think you’re the one who owes us an explanation.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “I did what I had to do to protect my sister.”
“Your sister?” Wells repeated. People broke the population laws more
often on Walden than on Phoenix. But Wells had never heard of anyone
having a sibling, not since the Cataclysm.
“That’s right.” The boy crossed his arms and met Wells’s eyes with a
challenging stare. “Now I’m going to ask you one more time, what are you
really doing here?”
Wells took a step forward. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation, let
alone this criminal, who was probably lying about having a sister and who
knew what else. But then a flash of movement caught his eye. Clarke was
heading toward the fire from the other side of the clearing, where she’d
been tending to the injured passengers.
Wells turned back to the tall boy and sighed, his anger draining away.
“I’m here for the same reason you are.” His eyes darted toward Clarke, who
was still out of earshot. “I got myself Confined to protect someone I care
about.”
The crowd fell silent. Wells turned his back on them and started
walking, not caring if their eyes followed him as he made his way toward
Clarke.
For a moment, the sight of her overwhelmed his brain. The light in the
clearing had changed as the sky grew darker, making the flecks of gold in
her green eyes appear to glow. She was more beautiful on Earth than he’d
ever seen her.
Their eyes locked, and a chill traveled down his spine. Less than a year
ago, he’d been able to tell what she was thinking just by looking at her. But
now her expression was inscrutable.
“What are you doing here, Wells?” she asked, her voice strained and
weary.
She’s in shock, Wells told himself, forcing his mind to wrap around the
ill-fitting explanation. “I came for you,” he said softly.
Her face assumed an expression that broke through the barriers, a
mixture of sorrow, frustration, and pity that seemed to travel from Clarke’s
eyes straight into his chest.
“I wish you hadn’t.” She sighed and pushed past him, striding off
without another glance.
Her words knocked the air out of him, and for a moment, all Wells could
think about was remembering how to breathe. Then he heard a chorus of
murmurs from the bonfire behind him, and turned, curious despite himself.
Everyone was pointing upward at the sky, which was turning into a
symphony of color.
First, orange streaks appeared in the blue, like an oboe joining a flute,
turning a solo into a duet. That harmony built into a crescendo of colors as
yellow and then pink added their voices to the chorus. The sky darkened,
throwing the array of colors into even sharper relief. The word sunset
couldn’t possibly contain the meaning of the beauty above them, and for the
millionth time since they’d landed, Wells found that the words they’d been
taught to describe Earth paled in comparison to the real thing.
Even Clarke, who hadn’t stopped moving since the crash, froze in her
tracks, her head tilted up to better appreciate the miracle taking place
overhead. Wells didn’t have to see her face to know that her eyes would be
widened in awe, her mouth slightly parted with a gasp as she watched
something she had only ever dreamed about. Something they had only ever
dreamed about, Wells corrected himself. He turned away, unable to look at
the sky any longer, pain hardening into something dense and sharp in his
chest. It was the first sunset humans had witnessed in three centuries, and
he was watching it alone.
CHAPTER 7
Bellamy
Bellamy squinted up at the sunrise. He’d always assumed those ancient
poets had been full of shit, or at least had much better drugs than he’d ever
tried. But they were right. It was crazy to watch the sky go from black to
gray and then explode into streaks of color. It didn’t make him want to
break out into song or anything, but then again, Bellamy had never been the
artistic type.
He leaned over and pulled Octavia’s blanket up over her shoulder. He’d
spotted it sticking out of one of the supply containers the night before and
had practically knocked out some kid’s tooth in the ensuing tussle. Bellamy
exhaled, watching as his breath crystallized in front of him, lingering far
longer than it would on the ship, where the ventilation system practically
sucked the air out of your lungs before it had a chance to leave your mouth.
He looked around the clearing. After that Clarke girl had finished
evaluating Octavia and determined she only had a sprained ankle, Bellamy
had carried her over toward the trees where they’d spent the night. They
were going to keep their distance until he figured out how many of these
kids were real criminals and how many had just been in the wrong place at
the wrong time.
Bellamy squeezed his sister’s hand. It was his fault she’d been Confined.
It was his fault she was here. He should’ve known she’d been planning
something; she’d been talking for weeks about how hungry some of the
children in her unit had been. It had been only a matter of time before she
did something to feed them—even if it meant stealing. His selfless little
sister was sentenced to die for having too big of a heart.
It was his job to protect her. And for the first time in her life, he’d failed.
Bellamy threw his shoulders back and raised his chin. He was tall for a six-year-old, but that didn’t
stop people from staring as he made his way through the crowd at the distribution center. It wasn’t
against the rules for children to come on their own, but it was rare. He went over the list his mother
had made him repeat back to her three times before she’d let him leave their flat. Fiber meal—two
credits. Glucose packets—one credit. Dehydrated grain—two credits. Tuber flakes—one credit.
Protein loaf—three credits.
He darted around two women who’d stopped to grumble in front of some white things that
looked like brains. Bellamy rolled his eyes and kept moving. Who cared that Phoenix got all the good
stuff from the solar fields? Anyone who wanted to eat vegetables probably had little, mushy white
brains themselves.
Bellamy cupped his hands under the fiber dispenser, caught the packet that slid out, and tucked it
under his arm. He started to make his way over to the tuber section when something bright and shiny
caught his eye. Bellamy turned and saw a pile of red, round fruit inside a display case. Normally, he
didn’t care about the expensive things they locked away—twisted carrots that reminded Bellamy of
orange witch fingers, and ugly mushrooms that looked more like brain-sucking black-hole zombies
than food. But these were different. The fruit was a rosy pink, the same color that his neighbor Rilla
turned when they played alien invasion in the corridor. Or used to play before Rilla’s father was
taken away by the guards and Rilla was sent to live in the care center.
Bellamy stood on his tiptoes to read the number on the data panel. Eleven credits. That sounded
like a lot, but he wanted to do something nice for his mother. She hadn’t gotten out of bed for three
days. Bellamy couldn’t imagine being that tired.
“Do you want one?” an irritated voice asked. He looked up and saw a woman in a green
uniform glaring at him. “Order it or step aside.”
Heat rose to Bellamy’s cheeks, and for a moment, he considered running away. But then a surge
of indignation washed over his embarrassment. He wasn’t going to let some sour-faced distribution
worker stop him from getting his mother the treat she deserved. “I’ll take two,” he said in the
haughty voice that always made his mother roll her eyes and ask, I wonder who you got that from?
“And don’t rub your fingers all over them,” he added pointedly.
The woman raised her eyebrow before glancing at the guards behind the transaction table. No
one on Walden liked the guards, but his mother seemed particularly afraid of them. Lately, she’d
grab Bellamy’s hand and turn in the other direction whenever she saw a patrol team approaching.
Could she have done something wrong? Were the guards going to come take her away like they’d
taken Rilla’s father? No, he told himself. I won’t let them.
He took his apples and marched over to the transaction table. Another distribution worker
scanned his card, staring for a moment at the information on the panel before shrugging her
shoulders and waving him forward. One of the guards shot him a curious look, but Bellamy kept his
eyes straight ahead. He forced himself to walk until he’d left the distribution center and then broke
into a run, clutching his packets to his chest as he tore down the walkway leading to his residential
unit.
He palmed into their flat and shut the door carefully behind him. He couldn’t wait to show his
mother what he’d brought her. He stepped into the living space, but the lights didn’t turn on. Was the
sensor broken again? His stomach tightened slightly. His mother hated entering maintenance
requests. She didn’t like having strangers in their home. But how long could they spend in the dark?
“Mom!” Bellamy called, dashing into her room. “I’m back! I did it!” The lights were working
here, and they buzzed to life as Bellamy ran through the door. But the bed was empty.
Bellamy froze as a wave of terror washed over him. She was gone. They’d taken her. He was all
alone. But then a muffled stomp from the kitchen reached his ears. He sighed as his panic was
quickly replaced by relief, then excitement. She was out of bed!
He ran into the kitchen. His mother was facing the small, round window that looked out into the
dark staircase. One hand was placed on her lower back, as if it was hurting her. “Mom!” he called.
“Look what I got you.”
His mother inhaled sharply but didn’t turn around. “Bellamy,” she said, as though he were a
neighbor dropping by for an unexpected visit. “You’re back. Leave the food on the table and go to
your room. I’ll be right there.”
Disappointment pressed down on him, weighing his feet to the floor. He wanted to see the look
on his mother’s face when she saw the fruit. “Look!” he urged, stretching his arms forward, unsure
what she could see in the reflection of the dark, dusty window.
She twisted her head to look at him over her shoulder. “What are those?” She narrowed her
eyes. “Apples?” She pressed her lips together and rubbed the side of her head like she used to do
when she came home from work. Before she got sick. “How much did they—never mind. Just go to
your room, okay?”
Bellamy’s palms had begun to sweat as he placed the packets on the table near the door. Had he
done something wrong? The lights flickered and then went out. “Damn it,” his mother muttered as
she looked up at the ceiling. “Bellamy, now,” she commanded. Or at least, he thought it was his
mother. She was facing away from him again, and her voice swirled through the darkness until it
didn’t sound like her anymore.
As he slunk away, Bellamy shot a quick glance over his shoulder. His mother didn’t even look
like herself. She’d turned to the side, and her stomach appeared huge and round, like she was hiding
something under her shirt. He blinked and scampered off, convinced that his eyes had been playing
tricks on him, ignoring the chill traveling down his spine.
“How’s she doing?
” Bellamy glanced up to see Clarke standing above him, looking
uneasily from him to his sleeping sister. He nodded. “I think she’s okay.”
“Good.” She raised a slightly singed eyebrow. “Because it’d be a shame
if you followed through on your threat from last night.”
“What did I say?”
“You told me that if I didn’t save your sister, you’d blow up the
goddamn planet and everyone on it.”
Bellamy smiled. “Good thing it’s only a sprained ankle.” He cocked his
head to the side and surveyed Clarke quizzically. The skin under her eyes
was bruised with exhaustion, but the purple shadows just made them look
greener. He felt a twinge of guilt for being such a jerk to her the night
before. He’d pegged her as another self-absorbed Phoenix girl who was
training as a doctor because it gave her something to brag about at parties.
But the strain in her delicate face and the blood matted in her reddish-gold
hair made it clear she hadn’t stopped to rest since they’d landed.
“So,” Bellamy continued, remembering Wells’s declaration at the
bonfire yesterday, and the way Clarke had stomped away from him, “why
were you so mean to little Chancellor Junior?”
Clarke looked at him with a mixture of shock and indignation. For a
moment, he thought she might actually hit him, but then she just shook her
head. “That’s none of your business.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Bellamy pressed.
“No,” Clarke said flatly. But then her mouth twitched into a questioning
smile. “Why do you care?”
“Just taking a census,” Bellamy replied. “Specifically, to determine the
relationship status of all the pretty girls on Earth.”
Clarke rolled her eyes, but then she turned back to Octavia and the
playfulness drained from her face.
“What is it?” Bellamy looked from Clarke to his sister.
“Nothing,” Clarke said quickly. “I just wish I had some antiseptic for
that cut on her face. And some of the others are going to need antibiotics.”
“So we don’t have any medicine?” Bellamy asked, frowning in concern.
Clarke looked at him, startled. “I think the medical supplies kits were
thrown out of the dropship in the crash. We’ll be fine, though,” she said
quickly, the lie shooting out of her mouth before she had time to make her
features match it. “We’ll be okay for a while. The human body has a
remarkable ability to heal itself.…” She trailed off as her eyes settled on the
bloodstains on his stolen uniform.
Bellamy grimaced as he glanced down, wondering if she was thinking
about the Chancellor. Bellamy hoped he’d survived—he had enough blood
on his hands already. But it probably didn’t matter one way or another.
Whoever the Council sent down with the next group would most certainly
be authorized to execute Bellamy on the spot, regardless of the fact that the
Chancellor’s injury had been an accident. As soon as Octavia was well
enough to move, she and Bellamy would be out of there. They’d hike for a
few days, put some distance between themselves and the group, and
eventually find somewhere to settle down. He hadn’t spent months poring
over those ancient survival guides he’d discovered on B deck for nothing.
He’d be ready for whatever was waiting for them in those woods. It
couldn’t be worse than what was going to come hurtling down from the sky.
“How long until she’ll be able to walk on it?”
Clarke turned back to Bellamy. “It’s a pretty bad sprain, so I’d say a few
days until she can walk, a week or two until it’s fully healed.”
“But possibly sooner?”
She tilted her head to the side and gave him a small smile that, for a
moment, made him forget that he was marooned on a potentially toxic
planet with ninety-nine juvenile delinquents. “What’s the rush?”
But before he had time to respond, someone called Clarke’s name and
she was gone.
Bellamy took a deep breath. To his surprise, the simple act cleared his
head, leaving him more awake and alert. It’d probably turn out to be toxic,
but every time he inhaled, he sensed something unnamable but intriguing,
like a mysterious girl who wouldn’t meet your eyes but passed closely
enough for you to catch a whiff of her perfume.
He took a few steps closer to the trees, anxious for a better look but
unwilling to stray too far from Octavia. They didn’t look like any species he
recognized, but then again, the only Earth botany book he’d been able to
find had been about plants native to Africa, and he thought he’d heard Wells
say they were on the East Coast of what had once been the United States.
A twig snapped next to him. Bellamy whipped around and saw a girl
with a long, narrow face and stringy hair. “Can I help you?”
“Wells says everyone who’s not hurt should collect wood.”
A thread of irritation coiled around Bellamy’s stomach, and he gave the
girl a tight smile. “I don’t think Wells is in any position to be giving orders,
so if it’s all right with you, I’m going to worry about myself, okay?” She
shifted uneasily for a moment before shooting a nervous glance over her
shoulder. “Off you go,” Bellamy said, motioning her forward with his
hands. He watched her scurry off with satisfaction.
He craned his neck and stared up at the sky, his eyes drinking in nothing
but emptiness in all directions. It didn’t matter where they were. Any spot
on this planet was going to be infinitely better than the world they’d left
behind.
For the first time in his life, he was free.
CHAPTER 8
Glass
Glass spent the rest of the night on Luke’s couch, grateful that Camille
didn’t ask why she refused to sleep in Carter’s old room. They’d decided
that it was best for Glass to stay hidden in Luke’s flat until the shift change
at 0600, when there would be fewer guards on patrol.
She’d tossed and turned all night. Every time she rolled over, the
bracelet dug into her skin, a painful reminder that while she was in danger,
Wells was hundreds of kilometers away, fighting to survive on a planet that
hadn’t been able to support life for centuries. It’d always been his dream to
see Earth, but not like this. Not when it might still be toxic. Not after seeing
his father shot right in front of him.
As she lay staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t keep her ears from
searching for sounds in the darkness. The faintest murmur from the other
side of Luke’s door was enough to turn her stomach. The silence was even
worse.
Just as the circadian lights began to creep under the front door, Luke’s
bedroom door opened, and both he and Camille staggered out wearily.
Clearly, neither of them had slept much either. Luke was already dressed in
off-duty civilian clothes, but Camille wore only one of Luke’s old
undershirts, the hem of which skimmed the tops of her slender thighs. Glass
blushed and looked away.
“Good morning.” The formality in Luke’s voice made Glass wince. The
last time Luke had said those words to her, the two of them had been in his
bed, and he’d whispered them in her ear.
“Good morning,” she managed, shoving the memory out of her head.
“We need to get that bracelet off.” Luke gestured toward her wrist.
Glass nodded and rose from the couch, shifting uneasily as Camille
looked back and forth between her and Luke. Finally, she crossed her arms
and turned to him. “Are you sure this is a good idea? What if someone sees
you?”
Luke’s expression darkened. “We talked about this.” He spoke quietly,
but Glass heard the note of frustration in his voice. “If we don’t help her,
they’re going to kill her. It’s the right thing to do.”
The right thing to do, Glass thought. That was all she meant to him
anymore, a life he didn’t want on his conscience.
“Better her than you,” Camille said, her voice trembling.
Luke leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “It’s going to be fine.
I’ll take her back to Phoenix and then come straight home.”
Camille sighed and tossed Glass a shirt and a pair of pants. “Here,” she
said. “I know it’s not up to your Phoenix standards, but you’ll look a bit
more believable in this. You aren’t going to pass for a sanitation worker
with that hair.” She gave Luke’s arm a squeeze and then slipped back into
his bedroom, leaving Glass and Luke alone.
Glass stood holding the clothes awkwardly in her arms, and for a
moment, they just stared at each other. The last time she’d seen Luke, she’d
have thought nothing of changing in front of him. “Should I…” She trailed
off, gesturing toward Carter’s room.
“Oh,” Luke said, reddening slightly. “No, I’ll just… I’ll be right back.”
He retreated to his bedroom. Glass changed as quickly as she could, trying
to ignore the whispers that escaped through the door, stinging her skin like
pinpricks.
When Luke returned, Glass was dressed in a pair of loose gray pants that
barely clung to her hips and a rough blue T-shirt that chafed her skin. Luke
surveyed her critically. “Something’s still off,” he said. “You don’t look like
a prisoner, but you definitely don’t look like a Waldenite.”
Glass began to smooth the sides of her wrinkled trousers selfconsciously, wondering whether Luke preferred being with a girl who
looked at home in these clothes. “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s your hair. Girls
don’t wear it that long here.”
“Why?” she asked, realizing with a small measure of guilt that she’d
never even noticed.
Luke had turned and began rummaging through a small storage bin
against the wall. “Probably because it’d be too hard to take care of. We
don’t get the same water allotment on Walden that you do on Phoenix.” He
turned around with a look of triumph on his face and produced an ancientlooking stained cap.
Glass gave him a weak smile. “Thanks.” She took the hat from Luke,
their hands brushing, and placed it on her head.
“I don’t think we’re quite there yet,” he said, surveying her with a
frown. He stepped toward her and removed the hat with one hand, and with
his other, reached over her shoulder to gather her hair, gently twisting it into
a knot on top of her head. “There,” he said in satisfaction, placing the cap
on top.
The silence stretched between them. Slowly, Luke reached up and
tucked a few stray strands behind Glass’s ear. His rough fingers lingered on
her neck, and he looked into her eyes, unblinking.
“Ready?” Glass asked, breaking the spell as she stepped to the side.
“Yes. Let’s go.” Luke stepped back stiffly and led her out into the
hallway.
There weren’t as many circadian lights on Walden as there were on
Phoenix, so although it was technically dawn, the corridors were mostly
dark. Glass couldn’t tell where Luke was leading her, and she clenched her
hands to keep herself from reaching for his.
Finally, Luke stopped in front of the faint outline of a door. He dug into
his pocket, producing something Glass couldn’t see and holding it up to the
scanner. The door beeped and slid open. Glass’s insides twisted as she
realized that wherever Luke took her, he’d leave a trail of log-ins and access
codes. She couldn’t bear to think what would happen when the Council
figured out that he’d helped an escaped criminal.
But there was no other option. After she said one last good-bye to her
mother, she’d wait for the guards to find her. She wouldn’t try to see Luke
again. She couldn’t ask him to risk his safety for her. Not after what she’d
done.
A faint light flickered wearily to life, casting a dirty, yellowish glow
over machinery Glass didn’t recognize. “Where are we?” she asked, her
voice echoing strangely.
“One of the old workshops. This is where they used to repair the
Earthmade equipment, before it was all replaced. I came here for some of
my training.”
Glass started to ask why the guards would train here, but bit back the
question. She always forgot that Luke had already started his mechanical
apprenticeship when he was accepted into the engineering corps of the
guards. He rarely spoke about that part of his life. Looking back, Glass was
ashamed that she hadn’t tried harder to learn about Luke’s world; it was no
wonder he’d turned to Camille.
Luke stood next to an enormous machine, pushing different buttons, his
brow furrowed in concentration. “What is that?” Glass asked when it
started to hum ominously.
“A laser cutter,” Luke said without glancing up.
Glass hugged her wrist protectively to her chest. “No way.”
Luke gave Glass a look that was equal parts amusement and irritation.
“No arguing. The sooner we get that thing off of you, the better your
chances of hiding.”
“Can’t we just figure out how to unlock it?”
Luke shook his head. “It has to be cut off.” When she didn’t move, he
held out his hand with a sigh. “Come here, Glass,” he said, beckoning her
over.
Glass’s feet locked into the floor. Although she’d spent the last six
months imagining Luke calling to her, she’d never thought that a piece of
deadly machinery would be involved. Luke raised an eyebrow. “Glass?”
Glass took a tentative step forward. It wasn’t like she had anything to
lose. Better to have Luke slice her wrist off than a medic inject poison into
her vein.
Luke tapped a flat surface in the middle of the machine. “Just put your
hand here.” He flipped a switch and the whole machine began to vibrate.
Glass trembled as her skin made contact with the cold metal.
“It’ll be okay,” Luke said. “I promise. Just hold still.”
Glass nodded, too afraid to speak. The humming continued and was
soon accompanied by a high-pitched screech.
Luke made a few more adjustments, then came to stand next to her.
“Ready?”
She swallowed nervously. “Yes.”
Luke placed his left hand over her arm, and with his right, started to
move another lever toward her. To her horror, she saw that it was emitting a
thin red line of light that pulsed with dangerous energy.
She started to shake, but Luke gripped her arm tighter. “It’s okay,” he
murmured. “Just stay still.”
The light was getting closer. Glass could feel the heat on her skin.
Luke’s face tensed with concentration, his eyes fixed on Glass’s wrist as he
moved the laser steadily along.
Glass closed her eyes, bracing herself for the searing pain, the screaming
of her nerves as they lost contact with her hand.
“Perfect.” Luke’s voice cut through her terror. Glass looked down and
saw the bracelet had been split into two neat pieces, freeing her wrist.
She sighed, her breath ragged. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled at her, his hand still clutching her arm.
Neither of them spoke as they slipped out of the workshop and began to
wind their way back up toward the skybridge.
“What’s wrong?” Luke whispered as he guided Glass around a corner
and up another flight of stairs, narrower and darker than anything on
Phoenix.
“Nothing.”
In the past, Luke would’ve reached over, taken her chin in his hand, and
looked her in the eye until she giggled. You’re a terrible liar, Rapunzel, he’d
say, a reference to the fairytale about the girl whose hair grew a foot
anytime she fibbed. But this time, Glass’s lie evaporated into the air.
“So how have you been?” she asked finally, when she couldn’t bear the
weight of the silence any longer.
Luke glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you know,
apart from being dumped by the girl I loved and then having my best friend
executed for a bullshit infraction, I’d say not too bad.”
Glass cringed as his words landed in her chest. She’d never heard that
kind of bitterness in Luke’s voice before.
“But at least I had Camille.…”
Glass nodded, but as she stole a glance at Luke’s familiar profile, shards
of indignation gathered, sharp and dangerous, in her mind. What did he
think she had done to be Confined? Why wasn’t he more curious or
surprised? Did he think she was such a terrible person that she would have
committed an infraction?
Luke stopped abruptly, causing Glass to stumble into him. “Sorry,” she
muttered, scrambling to regain her balance.
“Does your mother know what happened?” Luke asked, turning to face
her.
“No,” Glass said. “I mean, she knew I was Confined, but she can’t have
known about the Earth mission.” The Chancellor had made it clear that the
operation was top secret. Their parents wouldn’t be informed until it was
certain their children had survived the journey—or until the Council was
sure they’d never return.
“It’s good that you’re going to see her.”
Glass said nothing. She knew he was thinking of his own mother, who’d
died when he was only twelve, which was why he’d ended up living with
his then-eighteen-year-old neighbor Carter.
“Yeah,” Glass said in a shaky voice. She’d been desperate to see her
mother, but even without the bracelet, it wouldn’t take the guards long to
find her. What was more important? Saying good-bye? Or sparing her
mother the pain of seeing her daughter being dragged away toward certain
death? “We should keep going.”
They crossed the bridge in silence as Glass drank in the sight of the
twinkling stars. She hadn’t realized how much she loved the view from the
skybridge until she’d been locked in a tiny, windowless cell. She stole a
glance at Luke, not sure whether to be hurt or relieved that he didn’t turn to
look at her.
“You should go back,” Glass said as they reached the Phoenix
checkpoint, which was, as Luke had promised, free of guards. “I’ll be
okay.”
Luke’s jaw tightened and he gave her a bitter smile. “You’re an escaped
convict, and I’m still not good enough to meet your mother.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, thinking of the scan trail he’d
already left behind. “It’s not safe for you to help me. I can’t let you risk
your life. You’ve already done so much.”
Luke took a breath as if to say something, then nodded. “Okay, then.”
She forced what she hoped was a smile, holding back tears. “Thank you
for everything.”
Luke’s face softened slightly. “Good luck, Glass.” He started to lean in,
and Glass couldn’t help tipping her head up, out of habit—but then he
stepped back, wrenching his eyes from her with an almost physical force.
Without a word, Luke turned and moved soundlessly back the way they’d
come. Glass watched him go, her lips aching for the good-bye kiss they’d
never feel again.
When she reached the entrance to her flat, Glass raised her fist and tapped
lightly. The door opened and Glass’s mother, Sonja, peered around it. A
symphony of emotions played across her face in an instant—surprise, joy,
confusion, and fear.
“Glass?” she gasped, reaching for her daughter, as if she wasn’t sure she
was really there. Glass leaned gratefully into her mother’s hug, drinking in
the smell of her perfume. “I thought I’d never see you again.” She gave
Glass one more squeeze before pulling her inside and closing the door.
Sonja stepped back and stared at her daughter. “I was just counting down
the days.” Her voice faded into a whisper. “You turn eighteen in three
weeks.”
Glass grabbed her mother’s clammy hand and led her to the couch.
“They were going to send us to Earth,” Glass told her. “A hundred of us.”
She took a deep breath. “I was supposed to be one of them.”
“Earth?” Sonja repeated slowly, holding the word almost at a distance,
as if trying to get a better look. “Oh my god.”
“There was an altercation at the launch. The Chancellor…” Glass’s head
swam as she recalled the scene from the launch deck. She sent up a silent
prayer that Wells was okay down there on Earth, that he was with Clarke
and didn’t have to grieve alone. “In the chaos, I was able to get away,”
Glass continued. The details weren’t important right now. “I just came to
say I love you.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “So that’s how the Chancellor was shot. Oh,
Glass,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her daughter.
The thud of footsteps echoed out in the hallway, and Glass flinched. She
looked warily at the door before turning back to face her mother. “I can’t
stay long,” she said, rising shakily to her feet.
“Wait!” Sonja jumped up and clutched Glass’s arm, pulling her back to
the couch. Her fingers tightened around her wrist. “The Chancellor is on
life support, which means that Vice Chancellor Rhodes is in charge. You
shouldn’t go yet.” She paused. “He has a very different approach to…
governing. There’s a chance that he’ll pardon you. He can be convinced.”
Sonja stood and gave Glass a smile that did little to illuminate her glistening
eyes. “Just wait here.”
“Do you have to go?” Glass asked, her voice small. She couldn’t bear to
say another good-bye. Not when every good-bye could be forever.
Her mother bent down and kissed Glass’s forehead. “I won’t be long.”
She watched Sonja apply a hurried layer of lipstick and slip out into the
still-empty corridor, then pulled her knees into her chest and hugged them
tightly, as if trying to keep everything inside her from spilling out.
Glass wasn’t sure how long she slept, but curled up on the cushions that still
remembered the shape of her body, it seemed possible that the past six
months had been a nightmare. That she hadn’t actually been imprisoned in a
cell that contained nothing besides two metal cots, a silent, seething
Arcadian cell mate, and the ghosts of sobs that remained long after her tears
dried up.
When she opened her eyes her mother was sitting next to her on the
couch, stroking Glass’s matted hair. “It’s all taken care of,” she said softly.
“You’ve been pardoned.”
Glass rolled over to look up at her mother’s face. “How?” she asked, the
surprise shocking her out of her sleep, chasing away the images of Luke
that lingered on her eyelids when she first woke up. “Why?”
“People are growing restless,” her mother explained. “None of the
convicted juveniles have made it past their retrials in the last year, and it
makes the justice system look anything but just. You’re going to be the
exception—the proof that the system’s still working how it’s supposed to,
that those who can contribute to society are given the chance to return to it.
It took a little convincing, but eventually Vice Chancellor Rhodes saw my
side of things,” her mother finished, sinking back into the couch, looking
exhausted but relieved.
“Mom—I can’t—I don’t—thank you.” Glass didn’t know what else to
say. She smiled as she pushed herself up into a seated position and rested
her head against her mother’s shoulder. She was free? She almost couldn’t
comprehend the meaning of the word.
“You don’t need to thank me, sweetheart. I’d do anything for you.”
Sonja pushed a piece of Glass’s hair behind her ear and smiled. “Just
remember, you’re not to tell anyone about the Earth mission—I mean it.”
“But what happened to the others? Is Wells okay? Can you find out?”
Sonja shook her head. “As far as you’re concerned, there was no
mission. What’s important is that you’re safe now. You have a second
chance,” her mother murmured. “Just promise me you won’t do anything
foolish.”
“I promise,” Glass said finally, shaking her head in disbelief. “I
promise.”
CHAPTER 9
Clarke
Clarke slipped through the flap of the designated infirmary tent and stepped
into the clearing. Even without the luxury of windows, she sensed that it
was dawn. The sky erupted with color, and the pungent air stimulated
sensors in her brain Clarke had never realized existed. She wished she could
share the experience with the two people who had made her yearn to see
Earth in the first place. But Clarke would never have that chance.
Her parents were gone.
“Good morning.”
Clarke stiffened. It was almost unfathomable that Wells’s voice had once
been her favorite sound in the universe. He was the reason her parents were
dead, their bodies floating through the depths of space, moving farther and
farther from everything they’d known and loved. In a moment of weakness,
Clarke had confided a secret that wasn’t hers to share. And even though
he’d sworn not to tell a soul, Wells hadn’t even waited twenty-four hours
before skipping off to his father, so desperate to be the perfect son,
Phoenix’s golden child, that he betrayed the girl he’d pretended to love.
She turned to face Wells. There was nothing to keep her from lunging at
him, but she wanted to avoid any confrontation that would prolong the
exposure.
As she strode past him, Wells grabbed her arm. “Hold on a second, I just
wanted to—”
Clarke spun around and wrenched herself free. “Don’t touch me,” she
hissed.
Wells took a step back, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice
was steady, but she could see the hurt on his face. Clarke had always been
able to tell what Wells was feeling. He was a terrible liar, which was how
she’d known, in that brief moment, that his promise to keep her secret had
been sincere. But something had changed his mind, and it was Clarke’s
parents who had paid the price.
Wells didn’t move. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay,”
he said quietly. “We’re going to finish sorting through the wreckage today.
Is there anything in particular you need for your patients?”
“Yes. A sterile operating room, IVs, a full-body scanner, real doctors…”
“You’re doing an incredible job.”
“I’d be doing even better if I’d spent the past six months training at the
hospital instead of in Confinement.” This time, Wells had braced for the
barb, and his face remained impassive.
The sky was growing brighter, filling the clearing with an almost golden
light that made everything look like it’d been polished overnight. The grass
seemed greener, glistening with tiny drops of water. Purple blossoms began
unfurling from what had seemed like an unremarkable shrub. The long,
tapered petals stretched toward the sun, twisting in the air as if dancing to
music only they could hear.
Wells seemed to read her mind. “If you hadn’t been Confined, you’d
never have come here,” he said quietly.
She whipped her head back to face him. “You think I should be grateful
for what you did? I’ve seen kids die, kids who never wanted to come here
but had to because some little shit like you turned them in just to feel
important.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Wells sighed and met her gaze straight on.
“I’m so sorry, Clarke. I can’t tell you how sorry. But I didn’t do it to feel
important.” He started to step forward, but then seemed to think better of it
and shifted his weight back. “You were suffering, and I wanted to help. I
couldn’t bear it, seeing you like that. I just wanted to help make the pain go
away.”
The tenderness in his voice made Clarke’s stomach twist. “They killed
my parents,” she said quietly, imagining the scene as she had so many times
before. Her mother bracing for the prick of a needle, her body
systematically shutting down until those final dreadful moments when only
her brain was left. Had they been offered the customary last meal? Clarke’s
heart twinged as she imagined her father’s lifeless body in a release capsule,
his fingers stained red from the berries he’d eaten alone. “That kind of pain
never goes away.”
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the silence taking on a
physical weight. But then Wells broke eye contact and turned his head up
toward the trees above them. There were faintly musical sounds coming
from the leaves.
“Do you hear that?” Wells whispered without looking at her.
The song was both haunting and joyful, the first few notes an elegy for
the fading stars. Yet just when Clarke was sure her heart would break with
the bittersweet loveliness, the melody soared, trumpeting the arrival of the
dawn.
Birds. Real birds. She couldn’t see them, but she knew they were there.
She wondered if the first colonists had heard birds singing as they’d
boarded the final ship. Would the music have been a song of farewell? Or
had the creatures already joined their voices together in a requiem for the
dying Earth?
“It’s incredible,” Wells said, turning to look at her with a smile she
recognized from long ago. Clarke shivered. It was like seeing a ghost—a
specter of the boy to whom she’d been foolish enough to give her heart.
Clarke couldn’t suppress a smile as she watched Wells shift from side to side outside her front door.
He always got nervous about kissing her in public, but it had gotten worse since he’d started officer
training. The idea of making out with his girlfriend while in uniform seemed to make him
uncomfortable, which was unfortunate because the sight of him in his uniform made her want to kiss
him even more than usual.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Clarke turned to press her thumb to the scanner.
“Wait,” Wells said, glancing over his shoulder before grabbing hold of her arm.
Clarke sighed. “Wells,” she started as she tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “I need to go.”
He grinned as he tightened his grip. “Are your parents home?”
“Yes.” She inclined her head toward the door. “I’m late for dinner.”
Wells stared at her expectantly. He much preferred eating with her family to sitting across from
his father in silence, but she couldn’t invite him to join them. Not tonight.
Wells cocked his head to the side. “I won’t make a face this time, no matter what your father
added to the protein paste. I’ve been practicing.” His face broke into a comically bright smile as he
nodded emphatically. “Wow. This is delicious!”
Clarke pressed her lips together for a moment before responding. “I just need to have a private
conversation with them.”
Wells’s face grew serious. “What’s going on?” He released her arm and brought his hand to her
cheek. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine.” She stepped to the side and tilted her head so her eyes wouldn’t betray her by sending
distress signals from behind the lies. She needed to confront her parents about their experiments, and
she couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Okay, then,” he said slowly. “See you tomorrow?”
Instead of kissing her on the cheek, Wells surprised Clarke by wrapping his arms around her
waist and pulling her close. His lips pressed against hers, and for a moment, she forgot about
everything except the warmth of his body. But by the time she’d closed the door, the tingle of Wells’s
touch on her skin had been replaced by a prickle of dread.
Her parents were sitting on the couch. Their heads turned to her. “Clarke.” Her mother rose to
her feet, smiling. “Was that Wells with you outside? Does he want to join us for din—”
“No,” Clarke said, more sharply than she’d meant to. “Can you sit down? I need to talk to you.”
She crossed the room and settled on a chair facing her parents, trembling as two violent forces waged
war for control of her body: burning fury and desperate hope. She needed her parents to admit what
they’d done to justify her anger, but she also prayed they’d have a good excuse. “I figured out the
password,” she said simply. “I’ve been in the lab.”
Her mother’s eyes widened as she sank back onto the couch. Then she took a deep breath, and
for a moment, Clarke hoped she’d try to explain, that she had the words to make it all better. But then
she whispered the phrase Clarke had been dreading. “I’m sorry.”
Her father took his wife’s hand, his eyes on Clarke. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said
quietly. “I know it’s… shocking. But they don’t feel any pain. We make sure of that.”
“How could you?” The question felt flimsy, incapable of supporting the weight of her
accusation, but she couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “You’re experimenting on people. On
children.” Saying it aloud made her stomach churn. Bile crept up her throat.
Her mother closed her eyes. “We didn’t have a choice,” she said softly. “We’ve spent years
trying to test radiation levels in other ways—you know that. When we reported back to the Vice
Chancellor there was no way to gather conclusive evidence without human studies, we thought he
understood it was a dead end. But then he insisted that we…” Her voice cracked. Clarke didn’t need
her to finish the sentence. “We had no choice,” she repeated desperately.
“We always have a choice,” Clarke said, trembling. “You could have said no. I would have let
them kill me before I agreed to that.”
“But he didn’t threaten to kill us.” Her father’s voice was infuriatingly quiet.
“Then what the hell are you doing this for?” Clarke asked shrilly.
“He said he would kill you.”
The birdsong trailed off, leaving a charged silence in its wake, as if the
music had seeped into the stillness, imbuing the air with melody. “Wow,”
Wells said softly. “That was amazing.” He was still facing the trees, but
he’d extended his arm toward her, as if reaching through time to hold the
hand of the girl who used to love him.
The spell was broken. Clarke stiffened and, without a word, headed back
toward the infirmary.
It was dark inside the tent. Clarke almost tripped as she stepped in, making
a mental note to change the bandages on one boy’s leg, fix the sloppy
stitches she’d given the girl with the gash on her thigh. She’d finally found
a container with real bandages and surgical thread, but there wasn’t going to
be much more she could do if they didn’t find the actual medicine chest. It
hadn’t turned up in the wreckage, most likely thrown from the dropship
during the crash and destroyed.
Thalia was lying on one of the cots. She was still asleep, and the newest
bandage seemed to be holding up. Clarke had already changed the
wrappings three times since she’d found Thalia after the crash, blood
pouring out of an ugly gash in her side.
The memory of stitching up the wound made Clarke’s stomach churn,
and she hoped that her friend remembered even less. Thalia had passed out
from the pain and had been fading in and out of consciousness ever since.
Clarke knelt down and brushed a strand of damp hair back from her friend’s
brow.
“Hi,” she whispered as Thalia’s eyes fluttered open. “How are you
feeling?”
The injured girl forced a smile that seemed to drain the energy from the
rest of her body. “I’m just great,” Thalia said, but then winced, the pain
flashing in her eyes.
“You used to be a much better liar.”
“I never lied.” Her voice was hoarse but still full of mock indignation. “I
just told the guard that I had a neck problem and needed an extra pillow.”
“And then convinced him that black-market whiskey would keep you
from singing in your ‘sleep,’ ” Clarke added with a smile.
“Yeah.… It’s too bad Lise wasn’t willing to play along.”
“Or that you can’t carry a tune to save your life.”
“That’s what made it so great!” Thalia protested. “The night guard
would’ve done anything to shut me up at that point.”
Clarke shook her head with a smile. “And you say that Phoenix girls are
lunatics.” She gestured toward the thin blanket draped over Thalia. “May
I?”
Thalia nodded, and Clarke pulled it back, trying to keep her face neutral
as she unwrapped the bandage. The skin around the wound was red and
swollen, and pus was forming in the gaps between the stitches. The wound
itself wasn’t the problem, Clarke knew. While it looked bad, it was the kind
of injury they wouldn’t bat an eye at in the medical center. The infection
was the real threat.
“That bad?” Thalia asked quietly.
“Nah, you look great,” Clarke said, the lie falling smoothly from her
lips. Her eyes slid involuntarily toward the empty cot where a boy who died
the day before had spent his final hours.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Thalia said quietly.
“I know.” Clarke sighed. “I just wished he hadn’t been alone.”
“He wasn’t. Wells was here.”
“What?” Clarke asked, confused.
“He came to check on him a few times. I think the first time he came
into the tent, he was looking for you, but once he saw how badly that boy
was hurt…”
“Really?” Clarke asked, not quite sure whether to trust the observations
of a girl who’d spent most of the past day unconscious.
“It was definitely him,” another voice called. Clarke looked over and
saw Octavia sitting up, a playful smile on her face. “It’s not every day Wells
Jaha comes and sits by your bed.”
Clarke looked at her in disbelief. “How do you even know Wells?”
“He visited the care center with his father a few years ago. The girls
were talking about it for weeks. He’s kind of a supernova.”
Clarke smiled at the Walden slang as Octavia continued. “I asked him if
he remembered me. He said he did, but he’s too much of a gentleman to say
no.” Octavia gave an exaggerated sigh and placed the back of her hand
against her forehead. “Alas. My one chance at love.”
“Hey, what about me?” A boy Clarke had thought was asleep shot
Octavia an injured look, and she blew him a kiss.
Clarke just shook her head and turned back to Thalia, her eyes traveling
from her friend’s face back to the infected wound.
“That’s not a good sign, is it?” Thalia asked quietly, fatigue beginning to
tug at the ragged edges of her voice.
“It could be worse.”
“Your lying skills are slipping as well. What’s going on?” She managed
to raise an eyebrow. “Is love making you soft?”
Clarke stiffened and snatched her hand back from Thalia’s blanket. “Are
your injuries making you delirious?” She glanced over her shoulder and
was relieved to see Octavia absorbed in conversation with the Arcadian boy.
“You know what he did to me.” She paused as her stomach churned with
revulsion. “What he did to my parents.”
“Of course I know.” Thalia looked at Clarke with a mixture of
frustration and pity. “But I also know what he risked to come here.” She
smiled. “He loves you, Clarke. The kind of love most people spend their
whole lives looking for.”
Clarke sighed. “Well, I hope, for your sake, that you never find it.”
CHAPTER 10
Bellamy
It was crazy how much their surroundings could change throughout the day.
In the mornings, everything felt crisp and new. Even the air had a sharpness
to it. Yet in the afternoon, the light mellowed and the colors softened. That’s
what Bellamy liked best about Earth so far—the unexpectedness. Like a girl
who kept you guessing. He’d always been drawn to the ones he couldn’t
quite figure out.
Laughter rose up from the far side of the clearing. Bellamy turned to see
two girls perched on a low tree branch, giggling as they swatted at the boy
attempting to climb up and join them. Nearby, a bunch of Walden boys
were playing a game of keep-away with an Arcadian girl’s shoe, the owner
of which was laughing as she skidded barefoot across the grass. For a
moment, he felt a twinge of regret that Octavia still wasn’t well enough to
join in—she’d had so little fun in her life. But then again, it was probably
best that she didn’t form any real attachments. As soon as her ankle healed,
she and Bellamy would be off for good.
Bellamy tore open a crumpled nutrition pack, squeezed half the contents
into his mouth, then slipped the carefully folded wrapper back into his
pocket. After sorting through the remainder of the wreckage, they’d
discovered what they’d all feared: The few weeks’ worth of nutrition
packets they’d found when they first landed was all they’d been sent with.
Either the Council had assumed the hundred would figure out how to live
off the land after a month… or they didn’t plan on them surviving that long.
Graham had strong-armed most people into handing over any packs
they’d salvaged and had supposedly put an Arcadian named Asher in
charge of distributing them, but there was already a fledgling black market;
people were trading nutrition packs for blankets and taking on extra water
shifts in exchange for reserved spots inside the crowded tents. Wells had
spent the day trying to get everyone to agree to a more formal system, and
while some people had seemed interested, it hadn’t taken Graham long to
shut him down.
Bellamy turned as the laughter at the short end of the clearing gave way
to shouts.
“Give that to me!” one of the Waldenites cried, trying to wrench
something away from another. As Bellamy hurried over, he realized it was
an ax. The first boy was holding the handle with both hands and was trying
to swing it out of reach while the second boy attempted to grab on to the
blade.
Others began to descend on the boys, but instead of pulling them apart,
they darted between the trees, scooping items into their arms. Tools were
scattered on the ground—more axes, knives, even spears. Bellamy smiled
as his eyes landed on a bow and arrow.
Just this morning, he’d found animal prints—goddamn real tracks,
leading into the trees. His discovery had caused a huge commotion. At one
point, there’d been at least three dozen people gathered around, all making
intelligent, helpful observations like It’s probably not a bird and It looks like
it has four legs. Finally, Bellamy had been the one to point out that they
were hooves, not paws, which meant that it was probably an herbivore, and
therefore something they could conceivably catch and eat. He’d just been
waiting for something to hunt with, and now, in his first stroke of good luck
on Earth, he had it. Hopefully he and Octavia would be long gone before
the nutrition packets ran out, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“Hold it, everyone,” a voice rang out over the crowd. Bellamy glanced
up as Wells reached the tree line. “We can’t just let random people carry
weapons. We need to sort and organize these, and then decide who should
have them.”
A flurry of snorts and defiant glares rose up from the crowd.
“That guy took the Chancellor hostage,” Wells went on, pointing at
Bellamy, who’d already swung the bow and arrows over his shoulder. “Who
knows what else he’s capable of. You want someone like him walking
around carrying a deadly weapon?” Wells raised his chin. “We should at
least put it to a vote.”
Bellamy couldn’t help but laugh. Who the hell did this kid think he was,
anyway? He reached down, picked a knife up off the ground, and began
walking toward Wells.
Wells stood his ground, and Bellamy wondered if he was trying not to
flinch, or if maybe Wells was less of a pushover than Bellamy had thought.
Just when it seemed like he might stab Wells in the chest, Bellamy flipped
the weapon so that the handle faced Wells, and pushed it into his hand.
“Breaking news, pretty boy.” Bellamy winked. “We’re all criminals
here.”
But before he had time to respond, Graham sauntered over. As he looked
from Wells to Bellamy, a wry smile flickered across his face.
“I agree with the right honorable mini-Chancellor,” Graham said. “We
should lock up the weapons.”
Bellamy took a step back. “What? And put you in charge of those as
well?” He ran his finger along the bow. “No way. I’m ready to hunt.”
Graham snorted. “And what exactly did you hunt back on Walden
except for girls with low standards and even lower self-esteem?”
Bellamy stiffened but didn’t say anything. It was a waste of time to rise
to Graham’s bait, but he could feel his fingers clenching.
“Or maybe you don’t even have to chase after them,” Graham
continued. “I suppose that’s the benefit to having a sister.”
With a sickening crunch, Bellamy’s fist sank into Graham’s jaw. Graham
staggered back a few steps, too stunned to raise his arms before Bellamy
landed another punch. Then he righted himself and struck Bellamy with a
powerful, well-aimed shot to the chin. Bellamy lunged forward with a
growl, using his whole body weight to send Graham flying backward. He
landed on the grass with a heavy thud, but just when Bellamy was about to
deliver a swift kick, Graham rolled to the side and knocked Bellamy’s legs
out from under him.
Bellamy thrashed around, trying to sit up in time to gain leverage over
his opponent, but it was too late. Graham had him pinned to the ground and
was holding something just above his face, something that glinted in the
sun. A knife.
“That’s enough,” Wells shouted. He grabbed Graham by the collar and
flung him off Bellamy, who rolled over onto his side, wheezing.
“What the hell?” Graham bellowed, scrambling to his feet.
Bellamy winced as he rose onto his knees and then slowly stood up and
walked over to pick up the bow. He shot a quick glance at Graham, who
was too busy glaring at Wells to notice.
“Just because the Chancellor used to tuck you into bed doesn’t mean
you’re automatically in charge,” Graham spat. “I don’t care what Daddy
told you before we left.”
“I have no interest in being in charge. I just want to make sure we don’t
die.”
Graham exchanged a glance with Asher. “If that’s your concern, then I
suggest you mind your own business.” He reached down and scooped up
the knife. “We wouldn’t want there to be any accidents.”
“That’s not how we’re going to do things here,” Wells said, holding his
ground.
“Yeah?” Graham raised his eyebrows. “And what makes you think you
have any say over that?”
“Because I’m not an idiot. But if you’re anxious to become the first thug
to try to kill someone on Earth in centuries, be my guest.”
Bellamy exhaled as he crossed the clearing toward the area where he’d
seen the animal tracks. He didn’t need to get pulled into a pissing contest,
not when there was food to find. He swung the bow over his shoulder and
stepped into the woods.
As he’d learned at a young age, if you wanted to get something done,
you had to do it yourself.
Bellamy had been eight years old during the first visit.
His mother hadn’t been home, but she’d told him exactly what to do. The guards rarely inspected
their unit. Many of them had grown up nearby, and while the recruits liked showing off their uniforms
and hassling their former rivals, investigating their neighbors’ flats felt like crossing the line. But it
was obvious the officer in charge of this regiment wasn’t a local. It wasn’t just his snooty accent. It
was the way he’d looked around their tiny flat with a mixture of surprise and disgust, like he couldn’t
imagine human beings living there.
He’d come in without knocking while Bellamy had been trying to clean the breakfast dishes.
They only had running water a few hours a day, generally while his mother was working in the solar
fields. Bellamy was so startled, he dropped the cup he was cleaning and watched in horror as it
bounced on the floor and rolled toward the closet.
The officer’s eyes darted back and forth as he read something off his cornea slip. “Bellamy
Blake?” he said in his weird Phoenix accent that made it sound like his mouth was full of nutrition
paste. Bellamy nodded slowly. “Is your mother home?”
“No,” he said, working hard to keep his voice steady, just like he’d practiced.
Another guard stepped through the door. After a nod from the officer, he began asking questions
in a dull, flat tone that suggested he’d given the same speech a dozen times already that day.
“Do you have more than three meals’ worth of food in your residence?” he droned. Bellamy
shook his head. “Do you have an energy source other than…”
Bellamy’s heart was beating so loudly, it seemed to drown out the guard’s voice. Although his
mother had drilled him countless times, practicing any number of scenarios, he never imagined the
way the officer’s eyes would move around their flat. When his eyes landed on the dropped cup then
moved to the closet, Bellamy thought his chest was going to explode.
“Are you going to answer his question?”
Bellamy looked up and saw both men staring at him. The officer was scowling impatiently, and
the other guard just looked bored.
Bellamy started to apologize, but his “Sorry” came out like a wheeze.
“Do you have any permanent residents other than the two people registered for this unit?”
Bellamy took a deep breath. “No,” he said, forcing the word out. He finally remembered to affect
the annoyed expression his mother had him practice in the mirror.
The officer raised one eyebrow. “So sorry to have wasted your time,” he said with mock
cordiality. With a final glance around the flat, he strode out, followed by the guard, who slammed the
door shut behind him.
Bellamy sank to his knees, too terrified to answer the question rattling through his mind: What
would have happened if they’d looked in the closet?
CHAPTER 11
Glass
As she trailed behind Cora and Huxley on their way to the Exchange, Glass
found herself wishing that her mother had waited a few more days before
spreading the news of her pardon. At first, she’d been overjoyed to see her
friends. When they’d walked through her door that morning, all three girls
had burst into sobs. But now, watching Cora and Huxley exchange knowing
smiles as they passed a boy Glass didn’t recognize, she felt more alone than
she ever had in her cell.
“I bet you have a ton of points saved up,” Huxley said as she wrapped
her arm around Glass. “I’m jealous.”
“All I have is what my mother transferred to me this morning.” Glass
gave her a weak smile. “The rest were eliminated after my arrest.”
Huxley shuddered dramatically. “I still can’t believe it.” She lowered her
voice. “You never did tell us why you were Confined.”
“She doesn’t want to talk about that,” Cora said as she glanced
nervously over her shoulder.
No, you don’t want to talk about that, Glass thought as they turned onto
the main B deck corridor, a long, wide passage bordered by panoramic
windows on one side and benches tucked between artificial plants on the
other. It was midday, and most of the benches were occupied by women her
mother’s age talking and sipping sunflower root tea. Technically, you were
supposed to use ration points at the tea stand, but Glass couldn’t remember
the last time she’d been asked to scan her thumb. It was just one of the
many small luxuries of life on Phoenix that she’d never given a second
thought until she started spending time with Luke.
As the girls strode down the corridor, Glass could feel nearly every pair
of eyes turn to her. Her stomach twisted as she wondered what had been
more shocking—the fact that she’d been Confined or the fact that she’d
been pardoned. She held her head up high and tried to look confident as she
walked past. Glass was supposed to be an example of the Colony’s sense of
justice, and she would have to keep face as though her life depended on it.
Because this time, it did.
“Do you think there’s any chance Clarke will get pardoned too?” Huxley
asked as Cora shot her a warning look. “Did you guys ever like, hang out,
while you were in Confinement?”
“Oh my god, Huxley, will you give it a rest?” Cora said, touching
Glass’s arm in a supportive gesture. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that, when
Clarke was sentenced just after you, nobody could believe it: two Phoenix
girls in a few months? And then when you came back, there were all these
rumors.…”
“It’s fine,” Glass said, forcing a smile to signal that she was okay talking
about it. “Clarke got put into solitary pretty quickly, so I didn’t see her
much. And I don’t know whether she’ll be pardoned,” she lied,
remembering her mom’s imperative that she not talk about the Earth
mission. “I’m not sure when she turns eighteen—my case was reevaluated
since it’s almost my birthday.”
“Oh, right, your birthday!” Huxley squealed, clapping her hands. “I
forgot it’s coming up. We’ll have to find you something at the Exchange.”
Cora nodded, seeming overjoyed to have found their way back to such
an acceptable topic, as the girls approached their destination.
The Phoenix Exchange was in a large hall at the end of B deck. In
addition to panoramic windows, it held an enormous chandelier that had
supposedly been evacuated from the Paris Opera house hours before the
first bomb fell on Western Europe. Whenever Glass heard the tale, she felt a
twinge of sadness for the people who might’ve been saved instead, but she
couldn’t deny that the chandelier was breathtaking. Dancing with reflected
light from the ceiling and the windows, it looked like a small cluster of
stars, a miniature galaxy spinning and shimmering overhead.
Huxley let go of Glass’s arm and dashed over to a display of ribbons,
oblivious to the nearby group of girls who’d fallen silent at Glass’s arrival.
Glass blushed and hurried after Cora, whose eyes were trained on a textile
booth near the back wall.
She stood awkwardly next to Cora while her friend rummaged through
the fabric, quickly reducing the orderly stack into a messy pile while the
Walden woman behind the table gave her a tight smile. “Look at all this
crap,” Cora muttered as she flung a piece of burlap and a few strips of
fleece to the side.
“What are you looking for?” Glass asked, running her finger along a tiny
scrap of pale-pink silk. It was beautiful, even with the rust marks and water
stains along the edges, but it would be impossible to find enough matching
pieces for a small evening bag, let alone a dress.
“I’ve spent a million years collecting scraps of blue satin, and I finally
have enough for the slip, but I need to layer something over it so it doesn’t
look too patchworky.” Cora wrinkled her nose as she examined a large
piece of clear vinyl. “How much is this?”
“Six,” the Walden woman said.
“You’re not serious.” Cora rolled her eyes at Glass. “It’s a shower
curtain.”
“It’s Earthmade.”
Cora snickered. “Authenticated by who?”
“How about this?” Glass asked, holding up a piece of blue netting. It
looked like it had once been part of a storage bag, but no one would be able
to tell once it was applied to the dress.
“Oooh,” Cora cooed, snatching it out of Glass’s hand. “I like it.” She
held it against her body to check the length, then smiled up at Glass. “Good
thing your time in Confinement didn’t affect your fashion sense.” Glass
stiffened but said nothing. “So, what are you going to wear?”
“To what?”
“To the viewing party,” she said, enunciating her syllables as one might
do with a small child. “For the comet?”
“Sorry.” Glass shrugged. Apparently, spending six months in
Confinement was no excuse for failing to keep up with the Phoenix social
calendar.
“Your mother didn’t tell you about it when you got back?” Cora
continued, holding the netting around her waist like a petticoat. “There’s a
comet on track to pass right by the ship—the closest any has come since the
Colony was founded.”
“And there’s a viewing party?”
Cora nodded. “On the observation deck. They’ve been making all sorts
of exceptions so there can be food, drinks, music, everything. I’m going
with Vikram.” She grinned, but then her face fell. “I’m sure he won’t mind
if you come along. He knows there are, well, extenuating circumstances.”
She gave Glass a sympathetic smile and turned back to the Walden woman.
“How much?”
“Nine.”
Suddenly, Glass’s head began to pound. She murmured an excuse to
Cora, who was still negotiating with the shopkeeper, and wandered off to
look at the display of jewelry on a nearby table. She brushed her fingers
absently along her bare throat. She’d always worn a necklace chip, the
device some girls on Phoenix chose as an alternative to earbuds or cornea
slips. It was fashionable to have the chip embedded in a piece of jewelry, if
you were lucky enough to have a relic in the family or managed to find
something at the Exchange.
Her eyes traveled over the glittering assemblage and a glint of gold
caught her eye—an oval locket on a delicate chain. Glass inhaled sharply as
a wave of pain crashed over her, filling every inch of her body with a
throbbing mix of grief and sorrow. She knew she should turn away and
keep walking, but she couldn’t help it.
Glass reached out a trembling arm and picked up the necklace. The
outline blurred as tears filled her eyes. She ran her finger carefully over the
carving in the back, knowing without having to look that it was an ornate
cursive G.
“Are you sure you don’t mind spending your birthday on Walden?” Luke asked, leaning his head
back next to hers on the couch. The look of concern on his face was so sincere, it almost made her
laugh. “How many times do I have to tell you?” Glass swung her legs up so they were lying across
Luke’s. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“But didn’t your mom want to throw you some fancy party?” Glass rested her head on her
shoulder. “Yes, but what’s the point if you can’t be there?”
“I don’t want you giving up your whole life just because I can’t be a part of it.” Luke ran his
fingers down Glass’s arm, suddenly serious. “Do you ever wish we hadn’t stopped you that night?”
As a member of the prestigious mechanical engineering unit, Luke wasn’t normally assigned to
checkpoint duty, but he’d been called in one evening when Glass had been hurrying back from
studying with Wells.
“Are you kidding?” She raised her head to kiss his cheek. The taste of his skin was enough to
make her whole body tingle, and she moved her lips down, tracing the line of his jaw up to his ear.
“Breaking curfew that night was the best decision I’ve ever made,” she whispered, smiling as he
shuddered slightly.
The curfew wasn’t strictly enforced on Phoenix, but she’d been stopped by a pair of guards. One
of them had given Glass a hard time, forcing her to provide a thumb scan and then asking hostile
questions. Eventually, the other guard had stepped in and insisted on escorting Glass the rest of the
way.
“Walking you home was the best decision I ever made,” he murmured. “Although it was torture
trying to keep myself from kissing you that night.”
“Well, then, we’d better make up for lost time now,” Glass teased, moving her lips back to his.
Her kisses grew more urgent as he placed his hand on the back of her head and wove his fingers
through her hair. Glass shifted until she was sitting mostly in Luke’s lap, feeling his other arm move
down to her waist to keep her from falling.
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear. No matter how many times she heard the words, they
never ceased to make her shiver.
She pulled away just long enough to breathe, “I love you too,” then kissed him again, running
her hand lightly down his side and then resting her fingers on the sliver of skin between his shirt and
his belt.
“We should take a break,” Luke said, gently pushing her hand to the side. Over the past few
weeks, it’d become increasingly difficult to keep things from progressing too far.
“I don’t want to.” Glass gave him a coy smile and returned her lips to his ear. “And it’s my
birthday.”
Luke laughed, then groaned as he rose to his feet with Glass in his arms.
“Put me down!” Glass giggled, kicking her feet in the air. “What are you doing?”
Luke took a few steps forward. “Taking you to the Exchange. I’m trading you in for a girl who
won’t try so hard to get me in trouble.”
“Hey.” She huffed with mock indignation, then started pounding her fists into his chest. “Put me
down!”
He turned away from the door. “Are you going to behave yourself?”
“What? It’s not my fault you’re too hot to keep my hands off of.”
“Glass,” he warned.
“Fine. Yes, I promise.” “Good.” He walked back to the couch and laid her gently back down.
“Because it’d be a shame if I couldn’t give you your present.”
“What is it?” Glass asked, pushing herself up into a seated position.
“A chastity belt,” Luke said gravely. “For me. I found it at the Exchange. It cost a fortune, but
it’s worth it to protect—”
Glass smacked him in the chest. Luke laughed and wrapped his arms around her. “Sorry,” he
said with a grin. He reached into his pocket then paused. “It’s not wrapped or anything.”
“That’s okay.”
He pulled something out of his pocket and extended his arm toward her. A gold locket glittered
on his palm.
“Luke, it’s beautiful,” Glass whispered, reaching out to take the locket. Her eyes widened as her
fingers ran along its delicate edges. “This is Earthmade.” She looked up at him in surprise.
He nodded. “Yes, at least, it’s supposed to be, according to the records.” He picked it up out of
her hand. “May I?”
Glass nodded, and Luke stepped behind her to fasten the clasp. She shivered at the touch of his
hand on her neck as he brushed her hair to the side. She could only imagine how much something
like this cost—Luke must have used his entire savings on it. Even as a guard, he didn’t have many
ration points to spare. “I love it,” Glass said, running her finger along the chain as she turned to
face him.
His smile lit up his whole face. “I’m so glad.” Luke ran his hand down her neck and turned the
locket over, revealing a G etched into the gold.
“Did you do that?” Glass asked.
Luke nodded. “Even in a thousand years, I want people to know that it belonged to you.” He
pressed his finger against the locket, pushing the metal against her skin. “Now you just have to fill it
with your own memories.”
Glass smiled. “I know what memory I want to start with.” She looked up, expecting to see Luke
roll his eyes, but his face was serious. Their eyes met, and for a long moment, the flat was silent
except for the sound of their beating hearts.
“Are you sure?” Luke asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he ran a finger along the inside of
her arm.
“More sure than I’ve been of anything in my life.”
Luke took Glass’s hand, and a current of electricity shot through her. He squeezed his fingers
around hers and, without a word, led her toward his bedroom.
Of course he’d traded it, Glass told herself. It’d be ridiculous to keep such a
valuable item, especially after she’d broken his heart. Yet the thought of her
discarded necklace languishing alone in the Exchange unleashed a pang of
grief that threatened to rip her heart in two. A prickle on the back of her
neck pulled Glass from her thoughts. She braced herself, expecting to see
another vague acquaintance staring at her with open suspicion. But when
she turned around, her eyes landed on someone else entirely.
Luke.
He stared at her just long enough for Glass to blush, then broke away as
his eyes flitted toward the table. An odd expression crossed his face as his
gaze landed on the necklace. “I’m surprised no one’s snatched it up yet,” he
said quietly. “It’s so beautiful.” His arm dropped back to his side, and he
turned around to give her a small, sad smile. “But then again, the beautiful
ones can hurt you the most.”
“Luke,” Glass began, “I—” But then she noticed a familiar figure behind
Luke. Camille stood behind the counter of the paper texts stall, her eyes
fixed on Glass.
Luke glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to Glass.
“Camille’s covering for her father. He’s been sick.”
“I’m sorry,” Glass said. But before she had time to say anything else,
she was distracted by the sound of raised voices.
Glass turned and saw Cora shouting at the Walden woman. “If you
refuse to charge me a reasonable price, then I’ll have no choice but to report
you for fraud.” The woman paled and said something Glass couldn’t hear,
but apparently, it was to Cora’s liking, because she smiled and held her
thumb up to be scanned.
Glass grimaced, embarrassed by her friend’s behavior. “Sorry—I should
go.”
“Don’t,” Luke pleaded, touching her arm. “I’ve been worried about
you.” He lowered his voice. “What are you doing here? Is it safe?”
The concern in his voice filled some of the smaller cracks in her battered
heart, but not enough to make the pain go away. “It’s safe. I was pardoned,
actually,” Glass said, trying hard to keep her voice steady.
“Pardoned?” His eyes widened. “Wow. I never thought… That’s
incredible.” He paused, as if unsure how to go on. “You know, you never
told me why you were Confined in the first place.”
Glass cast her eyes toward the ground, fighting an overwhelming urge to
tell Luke the truth. He deserves to be happy, she reminded herself firmly.
He’s not yours anymore.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said finally. “I just want to put it all behind me.”
Luke stared at her, and for a moment Glass wondered if he could see
straight through her. “Well, take care of yourself,” he said finally.
Glass nodded. “I will.” She knew she was doing the right thing, for
once. She just wished it didn’t hurt so much.
CHAPTER 12
Clarke
Clarke sat in the dark infirmary tent, watching nervously as Thalia tossed
and turned in her sleep, restless from the fever that set in as the infection
grew worse.
“What do you think she’s dreaming about?”
Clarke turned and saw Octavia sitting up, staring at Thalia wide-eyed.
“I’m not sure,” Clarke lied. From the expression on Thalia’s face, Clarke
could tell she was thinking about her father again. She’d been Confined for
trying to steal medicine after the Council had weighed against treating him;
with limited medical supplies, they’d deemed his prospects too grim to be
worth the resources. Thalia still didn’t know what happened to him—
whether he’d succumbed to his disease after her arrest, or whether he was
still clinging to life, praying that he’d get to see his daughter again
someday.
Thalia moaned and curled into a ball, reminding Clarke of Lilly on one
of her bad nights, when Clarke would sneak into the lab so her friend
wouldn’t have to be alone. Although no one was keeping Clarke from
helping Thalia, she felt just as frantic, just as helpless. Unless they found
the medicine that had been flung from the dropship, there was nothing she
could do to ease her suffering.
The flap flew open, flooding the tent with light and cool, pungent air,
and Bellamy tumbled in. He had a bow slung over his shoulder, and his
eyes were bright. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said with a grin as he strode
over to Octavia’s cot. He stooped down to ruffle her hair, which was still
secured with a neatly tied red ribbon. He was close enough that Clarke
couldn’t help but notice the faint smell of sweat clinging to his skin,
blending with another scent she couldn’t identify but that made her think of
trees.
“How’s the ankle?” he asked Octavia, making an exaggerated show of
squinting and examining it from all angles.
She flexed it gingerly. “Much better.” She turned to Clarke. “Am I ready
to leave yet?”
Clarke hesitated. Octavia’s ankle was still fragile, and there was no way
of making an effective brace. If she put too much pressure on it, she’d
sprain it all over again, or worse.
Octavia sighed, then stuck her bottom lip out in a pleading expression.
“Please? I didn’t come all the way to Earth to sit in a tent.”
“You didn’t have a choice,” Bellamy said. “But I certainly didn’t risk my
ass coming here just to watch you get gangrene.”
“How do you know about gangrene?” Clarke asked, surprised. No one
would ever have developed that kind of infection back on the Colony, and
she doubted many other people read ancient medical texts for fun.
“You disappoint me, Doctor.” He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you
for one of those.”
“One of those what?”
“One of those Phoenicians who assume all Waldenites are illiterate.”
Octavia rolled her eyes as she turned to Bellamy. “Not everything is an
insult, you know.”
Bellamy opened his mouth, but then thought better of it and folded his
lips into a smirk. “You better watch it, or I’ll leave without you.” He
adjusted the bow on his shoulder.
“Don’t leave me,” she said, suddenly serious. “You know how I feel
about being trapped inside.”
A strange expression flashed across Bellamy’s face, and Clarke
wondered what he was thinking about. Finally, he smiled. “Okay.
I’ll take you outside, but just for a little bit. I want to try hunting again
before it gets dark.” He turned to Clarke. “That is, if the doctor says it’s
okay.” Clarke nodded. “Just be careful.” She gave him a quizzical look. “Do
you really think you’ll be able to hunt?” No one had seen a mammal yet, let
alone tried to kill one.
“Someone has to. Our nutrition packs won’t last a week at the rate
they’re going.”
She gave him a small smile. “Well, best of luck.” Clarke walked over to
Octavia’s cot and helped Bellamy lift her to her feet.
“I’m fine,” Octavia said, balancing on one foot as she clutched
Bellamy’s arm. She hopped forward, pulling him toward the flap. “Let’s
go!”
Bellamy twisted to look back over his shoulder. “Oh, by the way,
Clarke, I found some debris from the crash when I was out in the woods.
Any interest in checking it out tomorrow?”
Clarke inhaled as her heart sped up. “You think it could be the missing
supplies?” She took a step forward. “Let’s go now.”
Bellamy shook his head. “It was too far away. We wouldn’t make it back
before dark. We’ll go tomorrow.”
She glanced at Thalia, whose face was still contorted in pain. “Okay.
First thing in the morning.”
“Let’s wait until the afternoon. I’ll be hunting in the morning. That’s
when the animals are out looking for water.” Clarke suppressed the urge to
ask him where he’d learned that, although she couldn’t quite mask the
surprise on her face. “Until tomorrow, then?” Bellamy asked, and Clarke
nodded. “Great.” He grinned. “It’s a date.”
She watched them lumber out of the tent, then went back over to Thalia.
Her friend’s eyes fluttered open. “Hi,” she said weakly.
“How are you feeling?” Clarke asked, moving to check Thalia’s vital
signs.
“Great,” she croaked. “Just about ready to join Bellamy on his next
hunting expedition.”
Clarke smiled. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“I was. Off and on.”
“I’m just going to take a quick look, okay?” Clarke asked, and Thalia
nodded. Clarke pushed the blanket aside and lifted Thalia’s shirt. Streaks of
red radiated out from the oozing wound, suggesting that the infection was
making its way into her bloodstream.
“Does it hurt?”
“No,” Thalia said hollowly. They both knew she wasn’t getting any
better.
“Can you believe they’re really siblings?” Clarke asked, purposefully
changing the subject as she replaced Thalia’s blanket.
“Yeah, it’s crazy to think about.” Thalia’s voice grew slightly stronger.
“What’s crazy is pulling a stunt like that on the launch deck,” Clarke
said. “But it was really brave. They would’ve killed him if they’d caught
him.” She paused. “They’ll kill him when they come down.”
“He’s done a lot to keep her safe,” Thalia agreed, turning her face away
from Clarke in an attempt to hide a grimace as a new wave of pain washed
over her. “He really loves you, you know.”
“Who? Bellamy?” Clarke asked, startled.
“No. Wells. He came to Earth for you, Clarke.”
She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t ask him to.”
“We’ve all done things we’re not proud of,” Thalia said, her voice quiet.
Clarke shuddered and closed her eyes. “I’m not asking anyone for
forgiveness.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Thalia paused to catch her
breath. The effort it took to speak was wearing her out.
“You need to rest,” Clarke said, reaching over to pull the blanket up over
her friend’s shoulders. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“No!” Thalia exclaimed. “Clarke, what happened wasn’t your fault.”
“Of course it was my fault.” Clarke refused to meet her friend’s gaze.
Thalia was the only one who knew what Clarke had really done, and Clarke
couldn’t bear to face that right now, to see the memory reflected in her
friend’s dark, expressive eyes. “And what does it have to do with Wells
anyway?”
Thalia closed her eyes and sighed, ignoring the question. “You need to
let yourself be happy. Or else, what’s the point of anything?”
Clarke opened her mouth to launch a retort, but the words disappeared
as she watched Thalia lean over, suddenly coughing. “It’ll be okay,” Clarke
whispered, running her hand through her friend’s sweat-dampened hair.
“You’ll be okay.”
This time, the words weren’t a prayer but a declaration. Clarke refused
to let Thalia die, and nothing was going to stop her. She wouldn’t let her
best friend join the chorus of ghosts in her head.
CHAPTER 13
Wells
Wells looked up at the star-filled sky. He never imagined how homesick it
would make him to stare at the familiar scene from hundreds of kilometers
away. It was unsettling to see the moon so tiny and featureless, like waking
up to find that your family’s faces had been erased.
Sitting at the campfire around him, the others were grumbling. They’d
been on Earth less than a week, and already their rations were dwindling.
The fact that they had no medicine was troubling, but right now the bigger
concern was the food supply. Either the Colony miscalculated their
provisions, or Graham and his friends had been hoarding more than he’d
realized. Either way, the effects were already beginning to show. It wasn’t
just the hollows forming under their cheekbones—there was a hunger in
their eyes that terrified Wells. He could never let himself forget that they’d
all been Confined for a reason, that everyone surrounding him had done
something to endanger the Colony.
Wells most of all.
Just then, Clarke emerged from the infirmary tent and walked toward the
campfire, her eyes skimming the circle as she searched for a spot. There
was an empty space next to Wells, but her gaze skipped right over him. She
sat beside Octavia, who was perched on a log, her injured leg stretched out
in front of her.
Wells sighed as he turned to look around the clearing, the flames
flickering on the dark forms of the three tents they’d finally built—the
infirmary, a structure to hold supplies, and Wells’s personal favorite, a ditch
for collecting water, in case it ever rained. At least their camp wasn’t
turning out to be a complete failure. His father would be impressed when he
joined them on Earth.
If he joined them. It was becoming harder and harder to convince
himself that his father was fine, that the bullet wound was only superficial.
His chest tightened painfully as he thought of his father clinging to life in a
hospital bed, or worse, his body floating somewhere through space. His
father’s words still rang in his ears: If anyone can make this mission a
success, it’s you. After a lifetime of urging Wells to work harder and do
better, he wondered if the Chancellor might have given his last order to his
son.
A strange noise came from the trees. Wells sat up straighter, all his
senses on the alert. There was a cracking sound, followed by a rustling. The
murmurs by the fire turned to gasps as a strange shape materialized out of
the shadows, part human, part animal, like something from the ancient
myths.
Wells leapt to his feet. But then the creature moved past the tree line and
into the light.
Bellamy stood with an animal carcass draped over his shoulders, a trail
of blood in his wake.
A deer. Wells’s eyes traveled over the lifeless animal, taking in its soft
brown fur, spindly legs, delicately tapered ears. As Bellamy moved toward
them, the deer’s head swayed back and forth from its limp neck—but it
never made a full arc, because each time it swung back, it knocked against
something else.
It was another head, swinging from another slender neck. The deer had
two heads.
Wells froze as everyone around the fire scrambled to their feet, some of
them inching forward for a better look, others backing up in terror. “Is it
safe?” one girl asked.
“It’s safe.” Clarke’s voice came from the shadows, and then she stepped
into the light. “The radiation might have mutated the genetic material
hundreds of years ago, but there wouldn’t be any trace of it now.”
Everyone fell silent as Clarke stretched out her hand to stroke the
creature’s fur. Standing in a pool of moonlight, she never looked so
beautiful.
Clarke turned to Bellamy with a smile that made Wells’s stomach twist.
“We’re not going to starve.” Then she said something Wells couldn’t hear,
and Bellamy nodded.
Wells exhaled, willing his resentment to drain away. He took another
deep breath before walking toward Bellamy and Clarke. She stiffened as he
approached, but Wells forced himself to keep his eyes on Bellamy. “Thank
you,” Wells said. “This will feed a lot of people.”
Bellamy stared at him questioningly as he shifted his weight from one
foot to the other.
“I mean it,” Wells said. “Thanks.”
Finally, Bellamy nodded. Wells went back to his place by the fire,
leaving Bellamy and Clarke to talk quietly, their heads bowed together.
The observation deck was completely empty. Staring out into the immeasurably vast sea of stars,
Wells could easily imagine that they were the only two living things in the entire universe. He
tightened his arm around Clarke. She pressed her head against his chest and exhaled, sinking closer
to him as the air left her body. As if she was happy to let him breathe for them both.
“How’d it go today?” she murmured.
“Fine,” Wells said, not sure why he was bothering to lie when Clarke was pressed against his
chest. She could read his heartbeat like it was Morse code.
“What happened?” she asked, concern flickering in her large green eyes.
His officer training entailed periodic trips to Walden and Arcadia to monitor the guards. Today,
he’d observed them seize a woman who’d gotten pregnant with an unregistered child. There’d be no
chance at lenience. She would be Confined until she gave birth, the child would be placed in the
Council’s care, and the mother would be executed. The law was harsh but necessary. The ship could
only support a certain number of lives, and allowing anyone to disrupt the delicate balance would
jeopardize the entire race. But the look of panic in the woman’s eyes as the guards had dragged her
away was burned into Wells’s brain.
Surprisingly, it’d been his father who helped Wells make sense of what he’d seen. That night at
dinner, he’d sensed something was wrong, and Wells had told him about the incident, trying to sound
soldierly and detached. But his father had seen through the act and, in a rare gesture, put his hand
over Wells’s across the table. “What we do isn’t easy,” he’d told his son, “but it’s crucial. We can’t
afford to let our feelings keep us from doing our duty—keeping the human race alive.”
“Let me guess,” Clarke said, interrupting his thoughts. “You arrested some criminal mastermind
for stealing books from the library.”
“Nope.” He swept a piece of hair behind her ear. “She’s still at large. They’re forming a special
task force as we speak.”
She smiled, and the flecks of gold in her eyes seemed to sparkle. He couldn’t imagine a prettier
color.
Wells turned his attention back to the enormous window. Tonight, the clouds covering Earth
didn’t remind him of a shroud—they were merely a blanket. The planet hadn’t died, it’d only slipped
into an enchanted sleep until the time came for it to welcome humanity home.
“What are you thinking about?” Clarke asked. “Is it your mom?”
“No,” he said slowly. “Not really.” Wells reached out and absentmindedly wrapped a lock of
Clarke’s hair around his finger, then let it fall back to her shoulder. “Though I guess, in a way, I’m
always thinking about her.” It was hard to believe that she was really gone.
“I just want to make sure she’s proud of me, wherever she is,” Wells continued, a chill passing
over him as he glanced toward the stars.
Clarke squeezed his hand, transferring her warmth to him. “Of course she’s proud of you. Any
mother would be proud of a son like you.”
Wells turned back to Clarke with a grin. “Just mothers?”
“I imagine you’re a hit with grandparents, too.” She nodded gravely, but then giggled when
Wells playfully smacked her shoulder.
“There’s someone else I want to make proud.”
Clarke raised an eyebrow. “She’d better watch her back,” she said, reaching out to wrap her
hands behind Wells’s head. “Because I’m not very good at sharing.”
Wells grinned as he leaned forward and closed his eyes, brushing his lips against hers for a
teasing kiss before moving down to her neck. “Neither am I,” he whispered into her ear, feeling her
shiver as his breath tickled her skin. She pulled him closer, her touch melting away the tension until
he forgot about his day, forgot that he’d have to repeat it all tomorrow and the day after that. All that
mattered was the girl in his arms.
The smell of the roasting deer was foreign and intoxicating. There was no
meat on the Colony, not even on Phoenix. All the livestock had been
eliminated in the middle of the first century.
“How do we know when it’s done?” an Arcadian girl named Darcy
asked Wells.
“When the outside starts to crisp and the inside turns pink,” Bellamy
called without turning his head.
Graham snorted, but Wells nodded. “I think you’re right.” After the meat
cooled, they chopped it into smaller pieces and began passing it around the
fire. Wells carried some to the other side of the circle, distributing it to the
crowd.
He handed a piece to Octavia, who held it in front of her as she looked
up at Wells. “Have you tried it yet?” Wells shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Well, that’s not fair.” She raised her eyebrows. “What if it turns out to
be disgusting?”
He glanced around the circle. “Everyone else seems to be okay with it.”
Octavia pursed her lips together. “I’m not like everyone else.” She
looked at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to speak, then smiled and
pushed her piece toward him. “Here, you take the first bite and tell me what
you think.”
“I’m okay, thanks,” Wells said. “I want to make sure everyone else—”
“Come on.” She giggled as she tried to slip it into his mouth. “Take a
bite.”
Wells snuck a quick glance around the circle to make sure Clarke hadn’t
been watching. She wasn’t—she was caught up in conversation with
Bellamy.
Wells turned back to Octavia. “Okay,” he said, taking the piece of meat
from her hands. She looked disappointed not to feed it to him, but Wells
didn’t care. He took a bite. The outside was tough, but as his teeth sank in,
the meat released a flood of flavor unlike anything Wells had tasted before,
simultaneously salty and smoky and faintly sweet. He chewed some more
and then swallowed, bracing for his stomach to reject the alien substance.
But all he felt was warmth.
The kids who’d eaten first had risen from the fire and begun milling
around the clearing, and for a few minutes, the soft hum of their
conversation merged with the crackling of the flames. But then the sound of
confused murmurs began to rise to the surface, making the skin on the back
of Wells’s neck prickle. He rose to his feet and walked over to where a
group was standing near the tree line.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Look.” One of the girls pointed to something in the trees.
“What?” Wells squinted into the darkness.
“There,” another girl said. “Did you see it?”
For a moment, Wells thought they were playing a trick on him, but then
something caught his eye. A flash of light, so brief that he might have
imagined it. There was another flash a few feet away, then another, this one
a little higher up. He took a step toward the edge of the clearing, which was
now ablaze with glowing lights, as if invisible hands had decorated it for a
party. His eyes landed on the closest orb, a ball of light hanging from the
lowest branch of a nearby tree.
There was something moving inside. A creature. It was some sort of
insect, with a tiny body and disproportionately large, delicate wings. The
word fluttered to Wells’s lips. Butterfly.
Some of the others had followed him into the forest and were now
staring in wonder alongside him. “Clarke,” he whispered into the darkness.
She needed to see this. He tore his eyes away and spun around, ready to go
run and find her. But she was already there.
Clarke stood a few feet away, utterly transfixed. A soft glow lit up her
face, and the tense, worried expression that had clung to her features since
the crash had fallen away.
“Hey,” Wells said softly, not wanting to disrupt the stillness. He
expected Clarke to scowl at him, or silence him, or walk away. But she
didn’t move. She stood right where she was, staring up at the luminous
butterflies.
Wells didn’t dare move or say another word. The girl he thought he’d
lost was still in there, somewhere, and in that instant, he knew: He could
make her love him again.
CHAPTER 14
Bellamy
Bellamy didn’t know why the ancient humans even bothered doing drugs.
What was the point of shooting junk into your veins when walking through
the forest had the same effect? Something happened each time he crossed
the tree line. As he moved away from the camp in the early morning
sunlight, setting out on another hunting expedition, he began taking deeper
breaths. His heart pounded with strong, slow, steady beats, his organs
marching in time to a pulse in the ground. It was like someone had hacked
into his brain and cranked up his senses to a setting Bellamy hadn’t known
existed.
But the best part was the quiet. The ship had never been completely
silent. There was always a low hum of background noise: the drone of the
generators, the buzz of the lights, the echo of footsteps in the hallway. It had
freaked him out the first time he entered the forest, not having anything to
drown out his thoughts. But the more time he spent here, the quieter his
mind became.
Bellamy scanned the ground, his eyes skipping over the rocks and damp
patches as they searched for clues. There were no tracks to follow as there’d
been yesterday, but something told Bellamy to turn right, and go deeper into
the forest where the trees grew thicker, covering the ground with strange
shadows. That’s where he would go if he were an animal.
He reached behind his shoulder to grab one of the arrows from the sling
he’d constructed. Although it was terrible to watch them die, his aim had
vastly improved over the past few days, so he knew the animals didn’t
suffer much. He’d never forget the pain and fear in the first deer’s eyes as it
staggered across the ground. Yet shooting an animal was less of a crime
than a lot of the crap the other kids had done to end up here. While he might
be cutting the creature’s life short, Bellamy knew that it had lived every
moment of that life completely free.
The hundred prisoners might have been promised their freedom, but
Bellamy knew he wouldn’t be afforded the same privilege, not after what
he’d done to the Chancellor. If he was still around when the next ship
landed, the first person off it would probably shoot him on the spot.
Bellamy was done with all of it—the punishments, the stations, the
system. He was through following other people’s rules. He was sick of
having to fight to survive. Living in the forest wouldn’t be easy, but at least
he and Octavia would be free.
Holding his arms out for balance, he half shuffled, half skidded down
the slope, trying his best to not make any noise that could scare an animal
away. He landed at the bottom with a thud, mud squelching under his
tattered boots. Bellamy winced as water sloshed through the gap above the
soles. It would be uncomfortable walking back to camp with wet socks,
something he’d learned the hard way. He wasn’t sure why that wasn’t
mentioned in any of the books he read. What was the point of knowing how
to build a snare out of vines, or which plants to use to treat burns, if you
couldn’t walk?
Bellamy laid his socks over a branch to dry, then dipped his feet into the
stream. It was already hotter out than it had been when he left camp, and the
cold water felt incredible on his skin. He rolled his pants up to his knees
and waded in farther, grinning like a complete doofus as the water swirled
around his calves. It was one of his favorite things about Earth, how
mundane stuff like washing your feet suddenly felt like a huge deal.
The trees weren’t as dense by the stream, and the sun shone brighter.
Bellamy’s face and arms suddenly felt unbearably hot. He pulled off his Tshirt, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it onto the grass before reaching
down to scoop water into his hands and splash it over his face. He smiled,
still blown away by the revelation that water could have a taste. They’d
always made crude jokes about the ship’s recycled water supply, how you
were basically drinking your great-grandfather’s piss. Yet now he realized
that the centuries of filtration and purification had stripped the liquid until it
was no more than a collection of hydrogen and oxygen molecules. He
reached down and cupped another handful. If he’d had to describe it, he
would say it tasted like a combination of Earth and sky—and then he’d
punch whoever laughed at him for it.
A crack sounded from inside the woods. Bellamy spun around so
quickly, he lost his balance and fell backward with a splash. He quickly
scrambled to his feet, rocks and mud shifting beneath his bare toes as he
turned to look for the source of the sound.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Bellamy pushed his hair back and saw Clarke standing on the grass. It
was startling to see someone else in the woods, which he’d come to think of
as belonging exclusively to him. But the flash of irritation he was expecting
never came. “You couldn’t wait till afternoon?” he asked, making his way
back to the bank.
Clarke blushed. “We need that medicine,” she said as she looked away
from his bare chest. She was so tough most of the time, it was easy to forget
that she grew up in a world of fancy concerts and lecture parties. Bellamy
grinned as he shook his head, sending droplets of water flying.
“Hey,” she shouted, jumping backward as she tried to flick the water off.
“We haven’t tested this stream yet. That could be toxic.”
“Since when did our badass surgeon become such a priss?” He sat down
in a sunny patch of grass and patted the spot next to him in invitation.
“A priss?” Clarke lowered herself to the ground with a huff. “You could
barely hold the knife last night, your hand was shaking so badly.”
“Hey, I killed the deer. I think I did more than my fair share. Besides”—
he paused as he lay back on the grass—“you’re the one who’s trained to cut
things open.”
“I’m not, really.”
Bellamy brought his hands behind his head and tilted his face toward the
sun, exhaling as the warmth seeped into his skin. It was almost as nice as
being in bed with a girl. Maybe even better, because the sun would never
ask him what he was thinking. “Sorry to insult you,” he said, stretching out
the words as a relaxed heaviness settled in his limbs. “I know you’re a
doctor, not a butcher.”
“No, I mean I was Confined before I finished my apprenticeship.”
The note of sorrow in her voice reverberated strangely in Bellamy’s gut.
He gave her a weak smile. “Well, you’re doing a great job for a quack.”
She stared at him, and for a second, he worried he’d offended her. But
then she nodded and stood up. “You’re right,” she said. “Which is why we
need to find that medicine. Come on.”
Bellamy rose to his feet with a groan, slipped into his shoes and socks,
then slung his shirt over his shoulder.
“I’d recommend putting your shirt back on.”
“Why? Are you worried you won’t be able to control yourself? Because
if you’re concerned about my virtue, I have to tell you, I’m not—”
“I meant”—she cut him off with a small smile—“there are some
poisonous plants out here that could make that pretty back of yours erupt
with pus-filled boils.”
He shrugged. “For all I know, that might be your thing, doctor girl. I’ll
take my chances.”
She laughed for what Bellamy was pretty sure was her first time on
Earth. He felt a surprising flicker of pride that he’d been the one to make it
happen.
“Okay,” he said lightly, pulling his shirt over his head and smiling to
himself when he caught Clarke’s eyes on his stomach. “The wreckage was
farther west. Let’s go.” He started walking up the slope, then turned to look
at Clarke. “The direction the sun sets in.”
She ran a few steps to catch up to him. “You taught yourself all of this?”
“I guess. There aren’t a lot of lectures on Earth’s geography on Walden.”
The statement didn’t carry the bitterness it might have, had it been directed
at Wells or Graham. “I’d always been interested in that stuff, and then when
I found out they were planning on sending Octavia to Earth…” He paused,
not sure how much it was safe to share. But Clarke was looking at him
expectantly, her green eyes full of curiosity and something else he couldn’t
quite identify. “I figured, the more I knew, the better equipped I’d be to
keep her safe.”
They reached the top of the slope, but instead of heading back toward
camp, Bellamy led them deeper into the woods. The trees grew so close
together that their leaves blocked most of the sun. What little light made it
through dappled the ground in golden pools. Bellamy smiled as he saw
Clarke taking care to step around them, like a little kid trying to avoid the
lines crossing the skybridge.
“This is how I imagined Sherwood Forest,” she said, her voice full of
reverence. “I almost expect to see Robin Hood pop out from behind a tree.”
“Robin Hood?”
“You know.” She stopped to look at him. “The exiled prince who stole
medicine to give to the orphans?” Bellamy stared at her blankly. “With the
enchanted bow and arrows? You kind of remind me of him, now that I think
about it,” she added, smiling.
Bellamy ran his hand along a vine-covered branch that shimmered
slightly in the dim light. “We don’t get a lot of story time on Walden,” he
said stiffly. But then his voice softened. “There aren’t many books, so I
used to make up fairy tales for Octavia when she was little. Her favorite
was about an enchanted trash can.” He snorted. “It was the best I could do.”
Clarke smiled. “It was brave, what you did for her,” she said.
“Yeah, well, I’d say the same thing about you, but I have a feeling
you’re not exactly here by choice.”
She held up her wrist, which, like all the others’, was still encased in the
monitor bracelet. “What gave it away?”
“I’m sure he deserved it,” Bellamy said with a grin. But instead of
laughing, Clarke turned away. He’d meant it as a joke, but he should have
known that he couldn’t be so glib with her—with anyone who was here,
really. They were all hiding something. Bellamy most of all.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. He apologized so rarely, the word felt strange
in his mouth. “We’ll find the medicine chest. What’s in it, anyway?”
“Everything. Sterile bandages, painkillers, antibiotics… things that
could make all the difference to…” She paused for a moment. “To the
injured people.”
Bellamy knew she was thinking about the one girl she was always
watching over, her friend.
“You really care about her, don’t you?” He held out his hand to help her
over a moss-covered log blocking their path.
“She’s my best friend,” Clarke said, taking his hand. “The only person
on Earth who knows the real me.”
She shot an embarrassed smile at Bellamy, but he nodded. “I know what
you mean.” Octavia was the only person in the world who truly knew him.
There was no one else he really cared about ever seeing again.
But then he glanced over at Clarke, who was leaning over to breathe in
the scent of a bright-pink flower, the sun catching the gold strands in her
hair, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.
CHAPTER 15
Clarke
Bellamy led Clarke down a steep hill bordered by slender trees whose
branches wove together to form a sort of archway. The silence felt ancient,
as if even the wind hadn’t dared to disturb the solitude of the trees for
centuries.
“I’m not sure I ever thanked you for what you did for Octavia,” Bellamy
said, breaking the spell.
“Does this count as a thank-you?” Clarke teased.
“I think it’s the closest you’re going to get.” He shot her a sidelong look.
“I’m not the best at stuff like that.”
Clarke opened her mouth, but before she could launch a retort, she
stumbled over a rock. “Whoa there,” Bellamy said with a laugh, grabbing
Clarke’s hand to steady her. “And apparently, you’re not the best at stuff
like walking.”
“This isn’t walking. This is hiking—something no human has done for
hundreds of years, so give me a break.”
“It’s okay. It’s all about division of labor. You keep us alive, and I’ll
keep you on two feet.” He gave her a playful squeeze, and Clarke felt her
face flush. She hadn’t realized she was still clutching his hand.
“Thanks,” she said, letting her arm fall to her side.
Bellamy paused as they reached the point where the ground flattened out
again. “This way,” he said, gesturing to the left. “So, how did you end up
becoming a doctor?”
Clarke’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “I wanted to. Didn’t you choose
to…” She trailed off, realizing, to her embarrassment, that she had no idea
what Bellamy had done back on the ship. Clearly he hadn’t been a guard.
He stared at her, as if trying to determine whether or not she was joking.
“It doesn’t work that way on Walden,” he said slowly, stepping deeper into
the green-tinged shade. “If you’ve got a great record and you get lucky, you
can become a guard. Otherwise you just do whatever job your parents had.”
Clarke tried to keep the surprise from registering on her face. Of course
she knew only certain jobs were available to Waldenites, but she hadn’t
realized they had no choice at all. “So what were you?”
“I was…” He pressed his lips together. “You know what? It doesn’t
matter what I did back there.”
“I’m sorry,” Clarke said quickly. “I didn’t mean that—”
“It’s fine,” Bellamy cut her off, taking a step forward. They continued
walking, although now, the silence had an edge to it.
“Hold on,” Bellamy whispered, reaching out a hand to block her path. In
one fluid motion, he pulled out one of the arrows tucked into his sling and
raised his bow. His eyes fixed on a spot where the trees were so dense, it
was almost impossible to distinguish the shrubs from the shadows. Then
she saw it—a flash of motion, a glint of light reflected in an eye. Clarke
held her breath as an animal emerged, small and brown with long, tapered
ears that flicked back and forth. A rabbit.
She watched the creature spring forward, its tail almost twice as long as
its body, twitching curiously. Aren’t rabbits supposed to have little, fluffy
tails? she wondered. But before she could remember her old notes from
Biology of Earth class, Clarke saw Bellamy’s elbow draw back, chasing
every thought out of her head.
Her gasp caught in her throat as Bellamy’s arrow shot forward, landing
with a terrible thwack right in the creature’s chest. For a second, Clarke
wondered if she could save it—run over, remove the arrow, and stitch it
back up.
Bellamy grabbed her arm, squeezing it just hard enough to convey both
assurance and warning. That rabbit was going to help keep them alive,
Clarke knew. It would give Thalia a little strength. She tried to close her
eyes, but they remained locked on the animal.
“It’s okay,” Bellamy said quietly. “I got it through the heart. He won’t
suffer for long.” He was right. The rabbit stopped twitching and slowly fell
to the forest floor, then went still. Bellamy turned to her. “Sorry. I know it’s
not easy to watch someone suffer.”
A chill passed over her that had nothing to do with the dead rabbit.
“Someone?”
“Something.” He corrected himself with a shrug. “Anything.”
Clarke watched Bellamy jog over to the rabbit, extract the arrow, and
swing the creature over his shoulder. “Let’s go this way,” he said, inclining
his head.
The tension seemed to have drained away, Bellamy’s mood visibly
bolstered by his successful kill. “So, what’s the story with you and Wells?”
he asked, shifting the rabbit over to his other shoulder.
Clarke braced for a rush of indignation at his nosiness, but it never
came. “We dated for a little bit, a while ago, but it didn’t work out.”
Bellamy snickered. “Yeah, well, that part was obvious.” He paused,
waiting for Clarke to continue. “So,” he prodded, “what happened?”
“He did something unforgivable.”
Instead of making a joke or using the opportunity to make a jab at Wells,
Bellamy grew serious. “I don’t think anything’s unforgivable,” he said
quietly. “Not if it’s done for the right reasons.”
Clarke didn’t say anything, but couldn’t help wondering whether he was
talking about what Octavia had done to be Confined, or something else.
Bellamy glanced up, as if the treetops had caught his attention, then
looked back at Clarke. “I’m not saying he didn’t do something terrible,
whatever it was. All I mean is that I sort of understand where he’s coming
from.” He reached out to run his finger along the bright-yellow moss
spiraling up the trunk of a tree. “Wells and I are the only two people who
chose to be here, who came for a reason.”
Clarke started to reply, but realized that she wasn’t sure what to say.
They were so different on the surface—Wells, whose belief in structure and
authority had resulted in her parents’ execution, and Bellamy, the hotheaded
Waldenite who’d held the Chancellor at gunpoint. But they were both
willing to do anything to get what they wanted. To protect the people they
cared about.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly, surprised by his insight.
Bellamy paused, then increased his stride, suddenly excited by whatever
he saw. “It was up here,” he said, pulling her up another shallow slope into
a clearing. The grass was dotted with white flowers, except for a spot about
halfway down that was burned black. Pieces of the dropship lay scattered
about like bones. Clarke broke into a run.
She heard Bellamy call her name but didn’t bother to look back. She
stumbled forward, hope blooming in her chest. “Come on, come on, come
on,” she muttered to herself as she began rummaging through the wreckage
with a manic frenzy.
Then she saw them. The metal boxes that had once been white but were
now discolored by the dirt and flames. She grabbed the closest one and held
it up, her heart pounding so fast it became difficult to breathe. Clarke
fumbled with the misshapen clasp. It wouldn’t open. The heat had welded
the hinges shut. Frantically, she shook the box, praying that the medicine
had survived.
The sound of pill bottles rattling around inside was the sweetest thing
she had ever heard.
“Is that it?” Bellamy asked, skidding to a breathless stop next to her.
“Can you open this?” Clarke shoved the box at his chest. He held it up,
squinting at the clasp. “Let me see.” He removed a knife from his pocket,
and with a few quick movements, pried the chest open.
Exhilaration fizzed through Clarke’s body. Before she realized what she
was doing, she had thrown her arms around Bellamy. He joined in her
laughter as he staggered backward, and wrapped his arms around her waist,
lifting her up and spinning her through the air. The colors of the clearing
swirled, green and gold and blue all blurring until there was nothing in the
world but Bellamy’s smile, lighting up his eyes.
Finally, he set her down gently on the ground. But he didn’t loosen his
hold. Instead, he pulled her even closer, and before Clarke had time to catch
her breath, his lips were on hers.
A voice in the back of her brain told her to stop, but it was overpowered
by the smell of his skin and the pressure of his touch.
Clarke felt like she was melting into his arms, losing herself in the kiss.
He tasted like joy, and joy tasted better on Earth.
CHAPTER 16
Glass
“I don’t know,” Sonja said slowly, squinting at her daughter in the dim light
of the bedroom. “What if we take the skirt off that one and combine it with
the green bodice?”
Glass forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. She’d been trying on
gowns for two hours, and they were no closer to picking one for the comet
viewing party than when they’d started. “Whatever you think, Mom,” she
said, hoping her smile didn’t look as strained as it felt.
“I’m not sure.” Glass’s mother sighed. “It’ll be hard to have it ready in
time, but we’ll just have to do our best.”
Glass reminded herself that her mother was only trying to help. She saw
the comet viewing party as the perfect moment for Glass to reenter Phoenix
society, armed with the official pardon and dressed to perfection. Glass
knew the Vice Chancellor would be there, and that it was essential to play
her part; she’d gotten back her life in exchange for giving him a better
image, which was a more than fair trade-off. Still, Glass felt anxious about
making herself the center of attention.
“Or maybe we should go back to the tulle?” Her mother gestured to the
pile of discarded gowns. “Just put it back on and we can—” She was cut off
by the beep of a message alert from the kitchen.
“I’ll get it,” Glass said quickly, hurrying from the room before her
mother had time to protest. It wouldn’t be for her, of course. Her friends
only contacted each other via chips; message screens were generally
reserved for pointless updates from sanitation, or slightly more ominous
alerts from the Council. But it would at least provide a brief respite from
dress talk. Glass projected the message queue in the air in front of her. Her
breath caught in her chest as she saw the blinking name at the top. It was
from Luke.
Dear Miss Sorenson,
Security recovered a missing item of yours near the solar fields. It
will be held at the checkpoint until 1600 today.
She had to read it several times before the message sank in. She
and Luke had created this system long ago, before she got her chip,
in case her mother ever snooped through her messages. He wanted
her to meet him by the solar fields that afternoon.
“Glass?” Sonja called from the other room. “What was it?”
She deleted the message quickly. “Just a reminder about the
comet viewing, as if we could forget!” She glanced at the clock and
sighed. It was only 1015. The next few hours were going to pass
more slowly than they had in Confinement.
“Oh,” Glass’s mother gasped when Glass stepped back into the
bedroom. “Maybe this is the one after all. You look beautiful.”
Glass turned hesitantly toward the mirror. She saw what her
mother meant. But it wasn’t the dress. Her cheeks were flushed, her
eyes bright with anticipation.
She looked like a girl in love.
At 1540, Glass climbed the endless flight of stairs up to the solar fields that
covered the top of Walden. The plants themselves were off-limits to
everyone except scientists and gatherers, but there was a small, enclosed
deck overlooking the fields. It must’ve been designed for supervising the
workers but had fallen out of use and was almost always empty.
When she reached the top, Glass moved to the edge of the platform and
sat down against the railing, her legs dangling over the side. She felt her
body relax as her eyes traveled over the rows of plants stretching their
leaves toward the solar panels. The far side of the field was bordered by an
enormous window that made it look as though the crops were growing right
out of the stars. She and Luke used to meet here all the time. It was safer
than him sneaking onto Phoenix, or having Glass wander through his
residential unit.
“Hey.”
Glass turned to see Luke standing stiffly behind her. She started to get to
her feet, but he shook his head. “Can I join you?” She nodded and moved
her legs to the side to make room, and he lowered himself to the ground.
“Thanks for coming,” he said awkwardly. “Your mom didn’t suspect
anything, did she?”
“It’s fine. She was too busy trying to solve a dress crisis.”
Luke surprised Glass with a smile, then cleared his throat. “Glass, I… I
haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened,” he said, and her
whole body tensed. She kept her eyes trained carefully on the ground. “I
mean, what someone like you could possibly be Confined for. But then I
remembered—a few months after we broke up, I heard a rumor about a girl
on Phoenix who was arrested for…” His voice broke as he trailed off. Glass
turned back to face him and saw that his eyes were glistening. “The timing
made sense. But I never believed it could be you.” Luke stared straight
ahead, as if looking at something far in the distance. “I told myself that
you’d never keep something like that a secret from me. I needed to believe
that you trusted me more than that.”
Glass bit her lip, trying to hold back the flood of words welling up in her
throat. She so desperately wanted to tell him, but what good would come
from admitting the truth? Better to let him think she was just a silly, spoiled
Phoenix girl who’d broken his heart. He was happy with Camille right now
—and he deserved to be happy.
But then Luke reached over and cupped her chin in his hand, and all her
thoughts faded away.
Glass woke up smiling. Although it’d been a few weeks since the night she and Luke had spent
together, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. But just as she began to replay the events in her head, a
wave of nausea rolled over her.
She tumbled out of bed and staggered through the hallway to the bathroom, grateful that the
lights were working, probably thanks to her mother’s new “friend,” the head of the Resource Board.
Glass sank to the cold floor of the bathroom and quickly shut the door behind her, her brain
battling with her stomach. She forced herself to breathe, trying to keep quiet. The last thing she
needed was for her mother to drag her off to the medical center.
Her stomach won out, and Glass leaned over the toilet just in time. She gagged, tears stinging
her eyes, then slumped back against the wall. There was no way she’d be able to meet Wells for
lunch, although she felt terrible standing him up again. She’d been spending all her time with Luke,
and hadn’t been much of a friend to Wells lately. She missed him. He never seemed to resent her
flakiness, which somehow made her feel worse. Especially after everything that had happened with
his mother, and now Clarke was apparently acting strange… She really needed to catch up with him.
“Glass?” her mother called out from the other side of the door. “What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing,” Glass said, trying to keep her voice light.
“Are you ill?”
Glass groaned softly. Their new flat had no privacy. She missed their old, spacious flat with the
windows full of stars. She still didn’t understand why they’d had to downgrade just because her
father had made the unusual and mortifying decision to sever his marriage contract and move out.
“I’m coming in,” her mother’s voice called from the other side of the door. Glass hastily wiped
her mouth and tried to rise to her feet but slid back down as another wave of nausea sent her
stomach into revolt. The door opened and Glass saw her mother, dressed for an evening out despite
the fact that it wasn’t even noon. But before she had a chance to ask where she was going—or where
she was coming from—her mother’s eyes widened, and she visibly paled under her generously
applied blush. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Glass said, try to shake the haze from her mind long enough to come up with an
explanation that would get her mother to leave her alone. Stomach viruses were rare on Phoenix, and
anyone who seemed vaguely contagious was required to spend the duration of their illness in
quarantine. “I’m fine.”
“Were you”—Sonja looked behind her and lowered her voice, which was ridiculous considering
they were the only two people in the flat—“throwing up?”
“Yes, but I’m fine. I think I just—”
“Oh my god,” her mother said, closing her eyes.
“I’m not sick, I promise. I don’t need to be quarantined. I’ve just been nauseous the past few
mornings, but it goes away by the afternoon.”
When her mother opened her eyes, she didn’t look any less worried. The room started to spin,
and Sonja’s voice grew faint, as if she were speaking from somewhere far away. Glass could barely
make out her question, something about how long it’d been since her last—
Suddenly, Glass’s confusion hardened into a ball of dread. She looked up at Sonja and saw the
terrifying realization reflected in her mother’s eyes.
“Glass.” Sonja’s voice was hoarse. “You’re pregnant.”
Staring at Luke’s face, full of sympathy and understanding, Glass felt her
last bit of self-control shatter. “I’m sorry.” Her breath caught in her throat as
she tried to stifle a sob. “I should’ve told you, I just—I didn’t see any
reason for both of us to die.”
“Oh, Glass.” Luke reached out and wrapped his arms tight around her.
She nestled gratefully into his familiar embrace, her tears spilling onto the
jacket of his guard uniform. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “I can’t
believe you did this all on your own. I knew you were brave, but I never
thought… What happened?” he asked finally, and Glass knew what he
meant. Who he was referring to.
“He—” She swallowed as she struggled to breathe. It felt like her heart
was about to break apart, unable to contain both the grief and relief pouring
into her chest. Finally, she just shook her head. There were no words.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, grabbing her hand and lacing his fingers
between hers, squeezing it tight. “I’m so sorry.” He sighed. “Why didn’t
you tell me any of this the night you escaped? I had no idea.” He closed his
eyes as if to shut out the memory.
“You were with Camille. I knew she was a good friend of yours, and I
figured… you’d finally found someone who made you happy.” Glass
smiled and wiped away the tears that were still running down her face.
“You deserved it, after everything I put you through.”
Luke reached out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “There’s only
one person in the universe who can make me happy, and she’s sitting right
here with me.” He stared at her, as if drinking her in. “From the moment I
saw you again, I knew it wasn’t Camille—she’s a great friend, always will
be, but that’s all she is to me now, and I’ve told her that. I love you, Glass. I
never stopped loving you. And I never will.”
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, lightly at first, as if
giving their mouths a chance to become reacquainted. For a moment it felt
like their first kiss all over again. But a moment was all it took.
He pressed against Glass, her lips parting as his mouth sank into hers.
She was vaguely aware of his hand tangling in her hair, then slipping down
her back, pulling her closer to him as he wrapped his other arm around her
waist.
Finally, Glass shifted back and let her lips break away from his. “I love
you,” she whispered, needing desperately to say it. I love you I love you I
love you throbbed through her body as Luke smiled and pulled her back to
him.
CHAPTER 17
Wells
It was nearly noon, and Clarke had been gone for hours. One of the
Arcadian girls had seen her head into the woods earlier that morning, and it
had taken all of Wells’s self-control to keep from running after her. The
thought of her venturing off on her own made his stomach feel like a
punching bag for his imagination. But he had to accept that, of all the
people in camp, Clarke knew how to take care of herself. He also knew how
important it was to find the missing medicine. Just yesterday, they’d dug
another grave.
He wandered toward the de facto cemetery that had cropped up on the
far side of the clearing. Over the past few days, Wells had arranged for
wooden markers to be placed at the head of each mound, something he
remembered from old photographs. He’d wanted to carve the names onto
the crosses, but he only knew the names of three of the five kids sleeping
beneath the soil, and it didn’t seem right to leave the others blank.
He shuddered and turned back to the graves. The concept of burying the
dead had initially struck him as repulsive, but there hadn’t seemed to be any
alternative. The thought of burning the bodies was even worse. But
although the normal practice of releasing corpses into space was certainly
tidier, there was something reassuring about gathering the dead together.
Even in death, they’d never be alone.
It was also strangely comforting to have a place to visit, to say the things
you couldn’t say to people you could see. Someone, possibly a Walden girl
he’d seen flitting near the trees, had gathered fallen branches and rested
them along the wooden markers. In the evening, the pods still glowed to
life, casting a soft light over the cemetery that gave it an almost unearthly
beauty. It would have been nice to have somewhere on the ship where it
wouldn’t have seemed strange to talk to his mother.
Wells glanced up at the darkening sky. He had no idea if the Colony lost
contact with the dropship when it crashed, but he hoped that the monitors in
the bracelets were still transmitting data about their blood composition and
heart rates. They must have collected enough information to prove that
Earth was safe, and would surely begin sending groups of citizens down
soon. For a moment he dared to let himself hope that his father and Glass
would be among them.
“What are you doing over here?”
Wells turned and saw Octavia moving toward him slowly. Her ankle was
healing quickly; her limp was starting to look like a saunter.
“I don’t know. Paying my respects, I suppose.” He gestured toward the
graves. “But I was just leaving,” he added quickly as he watched her toss
her dark hair over her shoulder. “It’s my turn to go for water.”
“I’ll go with you.” Octavia smiled, and Wells looked away
uncomfortably. The long lashes that made her look so innocent when she
was sleeping in the infirmary tent now lent a feral gleam to her enormous
blue eyes.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea with your ankle? It’s a long walk.”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice full of playful exasperation as she fell into
stride next to him. “Though you’re very sweet to be concerned. You know,”
she went on, increasing her pace to catch up with Wells, who hadn’t noticed
he’d lengthened his step, “it’s ridiculous that everyone hangs on to
Graham’s every word. You know so much more than he does.”
Wells grabbed one of the empty jugs next to the supply tent and turned
toward the forest. They’d discovered a stream not far from camp, and
everyone strong enough to carry a full container took turns going for water.
At least, they were supposed to take turns. He hadn’t seen Graham go for
days.
Octavia paused as Wells stepped across the tree line. “Are you coming?”
he asked, throwing a glance over his shoulder.
She tilted her head back, her eyes widening as she scanned the shadowy
outlines of the trees in the fading light. “I’m coming.” Her voice grew quiet
as she darted to Wells’s side. “I haven’t been in the woods yet.”
Wells softened. Even he, who’d spent most of his life dreaming about
coming to Earth, found it frightening at times—the vastness, the unfamiliar
sounds, the sense that anything could be hiding beyond the light of the
campfire. And he’d had time to prepare. He could only imagine what it was
like for the others, who were snatched from their cells and shoved onto the
dropship before they had time to process what was going on, that they were
being sent to a foreign planet that had never been more to them than an
empty word.
“Careful,” he said, pointing at a tangle of roots hidden by a mass of
purple leaves. “The ground gets pretty uneven here.”
Wells took Octavia’s small hand and helped her climb over a fallen tree.
It was strange to think that something without a pulse could die, but the
soggy, peeling bark was decidedly corpse-like.
“So is it true?” Octavia asked as they began walking down the slope that
led to the stream. “Did you really get yourself Confined so you could come
with Clarke?”
“I suppose it is.”
She sighed wistfully. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
Wells gave her a wry smile. “Trust me, it’s not.”
“What do you mean?” Octavia asked, cocking her head to one side. In
the shadows of the forest, she looked almost childlike again.
Wells glanced away, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. He
wondered grimly what Octavia would say if she knew the truth.
He wasn’t the brave knight who’d come to rescue the princess. He was
the reason she’d been locked away in the dungeon.
Wells glanced at his collar chip for the fourteenth time since he’d sat down two minutes earlier. The
message Clarke had sent him earlier that day had sounded anxious, and she’d been acting strange
for the past few weeks. Wells had barely seen her, and the few times he managed to track her down,
she’d been practically twitching with nervous energy.
He couldn’t help but worry that she was about to break up with him. The only thing that kept the
anxiety from burning a hole through his stomach was the knowledge that she probably wouldn’t have
chosen the library to dump him. It’d be cruel to tarnish the spot they both loved best. Clarke wouldn’t
do that to him.
He heard footsteps and rose to his feet as the overhead lights flickered back on. Wells had been
still for so long that the library had forgotten his presence, the dim safety lights on the floor
providing the only light. Clarke approached, still wearing her scrubs, which normally made him
smile—he loved that she didn’t spend hours stressing over her appearance, like most girls on Phoenix
—but the blue top and pants fell too loosely from her frame, and there were dark circles under her
eyes.
“Hey,” he said, stepping forward to kiss her lightly in greeting. She didn’t move away, but she
didn’t kiss him back. “Are you okay?” he asked, even though he knew full well that she wasn’t.
“Wells,” she said, her voice breaking. She blinked back tears. His eyes widened in alarm. Clarke
never cried.
“Hey,” he murmured, putting his arm around her to lead her to the couch. Her legs seemed to
buckle beneath her. “It’ll be okay, I promise. Just tell me what’s going on.”
She stared at him, and he could see her urge to confide in him battling her fear. “I need you to
promise me that you won’t say anything about this to anyone.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“I’m serious. This isn’t gossip. This is real, life-or-death.”
Wells squeezed her hand. “Clarke, you know you can tell me anything.”
“I found out…” She took a breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and then started again. “You
know about my parents’ radiation research.” He nodded. Her parents were in charge of a massive
ongoing study meant to determine when, if ever, it would be safe for humans to return to Earth.
Whenever his father had spoken of an Earth mission, Wells had thought of it as a distant possibility,
more of a hope than a real plan. Still, he knew how important the Griffins’ work was to the
Chancellor and to the whole Colony. “They’re doing human trials,” Clarke said softly. A chill
traveled down Wells’s spine, but he said nothing, just tightened his grasp on her hand. “They’re
experimenting on children,” Clarke finally said, her voice barely a whisper.
Her voice was hollow, as if the thought had been circulating for so long, it no longer held any
meaning. “What children?” he asked, his brain racing to understand.
“Unregistereds,” Clarke said, her tear-filled eyes flashing with sudden anger. “Children from
the care center whose parents were executed for violating the population laws.” He could hear the
unspoken accusation. People your father killed.
“They’re so young.…” Clarke’s voice trailed off. She sank back and seemed to shrink, as if the
truth had taken some part of her with it.
Wells slid his arm behind her, but instead of recoiling as she’d done every day over the past few
weeks, she leaned into him and rested her head against his chest. “They’re all so sick.” He could feel
her tears seeping through his shirt. “Some of them have already died.”
“I’m so sorry, Clarke,” he murmured as he searched for something to say, anything to make her
pain go away. “I’m sure your parents are doing their best to make sure it’s…” He paused. There
weren’t any words that could make it better. He had to do something, to put a stop to it before the
guilt and horror destroyed her. “What can I do?” he asked, his voice becoming firm.
She bolted upright and stared at him, a different kind of terror filling her eyes. “Nothing,” she
said with a resolve that took him by surprise. “You have to promise me that you’ll do nothing. My
parents made me swear not to tell anyone. They didn’t want to do this, Wells. It wasn’t their choice.
Vice Chancellor Rhodes is making them. He threatened them.” She grabbed Wells’s hands. “Promise
me you won’t say anything. I just…” She bit her lip. “I just couldn’t keep it from you anymore. I had
to tell someone.”
“I promise,” he said, though his skin was growing warm with fury. The slimy bastard had no
right to go around the Chancellor like that. He thought of his father, the man who had an unflinching
sense of right and wrong. His father never would have approved human trials. He could put a stop to
it immediately.
Clarke stared at him, searching his eyes, and then gave him a small, trembling smile that
vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Thank you.”
She returned her head to Wells’s chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. “I love you,” he
whispered.
An hour later, after he’d walked Clarke home, Wells headed back along the observation deck
alone. He needed to do something. If something didn’t change soon, the guilt would destroy her, and
he refused to stand by and watch.
Wells had never broken a promise before. It was something his father had impressed upon him
from an early age—a leader never goes back on his word. But then he thought of Clarke’s tears, and
knew he didn’t have a choice.
He turned around and began walking toward his father’s office.
They filled the water jug at the stream and started to make their way back to
the camp. After giving enough one-word answers, Wells had gotten Octavia
to stop asking about Clarke, but now she was walking along sullenly, and he
felt guilty. She was a sweet girl, and he knew she meant well. How had she
wound up here?
“So,” Wells said, breaking the silence, “what could you have possibly
done to end up in Confinement?”
Octavia looked at him in surprise. “Haven’t you heard my brother
talking about it?” She gave him a tight smile. “He loves telling people about
how I was caught stealing food for the younger kids in the care center—the
little ones who are always bullied into giving up their rations—and how the
monsters on the Council Confined me without batting an eye.”
Something in Octavia’s voice gave him pause. “Is that really how it
happened?”
“Does it matter?” she asked with a weariness that suddenly made her
seem older than fourteen. “We’re all going to think what we want about
each other. If that’s the story Bellamy needs to believe, then I’m not going
to stop him.”
Wells stopped to rearrange the heavy water jug. Somehow, they’d ended
up in a different part of the woods. The trees grew even closer together
here, and he could see far enough ahead to tell how far they’d strayed.
“Are we lost?” Octavia glanced from side to side, and even in the dim
light he could see the panic flash across her face.
“We’ll be fine. I just need to—” He stopped as a sound shuddered
through the air.
“What was that?” Octavia asked. “Are we—”
Wells cut her off with a shush and took a step forward. It sounded like a
twig snapping, which meant that something was moving just behind the
trees. He kicked himself for not bringing a weapon. It would’ve been nice
to bring back his own kill, to show that Bellamy wasn’t the only one who
could learn how to hunt. The sound came again, and Wells’s frustration
turned to fear. Forget catching dinner—if he wasn’t careful, he and Octavia
might become dinner themselves.
He was about to grab her hand and run away when something caught his
eye. A glint of reddish gold. Wells lowered the water jug and took a few
steps forward. “Stay here,” he whispered.
Just ahead, he could see an open space beyond the trees. Some kind of
clearing. He was about to shout the name hovering on his lips when he
froze, skidding to a stop.
Clarke was standing in the grass, locked in an embrace with none other
than Bellamy. As she brought her lips up to the Waldenite, fury tore through
Wells. Heat shot up through his chest to settle in his racing heart.
Somehow, he managed to wrench his eyes away and stagger back into
the trees before a wave of nausea sent his head spinning. He grabbed on to a
branch for balance, gasping as he tried to force air into his lungs. The girl
he’d risked his life to protect wasn’t just kissing someone else—she was
kissing the hothead who may have gotten his father killed.
“Whoa.” Octavia’s voice came from beside him. “Their walk looks a lot
more fun than ours.”
But Wells had already turned and begun walking in the other direction.
He was vaguely aware of Octavia scampering after him, asking something
about a medicine chest, but her voice was drowned out by the pulsing of
blood in his head. He didn’t care whether they’d found the missing
medicine. There was no drug strong enough to repair a broken heart.
CHAPTER 18
Clarke
By the time Clarke and Bellamy returned to camp with the medicine,
darkness had fallen. She’d only been in the woods for a few hours, but as
they stepped through the tree line into the clearing, it felt like she’d left a
lifetime ago.
They’d spent most of the walk back in silence, but every time Clarke’s
arm accidentally brushed against Bellamy’s, electricity seemed to dance
across her skin. She’d been mortified after their kiss, and had spent the next
five minutes stammering an apology while he grinned. Eventually, he cut
her off with a laugh and told her not to worry about it. “I know you’re not
the type of girl to make out with random guys in the woods,” he’d said with
a mischievous grin, “but maybe you should be.”
But as they approached the clearing, all thoughts of the kiss were pushed
aside by the shadowy outline of the infirmary tent. Clarke took off with the
medicine tucked under her arm.
The tent was empty except for a delirious, feverish Thalia, and to
Clarke’s surprise, Octavia, who was just settling back in her old cot. “The
other tent is just so small,” Octavia was saying, but Clarke couldn’t do more
than nod.
She flung the medicine chest onto the floor, filled a syringe, and plunged
the needle into Thalia’s arm. Then Clarke turned back to the box, searching
for painkillers. She quickly gave Thalia a dose and smiled as her friend’s
face relaxed in sleep.
Clarke knelt next to Thalia for a few more minutes, breathing a deep
sigh of relief at her steady pulse. For a moment, she looked down at the
bracelet on her wrist and wondered if, somewhere up in the sky, someone
was monitoring her own heart rate. Dr. Lahiri, perhaps, or another of the
Colony’s top doctors, reading the hundred’s vital signs like the day’s news.
Surely they had seen that five people had died already.… She wondered if
they’d chalk the deaths up to radiation poisoning and rethink their
colonization efforts, or if they’d be smart enough to realize they’d been
killed because of the rough landing. She wasn’t sure which scenario she
preferred. She certainly wasn’t ready for the Council to extend its
jurisdiction to Earth. And yet her mother and father had devoted their lives
to helping humanity return home. A permanent settlement would mean, in a
way, that her parents had succeeded too. That they hadn’t died for nothing.
Finally, she scooped the medicine back into the chest and placed it in the
corner of the tent. Tomorrow, she’d find a place to lock it up, but for now,
Clarke felt like she could finally rest. If someone was indeed monitoring
their body count up in space, she was going to make damn sure they didn’t
drop below ninety-five.
She took a few shaky steps and collapsed on her cot without even
bothering to take off her shoes.
“Is she going to be okay?” Octavia asked. Her voice sounded far away.
Clarke murmured yes. She could barely open her eyelids.
“What other medicine was in there?”
“Everything,” Clarke said. Or at least, she tried to say it. By the time the
word reached her lips, exhaustion had numbed her brain. The last thing she
remembered was hearing Octavia rise from her cot before falling into a
deep, dreamless sleep.
When Clarke awoke the next morning, Octavia was gone, and bright light
was streaming in through the tent flap.
Thalia lay on her side, still asleep. Clarke rose with a groan, her muscles
stiff from their hike yesterday. But it was a good kind of pain; she’d walked
through a forest that hadn’t been seen by a single human being in three
hundred years. Her stomach squirmed as she thought about another
distinction she’d inadvertently earned—the first girl to kiss a boy on Earth
since the Cataclysm.
Clarke smiled as she hurried over to Thalia. She couldn’t wait until she
was well enough to hear all about it. She pressed the back of her hand
against her friend’s forehead and was relieved to feel that it was cooler than
it had been last night. She gently pulled back the blanket to look at Thalia’s
stomach. Her skin still showed signs of an infection, but it hadn’t spread
any farther. As long as Thalia had a full course of antibiotics, she’d make a
full recovery.
It was hard to know exactly, but based on the strength of the light, she
guessed that at least eight hours had passed since Thalia’s last dose. She
turned and walked over to the corner where she’d stashed the medicine
chest, frowning slightly as she realized it was open. Clarke crouched down
and inhaled sharply, blinking to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks
on her.
The chest was empty.
All the antibiotics, the painkillers, even the syringes—they were all
gone. “No,” Clarke whispered. There was nothing. “No,” she said again,
scrambling to her feet. She ran over to the nearest cot and started to throw
the bedding aside, then did the same with her own.
Her eyes landed on Octavia’s cot, and her panic momentarily hardened
into suspicion. She hurried over and began rummaging through the pile of
blankets. “Come on,” she muttered to herself, but her hands came up empty.
“No.” She kicked the ground. The medicine wasn’t in the tent, that much
was clear. But whoever had taken it couldn’t have gone far. There were
fewer than a hundred human beings on the planet, and Clarke wasn’t going
to rest until she found the thief who was jeopardizing Thalia’s life. She
probably wouldn’t have to look very far.
After a quick search of the flat to make sure her parents weren’t home, Clarke hurried to the lab and
entered the code. She kept expecting her parents to change the password, but either they didn’t know
how often she visited the kids, or they didn’t want to stop her. Perhaps they liked knowing that Clarke
was keeping them company.
As she made her way toward Lilly, Clarke smiled at the others, though her chest tightened when
she saw how few were awake. Most were growing sicker, and there were more empty beds than
there’d been the last time.
She tried to force this thought out of her head as she approached Lilly, but as her eyes locked on
her friend, her hands began to tremble.
Lilly was dying. Her eyes barely fluttered open when Clarke whispered her name, and even when
her lips moved, she didn’t have the strength to turn the shapes into words.
There were more flaky red patches on her skin, although fewer of them were bleeding, as Lilly no
longer had the energy to scratch them. Clarke sat there, fighting a wave of nausea as she watched the
irregular rise and fall of her friend’s chest. The worst part was that she knew this was only the
beginning. The other subjects had lingered on for weeks, their symptoms growing increasingly
gruesome as the radiation poisoning progressed through their bodies.
For a moment, Clarke imagined carrying Lilly to the medical center, where they could at least
put her on high-intensity pain medication even if it was too late to save her. But that would be
tantamount to asking the Vice Chancellor to execute her parents. Then he’d just find someone else to
finish what her mother and father had started. All Clarke hoped was that their research proved
conclusive so that the experiments could stop, so that these test subjects wouldn’t have suffered in
vain.
Lilly’s translucent eyelids fluttered open. “Hey, Clarke,” she croaked, the beginnings of a smile
flickering on her face before a new wave of pain washed them away.
Clarke reached over and grasped Lilly’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Hey,” she whispered.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Lilly lied, wincing as she struggled to sit up.
“It’s okay.” Clarke placed a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need to sit.”
“No, I want to.” The girl’s voice was strained.
Clarke gently helped her sit, then adjusted the pillows behind her. She suppressed a shudder as
her fingers brushed against Lilly’s back. She could feel every vertebra poking out from her sallow
skin.
“How did you like the Dickens anthology?” Clarke asked, glancing under Lilly’s bed, where they
kept the books Clarke had stolen from the library.
“I only read the first story, the one about Oliver Twist.” Lilly gave Clarke a weak smile. “My
vision is…” She trailed off. They both knew that once the subjects had trouble seeing, the end wasn’t
far. “But I didn’t like it, anyway. It reminded me too much of the care center.”
Clarke hadn’t asked any questions about Lilly’s life before this. She’d gotten the sense that Lilly
didn’t want to talk about it. “Was it really that bad?” she said carefully.
Lilly shrugged. “We all looked out for one another. We didn’t have anyone else. Well, except this
one girl. She had a brother, a real-life older brother.” She looked down, suddenly blushing. “He
was… nice. He used to bring her things—extra food, pieces of ribbon…”
“Really?” Clarke asked, pretending to believe the comment about a girl with a brother as she
brushed a lock of hair off Lilly’s damp forehead. Even this far along in her sickness, Lilly had a flair
for the dramatic.
“He sounds nice,” Clarke said vaguely as her eyes flitted toward the bald patches on Lilly’s
head, which were becoming difficult to ignore.
“Anyway,” Lilly said, her voice strained, “I want to hear about your birthday. What are you
going to wear?”
Clarke had almost forgotten that her birthday was next week. She didn’t feel much like
celebrating. “Oh, you know, my best scrubs,” she said lightly. “I’d rather hang out here with you
than go to some silly party, anyway.”
“Oh, Clarke,” Lilly groaned in mock exasperation. “You have to do something. You’re starting
to be seriously boring. Besides, I want to hear about your birthday dress.” She winced suddenly,
doubling over in pain.
“Are you okay?” Clarke asked, her hand on Lilly’s fragile arm.
“It hurts,” Lilly gasped.
“Can I get you anything? Do you want some water?”
Lilly opened her eyes, which were now pleading. “You can make it stop, Clarke.” She was cut off
by a groan. “Please make it stop. It’s only a matter of time.…”
Clarke turned her head to the side so Lilly wouldn’t see her tears. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered,
forcing a fake smile. “I promise.”
Lilly whimpered before falling silent again, then leaned back and closed her eyes.
Clarke pulled the blankets up over her friend’s chest, trying to ignore the demon that was
clawing its way to the front of her mind. She knew what Lilly was asking for. And it wouldn’t be
difficult. She was so frail at this point, it would take just a few well-combined painkillers to ease her
into a coma. She’d slip away painlessly.
What am I thinking? Clarke asked herself, drawing back in horror. The blood on her parents’
hands had spread to her own. This whole nightmare had infected her, turned her into a monster. Or
maybe it wasn’t her parents’ fault. Maybe she’d always had this darkness inside of her, waiting to
rise to the surface.
Just as she was about to leave, Lilly spoke again. “Please,” she begged. “If you love me,
please.” Her voice was quiet but contained an edge of desperation that terrified Clarke. “Just make
it all stop.”
Bellamy was chopping wood on the far side of the clearing. Although the
morning was cool, his T-shirt was already soaked through with sweat.
Clarke tried not to notice how it clung to his muscular chest. When he saw
her running toward him, he lowered his ax to the ground and turned to face
her with a grin.
“Well, hello there,” he said as she came to a stop and paused to catch her
breath. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?” He stepped forward and placed
his hand on her waist, but Clarke swatted his arm away.
“Where’s your sister?” she asked. “I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Why?” Urgency shoved the playfulness out of his voice. “What’s
wrong?”
“The medicine we found is missing.” Clarke took a deep breath, bracing
herself for her next words. “And I think Octavia took it.”
“What?” His eyes narrowed.
“She was the only other person in the tent last night, and she seemed
really fixated on the drugs—”
“No,” Bellamy snapped, cutting her off. “Of all the criminals on this
goddamn planet, you think my sister is the thief?” He stared at her, his eyes
burning with anger. But when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “I
thought you were different. But I was wrong. You’re just another stupid
Phoenix bitch who thinks she knows better than everyone else.”
He kicked the handle of the ax, then pushed past her without another
word.
For a moment, Clarke stood rooted to the ground, too stunned by
Bellamy’s words to move. But then she felt something inside her tear, and
suddenly she was running toward the trees, staggering into the shade of the
forest canopy. Her throat raw, she slumped onto the ground, wrapping her
arms around her knees to keep the anguish from flowing out of her chest.
Alone in the shadows, Clarke did something else on Earth for the first
time. She cried.
CHAPTER 19
Bellamy
Bellamy paused to adjust the bird that he’d slung over his shoulder. The
confrontation with Clarke had left him so agitated that he’d grabbed his
bow and stormed off into the woods without a second thought. Only after
shooting this bird near the stream had he started to calm down. It was a
good kill—his first bird, much harder than animals on the ground—and its
feathers would be perfect for the new arrows he’d been working on, to take
with them when he and Octavia headed out on their own. As he stepped
back into camp, he realized that he hadn’t seen Octavia since early that
morning, and felt a twinge of concern. He should have checked on her
before he left.
The fire was already built up, and a dozen faces turned to look at
Bellamy as he approached. But no one was smiling. He shifted the bird over
to his other shoulder to give them a better view of his kill. Why the hell
were they staring at him like that?
An angry shout pulled his attention to a group at the far end of the
clearing, near the wreckage of the dropship. They were clustered in a circle
around something on the ground. He inhaled sharply as the shape on the
ground moved.
Then he saw her, and his confusion erupted into a rage unlike anything
he’d ever felt.
It was Octavia.
He threw the bird on the ground and broke into a run.
“Out of my way,” Bellamy shouted as he forced his way inside the
circle.
Octavia was on the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. Graham
and a few of the Arcadians stood over her, a deranged gleam in their eyes.
“Get away from her,” Bellamy bellowed as he charged forward. But
before he could reach Octavia, an arm hooked around his neck, nearly
crushing his windpipe. Bellamy wheezed and looked around frantically.
Wells was standing in front of him, his expression cold and firm. “What the
hell?” Bellamy sputtered. “Get out of my way.”
When Wells didn’t move, Bellamy gritted his teeth and lunged at him,
but someone else had a hold on his collar and jerked him back. “Get off of
me!” Bellamy spat, shooting his elbow back with enough force to make
whoever was behind him grunt and let go.
Octavia was still on the ground, her eyes wide with terror as she looked
from Bellamy to Graham, who was standing over her. “You better tell me
what’s going on, right now,” Bellamy said through clenched teeth.
“I heard you and Clarke talking about the missing medicine earlier,”
Wells said with infuriating calmness. “No one besides Octavia knew about
it. She must have taken it.”
“I didn’t take anything.” Octavia sobbed. She wiped her face with the
back of her hand and sniffed. “They’ve all gone crazy.” She rose shakily to
her feet and started to take a step toward Bellamy.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Graham snapped, grabbing Octavia’s
wrist and wrenching her back.
“Let go of her!” Bellamy bellowed. He dove for Graham, but Wells
stepped in front of him, and someone else wrenched his arm behind his
back. “Get off of me!” Bellamy thrashed wildly as he tried to wrench
himself free, but there were too many sets of hands holding him down,
locking him in place.
“Look,” Bellamy continued, trying in vain to keep his voice steady,
“she’s been injured ever since we landed. Do you really think she was up to
stealing medicine and dragging it off somewhere outside of camp?”
“She was up to following me into the woods yesterday,” Wells answered
calmly. “We walked pretty far together.”
Bellamy thrashed against the arms holding him, unable to quell his rage
as the implication of Wells’s words sank in. If he so much as laid a hand on
his sister…
“Just take it easy,” Wells said. He nodded at a Walden boy, who stepped
forward with a coil of rope.
“Then tell that creep to take his disgusting hands off my sister,” Bellamy
spat.
Clarke suddenly appeared, pushing her way through the crowd. “What’s
going on?” she asked, her eyes wide when they landed on Octavia. “Are
you okay?” Octavia shook her head, tears streaming down her face.
“We just need Octavia to tell us where the medicine is,” Wells said
calmly, “and then we’ll get this all sorted out.”
“I don’t have it.” Octavia’s voice had grown ragged.
“We know you’re lying,” Graham hissed. Octavia yelped as he tightened
his hold on her wrist, and Bellamy struggled against the hands that held
him. “You’re only making things worse.”
“So what are you going to do?” Bellamy spat at Wells. “Keep us both
tied up?”
“Exactly,” Wells said, his jaw tightening. “We’ll keep Octavia locked up
until she tells us where she hid the medicine, or we find evidence pointing
to another suspect.”
“Lock her up?” Bellamy made a show of looking around the clearing.
“And how do you propose to do that?”
Clarke stepped forward, a tense look on her face. “I spend most of the
day in the infirmary tent, anyway,” she said curtly. “Octavia can stay there.
I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t sneak off.”
“Are you serious?” Graham snorted. “She stole the medicine from under
your nose, and your plan is to keep an eye on her?”
Clarke turned to Graham with a scowl. “If that’s not good enough for
you, Graham, you can post a guard outside the door.”
“This is ridiculous.” Bellamy’s whole body was beginning to shake as
his anger smoldered into exhaustion. “Look at her,” he said weakly. “She’s
obviously not a danger to anyone. Just untie her and I promise I won’t let
her out of my sight.” He scanned the crowd that had assembled around
them, scouring the audience for a sympathetic face. Surely someone else
saw that this whole thing was complete bullshit. But no one was willing to
meet his eyes.
“You’re all insane.” His mouth curled into a snarl as he turned back to
face Graham. “You set her up. You stole those meds.”
Graham snickered and shot a look at Asher. “I told you he was going to
say that.”
The sky was growing dark, the clouds weaving into a blanket of gray.
Bellamy took a deep breath. “Fine. Believe whatever you want. Just untie
Octavia and let us go. We’ll leave camp for good. We won’t even take any
of your precious supplies.” He glanced at his sister, but she didn’t look
happy at the idea; her features seemed frozen in shock. “You’ll never have
to think about us again.”
A fleeting look of pain crossed Clarke’s face before she retreated behind
her mask of steely resolve. She’ll get over it, Bellamy thought bitterly.
She’d find someone else to go traipsing through the woods with her.
“I don’t think so,” Graham said, sneering. “Not until we get back the
meds. We can’t let anyone else die just because your little sister’s a drug
addict.”
The accusation made every nerve in Bellamy’s body sizzle until his
fingers itched to close around Graham’s neck.
“Enough,” Clarke said, shaking her head at Graham and raising a hand.
“I want the medicine back more than anyone, but you’re not helping.”
“Fine,” Bellamy snapped. “But I’m taking her into the tent. And no one
is going to put their hands on her again.”
He wrenched free from his captors and strode over to Octavia, grabbing
her hand as he locked eyes with Graham. “You’re going to regret this,”
Bellamy said in a low, dangerous voice. He wrapped his arm around his
trembling sister and led her toward the infirmary tent, a grim determination
overtaking him.
He’d do whatever it took to protect her. He always had.
It was the third guard visit in the last few months. They had been coming more often that year, and
Octavia was getting bigger. Bellamy tried not to think about what would happen next time, but even
he knew they wouldn’t be able to hide her forever.
“I can’t believe they looked in the closet,” his mother said hoarsely, staring at Octavia, whom
Bellamy had carried to the couch. “Thank god she didn’t cry.”
Bellamy looked over at his toddler sister. Everything about her was miniaturized, from her tiny
sock-clad feet to her impossibly small fingers. Everything except her round cheeks and enormous
eyes, which always glistened with tears she never seemed to shed. Was it normal for a two-year-old
to be so quiet? Did she somehow know what would happen if someone found her?
Bellamy walked over and sat down next to Octavia, who turned her head to stare at him with her
deep-blue eyes. He reached forward to touch one of her dark, glossy curls. She looked just like that
doll head he’d found while scavenging for relics in the storage room. He’d thought about taking it
home to Octavia, but decided the ration points he’d get for it at the Exchange were more important.
He also hadn’t been sure whether it was right to give a baby a disembodied doll’s head, no matter
how pretty it was.
He grinned as Octavia grabbed his finger with her tiny fist. “Hey, give that back,” he said,
pretending to wince. She smiled but didn’t giggle. He couldn’t remember ever hearing her laugh.
“It was too close,” his mother was muttering to herself as she paced back and forth. “Too
close… too close… too close.”
“Mom. Are you okay?” Bellamy asked, feeling his panic return. She walked over to the sink,
which was still spilling over with dishes despite the fact that this morning had been their water hour.
He hadn’t been able to finish before the guards came. It would be another five days before they’d
have the chance to wash them again.
There was a faint crash down the hallway, followed by a peal of laughter. His mother gasped and
looked around the flat. “Get her back in the closet.”
Bellamy put his arm in front of Octavia. “It’s fine,” he said. “The guards were just here. They’re
not going to be back for a while.”
His mother took a step forward. Her eyes were wide and full of terror. “Get her out of here!”
“No,” Bellamy said, sliding off the couch and standing in front of Octavia. “That wasn’t even the
guards. It was just someone messing around. She doesn’t need to go back in yet.”
Octavia whimpered but fell silent as their mother fixed her with a wild-eyed stare.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” their mother was muttering, running her hands distractedly through her
already disheveled hair. She leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor, landing with a
sharp thud.
Bellamy glanced at Octavia, then walked slowly over to his mother, kneeling carefully beside her.
“Mom?” A new kind of fear welled up inside him, different from what he’d felt during the inspection.
This fear was cold and seemed to be creeping out from his stomach, turning his blood to ice.
“You don’t understand,” she said faintly, staring at something just behind Bellamy’s head.
“They’re going to kill me. They’re going to take you and they’re going to kill me.”
“Take me where?” Bellamy asked, his voice quivering.
“You can’t have both,” she whispered, her eyes growing even larger. “You can’t have both.” She
blinked and refocused her gaze on Bellamy. “You can’t have a mother and a sister.”
CHAPTER 20
Glass
Glass swept up the final flight of stairs and turned into her corridor. She
wasn’t worried about being stopped by the guards for violating curfew. She
felt like she was floating, her steps featherlight as she skimmed silently
down the hallway. She raised her hand to her lips, where the memory of
Luke’s kiss still lingered, and smiled.
It was a little after three in the morning; the ship was empty, the lights in
the hallway a dim glow. Tearing herself away from Luke made her ache
with an almost physical pain, but she knew better than to risk getting caught
by her mother. If she fell asleep quickly enough, she might be able to trick
her mind into thinking that she was still with Luke, his warm, sleeping form
curled up next to her.
She pressed her thumb against the key panel on the door and slipped
inside.
“Hello, Glass.” Her mother’s voice came from the sofa.
Glass gasped and started stammering. “Hi, I was… I…” She fumbled for
words, trying to come up with a plausible reason for why she’d been out in
the middle of the night. But she couldn’t lie; not anymore, not about this.
They stood in silence for a long moment, and although she couldn’t
make out the expression on her mother’s face, Glass could feel her
confusion and anger radiating through the darkness. “You were with him,
weren’t you?” Sonja finally asked.
“Yes,” Glass said, relieved to be telling the truth at last. “Mom, I love
him.”
Her mother took a step forward, and Glass realized that she was still
wearing a black evening dress, the outline of faded lipstick on her mouth,
dying traces of her perfume in the air.
“Where were you tonight?” Glass asked wearily. It was like last year all
over again. Ever since her father had left them, her mother had barely been
around, staying out all hours of the night and sometimes sleeping through
the day. Now Glass didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed, or even
angry, about her mother’s behavior. All she could feel was a faint pang of
sadness.
Sonja’s lips twisted into a gruesome approximation of a smile. “You
have no idea what I’ve done to protect you” was all she said. “You need to
stay away from that boy.”
“That boy?” Glass cringed. “I know you think he’s just—”
“That’s enough,” her mother snapped. “Don’t you realize how lucky you
are to even be here? I’m not going to let you die for some Walden trash who
seduces Phoenix girls and then abandons them.”
“He’s not like that!” Glass exclaimed, her voice growing shrill. “You
don’t even know him.”
“He doesn’t care about you. You were ready to die to save him. While
you were in Confinement he’d probably forgotten all about you.”
Glass winced. It was true that Luke had started seeing Camille while
Glass was in Confinement. But she couldn’t blame him, not after the cruel
things she’d said when she broke up with him in a desperate attempt to keep
him safe.
“Glass.” Sonja’s voice quivered with the strain of trying to remain calm.
“I’m sorry to be harsh. But with the Chancellor still on life support, you
need to be careful. If he wakes up and has any reason, any reason at all, to
revoke your pardon, he will.” She sighed. “I can’t let you risk your life
again. Have you already forgotten what happened last time?”
But of course Glass hadn’t forgotten. The memory of it was as
permanent as the scars from the bracelet on her skin, something she would
carry with her the rest of her life.
And her mother didn’t even know the whole truth.
Glass ignored the guards’ strange looks as she passed the checkpoint and began crossing the
skybridge toward Walden. Let them think she was off to buy drugs if they wanted. No punishment they
gave her could possibly hurt more than what she was about to do.
It was late afternoon, and the corridors were thankfully empty. Luke would be back from his
morning shift by now, but Carter would still be at the distribution center, where he worked sorting
nutrition packets. Glass knew it was foolish—Carter hated her, and he would hate her even more
once he found out that she had broken Luke’s heart—but she couldn’t bear to break up with Luke with
Carter in the other room.
She paused at the door, absently bringing her hand to her stomach. She had to do it now. She’d
already put this off so many times. She’d muster the courage to break up with him, then hesitate as
the terrible words rose to her mouth. Next time, she always promised herself. I just need to see him
one more time.
But now her stomach was growing noticeably rounder. Even on half rations, it was getting
harder and harder for Glass to disguise her weight gain under the shapeless dresses that prompted
snickers from Cora. Soon she would start to show. And once she did, there would be questions. The
Council would demand to know who the father was. If she was still in touch with Luke, he would find
out, and volunteer himself in some misguided attempt to save her that would only end in both of their
deaths.
You’re saving his life, Glass told herself as she knocked on the door, realizing that this was the
last time she would ever stand in this spot. The last time she’d see Luke smile at her like she was the
only girl in the universe. Her own words of encouragement sounded hollow to her ears.
But when the door opened, it wasn’t Luke standing there. It was Carter, wearing nothing but a
pair of plain work pants.
“He’s not here,” he growled, his eyes narrowing as he took in her flushed cheeks.
“Oh, sorry,” Glass said, taking an involuntary step back. “I’ll come back later.”
But Carter surprised her by reaching out and grabbing her arm, his hand clamping painfully
over her wrist.
“What’s the hurry?” he asked with a sudden grin that made her stomach churn. “Come on in
and wait. I’m sure he just got held up.”
Glass winced, rubbing her wrist, as she followed Carter inside. She’d forgotten how tall he was.
“Did you not have work today?” she asked in her most polite voice, perching on the edge of the
couch where she and Luke usually sat. Her heart cramped as she realized she’d never be able to curl
up against his shoulder again, or run her fingers through his curls as he lay with his head in her lap.
“I wasn’t in the mood,” Carter said with a careless shrug.
“Oh,” Glass said, biting back a criticism. If Carter wasn’t careful, he’d get demoted yet again,
and the only position below the distribution center was sanitation duty. “I’m sorry,” she added,
because she wasn’t sure what else to say.
“No, you’re not,” Carter said, taking a pull of an unmarked bottle. Glass wrinkled her nose.
Black-market whiskey. “You’re just like all the other assholes on Phoenix. All you care about is
yourself.”
“You know what, I should be going,” Glass said, moving quickly across the living space toward
the door. “Tell Luke I’ll see him later.”
“Hold it,” Carter called. Glass ignored him and grabbed the handle without turning around, but
before she could open the door, Carter reached over her shoulder and leaned forward to slam it shut.
“Let me go,” Glass ordered, turning to face him.
Carter’s grin widened, sending chills down Glass’s spine. “What’s the problem?” he asked,
reaching down to rub his hands over her arms. “We both know how much you like slumming it down
on Walden. Don’t pretend to be all choosy.”
“What are you talking about?” Glass spat, wincing as she tried unsuccessfully to break his grip.
He frowned, digging his fingers painfully into her arms. “You think you’re being so rebellious,
sneaking around with Luke. But I’ve known plenty of Phoenix girls like you. You’re all the same.”
Still holding one of her arms, he reached his other hand around and started to fumble with the
waistband of her pants.
“Stop,” Glass said, trying to push him away, horror spreading rapidly through her veins. Then,
more loudly, “Stop it! Let me go!”
“It’s okay,” Carter murmured, yanking her closer to him and wrenching her arms above her
head. Glass tried to move away, but he weighed more than twice what she did and she couldn’t
wriggle free. She thrashed around wildly, trying to jab her knee into his stomach, but she was
trapped.
“Don’t worry,” Carter said, filling her ear with his sour breath. “Luke won’t mind. He owes me
this, after all I’ve done for him. Besides, we share everything.”
Glass opened her mouth to scream, but Carter had pushed himself up against her chest, and
there was no air in her lungs. Black spots danced before her vision, and she felt herself losing
consciousness.
Then the door opened, and Carter jumped back so quickly, Glass lost her balance and fell to the
floor.
“Glass?” Luke asked, stepping inside. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Glass tried to catch her breath, but before she had time to answer, Carter called out from the
couch, where he was already reclined in an attitude of calculated carelessness, “Your girlfriend was
just showing me the latest Phoenix dance move.” He snorted. “I think she needs a little more
practice.”
Luke tried to catch Glass’s gaze, but she looked away. Her heart thumped wildly with fear-fueled
adrenaline and rage.
“Sorry I was late—I got caught up talking to Bekah and Ali,” Luke said as he reached down to
help her up, naming two of his friends from the engineering corps who had always been nice to
Glass. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly when she didn’t take his hand.
After what had just happened, all she wanted to do was throw herself into Luke’s arms, to allow
the warmth of his body to convince hers that everything was okay. But she’d come here for a reason.
She couldn’t let him comfort her.
“Are you okay? Should we go talk in my room?”
Glass glanced over at Carter, summoning her anger and hatred for him to the surface, letting it
boil her blood. She stood up.
“I’m not going into your room,” she said, forcing an edge into her voice she didn’t recognize.
“Ever again.”
“What? What’s wrong?” Luke asked. He gently pulled on her hand but she snatched it away.
“Glass?” The confusion in his voice was enough to make her heart throb.
“It’s over,” she said, shocked at the coldness in her own voice. A strange numbness spread
through her, as if her nerves were shutting down to protect her from the grief that would surely
destroy her. “Did you really think it was going to last?”
“Glass.” Luke’s voice was low and strained. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but could
we continue this conversation in my room?” He reached out to place his hand on her arm, and she
recoiled from his touch.
“No.” She pretended to shudder in horror, looking away so that he couldn’t see the tears in her
eyes. “I can’t believe I let you take me in there in the first place.”
Luke fell silent, and Glass couldn’t help glancing back at him. He was staring at her, his eyes full
of hurt. He had always worried that he wasn’t good enough for Glass—that he was keeping her from
a better life on Phoenix. And now here she was, using the same fears she had once dismissed to turn
Luke against her. “Is that really how you feel?” he asked finally. “I thought we—Glass, I love you,”
he said helplessly.
“I never loved you.” She forced the words out of her mouth with such intensity, they seemed to
tear out her very soul. “Don’t you see? This was all just a game to me, seeing how long I could go on
before I got caught. But I’m done now. I’m bored.”
Luke reached up to take her chin, turning her face up so that their eyes met. She could feel him
searching her for some sign that the real Glass was hidden deep inside. “You don’t mean that.” His
voice cracked. “I don’t know what’s going on, but this isn’t you. Glass, talk to me. Please.”
For a brief moment, Glass wavered. She could tell him the truth. Of course he would understand;
he would forgive all the terrible things she’d just said. She would lean her head on his shoulder and
pretend that everything would be okay. They could face this together.
But then she thought of Luke being executed—the lethal injection shutting down his body before
it was released into the cold emptiness of space.
The only way to save Luke’s heart was to break it.
“You don’t even know me,” she said, jerking away from his touch, the pain of her grief slicing
sharp and hot through her chest. “Here,” she finished, blinking back tears as she reached behind her
neck to unhook the clasp of her locket. “I don’t want this anymore.”
As she dropped it into Luke’s hand he stared at her wordlessly, shock and hurt etched in sharp
lines across his face.
She was only vaguely aware of running out of the door and slamming it shut, and then she was
racing down the hall, concentrating on the thud of her steps across the skybridge. Left, right, left,
right. Just get home, Glass told herself. Just get home, and then you can cry.
But the moment she turned the corner, she staggered and slid to the floor, both hands clutching
her stomach. “I’m sorry,” Glass whispered softly, uncertain whether she was speaking to the baby, or
Luke, or her own bruised and damaged heart.
CHAPTER 21
Clarke
The tension in the infirmary tent was so thick, Clarke could practically feel
it pressing against her chest when she breathed.
She hovered wordlessly at Thalia’s side, trying in vain to battle the
infection that had already claimed her kidneys and seemed hell-bent on
taking her liver next, seething in silent fury at Octavia’s selfishness. How
could she sit there, watching Thalia slip in and out of consciousness, and
not return the stolen medicine?
But then she glanced over to the corner, where Octavia lay curled up.
The sight of her round cheeks and thick lashes made her look painfully
young, and Clarke’s anger was replaced by doubt and guilt. Maybe Octavia
hadn’t done it. But if not, who had?
Her eyes lowered to the bracelet that encased her wrist. If Thalia could
just hold on until the next wave of colonists arrived, she’d be okay. But
there was no knowing when that would be. The Council would wait until
they had conclusive data on the radiation levels, regardless of what was
happening on Earth.
Thalia’s death, she knew, would matter as little to the Council as Lilly’s
had. Orphans and criminals didn’t count.
As she watched Thalia’s labored breathing, Clarke felt a surge of whitehot fury. She refused to sit here and just wait for her friend to die. Hadn’t
humans cured illnesses for millennia before the discovery of penicillin?
There had to be something in the woods that fought infection. She tried to
remember what little she’d learned about plants in Biology of Earth class.
Who knew if those plants were even around anymore—everything seemed
to have evolved strangely after the Cataclysm. But she had to at least try.
“I’ll be back,” she whispered to her sleeping friend. Without a word to
the Arcadian boy standing guard outside, Clarke hurried out of the
infirmary and began to walk toward the trees, not bothering to grab
anything from the supply tent lest she attract any unwanted attention. But
she didn’t manage to go more than ten meters without a familiar voice
scratching at her eardrums.
“Where are you going?” Wells asked as he fell in step next to her.
“Looking for medicinal plants.” She was too tired to lie to Wells, and it
didn’t matter anyway; he always saw through her lies. Somehow, the selfrighteousness that blinded him to the most glaring truths didn’t prevent him
from reading the secrets in her eyes.
“I’ll come with you.
” “I’m fine on my own, thanks,” Clarke said, increasing her pace, as if
that could possibly deter the boy who’d traveled across the solar system to
be with her. “You stay here in case they need someone to lead an angry
mob.”
“You’re right. Things got a little out of hand last night,” he said with a
frown. “I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen to Octavia. I only wanted
to help. I know you need that medicine for Thalia.”
“You only wanted to help. I’ve heard that one before.” Clarke whipped
around to face Wells. She didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with his
need for redemption right now. “Guess what, Wells. Someone ended up
Confined this time too.”
Wells stopped in his tracks, and Clarke jerked her head away, unable to
look at the hurt in his eyes. But she refused to let him make her feel guilty.
Nothing she could say to him could begin to approximate the pain he’d
caused her.
Clarke stared straight ahead as she strode into the trees, still half
expecting to hear the thud of footsteps behind her. But this time there was
only silence.
By the time she reached the creek, the fury Clarke had carried into the
woods had been replaced by despair. The scientist in her was mortified by
her own naïveté. It was foolish to think that she would somehow recognize
a plant from a class she’d taken six years ago, let alone that it would even
look the same after all this time. But she refused to turn back, restrained
partly by her own stubborn pride and partly by a desire to avoid Wells for as
long as possible.
It was too chilly to wade through the water, so she climbed up the slope
and walked along the ridge to cross over to the other side. This was the
farthest she’d ever been from camp, and it felt different out here; the air
even tasted somehow different than it did closer to the clearing. She closed
her eyes, hoping that it would help her identify the strange swirl of scents
that she had no words to describe. It was like trying to recall a memory that
hadn’t been hers to begin with.
The ground was flatter here than she’d seen elsewhere in the woods. Up
ahead, the gap between the trees grew even wider, and the trees themselves
seemed to part into straight lines on either side, as if they could sense
Clarke’s presence and had stood aside to let her pass.
Clarke started to pull a star-shaped leaf from a tree, then froze as a glint
of light caught her eye. Something nestled in between two enormous trees
was reflecting the fading sunlight.
She took another step forward, her heart racing.
It was a window.
Clarke began walking toward it slowly, feeling as though she were
moving through one of her own dreams. The window was framed by two
trees, which must have grown out of the ruins of the structure, whatever it
had been. But the glass wasn’t clear. As she got closer, she saw that the
window was actually made from different pieces of colored glass that had
been arranged to create an image, although there were too many cracks to
tell what it had once been.
She reached forward and gently brushed her finger against the glass,
shivering as the cold seeped into her fingers. It was like touching a corpse.
For a moment, she found herself wishing Wells was with her. No matter
how angry she was with him, she’d never deprive him of the chance to see
one of the ruins he’d spent his whole life dreaming about.
She turned and walked around one of the large trees. There was another
window, but this one had been smashed, sharp fragments of glass glittering
on the ground. Clarke stepped forward and crouched down to peer inside.
The jagged opening was almost large enough to crawl through. The sun was
only beginning to set, and the orange rays seemed to shine right into the
opening, revealing what looked like a wooden floor. Every instinct in
Clarke’s brain was shouting at her to keep away, but she couldn’t bring
herself to stop.
Taking care not to let her skin touch the glass, Clarke reached her arm
through the opening of the window and brushed her hand against the wood.
Nothing happened. She clenched her fingers into a fist and rapped on it,
coughing as a cloud of dust rose into the air. It felt solid. She paused,
considering. The building had survived this long. Surely the floor would be
able to hold her weight.
Carefully, she slid one leg through the opening, then the other. She held
her breath, but nothing happened.
When she looked up and around her, Clarke sucked in her breath.
The walls soared on all sides, converging in a point many meters above
her head, higher than even the roof above the solar fields. It wasn’t as dark
as she’d expected. There were windows along the other wall that she hadn’t
been able to see. These were made of clear glass, but they weren’t broken.
Beams of sunlight shone through, illuminating millions of dust particles
dancing through the air.
Clark rose slowly to her feet. There was a railing up ahead that ran
parallel to the floor at about waist height. She took a few hesitant steps
toward it and gasped, startling herself again as the sound echoed far above
her head.
She was standing on a balcony overlooking an enormous open space. It
was almost completely dark, probably because most of the building was
now underground, but she could just make out the outline of benches. She
didn’t dare venture any closer to the edge for a better look, but as her eyes
adjusted to the darkness, more shapes sharpened into focus.
Bodies.
At first she thought she’d only imagined it, that her mind was using the
shadows to play tricks on her. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to
be such a fool. But when she turned back, the shapes were the same.
Two skeletons were draped over one of the benches, and another,
smaller one lay at their feet. Although there was no knowing whether the
bones had been disturbed, from what she could tell, these people had died
huddled together. Had they been trying to keep warm as the skies darkened
and nuclear winter set in? How many people had been left at that point?
Clarke took another small step forward, but this time, the wood creaked
dangerously. She froze and started to inch her way back. But a loud crack
sang out through the silence, and with a sudden lurch, the floor fell out from
underneath her.
She waved her hands wildly, grabbing hold of the balconyedge as the
railing and floor tumbled through the air. Her legs dangled over a vast, open
space as the pieces landed with a thud on the stone far below.
She screamed, a loud, wordless cry that rose up toward the ceiling and
then faded away, joining the ghosts of whatever other screams still lingered
in the dust. Her fingers started to slide.
“Help!” Using every ounce of strength in her body, she tried to pull
herself up, her arms shaking with the effort, but her grip was failing. She
started to scream again, but there was no more air left in her lungs, and the
word died on her lips before she realized it had been Wells’s name.
CHAPTER 22
Wells
Wells broke into a sprint as Clarke’s scream ignited every nerve in his body.
It had been difficult following Clarke through the woods, especially since
he had to keep his distance—she would have been furious if she’d spotted
him. But now he was flying over the grass and could barely feel his boots
hitting the ground. He had just reached the stained-glass window when a
second, louder scream filled the air.
“Clarke!” he yelled, sticking his head through the gap in the broken
glass. It was dark inside the ruin, but there was no time to take out his
flashbeam. Up ahead, he could just make out fingers clinging to a ledge.
Wells ducked inside, landing with a thud on a wooden platform, and then
slid forward on his stomach, reaching over the edge to wrap one hand
around Clarke’s wrist while he grabbed on to the stone wall for leverage.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
But he spoke too soon. One of her hands disappeared, and he was now
supporting her entire weight. He could feel himself slipping toward the
edge. “Clarke!” he screamed again. “Hold on!”
With a grunt, he managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, then
pressed one foot against the wall. His hand was sweating, and he could feel
himself losing his grip. “Wells,” she shrieked. Her voice echoed through the
cavernous space, making it sound like there were a hundred Clarkes in
peril.
He gritted his teeth and pulled, gasping with relief and exhaustion when
Clarke’s other hand regained its hold. “You’re almost there. Come on.”
She placed her elbows on the wooden platform, and he reached over to
grab her upper arm, heaving the rest of her body up over the ledge. They
collapsed into a heap against the stone wall.
Clarke was sobbing as she struggled to catch her breath. “It’s okay,”
Wells said, wrapping his arm around her. “You’re okay.” He waited for her
to recoil from his touch, but instead, she buried herself in his arms. Wells
tightened his hold.
“What are you doing here?” she asked from inside his embrace, her
voice muffled. “I thought… I hoped…”
“I followed you—I was worried,” Wells spoke into her hair. “I could
never let anything happen to you. No matter what.” He spoke without
thinking, but as the words left his lips he knew that they were true. Even if
she kissed someone else—even if she wanted to be with someone else—he
would always be there for her.
Clarke didn’t say anything, but she stayed in his arms.
Wells held her there, terrified to say anything else and end this moment
too soon, his relief expanding into joy. Maybe he had a chance to win her
back. Maybe, here in the ruins of the old world, they could start something
new.
CHAPTER 23
Bellamy
He’d start with letting the bastards starve. Then, maybe when they were all
so weak with hunger that they had to crawl over to him and beg for
forgiveness, then he’d consider going out to hunt. But they’d have to make
do with a squirrel or something else small—no way was he killing another
deer for them.
Bellamy had spent the night unable to sleep, watching the infirmary tent
in order to make damn sure no one got anywhere near his sister. Now that it
was morning, he’d resorted to pacing around the perimeter of the camp. He
had too much energy to sit still.
Bellamy stepped over the tree line, feeling his body relax slightly as the
shadows washed over him. Over the past few weeks, he’d discovered that
he enjoyed the company of trees more than people. He shivered as a breeze
swept across the back of his neck, and looked up. The patches of sky visible
through the branches were beginning to turn gray, and the air suddenly felt
different—almost damp. He lowered his head and kept walking. Perhaps
Earth had had enough of their bullshit already and was initiating a second
nuclear winter.
He turned and began drifting in the direction of the stream, where there
were usually animal tracks to follow. But then a flash of movement in a tree
a few meters away caught his attention, and he paused.
Something bright red was waving in the wind. It might’ve been a leaf,
except there wasn’t anything else close to that shade nearby. Bellamy
squinted, then took a few steps forward, feeling a strange prickle on the
back of his neck. It was Octavia’s hair ribbon. It made absolutely no sense
—she hadn’t been out in the woods for days—but he’d recognize it
anywhere. There were some things you could never forget.
The halls were dark as Bellamy scurried up the stairs to their flat. It had been worth staying out after
curfew, as long as he didn’t get caught. He’d broken through an old air shaft, too small for anyone
but a child to crawl through, into an abandoned storage room he’d heard about on C deck. It was full
of all kinds of treasures: a brimmed hat topped with a funny-looking bird; a box that said
ABS
EIGHT MINUTE
on it, whatever that meant; and a red ribbon he’d found wrapped around the handle of a strange
wheeled bag. Bellamy had traded his other discoveries in exchange for ration points, but he’d kept
the ribbon, even though it would have fed them for a month. He wanted to give it to Octavia.
He pressed his thumb to the scanner and carefully opened the door, then froze. Someone was
moving inside. His mother was normally asleep by now. He took a silent step forward, just enough to
hear better, and felt himself relax as a familiar sound filled his ears. His mother was singing
Octavia’s favorite lullaby, something she used to do all the time, sitting on the floor and singing
through the door of the closet until Octavia fell asleep. Bellamy sighed with relief. It didn’t sound like
she was in the mood to scream at him, or worse, have one of her endless crying fits that made
Bellamy want to hide in the closet with his sister.
Bellamy smiled as he crept into the main room and saw his mother kneeling on the floor. “Hush,
little baby, don’t you cry, mama’s gonna buy you a star in the sky. And if that star can’t carry a tune,
mama’s going buy you a piece of the moon.” Another sound drifted through the darkness, a faint
wheeze. Was the ventilation system acting up again? He took a step forward. “And if the moon ever
loses its shine, mama’s gonna buy you—”
Bellamy heard the sound again, although this time, it sounded more like a gasp.
“Mom?” He took another step. She was crouched over something on the floor. “Mom,” he
bellowed, lunging forward.
His mother had her hands around Octavia’s neck, and even in the darkness, Bellamy could see
that his sister’s face was blue. He knocked his mother to the side and scooped Octavia into his arms.
For one heart-stopping second, he was sure she was dead, but then she twitched and started
coughing. Bellamy exhaled, and his heart began thumping wildly.
“We were just playing a game,” his mother said faintly. “She couldn’t sleep. So we were playing
a game.…”
Bellamy held Octavia close, making soothing noises, staring at the wall as a strange feeling
came over him. He wasn’t sure what his mother had been doing, but he was sure she was going to try
again.
Bellamy rose onto the balls of his feet and stretched his arm toward the
ribbon. His fingers wrapped around the familiar satin, but as he tried to pull
it down, he realized the ornament wasn’t just caught on the branch—it had
been tied there.
Had someone found the ribbon and tied it to the tree for safekeeping?
But why wouldn’t they just have brought it back to camp? He
absentmindedly ran his hand down the branch, letting the rough bark dig
into his skin as he traced a line from the branch down to the trunk. But then
he froze. His fingers were hovering on the edge of a dip in the trunk, where
a chunk of wood had been scooped out. There was something sticking out
—a bird’s nest, maybe?
Bellamy grabbed on to the edge and pulled, watching in horror as the
medicine he and Clarke had discovered came tumbling out. The pills,
syringes, bottles—all of it was scattered in the grass by his feet. His brain
raced for an explanation, anything to staunch the panic welling up in his
chest.
He sank to the grass with a groan and closed his eyes.
It was true. Octavia had taken the medicine. She’d hidden it in the tree
and used her hair ribbon as a marker so she could find it again. But he
couldn’t think why she’d done it. Had she worried about what would
happen if one of them had gotten sick? Maybe she’d been planning to take
the supplies with them when they set out on their own.
But then Graham’s words rang in his ears. We can’t let anyone else die
just because your little sister’s a drug addict.
The boy assigned to stand guard outside the infirmary tent had fallen asleep.
He barely managed to scramble to his feet and mumble a quick “Hey, you
can’t go in there” before Bellamy burst through the flap. He jerked his head
around, confirming that it was empty except for Clarke’s sleeping sick
friend, then strode over to where Octavia was sitting cross-legged on her
cot, braiding her hair.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.
“What are you talking about?” Her voice was a mixture of boredom and
irritation, as if he were pestering her about schoolwork like he always used
to when checking up on her in the care center.
Bellamy threw the hair ribbon down on her cot, wincing as he saw
horror rush to Octavia’s face. “I didn’t…,” she stammered. “It wasn’t…”
“Cut the bullshit, O,” he snapped. “Now you can finish braiding your
goddamn hair while a girl is dying in front of you.”
Octavia’s eyes darted to Thalia, then shifted down. “I didn’t think she
was really that sick,” she said softly. “Clarke had already given her
medicine. By the time I realized she needed more, it was too late. I can’t
confess now. You saw how they were. I didn’t know what they’d do to me.”
When she looked up again, her deep-blue eyes were filled with tears. “Even
you hate me now, and you’re my brother.”
Bellamy sighed and sat down next to his sister. “I don’t hate you.” He
grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I just don’t understand. Why’d
you do it? The truth this time, please.”
Octavia fell silent, and he could feel her skin growing clammy as she
began to tremble. “O?” He released her hand.
“I needed them,” she said, her voice small. “I can’t sleep without them.”
She paused and closed her eyes. “At first, it was just at night. I kept having
these terrible dreams, so the nurse at the care center gave me medicine to
help me sleep, but then it got worse. There were times when I couldn’t
breathe, when it felt like the whole universe was closing in on me, crushing
me. The nurse wouldn’t give me any more medicine, even when I asked, so
I started stealing pills. It was the only thing that made me feel better.”
Bellamy stared at her. “That’s what you were caught stealing?” he asked
slowly, the realization overtaking him. “Not food for the younger kids in the
care center. Pills.”
Octavia didn’t say anything, just nodded, her eyes full of tears.
“O,” Bellamy sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I know how much you worry about me.” She took a deep breath. “I
know how you want to protect me all the time. I didn’t want you to feel like
you’d failed.”
Bellamy felt pain radiating out from a spot behind his heart. He didn’t
know which hurt more: that his sister was a drug addict, or that she hadn’t
told him the truth because he’d been so blinded by his insane need to watch
over her. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “So what do we do
now?” he asked. For the first time in his life, he had no idea how to help his
sister. “What will happen when we give the medicine back?”
“I’ll be okay. I just need to learn how to live without them. It’s already
easier here.” She reached out and took his hand, giving him a strange,
almost pleading look. “Do you wish you hadn’t come here for me?”
“No,” Bellamy said firmly, shaking his head. “I just need some time to
process everything.” He rose to his feet, then looked back at his sister. “But
you need to make sure Clarke gets the medicine. You have to be the one to
tell her. I’m serious, O.”
“I know.” She nodded, then turned to look at Thalia and seemed to
deflate a little. “I’ll do it tonight.”
“Okay.” Sighing, Bellamy strode out of the tent and into the clearing.
When he reached the tree line, he took a deep breath, allowing the damp air
to seep through his lungs into his aching chest. He tilted his head back to let
the wind wash over his flushed skin. Now that the sky was unobstructed by
trees, it looked even darker, almost black. Suddenly, a line of jagged light
flashed across the sky, followed by a violent, resounding crack that made
the earth shudder. Bellamy jumped, and screams filled the clearing. But
they were quickly drowned out by another deafening boom, this one louder
than the first, like the sky was about to tumble to Earth.
Then something did start to fall. Drops of liquid were cascading down
his skin, dripping off his hair, and quickly seeping into his clothes. Rain,
Bellamy realized, real rain. He tilted his face up toward the sky, and for a
moment, his wonder drowned out all the rest—his anger at Graham and
Wells and Clarke, his concern for his sister, the screams of the idiot kids
who didn’t know that rain was harmless. He closed his eyes, letting the
water wash away the dirt and sweat caked on his face. For a second, he let
himself imagine that the rain could wash everything away: the blood, the
tears, the fact that he and Octavia had failed each other. They could have a
clean start, try again.
Bellamy opened his eyes. He was being ridiculous, he knew. The rain
was only water, and there was no such thing as a clean start. That was the
thing about secrets—you had to carry them with you forever, no matter
what the cost.
CHAPTER 24
Glass
As she walked across the skybridge, the terrible realization that her mother
was right hung like a weight on Glass’s heart. She couldn’t risk a single
misstep—not for her sake, but for Luke’s. What if the Chancellor woke up
and revoked her pardon, and then Luke did something stupid and admitted
the truth about the pregnancy? It was like history was repeating itself, and
yet she knew she’d always make the same choice. She would always choose
to protect the boy she loved.
She’d been avoiding Luke for several days, though he’d been summoned
for so many emergency shifts lately that she wasn’t sure he’d even noticed.
She’d finally arranged to meet at his flat this evening, and the thought of
him greeting her with a smile made her chest ache. At least this time,
there’d be no tricks, no lies. She’d simply tell him the truth, no matter how
difficult. Maybe he’d seek comfort in Camille again, and then things would
truly come full circle. The thought came with a knife-sharp pang, but Glass
ignored it and kept walking.
As she approached the far end of the skybridge, her eyes landed on a
small group gathered near the checkpoint. A few guards stood speaking in a
tight circle, while a number of civilians whispered and pointed at something
through the long, star-filled window that bordered the walkway. Glass
suddenly recognized a few of the guards—they were Luke’s team, members
of the elite guard’s engineering corps. The woman with graying hair who
was moving her fingers rapidly through the air, manipulating a holodiagram in front of her face, was Bekah. Next to her was Ali, a boy with
dark skin and bright-green eyes fixed intently on the image Bekah was
creating.
“Glass!” Ali exclaimed warmly, looking up as she approached. He
jogged forward a few steps and clasped her hands in his. “It’s great to see
you. How are you?”
“I’m… good,” she stammered, confused. How much did they know?
Were they greeting her as Luke’s ex, the snotty Phoenix girl who’d broken
his heart, or as Luke’s escaped-convict girlfriend? Either way, Ali was
being much kinder than she deserved.
Bekah shot Glass a quick smile and then returned to her diagrams,
frowning as she rotated a complicated-looking three-dimensional blueprint.
“Where’s Luke?” Glass asked as she glanced from side to side. If they were
still on duty, he wouldn’t be home yet either.
Ali gestured out the window with a grin. “Look outside.”
Glass turned slowly, every atom in her body turning to ice. She knew
already what she would see. Two figures in space suits were floating
outside, each tethered to the ship by a thin cord. They had tool kits strapped
to their backs and were using their gloved hands to move along the
skybridge.
As if in a trance, Glass moved slowly forward and pressed her face
against the window. She watched in horror as the two figures nodded at
each other, then disappeared under the skybridge. Luke’s unit was
responsible for crucial repairs, but he’d only been a junior member of the
team when they were dating last year. She knew he’d been promoted, but
she had no idea he would be out on spacewalks this soon.
The thought of him outside—nothing separating him from the cold
emptiness of space but a laughably thin cord and a pressurized suit—made
Glass feel dizzy. She grabbed on to the railing to steady herself, sending up
a silent prayer to the stars to keep him safe.
She hadn’t left the flat in two weeks. Not even her loosest clothes could mask the bump that had
emerged with alarming suddenness. Glass wasn’t sure how much longer her mother would be able to
make excuses for her. She’d stopped responding to her friends’ messages, and eventually, they’d
stopped sending them. Everyone except for Wells, who contacted her every day without fail.
Glass pulled up her message queue to reread the note he’d sent her that morning.
I know something must be wrong, and I hope you know that I’m always here for whatever
you need. But even if you don’t (or can’t) write back, I’m going to keep filling your queue
with my stupid ramblings because, no matter what happened, you’re still my best friend
and I’ll never stop wishing you were here.
The rest of the note went on to talk about Wells’s frustrations with officer training, then ended
with a few cryptic allusions to something about Clarke. Glass hoped there was nothing seriously
wrong—Clarke needed to realize how good she had it. She would never find a sweeter, smarter boy
on Phoenix. Although the honor of the sweetest, smartest boy in the Colony went to Luke. Luke, who
was no longer in her life.
The only thing that kept Glass sane was the growing presence inside her. Placing her hand on
her stomach, Glass whispered to the baby, telling him again—she felt certain, somehow, that it was a
boy—how much she loved him.
There was a sudden knock at the door, and Glass hurried to stand up, to try to run into her
bedroom and lock it shut. But the three guards had already burst inside.
“Glass Sorenson,” one of them barked, his eyes traveling to her stomach, the bump glaringly
obvious. “You are under arrest for violation of the Gaia Doctrine.”
“Please just let me explain.” She gasped as panic gushed through her. It felt like she was
drowning. The room was spinning, and it was hard to tell which words were coming out of her mouth
and which were dashing manically through her skull.
In a flash, one of the guards grabbed her arms and wrenched her wrists behind her back while
another secured them with cuffs. “No,” she whimpered. “Please. It was an accident.” She pressed
her feet into the floor, but there was no use. The guards were forcibly dragging her across the room.
And then some wild, frantic instinct took over, and Glass thrashed against the guard restraining
her, kicking wildly against his shins and shoving her elbow into his throat. He tightened his grip on
her shoulder as he dragged her out through the corridor and into the stairwell.
A sob wrenched up from inside her as Glass realized that she would never see Luke again, the
knowledge hitting her with all the force of a hammer. Her legs suddenly gave out. The guard holding
her staggered back as she slid, trying to keep her upright.
I could do it, Glass thought, taking advantage of his momentary imbalance to surge wildly
forward. For a brief, shining moment, Glass felt the thrill of hope pushing through the panic. This
was her chance. She would escape.
But then the guard snatched at her from behind and she lost her footing. Her shoulder smacked
against the landing and, suddenly, she was falling down the sharp, narrow, dim staircase.
Everything went dark.
When Glass opened her eyes again, her whole body ached. Her knees, her shoulders, her
stomach—
Her stomach. Glass tried to move her hands to feel it, but they were strapped down. No, cuffed
down, she realized in growing horror. Of course; she was a criminal.
“Oh, sweetie, you’re awake,” a warm voice greeted her.
Through her blurry vision, she could just make out the shape of a figure approaching her bed. It
was a nurse.
“Please,” Glass croaked. “Is he okay? Can I hold him?” The woman paused, and Glass knew
even before she spoke what she would say. She could already sense it, the horrible, aching emptiness
inside her.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse said quietly. Glass could barely see her mouth, which gave the impression
that the voice was coming from somewhere else entirely. “We couldn’t save him.”
Glass turned away, letting the cold metal of the handcuffs press angrily against her skin, not
caring about the pain. Any feeling was better than this, this heartache that would never go away.
Finally, the two figures reappeared from underneath the skybridge. Glass
exhaled loudly as she brought her hand to the window. How long had she
been holding her breath?
“Are you okay?” a voice asked, and for a moment, Glass thought with
horror that she was back in that hospital room with the nurse. But it was
only Luke’s guard friend Bekah, looking at her with concern.
Her face was wet, Glass realized. She’d been crying. She couldn’t even
bring herself to feel embarrassed, she was so relieved that Luke had made it
back safely.
“Thanks,” Glass managed, taking the handkerchief that Bekah offered,
wiping away her tears. Outside, Luke was pulling himself back along the
cord, placing one gloved hand over the other as he moved back toward the
airlock chamber.
Around her, various onlookers started to clap and high-five one another,
but Glass stayed at the window, her eyes fixed on the spot she’d last seen
Luke. The thoughts that Glass had carried with her onto the skybridge
seemed as distant as a long-forgotten dream. She couldn’t sever their tie any
more than she could cut the wire tethering him to the ship. Without Luke,
life would be as empty and cold as space itself.
“Hey, you,” his voice came from behind her, and Glass spun around,
throwing herself into his arms. His thermal shirt was soaked with sweat, his
curls damp and dirty, but Glass didn’t care.
“I was worried about you,” she said, her voice muffled into his shirt.
He laughed and wrapped his arms tighter around her, planting a kiss on
the top of her head. “This is a nice surprise.”
Glass looked up at him, not caring that her eyes were puffy and that her
nose was running. “It’s fine,” Luke said, exchanging an amused look with
Ali before turning back to Glass. “It’s all part of the job.”
Her heart was still pumping too fast to speak, so she nodded, shooting an
embarrassed smile at Bekah and Ali and the others. “Come on,” Luke said,
taking her hand and leading her down the skybridge.
As they crossed onto Walden, Glass’s breathing finally returned to
normal. “I can’t believe you do that,” she said quietly. “Aren’t you
terrified?”
“It’s scary, but it’s exhilarating, too. It’s so… enormous out there. I
know that sounds kind of stupid.” He paused, but Glass shook her head.
They both knew about enclosed spaces, how you could feel trapped in
them, even one as vast as the ship.
“I’m just glad everything went okay,” she said.
“Yeah, it did. Well, mostly.” Luke’s fingers loosened their grip around
hers, and his voice grew slightly strained. “There was something weird
going on with the airlock. Some valve must’ve come loose, because it was
releasing oxygen out of the ship.”
“But you guys fixed it, right?”
“Of course. That’s what we’re trained to do.” He squeezed her hand.
Suddenly, Glass stopped short, turning to Luke and rising up on her toes
to kiss him, right there in the middle of the crowded hallway. She didn’t
care anymore who saw them. No matter what happened, she thought,
kissing him with an almost desperate need, she would never let anything
keep them apart again.
CHAPTER 25
Bellamy
Bellamy stared into the flickering flames, the buzz of conversation around
him mingling with the cracking of the logs. It had been a few hours since
his confrontation with Octavia, and so far there’d been no sign of her. He
hoped she’d return the medicine soon. He couldn’t force her to hand it over,
he knew, or their relationship would never recover. He had to show that he
trusted her, and she had to do the right thing to win back that trust.
The rain had stopped, but the ground was still damp. A few scuffles had
broken out over the handful of rocks that had become VIP seating around
the campfire, but for the most part, everyone seemed willing to tolerate the
soggy grass to sit close to the warmth of the flames. A few girls had sought
out a third option and were now perched on the laps of smug-looking boys.
He scanned the circle, searching for Clarke. There was much more
smoke than usual, probably because all the firewood was wet, and it took a
few moments for his eyes to settle on the familiar glint of her reddish-gold
hair. He squinted and realized, to his surprise, that she was sitting next to
Wells. They weren’t touching, or even speaking, but something had
changed between them. The tension that wracked Clarke’s body whenever
Wells came near had disappeared, and instead of shooting wounded, furtive
looks at Clarke when her head was turned, Wells was staring placidly into
the fire, a content look on his face.
A shard of resentment worked its way into Bellamy’s stomach. He
should have known it would only be a matter of time before Clarke went
running back to Wells. He should never have kissed her in the woods. He’d
only ever really cared about one other girl before—and he’d gotten hurt that
time too.
The clouds were thick enough to block out most of the stars, but
Bellamy tilted his head back anyway, wondering how much warning they’d
have before the next dropship arrived. Would they be able to see it tearing
toward them—a warning flare in the sky?
But then his eyes fell on a figure moving through the darkness toward
the fire: the shadowy outline of a tiny girl with her head held high. Bellamy
rose to his feet as Octavia stepped into the pool of light cast by the dancing
flames, sending a ripple of whispers around the circle.
“Oh, for the love of god.” Bellamy heard Graham groan. “Who the hell
was supposed to be watching her tonight?”
Wells shot Clarke a look, then stood to face Graham. “It’s fine,” he said.
“She can join us.”
Octavia paused, looking from Wells to Graham as the boys glared at
each other. But before either of them had time to speak, she took a breath
and stepped forward. “I have something to say,” she said. She was
trembling, but her voice was firm.
The excited whispers and confused murmurs trailed off as nearly a
hundred heads turned to face Octavia. In the flickering firelight, Bellamy
could see the panic creeping across her face, and felt a sudden urge to run
over and hold her hand. But he forced his feet to stay rooted to the ground.
He’d spent so long trying to take care of the little girl in his mind that he’d
never gotten to know the person she’d become. And right now, this was
something she had to do on her own.
“I did take the medicine,” Octavia began. She paused to let her words
sink in, then took a deep breath and continued as a rumble of I knew its and
I told you sos began to build like thunder. Octavia told the group a similar
version of the story she’d told Bellamy earlier that day—how hard it’d been
growing up in the care center, how her dependence on pills had turned into
an addiction.
The muttering ceased as Octavia’s voice cracked. “Back on the Colony, I
never thought I was hurting anyone. Stealing just seemed like a way to get
what I deserved. I figured everyone deserved to be able to fall asleep at
night. To wake up without feeling that your nightmares had left scars inside
your head.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened
them, Bellamy could see the faint shimmer of tears. “I was so selfish, so
scared. But I never meant to hurt Thalia, or anyone.” She turned to Clarke
and swallowed the sob that seemed to be forming in her throat. “I’m so
sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but all I can ask is that you
give me a chance to start over.” She raised her chin and looked around the
circle until she saw Bellamy, and she gave him a small smile. “Just like
everyone here wants to do. I know a lot of us have done things we’re not
proud of, but we’ve been given a chance for a new beginning. I know I
almost ruined it for a lot of you, but I’d like to start over—to become a
better person, to help make Earth the world we want it to be.”
Bellamy’s heart swelled with pride. Tears were beginning to blur his
vision, although if anyone called him out on it, he’d blame it on the smoke.
His sister’s life had been full of suffering and hardship from the very
beginning. She’d made mistakes—they both had—but she’d still managed
to stay brave and strong.
For a moment, no one spoke. Even the crackling of the fire faded away,
as if Earth itself were holding its breath. But then Graham’s voice barreled
through the silence. “That’s bullshit.”
Bellamy bristled as a spark of anger sizzled across his chest, but he
gritted his teeth. Of course Graham was going to be a bastard about it—that
didn’t mean the others hadn’t been touched by Octavia’s speech. But
instead of prompting scoffs or disapproving whispers, Graham’s words
unleashed a tide of murmured assent that swelled quickly into shouts. He
looked around the circle as he continued. “Why should we bust our asses all
day, chopping wood, hauling water, doing whatever it takes to keep
everyone alive, just to let some delusional drug addict walk all over us? It’s
like being—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Bellamy said, cutting him off. He glanced at
Octavia. Her bottom lip had begun to quiver as her eyes darted around the
fire. “You’ve made your point. But there are ninety-four other people here
with opinions of their own, and they don’t need you to tell them what to
think.”
“I agree with Graham,” a girl’s voice called out. Bellamy turned and saw
a short-haired Waldenite glaring at Octavia. “We all had shitty lives back on
the Colony, but you don’t see anyone else stealing.” She narrowed her eyes.
“Who knows what she’ll take next time.”
“Everyone just relax.” Clarke had risen to her feet. “She apologized. We
have to give her a second chance.” Bellamy stared at her in surprise,
waiting for the surge of indignation. After all, she was the one who’d
accused Octavia in the first place. But as he looked at Clarke, all he felt was
gratitude.
“No.” Graham’s voice was hard and as he looked around the circle, his
eyes flashed with something other than reflected firelight. He turned to
Wells, who was still standing next to Clarke. “It’s just like you said. There
has to be some kind of order, or else there’s no way in hell we’ll make it.”
“So what do you recommend?” Wells asked. Graham smiled, and
Bellamy felt like someone had poured ice water down his back. Fixing
Graham with a glare, he hurried over to Octavia and put his arm around her.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Graham said, turning to Bellamy and Octavia. “But we
don’t have a choice. She put Thalia’s life at risk. We can’t take any chances.
Octavia needs to die.”
“What?” Bellamy sputtered. “Are you insane?” He jerked his head from
side to side, expecting to see a sea of similarly revolted faces. But while a
few people were staring at Graham in shock, a number were nodding.
Bellamy stepped protectively in front of Octavia, who was trembling
violently. He’d burn the goddamn planet to a crisp before he let anyone near
his sister.
“Should we put it to a vote?” Graham raised his chin and nodded at
Wells. “You’re the one who was so excited to bring democracy back to
Earth. It seems only fair.”
“This is not what I meant,” Wells snapped. His face had lost its
politician’s reserve, his features twisted with anger. “We’re not going to
vote about whether to kill people.”
“No?” Graham raised an eyebrow. “So it’s okay for your father, but not
for us.”
Bellamy winced and closed his eyes as he heard sounds of agreement
ripple through the crowd. It was exactly what he would’ve said in that
situation, except that Bellamy would have only meant it as a jab at Wells.
He’d never actually propose killing someone.
“The Council doesn’t execute people for fun.” Wells’s voice shook with
fury. “Keeping humanity alive in space required extraordinary measures.
Sometimes cruel measures.” Wells paused. “But we have a chance to do
better.”
“So what?” Graham growled. “You’re just going to give her a slap on
the wrist and then make everyone pinky swear not to break the rules?” A
few snickers rose up from the crowd.
“No.” Wells shook his head. “You’re right. There needs to be
consequences.” He took a deep breath. “We’ll banish them from camp.” His
voice was firm, but when he turned to Bellamy, his eyes seemed to contain
a strange mixture of anguish and relief.
“Banish?” Graham repeated. “So they can sneak back whenever they
want and steal more supplies? That’s bullshit.”
Bellamy opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was drowned out as
the buzz of voices grew louder. Finally, a girl Bellamy vaguely recognized
from Walden stood up. “That sounds fair,” she called out, shouting to be
heard over the crowd, which grew quiet as heads turned to look at her. “As
long as they promise never to come back.”
Bellamy tightened his arm around Octavia, who’d gone limp. He
nodded. “We’ll leave at sunrise.” He turned to smile at Octavia—this is
what he’d planned all along. So then why did he feel more apprehension
than relief?
The fire died down, and darkness settled over the camp like a blanket,
muffling footsteps and muting voices as shadowy figures disappeared into
tents or carried blankets toward the edges of the clearing.
Bellamy set up a makeshift cot for Octavia at the short end, near the
wreckage of the dropship. They hadn’t said it aloud, but they both knew
neither of them wanted to sleep in a tent tonight.
Octavia curled up on her blanket and closed her eyes, though it was
clear she wasn’t sleeping. The trip back into the woods with Clarke to
retrieve the medicine had been a tense one. No one had spoken, though
Bellamy could feel Clarke’s eyes boring into his back as he led the way.
Now he sat next to Octavia, his back against a tree, staring into the
darkness. It was hard to wrap his mind around the fact that tomorrow, they
would leave forever.
A shape moved through the shadows toward them. Wells. He had
Bellamy’s bow slung over his shoulder.
“Hey,” Wells said quietly as Bellamy rose to his feet. “I’m sorry about
what happened back there. I know banishment sounds harsh, but I wasn’t
sure what else to do.” He sighed. “I really thought Graham was going to
convince them to…” He trailed off as his eyes fell on Octavia. “Not that I
would’ve let that happen, but there’s only two of us and a lot of them.”
Bellamy felt a smartass retort rise in his throat but swallowed it back
down. Wells had done the best thing he could under the circumstances.
“Thank you.”
They stared at each other for a moment, then Bellamy cleared his throat.
“Listen, I should probably…” He paused. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Bellamy took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Wells’s eyes. “I
hope he’s okay.”
“Thank you,” Wells said quietly. “I do too.” He fell silent for a moment,
but when he spoke again, his voice was firm. “I know you were just trying
to protect your sister. I would’ve done the same thing.” He smiled. “I
suppose I sort of did.” Wells extended his hand. “I hope you and Octavia
stay safe out there.”
Bellamy shook his hand and smiled ruefully. “I can’t imagine anything
out there worse than Graham. Keep an eye on that kid.”
“Will do.” Wells nodded, then turned around and headed back into the
darkness.
Bellamy lowered himself to the blanket and stared out into the clearing.
He could just make out the shape of the infirmary tent where Clarke would
be giving Thalia the long-awaited medicine. His stomach twisted strangely
as he thought back to the scene by the fire, the flames flickering over
Clarke’s determined face. He’d never known a girl who was so beautiful
and intense at once.
Bellamy leaned back with a sigh and closed his eyes, wondering how
long it would take until she stopped being the last person he thought about
before he fell asleep.
CHAPTER 26
Clarke
The antibiotics were working. Although it had been less than a few hours
since Clarke burst into the tent, clutching the medicine under her arm,
Thalia’s fever had already gone down, and she was more alert than she’d
been in days.
Clarke lowered herself to perch on the edge of Thalia’s cot as her
friend’s eyes fluttered open. “Welcome back,” Clarke said with a grin.
“How are you feeling?”
Thalia’s eyes darted around the empty tent, then looked up to meet
Clarke’s. “This isn’t heaven, is it?”
Clarke shook her head. “God, I hope not.”
“Good. Because I always assumed there’d be boys there. Boys who
didn’t use water rationing as an excuse not to bathe.” Thalia managed a
smile. “Did anyone build the first shower on Earth while I was passed out?”
“Nope. You didn’t miss much.”
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” Thalia raised her shoulders in an
attempt to sit up, but settled back down with a groan. Clarke gently placed a
rolled-up blanket behind her. “Thanks,” she muttered and surveyed Clarke
for a moment before she spoke again. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
Clarke gave her a bemused smile. “Nothing! I’m just so happy you’re
feeling better.”
“Please. You can’t hide anything from me. You know I always manage
to get your secrets out of you,” Thalia deadpanned. “You can start by telling
me where you found the medicine.”
“Octavia had it,” Clarke explained and quickly filled Thalia in on what
had happened. “She and Bellamy are leaving tomorrow,” she finished.
“That’s part of the deal Wells made with everyone. I know it sounds crazy,
but it really felt like they were close to attacking her.” She shook her head.
“If Wells hadn’t stepped in, I’m not sure what would’ve happened.”
Thalia was staring at Clarke with a curious expression on her face.
“What?” Clarke asked.
“Nothing, just—this is the first time I’ve ever heard you say his name
without looking like you want to punch a hole through a wall.”
“True,” Clarke admitted with a smile. She supposed her feelings had
changed—or at least, were starting to.
“So?”
Clarke began to fiddle with the pill bottles. She hadn’t wanted to tell
Thalia about what happened in the woods in case it made Thalia feel guilty
—after all, she’d gone out looking for plants to help her and had ended up
almost getting killed. “There’s something else I haven’t told you. It didn’t
seem important before, when you were so sick, but…” She took a breath
and gave Thalia a brief account of Wells rescuing her from the ruin.
“He followed you all the way there?”
Clarke nodded. “The weird thing is, while I was hanging on that ledge,
convinced I was going to die, he was the one person I was thinking about.
And when he showed up, I wasn’t even angry that he’d followed me. I was
just relieved that he’d cared enough to go after me, despite the terrible
things I’ve said to him.”
“He loves you. Nothing you do or say can ever change that.”
“I know.” Clarke closed her eyes, though she was afraid of the images
that she knew would emerge from the shadows. “Even when we were in
Confinement and I told you I wanted to see his organs explode in space, I
think there was a part of me that still loved him. And that made the pain
even worse.”
Thalia was looking at her with a mixture of pity and understanding. “It’s
time to stop punishing yourself, Clarke.”
“You mean punishing him.”
“No. I mean it’s time to stop punishing yourself for loving him. It’s not a
betrayal of your parents.”
Clarke stiffened. “You didn’t know them. You have no idea what they’d
think.”
“I know they wanted what was best for you. They were willing to do
something they knew was wrong in order to keep you safe.” She paused.
“Just like Wells.”
Clarke sighed and tucked her legs up underneath her, sitting on Thalia’s
bed just like she used to back in their cell. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t
know if I can fight this anymore. Hating him is exhausting.”
“You should talk to him.”
Clarke nodded. “I will.”
“No, I mean right now.” Thalia’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Go
talk to him.”
“What? It’s late.”
“I’m sure he’s lying wide-awake, thinking about you.…”
Clarke unfolded her legs, then rose to her feet. “Fine,” she said, “if that’s
what it takes to get you to be quiet and rest.”
She walked across the tent, playfully rolling her eyes at her friend as she
pulled the flap aside. She stepped into the clearing and paused, wondering if
she was making a mistake.
But it was too late to turn around. Her heart was beating so fast, it
seemed to have a momentum of its own, pounding a frantic message to
Wells through the darkness. I’m coming.
CHAPTER 27
Wells
Wells stared up at the sky. He’d never felt at ease in the overcrowded tents,
and after what had happened tonight, the thought of being crammed next to
people who’d been ready to tear Octavia apart was unbearable. Despite the
cold, he liked falling asleep looking at the same stars he’d seen from his bed
at home. He loved the moments when the moon disappeared behind a cloud
and it became too dark to see the outlines of the trees. The sky would seem
to stretch all the way down to the ground, creating the impression they
weren’t on Earth at all but back up among the stars. It always gave him a
small pain to open his eyes in the morning and find them gone.
Yet even the sky wasn’t enough to quiet Wells’s mind tonight. He
pushed himself into a seated position, wincing as he pried his blanket off
the scattered rocks and branches. A rustling in a nearby tree caught his
attention and he rose to his feet, craning his neck for a better look.
Wells stared in wonder as the tree, which had never boasted a single
blossom since they’d landed, burst into bloom. Glimmering pink petals
unfurled from pods he hadn’t noticed before, like fingertips reaching out in
the dark. They were beautiful. Wells rose onto his toes, stretched his arms
above his head, and wrapped his fingers around a stem.
“Wells?”
He spun around and saw Clarke standing a few meters away.
“What are you doing?”
He was about to ask her the same question, but instead he walked
silently toward her and slipped the flower into her hand. She stared at it,
and for a moment he thought she might shove it back at him. But to his
surprise and relief, she looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” They stared at each other for a moment. “You
couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, and she shook her head.
Wells sat down on an exposed tree root, which was just large enough for
two, and gestured for her to sit beside him.
After a moment she sank down, keeping a sliver of empty space between
them. “How’s Thalia doing?” he asked.
“Much better. I’m so thankful Octavia came forward.” She looked down
and ran her finger along the blossom. “I just can’t believe they’re leaving
tomorrow.”
There was a note of regret in her voice that made Wells’s stomach
clench. “I thought you’d be happy to see her go, after what she put you
through.”
Clarke was quiet for a moment. “Good people can make mistakes,” she
said slowly. She looked up, and her eyes met Wells’s. “It doesn’t mean you
stop caring about them.”
For a long moment, all they could hear was the wind rustling the leaves,
the silence filling with all the words that had been left unsaid. The
apologies that could never begin to convey his sorrow.
The trial of Phoenix’s two most famous scientists had turned into the event of the year. There were
more people gathered in the Council chamber than had ever shown up for a lecture, or any event
other than the Remembrance Ceremony.
But Wells was only vaguely aware of the audience. The disgust he’d felt at their morbid curiosity
—like Romans waiting for bloodshed at the Colosseum—faded away the moment his eyes landed on
the girl sitting alone in the front row. He hadn’t seen Clarke since the night she’d confided in him
about her parents’ research. Wells had told his father, who weighed the information carefully. As
Wells had expected, the Chancellor had known nothing about the experiments and had immediately
launched an inquiry. Yet the investigation had taken a terrible turn Wells hadn’t expected, and now
Clarke’s parents were going to face the Council on criminal charges. Guilty and terrified, Wells had
spent the past week desperate to find Clarke, but his deluge of messages had gone unanswered, and
when he went to her flat, he found it sealed off by guards.
Her expression was blank as she watched the Council members take their seats. But then she
turned and saw Wells. Her eyes locked with his, her gaze filled with hatred so intense that it sent bile
shooting up from his stomach.
Wells shrank back into his seat in the third row. He’d only wanted his father to stop her parents’
research, to put an end to Clarke’s misery. He never imagined they’d end up on trial for their lives.
Two guards escorted Clarke’s mother to a bench in the front. She kept her chin high as she
surveyed the Council, but then her eyes settled on her daughter, and her face fell.
Clarke jumped to her feet and said something Wells couldn’t hear, but it didn’t matter. The sad
smile on her mother’s face was enough to cleave Wells’s heart in two.
Another pair of guards led her father in, and the trial began.
A female member of the Council opened the proceedings by giving an overview of the
investigation. According to the Griffins, she reported, they had been ordered by Vice Chancellor
Rhodes to conduct human radiation trials, which Rhodes vehemently denied.
A strange numbness spread over Wells as he watched the Vice Chancellor stand, his face grave
as he explained that while he’d approved their request for a new lab, he never said a word about
experimenting on children.
Everyone’s voices seemed very far away—the fragments of the Council members’ questions and
the Griffins’ replies that reached his ears distorted, like sound waves from a distant galaxy. Wells
heard the crowd’s gasps before his brain had time to process what they were reacting to.
Then, suddenly, the Council was voting.
The first guilty broke through the haze that had settled over Wells. He turned to look at Clarke,
who was sitting still and rigid.
“Guilty.”
No. Wells thought. No, please.
“Guilty.” The word echoed down the table until it was his father’s turn. He cleared his throat,
and for a brief moment, Wells believed there was a chance. That his father would figure out a way to
turn the tide.
“Guilty.”
“No!” Clarke’s anguished shriek rose above the din of shocked whispers and satisfied murmurs.
She jumped to her feet. “You can’t do this. It wasn’t their fault.” Her face twisted with rage as she
pointed at the Vice Chancellor. “You. You forced them to do it, you evil, lying bastard.” She took a
step forward and was immediately surrounded by guards.
Vice Chancellor Rhodes gave a long sigh. “I’m afraid you’re much better at experimenting on
innocent children than you are at lying, Miss Griffin.” He turned to Wells’s father. “We know from the
security log that she visited the lab on a regular basis. She knew about the atrocities her parents were
committing and did nothing to stop it. She may have even helped.”
Wells inhaled so sharply, he could feel his stomach scrape against his ribs. He waited for his
father to give Rhodes one of his dismissive glares, but to Wells’s horror, the Chancellor was staring
gravely at Clarke. After a long moment, his jaw tightened, and he turned to face the other Council
members.
“I hereby put forward a motion to try Clarke Griffin for the crime of accessory to treason.”
No. His father’s words sank into his skin like a paralytic, stopping his heart.
Wells could see the Council members’ mouths moving, but he couldn’t make out what they were
saying. Every atom in his body was focused on praying to whatever forgotten god might be listening.
Let her go, he pleaded. I’ll do anything. It was true. He was ready to offer his life in exchange for
hers.
Take me instead.
The Vice Chancellor leaned over to whisper something to Wells’s father.
I don’t care if it’s painful.
The Chancellor’s face grew even graver than it had been before.
Shove me through the release portal so my body implodes.
The person next to Wells shuddered at something the Chancellor said.
Just let her go.
He had the uncomfortable sensation of sound returning as gasps rose up from the audience. Two
guards grabbed Clarke and began dragging her away.
The girl he’d do anything to protect would soon be sentenced to death. And she would have
every right to die hating him.
It was all his fault.
“I’m sorry,” Wells whispered, as if somehow, that could make it better.
“I know,” she said, her voice soft.
Wells froze, and for a moment, he was too afraid to look at her, afraid to
see the grief welling up from the wound he knew would never heal. But
when he finally turned, he saw that while her eyes glistened with tears, she
was smiling.
“I feel closer to them here,” she said, glancing up at the trees. “They
spent their lives trying to figure out how to get us home.”
Wells didn’t know what he could say without breaking the spell, so
instead, he leaned forward and kissed her, holding his breath until he saw
her teardrop-tipped lashes flutter closed.
At first it was soft, his lips lightly brushing over her mouth, but then he
felt her kiss him back, igniting every cell in his body. The familiarity of her
touch, the taste of her kiss, released something in him, and he pulled her
closer.
Clarke sank into Wells, her lips clinging to his lips, her skin melting into
his skin, her breath mixing with his breath. The world around them faded
away as Earth became nothing more than a swirl of pungent scents and
damp air that made him press himself closer to her. The soft ground cradled
them as they slid off the log. There was so much he needed to tell her, but
his words were lost as his lips traveled across her skin, moving from her
mouth to her neck.
In that moment, there was no one else. They were the only two people
on Earth. Just like he’d always imagined they would be.
CHAPTER 28
Glass
Music played on Phoenix twice that year. The Council had approved the
exception, and for the first time anyone could remember, the Earthmade
instruments were taken from their preservation chambers and carried
carefully to the observation deck for the comet viewing party.
It should have been one of the most magical nights of Glass’s life. The
entire population of Phoenix had flocked to the observation deck in their
finery, and the elegantly dressed crowd buzzed with excitement. All around
her, people were talking and laughing as they strode toward the enormous
windows, clutching glasses of sparkling root wine.
Glass stood next to Huxley and Cora, who were talking animatedly. But
although Glass could see her friends’ mouths moving, their words never
reached her ears. Every cell in her body was focused on the musicians who
were quietly taking their seats on the far side of the observation deck.
But as the musicians began to play, Glass shifted from one foot to
another, growing restless, as she thought of Luke. Without him, the music
that normally wrapped around her like an enchantment felt strangely empty.
The melodies that once seemed to express the deepest secrets of her soul
were no less beautiful now, but it made her chest ache to know that the only
person she wanted to share them with was somewhere else.
Glass looked over and quickly found her mother, wearing a long gray
dress and their family’s gloves—kid leather, one of the only pairs left on the
ship, stained with age but still infinitely precious. She was talking to
someone in the Chancellor’s uniform, but it wasn’t the Chancellor. Glass
realized with a start it was Vice Chancellor Rhodes. Though she’d only seen
him a few times, she recognized his sharp nose and mocking smile.
Glass knew that she should go over, introduce herself, smile at the Vice
Chancellor, and raise her glass to him in a toast. She should thank him for
her freedom and look grateful and overjoyed as the crowd of well-dressed
Phoenicians looked on and whispered. It’s what her mother would have
wanted; it’s what she should have done, if she valued her life. But as Glass
stared at his hateful dark eyes, she found she couldn’t bring herself to move
toward him.
“Here, take this. I need some air,” Glass said, handing Cora her still-full
glass of wine. Cora raised her eyebrows, but didn’t argue—they were
allotted only one glass each tonight. With a final glance to make sure that
her mother wasn’t watching, Glass wove her way through the crowd and
back into the corridor. She didn’t run into a single person as she made her
way quickly to their flat, where she slipped out of her gown and into a pair
of nondescript pants, piling her hair under a hat.
There was no designated observation deck on Walden, but there were a
number of corridors with small windows on the starboard side, where the
comet was expected to make its appearance. The Waldenites who didn’t
have shifts that day had begun gathering early in the morning to reserve the
best seats. By the time Glass arrived, the hallways were flooded with
crowds, talking in excited voices and clustering around the small windows.
Some of the kids were already pressing their faces against the quartz glass
or clambering onto parents’ shoulders.
As she turned a corner, Glass’s eyes settled on a group at the window a
few meters down: three women and four children. She wondered whether
the women were watching the fourth child for a neighbor, or if it was an
orphan they’d taken in.
The youngest child toddled over to Glass and blinked up at her with a
shy smile. “Hi there,” Glass said, leaning forward so that she was level with
the girl. “Are you excited for the comet?” The girl didn’t say anything. Her
large, dark eyes were fixated on Glass’s head.
Glass brought her hand up self-consciously, grimacing slightly when she
realized that her hair had fallen out of her hat. She began to tuck it back
inside, but the little girl reached up and pulled at one of the loose strands.
“Posy, leave the lady alone.” Glass looked up and saw one of the women
walking toward them. “Sorry,” she said to Glass, with a laugh. “She likes
your hair.”
Glass smiled but didn’t say anything. She’d learned how to downplay
her Phoenix accent, but the less she spoke, the better. “Come on, Pose,” the
woman said, placing her hand on the child’s shoulder and guiding her away.
It was past 2100. The comet was due to appear any moment now. Up on
Phoenix, the observation deck would be silent as everyone waited in quiet
reverence. Here, children were laughing and jumping, and a couple of
teenagers were yelling out a countdown.
Glass looked up and down the corridor, but there was no sign of him.
“Look!” a little girl called out. A white line was rising over the outline
of the moon. Instead of fading away like most comets, it grew larger, the
tail expanding as it blazed through space. It made even the stars look dim.
Glass stepped forward almost unconsciously, and a couple leaning up
against the nearest window shuffled aside to give her space. It was so
beautiful, Glass thought in wonder. And terrifying. It was growing larger
and larger, filling up the entire viewing space in the porthole, as if it were
coming straight for them.
Could there have been a miscalculation? Glass pressed her hands into
the ledge so hard, she could feel it cutting into her palms. Around her,
people started to step back, with a flurry of low murmurs and frightened
cries.
Glass closed her eyes. She couldn’t look.
An arm wrapped around her. She didn’t even have to turn to know that it
was Luke. She knew the scent of him, the feel of him, like a second skin.
“I was looking for you,” she said, glancing back at him. Although the
astronomical event of a lifetime was playing out right before his eyes, he
was looking only at her.
“I hoped you would come,” he whispered into her ear.
The crowd’s anxious murmurs bubbled into exclamations of
astonishment as the comet swept up and above the ship in a blaze of fire.
Luke’s arm tightened around her, and she leaned into his chest. “I couldn’t
imagine seeing this without you,” she said.
“You didn’t have any trouble getting away?”
“No, not really.” Her stomach twisted at the thought of her mother
standing next to the Vice Chancellor. “I just wish we didn’t have to sneak
around.” She reached up and ran her fingers along his cheek.
Luke took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Maybe there’s a way to
change your mom’s mind,” he said earnestly. “Maybe I could talk to her.
You know, prove that I’m not some barbarian. That I’m serious about my
future—our future. That I’m serious about you.”
Glass gave him a soft smile. “I wish it were that easy.”
“No, I mean it.” He took her hands in his. “She thinks I’m just some
Walden jerk taking advantage of you. She needs to know that this isn’t just
a fling. It’s real.”
“I know,” Glass said, squeezing his hand. “I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” Luke said, pulling something out of his
pocket. He turned to face her, his gaze unblinking.
“Glass,” he began, his eyes glowing, “I don’t want to spend another day
without you. I want to go to sleep every night with you by my side and
wake up next to you every morning. I want nothing else but you, for the rest
of my life.”
He held out his outstretched palm, with a small, golden object in it. It
was her locket.
“I know it’s not exactly a ring, but—”
“Yes,” she said simply, because there was nothing else to say, nothing
else to do but put on the locket and kiss the boy she loved so much it hurt,
as behind them the comet streaked the sky with gold.
CHAPTER 29
Bellamy
Bellamy couldn’t sleep. His mind was a jumble of thoughts all elbowing for
his attention, making it impossible to tell where one stopped and the other
began.
Staring up at the stars, he tried to imagine what was happening on the
ship. It was strange to think of life going on as usual hundreds of kilometers
away—the Waldenites and Arcadians toiling away while the Phoenicians
complimented one another’s outfits on the observation deck and ignored the
stars. That was the only thing he’d miss about the Colony—the view.
Before the launch, he’d heard of a comet passing, which would’ve been
pretty spectacular to see from the ship.
He squinted into the darkness, trying to figure out how many days
they’d been on Earth. If he’d counted correctly, then the comet was meant
to appear tonight. There was going to be a fancy viewing party on Phoenix,
and less-formal gatherings on Walden and Arcadia. Bellamy sat up and
scanned the sky. He couldn’t see anything from the clearing—the trees
blocked too much of the sky—but he’d have a better view from the ridge.
Octavia was sleeping peacefully beside him, her glossy hair fanned out
underneath her, her red hair ribbon tied to her wrist. “I’ll be right back,” he
whispered, then took off at a jog across the clearing.
The thick canopy of leaves blocked most of the starlight, but after all his
hunting expeditions, he knew this area of the forest well, anticipating every
slope and turn and hidden log. When he finally reached the ridge, he paused
to catch his breath. The cool night air had helped to clear his head, and the
burning in his calves was a welcome distraction.
The star-filled sky looked just as it had every other night since they’d
landed on Earth, and yet there was something different about it—the stars
were pulsing, charged, as if waiting for something big to happen. And then,
all at once, it did. The comet erupted across the sky, a streak of gold against
the glittering silver, brightening everything around it, even the ground.
His skin sizzled as if some of the sparks had seeped into his own body,
invigorating his cells with something beyond energy—with hope.
Tomorrow he and Octavia would leave here for good. Tomorrow they
would be free of the Colony forever, no one telling them what to do or how
to be.
He closed his eyes and imagined how that would feel. Freedom from
everyone and everything—even from his past. Even, perhaps, from the
memories that had haunted him all his life.
Bellamy ran down the walkway, ignoring his neighbors’ grumbles and the empty threats of the
guards he knew were too lazy to chase a remarkably fast nine-year-old just to issue a reprimand. But
as he got closer to his flat, his excitement slipped away. Ever since that terrible night when he caught
his mom trying to hurt Octavia, he got nervous coming home.
He unlocked the door and burst inside. “Mom?” he called, carefully shutting the door behind
him before he said anything else. “Octavia?” He waited, but there was only silence. “Mom?” he said
again. He walked through the main room, his eyes widening at the overturned furniture. His mother
must have been in another one of her bad moods. He crept toward the kitchen, his stomach wriggling
like it was trying to escape through his belly button.
Someone groaned, and he rushed inside to find his mother on the floor, lying in a sticky puddle of
blood. A knife lay beside her.
He gasped and hurried over, shaking her shoulder frantically. “Mom,” he shouted. “Wake up.
Mom.” But all she did was flutter her eyelids and let out another faint groan. Bellamy leapt to his
feet, gasping as he realized the knees of his pants were soaked with blood. He had to find someone.
He had to get help.
He dashed back into the main room and was about to go run for a guard when a noise brought
him skidding to a halt. His eyes fell on the closet, which was slightly open, a sliver of shadow
creeping out of the gap between the door and the wall. He took a few steps toward it as a tiny
tearstained face peeked out.
“Are you okay?” he whispered to his sister, reaching for her hand. “Come on.” But she shrank
back into the darkness, trembling. Bellamy’s fear for his mother slid away as he stared at the little
girl she’d made terrified to come into the light. “Come on, Octavia,” he coaxed, and slowly,
tentatively, she poked her head out again.
Finally, she toddled out of the closet, looking around the room with wide eyes. “Here,” Bellamy
said, picking up the red ribbon he’d given her from the floor of the closet. He tied it around her dark
curls in his best approximation of a bow. “You look beautiful.” He grabbed her hand, feeling his
heart swell as her little fingers wrapped around his. He led her to their mother’s bedroom, lifted her
onto the bed, then curled up next to her, praying that he wouldn’t hear any other noises from the
kitchen.
They sat there together on the bed, waiting quietly, until finally their mother’s moans stopped
and there was only silence.
“It’s okay, O,” he said, holding his little sister tight to his chest. “It’s okay. You’ll never have to
hide again.”
As the comet’s trail faded into blackness, Bellamy hurried back down the
slope, eager to get back before Octavia woke up and realized he’d gone. But
as he came around the bend, searching for the familiar collection of tents,
all he could see were flames.
The entire camp was on fire.
Bellamy skidded to a stop, gasping as his lungs took their first breath of
smoke-filled air. For a moment, his vision was filled with flames and
shadows, but then shapes began to emerge. Figures were sprinting in every
direction, some pouring out of the burning tents while others rushed toward
the trees.
Only one thought consumed him as he jogged over to their blankets, his
eyes searching the darkness for his sister’s sleeping form. The knot of dread
in his stomach told him what he already knew. Octavia wasn’t there.
He called her name, jerking his head from side to side, praying that
she’d call to him from the edge of the clearing, from someplace safe.
“Octavia!” he yelled again, looking wildly in all directions, squinting to
see through the smoke. Don’t panic, he told himself, but it was no use. The
flames tore through the darkness and Octavia was nowhere to be found.
Bellamy had come down from scanning the heavens only to find himself
in the depths of hell.
CHAPTER 30
Clarke
For some period of time—minutes, hours, Clarke wasn’t sure—all she
could hear was the sound of their hearts, the whisper of their mingled
breaths. But then a scream clawed its way out from the clearing, dragging
them apart. Clarke and Wells jumped to their feet, Clarke holding on to
Wells’s arm for balance as the world slid back into terrifying focus.
He grabbed her hand and they ran back into the clearing. She heard
more screams, but none were as frightening as the roar and crackle that
made every nerve in her body stand at attention.
Flames rose up from the tents, some of which had already collapsed into
smoldering heaps, like corpses on an ancient battlefield. Shadowy figures
sprinted for the safety of the forest, pursued by tendrils of hungry flames.
Thalia, Clarke thought in horror, and started to run. She was too weak to
make it out of the infirmary tent on her own.
“No!” Wells shouted, forcing his voice over the chaos of screams.
“Clarke, it’s not safe!”
But his words slid off her like a spray of ash. She made a beeline for the
tent, smoke filling her lungs, blinking to see in the smoldering air.
His arm wrapped around her waist like a steel band, pulling her forcibly
into the shelter of the trees. “Let me go,” she shrieked, thrashing with all
her might. But Wells held her tight, forcing her to watch helplessly as fire
engulfed the infirmary fewer than a hundred meters away. The entire side of
the tent was up in flames. The plastic tarp on top was melting, and smoke
filtered out of the gap between the front flaps.
“Get off.” She sobbed, twisting again as she tried to wrestle free.
He slid his arm under her and began dragging her backward. “No,” she
shrieked, feeling the sound tear her throat, pounding at him helplessly with
her fists. “I need to get her out.” She dug her heels into the grass, but Wells
was stronger, and she couldn’t hold her ground. “Thalia!”
“Clarke, I’m so sorry,” Wells whispered in her ear. She could tell he was
crying, but she didn’t care. “You’ll die if you go in there. I can’t let you.”
The word die ignited a reserve of power that exploded through her.
Clarke gritted her teeth and lunged forward, momentarily escaping Wells’s
hold. Her entire being had reduced to a single, desperate thought—saving
the only friend she had left in the universe.
She screamed as her arm was wrenched behind her back. “Let me go.”
This time, it was more of a plea than an order. “I’m begging you. Let me
go.”
“I can’t,” he said, wrapping his arms around her again. His voice was
shaking. “I can’t.”
The clearing was empty now. Everyone had made it into the woods,
taking whatever supplies they could carry. But no one had thought to grab
the frail girl who was now being burned alive just a few meters away.
“Help,” Clarke cried. “Someone, please help.” But there was no answer
except for the roar and crackle of the fire.
The flames on the top of the infirmary tent rose higher, the sides
collapsing toward each other, as if the fire were inhaling the tent and
everything inside of it. “No.”
There was a crack, and the flames shot up even higher. Clarke shrieked
with horror as the entire tent collapsed into a storm of fire, then slowly
crumbled into ash.
It was over.
As she walked away from the medical center, Clarke could almost feel the vial pulsing in her pocket,
like the heart in the old story Wells had discovered at the library the other day. He’d offered to read it
to her, but she’d flatly refused. The last thing she needed right now was to hear creepy pre-Cataclysm
literature. She had enough scenes of horror playing out in her real life.
The vial Clarke carried in her pocket could never have a heartbeat, she knew; just the opposite.
The toxic cocktail of drugs inside was designed to stop a heart for good.
When Clarke got home, her parents weren’t there. Although they both spent most of the day in
their lab, over the past few weeks, they’d conveniently found excuses to leave right before Clarke
returned from her training and rarely came back until just before she went to sleep. It was probably
for the best. As Lilly grew sicker, Clarke could barely look at her parents without feeling a surge of
rage. She knew she wasn’t being fair—the moment anyone protested, the Vice Chancellor would have
her parents executed and Clarke Confined within days. But that didn’t make it any easier for her to
meet their eyes.
The lab was quiet. As Clarke wound her way through the maze of empty beds, all she could hear
was the drone of the ventilation system. The soft buzz of conversation had faded as more and more
bodies were secreted away.
Lilly seemed even thinner than she’d been the day before. Clarke crept toward her bed and ran
her hand gently down her friend’s arm, shuddering as bits of her skin fell away. She slipped her other
hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the vial. It would be so easy. No one would
ever know.
But then Lilly’s pale lashes fluttered open, and Clarke froze. As she stared into Lilly’s eyes, a
cold wave of terror and revulsion crashed over her. What was she thinking? An overpowering urge to
destroy the vial tore through her body, and she had to take a deep breath to keep herself from hurling
it against the wall.
Lilly’s lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. Clarke leaned forward and gave her a
small smile. “Sorry, didn’t catch that, Lil.” She lowered her head so her ear was closer to Lilly’s
mouth. “What did you say?”
At first, Clarke could only feel the soundless wisp of air on her skin, as if there wasn’t enough
breath in Lilly’s lungs to push the words out of her mouth. But then a faint moan escaped from her
chapped lips. “Did you bring it?”
Clarke raised her head to look into her friend’s panic-filled brown eyes. She nodded slowly.
“Now.” The word was barely audible.
“No,” Clarke protested, her voice shaking. “It’s too soon.” She blinked back the tears that had
begun to fill her eyes. “You could still get better,” she said, but the lie sounded hollow, even to her.
Lilly’s face contorted in pain, and Clarke reached for her hand. “Please.” Lilly’s voice was
ragged.
“I’m sorry.” Clarke gave Lilly’s fragile hand a gentle squeeze as tears began to trickle down her
cheeks. “I can’t.”
Lilly’s eyes grew wide, and Clarke inhaled sharply. “Lil?” But Lilly remained silent, staring at
something only she could see. Something that filled her eyes with terror. The physical pain racking
Lilly’s body was terrible, Clarke knew, but the hallucinations, the demons who were with her every
moment, hovering at her bedside, were worse.
“No more.”
Clarke closed her eyes. The guilt and remorse she’d feel could never compare to Lilly’s pain. It’d
be selfish to let her own fear prevent her from bringing her friend the peace she wanted—the respite
from pain she deserved.
Her whole body was trembling so hard, she could barely remove the vial from her pocket, let
alone fill the syringe. She stood next to the bed and clasped Lilly’s hand with one arm, using the
other to position the needle over Lilly’s vein. “Sleep well, Lil,” she whispered.
Lilly nodded and gave Clarke a smile that she knew would be burned into her brain for the rest
of her life. “Thank you.”
Clarke held Lilly’s hand for the few minutes it took for her friend to slip away. Then she rose and
placed her fingers against Lilly’s still-warm neck, searching for a pulse.
She was gone.
Clarke sank to the damp ground, gasping as her lungs reached desperately
for the cool air, then rolled onto her side. Through the tears blurring her
vision, she could make out the shapes of people standing all around her,
their dark, featureless silhouettes still and quiet.
Her best friend, the only person who truly knew Clarke, who knew what
she had done to Lilly and still loved her. Thalia had told her to make things
right with Wells tonight—and then Wells had held Clarke back while they
watched Thalia die.
“I’m so sorry, Clarke,” Wells was saying, reaching for her. She pushed
his hand away.
“I can’t believe you,” she said, her voice cold and quiet. Rage billowed
in her chest, as if there were flames inside her that needed only fury and
grief to blaze into an inferno. “There was no way you’d make it,” Wells
stammered. “I just—I couldn’t let you go. You would’ve been killed.”
“So you let Thalia die instead. Because you get to decide who lives and
who dies.” He started to protest, but she kept going, shaking with rage.
“Tonight was a mistake. You destroy everything you touch.”
“Clarke, please, I—”
But she just stood up, shaking the bits of cinder from her clothes, and
walked into the forest without looking back.
They all had ash in their lungs and tears in their eyes. But Wells had
blood on his hands.
CHAPTER 31
Glass
“I’ll get a ring as soon as I find one at the Exchange,” Luke said to Glass,
his hand on her lower back as he guided her through the crowded corridors
back toward Phoenix. Most of the people who’d assembled to watch the
comet were heading back to their residential units on the lower decks,
making it difficult to move toward the skybridge. But Glass was hardly
aware of which direction they were heading. Her heart was still thumping
with joy, and she was shaking, holding tight to Luke’s hand.
“I don’t need a ring.” She reached up to touch the locket, which seemed
to be radiating warmth through her chest. Nothing could happen
immediately, she knew. Although she turned eighteen in a few weeks, they
couldn’t risk getting married until the Chancellor woke up and confirmed
her pardon—or never woke up at all. Her mother would understand
eventually, once she saw how much Luke loved Glass. They’d get married
and apply for permission to start a family, someday. But for now, just the
promise of a future together was enough. “This is perfect.”
They turned out of the stairwell and into the corridor that led to the
skybridge. Luke stopped short and pulled Glass to him as a dozen guards
jogged by, so close a few of their sleeves brushed against Glass’s arm,
although their eyes trained straight ahead. She shivered and leaned into
Luke, who was watching them with a strange expression on his face. “Do
you know what’s going on?” she asked.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Luke said too quickly, his words at odds with the
tension in his jaw. But then he raised their interlocked fingers to his lips and
kissed her hand. “Let’s go.”
Glass smiled as they continued walking. The thud of the guards’ boots
had faded away, and they had the whole hallway to themselves. Suddenly,
Luke stopped and raised her arm into the air. Before Glass had time to ask
what he was doing, he’d spun her around and lowered her into a dip.
Glass laughed as Luke wrapped one arm around her waist and swept her
across the empty hallway. “What’s gotten into you?”
He paused and pulled her even closer to him, then leaned in and
murmured into her ear. “I hear music when I’m with you.” Glass just smiled
and, in the middle of the hallway, closed her eyes as they swayed from side
to side.
Finally, Luke stepped back, gesturing in the direction of the skybridge.
“It’s almost curfew,” he said.
“Okay,” she agreed, sighing. They walked hand in hand across the
skybridge, exchanging knowing smiles that made every cell in Glass’s body
buzz with excitement. At the entrance to Phoenix, they stopped, reluctant to
say good-bye. Luke ran his finger along the locket chain.
“I love you,” he said, squeezing her hand before giving her a little
shove. “Let me know once you get home. I’ll come by tomorrow to talk to
your mom.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Tomorrow.”
Finally, Glass turned and began walking across the skybridge. She’d
made it halfway across when a shrill beep echoed through the empty space.
She looked around, startled. The cluster of guards at the Phoenix end of the
bridge broke apart, and she could hear someone barking orders. Glass froze
as the sound grew louder and more urgent. She turned to look at Luke,
who’d started taking a few hesitant steps forward.
“The bridge is closing,” a disembodied woman’s voice announced over
the speakers. “Please clear the area.” There was a brief pause, then the
message repeated. “The bridge is closing. Please clear the area.” Glass
gasped as a barrier began to descend at the Phoenix checkpoint. She lunged
forward and could see Luke running as well, but they were both too far
away.
Glass reached the clear partition just as it locked into the floor,
slamming her hands against it. Luke slid to a stop on the other side. He was
saying something, but although she could see his mouth moving, no sound
reached her ears.
Tears filled her eyes as she watched him bang his fists against the wall in
frustration. She didn’t understand. The skybridge hadn’t been closed since
the plague outbreak in the first century. She knew if it was closing now, it
might not open again.
“Luke!” she cried, the word falling uselessly from her lips. She pressed
her hand against the clear partition and held it there. Their eyes locked.
“I love you,” Glass said.
Luke pressed his own hand to the wall, and for a moment, Glass could
almost feel the warmth of his skin. I love you too, he mouthed. He gave her
a sad smile and motioned for her to start walking. She paused, not wanting
to leave without knowing what was going on, when she’d see him again.
The alarm was still sounding overhead, ringing in her ears.
Go, Luke mouthed, his face serious.
Glass nodded and turned, forcing herself to keep her eyes straight ahead.
But before she turned onto the hallway that led away from the skybridge,
she glanced over her shoulder one last time. Luke hadn’t moved. He was
still standing there, his hand pressed against the wall.
Glass ran home, weaving through crowds of panicked civilians and stonefaced guards.
“Oh, thank god,” Sonja said as Glass rushed into the flat. “I was so
worried.” She shoved a water pitcher into Glass’s arms. “Go fill this up in
the bathroom. I’m not sure how much longer the water will last.”
“What’s going on?” Glass asked. “They closed the skybridge.”
“What were you doing near the bridge?” her mother asked, then blinked,
taking in the clothes Glass had changed into after the comet viewing party.
“Oh,” she said flatly, a wearied understanding overtaking her features.
“That’s where you were.”
“What’s happening?” Glass repeated, ignoring her mother’s look of
disapproval.
“I’m not sure, but I have a feeling…” She trailed off, then pressed her
lips together. “I think this is it. The day we all knew was coming.”
“What are you talking about?”
Her mother took the pitcher back from Glass and turned to the sink.
“The ship wasn’t built to last this long. It was just a matter of time before
things started to break down.”
The water had reached the top of the pitcher and was now overflowing
into the sink, but Sonja just stood there. “Mom?”
Finally, her mother shut off the water and turned around to face Glass.
“It’s the airlock,” she said quietly. “There’s been a breach.” A shout rang
out from the corridor, and her mother shot a quick glance at the door before
she forced a smile and continued. “But don’t worry. There’s a reserve of
oxygen on Phoenix. We’ll be okay until they figure out what to do. I
promise, Glass, we’ll get through this.”
Glass felt the realization dawning in her mind, twisting her stomach with
dread. “What does that have to do with the bridge?” she asked, her voice so
quiet it was almost a whisper.
“They’re already running out of oxygen on Arcadia and Walden. We had
to take security precautions to make sure…”
“No,” Glass breathed. “The Council is going to let them all die?”
Sonja stepped forward and squeezed Glass’s arm. “They had to do
something, or else no one would survive,” she was saying, but Glass barely
registered her words. “It’s the only way to protect the Colony.”
“I have to find him,” Glass said, trembling. She took a shaky step back.
Her head was a frenzy of words and images that bounced off one another,
creating more panic than sense.
“Glass,” her mother said, with something that sounded like pity. “I’m so
sorry, but you can’t. There’s no way. All the exits are sealed.” She stepped
forward and pulled her daughter into a hug. Glass tried to wriggle free, but
her mother tightened her hold. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“I love him,” Glass sobbed, her body shaking.
“I know.” Sonja reached out and took Glass’s hand. “And I’m sure he
loves you too. But maybe this is for the best.” She gave a sad smile that sent
chills down Glass’s spine. “At least this way, you don’t have to say a
terrible good-bye.”
CHAPTER 32
Wells
Wells watched Clarke stride off into the woods, feeling as if she’d punched
through his sternum and torn away a chunk of his heart. He was only
vaguely aware of the gleeful roar of the flames as they swallowed the
supplies, the tents… and anyone who’d been unfortunate enough to be left
inside. Around him, a few people had fallen to the ground, gasping for
breath or shaking with horror. But most were standing shoulder to shoulder,
facing the inferno, their figures still and quiet.
“Is everyone okay?” Wells asked hoarsely. “Who’s missing?” The
numbness at Clarke’s words was burning away, replaced by a frantic
energy. He stepped forward to the edge of the tree cover, shielding his eyes
as he tried to peer through the wall of flames. When no one answered, he
took a breath and shouted, “Did everyone make it out?” There was a ripple
of vague nods.
“Do we need to go farther?” a small Walden girl asked, her voice
trembling as she took a step deeper into the woods.
“It doesn’t look like it’s spreading to the trees,” an Arcadian boy said
hoarsely. He was standing next to a few battered water jugs and blackened
containers he’d carried out of the camp.
The boy was right. The ring of bare dirt that bordered the clearing was
wide enough that the flames engulfing the tents flickered just out of reach
of the lowest branches.
Wells turned, searching through the darkness for a sign of Clarke. But
she’d disappeared into the shadows. He could almost feel her grief pulsing
through the darkness. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to go to
her, but he knew it was hopeless.
Clarke was right. He destroyed everything he touched.
“You look tired,” the Chancellor said, surveying Wells from across the dinner table.
Wells looked up from the plate he’d been staring at, then nodded curtly. “I’m fine.” The truth
was, he hadn’t slept in days. The look of fury Clarke had given him was branded into his brain, and
every time he closed his eyes, he could see the terror on her face as the guards dragged her away.
Her anguished scream filled the silence between his heartbeats.
After the trial, Wells had begged his father to lift the charges. He swore Clarke had nothing to do
with the research, and that the guilt she’d been carrying around had nearly killed her. But the
Chancellor had simply claimed that it was out of his hands.
Wells shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He could barely stand to be on the same ship as his
father, let alone sit across from him at dinner, but he had to maintain some semblance of civility. If he
allowed his rage to break free, his father would simply accuse Wells of being too irrational, too
immature to understand the law.
“I know you’re angry with me,” the Chancellor said before taking a sip of water. “But I can’t
overrule the vote. That’s why we have the Council, to keep one person from becoming too powerful.”
He glanced down at the chip flashing in his watch, then looked back at Wells. “The Gaia Doctrine is
harsh enough as it is. We have to hold on to whatever shred of freedom we have left.”
“So you’re saying that even if Clarke is innocent, it’d be worth it to let her die in order to keep
democracy alive?”
The Chancellor fixed Wells with a stare that, a few days ago, would’ve made him sink into his
chair. “I believe innocent is a relative term here. There’s no denying she knew about the
experiments.”
“Rhodes forced them to conduct those experiments. He’s the one who should be punished!”
“That’s enough,” the Chancellor said in a voice so cold, it almost extinguished Wells’s rage. “I
refuse to listen to this heresy in my own home.”
Wells was about to launch an angry retort, but he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
His father silenced him with a final look as he opened the door and ushered in the Vice Chancellor
himself.
Wells could barely contain his hatred as Rhodes gave him a curt nod in greeting. The Vice
Chancellor wore his usual self-satisfied look as he followed the Chancellor into his study. After they
closed the door firmly behind them, Wells stood up from the table. He knew he should go to his room
and shut the door, like he always did when his father took meetings in their home.
A few days ago, he might have. A few days ago, he wouldn’t have dared to eavesdrop on a
private conversation. But now he didn’t care. He crept toward the door and pressed himself against
the wall.
“The dropships are ready,” Rhodes began. “There’s no reason to wait.”
“There are plenty of reasons to wait.” There was a note of irritation in his father’s voice, as if
they’d already had this discussion many times. “We’re still not sure if the radiation levels are safe.”
Wells inhaled sharply, then froze to keep his breath from disturbing the silence outside the study
door.
“That’s why we’re emptying the detention center. Why not put the convicts to good use?”
“Even Confined children deserve a chance at life, Rhodes. That’s why they’re given a retrial on
their eighteenth birthday.”
The Vice Chancellor scoffed. “You know none of them are going to be pardoned. We can’t afford
to waste the resources. We’re running out of time as it is.”
What does he mean, running out of time? Wells wondered, but before he had a chance to think it
through, his father broke in.
“Those reports are grossly exaggerated. We have enough oxygen for another few years at least.”
“And then what? You’ll order the entire Colony onto the dropships and just hope for the best?”
“We’ll send the Confined juveniles in the detention center, like you suggested. But not yet. Not
until it’s our last resort. Unless the breach in sector C14 worsens, we’ve got a little time left still. The
first prisoners will be sent in a year.”
“If that’s what you think is best.”
Wells heard the Vice Chancellor rise from his chair, and in a flash, he ran silently into his room
and collapsed onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what he’d heard. The
Colony was on its last breath. They had only a few years left up in space.
It all clicked into place, why everyone was being found guilty: There weren’t enough resources
on the ship to support its population. It was a horrifying thought, but an even more terrible
realization was making its way to the front of his brain. Clarke’s birthday was in six months. Wells
knew he’d never convince his father to pardon her. Being sent to Earth would give her a second
chance. But they weren’t going to start the mission for another year. Unless he did something, Clarke
was going to die.
His only chance was to speed up the mission, to have the first group sent right away.
A terrifying plan began to take shape, and his chest tightened in fear as he realized what he
would have to do. But Wells knew there was no other way. To save the girl he loved, he’d have to
endanger the entire human race.
CHAPTER 33
Bellamy
Bellamy slid down the trunk of the tree and sank to the ground, feeling as
hollow as the burned-out shell of the dropship. He’d been searching for
Octavia for hours, tearing through the forest and screaming her name until
his throat was raw, but the woods had answered him with nothing but
maddening silence.
“Hey.” A weary voice interrupted his thoughts. Bellamy turned to see
Wells walking slowly toward him. Soot was smeared across his face, and
the skin on his left forearm was badly scratched. “Any luck?”
Bellamy shook his head. “I’m so sorry.” Wells pressed his lips together
and stared at a spot on the ground just beyond Bellamy for a long moment.
“If it’s any consolation, I really don’t think she was here. We just searched
the clearing pretty thoroughly. Everyone made it out in time except…” His
voice trailed off.
“I know,” Bellamy said quietly. “I’m really sorry, man. I’m sure you did
your best.”
Wells winced. “I don’t even know what that means anymore.” Bellamy
looked at him in confusion, but before he had time to say anything, Wells
gave him a small smile. “Octavia will turn up soon. Don’t worry.” Then he
turned and trudged back into the clearing, where a few people were sifting
through the ashes, looking for anything that had survived the blaze.
In the rosy dawn light, Bellamy could almost make himself believe that
the horrors of the last few hours were nothing but a nightmare. The flames
had long since died out, and while much of the grass had been burned away,
the soil underfoot was damp. The fire hadn’t reached the trees, whose
flowers stretched out to greet the light, blissfully unaware of—or
unconcerned with—the tragedy below. But that was the thing about grief,
Bellamy knew. You couldn’t expect anyone else to share your suffering.
You had to carry your pain alone.
He heard a few of the kids arguing over what they thought had started
the fire: whether the wind had carried a spark from their campfire to scorch
the tents, or if someone had done something stupid.
But Bellamy didn’t give a shit what had caused it. All he cared about
was Octavia. Had she gotten lost while running for safety, or had she left
camp before the fire even started? And if so, why?
He rose shakily to his feet, holding on to the tree trunk for balance. He
couldn’t stop to rest, not now, when every hour meant Octavia might be in
danger. Now that it was light, he could search again. Farther this time. It
didn’t matter how long it took. He wouldn’t stop moving until he found her.
As Bellamy moved deeper into the shade, he exhaled, relieved to be
away from the insultingly bright sunlight. Relieved to be alone. But then his
eyes landed on a figure winding its way toward him. He paused and
squinted through the green-shadowed gloom. It was Clarke.
“Hey,” he asked hoarsely, his stomach twisting uneasily at the sight of
her pale, drawn face. “Are you okay?”
“Thalia’s dead?” She said it more like a question, as though hoping he
would assure her that it wasn’t true.
Bellamy nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.” She started to tremble, and he
instinctively pulled her into his arms. For a long moment they just stood
there, Bellamy holding Clarke’s shaking form tight against him. “I’m so
sorry,” he whispered into her hair.
Finally, Clarke straightened up and stepped back with a sigh. Although
tears were running down her face, the brightness had returned to her eyes,
and a hint of color had snuck back into her cheeks. “Where’s your sister?”
she asked, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
“She’s not here. I’ve been searching for hours, but it’s been too dark.
I’m going out to look for her again.”
“Wait.” Clarke reached into her pocket. “I found this in the woods. Out
past the stream, toward that giant rock formation.” She placed something in
Bellamy’s hand. He inhaled audibly as his fingers closed around the
familiar strip of satin. It was Octavia’s red ribbon.
“Was it tied to a tree?” he asked faintly, unsure what he hoped the
answer would be.
“No.” Clarke’s dirt-streaked face softened. “I saw it on the ground. It
must’ve fallen out of her hair at some point. She was wearing it last night,
wasn’t she?”
“I think so,” Bellamy replied, his brain frantically racing for snippets of
memory. “Yes. She had it when she went to sleep.”
“Okay,” Clarke said with sudden firmness. “So that means she left the
camp before the fire started. Look,” she added, in answer to Bellamy’s
questioning look, “there’s no ash on it. No sign that it was anywhere near
the flames.”
“You may be right,” Bellamy said softly, rubbing the ribbon between his
fingers. “I just don’t understand why she would have left before the fire
started.” He glanced back up at Clarke. “Weren’t you outside the infirmary
last night? Did you notice anything?”
Clarke shook her head, her expression suddenly unreadable. “I stepped
away for a while,” she said, her voice tense. “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind,” Bellamy said. He slipped the ribbon into his pocket. “I
never got to apologize. You were right about O all along. I’m sorry.” Clarke
just nodded in acknowledgment. “Thanks for telling me about the ribbon.
I’m going out to look for her.”
He started to turn away, but Clarke reached out to lay a hand on his
wrist. “I’ll come with you.”
“That’s nice of you, but I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. This isn’t
like when we went out to find the medicine. It might be a while.”
“I’m coming with you,” she repeated. Her voice was firm, and there was
a fire in her eyes that made him hesitate to contradict her.
“Are you sure?” Bellamy raised an eyebrow. “I doubt Wells will be
happy to hear that.”
“He’s not going to hear it from me. We’re done.”
Bellamy’s brain buzzed with questions that never made it to his lips.
“Okay, then.” He took a step forward and gestured for her to follow. “But I
should warn you… I’ll probably take off my shirt at some point.” He
glanced over his shoulder and saw a smile flicker across her face, so small it
might have been a trick of the light filtering through the heavy leaves.
CHAPTER 34
Glass
The Colony was eerily quiet, even for one in the morning. Glass didn’t see
anyone else as she dashed through the dark hallways, lit only by the dim
glow of the blue emergency lights along the floor.
She’d slipped out after her mother had finally gone to bed, and now she
tried to banish the image of her mother waking up and finding Glass gone.
The hurt and horror that would contort her delicate features, just as they’d
done countless times over the past two years. Glass would never forgive
herself for the pain she’d caused her mother, but she didn’t have a choice.
She had to get to Walden, and to Luke.
She paused on the landing to F deck, straining her ears for footsteps, but
she heard nothing except the sound of her own ragged breath. Either the
guards were on patrol in some other part of Phoenix, or they’d all been
banished back to Walden and Arcadia, where they wouldn’t steal any more
of the air that had been reserved for Phoenician lungs.
Glass darted down the unfamiliar corridor, straining her eyes for the
telltale silver gleam of an air vent. Nearly at the bottom of the ship, F deck
was mostly devoted to storage. The air vent she’d crawled through after
she’d escaped the dropship had led to the F deck on Walden. She just hoped
that the same applied on Phoenix. Slowing to a walk, she scanned the walls
for an opening, feeling dread seep into her with each step. What if she’d
been wrong about the layout? Or perhaps the vent had once connected
Walden and Phoenix, but it had been filled long ago?
Then a glint of metal caught her eye, and the tension building in her
chest was swept away by excitement and relief. She quickly rose onto her
toes, reaching for the edge of the grate, but it was too high up. She let out a
frustrated sigh and turned to survey the hallway. None of the doors were
marked, but they didn’t seem to be protected by retina scanners. She
grabbed the nearest handle and yanked. It groaned open, revealing a dark
supply closet.
Glass’s eyes settled on a small barrel, which she rolled out into the
hallway. She stepped on top, removed the grate, and pulled herself up into
the shadowy space.
Glass thought briefly of her last crawl through an air shaft, how the
metal walls had seemed to press in on her from all sides, and shivered,
reaching for her back pocket. At least this time she’d brought a flashbeam.
She directed the feeble beam of light forward, but there was nothing in sight
except the air shaft, stretching endlessly ahead.
It would end eventually, Glass knew. She just hoped she wouldn’t run
out of air before she got there. If she had to die, she wanted it to be in
Luke’s arms.
The scene on Walden was different than she’d expected. The lights seemed
to be functioning normally, and as she hurried toward Luke’s flat, Glass
didn’t see any guards. For a moment, she felt a brief surge of hope. Perhaps
her mother had been wrong. The panic on Phoenix was all a
misunderstanding. But as she climbed the stairs, she felt a strange tightness
in her chest that only got worse when she paused to catch her breath. Her
eagerness to see Luke might account for her racing pulse, but Glass knew
she couldn’t ignore the truth. Oxygen was already running low on Walden.
She forced herself to move slowly as she turned onto Luke’s floor,
breathing careful, shallow breaths to keep her heart rate steady. The corridor
was full of adults speaking in low voices, shooting worried looks at the
children scampering up and down the hall, so excited to be out of bed at
such a late hour that they hardly noticed their labored breaths. Glass wanted
to tell the parents to keep the children calm and still to conserve oxygen, but
that would only create more panic, and there was nothing they could do,
anyway.
Glass had barely started to knock on Luke’s door before he’d pulled her
inside and into his arms. For a moment, all she was aware of was the
warmth of his body and the weight of his embrace. But then he broke away,
and she could see shock and concern warring with the joy in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, running his hand along her cheek as
if needing more proof that she wasn’t an illusion. He glanced toward the
closed door and lowered his voice before continuing. “It’s not safe.”
“I know,” Glass said quietly, slipping her hand into his.
“I don’t know how you even got here, but you need to go back,” Luke
said, shaking his head. “You have a better chance of surviving on Phoenix.”
“I’m not going back without you.”
He led her over to the couch with a sigh and pulled her onto his lap.
“Listen,” he said, as he wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger, “if
the guards catch us sneaking onto Phoenix, they’ll shoot me, and then
they’ll probably shoot you.” He closed his eyes, wincing. “This is what
they’ve been training us for, Glass. It was never said overtly, but… we all
had a sense something big was coming, and we’ve been drilled on what to
do.” When he opened his eyes again, they were full of a cold fury she’d
never seen in them. He must’ve noticed the worry on her face, because his
expression softened. “But that’s not any of your concern. You’ll be fine.
And that’s all I care about.”
“No,” Glass said, startled by her own vehemence. “I won’t be fine.”
Luke frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Glass cut him off. “It’ll
kill me, knowing you’re down here alone. It’ll kill me,” she repeated,
suddenly frantic, gasping as she fought for air. “And if I have to die, I want
it to be down here with you.”
“Shhh,” Luke murmured, running his hand down the back of her head.
“Okay, okay.” He smiled sadly. “The worst thing we can do is run out of
oxygen arguing.”
“Are you afraid?” Glass asked after a long moment of silence.
Luke turned back to her and shook his head. “No.” He placed his finger
under her chin and tilted it up, so that she was looking straight into his eyes.
“I’m never afraid when I’m with you.” He leaned forward and kissed her
softly. She shivered, his breath making her skin tingle.
Glass pulled away with a smile. “Isn’t this a waste of oxygen?”
“Just the opposite,” Luke whispered, drawing her back. “We’re
conserving it.” His mouth found hers again, and she parted her lips as his
kiss grew deeper.
Glass ran her hand up his arm, smiling as he shivered. Without breaking
away, she began to unbutton his shirt, telling herself that his unusually rapid
heartbeat was a response to her touch. Her lips moved to his jaw, then
trailed down his neck. She paused at his chest. There were numbers tattooed
on his ribs. Two sets of dates that made Glass’s stomach churn.
“What’s wrong?” Luke asked, sitting up.
She lowered her finger toward the tattoo, then snatched it away, afraid to
touch the ink. “What’s that?”
“Oh.” Luke frowned as he glanced down. “I thought I told you. I wanted
something to honor Carter.” His voice grew distant. “It’s his birthday and
the day he was executed.”
Glass barely managed to suppress a shudder as she looked back at the
second set of numbers. Glass didn’t need a tattoo to remind herself of the
day Carter had died. The date was branded as clearly in her mind as it was
on Luke’s skin.
Glass groaned as she brought her knees up to her chest. The sheets on her cot were twisted and damp
with sweat. She was desperate for a drink, but it’d be hours before they brought her dinner tray and
her evening water allotment. She thought longingly of all the years she’d spent blissfully unaware
that water was rationed elsewhere on the Colony.
There was a low beep, followed by footsteps. Glass winced as she lifted her throbbing head from
the pillow and saw a figure in the door. It wasn’t a guard. It was the Chancellor.
Glass drew herself into a seated position and pushed a strand of damp hair away from her face.
She braced for a flare of fury as she locked eyes with the man who’d ordered her arrest, but through
the haze of pain and exhaustion, she didn’t see the head of the Council. All she saw was the
concerned face of her best friend’s father.
“Hello, Glass.” He gestured toward the other side of the cot. “May I?”
She nodded weakly.
The Chancellor sighed as he sat down. “I’m sorry about what happened.” He looked more
haggard than she’d ever seen him, worse even than when his wife was dying. “I never wanted to see
you get hurt.”
Without thinking, Glass brought her hand to her stomach. “I’m not the one who was hurt.”
The Chancellor closed his eyes for a moment while he rubbed his temples. He never showed
frustration or fatigue in public, but Glass recognized the expression from the few times she’d seen
him working in his study at home. “I hope you understand that I didn’t have a choice.” His voice
grew firm. “I swore an oath to uphold the laws of this Colony. I don’t have the luxury of turning a
blind eye just because the criminal in question happens to be my son’s best friend.”
“I understand that you need to believe that,” Glass said, her voice hollow.
His face hardened. “Are you ready to tell me the name of the father?”
“Why should I do that? So you can lock him up in here with me?”
“Because it’s the law.” The Chancellor rose to his feet and took a few steps toward her.
“Because it’s not fair that the father not be punished equally. And because it won’t take my
investigators long to go through the retina scanner records and figure out where you’ve been
spending your time. We’re going to find him either way. But if you help us, you’ll have a much better
chance of being pardoned at your retrial.”
Their eyes met, and Glass turned away from him, wincing as she imagined Luke being dragged
away in the middle of the night, the terror on his face as he begged the guards to tell him what was
going on. Would they tell him the truth, allowing just enough time for the pain to register before they
plunged the needle into his chest? Or would he die believing he’d been the victim of a terrible
mistake?
She couldn’t let that happen.
But the Chancellor was right. The Council wouldn’t stop until they’d found the accessory to her
crime. Eventually, one of the guards would trace Glass’s movements to Walden, to Luke’s floor—
maybe even to his flat.
Slowly, she turned back to the Chancellor, knowing what she had to do. When she finally spoke,
her voice was as cold as a death sentence.
“The father was Carter Jace.”
There was a loud creaking noise in the hallway. She sat up, straining her
ears in the darkness. She felt a coil of panic tighten around her chest. It
sounded almost like the ship was moaning.
“Oh my god,” Luke whispered, rising quickly to his feet. The sound
came again, followed by a rumbling that shook the walls. “Let’s go.”
The corridor was still full of people, although now even the children had
fallen silent. The lights began to flicker. Luke held Glass’s hand tightly as
he wove through the crowd toward his neighbor. Her face was grave as she
whispered something to Luke that Glass couldn’t hear, though Glass could
tell from her expression that it was nothing good. Then another figure
materialized next to them, and Glass inhaled sharply.
It was Camille. Her eyes narrowed as they settled on Glass.
Glass turned away, unable to look at Camille right now. She couldn’t
help feeling guilty about how things had turned out. She wouldn’t blame the
other girl for hating her.
A group of children was huddled on the floor next to their parents, who
talked in low, worried tones. One of the little girl’s lips had a bluish cast,
and the boy whose hand she was clutching was struggling for breath.
The lights sputtered one more time, then went out. A series of gasps rose
up in the thick, sudden darkness. Unlike Phoenix, Walden didn’t have any
emergency lights.
Luke wrapped his arm around Glass’s waist and drew her closer to him.
“We’re going to be okay,” he whispered in her ear.
But then another voice reached through the shadows. Camille had snuck
over and was now standing on Glass’s other side. “Are you going to tell
him, or should I?” she said, too quietly for Luke to hear.
Glass turned to her, startled, but she couldn’t make out the expression on
Camille’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“He deserves to know the truth. That his friend died because of you.”
Glass shuddered, and even though she couldn’t see Camille smile, she
could hear it in her voice.
“I know your secret. I know what you did to Carter.”
CHAPTER 35
Clarke
They had been walking for hours, making widening concentric circles
through the woods, trying to cover every inch of terrain. The backs of
Clarke’s legs were burning, but she relished the sensation; the physical pain
was a welcome distraction from her thoughts. The flames engulfing the
sides of the infirmary tent… Wells’s arms like handcuffs around her… the
sickening crack as the walls collapsed.
“Hey, look over here.” Clarke turned to see Bellamy kneeling on the
ground near the spot where she’d discovered Octavia’s ribbon, staring
intently at what appeared to be footprints in the dirt. She was no tracker, but
the marks of struggle were easy to read. Whoever had left the prints hadn’t
been on a pleasant stroll through the woods.
“It looks like someone was running, or in a fight,” Clarke said softly.
She refrained from finishing the sentence: almost like someone had been
dragged away. They’d assumed Octavia had run away… but what if she’d
been taken?
She could read the same terrible line of questioning on Bellamy’s
furrowed brow, and knelt down beside him. “She can’t be far,” Clarke said,
meaning it. “We’ll find her.”
“Thank you.” Bellamy nodded as he rose, and they continued walking.
“I’m… I’m glad you’re here with me.”
They trudged on for what felt like hours, the sun rising and then sinking
in the sky. As their circles grew wider, Clarke could tell they were
approaching the edge of the forest. Through the outlines of the trees she
saw a clearing and paused. There were more trees, but these looked
different from the ones in the woods. They had massive, gnarled trunks and
thick limbs covered with a canopy of green leaves. The branches sagged
with round, red fruit. Apples.
Clarke approached the apple trees, Bellamy close behind her. “That’s
strange,” she said slowly. “The trees are spaced so evenly. It almost looks
like an orchard.” She walked over to the closest one. “But could it really
have survived all these years?”
Although the tree loomed over her, the lowest branch was fairly close to
the ground. Standing on her toes, it was easy for Clarke to stretch up and
pluck an apple. She twisted around and tossed it to Bellamy before reaching
for another one.
Clarke held the apple up to her face. They grew fruit in the solar fields
on the ship, but those apples looked nothing like these. The skin wasn’t just
red; it had threads of pink and white running through it, and it gave off a
scent unlike anything she had smelled before. She took a bite and gasped as
juice began running down her chin. How could something taste sweet and
tart at the same time? For just a moment, Clarke allowed herself to forget
everything that had happened on Earth and let the sensation overtake her.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bellamy asked, and Clarke
looked over. While she’d been busy eating, he’d begun using fallen
branches to measure the distance between the trees.
“To be honest, I wasn’t thinking anything beyond how good this tastes,”
Clarke admitted, feeling the hint of a smile curl her lips. But Bellamy didn’t
laugh or tease her. He just kept staring at the perfectly spaced trees.
“These didn’t survive the Cataclysm, and they didn’t just grow like
this,” he said slowly, his voice filled with wonder and dread. Before he’d
even finished, Clarke knew what he was going to say. Her chest tightened
with fear. “Someone planted them.”
CHAPTER 36
Wells
“Is this better?”
Wells turned and saw Asher, the Arcadian boy, pointing to the log he’d
been chopping. The grass was covered with wood shavings and pieces that
had been discarded after false starts—but this one actually looked
promising.
“Definitely.” Wells nodded and crouched down next to the log, running
his fingers over the grooves Asher had carved into the wood. “Just make
sure they’re all approximately the same depth, or else the logs won’t lock
into place.” As Wells stood up, Graham walked by, carrying a shred of
melted tarp toward the growing mound of salvaged supplies in the middle
of the clearing. Wells stood a little taller, bracing for a scoff or snide
remark, but Graham kept his eyes forward and continued on without a
word.
The fire had destroyed their tents, but most of the tools had been spared,
and the medicine, too. It had been Wells’s idea to try to build permanent
wood structures. It was a thousand times more difficult than it sounded in
books, but they were slowly figuring it out.
“Wells!” A girl from Walden ran over. “How are we going to hang the
hammocks? Eliza says they’re going to hang from the roof beams, but those
aren’t going to be ready for days, right? Also, I was thinking—”
“I’ll come over in a few minutes, okay?” Wells said, cutting her off. A
look of hurt flitted across her round face. “I’m sure you and Eliza are doing
a great job,” he added, giving her a small smile. “I’ll be right there.”
She nodded and dashed away, darting around a pile of melted tent rods
that still looked too hot to touch.
Wells glanced over his shoulder, then started walking toward the tree
line. He needed a moment to himself, to think. He moved slowly, the
heaviness in his chest seeming to seep into his limbs, making every step
laborious and painful. At the edge of the forest, he paused, breathing the
cooler air deep into his lungs, and closed his eyes. This was where he’d
kissed Clarke for the very first time on Earth—and for what was surely the
last time in his life.
He thought he’d already experienced the most terrible kind of pain
possible—knowing that Clarke hated him, that she couldn’t stand the sight
of him. But he’d been wrong. Watching her leave with Bellamy had nearly
killed him. She hadn’t even looked his way when she’d come to collect
what was left of her gear. She’d just nodded silently at the rest of the group
before following Bellamy into the forest.
If only she knew what he’d really done to be with her on Earth. He’d
risked everything. And it was all for nothing.
None of the guards gave Wells more than a cursory glance as he raised his eyes to the retina scanner,
then strode through the doors. Entry to sector C14 was highly restricted, but his officer’s uniform,
purposeful walk, and well-known face guaranteed access to pretty much any part of the Colony. He’d
never taken advantage of his status, until now. After he’d heard his father’s conversation with the
Vice Chancellor, something inside of Wells had snapped.
His plan was reckless and stupid and incredibly selfish, but he didn’t care. He had to make sure
Clarke was sent to Earth instead of the execution chamber.
Wells jogged down the empty, narrow staircase, lit only by faint emergency lights. There was no
reason for anyone to visit the airlock except for routine checks, and Wells had already hacked into
the maintenance files to check the schedule. He would be totally alone.
The airlock in C14 was original to the ship. And despite the engineers’ efforts to keep it in top
condition, after three hundred years of facing the extreme temperatures and UV rays of space, it had
started to deteriorate. There were tiny cracks along the edge and shiny squares where newer material
had obviously been patched over the airlock.
Wells reached behind him for the pliers he’d tucked into the waistband of his pants. It would be
fine, he told himself, his arms shaking. They were all going to be evacuated soon, anyway. He was
just speeding up the process. Yet in the back of his mind, he knew that there weren’t enough dropships
for everyone. And he had no idea what would happen when it came time to use them.
But that was his father’s concern, not his.
He reached out and began to pry up the flimsy edge of the airlock, wincing when he heard the
faint hiss. Then he turned and raced back toward the stairs, trying to ignore the horror welling up in
his stomach. He could barely stand to think of what he’d done, but as he hurried down the stairs, he
told himself he’d done what he had to do.
Wells rose wearily to his feet. It was getting dark, and there was still a lot of
work to do on the new cabins. They needed to finish at least some of the
shelters before the next storm. As he approached camp, wondering if Clarke
had taken enough blankets with her, if she would be warm when the
temperature dropped, Asher came up beside him and launched into another
line of questioning. He held one of the trimmed logs and seemed to want
Wells’s opinion on the size and cut.
Wells was too absorbed in his own thoughts to hear what Asher was
saying. As they walked side by side toward the tents, he could see the boy’s
mouth moving, but the words never made it to Wells’s ears.
“Listen,” Wells began, ready to tell Asher it could wait until morning.
Just then, something streaked past his face. There was a sickening thwack,
and Asher flew backward. Blood bubbled out of his mouth as he fell to the
ground.
Wells dropped to his knees. “Asher,” he screamed as his eyes struggled
to make sense of the image in front of him. There was an arrow sticking out
of the boy’s neck.
His first, mad thought was Bellamy. He was the only one who could
shoot like that.
Wells spun around with a yell, but it wasn’t Bellamy behind him. A line
of shadowy figures stood at the bottom of the hill, the setting sun behind
them. He gasped as shock and horror raced through his veins. Suddenly, it
became clear who had set fire to the camp—and who had taken Octavia. It
wasn’t anyone from the Colony.
The hundred might have been the first humans to set foot on the planet
in three centuries, but they weren’t alone.
Some people had never left.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe an immeasurable debt of gratitude to Joelle Hobeika, who not only
dreamed up the premise for The 100, but whose imagination, editorial
acumen, and tenacity were essential in bringing it to life. The same applies
to Katie McGee, Elizabeth Bewley, and Farrin Jacobs, whose incisive
questions and intelligent suggestions shaped the book at every level. I’m
also grateful to the intimidatingly clever people at Alloy, specifically Sara
Shandler, Josh Bank, and Lanie Davis, and the dedicated teams at Little,
Brown and Hodder & Stoughton.
Thank you to my remarkable friends on both sides of the East River, the
Gowanus Canal, the Mississippi, and the Atlantic for your support and
encouragement. A special “shout”-out to my confidants and coconspirators
at both ends of 557 Broadway, to the Crossroads crew, who first introduced
me to science fiction, and to Rachel Griffiths for going light-years beyond
the call of duty to help me grow as a writer and editor.
Most of all, I am grateful to my family—my father, Sam Henry Kass,
whose writing overflows with unmatched wit and unparalleled heart; my
mother, Marcia Bloom, whose art shimmers with the wisdom of a
philosopher and the soul of an aesthete; my brilliant brother, Petey Kass,
who makes me laugh until I can’t breathe; my inspiring grandparents,
Nance, Peter, Nicky, and David; and the Kass/Bloom/Greenfield clans, who
make so many places feel like home.
Keep reading for a sneak preview of Kass Morgan’s next thrilling sci-fi
adventure!
Available October 2018
CHAPTER 1
CORMAK
The airlock opened with a hiss, and Cormak shot off through the
blisteringly hot, pink-tinged air. As his bike sped across the cracked red
ground, he took shallow breaths until he was sure that his gas mask was
working. Then he exhaled and jolted the roader into a higher gear, leaning
forward to make his body as streamlined as possible. After spending all
night delivering H20 to the luxury towers in Sector 2, it was a relief to be
out in the open. The air in the towers might be quadruple filtered, but it
always felt more suffocating than the poisonous atmosphere outside.
Water was strictly rationed on Deva, and most Settlers barely had
enough for drinking, let alone showering more than once a week. But for a
steep price, anyone willing to risk punishment could buy it on the black
market from people like Cormak’s boss, Sol. Cormak had been making
deliveries to the luxury towers for two years, yet the wealthy residents still
eyed him warily, as if he were something that should’ve been caught in the
filters. He’d learned the hard way not to let his gaze linger longingly on
anything in their apartments—not on the fruit growing in the terrariums, not
on the films playing on the monitors, and especially not on the books
locked in transparent cases to protect them from the corrosive air. If there
was one thing rich people trusted less than a dust-covered Devak, it was a
dust-covered Devak who liked to read.
It was fairly clear today, and in the distance, the towers of Sector 23
loomed up through the faint pink haze. Cormak lived on the thirty-first floor
of Tower B, one of the six hulking cement structures that comprised his
scenic home. If he was lucky, he’d get a few hours of sleep before Sol
called with the next set of deliveries.
Cormak switched on his helmet radio, banging his gloved hand against
the side a few times until the static cleared.
“—officials said fourteen miners were killed in the blast. And now, the
local weather report,” a cheery voice chirped. “The time is 27:40 in the
morning. Air-traffic conditions are suboptimal due to a storm in the
mesosphere. Today’s high will be 212 centis. The low will be 199 centis.
According to current atmospheric readings, breathing unfiltered air will kill
you in two minutes and forty seconds. Have a wonderful day!”
Cormak cursed as he hit a rut. The deliveries were wreaking havoc on
his roader, but he didn’t have a choice. Making runs for Sol beat fourteen
hours a day in one of the few remaining mines, even if it meant working for
the biggest asshole on Deva.
He straightened his legs and lifted himself up for a better view. The path
ahead looked clear save for the remains of abandoned mining equipment—
some rusty drills, huge broken barrels, and whatever tanker pieces hadn’t
been snatched up by scavengers after the mine dried up.
The drone of the radio was cut off by an alert. “Incoming call from…
Cormak, you’d better accept this or you’re in for a world of pain.… Do you
accept?” Cormak sighed and mumbled, “Accept.”
“What the hell were you thinking?” a familiar voice barked. “You don’t
mouth off to clients.”
“What are you talking about, Sol?” Cormak asked wearily.
“The way you spoke to Rella Hewitt was unacceptable. To say nothing
of stealing product that she paid for.”
Cormak stifled a groan. On his way into the Hewitts’ building, he’d
passed an exhausted-looking girl mopping the floor—a fairly common sight
on Deva, where kids often dropped out of school when their parents grew
too sick to work. Cormak had offered her a tiny sip of H20, just enough so
she wouldn’t collapse before her shift ended. He’d forgotten that the nosy,
bored Rella Hewitt often watched her building’s security feed, monitoring
her neighbors even in the middle of the night. When he’d arrived at her
door, she’d spent a good five minutes screeching at him before Cormak
ended her tirade with a few well-chosen words.
“I gotta tell you, Sol. It’s tough to feel bad for rich people who care
more about their exotic plants than Settler kids.” Unlike the Settlers, whose
ancestors had arrived on Deva generations ago, most of the wealthy people
were recent arrivals from Tri, the Quatra Federation’s capital planet.
“Oh, so now you’re gonna get all moral on me, asshole? Your job is to
make deliveries and keep your mouth shut. You got it?”
“Got it,” Cormak muttered.
“You’re lucky I happen to have a kind, understanding nature. I’m going
to give you one more chance. I have a pickup for you tonight at 29°22'
north, 99°48' west.… Why don’t I hear you pulling over to write that
down?”
“29°22' north, 99°48' west,” Cormak repeated dully. “Roger that, chief.”
He never forgot coordinates. He had a thing for numbers. He could see
them rearranging themselves in his head into all sorts of combinations that
allowed him to solve complex equations in seconds. Not that it had done
him much good. Because he couldn’t show his work on math exams, his
teachers always assumed he was cheating. Their skepticism had made his
brother, Rex, furious, but Cormak hadn’t really cared. Good grades only
mattered for people like Rex—the rare students smart enough to catch the
instructors’ attention and likable enough to justify the endless paperwork,
favors, and bribes required to get into an off-planet university or training
program. Though in the end, even Rex hadn’t made it off Deva.
“If you mess this up, you’re gonna be sorry. I mean it, Cormak.”
“I got it. I’ll be there tonight.” 29°22' north, 99°48' west was in Sector
22, where Sol had a contact who imported stolen nanotech from Tri. While
water comprised the bulk of Sol’s trade, he also dabbled in weapons and
had a passion for interstellar cryptocommerce. There was a rumor that he’d
even hacked the Tridian Bank.
“Shit,” Cormak grunted as his roader hit another rut and flew into the
air. He managed to keep the bike steady but landed hard enough that the
vibrations coursed through his body. He glanced down to check that his
pants were still tucked into his boots. Exposed skin allowed the poisonous
air to seep into your pores, killing you over the course of a few hours.
Deva was naturally toxic to humans. The planet was blanketed with a
thick cloud of gas—a combination of nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and just
enough oxygen to be filtered and piped into vacuum-sealed buildings. It
also happened to be rich in terranium, the metal that was once used to build
the vast majority of the buildings on Tri.
A hundred years ago, mine owners and metal exporters from Tri had
come to Deva eager to stake their claim. They had built enormous bubbles
around their comfortable homes to protect themselves from the toxic
atmosphere and traveled back and forth to work in customized zipcrafts
with backup oxygen-filtration systems. Then they’d built towers for the
hundreds of thousands of workers they lured to Deva with promises of high
wages and a new start. The towers were close enough to the mines that the
workers could walk there, trudging through the toxic pink fog in their
company-issued gas masks. The masks, of course, didn’t have backup
systems.
Then, about twenty years ago, developers discovered an even stronger
metal, fyron, on Chetire and the terranium market bottomed out. The
majority of the mines shut down, but of course, the time the miners had
already spent underground was more than enough to corrode their organs.
Cormak’s father had died at the ripe old age of thirty-nine with more tumors
in his lungs than coins in his pocket.
Up ahead, something shimmered near the horizon. A pol in a zipcraft.
Cormak cursed and veered sharply off the road and into the bumpy, trenchfilled wasteland. He hadn’t been doing anything illegal—nothing that
could’ve been spotted from the air, at least—but the pols stopped anyone
they felt like messing with. If they pulled him over and found the stolen
water, he’d be screwed. Most people who got arrested on Deva didn’t get
citations, and they didn’t get trials. They were simply never heard from
again.
Cormak sped up and angled the bike on the most direct route to the
canyon, a series of channels that the miners had created long ago. It was too
narrow for the zipcraft to follow and too dark to allow the facial-recognition
mechanism to identity Cormak from afar.
Over the roar of his engine came the distinctive buzz of the pol’s
zipcraft. Cormak forced himself to steady his breathing. The mask could
filter only a certain amount of air at a time.
“Halt and dismount from your vehicle,” a loud voice droned from above.
“You have entered a restricted area and are required to show identification.”
Restricted area my ass. The canyon hadn’t been “restricted” for the past
two decades. It was just a bullshit excuse the pols used when they felt like
searching someone. Cormak leaned over even lower, urging his roader to
speed up. Red dust churned up on either side of him, and every time he
went over a rock or a dip in the road, the bike flew into the air.
The entrance to the canyon loomed up ahead, a narrow gash in the reddirt hill. There was no way the zipcraft would fit through it. If Cormak
could make it there in time, the pol would have to give up the chase.
“Halt and dismount from your vehicle,” the voice commanded. “This is
your final warning.”
The canyon was a hundred mitons away. Now ninety. Cormak sped up
even more. Seventy. He glanced over his shoulder and cursed. Why wasn’t
the zipcraft turning around?
The canyon entrance grew larger. Now he was forty mitons away. Thirty.
The canyon was only about seven mitons across, barely wide enough for
two roaders to drive side by side, let alone a zipcraft. The pol was going to
pull up soon. He had to.
A sudden rush of hot air nearly knocked Cormak off his bike. The
zipcraft had dropped closer to the ground and was now driving alongside
him. “Pull over,” the pol shouted.
In response, Cormak crouched even lower and slammed the accelerator
as far as it would go. He aimed for the canyon entrance and held his breath,
praying that the pol wouldn’t try to speed ahead and block him, and end up
killing them both.
He plunged into shadow as the canyon walls soared up on either side of
him, then glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the zipcraft veer
sharply to the left. A few seconds later, he heard the crunch of metal
followed by a thud.
Cormak braked so hard that the roader spun out, slamming against the
wall of the canyon. For a moment, he stayed there, slumped over and
panting as dull pain throbbed through his ribs. But as he watched the pol’s
shadow emerge from the battered zipcraft, Cormak let out a long breath.
There was no chance of that guy catching up with him now. He straightened
up and revved the engine, smiling as it drowned out the echoes of the pol’s
curses.
It was early afternoon by the time Cormak returned to Tower B, which
meant he’d only have time to sleep for an hour before heading out again.
The second the airlock hissed shut behind him, he yanked off his helmet,
sending beads of sweat everywhere. He locked up his roader and started
trudging up the thirty-one flights of stairs without bothering to check
whether the elevator had finally been repaired.
Cormak managed to make it into his apartment without running into any
of his neighbors, thank Antares. Too much time had passed since Rex’s
death for them to offer more condolences, but Cormak could tell they didn’t
feel comfortable making normal small talk either. You’d think in a place
like Sector 23, where grief circulated with the endlessly refiltered air,
people would know how to deal with loss. He couldn’t think of a single
family that hadn’t been touched by tragedy.
As usual, the tiny living room managed to look bare and messy all at
once. Nutrition-packet wrappers were strewn across the floor and the
threadbare couch, and dirty clothes were draped over the chairs. When Rex
was alive, the apartment had been shabby but spotless. Even though he was
only three years older than Cormak, Rex had often seemed more like a
parent than a brother. After their father died, Rex had been the one to
haggle over the rent, brave the finicky gas stove to cook an occasional hot
meal, and encourage Cormak to complete his homework long after his
teachers stopped caring about it.
Cormak closed his eyes and allowed the familiar cloud of pain to
envelop him. He hadn’t even known that Rex was working in the Hobart
Barrens mine until he’d been notified about the accident. His brother had
had a safe job as a janitor at the shuttleport and was studying for pilot
school entrance exams. Why would he have given all that up for a shortterm gig in the most treacherous region on Deva? Only the most desperate
people went to work in the Hobart Barrens, an enormous crater where
earthquakes caused mines to collapse and boiling-hot steam shot up from
cracks in the ground.
For the first few days after Rex disappeared, Cormak hadn’t worried.
Rex often took on extra shifts, and it wasn’t unusual for the two of them to
go days without running into each other at home. After the fourth day,
though, Cormak began to grow anxious. And on the seventh day, he got the
news that tore his heart into a thousand jagged pieces. Rex was dead.
Cormak would never again hear his goofy, echoing laugh—the only noise
loud enough to drown out the incessant whine of the air-filtration system.
He’d never roll his eyes while Rex did one of his terrible impressions that
all sounded exactly the same. He’d never again feel the comforting weight
of Rex’s large hand on his shoulder as he said, “Everything’s going to be
okay.” Words that had always filled Cormak’s chest with warmth. Words
that had turned out to be a lie.
Cormak pressed his hand against the wall and forced himself to breathe
through the pain until it subsided. He needed to catch a few hours of sleep
before his next run. As he took a few weary steps forward, his stomach
rumbled angrily. Work tonight was going to be brutal if he didn’t eat
something first, but the kitchen was completely bare. To his immense
frustration, he’d had to buy a replacement gear for his roader yesterday—
Cormak usually scavenged for parts, but after days of fruitless searching,
he’d ended up shelling out for the gear—and now there was no money left
for food. He needed something to sell, and over the past few months he’d
already pawned every valuable thing he’d ever owned: the watch he’d
inherited from his father; his grandfather’s vintage roader; the one piece of
jewelry his mother, who’d died shortly after Cormak’s birth, had ever
owned. There was only one room he hadn’t pillaged.
Cormak stared at the door he hadn’t opened since Rex died. The thought
of rooting through his brother’s things made his heart cramp, but Rex would
be furious if he knew Cormak was going hungry to avoid selling Rex’s
belongings.
He forced himself to walk toward the door, then slipped into the second
minuscule bedroom. The air felt as heavy and still as that of a tomb, and
Cormak found himself holding his breath.
Everything was in perfect order except for a pair of boots that lay on the
floor a few centimitons apart near the door. A new wave of pain crashed
through him as he stepped gingerly over the boots, careful not to brush
against them. Something about their arrangement felt vital, active, as if the
person who’d kicked them off would be back any minute.
The bed was made, of course. Rex had tucked the sheets neatly under
the mattress the last time he’d gotten up. Had there been a small part of him
that had known he was heading off to die, and had taken extra care to leave
everything tidy?
Cormak walked to the dresser and let his fingers hover over the topdrawer handle before pulling it open. There was his brother’s collection of
model fightercrafts, which he’d always let Cormak play with. A stack of old
T-shirts. He ran his finger along the top one and shivered.
He shut the top drawer gently and opened the second drawer. It was
empty, as was the bottom drawer. Cormak felt a strange mixture of
frustration and relief as he looked around the room, and he was just about to
leave when something on Rex’s pillow caught his eye. He took a few steps
forward and realized it was two separate items—an ID card and a battered
portable link.
Cormak picked up the ID first, wincing slightly at the sight of his
brother’s smiling face. Why had his brother left this behind? He set it back
down on the pillow and picked up the link. Rex had been so proud when he
bought the used gadget; there had been a point when you never saw him
without the link clipped to his belt. But reception on Deva was so bad, he
eventually stopped carrying it around.
To Cormak’s surprise, the message light was flashing.
He pressed the screen and it blinked wearily to life. Some of the
messages were junk—discounts for shuttle trips Rex had never been able to
afford and ads for “exciting career opportunities” at off-planet companies
that hadn’t hired anyone from Deva in fifty years. There were a few
messages from old friends and acquaintances who must not have heard
about Rex’s death, and a few who had heard and had written anyway as a
way to say good-bye.
Cormak was about to close the link when he saw something that made
his whole body go rigid. It was an unread message with the subject line To
Cormak. Hands shaking, Cormak managed to open the message and began
to read.
C-man,
I’m sorry I ran off without telling you, but I didn’t want you to worry. This stint in the
Barrens is only ten days, and you won’t believe how much they’re paying us. If
everything goes according to plan, you’ll never read this note. I’ll be back before
you start rooting around my room. But I figured I should leave something behind
just in case.
You’re probably wondering why I signed up for this job. Well, there’s something
else I haven’t told you yet. I was accepted to the Quatra Fleet Academy. Crazy,
right? I didn’t tell you I was applying because it was such a long shot. And then
when I got in, I didn’t want you to worry about being left behind. That’s why I’m
here. I’m making enough money for you to get off Deva as well. You can go to
university on Tri or pilot training school on Chetire—anything. I know you’ve never
believed me, but you’re a freaking genius, C-man. You’re way smarter than I am,
and you can do whatever the hell you want. This way, we’ll both get off this
godforsaken planet. We’re not going to stay here and rot away like Dad.
This job isn’t as dangerous as everyone says, and I really doubt anything will go
wrong. But if you’re reading this, I guess something did. . . .
For the love of Antares, I hope you’re not reading this.
If I don’t make it home, here’s something you can do for me: I want you to take my
spot at the Academy. I left my ID on my pillow. You’re smarter than all those
Tridians put together, and I can’t wait to see a Devak put them in their place.
Because I’ll be watching you, C-man, even if we don’t know from where.
Okay, I’ve got to stop because this is making me pretty emotional, and I don’t want
you to come home and find me all worked up. You’re never going to read this. I
know you’re not. I’ll be home in a few days. But just in case—take care of yourself,
Cormak. I love you.
—Rex
The world disappeared into a blaze of white-hot pain as Cormak fell to
the floor. Rex had gone to the Barrens for him. He’d chosen to risk his life
rather than leave Cormak on his own. Cormak tried to breathe, but it felt
like his rib cage had collapsed, his heart impaled by jagged bone. “No,” he
whispered as he hugged his knees to his chest. “Rex, no.”
He shut his eyes as he replayed the final hours he’d spent with Rex: their
last dinner together, their last round of stair ball—a game they’d invented
long ago—their laughter echoing as loudly as it had when they were kids.
The memory had been a source of comfort over the past few terrible
months, but now it felt tainted knowing that Rex had been carrying this
secret with him the whole time.
If only he’d found the link sooner. If he’d gone through Rex’s things
earlier, when he first disappeared, Cormak might’ve been able to do
something. He could’ve hitched or stolen a ride to the Barrens and forced
Rex to come home. He could’ve saved his brother’s life.
His hands still shaking, Cormak read the message again. This time, a
prickle of pride emerged through the pain. He couldn’t quite believe it—
Rex had been accepted to the Quatra Fleet Academy. It was the most elite
school in the solar system, famous for producing legendary Quatra Fleet
officers. Until recently, only Tridians had been allowed to attend. Cormak
had heard something about the policy changing, but he hadn’t paid much
attention. The idea of a Devak being admitted to the Academy was too
outlandish to imagine. Yet Rex had done it.
Forget becoming a pilot; Rex could’ve been a goddamn officer.
But it would never happen now. Because that’s how shit worked on
Deva. No matter how hard you tried or whatever good fortune you stumbled
upon, something screwed you over. Frustration ran hot through Cormak’s
veins. Rex, the kindest, smartest person he knew, had won the chance of a
lifetime—but that life had been cut short. Cormak wrenched his arm back
and hurled the link through the air. It struck the wall with a satisfying crack.
He let out a long breath, then inhaled again, relaxing slightly as oxygen
finally reached his lungs. Slowly, he stood up and, with trembling hands,
reached for the ID on the pillow. Cormak stared at his brother’s smiling face
and thought about what Rex had said in his message. If I don’t make it
home, here’s something you can do for me: I want you to take my spot at the
Academy. That was crazy talk. Cormak couldn’t just take his brother’s spot.
The location of the Academy was top secret; there was no way an imposter
could just waltz in with a fake ID. If he was caught, he’d be put in
federation prison or worse. And even if he somehow managed to make it
inside, he’d be taking classes with the smartest kids in the solar system. It
wouldn’t be long until someone noticed that Cormak was out of his league.
He ran his finger along the ID photo. Cormak knew that smile so well, it
was hard to believe he’d never see it in real life again. It’s the smile that
must’ve crossed Rex’s face as he’d written, You’re smarter than all those
Tridians put together, and I can’t wait to see a Devak put them in their
place.
It was so risky, it was practically a suicide mission. A thousand things
could go wrong, and the idea of Cormak’s responsible, rule-following
brother encouraging him to commit identity fraud was laughably absurd.
Yet that somehow made it feel all the more urgent. Rex had wanted this
opportunity for Cormak so badly, he was willing to send his little brother
into danger.
This was Cormak’s one chance to get off Deva. If he stayed, it’d be just
a matter of time before he ended up riddled with tumors or a pol’s bullets.
For the first time in eight months, Cormak felt something other than anger,
grief, or despair stirring in his stomach, something he never thought he’d
feel again—hope. He couldn’t bring his brother back to life, but perhaps he
could, in a way, make Rex’s dream come true. He was going to make Rex
proud whatever the cost.
CHAPTER 2
ARRAN
“Wait! Don’t eat that!”
Arran glanced up to see a girl with curly purple-streaked hair looking at
him with alarm. He stared back, as startled by her sudden appearance as he
was by the concern in her voice. Arran had arrived at the shuttleport almost
two hours early and sat on one of the padded benches to wait. For security
purposes, all commercial flights had been canceled that day. The only
people allowed inside were Quatra Fleet cadets and their families, and the
circular atrium had been nearly empty, silent except for the squeak of the
sanitation bot cleaning the floors and the cheery voices from the monitors.
The ads repeated so often that Arran could recite them all verbatim.
Blast off on the trip of a lifetime! The mountains of Urud are waiting for
you. Just one parsec away!
It’s always sunny on Loos, the planet closest to the sun!
Every three or four minutes, the exotic travel images were replaced by a
peaceful image of space with relaxing music accompanying the gentle
twinkle of the stars. Then the music would turn shrill and urgent as a huge
fightercraft appeared in the background, followed by another, then another.
As the first one filled the screen, it released a hailstorm of exploding
bombs. The Specters are coming. Will you let them in without a fight? The
Quatra Fleet needs you!
Although it’d been two years since the last attack—the one that had
targeted Arran’s planet, Chetire—everyone knew it was just a matter of
time before the Specters arrived again. But this time, Arran wouldn’t be
cowering at home. He’d be training to fight back.
Arran realized the purple-haired girl was still watching him, and he
looked down at the roll his mother had tucked into his bag that morning.
“Why shouldn’t I eat this?”
“Because you’re going to vomit the moment we hit escape velocity.”
“Oh, right,” Arran said, blushing as he carefully rewrapped the roll in
the cloth napkin. It was the one with the blue flowers, his favorite. He
wondered if his mother had done that on purpose, sending him off with a
little piece of home.
“Don’t worry about it.” The girl smiled kindly. “I’ve never been on a
shuttle either. I just did a bunch of research on interplanetary travel.”
Arran stood and ran his hands though his hair, a nervous tic he’d never
been able to break. “That was a good idea,” he said, relieved that he
wouldn’t be the only space-sick novice. He’d never even left F Territory—
the remotest province on Chetire—let alone gone off planet. His family had
always been miners, and when he’d received his acceptance notice from the
Academy, he’d been days away from signing a ten-year contract with the
mining company. Ten years of working twelve-hour days more than four
hundred mitons below the frozen ground. He still couldn’t quite believe his
luck. Ending up in the mines had been his greatest fear, but no matter how
hard he’d tried, he couldn’t figure out an alternative. No one born on
Chetire ever got off Chetire.
Until now.
He just wished he’d done more research himself. Arran was used to
being the knowledgeable one; he couldn’t count the number of times he’d
been roughed up after school for asking “pointless questions” that kept the
weary instructor from releasing the class early. Once, while applying
ointment to Arran’s swollen eye, his mother had gently suggested that
perhaps it might be better to save his questions for the library, but he knew
that would never work. When something sparked Arran’s curiosity, it
quickly consumed all other thoughts… including how easily he bruised.
A pale girl approached Arran and the purple-haired girl. “Are you also
headed to the Academy?” she asked, looking slightly anxious.
“Yes.” Arran bowed his head, the proper way to greet a peer on Chetire.
“I’m Arran.”
She returned the gesture. “Mhairi.”
Once the girl with purple hair introduced herself as Sula, Mhairi cast a
worried look over her shoulder at a man and woman, still bundled in their
snow-covered wraps, hovering near the wall. “I should probably say goodbye to my parents. I don’t want everyone to know they came with me.”
Sula smiled. “Mine would’ve come if they could have afforded it. It’s
not every day the first group of Chetrians departs for the Quatra Fleet
Academy.”
“It sounds like you’re reading from your memoir,” Arran said, careful to
keep his tone light so she wouldn’t think he was mocking her. Because Sula
was right. As self-important as it sounded to say aloud, they were making
history. He just hoped he wouldn’t let anyone down.
For millennia, Tri had been the only inhabited planet in the solar system.
However, as technology improved, the Tridians terraformed the first
settlements on tropical Loos and established mining outposts on toxic Deva
and frozen Chetire. The poor Tridians who emigrated to work on these
planets became known as Settlers. After a few generations, the number of
Settlers far exceeded that of the Tridian business owners, and the Settlers
began to push for self-rule, launching campaigns for independence that had
ended fruitlessly but peacefully on Loos and resulted in violent wars on
Chetire and Deva.
In the aftermath, the Quatra Federation had put strict rules in place to
prevent further uprisings. Settlers weren’t allowed to vote, attend Tridian
universities, start businesses, or even take legal action against Tridians. And
while they could enlist in the infantry, they couldn’t hold any other
positions in the Quatra Fleet, let alone apply to the Academy.
However, the Quatra Fleet commander had created shock waves last
year with a new policy that allowed any Settler between the ages of sixteen
and eighteen to apply to the Academy. Cynics on Chetire scoffed at the
notion that the commander had suddenly become open-minded; they
claimed that the Specter attacks had simply created a need for more
officers. But Arran believed what Commander Stepney had said in his nowfamous speech—that soldiers would have more faith in their leaders if their
superior officers came from their home planet and that there were untapped
pools of talent across the solar system.
Still, that hadn’t been enough to bring everyone on board. There’d been
considerable opposition on Tri, especially once it had been announced that,
after centuries of admitting eighty new Tridians every year, the Academy
would now accept twenty cadets from each of the four planets. The most
vocal opponent was an admiral named Larz Muscatine, who claimed that
opening the Academy to Settlers would weaken the Quatra Fleet.
Arran couldn’t wait to prove him wrong.
Over the next half an hour, the other Chetrian cadets arrived. A few
lived locally in Haansgaard, the capital city, but most had clearly traveled a
considerable distance to the shuttleport. One boy was trembling so much
the others assumed he had frostbite and all piled their coats on top of him.
But it turned out he was just nervous.
“Do you know when we get our squadron assignments?” Mhairi asked
from the bench where she’d slumped down surrounded by her bags. Arran
felt a tingle of excitement. Long before he had even dreamed about
attending the Academy, he’d heard stories about the tournament, an intense
competition among cadets. Students were broken up into squadrons of four
and assigned roles based on a notoriously rigorous aptitude exam: either
captain, pilot, technology officer, or intelligence officer. The winning
squadron was always featured in news memos around the system, heralded
as the next generation of heroes training to fight the Specters.
“I’m not sure,” Sula said. For the first time since her arrival, she
sounded slightly nervous. “But I definitely want to be a pilot.”
“Really?” Mhairi said, sounding impressed. “Have you actually flown
before?”
Sula shook her head. “No, but I think that after the aptitude exam—”
A pale boy with shoulder-length brown hair cut her off with a snort.
“You’ll be lucky to finish the aptitude exam.” He was the only one of them
with a link, and he didn’t look up when he spoke. Arran had considered
asking the boy if he could borrow the link to send his mother a message—
just to let her know he’d made it to Haansgaard safely. But after hearing
him speak, Arran thought better of it.
“Excuse me?” Sula said, eyebrows raised.
“It’s nothing personal,” the boy said, finally looking up from his device.
“But we need to accept the facts—we’re in way over our heads. These
Tridian kids have been preparing for the aptitude exam since birth.”
A few of the cadets exchanged nervous glances while Sula shot the boy
a withering look that cemented Arran’s favorable opinion of her. “You can’t
prepare for the exam,” she said. “It measures natural aptitude.”
“Really?” the boy scoffed. “In that case, why do the wealthiest Tridians
hire Academy instructors to tutor their kids? My uncle worked on Tri, so he
saw it firsthand. You have no idea what we’re going up against.”
“Speak for yourself,” Sula said, raising her chin. “Personally, I’m
excited to put those Tri snobs in their place.”
Most of the others murmured their agreement, and despite the knot of
anxiety in his stomach, Arran nodded. He couldn’t let himself be
intimidated. Not after he’d worked so hard to get here, studying late into the
night while his mother scrubbed floors for fourteen hours a day to support
him.
With the time difference, it’d be evening in F Territory by now. Arran
imagined his mother alone in their tiny cabin, warming her hands around a
cup of tea as the clanking radiator filled the room with more noise than
heat. What had she eaten for dinner? Arran’s heart cramped as he pictured
her setting the table for one—one plate, one fork, one knife, and one
carefully folded cloth napkin. What would she do for the rest of the evening
with no one to talk to? She’d never become close with any of their
neighbors—her long shifts cleaning at the fyron mining company’s
headquarters didn’t allow for much socializing. Arran couldn’t remember a
time when his mother hadn’t looked weary. Yet when he’d suggested that he
give up the scholarship and stay home, her eyes had grown fiercer than he’d
ever seen them. “No,” she’d said, trembling slightly as she placed her hand
on his arm. “You have to go. You deserve so much better than this.” She’d
gestured around the sparsely furnished but spotless cabin.
“But what about you? Won’t you be lonely?”
“I’ll be fine.” She’d forced a smile. “How can I be lonely when I have so
many wonderful thoughts to keep me company? All I have to do is look up
at the sky, and I’ll be able to picture you at the Academy learning to be a
hero.”
Arran glanced around the crowd of new cadets. A few were visibly
nervous; some affected an air of indifference, seemingly unruffled by the
prospect of boarding a shuttle bound for the Academy’s secret location; and
a few stood rigidly, shoulders back as if awaiting inspection. Perhaps some
of them would become heroes the next time they fought the Specters. And
perhaps—Arran suppressed a shiver—some would sacrifice everything and
become another name on the casualty list.
“Who’s that?” Sula asked quietly, gesturing at a boy talking to a Quatra
Fleet officer on the other side of the otherwise empty shuttleport. “There are
already twenty of us here.” Much had been made in the news about the
twenty Chetrians headed for the Academy, though none of their names had
been released.
Arran watched as the boy nodded, then began making his way toward
the others. “Maybe they added one more at the last minute,” Arran said. But
as the boy got closer, it became clear that he wasn’t Chetrian. Unlike the
other new cadets who looked around the shuttleport with either wide-eyed
wonder or forced nonchalance, he seemed genuinely relaxed. And instead
of layers of wool and fur, he wore a thin black jacket that could only be
thermalskin—material a hundred times warmer than fur and about a
thousand times more expensive. The local mine owner wore a similar jacket
on his yearly visit from Tri.
Arran automatically stiffened, bracing for the hint of disdain he’d come
to expect from most Tridians, but to his surprise, the boy smiled warmly as
he approached the group. He had fair skin, smooth dark hair, and—as Arran
noticed when the boy came to a stop next to Sula—deep green eyes. “Are
you all heading to the Academy?” the boy asked.
“We are,” Sula said with a smile, though she looked a bit warier than
before.
“Oh, good. I thought I was late. I’m Dash.”
“Sula.” She’d just started to bow her head when Dash extended his
hand. Sula stared at it, startled by the gesture.
Dash’s friendly smile faded a fraction as confusion flashed across his
face. Arran remembered that customs were different on Tri, where most
people didn’t spend their days elbow deep in poisonous sludge—the byproduct of fyron and the gas that allowed miners to extract it from the
ground.
“I’m Arran,” he said, grasping the boy’s hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Dash said. His smile returned and his green eyes
brightened, making Arran’s stomach tingle slightly. He wasn’t used to boys
who looked like Dash smiling at him like that.
“Where are you from?” Sula asked. She was clearly trying to sound
politely curious but couldn’t quite keep a note of suspicion out of her voice.
“I’m from Evoline, on Tri,” Dash said cheerfully. “I was just here for
pilot training. There’s a school in the Chetrian tundra.” He looked around
the group, and when no one responded, he continued. “Less-crowded
airspace.”
A few of the Chetrians exchanged nervous looks while the boy with the
link smiled smugly, pleased to have been proven right. “Thought you’d get
a head start?” Sula asked.
Dash grinned sheepishly, revealing dimples that made the tingle in
Arran’s stomach spread to his chest. “I’m not sure it counts as a head start. I
was there for three weeks, and I never managed to land without my
instructor grabbing the controls. I didn’t know there were so many colorful
curse words on Chetire.”
Sula tried to exchange an irritated glance with Arran, but he pretended
not to notice.
“Good morning, cadets!” a deep voice boomed. A lean, white-haired
man in a Quatra Fleet uniform strode toward them—the officer Dash had
been speaking with before. “I’m Sergeant Pond, one of the deans at the
Academy. I’ll be escorting you on the shuttle.”
Arran stood up straighter, and out of the corner of his eye he saw most
of the others do the same. This was it. From this point forward, everything
they said or did would be evaluated. Only a portion of the cadets would
enter the Quatra Fleet as officers when they graduated in three years. At the
end of their first year, anyone with middling grades—or who fared badly in
the tournament—would be transferred to a less competitive training
program. But it wasn’t just Arran’s future at stake; it was up to this first
class of cadets to prove that Chetrians belonged at the Academy and in the
upper ranks of the Quatra Fleet.
Sergeant Pond fiddled with a band on his wrist until a block of
translucent orange text appeared in the air. A list of names and holopics of
faces. Arran’s heart began to pound. It was really happening. He was
actually heading to the Academy. “All right, let’s see who we have. . . .”
Pond said, waving his finger through the air to scroll. “Cadet Trembo.”
Sula stepped forward. “Here.”
Pond looked from her to the holopic of her face, then swiped her name,
turning the text blue. “Cadet Feng.”
A short boy with broad shoulders raised a muscular arm. “Here.”
Again, Pond’s eyes darted from the holopic to the cadet, confirming his
identity. “Cadet Korbet.”
Arran cleared his throat. “Here,” he said, his voice slightly higher than
usual.
Instead of looking at the holopic, Pond kept his gaze fixed on Arran.
Arran shifted uneasily as worry knotted his stomach. Had there been some
mistake? What if his acceptance notice had been meant for someone else?
Pond gave him an appraising look. “Interesting… so this is the Chetrian
who received the highest score on the entrance exam. I’ll be keeping an eye
on you, Korbet.” Pond smiled, and the knot of worry in Arran’s stomach
loosened slightly, replaced by a sensation he wasn’t used to. Pride. But then
his cheeks flushed as he heard the other cadets start to whisper as they
stared at him curiously. He didn’t want them to think he was conceited;
there was a lot more to becoming a cadet than doing well on the exam.
Pond ran through the rest of the cadets, skipping over Dash, who’d
apparently checked in with him earlier. “All right, cadets, time to go. Come
with me,” Pond said.
The cadets slung their packs over their shoulders and followed Sergeant
Pond through the atrium toward a door flanked by two uniformed women.
They saluted him and stepped aside as the door slid open with a hiss.
“So what did you score?” Sula asked, falling into step next to Arran.
He glanced around before saying quietly, “Two twenty-three.”
The whispers stopped, replaced by a heavy silence. “Two hundred
twenty-three ,” Sula repeated after a long moment. “Whoa.”
A few minutes later, Arran had stowed his pack in the compartment
below his seat and was doing his best to secure his harness without
fumbling. The shuttle’s cabin was circular, with about two dozen seats
arranged around the perimeter. Arran had taken the first empty seat he’d
seen, eager to escape the murmurs of the other cadets.
The buckle bounced out of the fastener, and Arran suppressed a groan.
He tried again, still without success, as he wondered which of the other
passengers would be the first to notice that the kid who’d scored a 223
couldn’t work the harness.
Something soft brushed against his arm. “It goes in this way,” Dash said,
yanking on the two shoulder straps and fastening the belt into the buckle at
Arran’s waist.
“Thanks,” Arran said. Despite his relief, the heat in his cheeks
intensified.
“No problem.” Dash sank back into his own seat and fastened the buckle
in one fluid motion.
A soft ding rang from the speakers, followed by a programmed female
voice. “Hello, and welcome aboard this intersystem shuttle flight to…
destination classified.” A few of the cadets exchanged excited looks.
“Enjoy your journey.”
Arran grinned, his nervousness draining away. He forced himself to
keep his eyes open during the jarring, rumbling launch even when it felt
like every bone in his body was being jolted out of place. He didn’t want to
miss the moment when the shuttle shot out of Chetire’s atmosphere,
carrying Arran off the planet for the very first time in his life.
In the window across from him, the snow-filled skyline of Haansgaard
shrank. The barren tundra spread out endlessly in all directions, sparsely
dotted with the odd homestead or mining facility. An ache filled Arran’s
chest as he thought about his mother sitting at home in their tiny cabin a
three days’ journey away. He pictured her drinking her tea, staring at the
gray sky out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the shuttle.
The rattling suddenly stopped, leaving everything strangely still and
quiet. The windows were no longer filled with swirling snow and clouds—
they were full of stars.
The harness straps dug into Arran’s shoulders as he floated up from his
seat, his head spinning from the violent launch, the strange sensation of
zero gravity… and something else. The hazy gray planet grew smaller until
it became just another shape among the stars, and all at once, Arran
understood what it really meant to live on the remotest planet in the solar
system.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arran glanced at Dash. His eyes were
closed, a peaceful expression on his face.
Arran smiled, realizing that for the first time ever, he felt completely
weightless.
And completely free.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Alloy Entertainment
Key Artwork © 2014 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Cover design by Liz Dresner
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and
electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy
and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other
than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
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Produced by Alloy Entertainment
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First ebook edition: September 2014
ISBN 978-0-316-23453-5
E3-20200715-JV-PC-REV
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing
of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the
author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review
purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
WELCOME
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1: Wells
CHAPTER 2: Clarke
CHAPTER 3: Glass
CHAPTER 4: Wells
CHAPTER 5: Bellamy
CHAPTER 6: Clarke
CHAPTER 7: Glass
CHAPTER 8: Wells
CHAPTER 9: Clarke
CHAPTER 10: Bellamy
CHAPTER 11: Wells
CHAPTER 12: Glass
CHAPTER 13: Clarke
CHAPTER 14: Wells
CHAPTER 15: Bellamy
CHAPTER 16: Wells
CHAPTER 17: Glass
CHAPTER 18: Clarke
CHAPTER 19: Bellamy
CHAPTER 20: Glass
CHAPTER 21: Wells
CHAPTER 22: Bellamy
CHAPTER 23: Clarke
CHAPTER 24: Wells
CHAPTER 25: Bellamy
CHAPTER 26: Glass
CHAPTER 27: Clarke
CHAPTER 28: Glass
CHAPTER 29: Wells
CHAPTER 30: Bellamy
CHAPTER 31: Clarke
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A SNEAK PEEK OF HOMECOMING
For my parents and grandparents, who taught me to look
at both the world and words with wonder
CHAPTER 1
Wells
No one wanted to stand near the grave. Although four of their own were
already buried in the makeshift cemetery, the rest of the hundred were still
disturbed by the idea of lowering a body into the ground.
No one wanted to stand with their backs to the trees either. Since the
attack, a creaking branch had become enough to make the anxious survivors
jump. And so, the nearly one hundred people who’d gathered to say goodbye to Asher stood in a tightly packed semicircle, their eyes darting
between the corpse on the ground and the shadows in the forest.
The comforting crackle of the fire was conspicuously absent. They’d run
out of firewood last night, and no one had been willing to venture out for
more. Wells would’ve gone himself, but he’d been busy digging the grave.
No one had volunteered for that job either, except for a tall, quiet Arcadian
boy named Eric.
“Are we sure he’s really dead?” Molly whispered, edging back from the
deep hole, as if worried it might swallow her up as well. She was only
thirteen but looked younger. At least, she’d used to. Wells remembered
helping her after the crash, when tears and ash had streaked her round
cheeks. Now the girl’s face was thin, almost gaunt, and there was a cut on
her forehead that didn’t look like it’d been properly cleaned.
Wells’s eyes flashed involuntarily to Asher’s neck, to the ragged wound
where the arrow had pierced his throat. It’d been two days since Asher died,
two days since the mysterious figures materialized on the ridge, upending
everything the Colonists had ever been told, everything they thought they
knew.
They had been sent to Earth as living test subjects, the first people to set
foot on the planet in three hundred years. But they were mistaken.
Some people had never left.
It had all happened so quickly. Wells hadn’t realized anything was
wrong until Asher fell to the ground, gagging as he swiped desperately at
the arrow lodged in his throat. That’s when Wells spun around—and saw
them. Silhouetted against the setting sun, the strangers looked more like
demons than humans. Wells had blinked, half expecting the figures to
vanish. There was no way they were real.
But hallucinations didn’t shoot arrows.
After his calls for help went unheeded, Wells had carried Asher to the
infirmary tent, where they stored the medical supplies they’d salvaged from
the fire. But it was no use. By the time Wells began frantically digging for
bandages, Asher was already gone.
How could there be people on Earth? It was impossible. No one had
survived the Cataclysm. That was incontrovertible, as deeply ingrained in
Wells’s mind as the fact that water froze at 0 degrees Celsius, or that planets
revolved around the sun. And yet, he’d seen them with his own eyes.
People who certainly hadn’t come down on the dropship from the Colony.
Earthborns.
“He’s dead,” Wells said to Molly as he rose wearily to his feet before
realizing that most of the group was staring at him. A few weeks ago, their
expressions would’ve been full of distrust, if not outright contempt. No one
believed that the Chancellor’s son had actually been Confined. It’d been all
too easy for Graham to convince them that Wells had been sent to spy for
his father. But now, they were looking at him expectantly.
In the chaos after the fire, Wells had organized teams to sort through the
remaining supplies and start building permanent structures. His interest in
Earth architecture, once a source of annoyance to his pragmatic father, had
enabled Wells to design the three wooden cabins that now stood in the
center of the clearing.
Wells glanced up at the darkening sky. He’d give anything to have the
Chancellor see the cabins eventually. Not to prove a point—after seeing his
father shot on the launch deck, Wells’s resentment had drained faster than
the color from the Chancellor’s cheeks. Now he only wished his father
would someday get to call Earth home. The rest of the Colony was
supposed to join them once conditions on Earth were deemed safe, but
twenty-one days had passed without so much as a glimmer from the sky.
As Wells lowered his eyes back to the ground, his thoughts returned to
the task at hand: saying farewell to the boy they were about to send to a
much darker resting place.
A girl next to him shivered. “Can we move this along?” she said. “I
don’t want to stand out here all night.”
“Watch your tone,” another girl named Kendall snapped, her delicate
lips drawn into a frown. At first, Wells had assumed she was a fellow
Phoenician, but he’d eventually realized that her haughty stare and clipped
cadence were just an impression of the girls Wells had grown up with. It
was a fairly common practice among young Waldenites and Arcadians,
although he’d never met anyone who did it quite as well as Kendall.
Wells turned his head from side to side, searching for Graham, the only
other Phoenician aside from Wells and Clarke. He didn’t generally like
letting Graham take control of the group, but the other boy had been friends
with Asher and was better equipped than Wells to speak at his funeral.
However, his was one of the few faces missing from the crowd—aside from
Clarke’s. She’d set off right after the fire with Bellamy to search for his
sister, leaving nothing but the memory of the five toxic words she’d hurled
at Wells before she left: You destroy everything you touch.
A crack sounded from the woods, unleashing gasps from the crowd.
Without thinking, Wells pulled Molly behind him with one arm and grabbed
a shovel with the other.
A moment later, Graham stepped into the clearing, flanked by two
Arcadians—Azuma and Dmitri—and a Walden girl named Lila. The three
boys were carrying armfuls of wood, while Lila had a few branches tucked
under her arm.
“So that’s where the other axes went,” a Waldenite named Antonio said,
eyeing the tools slung over Azuma’s and Dmitri’s shoulders. “We could’ve
used those this afternoon, you know.”
Graham raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the newest cabin. They were
finally getting the hang of it; there were no gaps in the roof this time, which
meant it would be much warmer and drier at night. None of the structures
had windows, though. They were too time-consuming to cut, and without
access to glass or plastic, they would be little more than gaping holes in the
walls.
“Trust me, this is more important,” Graham said, raising the pile of
wood in his arms.
“Firewood?” Molly asked. She flinched as Graham snorted.
“No, spears. A few wooden shacks aren’t going to keep us safe. We
need to defend ourselves. The next time those bastards show up, we’ll be
ready.” His eyes settled on Asher, and an unfamiliar expression flitted
across Graham’s face. His customary veneer of anger and arrogance had
cracked, revealing something like real grief.
“Do you want to join us for a minute?” Wells asked, softening. “I
thought we’d say a few words for Asher. You knew him well, so maybe
you’d like to—”
“It seems like you have everything under control,” Graham cut him off,
avoiding Asher’s body as he met Wells’s eyes. “Carry on, Chancellor.”
By the time the sun had fully set, Wells and Eric were placing the final
shovelfuls of dirt on the new grave while Priya wrapped flowers around the
wooden marker. The rest of the group had drifted away, either to avoid
watching the actual burial or to stake out a spot in one of the new cabins.
Each could fit about twenty comfortably, thirty if people were too tired—or
too cold—to complain about errant legs sprawled across their mound of
charred blankets, or the odd elbow to the face.
Wells was disappointed, though not surprised, to discover that Lila had
once again claimed one of the cabins for Graham and his friends, leaving
the younger kids shivering in the cold as they looked warily around the
shadow-filled clearing. Even with volunteer guards keeping watch, no one
left outside was in for a restful night.
“Hey,” Wells said as Graham strode past carrying one of his partially
completed spears. “Since you and Dmitri are taking the second guard shift,
why don’t you two sleep outside? It’ll be easier for me to find you when my
shift’s over.”
Before Graham could respond, Lila sauntered up and hooked her arm
through his. “You promised you’d stay with me tonight, remember? I’m too
afraid to sleep on my own,” she said, affecting a breathy, high-pitched voice
that was a far cry from her usually snapping tone.
“Sorry,” Graham said to Wells, shrugging. Wells could hear the smug
grin in his voice. “I hate going back on my word.” Graham tossed his spear
to Wells, who caught it in one hand. “I’ll take a shift tomorrow night, if
we’re not all dead by then.”
Lila gave an exaggerated shudder. “Graham,” she chastised. “You
shouldn’t talk like that!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Graham said, wrapping his arm around
her. “Or else I’ll make sure your last night on Earth is the best of your life.”
Lila giggled, and Wells fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“Maybe you should both sleep outside,” Eric said as he emerged from
the shadows. “That way, the rest of us might have a chance of getting some
rest.”
Graham scoffed. “Don’t pretend like I didn’t see Felix sneaking away
from your bedroll this morning, Eric. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a
hypocrite.”
A hint of a rare smile flickered across Eric’s face. “Yes, but you didn’t
hear us.”
“Come on,” Lila said, dragging Graham forward. “Let’s go before
Tamsin gives our bed away.”
“Do you want me to take this shift with you?” Eric offered, looking at
Wells.
Wells shook his head. “It’s okay. Priya’s already out checking the
perimeter.”
“Do you think they’ll be back?” Eric asked, lowering his voice.
Wells glanced over his shoulder, searching for any eavesdroppers in the
darkness, then nodded. “It was more than a warning. It was a show of force.
Whoever they are, they want us to know that they aren’t happy we’re here.”
“No. Clearly they’re not,” Eric said, turning to look across the clearing
where Asher was buried. With a sigh, he said good night to Wells and
headed toward the clump of makeshift cots, which Felix and some of the
others had clustered around the empty fire pit out of habit.
Wells hoisted the spear over his shoulder and turned around to find
Priya. He’d only taken a few steps when his shoulder bumped into
something, and a yelp rang out in the darkness.
“Are you okay?” Wells asked, stretching out a steadying hand.
“I’m fine,” a girl said shakily. It was Molly.
“Where are you sleeping tonight? I’ll help you find your bed.”
“Outside. There was no more room in the cabins.” Her voice was small.
Wells was overcome with an urge to grab Graham and Lila and toss
them in the stream. “Are you warm enough?” he asked. “I can get you a
blanket.” He’d steal it off Graham’s body if need be.
“I’m okay. It’s pretty warm tonight, isn’t it?”
Wells surveyed her quizzically. The temperature had dropped
considerably since the sun set. He reached out and placed the back of his
hand against Molly’s forehead. Her skin was warm to the touch. “Are you
sure you’re feeling all right?”
“Maybe a little dizzy,” she admitted. Wells pressed his lips together.
They’d lost a lot of their supplies in the fire, which meant that rations had
decreased significantly. “Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket for the
protein packet he hadn’t had time to finish. “Eat this.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m not hungry,” she said weakly.
After making her promise to let him know if she wasn’t feeling better
tomorrow, Wells set off to find Priya. They’d saved most of the medicine,
but what good would it be without the one person who knew how to use it?
He wondered how far Clarke and Bellamy had traveled by now, and
whether they’d found any sign of Octavia. A bolt of fear cut through his
exhaustion as he thought about the dangers facing Clarke in the forest. She
and Bellamy had left before the attack. They had no idea that there were
people out there, Earthborns who communicated through deadly arrows.
He sighed as he tilted his head back toward the sky, sending out a silent
prayer for the girl he’d risked countless lives to protect. The girl whose eyes
had blazed with hatred when she’d told him she never wanted to see him
again.
CHAPTER 2
Clarke
They’d been walking for two days, pausing only for an hour or two at a
time to rest. The backs of Clarke’s legs burned, but Bellamy showed no
signs of stopping. Clarke didn’t care—in fact, she welcomed the pain. The
more she thought about her hamstrings, the less she thought about the ache
in her chest, and the friend she hadn’t been able to save.
She took a deep breath. Even if she’d been blindfolded, she’d be able to
tell that the sun had set. The air was heavy with the scent of the white
blossoms that only unfurled at night, making the trees look like they’d
dressed for dinner. Clarke wished she knew what sort of evolutionary
advantage the strange flowers provided. Maybe they attracted a type of
nocturnal insect? Their distinct perfume bordered on overwhelming in the
spots where the trees grew close together, but Clarke preferred them to the
orderly rows of apple trees she and Bellamy had seen earlier. Her neck
prickled as she recalled the evenly spaced trunks, like straight-backed
guards standing in formation.
Bellamy was walking a few meters ahead of her. He had gone quiet, just
as he did on his hunting expeditions. But this time, he wasn’t tracking a
rabbit or stalking a deer. He was looking for his sister.
It had been almost a whole day since they’d seen the last set of
footprints, and the unspoken truth thickened the silence until Clarke could
feel it pressing against her chest.
They’d lost Octavia’s trail.
Bellamy paused at the top of the hill, and Clarke stopped next to him.
They were standing on the edge of a ridge. Just a few meters ahead, the
ground sloped sharply down to a glimmering body of water. The moon
above was huge and bright, while a second moon trembled just below,
reflected on the surface.
“It’s beautiful,” Bellamy said without looking at her, but there was an
edge to his voice.
Clarke placed a hand on Bellamy’s arm. He flinched but didn’t pull
away. “I bet Octavia thought so too. Should we go down and see if there’s
any sign…” Clarke trailed off. Octavia hadn’t gone for an impromptu stroll
through the woods. Neither of them would say it aloud, but Octavia’s
sudden disappearance, the way her footprints suggested she was dragged—
she had been taken.
But by whom? Clarke thought of the apple trees again, and shuddered.
Bellamy took a few steps forward. “It looks a little less steep over here,”
he said, reaching out to grab her hand. “Come on.”
They didn’t speak as they made their way down the slope. When Clarke
slipped on a patch of slick mud, Bellamy tightened his hold and helped her
regain her balance. But the moment they reached level ground, he let go and
jogged toward the water, examining the bank for footprints.
Clarke hung back, staring at the lake as wonder swept away the
exhaustion that had settled in her limbs. The surface was as smooth as glass,
and the reflection of the moon looked like one of the gems she’d seen
occasionally at the Exchange, locked up in a transparent case.
When Bellamy turned around, his expression was weary, almost
defeated. “We should probably rest,” he said. “There’s no point in
wandering through the dark without a trail.”
Nodding, Clarke let her pack slide to the ground, then raised her arms
into the air and stretched. She was tired and sweaty, and there was a daysold layer of ash on her skin that she was desperate to wash off.
She walked slowly toward the lake, crouching down at the edge and
skimming her fingertips across the surface. When they’d first arrived on
Earth, she’d been diligent about purifying any water they used to drink or
bathe, in case it was contaminated with radioactive bacteria. But she was
running out of iodine drops, and after watching a fire kill her best friend
while her ex-boyfriend restrained her, a little lake water seemed like the
least of her problems.
Clarke exhaled deeply and closed her eyes, letting her tension dissipate
with her breath into the night air.
She rose to her feet and turned to look at Bellamy. He stood perfectly
still, staring across the lake with an intensity that made Clarke shiver. Her
first instinct was to slip away and give him his space. But then another
impulse took over, and a mischievous smile slinked across her face.
Without a word, she pulled her sweat-soaked shirt over her head, kicked
off her boots, and stepped out of her dirt- and ash-streaked pants. She spun
on her heel, wishing she could see the look on Bellamy’s face as he watched
her step into the lake wearing nothing but her bra and underwear.
The water was colder than she’d realized, and her skin began to prickle,
although she wasn’t sure if it was from the night air or the sensation of
Bellamy’s eyes on her.
She waded forward, yelping as the water swirled around her shoulders.
Water was far too scarce on the Colony to justify baths, and this was the
first time Clarke had ever felt her entire body submerged. She experimented
with lifting her feet out of the mud and trying to float, feeling strangely
powerful and vulnerable. For a moment, she forgot that a fire had taken her
best friend’s life. She forgot that she and Bellamy had lost Octavia’s trail.
She forgot that her improvised swimming outfit was going to be seethrough whenever she emerged from the water.
“I think the radiation must’ve finally scrambled your brain.”
Clarke twisted around and saw Bellamy looking at her with a
combination of surprise and amusement. His familiar smirk had returned.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and ducked under the surface,
popping up a second later with a laugh as water streamed down her face.
“It’s fine.”
Bellamy stepped forward. “So your keen scientific mind knew
instinctively that the water was safe?”
Clarke shook her head. “No.” She lifted a hand into the air and made a
show of examining it. “I could be growing flippers and gills as we speak.”
Bellamy nodded with mock solemnity. “Well, if you grow flippers, I
promise not to shun you.”
“Oh, trust me. I’m not going to be the only mutant.”
Bellamy raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Clarke cupped her hands, filled them with water, and splashed it at
Bellamy with a laugh. “Now you’ll grow flippers too.”
“You really shouldn’t have done that.” Bellamy’s voice was low and
menacing, and for a moment, Clarke thought she might’ve actually upset
him. But then he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in
one swift motion.
The moon was so large and bright that there was no mistaking the grin
on Bellamy’s face as he reached down to undo the button on his pants,
tossing them aside like they weren’t the only pair he had on the planet. His
long, well-muscled legs were pale in his gray shorts. Clarke blushed but
didn’t look away.
Bellamy plunged into the lake and closed the distance between them
with a few powerful strokes. He’d boasted about teaching himself to swim
during his treks to the stream, and for once, he hadn’t been exaggerating.
He disappeared under the water, just long enough for Clarke to feel a
flicker of worry. Then his hand grasped her wrist, and she squealed as he
spun her around, expecting him to splash her in retaliation. But Bellamy
just stared at her for a moment before raising a hand and running his finger
along her neck. “No gills yet,” he said softly.
Clarke shivered as she looked up at him. His hair was slicked back away
from his face, and water droplets clung to the stubble along his jawline. His
dark eyes burned with an intensity that was worlds away from his usual
playful grin. It seemed hard to believe he was the same boy she’d carelessly
flung her arms around in the woods.
Something shifted in his gaze, and she closed her eyes, sure that he was
about to kiss her. But then a crack sounded from the trees, and Bellamy’s
head whipped around. “What was that?” he asked. Without waiting for
Clarke to respond, he took off for the shore, leaving her alone in the water.
Clarke watched Bellamy grab his bow and disappear into the shadows.
She sighed, then silently chastised herself for her foolishness. If it’d been
her family they were seeking, she wouldn’t waste time playing in the water
either. She tilted her head back, sending drops of water trickling off her face
as she stared up at the sky and thought about the two bodies drifting among
those very stars. What would her parents say if they could see her now, here
on the planet they had always dreamed of calling home?
“Can we play the atlas game?” Clarke asked, leaning over her father to peer at his tablet. It
was covered with complicated-looking equations that Clarke didn’t recognize. But she would
someday soon; even though she was only eight, she’d recently started algebra. When Cora
and Glass heard about it, they’d rolled their eyes and whispered loudly about how math was
pointless. Clarke had tried to explain that without math, there would be no doctors, and no
engineers, which meant that they’d all die of preventable diseases… if the Colony didn’t
burst into flames first. But Cora and Glass had only laughed and then spent the rest of the
day giggling every time Clarke walked past.
“In a minute,” her father said. He frowned slightly as he swiped the screen, rearranging
the order of the equations. “I just need to finish this first.”
Clarke brought her face closer to the tablet. “Can I help? If you explain it to me, I bet I
can figure the hard part out.”
He laughed and ruffled her hair. “I’m sure you could. But you’re helping me just by
sitting here. You remind me why our research is so important.” He smiled, closed the
program he was working on, and opened the atlas. A holographic globe appeared in the air
just above the couch.
Clarke swiped her finger through the air and the globe rotated. “What’s this one?” she
asked, pointing to the outline of a large country.
Her father squinted. “Let’s see… that’s Saudi Arabia.”
Clarke pressed her finger against the shape. It turned blue and the words New Mecca
appeared.
“Ah, that’s right,” her father said. “That one changed its name a number of times before
the Cataclysm.” He rotated the sphere and pointed to a long, narrow country on the other
side of the globe. “What about that one?”
“Chile,” Clarke said confidently.
“Really? I think it feels pretty warm in here.”
Clarke rolled her eyes. “Daddy, are you going to make that joke every time we play?”
“Every. Single. Time.” He smiled and pulled Clarke onto his lap. “At least, until we’re
actually in Chile. Then it might get old.”
“David,” Clarke’s mom warned from the kitchen, where she was tearing open protein
packets and mixing them in with the greenhouse kale. She didn’t like it when Clarke’s father
made jokes about going to Earth. According to her research, it was going to be at least
another hundred years until the planet was safe.
“What about the people?” Clarke asked.
Her father cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“I want to see where all the people lived. Why aren’t any apartments on the map?”
Her father smiled. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything that detailed. But people lived
everywhere.” He traced his finger along one of the squiggly lines. “They lived by the
ocean… they lived in the mountains… the desert… along the rivers.”
“How come they didn’t do anything when they knew the Cataclysm was coming?”
Her mother walked over to join them on the couch. “It all happened very quickly,” she
said after she’d sat down. “And there weren’t many places on Earth where people could
hide from all that radiation. I think the Chinese were building a structure here.” She zoomed
out the map and pointed to a spot on the far right side. “And there was talk of something
near the seed bank, here.” She traced her finger to the top of the map.
“What about Mount Weather?” her father asked.
Clarke’s mother fiddled with the globe. “That was in what would’ve been Virginia, right?”
“What’s Mount Weather?” Clarke asked, leaning in for a better look.
“Many years before the Cataclysm, the United States government built a large
underground bunker in case of nuclear war. The scenario seemed unlikely, but they had to
do something to protect the President—he was like their Chancellor,” she explained. “But
when the bombs finally fell, no one made it there in time, not even the President. It all
happened too suddenly.”
An uncomfortable question bumped against the jumble of other thoughts in Clarke’s
mind. “How many people died? Like, thousands?”
Her father sighed. “More like billions.”
“Billions?” Clarke rose to her feet and padded over to the small, round, star-filled
window. “Do you think they’re all up here now?”
Her mother walked over and placed her hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “What do you
mean?”
“Isn’t heaven supposed to be somewhere in space?”
Clarke’s mother gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I think heaven is wherever we imagine it
to be. I’ve always thought mine would be on Earth. In a forest somewhere, full of trees.”
Clarke slipped her hand into her mother’s. “Then that’s where mine will be too.”
“And I know what song will be playing at the pearly gates,” her father said with a laugh.
Her mother spun around. “David, don’t you dare play that song again.” But it was too
late. Music was already streaming out of the speakers in the walls. Clarke grinned as she
heard the opening lines of “Heaven Is a Place on Earth.”
“Seriously, David?” her mother asked, raising an eyebrow.
Her father only laughed and bounded over to grab their hands, and the three of them
spun around the living room, singing along to her father’s favorite song.
“Clarke!” Bellamy emerged from the tree line, breathless. It was too dark to
see the expression on his face, but she could hear the urgency in his voice.
“Come and see this!”
Clarke stumbled awkwardly through the water. She reached the muddy
bank and, forgetting that she was barely dressed, broke into a run, ignoring
the rocks under her bare feet and the sting of the chilly night air.
He was crouched on the ground, staring at something Clarke couldn’t
make out.
“Bellamy!” she called. “Are you okay? What was that sound?”
“Nothing. A bird or something. But look at this. It’s a footprint.” He
pointed at the ground, his smile shimmering with hope. “It’s Octavia’s, I’m
sure of it. We found the trail.”
Relief coursed through Clarke as she knelt down for a better look. There
seemed to be another print a few meters away, in a patch of mud. Both
looked fairly recent, as if Octavia had walked by only hours earlier. But
before she could reply, Bellamy stood up, pulled Clarke to her feet, and
kissed her.
He was still wet from the lake, and as he wrapped his arms around her
waist, her damp skin clung to his. For a moment, the world around them
faded away. All that existed was Bellamy—the warmth of his breath, the
taste of his lips. He moved one of his hands from her waist to her lower
back and Clarke shivered, suddenly acutely aware that she and Bellamy
were standing in their underwear, dripping wet.
A cold breeze shuddered through the thick canopy of leaves and danced
across the nape of Clarke’s neck. She shivered again, and Bellamy slowly
unlocked his lips from hers. “You must be freezing,” he said, rubbing his
hands up and down her back.
She cocked her head to the side. “You’re wearing even less clothing than
I am.”
Bellamy ran his finger up her arm, then tugged playfully at her damp bra
strap. “We can fix that, if it bothers you.”
Clarke smiled. “I think it’s probably a good idea to put on more clothes
before we head off into the woods to follow those footprints.” Even though
she didn’t think the tracks would vanish overnight, she knew Bellamy
wouldn’t want to stop now that he’d found the trail.
He looked at Clarke. “Thank you,” he said, leaning over to kiss her
again before he took her hand and led her toward the shore.
They dressed quickly, then grabbed their packs and headed back into the
shadow-filled woods. The trail was fairly easy to follow, although Bellamy
kept spotting the next print long before Clarke saw anything. Had his eyes
grown that sharp from hunting? Or was it the by-product of his desperation?
“Forget the gills. I think you’ve developed night vision,” she called when he
dashed toward yet another footprint she hadn’t noticed. She’d meant it as a
joke, of course, but then she frowned. The radiation levels on Earth clearly
weren’t as high as she’d once feared, but that didn’t mean they were safe
yet. Low-level radiation poisoning could take weeks to present, even if their
cells had already begun to deteriorate. For all she knew, that was why no
more dropships had arrived. What if the Council wasn’t waiting to
determine whether Earth was safe—because the hundred’s biometric data
had already proved that it wasn’t?
Her heart racing, Clarke glanced down at the monitor clamped to her
wrist and counted the days they’d been on Earth. She looked up at the
moon, which was three-quarters full. It had been a pale sliver that first
terrible night after they’d crashed. Her stomach plummeted as she
remembered a pivotal moment in her parents’ research. The day most
patients grew sicker. Day twenty-one.
“I’m used to looking for things in the dark,” Bellamy said ahead of her,
oblivious to her anxiety. “Back on the Colony, I’d sneak into the abandoned
storage areas. Most of them didn’t have electricity anymore.”
Clarke winced as a branch scraped her leg. “What were you looking
for?” she asked, shoving aside her concern. If anyone did begin presenting
signs of radiation poisoning, they had some medicine that might help, albeit
a paltry amount.
“Old machine parts, textiles, the odd Earthmade relic—anything worth
trading at the Exchange.” His tone was casual, but she could hear a hint of
strain in his voice. “Octavia didn’t always get enough to eat at the care
center, so I had to find a way to get extra ration points.”
The admission pulled Clarke from her own thoughts. Her heart ached at
the idea of a younger, slighter version of the boy in front of her, alone in a
dark, cavernous storage area. “Bellamy,” she started, searching for the right
words, then cut herself off as she caught sight of something glinting from
the shadowy depths behind the trees. She knew she should keep moving;
they couldn’t afford to lose any more time. Yet something about the way it
shimmered brought Clarke to a stop.
“Bellamy, come look at this,” she said, turning to walk toward it.
There was something on the ground, scattered among the roots of a large
tree. Clarke bent down for a closer look and saw that it was metal. She
inhaled sharply and reached out to run her finger along one of the long,
twisted pieces. What could it have been part of? And how had it ended up
here, in the middle of the woods?
“Clarke?” Bellamy shouted. “Where did you go?”
“I’m over here,” she called back. “You need to see this.”
Bellamy materialized soundlessly next to her. “What’s going on?” He
was breathing heavily, and there was an edge to his voice. “You can’t just
take off like that. We need to stick together.”
“Look.” Clarke picked up a piece of metal and held it in the moonlight.
“How could this have survived the Cataclysm?”
Bellamy shifted from one foot to the other. “No clue,” he said. “Now
can we keep moving? I don’t want to lose the trail.”
Clarke was about to set the strange artifact back on the ground when she
noticed two familiar letters carved into the metal. TG. Trillion Galactic. “Oh
my god,” she murmured. “It came from the Colony.”
“What?” Bellamy crouched down next to her. “It must be part of the
dropship, right?”
Clarke shook her head. “I don’t think so. We have to be at least six
kilometers from camp. There’s no way this is wreckage from the crash.” At
least, not our crash.
Clarke felt suddenly disoriented, as if trying to discern between a
memory and a dream. “There are more pieces scattered around. Maybe
they’ll be something that’ll—” She cut herself off with a cry as a jolt of
pain shot through her right arm.
“Clarke? Are you okay?”
Bellamy’s arm was around her, but she couldn’t look at him. Her eyes
were fixed on something on the ground.
Something long, dark, thin, and wriggling.
She tried to point the creature out to Bellamy, but found that she
couldn’t move. “Clarke! What’s wrong?” he shouted.
Clarke opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her chest was
beginning to tighten. Her arm was on fire.
“Oh, shit,” she heard Bellamy say. She couldn’t see him anymore. The
world around her had begun to spin. Stars and sky and trees and leaves
swirled in the darkness. The searing heat that had been shooting up her arm
faded away. Everything was fading. She fell back against Bellamy, then felt
herself being lifted into the air. She was weightless, just like she’d been in
the lake. Just like her parents were now.
“Clarke, stay with me,” Bellamy called to her from somewhere very far
away. The darkness was rushing around her, wrapping her legs and arms in
stars.
And then there was only silence.
CHAPTER 3
Glass
Glass lifted her head from Luke’s chest, trying not to be frightened by how
much effort it required. He smiled as she pushed herself into a sitting
position and let her long legs spill over the side of the couch. Glass wasn’t
sure whether the lack of oxygen was making her drowsy, or whether she
was just tired from staying up most of the night. Lying in bed with Luke,
the last thing she wanted to do was sleep. They didn’t know how much time
they had left, so every moment was precious. She and Luke had spent the
last few nights wrapped in each other’s arms: whispering their fleeting,
half-formed thoughts, or just lying silently, memorizing the sound of each
other’s heartbeats.
“I should probably go out and look for more supplies.” Luke spoke
lightly, but they both knew the gravity of what he was proposing. Ever since
the skybridge between the ships had closed, the chaos on Walden had
reached a fever pitch. The Waldenites’ desperate attempts to find and hoard
food had turned violent. Armed with a meager handful of protein packets,
Glass and Luke had barred themselves inside Luke’s tiny flat, doing their
best to ignore the sounds echoing from the corridors—the angry shouts of
neighbors fighting over supplies, the frantic cries of mothers searching for
lost children, the ragged wheezes of those struggling to breathe the
increasingly thin air.
“It’s okay,” Glass said. “We have enough for a few days, and after
that…” She cut herself off, looking away.
“You’re really too good at keeping calm under pressure. It’s a little
scary. You should have been a guard.” He tapped his finger under her chin.
“I’m serious,” he said in response to her look of skepticism. “I’ve always
thought women make the best guards. It’s a shame girls on Phoenix never
really consider it.”
Glass smiled inwardly, imagining her best friend Wells’s surprise if
she’d shown up to the first day of officer training. While he probably
would’ve been too shocked to speak at first, she was sure he’d have
supported her. Before she met Luke, Wells was the one person who’d
always treated her seriously, who believed she had talents beyond flirting
and styling her hair.
“I guess I could’ve given it a shot, as long as no one tried to make me
spacewalk.” The word alone was enough to make her nauseated as she
imagined stepping into weightlessness.
Luke cleared his throat. “You know they don’t let just anyone
spacewalk,” he said with mock grandiosity. Luke was part of the elite corps
of guards who were also trained as engineers, responsible for making
crucial—and dangerous—repairs to the ship. She would never forget how
terrified she had felt a few weeks ago, when she’d watched Luke go outside
the ship to examine a malfunctioning airlock. For twenty heart-racing
minutes, a thin cord had been all that kept him from being lost in the
emptiness of space. The cord, and Glass’s fervent prayers.
“Not to mention, you would’ve looked pretty cute in the uniform.”
“Want me to try on yours, to see?” Glass asked innocently.
He grinned. “Maybe later.” But as soon as the words left his mouth, his
face fell. They both knew there wasn’t going to be a “later.”
Glass jumped to her feet and tossed her long hair over her shoulder.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Luke’s hand. “I have an idea for dinner.”
“Really? You managed to decide between two-day-old protein paste and
three-day-old protein paste?”
“I’m serious. Let’s make it special. Why don’t we use the plates?”
Earthmade relics were rare on Walden, but Luke’s family had held on to
two beautiful plates an ancestor had carried onto the ship.
Luke hesitated for a fraction of a second, then rose to his feet. “That
sounds like a nice idea. I’ll go get them.” He squeezed Glass’s hand before
disappearing into his room, where he kept the valuable relics hidden away.
Glass went into the tiny bathroom and looked at herself in the sliver of
scratched mirror above the sink. In the past, she’d found the lack of
grooming space endlessly frustrating, but now she was grateful not to know
what she looked like after three days in the same clothes. She fingercombed her hair and washed her face with the tepid water.
She didn’t think she’d taken very long, but when she stepped back into
the living space, Glass found the flat transformed. The flickering lights near
the table weren’t flashbeams—they were candles. “Where did you get
those?” Glass asked in surprise, padding over for a closer look. There
weren’t many candles left anywhere on the Colony, let alone on Walden.
“I was saving them for a special occasion,” Luke said, coming out of his
room. As Glass’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, her breath caught in her
chest. Luke had changed into dark pants and what seemed to be a matching
jacket. Could it be a real suit? They rarely appeared in the Exchange. Even
the men on Phoenix had trouble tracking them down.
Glass had seen Luke straight-backed and serious-faced in his guard
uniform. She’d seen him casual and laughing in his civilian clothes, playing
catch with the little kids in his corridor. In the suit, he looked as confident
as soldier-Luke, but he held himself differently. More relaxed.
“I’m underdressed,” Glass said, tugging at the sleeve of her slightly
dingy shirt.
Luke tilted his head to the side and surveyed her for a long moment.
“You look perfect.” There was a note of admiration in his voice that made
Glass grateful for the candles, for the flickering light that obscured her old
clothes and her sudden blush.
She took a few steps forward and ran her finger along Luke’s sleeve.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was Carter’s, actually.”
The name made Glass snatch her hand away, as if she’d been burned.
“Are you okay?” Luke asked.
“Yes, fine,” Glass said quickly. “I was just surprised. Carter never struck
me as a suit guy.” Carter was an older boy who’d taken Luke in after his
mother died—out of charity, he’d claimed, but Glass had always suspected
it was for the extra ration points. He was lazy, manipulative, and dangerous,
and had once tried to assault Glass when she was waiting in their flat. Yet
while Luke was generally far from naïve, his childhood admiration for
Carter blinded him to his faults, and Glass had never been able to make him
see the truth about the man he saw as a sort of mentor.
Luke shrugged. “He wasn’t. He was short on points one month, so I
bought the suit from him. It was pretty generous of him, actually. He
could’ve gotten a lot more at the Exchange.”
No, he couldn’t have, Glass thought. Because he would’ve been arrested
for selling stolen goods. But then she felt a pang of guilt. Carter had been a
scumbag, but now he was dead—executed for a crime he hadn’t committed.
And it was Glass’s fault.
Last year, Glass had made the terrifying discovery that she was pregnant
—a violation of the Colony’s rigid population control law that was
punishable by Confinement for minors… and death for anyone over
eighteen.
Desperate to keep Luke safe, Glass had done her best to hide her
condition. But when her pregnancy was discovered, she’d been arrested and
forced to name the father. Glass knew that if she told the truth, nineteenyear-old Luke would be put to death. So, in a moment of panic, she gave the
name of a man who made her skin crawl, a man she knew would be arrested
sooner or later, anyway: Carter.
Luke didn’t know what Glass had done. No one on Walden had any idea
why Carter had been dragged away in the middle of the night. At least,
that’s what Glass had thought until two days ago, when Luke’s best friend
and ex-girlfriend, Camille, had threatened to expose Glass’s secret if she
didn’t do anything and everything Camille asked.
“Should we eat?” Glass asked weakly, desperate to change the subject.
Luke placed the two plates on the table with a clink. “Dinner is served.”
There was laughably little protein paste, but Glass noticed that Luke had
given her a far larger serving. The upside to the meager portions was that
they allowed Glass to admire the scenes painted on the plates—one
depicted a couple in front of the Eiffel Tower, while the other showed the
same couple walking a dog in a park. Luke didn’t know the story behind the
relics, but Glass liked to imagine that a real couple had bought the plates on
their honeymoon, and then brought them up to the Colony as keepsakes.
“Is it strange to dress up to eat protein paste?” Luke asked as he scooped
some up with his spoon.
“I don’t think so. For a while, Wells was obsessed with this book about a
famous boat crash. Apparently, everyone put on their best clothes and then
listened to music while the ship was going down.”
Glass was proud to know this little fact about Earth history, but instead
of looking impressed, Luke winced. “You should’ve stayed on Phoenix,” he
said softly. “Coming here was like boarding a sinking ship.” Although
Walden and Arcadia had been abandoned by the Council—left to die as
their oxygen supplies dwindled—Phoenix, the central ship, still had oxygen
reserves. Glass had fled the safety of her home ship to come be with Luke
on Walden.
“Do you think Camille made it across?” Luke asked as he used his
spoon to trace a pattern in the protein paste.
Glass suppressed a wince of her own. When she’d arrived on Walden,
Luke’s ex-girlfriend Camille had demanded Glass show her how she’d
snuck from ship to ship. And when Glass had hesitated, knowing that the
guards would likely shoot a Waldenite trespassing on Phoenix now that the
skybridge had been closed, Camille had whispered the most terrifying threat
Glass could imagine: If Glass didn’t help her, Camille would tell Luke
about Carter. Glass had no idea how the other girl discovered her secret, but
she hadn’t wasted time trying to find out as she hurried Camille to the secret
air vent that connected Walden to Phoenix.
“I hope so,” Glass said in answer to Luke’s question, turning away to
avoid meeting his eye.
“It’s not too late for you,” Luke said carefully. He had begged Glass to
return with Camille, but she refused. “You could climb through the vent and
—”
Glass’s spoon fell from her hand onto her plate. “No,” she said, a little
more sharply than she’d meant. “We talked about this.”
Luke sighed. “Okay, how about this?” He took a breath to speak, but
then he caught Glass’s eye and let out a sputtering laugh.
“What?” Glass asked. “What’s so funny?”
“You were scowling at me.”
Glass sat up straighter. “Well, I’m upset. I’m not sure why you find it so
amusing.”
“Because I’m sure it was the exact expression you used to make when
you were a little kid and didn’t get your way.”
“Luke, come on. I’m trying to be serious.”
“So am I,” he said, rising from his chair. “Come here.” He took her hand
and pulled her to her feet. “What if you go across through the vent and just
look around? If it doesn’t seem like the guards are patrolling Phoenix, you
can come back and let me know.”
Glass paused for a moment to scan Luke’s face, trying to make sure he
meant what he said. That it wasn’t a ploy to get her to retreat to the safety of
Phoenix and then shut the air vent for good, so she couldn’t come back.
“And then you’ll go over with me?”
Luke nodded. “If there aren’t guards near where the vent lets out, we can
try to make it back to your flat without being spotted. And then…” His
voice trailed off.
Glass took his other hand and gave it a squeeze. They both knew
sneaking onto Phoenix would only buy them a little more time. The Colony
was breaking apart, and even Phoenix would lose oxygen eventually.
After a long moment, Luke broke the silence. “They might start sending
people on the dropships.”
“What? Before they know whether or not it’s safe?” Glass shouldn’t
have been surprised. The Colony had lost contact with the hundred
Confined teens who’d been sent down to Earth to test the radiation levels.
Ninety-nine teens, actually, since Glass was supposed to be one of them but
had escaped the dropship and snuck back onto the Colony. Her heart ached
as she thought about Wells, who’d also been on the mission. He had always
dreamed of going to Earth—Glass remembered how he’d made them play
gladiator in the gravity gym when he was going through his Roman phase,
or how she’d pretended to be a man-eating gorilla when they’d played
jungle explorer behind his father’s office.
She hoped he was still alive, that he wasn’t being attacked by maneating gorillas—or worse, dying slowly from radiation. She hoped that
they’d made it to the ground at all.
“They don’t have any other options,” Luke said flatly. His eyes searched
hers. “You should’ve stayed on that dropship when you had the chance.”
“Yes, well, it turns out I’d left something pretty important behind.”
Luke reached out and ran his finger along the chain of the locket he’d
given her on their anniversary. “Of course. You can’t go to Earth without
your jewelry.”
Glass swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “You know what I’m
talking about.”
Luke laughed. “I can’t wait to see you scowl at me on Earth.”
“Is that the only thing you’re looking forward to?”
“No.” Luke’s hand moved to the back of her head as he lowered his face
toward hers and kissed her gently. “I’m looking forward to a lot more than
that.”
CHAPTER 4
Wells
There was no way of keeping track of time at night, so Wells had to guess
when it was time to change shifts. From the ache in his joints, he’d been
patrolling the clearing for at least four hours. But when he went to fetch
Eric, he found the Arcadian curled up next to Felix with such a peaceful
look on his face, he couldn’t stomach the thought of disturbing them.
With a silent groan, Wells stretched his arms over his head and switched
the spear from one hand to the other. The weapon was a joke. The arrow
that had killed Asher had been shot with deadly accuracy. If the Earthborns
returned and took aim at Wells, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Wells?” a girl called out.
He spun around, blinking in the darkness. “Priya? Is that you?”
“No…” There was a note of hurt in the girl’s voice. “It’s me. Kendall.”
“Sorry,” Wells said. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, everything’s fine!” she said, suddenly cheery. Way too cheery
for the middle of the night. Luckily, it was too dark for her to see Wells
cringe. “I just figured you could use some company.”
The last thing Wells wanted right now was to make small talk. “I’m
okay. I’m about to trade off with Eric,” he lied. Even without seeing
Kendall’s face, he could sense disappointment radiating out from her. “Now
go back to bed before someone steals your spot.”
With a barely audible sigh, Kendall turned and traipsed back toward the
cabin. When he heard the door close behind her, Wells returned his focus to
the tree line. He was so tired, he had to use all his strength to keep his
increasingly heavy eyelids from drooping.
Sometime later—it could have been minutes, it could have been another
hour—a figure emerged from the shadows. Wells blinked, expecting it to
disappear, but it only grew larger. He snapped to attention, raised the spear,
and opened his mouth to shout a warning—but then the shape came into
focus, and the words died on his lips.
Bellamy. He was lurching toward him, a limp figure in his trembling
arms. For one brief moment, Wells thought it was Octavia—but even in the
dark, there was no mistaking the rumpled, reddish-blond hair. He would
know her anywhere.
Wells broke into a run and reached them just as Bellamy fell to his
knees. His face was bright red and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he
held on to Clarke long enough to pass her into Wells’s outstretched arms.
“She… she…” Bellamy wheezed, pressing his hand to the grass to steady
himself as he struggled to speak. “She was bitten. By a snake.”
That was all Wells needed to hear. Holding Clarke tight to his chest, he
took off for the infirmary cabin. The tiny space was jammed with sleeping
people—half a dozen were curled up on the few remaining blankets and
cots. “Move it,” Wells bellowed, senseless to the indignant murmurs and
sleepy protests. “Now.”
“What happened? Are they back?”
“Is it the Earthborns?” someone whimpered.
“Is that Clarke? Is she okay?”
Wells ignored them and set Clarke down on one of the now-empty cots,
inhaling sharply as her head fell to the side. “Clarke,” he said, placing a
hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently. “Clarke!” He knelt down and
brought his face close to hers. She was breathing, but just barely.
Bellamy burst inside. “Get them out of here,” Wells ordered, gesturing
to the remaining kids who were still staggering to their feet, gazing at
Clarke in sleepy confusion.
Bellamy herded them toward the door. “Everybody out,” he said, his
voice ragged with exhaustion. When the last few had been unceremoniously
removed, he stumbled over to Wells, who was tearing wildly through the
medical supplies.
“What can I do?” Bellamy asked.
“Just keep an eye on her.” Wells tossed bandages and vials over his
shoulder, praying that they had antivenom, praying that he’d recognize it.
He cursed himself for not studying harder during his biology tutorials. He
cursed himself for not paying closer attention to Clarke when she spoke
offhandedly about her medical training. He’d been too busy admiring the
ways her eyes lit up when she talked about her apprenticeship. And now
there was a chance those eyes would be closed forever.
“You’d better hurry up.” Bellamy’s voice came from the cot. Wells spun
around to see him crouching next to Clarke, brushing the hair off her pale
face. The sight momentarily resurrected the rage Wells had felt when he’d
seen Bellamy kiss Clarke in the woods.
“Don’t touch her.” He winced at the sharpness of his tone. “Just… give
her space to breathe.”
Bellamy locked eyes with Wells. “She’s not going to be breathing for
much longer unless we figure out a way to help her.”
Wells turned back to the medicine chest, willing himself to stay calm.
When his eyes landed on a bright orange vial, his relief nearly knocked him
to the ground.
A few years ago, a group of scientists had given a lecture on their
research in Eden Hall. They were developing a universal antidote, a
medicine that would give people a fighting chance of surviving when they
finally returned to Earth. Not only had humans lost many of their natural
immunities, but it was likely that many plants and animals had mutated,
rendering the old medicines useless. The lecture felt like a lifetime ago,
before Wells had met Clarke, before the Vice Chancellor forced her parents
to study the effects of radiation on human test subjects. Wells had only gone
because it fell under his responsibilities as the Chancellor’s son. He’d never
thought he’d ever set foot on Earth, let alone need to use such an antidote to
save the girl he loved.
Wells grit his teeth as he attached a syringe to the vial and positioned it
over a blue vein in Clarke’s arm. He froze as his heart pounded a warning.
What if he was wrong about the drug? What if he screwed up and injected a
fatal air bubble into her blood?
“Give it to me,” Bellamy snapped. “I’ll do it.”
“No,” Wells said firmly. Though he hated to admit it, the thought of
Bellamy saving Clarke was too much for him to bear. It was his fault she’d
been sent to Earth in the first place, but it wasn’t going to be his fault that
she died.
In a single motion, he plunged the syringe into her skin and pressed the
top down, watching the antidote empty into her body. “Clarke,” he
whispered, grabbing her hand. “Can you hear me?” He intertwined his
fingers with hers and closed his eyes. “Please. Stay with me.” He sat there
holding her hand for a few moments in silence.
“Thank god,” Bellamy breathed behind him.
Wells looked up to see Clarke’s eyes flutter open. He exhaled and
swayed slightly, woozy with relief. “Are you okay?” he asked, not caring
that his voice cracked.
She blinked at him in confusion. Wells braced for the moment when she
would remember everything that happened, and her face would harden with
loathing. But Clarke’s eyes closed again, and her lips curved into a small
smile. “I found—” she murmured.
“What did you find?” Wells asked, squeezing her hand.
“I had no…” Clarke trailed off with a sigh as sleep overtook her.
Wells stood up, grabbed a blanket from one of the other cots, and spread
it gently over Clarke. Bellamy was still standing stiffly behind him, his eyes
fixed on the curled figure of the girl who, despite her immense strength,
always looked younger—and somehow more fragile—when she slept.
Wells cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, extending his hand. “For
bringing her back.”
Bellamy nodded slowly, still in shock. “I was so worried. I thought…”
He ran a hand through his hair, then slid to the ground and sat with his back
against Clarke’s cot.
Wells bristled at the possessive gesture, but he found that he couldn’t say
anything. He was grateful to Bellamy for bringing Clarke back to the camp,
but it hurt to think about what they might’ve been doing for the past two
days.
Wells lowered himself to the ground with a sigh. “I guess this means you
didn’t find Octavia.”
“No. We found a trail, but it was… weird.” He spoke without looking
up, and his voice was strangely flat. “The prints didn’t look like she ran off.
It looked like she was dragged.”
“Dragged?” Wells repeated as the pieces of information clicked together,
forming an even more troubling picture. “I can’t believe it. They took her.”
“They?” Bellamy’s head shot up. “Who?”
Wells told him about everything that had happened since Bellamy and
Clarke left camp—the surprise attack, Asher’s death, the undeniable fact
that there were other people on Earth.
When Bellamy finally spoke, his jaw was tight with anger. “And you
think these people took Octavia during the fire?” Wells nodded. “Who are
they? How did they survive the Cataclysm? And what the hell do these—
these Earthborns want with my sister?”
“I don’t know. They might be defending their territory. Maybe they took
her as a warning, and then when we didn’t show any signs of leaving, they
killed Asher to make a stronger point.”
Bellamy stared at him for a long moment. “So you think they’re coming
back?”
Wells opened his mouth to repeat the same vague response he’d been
giving to the others in his attempt to prevent widespread panic. But when he
met Bellamy’s eyes, the canned reassurances fell away. “Yes. They’ll be
back.” He told Bellamy about Graham’s growing obsession with building
an army, a move that would certainly lead to more deaths.
“It sounds like it hasn’t been a walk in the park here either,” Bellamy
said with a snort. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Clarke, who still
hadn’t stirred, though her face was peaceful and her breath was steady.
“You should get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on Sleeping Beauty here, and let
you know if there’s any change.”
Something in Bellamy’s tone rankled Wells. “I’m fine,” he said. “I have
to stay up for guard duty, anyway. But you should definitely go to bed. You
look exhausted.”
The boys stared at each other wordlessly until Bellamy raised his arms
over his head and stretched his legs out with a groan. “I guess we’re both in
it for the long haul, then.”
They sat in silence, each avoiding the other’s eyes, moving only to look
at Clarke the few times she rolled over, or sighed in her sleep. As the night
wore on, a handful of people tried to come back inside the infirmary cabin,
but Wells shooed them away. It was slightly unfair to make people sleep
outside when there was space indoors, but he couldn’t risk anything
disturbing Clarke. Not after what she’d been through.
Wells wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but light was streaming
between the logs when a loud thud jolted him from his doze, sending him
jumping to his feet. Bellamy’s head snapped up. “What’s going on?” he
asked, drowsily. Without waiting to respond, Wells hurried outside.
The clearing was quiet and still. The people he’d kicked out of the
infirmary cabin had joined the others around the fire pit. Everyone seemed
to still be asleep.
Wells had started to turn back when a flash of movement near the tree
line caught his eye. Something darted from behind a tree and ran deeper
into the woods—a short, wiry figure dressed in black.
Without thinking, Wells started sprinting across the tree line, his feet
flying over the uneven, root-tangled ground. He closed in on the intruder,
lunging forward to tackle him with a shout. Wells grunted as a knee jabbed
him in the stomach, but it didn’t stop him from rolling over and pinning the
stranger to the damp ground. He had one of them—an Earthborn.
Wells’s blood was pumping so swiftly through his veins, it took him a
moment to get a clear look at the person whose wrists he’d clamped, the
owner of the green eyes staring furiously up at him.
It was a girl.
CHAPTER 5
Bellamy
Bellamy didn’t care that the Earthborn was a girl. She was a spy. She was
the enemy. She was one of the people who had killed Asher and taken his
sister.
Fear flashed in her eyes, and her black hair flew across her face as she
thrashed in the dirt, trying to wrench herself free. But Bellamy, kneeling
next to Wells, only tightened his hold. They couldn’t let her escape, not
before she told them where Octavia was.
He helped Wells pull the girl to her feet and yanked her sharply forward.
“Where the hell is she?” he shouted. His face was so close to hers, his
breath sent wisps of her hair flying. “Where’d you take my sister?”
The girl winced but said nothing.
Bellamy twisted her arm behind her back, just like he used to do to the
boys in the care center he caught teasing Octavia. “You’d better tell me
right now, or you’ll wish you never crawled out of whatever cave you came
from!”
“Bellamy,” Wells said sharply. “Calm down. We don’t know anything
yet. She might have nothing to do with—”
“Like hell she doesn’t,” Bellamy said, cutting him off. He reached over
and yanked on the girl’s hair, bringing her face up to his. “You tell me right
now, or this is going to get really unpleasant, really fast.”
“Knock it off,” Wells shouted. “For all we know, she doesn’t speak
English. Before we do anything, we need to—”
Wells was cut off once again, this time by a thunderstorm of shouts and
footsteps as the rest of the group, drawn by the noise, came to investigate.
“You caught one,” Graham said, shoving his way to the front. His voice was
tinged with something close to admiration.
“So she’s from Earth?” asked a Walden girl, awestruck.
“Can she talk?” another asked.
“She’s probably a mutant. You might catch radiation poisoning just by
touching her,” a tall Arcadian boy said, craning his neck for a better look.
Bellamy didn’t care if the girl was radioactive, or if she had goddamn
wings. All he cared about was finding out where she and her friends had
taken his sister.
“What are we going to do with her?” a girl asked as she shifted her spear
from one hand to the other.
“We kill her,” Graham said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the
world. “And then we put her head on a spike to let the others know how we
deal with people who threaten us.”
“Not before she and I have a little conversation,” Bellamy growled. The
girl’s eyes narrowed as Bellamy stepped forward, and she raised her knee in
an attempt to jab him, but he danced aside.
“Bellamy, back off,” Wells ordered, struggling to hold her still.
Graham scoffed. “Want to have a little fun with her first? I can’t say I’ve
ever understood your taste in girls, mini-Chancellor, but I guess we all have
needs.”
Wells ignored Graham, and turned to ask a Walden boy for rope. “We’ll
tie her up and keep her in the infirmary until we figure out what to do with
her.”
Bellamy glared at Wells as rage bubbled up from his stomach into his
chest. That wasn’t good enough. The longer they stood here, the farther
away her people could be dragging Octavia. “She needs to tell us where to
find my sister,” he snapped, daring Wells to challenge him. As if it were his
decision to make. Bellamy hadn’t really cared when the others started
deferring to Wells. Better him than Graham. But that didn’t mean Wells got
to decide what to do about this girl—the only link to Bellamy’s sister.
The Walden boy came running over with the rope. Wells bound the girl’s
hands behind her back, then deftly tied her feet together so she could only
take short, shuffling steps. His smooth, practiced moves reminded Bellamy
that Wells wasn’t just a spoiled Phoenician. Before his arrest, he’d been
training as a guard. As an officer, in fact. Bellamy’s hands tightened into
fists at his side.
“Clear a path,” Wells shouted, escorting his prisoner toward the cabin.
Her long black hair had fallen away from her face, and Bellamy was able to
really look at her for the first time. She was young, maybe Octavia’s age,
with almond-shaped green eyes. Her furry black top wasn’t even the
strangest thing about her. It was something about her skin, Bellamy
realized. The Colonists’ skin came in a wide array of shades, but the
hundred had all burned their first week on Earth, before Clarke started
urging people to limit their sun exposure. But the captive’s skin had a sort
of glow, and a smattering of freckles across her high cheekbones. Unlike
the rest of them, she had grown up in the sunlight.
His anger turned to nausea as he thought about how her people might be
treating Octavia. Did they have her tied up? Locked in a cave somewhere?
She hated small places. Was she terrified? Was she crying for him? At that
moment, he would’ve taken the ax and chopped off his hand if he thought it
would help his sister.
Bellamy followed Wells and the Earthborn into the infirmary cabin,
which was now empty except for the still-sleeping Clarke. He watched as
Wells directed the girl to sit on the other cot, checked that her hands were
tied securely behind her, then took a step back, surveying her with an
expression he must have picked up during officer training.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She glowered and tried to rise to her feet, but her bound hands threw her
off-balance. It was easy for Wells to push her back on the cot. “Do you
understand what I’m saying?” he continued.
A troubling thought took shape amid Bellamy’s haze of fury. What if she
didn’t speak English? They might’ve landed in North America, but that
didn’t mean the Earthborns spoke the same language as they had three
hundred years ago.
Wells crouched down so he was eye level with the girl. “We didn’t know
anyone was still living here. If we’ve done something to offend you, we’re
sorry. But—”
“Sorry?” Bellamy spat. “They took my sister and killed Asher. We’re
not apologizing for anything.”
Wells shot him a warning look, then turned back to the Earthborn. “We
need to know where you took our friend. And you’re going to stay here
until you give us some useful information.”
She turned to Wells, but instead of responding, she simply pressed her
lips together and glared.
Wells rose to his feet, rubbed his head in frustration, then started to turn
away.
“That’s it? That’s your idea of questioning her?” Bellamy said, torn
between fury and bewilderment. “Do you know what your father and his
Council friends do when they need information from someone?”
“That’s not how we’re doing things here,” Wells said with infuriating
self-righteousness, as if half the people in camp hadn’t been interrogated by
his father’s guards at some point. He walked over to Clarke’s cot, adjusted
her blanket, then headed toward the door.
“You’re just going to leave her there?” Bellamy asked incredulously, his
eyes darting between the prisoner and Wells.
“We’re going to have people guarding the cabin round the clock. Don’t
worry, she’s not going to escape.”
Bellamy took a step forward. “Yeah, she’s sure as hell not going to
escape because I’m staying in here with her. With both of them.” He tipped
his head toward the sleeping Clarke. “You think it’s a good idea to leave her
in here with a killer?”
Wells leveled his gaze at Bellamy. “She’s tied up. She’s not going to hurt
anyone.”
The condescension in his voice was enough to make Bellamy’s blood
boil. “We don’t know anything about these people!” he shot back. “What
kind of mutations they’ve undergone. Remember the two-headed deer?”
Wells shook his head. “She’s a human being, Bellamy, not some kind of
monster.”
Bellamy snorted and turned to the girl. She was staring at them, wideeyed, her gaze flitting back and forth between Wells and Bellamy. “Well,
I’d still feel more comfortable if I kept an eye on her personally,” he said,
trying to sound relaxed. He knew Wells wouldn’t let him stay in here if he
thought he was going to hurt her.
“Fine.” Wells shot one final look at Clarke before turning back to
Bellamy. “But leave her alone for now. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
When Wells left, Bellamy walked to the other side of the cabin and
lowered himself to the ground next to Clarke. The Earthborn girl had
shifted on her cot so she was facing the other wall, but Bellamy could tell
from the tension in her shoulders that she was aware of his every move.
Good, he thought. Let her worry about what he might do next. The more
terrified she became, the better the chances she’d tell them where to find
Octavia. Bellamy was going to rescue his sister, no matter what it took.
He’d spent the past fifteen years risking his life to keep her safe, and he had
no intention of stopping now.
Bellamy loved Remembrance Day. Not because he particularly enjoyed listening to the care
center tutors drone on about how lucky they all were that their ancestors had made it off
Earth. If Bellamy’s great-great-grandfather had known that his descendants would have the
privilege of cleaning bathrooms in a floating can filled with recirculated air, he probably
would have been like, “You know what, guys, I’m good here.” No, Bellamy looked forward to
Remembrance Day because the storage decks were nearly empty, which made it an ideal
time for scavenging.
He slipped behind an outdated generator that had been shoved carelessly against a
wall. Spots like this could conceal valuable stuff for decades. Last Remembrance Day, he’d
found an actual pocketknife inside a grate on C deck. Bellamy grinned as his fingers closed
around something soft and pulled out a piece of pink fabric. A scarf? He shook it out,
ignoring the dust motes. It was a small blanket, with a trim of darker pink. Bellamy folded it
carefully and slid it inside his jacket.
As he made his way back to the care center, Bellamy toyed with the idea of giving his
find to Octavia. She’d recently been moved from the small bedroom where the five- and sixyear-olds slept to the larger dorm for older girls. While she liked being thought of as a big
kid, the dorm was still frightening to her, and a pretty blanket would go a long way toward
making the new space feel like home.
But as he readjusted the blanket under his arm and felt the soft wool against his skin,
he knew it was too valuable to keep. Life in the care center was difficult. Although food was
meant to be distributed evenly, the orphans had developed an elaborate system based on
bribes and intimidation. Without him, Octavia would never get enough to eat. Bellamy was a
good scavenger, and he traded everything he found for ration points, or to bribe the kitchen
staff for extra food. Over the past few years, he’d done a pretty good job of making sure
Octavia had enough to eat. She never got that feral, hungry glint in her eye so common in
the care center.
He slipped in through the rarely used service entrance and hid the blanket in his usual
spot, a grate in the wall too low for anyone to notice. He’d come back for it tonight and trade
it on the black market. The dim, narrow hallways were deserted, which meant that everyone
was still shoved into the cramped gathering room for Remembrance Day, being force-fed
fun facts about radiation poisoning and the Cataclysm.
Bellamy turned the corner. To his surprise, there were noises coming from the girls’
dorm, high-pitched laughter that wasn’t quite loud enough to mask the sound of—was that
crying? He picked up his speed, and burst inside without knocking. The long room was
mostly empty, but there were a few older girls standing in a circle, so absorbed with
whatever they were doing that they failed to notice his arrival.
A tall blond girl was holding something in the air, giggling as a smaller hand stretched
out in a futile attempt to grab it. Octavia. Even in the dim light, Bellamy caught sight of her
tearstained cheeks and huge eyes through the gaps between her tormentors’ bodies.
They had her red ribbon, the one Octavia wore every day in her dark hair. “Give it back,”
she pleaded, in a trembling voice that made Bellamy’s heart cramp.
“Why?” one of the older girls taunted. “It makes you look like an idiot. Is that what you
want?”
“Yeah,” the third girl said. “We’re doing you a favor. Now people aren’t going to ask,
‘Who’s the weird little kid with the ugly ribbon?’”
The girl holding the ornament made a show of examining it. “I don’t even think it’s a real
ribbon. I bet it came off a garbage bag or something.”
Her friend giggled. “I bet that’s why she smells like the recycling deck.”
“And you’re going to smell like a rotting corpse when they finally find you,” Bellamy
interrupted, striding forward and snatching the ribbon out of the blond girl’s hand. He
shoved them out of the way and knelt down next to Octavia. “Are you okay?” He reached
out to wipe away her tears.
She nodded with a sniffle. He handed her the ribbon, which she clutched in a tiny fist,
as if it was a living thing that could escape.
Bellamy rose and, keeping a hand on his sister’s shoulder, turned to face the girls. His
voice was tight. “If I hear one word about you bothering her again, you’ll wish you’d been
floated.”
Two of the girls exchanged nervous glances, but the blond only raised her eyebrows
and smirked. “She’s not even supposed to be here. She’s a waste of oxygen who was only
born because of your stupid slutty mother. And your sister”—she said the word like it was
something disgusting—“is going to turn out just like her.”
Bellamy’s muscles reacted before his brain did. Before he realized what he was doing,
he’d grabbed the girl by the throat and shoved her against the wall. “If you ever talk to my
sister again, if you do so much as look at her, I will kill you,” he hissed. He squeezed her
neck tighter, overcome with a sudden and terrifying desire to shut her up for good.
In the distance, he heard someone cry out. He released the girl and staggered
backward just as a pair of arms wrapped around him and dragged him away.
It wasn’t the first time Bellamy had been sent to the director’s office, although he’d
never shouted quite so many obscenities en route. The minder who’d grabbed Bellamy
shoved him into a chair and told him to wait there for the director. “Stay away from this one,”
the man said, addressing a girl in the chair across from Bellamy.
Bellamy scowled as the minder waved his hand in front of the scanner, waited for the
door to open, and strode back out. Part of him wanted to make a run for it now. Did trying to
choke that piece of space trash who’d been bullying his sister count as an Infraction? He’d
already had so many warnings, it was only a matter of time before the director wrote a
report that landed him in Confinement. But he wouldn’t last more than a few days as an
outlaw, and then who would take care of Octavia after he was captured? Better he stay here
and try to make his case.
He looked up at the girl. She was about his age, but he’d never seen her before; she
had to be a new arrival. She was sitting with her feet tucked under her while she fiddled
nervously with the buttons on her sweater. Her wavy blond hair was neat and shiny, and he
felt an unexpected pang of pity as he imagined her getting dressed in her room for the last
time, carefully arranging her hair for the trip to this hellhole.
“So what did you do?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. Her voice was slightly
hoarse, as though it had been a long time since she’d spoken—or like she’d recently been
crying. He wondered how she’d wound up here, if her parents had died or perhaps
committed Infractions and been floated.
There was no point in lying. “I attacked a girl,” he said in the light, careless tone he
generally used when discussing his various indiscretions. The girl’s eyes flickered, and
suddenly, he wanted to explain. “She was hurting my sister.”
Her eyes widened. “Your sister?” Unlike the blond girl, she made the word sound like
something rare and precious. Okay, she was definitely new; everyone at the care center
knew about him and Octavia. With the strict population laws, there hadn’t been siblings on
the ship in at least a generation.
“Well, technically she’s my half sister—but we’re the only family each other’s got. Her
name’s Octavia.” He smiled, just like he did whenever he said her name. “So did you just
get here?”
She nodded. “I’m Lilly,” she said.
“That’s a pretty name.” The words slipped out before he realized how stupid they’d
sound. “I’m Bellamy.” He tried to think of something else, to prove that he wasn’t a complete
doofus, but the door slid open and the director trudged in.
“Not you again,” she said, shooting Bellamy a look of disapproval before turning her
attention to Lilly. “Lilly Marsh?” she asked, in a voice Bellamy had never heard directed at
him. “It’s very nice to meet you. Let’s go into my office and I’ll tell you a little more about how
things work here.” As Lilly rose slowly to her feet, the director turned back to Bellamy. “One
month of probation, and if you so much as step a toe out of line, you’re out of here. For
good.”
Relief and confusion washed over Bellamy, but he wasn’t going to stick around long
enough for the director to change her mind. He jumped from the chair and hurried toward
the door. As he waited for it to open, he glanced over his shoulder to look back at Lilly.
To his surprise, she was smiling at him.
CHAPTER 6
Clarke
Whatever you do, don’t go inside the lab.
The anguished cries reached out to her, until Clarke couldn’t tell what
was coming from the other side of the wall, and what was echoing in the
shadowy depths of her own brain.
The experiments use dangerous levels of radiation. We don’t want you to
get hurt.
The lab was nothing like she’d imagined. It was full of hospital beds
instead of workstations. And in each bed was a child.
It’s our job to determine when Earth will be able to support human life
again. Everyone is counting on us.
Clarke glanced around the room, looking for her friend Lilly. She was
lonely. And scared. Everyone around her was dying. Their small bodies
withered away until they were hardly more than wisps of skin and bone.
We never wanted you to find out this way.
But where was Lilly? Clarke came to visit her often, whenever her
parents weren’t in the lab. She brought her friend presents, books she took
from the library and candy she stole from the pantry at school. On Lilly’s
good days, their laughter drowned out the sounds of the heart-rate monitors.
It wasn’t our idea. The Vice Chancellor forced us to experiment on those
children. They would’ve killed us if we’d refused.
Clarke moved from bed to bed, each of them containing a sick child. But
none of them were her best friend.
And then, suddenly, she remembered. Lilly was dead. Because Clarke
had killed her.
They would’ve killed you too.
Lilly had begged her to make the pain go away. Clarke hadn’t wanted to,
but she knew that Lilly had no chance of getting better. So eventually she’d
agreed, and gave her friend the fatal drugs that ended her suffering.
I’m sorry, Clarke tried to tell her friend. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
“It’s okay, Clarke. Shhh, it’s okay. I’m right here.”
Clarke’s eyes snapped open. She was lying on a cot, her arm wrapped in
bandages… why? What had happened?
Bellamy was sitting next to her, his face dirty and haggard. But he was
smiling in a way Clarke hadn’t seen before, a wide, beaming grin without
any hint of amusement or mockery. There was something startlingly
intimate about it, as if this smile exposed more of Bellamy than she’d seen
when they went swimming in their underwear.
“Thank god you’re okay. Do you remember getting bitten by the
snake?” he asked. Clarke closed her eyes as fragments of memory shot
through her mind. The slithering movement on the ground. The blinding
pain. Yet at the moment, the only sensation she was aware of was the
warmth of Bellamy’s hand on hers. “We gave you the universal antidote
thing, but I wasn’t sure you got it in time.”
Clarke sat up, suddenly alert. “You carried me all the way back to
camp?” Her cheeks flushed at the thought of being unconscious for that
long in Bellamy’s arms. “And you figured out about the medicine?”
Bellamy shot a quick glance at the door. “That part was all Wells.”
The name landed with a thud in Clarke’s chest. After Wells stopped her
from rushing into a burning tent to save her friend Thalia, she’d fled the
camp in a haze of grief and rage. But as she looked around this new
infirmary cabin, all she felt was sadness. Thalia was gone, but she couldn’t
really blame Wells for what he’d done. He’d saved her life—twice now.
On the other side of the small cabin, a girl was curled up on a cot.
Clarke pushed herself onto her elbows for a better look, but when Bellamy
noticed the direction of her gaze, he sat down on the edge of Clarke’s cot, as
if shielding her. “So,” he said, shooting a glance over his shoulder. “About
that.”
In a strangely detached voice, he told Clarke about the attack that had
killed Asher, and the girl Wells had taken prisoner.
“What?” Clarke sat bolt upright. “You’re telling me that girl over there
was born on Earth?” Some small part of her had expected this since the
orchard, but waking up to find an Earthborn meters away was almost too
much to process. Thousands of questions exploded in every sector of her
brain. How had they survived the Cataclysm? How many of them were
there? Were there pockets of people all over the planet, or just in this area?
“Keep your voice down,” Bellamy whispered, placing a hand on
Clarke’s shoulder and gently guiding her back down on the cot. “I think
she’s asleep, and I want her to stay that way as long as possible. It’s creepy
as all hell having her in here.”
Clarke shook off his hand and rose to her feet. The excitement and shock
pulsing through her veins left her whole body trembling. “This is
unbelievable. I have to talk to her!”
Before she could take another step, Bellamy grabbed her wrist. “That’s
not a good idea. Her people took Octavia and killed Asher. We caught her
spying on us.” His mouth twisted into a sneer. “She was probably trying to
decide who to take next.”
Clarke stared at him in confusion. Why would they speculate about the
girl’s motives instead of asking her? “Has anyone tried talking to her?”
There was no danger in trying, especially since her hands and ankles were
bound. Clarke rose onto the balls of her feet for a better look. The girl was
curled up on her side, with her back to Bellamy and Clarke. It didn’t look
like she’d moved at all.
Bellamy pulled Clarke back onto the cot with a tug. “I think the girl
speaks English. She hasn’t said anything, but it seems like she understands
what we’re saying. As soon as we get some useful information from her, I’ll
head out to find Octavia.”
His voice was calm, but he couldn’t hide the note of anxiety when he
said his sister’s name. For a moment, Clarke’s thoughts left the girl on the
cot and returned to the woods where she and Bellamy had been following
Octavia’s footprints. She felt a stab of guilt that he had abandoned Octavia’s
trail in order to carry her all the way back here.
“Bellamy,” she said slowly as another thought took shape. “That
wreckage we found. Did you see the logo on it? It said TG.” Every child on
the Colony knew that TG, Trillion Galactic, was the company that had
originally built their ship.
“I know,” he said. “But that could mean anything.”
“It’s not from our dropship,” she said quickly, her voice rising in
excitement. “Which means it has to be from something else the Colony sent
down. Maybe some kind of drone? Or what if…” She trailed off, suddenly
hesitant to share the spark of an idea forming in the back of her mind. “I
think it’s important that we figure out what it is,” she finished vaguely.
Bellamy squeezed her hand. “As soon as we get Octavia back, we’ll go
check it out.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything. I know you lost a lot of
time bringing me back here.”
“Yeah, well, it would have been a shame to lose the only doctor on
Earth, even if you were arrested before you finished training. Can you
remind me again which body part I should avoid injuring?” he said with a
smile. “Are you better with elbows or ankles?”
Clarke was glad to see him in a playful mood, but it wasn’t enough to
shake the guilt building up in her chest. She lowered her voice, glancing
again at the girl across the infirmary. “It’s just… if you need to leave again,
you should go. I feel terrible that you already lost a day because of me.”
His teasing smile softened. “It’s okay.” He reached up and
absentmindedly began twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. “I
think for now, my best chance is to see what this girl knows, before I go
back looking for the trail.”
Clarke nodded, relieved that Bellamy didn’t resent her, and relieved that
he wasn’t planning on leaving right away. “Octavia’s lucky to have you,”
she said, then cocked her head to the side and surveyed Bellamy with a
smile. “You know, I remember when I heard there were siblings on
Walden.”
Bellamy raised an eyebrow. “My reputation precedes me? I guess I
shouldn’t be surprised. How could you not talk about someone this goodlooking?”
Clarke knocked against him, digging her elbow into his ribs. He made
an exaggerated grimace, then laughed. “It’s true,” she continued. “My
friend Lilly remembered you guys from the care center. I think her exact
words were, ‘There’s a girl with an older brother. It’s great that she has a
sibling, but he’s so spectacularly attractive, no one can look directly at him.
It’s just too blinding, like staring at the sun.’”
Instead of smiling, Bellamy’s face went pale. “Lilly? It wasn’t Lilly
Marsh, was it?”
Clarke’s chest tightened as she realized what she’d just let slip. Of
course Bellamy and Lilly had known each other. There couldn’t have been
that many children in the Walden care center, could there? Lilly had rarely
volunteered information about her life on Walden, and Clarke hadn’t asked.
It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but she realized now that it was easier
to think about Lilly as a girl without a past, without people who cared about
her.
“How did you know Lilly?” Bellamy was staring at her, searching her
eyes for the information she was desperately trying to hide.
“I met her at the hospital, during my apprenticeship,” Clarke said, not
bothering to count the number of lies in the short sentence. “Were you
friends?” She prayed he’d shrug and say something about knowing her
vaguely from the care center.
“We were—” Bellamy paused. “We were more than friends. Lilly was
the only girl I ever cared about. Until you.”
“What?” Clarke stared at him in shock. Lilly, her friend and her parents’
test subject, had been Bellamy’s—
“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked. “Does it bother you that I had a
girlfriend back on the ship?”
“No. Of course not,” she said. “I’m fine. Just tired.” Her heart racing,
Clarke rolled onto her side before she could see the look on Bellamy’s face.
Better he think she was irrationally jealous and possessive than do anything
to hint at the truth.
“Okay,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because it was a long time ago.”
She didn’t turn around. Lilly’s death may have felt like a long time to
Bellamy, but Clarke relived her friend’s final moments every day. She still
saw Lilly’s face whenever she closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. She
still heard her voice echoing in her head.
Lilly’s death was never far from her thoughts. Because Clarke had been
the one who killed her.
CHAPTER 7
Glass
Glass and Luke were silent as they left his flat for the very last time. As
they stepped into the eerily empty corridor, Glass reached for Luke’s hand,
shocked by the silence. The chaos that had overwhelmed the ship for the
past few days seemed to have died down, washed away by a heavy tide of
despair. The dim ceiling lights flickered wearily, like an exhausted child
trying to keep his eyes open.
They took the main stairs quietly, finally reaching the lower levels of the
ship, which were used to house the electrical and plumbing systems.
Neither spoke until Glass pulled Luke to a stop in front of the air vent, then
reached up to remove the grate.
“Please,” Luke said. “Allow me.” He pulled the grate from the wall and
placed it on the ground with exaggerated delicacy. “And to think, all those
hours I spent worrying what kind of date to take you on, it turns out we
could’ve gone on a romantic crawl through the ventilation system.”
“It’s all your influence,” Glass said, managing a smile despite the prickle
of tears she could feel building behind her eyes.
“What?” Luke reached out and ruffled her hair. “Slumming it?”
Glass rose up onto her toes to give him a kiss. “Being adventurous.”
Luke pulled her into a hug. “I love you,” he murmured into her ear. Then
he boosted her into the vent, waited for her to climb inside, and replaced the
grate.
Glass paused for a moment to wipe away the tears threatening to
obscure her vision. “I love you too,” she whispered, knowing that Luke
wouldn’t be able to hear it. Then she gritted her teeth and began to crawl
down the narrow metal chute.
As she slowly made her way forward, straining to see in the dim light,
Glass tried to imagine the look on her mother’s face when she opened the
door. Would she be overwhelmed with relief? Or would part of her still be
furious that Glass had risked her life by sneaking onto Walden? The thought
of all the pain she’d caused her mother over the past year made Glass’s
heart cramp. If this was the end, then she needed one last chance to
apologize, one final opportunity to tell her how much she loved her.
Glass winced as her ankle knocked against the metal wall. If someone
had told her two years ago that she would someday crawl through an air
vent from Walden to Phoenix, she’d have laughed in their face. Things had
been different then—she had been different. She smiled in the darkness.
Now her life might be in danger, but it was finally one worth fighting for.
“… when the Cataclysm struck, there were one hundred and ninety-five sovereign nations,
although the vast majority had joined one of the four major alliances.”
Glass yawned, covering her mouth halfheartedly. Their tutor had dimmed the lights to
make the holograms easier to see, so there was little chance that she would notice that
Glass wasn’t paying attention.
“In the first six weeks of World War Three, nearly two million people were killed…”
“Cora,” Glass whispered, leaning over the desk. “Cora.”
Cora lifted her head and blinked sleepily at Glass. “What?”
“… and in the next six months, more than five million died of starvation.”
“Did you get my messages?”
Cora rubbed her eyes, then blinked again, activating her cornea slip. She squinted as
she scrolled through her unread messages, including one from Glass asking if she wanted
to go to the Exchange after tutorial.
A few seconds later, there was a flash in the top right corner of Glass’s vision field. She
blinked as a message from Cora appeared. Sure, if we’re fast. I have to meet my mother at
3.
Why? Glass blinked back.
Greenhouse duty
Glass smiled. “Greenhouse duty” was Cora’s family’s code for when they took an extra
visit to the solar fields. It was totally illegal, but the guards turned a blind eye because
Cora’s father was the Resources Chief and no one wanted to risk upsetting him. Glass
didn’t really care that Cora’s family got the best produce this way—her family had perks of
their own—and Cora let her come over for fresh berries every now and then.
“Yes, Clarke?” The tutor gestured toward a girl in the front row who had her hand raised.
Glass and Cora rolled their eyes. Clarke always had a question, and the tutors were so
delighted by her “intellectual curiosity” that they let her babble on, even after class was
supposed to have ended.
“Had any species already gone extinct? Or did that all happen after the Cataclysm?”
“That’s an interesting question, Clarke. By the middle of the twenty-first century, at least
a third of the…”
“I wish she’d go extinct,” Glass muttered, not bothering to blink it to Cora as a message.
Cora laughed, then sighed and placed her head back on her desk. “Wake me up when
it’s over.”
Glass groaned. “That girl needs to get a life,” she whispered. “If she doesn’t shut up, I’m
going to float her.”
After their tutor finally dismissed them, Glass jumped to her feet and grabbed Cora’s
hand. “Come on,” she whined. “I need to find buttons for that dress.”
“Are you going to the Exchange?” Clarke asked eagerly, looking up from her desk. “I’ll
come with you. I’m trying to find a pillow for my friend.”
Glass ran her eyes up and down Clarke’s ensemble of pants and a shirt so dowdy, they
could’ve come from the Arcadia Exchange. “You can burn those pants, stuff the ashes into
the shirt, and voilà, a new pillow for your friend and one less eyesore for us.”
Cora burst out laughing, but the thrill of accomplishment Glass was expecting never
came. Clarke’s eyes widened with hurt and surprise, then she pressed her lips together and
spun away without a word.
Whatever, Glass thought. That’s what she gets for being a suck-up and ruining
everyone else’s day.
Since they’d been kept late, Cora didn’t wind up having time for the Exchange, so Glass
went home. She hated shopping by herself. She didn’t like the way the guards stared at her
when the officer in charge wasn’t looking. Or the way men stared at her when their wives
weren’t looking, for that matter.
On the walk back, she thought about ways to make her father give her more of their
ration points. The Remembrance Day Celebration was coming up, and for once, Glass was
determined to have a prettier dress than Cora.
She scanned into the flat and tossed her school bag on the floor. “Mom?” she called.
“Mom, do you know where Dad is?”
Her mother wandered out from her bedroom. Her face was pale under her artfully
applied blush, and her eyes glistened strangely, though it might’ve just been a trick of the
light. “What’s wrong?” Glass asked, looking over her shoulder. She wished her father would
get here. She never knew what to do when her mother was in one of her moods. “Where’s
Dad? Is he still at work? I want to talk to him about my allowance.”
“Your father’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you—?”
“He left us. He’s moving in with”—she closed her eyes for a moment—“that girl from the
committee.” Her voice was flat, as if she’d tucked her emotions away as neatly as one of
her elaborate dresses.
Glass froze. “What do you mean?”
“It means your allowance is the least of our problems,” Sonja said, sinking onto the
couch and closing her eyes. “We have nothing.”
Her feet were cramping and her hands were raw by the time Glass crawled
around the corner of the vent that led onto Phoenix. She prayed there
wouldn’t be guards on the other side, that she’d be able to turn right around
and bring Luke back with her. With everything that was going on, surely
she could keep Luke out of sight until they made it to her mother’s flat, and
then figure out how to get onto one of the dropships.
Back when she first thought of going to Earth—when she was pulled
from her Confinement cell and told that she and ninety-nine others would
be sent to the surface on a dropship—the idea of the planet had filled her
with terror. But now, a different image of life on the ground began to take
shape. Holding hands with Luke as they walked through the woods. Sitting
on the top of a hill in perfect, contented silence as they watched a real
sunset. Perhaps some cities had survived—what if they could go to Paris
like the couple on Luke’s plates?
She was smiling as she reached forward to grasp the grate on the
Phoenix side, but she couldn’t take hold. Her fingers scratched around for
purchase and found nothing. She could feel the edges of the vent;
something flat was covering it, sealing it shut from the other side.
Glass rolled over so her feet were facing the end of the air shaft. She
took a deep breath and kicked. Nothing happened. She kicked again, this
time crying out in frustration when the grate rattled, but stayed in place.
“No!” she exclaimed, wincing as her voice echoed through the vent.
Camille must’ve blocked it off from the other side to keep anyone from
following her. It made sense—one Walden stowaway had a much better
chance of staying hidden than a whole stream of them. But in doing so,
she’d sentenced Glass and Luke to die.
Glass hugged her knees to her chest, trying not to imagine the look on
Luke’s face when she told him the path was blocked. How he’d use every
ounce of self-control to look stoic and brave, but wouldn’t be able to keep
the despair from flickering in his eyes.
She’d never get to see her mother. When the oxygen finally ran out on
Phoenix, Sonja would be all alone, huddled in her tiny flat as she wheezed a
last good-bye to the daughter who’d disappeared without a word.
But just as Glass turned around to start the long crawl back, an idea
flitted into her head. An idea so reckless and insane that it might actually
work.
If there was no way to get from Walden to Phoenix inside the ship, she
would just have to go outside.
CHAPTER 8
Wells
Molly wasn’t any better after breakfast. Her fever had grown worse and she
couldn’t stop shivering, no matter how many blankets Wells covered her
with.
By midday, Molly was still curled up in one of the now-empty cabins,
where she’d been since dawn. Wells surveyed her with a frown. Sweat
beaded her pale forehead, and her eyes had an odd, yellowish tinge.
Wells had been avoiding facing Clarke for the first time, but now he had
no choice. He bent down, scooped the small girl into his arms, and walked
out into the clearing. Most of the camp was too busy whispering about the
Earthborn or sparring with Graham’s new spears on the far side of the
clearing to notice, though a few people watched curiously as Wells pushed
open the door to the infirmary cabin and carried Molly inside.
The Earthborn girl was lying with her back to the door, either asleep or
pretending to be. But Clarke was sitting up, staring at her so intensely that
she didn’t notice Wells at first.
He stepped over Bellamy, who’d apparently fallen asleep on the floor
next to Clarke’s cot, then gently lowered Molly onto one of the other empty
beds. When he straightened up, Clarke had turned from the Earthborn, and
was now looking at Wells, her eyes wide.
“Hey.” He took a few steps forward. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Clarke said hoarsely, then cleared her throat. “Thank you… for
giving me the antidote. You saved my life.” She sounded sincere. There was
no trace of lingering anger in her voice, no sign that she still resented Wells
for what he’d done during the fire. But her vague, polite tone was almost
worse than fury, as if he were a stranger who’d performed some kind
service. Was this what it would always be like between them now, he
wondered, or could this maybe be a fresh start?
As Wells searched for the right response, Clarke’s eyes drifted to Molly.
The detached expression on her face slid away, replaced by a penetrating
gaze that was much more familiar. “What’s wrong with Molly?” she asked,
her voice sharp with concern.
Grateful to have something else to talk about, Wells told Clarke how the
younger girl had suddenly fallen ill. Clarke frowned and started to rise from
her bed. “Wait,” Wells said, hurrying over. He placed a hand on Clarke’s
shoulder before he had time to think better of it, then snatched it away.
“You need to rest. Can you look at her from here?”
“I’m okay,” Clarke said with a shrug. She lowered her feet to the ground
and stood up shakily. Wells fought the urge to offer her his arm.
She walked slowly over to Molly, then knelt down for a better look.
“Hey, Molly. It’s me, Clarke. Can you hear me?”
Molly only whimpered in response, thrashing against the blanket Wells
had wrapped her in. Clarke frowned as she placed her fingers on the girl’s
wrist to check her pulse.
“What do you think?” Wells asked, taking a hesitant step toward them.
“I’m not sure.” She’d moved her hand to Molly’s neck to feel her
glands, then twisted around to glance up at Wells. “Hey, how long have we
been here? I seem to have lost track of time with the snakebite and
everything.”
“Just over three weeks.” He paused, calculating in his head. “I think it
was three weeks yesterday.”
“Day twenty-one,” Clarke said quietly, more to herself than to him.
“What’s that? What are you talking about?”
Clarke looked away, but Wells could see the fear in her eyes. He knew
what that haunted look meant. He remembered the anguish he’d felt when
Clarke had finally confided in him about her parents’ experiments. “You
don’t think it has something to do with radiation, do you?” he asked.
“But… wouldn’t people have gotten sick much earlier?”
Clarke pressed her lips together, scrunching her mouth to the side like
she always did when giving her body time to catch up to her racing brain.
“If it was in the air, yes, we wouldn’t have been able to breathe. But if it
was just trace amounts in the water, then this would be the time. But I don’t
think that’s what’s wrong with Molly,” she said quickly. “It doesn’t look
like radiation poisoning.” A shadow of pain flickered in her eyes, and Wells
knew she was thinking about her friend, the one who’d died. “I think she
might be having a bad reaction to something. Is the rest of the universal
antidote still in the medicine chest?”
“The rest of it?” Wells repeated. “There was just the one vial.”
Clarke stared at him. “Please tell me you didn’t use the whole thing on
me. That was probably twelve doses!”
“And how exactly was I supposed to know that?” Wells asked,
indignation tugging at the guilt that had begun to coil around his stomach.
“So it’s all gone?” Clarke turned back to Molly and cursed under her
breath. “This isn’t good.”
Before Wells could ask Clarke to elaborate, the door flew open, and Eric
hurried inside, leading Felix by the hand. “Clarke? Thank god you’re
awake. We need you.” Startled to see the normally stoic Eric so agitated,
Wells hurried toward him and helped Eric settle Felix in one of the
remaining empty cots.
“He passed out on our way back from the stream,” Eric said, looking
anxiously from Clarke to Felix. “And he said he hasn’t been able to keep
any food down.”
By this point, Bellamy had woken up. He rose to his feet slowly, rubbing
his eyes as he yawned. “What’s going on? Clarke, what the hell are you
doing out of bed?”
She ignored him as she took a few shaky steps in order to begin
examining Felix. His eyes were open, but he had trouble focusing on
Clarke, and didn’t seem able to answer any of her questions.
“What’s wrong with him?” Eric asked, searching Clarke’s face with an
intensity that reminded Wells of the guards in the command center back on
the ship, the ones in charge of scanning the monitors for asteroids or debris.
“I’m not sure,” she said, her voice a mix of confusion and irritation.
Clarke hated being stumped. “But it’s probably nothing to worry about. It
could be dehydration caused by the stomach flu. We’ll hydrate him and see
what happens. Bellamy, can you bring us some more water?”
Bellamy hesitated and looked at Wells, as if about to suggest that he go,
but then he nodded and hurried out the door.
Wells crouched down next to Clarke, close enough that he could speak
softly, but far enough that there’d be no danger of brushing against her. “It’s
weird, isn’t it? That Molly and Felix fell ill at pretty much the same time?”
“Not really. With a hundred people living together in such a small space,
it’s a wonder there hasn’t been some sort of outbreak sooner.”
Wells glanced at Eric, who was busy stroking Felix’s hair, and lowered
his voice. “But what if it isn’t the flu? What if it’s the radia—”
“It isn’t,” Clarke said as she tilted her head toward Felix’s chest to listen
to his lungs as best she could without a stethoscope.
“But if it was. Is there anything in the medicine chest that would help?”
“My parents were developing something,” Clarke said softly. “There’s a
bottle of pills that could slow the effects of radiation poisoning.”
“Shouldn’t we give it to them, then? To be safe?”
“Absolutely not.”
Clarke’s tone brooked no arguments, but Wells pressed on, anyway.
“Why?”
Clarke jerked her head toward Wells and gave him a look of frustration,
mingled with fear. “Because if it’s not radiation poisoning, then the pills
will kill them.”
CHAPTER 9
Clarke
“You sure you’ll be okay for a few hours?” Bellamy asked, examining
Clarke’s still-swollen arm with a frown. “I’ll try not to go far, in case—”
“I’m sure,” she interrupted. “Go hunting. It’s fine, I promise.” They
were low on food, and when Wells had returned that afternoon to check on
Molly and Felix, he’d swallowed his pride and asked Bellamy for help
replenishing their supplies.
Bellamy jerked his head toward the sleeping girl on the other side of the
cabin. “Promise me you won’t talk to her,” he said. “I don’t trust her alone
with you.”
“I’m not alone,” Clarke said. “Molly and Felix are here.”
“Unconscious people don’t count. Just keep your distance, okay? And
try to get some rest.”
“I will. I promise.” Clarke tried to keep her voice steady so Bellamy
wouldn’t suspect how eager she was for him to leave. But the moment he
was gone, she rose onto her knees to peer over at the Earthborn girl.
She was wearing all black, but Clarke didn’t recognize most of the
materials. The pants were tight and made out of something smooth and
slightly shiny—maybe animal skin?—while the fabric draped over the top
of her body looked softer. What was woven animal hair called? Wool? The
bulky wrap around her shoulders was unmistakably animal fur. Clarke was
desperate to find out what sort of creature it came from. So far, the only
mammal she’d seen was a deer; the fur on the girl’s wrap was much thicker
and darker.
Across the room, Felix moaned in his sleep. Clarke hurried over and
placed her hand against his forehead. His fever was also getting worse. She
bit her lip as she thought about what she’d told Wells. It was true that
radiation poisoning presented differently; after the nausea and fever came
sores, bleeding gums, and hair loss. That’s what had made watching Lilly so
terrible. Clarke had known what was in store for her friend before each new
wave of suffering.
As she headed back to her own cot, Clarke thought about the pills in the
medicine chest. If Felix and Molly’s illness had nothing to do with
radiation, the drug would kill them. But if Clarke was wrong, she’d be
sentencing them to a long and painful death. The pills had to be
administered in the early stages of radiation poisoning.
She sat down and placed her head in her hands, wondering for the
umpteenth time why the Council hadn’t bothered talking to her before they
sent the hundred to Earth. Yes, she’d been a convicted criminal, but she was
also the only person intimately acquainted with her parents’ research.
“So who’s Lilly?” an unfamiliar voice called from the other side of the
cabin.
Clarke gasped and jerked her head toward the Earthborn girl, shocked
into silence. So she did speak English. She was sitting up now, facing
Clarke. Her long black hair was matted but still shiny, and her skin had a
warm glow to it that made her eyes appear startlingly green.
“What—what do you—?” Clarke stammered. Then she took a deep
breath and forced herself to regain some semblance of composure. “Why do
you want to know about Lilly?”
The girl shrugged. “You said that name in your sleep, when you were
having the fever dreams.” Her accent and cadence were different from what
Clarke was used to, slightly more musical. Hearing it was thrilling, like the
first time she had listened to a heartbeat during her medical training. “And
then that boy acted so strange when you mentioned her,” the girl added.
“Lilly was a friend of mine, back on the ship,” Clarke said slowly. Did
the Earthborns even know about the Colony? A million questions jostled for
dominance in Clarke’s brain, one rising to the surface quicker than the
others. She decided to start small. “How many of you are there?”
The girl looked thoughtful. “Right now, three hundred and fifty-four.
Maybe three hundred and fifty-five if Delphine had her baby. She’s due any
day.”
A baby. Would it be born in a hospital? Was it possible they had any
functioning equipment from before the Cataclysm? Had the Earthborns
rebuilt any of the major cities? “Where do you live?” Clarke asked eagerly.
The girl’s face darkened, and Clarke regretted her lack of tact. She was
being kept prisoner; of course she didn’t want to tell Clarke where her
friends and family were. “What’s your name?” she asked instead.
“Sasha.”
“I’m Clarke,” she replied, though she had a feeling the girl already knew
that. She smiled and rose slowly to her feet. “This is insane. I can’t believe
I’m talking to someone from Earth.” Clarke walked across the cabin and sat
down next to Sasha. “Did you know there were people living in space?
What did you think when you saw us?”
Sasha stared at Clarke for a long moment, as if unsure whether she was
being serious. “Well, I didn’t expect you to be so young,” she finally said.
“The last ones were much older.”
The words knocked the breath out of Clarke’s chest. The last ones? It
couldn’t be. She must have misunderstood. “What do you mean?” she
asked. “Are you saying you’ve already met people from the Colony?”
Sasha nodded, sending Clarke’s heart into overdrive. “A group came
down about a year ago. We’d always known that people were living in
space, but it was still a shock, meeting them face-to-face. Their ship landed
badly, just like yours did.” She paused, apparently debating how much to
share with Clarke. “The first time, we didn’t know any better, and we tried
to help them. We brought them into our—we let them stay with us. We gave
them food and shelter, even though their ancestors left ours behind during
the Forsakening. My people were willing to put the past behind us in the
name of peace and friendship.” An edge had crept into her voice, and she
raised her chin slightly, as if defying Clarke to challenge her.
Clarke fought the urge to defend the Colonists, or to ask more questions.
In this case, the best way to gain the girl’s trust was probably to remain
silent. Sure enough, after a long pause, Sasha continued. “We were foolish
to trust them. There was… an incident.” Her face contorted in pain at the
memory.
“What happened?” Clarke asked softly.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sasha snapped. “They’re all gone now.”
Clarke sat back, struggling to sort through the staggering information.
Could there really have been a mission to Earth last year? She thought of
the debris she had found, the TG logo, and it suddenly seemed possible. But
who were these older Colonists on the mission? Why had they sent the
hundred, if another mission had already gone before them?
“Do you know… do you know anything about them?” Clarke asked,
doing her best to keep her voice neutral. “Did they volunteer to come, or
were they forced to?”
“I have no idea,” Sasha said dismissively. “We weren’t exactly spending
a lot of time having personal conversations. Not after they…” She trailed
off.
Clarke frowned as her brain raced to fill in the rest of the sentence. She
couldn’t imagine what the Colonists had done to offend the Earthborns so
badly. But it didn’t sound like Sasha was going to tell her much more, and
she couldn’t keep this news to herself for another minute.
“I’ll be back,” Clarke said, rising to her feet. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Sasha lifted an eyebrow, extending her legs so that Clarke could see her
bound ankles.
Clarke’s cheeks burned with shame. She hurried over to Sasha, knelt
down, and began untying the rope. Wells had made the knot extremely
complicated—something he’d learned in officer training, no doubt—but
she’d spent enough time tying off stitches to figure it out. Sasha flinched
when Clarke’s hand first brushed against her, but she didn’t protest.
Clarke unwrapped the final loop and threw it to the ground. “Come on,”
she said, offering her hand to Sasha. “Come with me. They’ll never believe
me otherwise.”
Sasha stared at Clarke’s hand warily, then stood up unaided. She shook
one foot, then the other, wincing as the circulation returned to her feet.
“Let’s go,” Clarke said as she took Sasha’s elbow and guided her
outside.
CHAPTER 10
Bellamy
It had only been ten minutes since he’d returned with the rabbits, and they
were already roasting over the fire. The tantalizing smells had brought most
of the camp running toward the campfire, where they now stood waiting,
their eyes wide and hungry.
They reminded Bellamy of the youngest kids at the care center, who had
approached him every time he returned from one of his foraging trips,
hoping he’d found them something to eat. But he’d never been able to feed
all of them, just as he wasn’t able to feed all of them now.
“You only brought two?” Lila asked, trying to exchange a disdainful
look with her friend Tamsin, a reedy blond girl who struck Bellamy as a
quieter, and somehow even stupider, version of Lila. A week ago, they,
along with a few of the other girls, had cut their standard-issue gray pants
into shorts of varying lengths, ignoring Clarke’s warning that they’d regret
it once the weather changed.
And now they did. They were both shivering, though Lila was doing her
best to hide it. Tamsin just looked miserable.
“Good counting, Lila,” Bellamy said slowly, as if praising an
accomplished toddler. “You’ll make it all the way to ten soon.”
Lila narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “You’re an
asshole, Bellamy.”
“Ever hear the saying ‘Don’t bite the hand that feeds you’?” he shot
back with a grin. “Or, why don’t I put it to you this way? There are two
rabbits, as you so astutely pointed out, and there are way more than two of
us.” Ninety-three to be exact, though no one needed to be reminded of the
fact that they had already lost so many members of their group. “Not
everyone is going to get a bite. And you just made that decision a little
easier for me. So, thank you.” He extended his hand as if offering it to Lila
to shake. “I’m very grateful for your help.”
She smacked his hand away and spun on her heel, tugging on the uneven
edges of her shorts as she strode away. Typical Wal-ditz, Bellamy thought,
using the term Octavia had coined for the girls on Walden who purposefully
acted like airheaded Phoenicians. But the thought of Octavia banished his
smile, unlocking the ache he’d been trying to contain in his chest. God only
knew what kind of suffering she was enduring right now, while Lila and the
rest of her friends flounced around the camp in their short shorts.
Two Arcadian boys had taken charge of roasting the rabbits, which Eric
and Priya had skinned. Bellamy was eager to get back to the infirmary and
check on Clarke, but he knew that if he left now, the meat would have
vanished by the time he returned. He didn’t need any for himself, but he
wanted to make sure Clarke got a few bites. “There’s not nearly enough for
everyone,” Priya was saying to Wells, who’d just returned from a trip to the
stream. “How many protein packets do we have left?”
Wells frowned and shook his head, then leaned over to whisper
something to Priya. They were obviously trying to be discreet, but at least
twenty people were watching them nervously.
Bellamy thought of the days after they first landed, when the group was
full of explosive, almost dangerous energy. Now exhaustion and hunger had
made them far less talkative. Even the chatty faux-Phoenix girl, Kendall,
was quiet as she stared at Wells and Priya, although the small smile on her
face made her seem more amused than suspicious.
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the clearing were the crackle of
the logs and the thud of wooden spears as they bounced off tree trunks and
landed on the grass. The people Graham had recruited to his “security
force” had been practicing all day, and even Bellamy had to admit some of
them were getting pretty good. If they were as focused on hunting dinner as
they were on imaginary Earthborns, then there was a chance the Colonists
wouldn’t starve after all.
Kendall was the first to break the silence. “So, Wells, when’s the next
dropship coming?” Bellamy snorted at her transparent attempt to lure Wells
into a conversation. A number of girls had been paying a lot of attention to
Chancellor Junior lately.
“Who cares?” Lila interjected as she rejoined the group, making a show
of stretching her arms over her head. “I’m not in any rush to have guards
around here, acting like they own the place.”
Bellamy silently agreed, although he’d never give Lila the satisfaction of
saying it aloud. He had the most to lose of any of them. While his insane
plan of posing as a guard had gotten Bellamy onto the hundred’s dropship,
the Chancellor—Wells’s father—had been shot in the ensuing chaos, taking
a bullet meant for Bellamy. Even if the other members of the mission were
pardoned for their Infractions, Bellamy would be considered a criminal. For
all he knew, the guards had orders to shoot him on sight.
“But the Council has to know it’s safe by now,” Kendall said, gesturing
to the monitor on her wrist, the one that was meant to send vital signs back
up to the ship.
“Safe?” Lila repeated with a bitter laugh. “Yeah, Earth seems real safe to
me.”
“I meant the radiation levels,” Kendall said, shooting a look at Wells,
clearly hoping he’d back her up. But he was just staring out into the trees.
Something had caught his attention.
Bellamy jumped to his feet, grabbed his bow, and jogged over toward
Wells. A triumphant cry filled the clearing, and Bellamy exhaled. It wasn’t
the Earthborns. It was Graham.
He crashed through one of the bushes that grew near the tree line with a
spear in one hand, and something dark and bulky in the other. Something
dark, bulky, and furry. The bastard had actually killed something, Bellamy
realized, not sure whether he was more relieved or annoyed. It would be
great to have help hunting; he just wished it could’ve come from anyone
besides Graham. “Look what I have,” he crowed, letting his kill fall to the
ground with a thud.
“Graham, it’s still alive,” Priya said, stepping forward while the others
backed away in fear and disgust.
She was right. The creature was twitching. It was larger than the rabbits
Bellamy had brought back, but smaller than a deer. It had a long snout,
slightly rounded ears, and a bushy, striped tail. He peered over for a closer
look and saw that the creature was bleeding from a deep wound in its
stomach. It would die eventually, but its death would be long and painful.
Wells reached into his pocket and pulled out the small knife he always
carried with him.
“You need to shoot it through the heart,” Bellamy said to Graham. “That
way, it’s a clean kill, and the animal dies right away. Otherwise, slit its
throat.”
Graham shrugged, as if Bellamy were chastising him for not closing the
supply tent properly. “It’s a fox,” he said, nudging the animal with his toe.
“Actually, it’s a raccoon,” Bellamy said. At least, he thought it was. It
looked similar to the raccoons he’d seen in photos, except this creature had
something growing out of his head, something that glowed. A circle of light
danced on the dark grass as the animal thrashed from side to side. It almost
looked like it was wearing a headlamp, like the engineers used to repair the
outside of the ship. Bellamy had a vague recollection of watching a video of
a fish with a similar apparatus, a light it used to attract prey at the bottom of
the ocean.
“Hold on. Were you hunting by yourself?” Lila asked, her voice a
mixture of pride and censure. “What if the Earth people are still out there?”
“I hope they’re out there. I’ll make them wish they had gone extinct
during the Cataclysm.” Graham laughed as he tossed his spear into the air
and caught it one-handed. “We’ll be their Cataclysm.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Wells snapped, his patience evidently wearing thin.
“There could be hundreds of them. Thousands. If it comes down to a real
battle, we don’t stand a chance.”
Graham lifted his chin. “I think that all depends on who’s leading us,
don’t you?” he said, his voice suddenly quiet. He and Wells stared at each
other for a moment, then Graham broke away with a grin. “Now, who’s
going to skin this thing? I’m starving.”
“Step one, wait until it’s actually dead,” Bellamy said. He looked over to
Wells, who was still holding his pocketknife in his hand.
“It’s dead,” Kendall piped in cheerfully. She was crouched on the
ground next to the raccoon. “I just broke its neck.”
Bellamy thought she was joking, but then he noticed that the creature
was still and the strange glowing light had gone out. He turned to Kendall,
slightly startled, but before he could ask where she’d learned to do that, the
sound of footsteps pulled his attention toward the middle of the clearing.
Clarke was running toward them, dragging the Earthborn girl by the
arm. “Guys!” she shouted, breathless. There was a light in her eyes Bellamy
had seen only a few times before, when she encountered something new
about Earth that set her scientist mind ablaze. “You’re not going to believe
this!”
Everyone jumped to their feet, clustering around Clarke and the girl.
“What is it?” Bellamy asked.
Clarke’s eyes darted to him, before turning to the prisoner. “Tell them,”
Clarke urged her. “Tell them what you told me.”
So, he thought, the girl did understand English.
It was the first time most of the group had seen the girl since they’d
captured her. Some were staring at her in fascination, jostling their
neighbors for a closer look, while others backed away nervously. Bellamy
noticed that Wells had quietly returned to the campfire and was watching
Clarke and the Earthborn girl with interest.
The girl said nothing, her eyes wide with fear as she surveyed the crowd.
“It’s okay, Sasha,” Clarke prodded.
Sasha? Bellamy bristled. Clarke knew her name? What the hell had
happened while he’d been out hunting?
Sasha cleared her throat, and the whispers that had been rising up from
the crowd vanished. “I… I told Clarke that you’re not the first group to
come down from the Colony.”
A stunned silence descended over the clearing. “That’s impossible,”
Wells said, stepping forward. “How would you even know?”
Sasha’s face hardened, and she raised her chin to look directly into
Wells’s eyes. “Because,” she said, her voice calm, “I met them.”
The group erupted in chaos, everyone muttering their own theories and
fears all at once. Wells put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply, an
uncomfortable reminder of the painful years Bellamy and his mother spent
hiding Octavia from the guards. A whistle had been her signal to hide.
Finally, the group quieted down. “You met other people from the Colony?”
Wells prompted, clearly skeptical.
“Yes. I knew them. We let them live with us after their ship crashed.”
Sasha gestured toward the remains of the hundred’s charred dropship. “You
people haven’t really figured out graceful landings, have you?”
Bellamy couldn’t take this anymore. “Why don’t you save the history
lesson for later and tell me where I can find my sister?”
“I don’t know anything about your sister,” Sasha replied. “I’m sorry.”
“We’re not idiots, you know.” Bellamy saw Clarke flashing him a look
of warning, but he ignored it. “You killed Asher, and you took my sister.
You’d better start talking, now.”
“Bellamy, let her finish,” Wells said, sounding more like the Chancellor
than he had any right to. He turned back to Sasha. “Just tell us what
happened,” he went on in a gentler voice.
Sasha shot a quick glance at Clarke, who nodded encouragingly.
“Another group came down, a little over a year ago. They lost most of their
supplies when they crashed. We took them in.”
“How many people were there?” Graham asked, surveying Sasha
suspiciously.
“Ten. Although only seven survived the crash.”
“And how many of them did you shoot through the neck?” Graham
added under his breath, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
Sasha flinched, but continued. “Everything was okay at first, though it
was strange having new people around. The rest of us have known each
other our whole lives, and it was our first time meeting outsiders. But we
did our best to make them feel welcome.” Her face darkened, and her voice
grew cold. “They didn’t treat us with the same courtesy, so they had to
leave.”
Something in her tone ignited Bellamy’s anger. “What the hell does that
mean?” he snapped. He was sick of this girl and her vague responses.
“Where are they?”
She took a deep breath. “They’re dead.”
“Dead?” Wells repeated, momentarily losing his composure as murmurs
rose up from the crowd. “All of them?”
Sasha nodded.
Murderers, Bellamy thought. The Earthborns were insane killers.
They’d shot Asher without warning. He shuddered as the thought he’d been
trying to suppress for days rose to the surface: What if Octavia was already
dead? He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. If he didn’t get
her back, he was going to make every single one of them pay. With their
lives.
“So what, you killed them?” Graham asked. “And since that wasn’t
enough, you decided to kill Asher too?”
“No, that’s not what happened. We—”
But Graham cut her off, turning to Wells with a sneer. “It’s not too late
to kill her, you know.”
“Will you just listen?” Clarke said angrily. “She says they didn’t kill
Asher!”
“Then who did?” Bellamy demanded. It took every ounce of his
willpower not to shout the question at Clarke. Why the hell was she taking
the Earthborn girl’s side?
“None of us ever thought another group would come down. But then
you arrived.” Sasha looked between Clarke and Wells, as if it had been their
idea to come down to this goddamn planet. “There was all this arguing, and
fighting, and then a faction of us split off. They’re the ones who killed your
friend.” She pressed her lips together and turned to Bellamy. “I bet they’re
the ones who took your sister too.”
“So where are they?” he challenged.
“I wish I knew. None of us have seen them since they took off. You’ve
seen them more recently than I have. But the rest of us aren’t like that.”
“And why should we believe you?” Graham asked with a sneer. A
chorus of agreement rose among the others. “There are ways of finding out
if she’s telling the truth.”
“Cut it out, Graham,” Wells snapped, stepping forward to stand between
Graham and the girl. “Clarke, take Sasha back to the infirmary and keep an
eye on her until we figure out what to do.”
“I know what to do,” Bellamy interrupted, anger and frustration
beginning to boil dangerously in his blood. “We grab our weapons and go
after the bastards who took Octavia.”
“Don’t!” Sasha said, her voice suddenly shaky. “They’ll kill you. There
are a lot more of us than there are of you.”
“So we’ll bring you with us, as leverage.” Graham pushed past Wells
and grabbed Sasha’s arm.
“Let go of her!” Clarke shouted. But Sasha didn’t need any assistance.
In a single smooth move, she kneed Graham in the stomach, freed herself
from his grasp, and twisted his arm behind his back.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. She released Graham and sent him
stumbling forward, then staggered back a few steps herself, as if the act had
required all her strength.
“Are you okay?” Clarke asked, taking Sasha’s elbow as the girl’s knees
started shaking.
“Fine,” Sasha said hoarsely.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?” Wells asked.
“A while.”
When Bellamy saw Wells glance over his shoulder toward the fire,
where the two rabbits were already being devoured, he bristled. “No way
are you feeding her what I hunted,” he said to Wells, his voice cold.
“I agree,” Graham interrupted. “We’re not feeding that little bitch.”
About three-quarters of the group nodded in agreement. The others were
already busy fighting for the last scraps of meat clinging to the rabbits’
bones.
Before anyone had time to respond, a shriek rose up from the shadows
on the far side of the campfire. Bellamy ran toward the sound, a dozen
others at his heels. They all slammed into him as he skidded to a stop.
Tamsin stumbled into the clearing, then collapsed on the ground with a
shriek. Blood gushed from a wound in her thigh, just below the jagged hem
of her shorts.
“Holy shit,” said Graham, standing next to Bellamy, too stunned to do
more than stare at the arrow sticking out of Tamsin’s leg.
As Clarke rushed over, Bellamy turned to look at the Earthborn girl. She
was being held in place by a grave-faced Azuma and a sneering Dmitri, her
eyes wide with horror as she looked from the injured girl to the shadowy
forest. But Bellamy knew better than to be fooled by her act.
The next time blood was spilled in the camp, it was going to be hers.
CHAPTER 11
Wells
“Wells?” Someone was prodding his arm. “Hey, Wells?”
Wells’s eyes snapped open, draining the last droplets of a dream from
his mind. He’d been floating down a canal in Venice. No, wait, he’d been
riding a horse into battle alongside Napoleon.
Kendall was standing over him, but Wells ignored her as he scrambled
to his feet. The Earthborn—Sasha—was just where he’d left her; she hadn’t
moved all night. Not that there was much opportunity for her to move with
her ankles bound together. She was still sitting up against the tree, staring
off into the distance with an inscrutable expression on her face, as if she’d
trained herself not to betray her thoughts.
In the end, his only option had been to spend the night outside with the
prisoner. The three cabins were packed with the nearly one hundred people
who’d sprinted for safety in the chaos after the second attack. There was
barely room for everyone to sit down, let alone sleep.
Wells and Bellamy had carried the sobbing but lucid Tamsin to the
infirmary cabin, followed by Clarke, who’d shoved people out of the way to
make room for her newest patient. Luckily, the wound hadn’t been life
threatening, and even with a dozen terrified people surrounding her, Clarke
had managed to stitch up and bandage Tamsin’s leg. But when Eric and
Graham had come in, dragging Sasha between them, the cabin had erupted
in a frenzy of angry shouts.
“I say we kill her now,” Graham had bellowed, transforming a number
of the shouts into cheers.
“Absolutely not,” Bellamy growled. “Not before she tells us where to
find my sister.”
Graham’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “I hate to be the one to tell you
this, but they’ve probably killed Octavia by now. Our only shot at justice is
cutting this little bitch’s head off and leaving it in the woods for her friends
to find.”
There’d been no chance at a peaceful solution, not when everyone was
half-crazed with fear and adrenaline. And so Wells had volunteered to
spend the night outside with the prisoner—keeping her safe but separate
from the group until they figured out what to do with her.
A few people had objected to that plan as well, saying that it was too
dangerous for Wells to be in the clearing by himself, but when they realized
it was either that or keep Sasha inside with them, they’d fallen silent.
Wells knew he should’ve been terrified after seeing what had happened
to Asher and Tamsin, but as he settled against a tree a few meters away
from Sasha, curiosity soon swept his fear aside. He couldn’t quite believe
he was looking at someone born on Earth, someone who’d be able to
answer all the questions that had kept him up late into the night as a kid.
What did snow feel like? Had she ever seen a bear? Were there still cities
standing? What was left of New York? Chicago? But he must’ve lulled
himself to sleep with his questions, and turned them into the stuff of
dreams.
“Um, Wells?” Kendall said again. “Are you okay?”
Wells turned to her and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, fine. What’s going on?”
“I said I’d come ask you about breakfast. What are the rations today?”
Wells sighed. “No breakfast today, I’m afraid.” Bellamy’s rabbits and
Graham’s raccoon were long gone, and they had to be extremely careful
with their protein packets—no more than one per person per day.
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Kendall said. “I’ve been up since dawn carving
Asher’s name into his marker. It looks pretty good. Want to come see?”
“Maybe later,” Wells said. “And, um, thanks.”
When it became clear that Kendall wasn’t going to leave on her own, he
asked for her help spreading the bad news about breakfast. She seemed
disappointed that Wells didn’t want to come see her handiwork, but set off
with a smile, pleased at being useful to Wells.
After Kendall had trudged back to the cabin to relay the bad news, Wells
reached into his pocket for the crumpled protein packet left over from the
day before. He glanced at Sasha. Her skin was paler than it’d been when
they’d captured her the day before, though Wells wasn’t sure whether that
was from stress or hunger. Still, they couldn’t let her starve. She’d done
nothing wrong, and it was cruel to treat her like a prisoner of war.
“Hey,” Wells said cautiously, holding out the protein packet. “Do you
want some of this? You must be pretty hungry by now.”
Sasha stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Wells. “What is it?”
she asked hoarsely.
“It’s protein paste. Haven’t you seen it before?” She shook her head.
“Try it,” he insisted. “Hold out your hand.” He squeezed the rest of the
paste into Sasha’s palm, then smiled as she dipped a finger into the paste
and brought it to her mouth, wrinkling her nose.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she admitted, taking another dab. She
finished the protein paste, then wiped her hands together. “But I know
where you can find food—real food.”
Wells eyed her suspiciously. “Really?”
Sasha nodded. “I’ll take you there, if you’ll let me out of your camp.”
He paused. Strategically, they needed to keep her prisoner until they got
Octavia back. Even if she was telling the truth about the rogue Earthborns,
Sasha could turn out to be an important bargaining tool. He couldn’t risk
losing her by falling into a trap. “What’s to keep you from running away?”
Wells asked.
“You can tie my hands again, if it’ll make you feel better,” she said.
“Listen, I’m only trying to help. And eat,” she added. Her stomach growled
loudly in agreement.
“Okay,” Wells said slowly, surveying her face for any sign of treachery.
“I’m just going to round up a few people to come with us.”
“No!” She locked eyes with Wells. “It’s not going to be a free-for-all.
I’m trusting you to take only what you need, and just this one time. Deal?”
Wells hesitated. The others would be furious if they knew he’d let Sasha
leave the camp, even if it was to help them find food. But then again, being
a leader sometimes meant doing what you knew was right, even if it made
you unpopular. That was one lesson his father had never let him forget.
“Happy birthday!” Wells’s mother singsonged, walking out of the kitchen carrying what
looked suspiciously like a cake.
“How did you do that?” Wells asked, his voice full of wonder as he watched his mother
place the white, frosting-covered confection on the table. There were even candles on it—
twelve of them—although they were unlit. Candles were even more difficult to find than
sugar and egg essence. If his mother lit them at all, it would only be for the briefest moment.
“Magic,” she said with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do anything illegal. Your
father will have nothing to worry about.”
Unlike some of the other Council members, Wells’s father was incredibly strict about
adhering to every detail of the Gaia Doctrine, the set of laws the Colony had laid out when
they first launched into space. Just a few minutes earlier, while hurrying home from tutorial,
Wells had seen Councilor Brisbane walking along A deck carrying two bottles of what was
clearly black-market wine.
Wells stared longingly at the cake. Maybe there would even be enough left over to bring
a piece to Glass. “You’re sure he won’t mind?” He didn’t know what the Chancellor would
object to more: wasting resources on something with questionable nutritional value like a
cake, or recognizing a birthday at all. The ancient tradition made too much fuss over one
person, exaggerating the importance of the individual when, really, it was the species that
mattered. A new life was always something to celebrate, but in the Chancellor’s eyes, there
was no reason to give someone a false sense of their own importance once a year.
“Of course not.” His mother sat down in the chair next to him. “Although, there’s no
reason this needs to be a birthday cake. It could be a ‘congrats for being the highest-ranked
student for the third year in a row’ cake. Or a ‘hooray, you finally cleaned your room’ cake.”
Wells grinned. “Is Dad going to be home soon?” The Chancellor generally worked late,
coming home after Wells was already in bed. He’d hardly seen him at all the past week and
was excited that the three of them might get to spend the whole evening together.
“He should be.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “I told him we were
having a special dinner in honor of his very special son.”
As she scooped salad into bowls, his mother asked him about his tutorials. He told her
a funny story about a boy in his class who’d asked how many dinosaurs died during the
Cataclysm. “Why don’t you start eating,” his mother said, when Wells’s stomach growled
loudly.
Through the windows, the circadian lights were beginning to dim. His mother didn’t say
anything, but her smiles became a little tighter, her laughter a little more forced. Finally, she
reached over and squeezed Wells’s hand. “I think your father must’ve gotten held up. Let’s
dig in to that cake now, okay?”
“Sure,” Wells said, doing his best to keep his voice cheerful, although he purposefully
avoided his mother’s eyes. The cake was rich and sweet, but Wells was so focused on
keeping his disappointment from his face that he hardly tasted it. He knew it wasn’t his
father’s fault. As the Chancellor, he wasn’t just in charge of the well-being and safety of
everyone in the Colony. He was responsible for the future of the human race. His primary
duty was ensuring that the species survived long enough to make it back to Earth.
Whatever was keeping him at work took precedence over his son’s birthday.
He felt a pang of guilt as he imagined his father sitting alone in his office, his face weary
as he pored over the latest round of troubling reports, unable to appreciate the priceless
relics that made the room Wells’s favorite place on the whole ship. He wouldn’t stop to look
at the stuffed eagle, or take a moment to admire the painting of the dark-haired woman with
the mysterious smile. The only relic he might catch a glimpse of was the pen holder
inscribed with the ancient phrase Non Nobis Solum Nati Sumus. “We are not born for
ourselves alone,” a quote from a Roman writer named Cicero.
The door opened, and Wells’s father walked in. Even though he was clearly exhausted,
his back was straight and his stride purposeful. He looked from Wells’s mother to the halfeaten cake on the table and sighed. “I’m sorry. The Council meeting ran later than
expected. I couldn’t get Brisbane to sign off on the new security measures on Walden.”
“That’s okay.” Wells rose to his feet so quickly, he jostled the table and sent the dishes
teetering. “We saved you some cake.”
“I still have some more work to do.” He kissed Wells’s mother on the cheek and gave
Wells a curt nod. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” Wells said, wondering if the hint of sadness in his father’s eyes was just
his imagination.
The Chancellor disappeared into his study before another question arose, uninvited, in
Wells’s mind. If his father had been tied up with Brisbane, why had Wells seen the Council
member hours earlier on A deck?
Wells’s stomach twisted as an unfamiliar and uncomfortable realization passed over
him.
His father was lying.
“Okay,” Wells said, nodding at Sasha. “But if it’s just the two of us, I’ll
need to tie you to me, so you can’t bolt once we’re in the woods.”
“Fine.” She stood up and extended her hands.
Wells winced when he saw the red sores on her wrist where the rope had
rubbed her skin away. “I’ll use the metal cuffs this time. They’ll be less
irritating.” He fetched the cuffs from the supply tent, then took some
bandages, which he wrapped around Sasha’s right wrist before locking one
of the cuffs to it. He paused a moment, then snapped the other cuff to his
own left wrist, taking care to tuck the key deep inside his pocket. “Ready?”
he asked. She nodded, and after glancing around the clearing to make sure
no one was watching, he led her across the tree line, shortening his step
when the bite of the metal let him know he was moving too quickly.
Walking together became trickier once they were in the woods. While
Wells had to slow down to navigate exposed roots and moss-covered rocks,
Sasha sped up, springing lightly over the same obstacles. Wells couldn’t
take a step without making a noise, but Sasha moved as gracefully and
silently as a deer. This was clearly land she had crossed many times. He
wondered what it was like to know a section of forest as intimately as you
knew another person, lifting your foot over a fallen log as naturally as you
might take someone’s hand.
Soon, she was leading Wells down a hill he’d never seen before, where
the trees were thinner and the grass grew higher, almost up to their knees.
Her long braid had come loose, and her dark hair rippled down her back.
“Do you think they’re worried about you?” he said finally.
At first, he wasn’t sure Sasha had heard him, because she didn’t turn
around or break stride. But the chain connecting them trembled slightly.
“Worried… and furious,” she said. “We were ordered to stay away from
you, but I had to see for myself.” Wells lengthened his step so they were
walking side by side for the first time. “I’ve spent my whole life imagining
what it was like in space, what you were all like. I didn’t really get to know
the people in the first group. I barely got to talk to any of them. So then
when you all came down, I wasn’t going to miss my chance.”
Wells laughed, then winced as the chain went taut. Sasha had stopped in
her tracks and was glowering at him. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing. It’s just crazy to think about you imagining us when I’ve
spent my whole life wondering about Earth.”
Sasha gave him a strange look but started walking again. “Really? So
what do you want to know?”
Wells barely missed a beat. “How many people survived the Cataclysm?
Are there still cities standing? What kinds of animals are there? Have you
ever seen the ocean? What happens when…” He trailed off when he saw
Sasha grinning at him. “What?”
“Why don’t we do one at time?”
“Okay,” Wells said with a smile. “The first one, then. Who survived?
What happened after the bombs fell?”
“We’re not sure,” Sasha admitted. “Our ancestors made it to a selfsustaining bomb shelter deep underground, where the limestone kept them
safe from radiation. It was only about fifty years ago that they emerged to
the surface again. There’s been no other sign of human life—to the best of
our knowledge, we’re the only ones who survived. But who knows? There
may be others around the world.”
“And where are we exactly?” Wells asked.
“Really?” She furrowed her brows as though wondering if he were
joking. “We’re in North America, in what used to be called Virginia. Did
they really not tell you where they were sending you? Why all the secrecy?”
Wells hesitated, unsure how much to reveal about the mission.
Admitting that they’d all committed crimes and been sentenced to die on
their eighteenth birthdays probably wasn’t the best way to seem
trustworthy. “The dropships don’t have the most sophisticated navigation
systems. We weren’t entirely sure where we were going to end up.”
Sasha looked skeptical. “Yet you landed within ten miles of the other
dropship. You must have been sent to this area for a reason. You were
probably meant to find us, right?”
The thought gave Wells chills. No one on the Colony could have known
about the existence of Sasha’s people—could they? “If we’re in Virginia,
are we near Washington, D.C.?” he asked, eager to change the subject. “Did
any of the buildings survive?” His heart sped up as he thought about
exploring the remains of the White House, or better yet, a museum. There
had been famous ones in Washington, he recalled.
Disappointment swept through him as Sasha shook her head. “No, the
city was razed. Just a few buildings are still standing, and only parts of
them. Here, watch your head,” she said, ducking under a branch.
She led him over a small stream and then into a grove where the trees
grew so close together, the branches almost knit into a roof overhead. Wells
suddenly felt foolish, letting her take him in a direction the hundred hadn’t
really gone before. What if it was a trap?
Something sticky and soft brushed against the back of his neck, and he
let out a shout, swatting at it. Strands of a gossamer-like material broke
apart in his fingers. “What is this?” he said, trying to wipe it away.
“Relax.” Sasha laughed, and Wells couldn’t help smiling, realizing how
foolish he probably looked. “It’s just a spiderweb. See?”
She pointed, and Wells looked up to see that one of the trees was draped
in finely woven, glistening threads that stretched across the branches,
creating a sort of net.
Sasha started to tug him forward, but Wells couldn’t pull his eyes away.
The web was unexpectedly captivating, its geometric shapes oddly beautiful
against the wild tangle of branches and leaves. “I thought spiders were
tiny.”
“Sometimes. But the ones that live in the woods are bigger.” She held up
her arm. “Their legs can be this long.”
Wells suppressed a shudder and sped up to walk next to Sasha. They
were quiet as they continued through the grove, the leaves on the ground
absorbing the sound of their footsteps. Something about the silence and
shadows made Wells hesitant to disrupt the stillness. It had been the same
back on the ship: People lowered their voices whenever they set foot in
Eden Hall, a gathering space on Phoenix dominated by what they’d all
believed to be the only tree left in the universe, brought onto Phoenix as
Earth burned. That is, until Wells set fire to it, seeking arrest in order to be
sent to Earth with Clarke.
After another ten minutes, the forest thinned out again, and Sasha led
him up a steep slope. When they reached the crest of the hill, she stopped
and raised her hand. “Here we go,” she said, pointing to a group of trees up
ahead.
At first, Wells didn’t notice anything remarkable about them. But then
he squinted and realized that there was something solid hanging from the
branches.
Sasha led him toward the closest tree. The boughs were sagging under
the weight of dozens of long, green, oblong pods. She rose onto the balls of
her feet and stretched her arm above her head, but her fingers only barely
grazed the lowest pod.
“Allow me.” Wells extended his own arm and just managed to grab the
one she’d been reaching for. He snapped it off the branch and handed it to
Sasha, marveling at the bumpy texture.
With expert movements, she began peeling away the outer layer,
revealing bright pink seeds. “What is that?” Wells asked.
“You don’t have corn up in space?”
“We grow some vegetables in the solar fields, but nothing like that.” He
paused. “Doesn’t corn grow out of the ground?”
Sasha shrugged. “Maybe it used to, but it grows on trees now. Just watch
out for the blue ones. They’re really spicy.” She raised her cuffed hand. “If
you undo these, we can climb up and pick as much as we can carry.”
Wells paused. He wanted to trust her, and somehow felt he could trust
her, but it could also be a monumentally stupid risk.
Finally, he reached into his pocket and removed the key. “Okay. I’ll
undo the cuffs, but if you run off, you know we’ll all come after you.”
Sasha was quiet for a moment, then raised her shackled wrist.
Wordlessly, Wells inserted the key into the lock and turned it until her cuff
sprang open. She clenched and unclenched her fingers, then shook her hand
and smiled. “Thanks.”
In a flash, she’d scrambled up the trunk and was pulling herself onto a
branch. She made it look easy, but when Wells tried to follow, he found it
difficult to get a good hold. The bark was rough, but the moss covering it
was slippery, and it took him a few tries before he got enough leverage to
get off the ground.
He was out of breath by the time he pulled himself onto the third-lowest
branch, where the corn grew the thickest. Sasha had climbed nearly to the
end of the branch, straddling it like a bench, and was using both hands to
snap off ears of corn and toss them to the ground, which suddenly looked
very far away.
Wells took a deep breath and forced himself to look up. The view was
breathtaking. Wells had seen innumerable photos of picturesque spots on
Earth, but none of them captured the beauty of the orchard before them. The
meadow stretched out below, and provided a stunning contrast to the hazy
purple outlines of the mountains in the distance. He felt his skin tingle when
his eyes settled on their jagged white tops. Snow.
“I’ll have to show this to my father when he gets here,” Wells said
before he had time to think better of it.
Sasha whipped her head around. “Your father? There are more of you
coming?”
Wells wasn’t sure why the accusation in her voice made him feel guilty.
The Colonists had spent the past three hundred years figuring out how to
bring the human race back home. They had just as much right to the planet
as the Earthborns. “Of course,” he said. “The ships weren’t built to last
forever. Eventually, everyone will come down.” And by eventually, I mean
in the next few weeks, Wells thought. All thanks to me. After Clarke’s arrest,
he’d been desperate to make sure she was sent to Earth instead of facing
execution. He knew that the Council was considering sending Confined
teenagers, and he knew the mission needed to happen before Clarke’s
eighteenth birthday—so he’d done something drastic, and dangerous. He
purposely worsened the existing airlock breach. Now the remaining
Colonists had little time left in space, and would be forced to come to Earth.
He still felt sick thinking about what he’d done—but it had saved Clarke’s
life.
“Didn’t your father want to come with you?”
Wells’s chest tightened as he thought about the last time he’d seen his
father, the blood staining the Chancellor’s uniform as the door to the
dropship had closed. He’d spent the past few weeks trying to convince
himself that the bullet wound was superficial, that his father would recover
in time to come down with the next wave of Colonists. But he had no way
of knowing what had really happened, or if his father was even still alive.
“He has a lot of responsibilities on the ship,” Wells said instead. “He’s
the Chancellor.”
Sasha’s eyes widened. “So, he’s in charge of everybody? Is that why
you’re the leader of the group that came down?”
“I’m not the leader,” Wells protested.
“They all seem to listen to you.”
“Maybe.” Wells sighed. “But I always feel like I’m letting someone
down, no matter what I do.”
Sasha nodded. “I know. My father… well, he’s actually in charge down
here too.”
Wells stared at her in surprise. “Really? Your father is the Chancellor?”
“We don’t use that term, but it sounds like the same kind of thing.”
“So you know what it’s like to…” He trailed off with a frown. It was
strange trying to put his feelings into words, feelings that he’d spent the
past sixteen years trying to ignore.
“What? To be held to a higher standard than everyone else? To have
everyone assume that you know the answers, when most of the time you
don’t even know what questions you’re supposed to be asking?”
Wells smiled. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Sasha tossed another ear of corn to the ground, biting her lip. “I feel bad
for my dad, but honestly, I’m sick of it too. They turn everything I do into
some kind of political statement.”
“What did you do?”
Sasha laughed mischievously. “Some things I shouldn’t have. Including
coming here.” She caught Wells’s eye, and the playfulness disappeared
from her face. “What about you? Your father must really trust you to send
you to Earth on your own.”
Wells hesitated. It was best to let her believe that. Sasha would be more
likely to treat the hundred with caution if she thought they were specially
trained, handpicked for the mission, as opposed to useless criminals sent to
possibly die.
A gust of wind swept through the tree, whipping Sasha’s wild black hair
into her face.
“Hardly,” Wells said, wondering what it was about Sasha’s bright green
eyes that made him feel reckless. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the
truth.”
Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”
“I was arrested a few weeks ago. For setting fire to the only tree in the
Colony.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then to his surprise, laughed and
slid one leg over the branch. “I guess I’d better hurry up before you take a
dislike to this one.” Sasha lowered herself into the air, then let go, landing
lightly on the ground. “Come on,” she called. “We have enough corn. Or
are you scared?”
Wells shook his head. It didn’t matter that he had no idea how the hell to
get out of the tree. For the first time since they’d landed on Earth, he didn’t
feel afraid of anything.
CHAPTER 12
Glass
“You can’t do this,” Luke said, finally breaking the silence that filled the
small repair room. They were in the now-abandoned guard station that
stored the suits Luke and his fellow engineers used for spacewalks. “It’s
beyond dangerous—it’s suicidal. If anyone goes out there, it will be me. I’m
trained to do it.”
Glass placed her hand on Luke’s arm and was surprised to feel him
trembling. “No,” she said, looking him in the eye for the first time since
she’d told him her plan. “It would be insane to have you risk your life on a
spacewalk, only to be shot once you get to Phoenix.”
“There aren’t exactly going to be guards waiting for me at the airlock. I
doubt they think anyone would be crazy enough to try to get across on the
outside of the ship,” Luke said. Not only were spacewalks performed
exclusively by Luke and the rest of his highly trained team, they only did so
when absolutely necessary, and only with everyone running support,
monitoring oxygen and pressure levels, keeping an eye out for debris,
providing backup in case of equipment failure. Glass tried not to think
about the fact that she would be crossing without any of that.
“Opening the airlock will set off alarms. They might arrest me, but
they’re not going to shoot me on sight,” she insisted.
“Glass.” Luke’s voice was hoarse. “I can’t let you do this.”
“I’m not just doing it for us.” She looked up at him, willing herself to
stay calm. “By closing the skybridge, Phoenix left all of Walden and
Arcadia to die. I can’t let innocent people suffer, not if there’s something I
can do to help. I need to open the skybridge.”
Luke sighed and closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“Then let’s get started.” He began methodically reviewing the equipment,
explaining how everything worked—the pressurized suits, the clamps, the
cord that would keep her tethered to the ship. His tone was calm and
businesslike, as if he’d convinced himself that he was briefing a new guard,
and not the only person he loved left in the universe.
He led Glass to the large window next to the airlock and pointed out the
handholds that stretched all the way across. “The airlock on Phoenix can be
opened from the outside—just untwist the big wheel; that will let you into
the airlock chamber. Once you’re inside, I’ll head to the skybridge and meet
you there.”
“It’s a date,” Glass said, managing a smile.
Luke pulled out one of the guards’ thermal jumpsuits and handed it to
Glass. “Sorry,” he said. “This is the smallest one.” It was clearly made for
someone much larger, but it would have to do.
Glass quickly pulled off her shirt and stepped out of her pants, shivering
as the cold raised goose bumps along her arm. As she fumbled with the
thermal, she looked up to see Luke staring at her with an intensity she’d
never seen before, like he was trying to commit every line of her body to
memory.
“You’re getting it all bunched up,” he said, his voice thick. “It won’t
work if it’s not right next to your skin. Here.” Glass stood perfectly still as
he ran his hands over the fabric, smoothing out all the wrinkles, his fingers
traveling deftly across her shoulders, down her back, over her hips. She
shivered. Each time his hands moved to a new spot, she felt a tiny pang of
loss. What if he was touching her for the very last time?
Finally, he stepped away and reached for the space suit, checking
various pieces of equipment before carrying it over to her.
Neither of them spoke as Luke helped her step into the bottom part of
the suit, fastening it tightly around her waist. He instructed her to raise her
arms and pulled the top portion over her head. His face pale, he locked the
two sections into place. There was an audible click, and Glass inhaled
sharply. “Are you okay?” Luke asked, taking her hand.
She nodded. He opened his mouth to respond, then changed his mind
and reached for the gloves, which he pulled, one at a time, over Glass’s
hands.
Only the helmet was left. “I should’ve put my hair up first,” Glass said,
holding up her gloves.
“I’ll do it.” He reached into her pocket to remove the elastic band for
her, then stepped behind her and smoothed her hair back into a ponytail,
gently tucking a few stray strands behind her ears and wrapping the band
around it tight.
Luke smiled shakily as he stepped back. “I guess it’s go time.” He
wrapped his arms around her, and even though she couldn’t feel the
pressure through the suit, Glass felt warmer inside. “Be very, very careful
out there, okay?” he said, his voice muffled. “If anything happens, come
straight back. Don’t take any risks.”
Glass nodded. “I love you.” She couldn’t count the number of times
she’d said those words, but they seemed different now. She could hear the
echo of every past I love you in them, and the promise of a lifetime more.
Luke lowered his head and kissed her. For a moment, Glass closed her
eyes and allowed herself to pretend that this was just a normal kiss, that she
was a regular seventeen-year-old kissing the boy she loved. She leaned
forward eagerly—and felt the weight of the bulky space suit jar her back to
reality.
Luke pulled away and picked up the helmet. “Good luck,” he said,
bending down to kiss her forehead. Then he lowered the helmet over her
head and locked it into place.
Glass gasped as the world became dark and suffocating. She was back in
Confinement. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. But then she felt Luke
squeeze her hand through her glove, and she relaxed, taking a deep breath
as air from her tank streamed directly into her nose.
After days of oxygen deprivation, being able to breathe like this felt
euphoric. She was suddenly wide awake, able to do anything. She gave
Luke a thumbs-up sign to let him know that she was ready, and he walked
over to the control panel. There was a crackling sound in her helmet, and
then Luke’s voice was in her ear. “How you doing in there, spacewalker?”
“I’m okay,” she said, not sure where she was supposed to speak. “Can
you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” he said. “Radio’s all set. Feel like a stroll?”
Glass nodded, and he led her to the airlock. The suit was lighter than
she’d expected, but walking still required a great deal of thought, almost
like she was a toddler, experimenting with each limb before she tried to
move it. Luke punched a code into the panel next to the heavy metal door,
and it opened, revealing the tiny airlock chamber. On the other side was the
door that led outside, to a minus-270-degree vacuum.
He fastened a cable to the front of her suit, then checked again to make
sure it was secure. Luke showed her where it attached to the ship, and how
it extended and retracted to follow Glass’s movements. “Okay,” he said, his
voice coming from somewhere behind her right ear. “I’m going back inside
to close the first door. Then I’ll let you know when it’s safe to open the
second door. You’ll have ten seconds to make it through before it closes
automatically. Just grab on to the first handhold and swing yourself out.”
“Sounds like a breeze.”
Luke gave her gear a final check, then squeezed her hand. “You’ll be
great.” He tapped the front of her helmet. “See you soon.”
“See you soon,” she echoed.
He disappeared back through the door, leaving her alone, with nothing
between her and the vast emptiness of space except a metal door and a
three-hundred-year-old space suit.
“Okay,” Luke’s voice came from the speaker again. “Get ready. I’m
going to open the second door.”
Glass dragged herself forward, her legs suddenly heavy. After the
longest eight steps of her life, she reached the door. “I’m ready.”
“All right. I’m entering the code now.” There was a loud beep, and the
door in front of Glass slid open.
For a moment, all she could do was stand there and stare as she got a
clear view of space for the first time. Now she understood what Luke
meant, when he said that it was beautiful. The darkness was rich, like the
velvet her mother had made into a skirt once, and the stars sparkled against
it, so much brighter than she’d ever seen them through a window. For once,
the hazy gray sweep of Earth looked more mysterious than frightening. It
was incredible to think that Wells was down there, walking around,
breathing… if he’s still alive, the cynical part of her brain added.
“Go for it,” Luke’s voice whispered in her ear.
She took a deep breath and reached out for the first handle, forcing her
gloved fingers to wrap around it and pulling herself through the door.
And then she was in space, grasping a single handhold while she stared
into the dizzying sea of stars and gas just waiting to swallow her whole.
Behind her, the door closed with a thud.
Glass swung herself around, briefly reveling in the thrill of
weightlessness. Then she saw the path to Phoenix, and her mouth felt
suddenly dry. It had never seemed that long when she was running to see
Luke, but from this perspective, it looked endless. She would have to make
her way around the entire side of Walden before she could even see the
skybridge.
You can do this, she reminded herself, gritting her teeth. You have to do
this. One at a time. She moved her left hand to the next rung, then pulled
her body across. In the absence of gravity, it required minimal effort, but
her heart was pounding at an unsustainable rate.
“How are you doing out there?” Luke’s voice echoed in her helmet.
“It’s beautiful,” Glass said quietly. “Now I understand why you were
always so quick to volunteer for this.”
“It’s not as beautiful as you.”
Glass swung from handhold to handhold, falling into a rhythm. “I bet
you say that to all the girls from mission control.”
“Actually, if I remember correctly, I’ve used that line on you before,”
Luke said. Glass smiled. Back when they used to sneak to the solar fields,
they would look at the stars through the window, and Luke would always
tell Glass that she was prettier.
“Hmm. It sounds like you need some new material, my friend.” She
swung to the next handle and risked a glance back. She couldn’t see the
release door anymore. “How much farther?” she asked.
“You’re coming up on the skybridge, which means you’ll have to be
careful not to let anyone see you. There’s a second set of handles under the
bridge. Use those, just to be safe.”
“Got it.”
She moved steadily along, trying not to think about what would happen
if something went wrong with her suit, which suddenly felt very fragile, a
flimsy protection from the vacuum of space.
The skybridge appeared in the corner of her eye. It was still barricaded,
with an airtight barrier between the Walden and Phoenix sections. Crowds
of people still swarmed the barrier from the Walden side, helplessly
pounding on it, hoping to break through. As she got closer, Glass saw the
second set of handholds Luke had mentioned, the ones that led under the
bridge instead of along the side. There was a significant gap between the
last rung of the set she was on and the first rung of the next set—much too
far for her to reach.
Glass paused. If she pushed off the side of Walden with enough force,
she could throw herself in the direction of the handhold. Even if she missed,
the worst that could happen was that she’d float for a few seconds until
Luke retracted the wire and pulled her back toward the ship.
“Okay, I’ve got to jump to the next handhold,” Glass said. She twisted
her body so both feet were against the side of the ship and stretched her left
arm out so she’d be ready. She took a deep breath, tensed her muscles, and
pushed off, grinning at the brief sensation of soaring through space.
But she’d apparently overestimated the force she’d needed, because she
flew right past the handhold, her fingers grasping at nothing but empty
space.
“Luke, I missed it. Can you pull me back in?” She’d started to spin and
was losing her sense of direction. “Luke?”
His voice never came.
All Glass could hear was the sound of her own breath. She kept
spinning, farther and farther from the ship, the wire rapidly uncoiling
behind her. “Luke!” she screamed, flailing her arms.
“Luke!” she called again, wheezing as the oxygen seemed to vanish
from her helmet. She’d taken too big a breath, and needed to wait for the
ventilation system to readjust. Don’t panic, she told herself. But then she
caught a glimpse of the Colony, and gasped. She’d already drifted too far—
Walden, Phoenix, and Arcadia were in view, and growing smaller by the
second. The wire seemed far too long. Should it have caught and snapped
her back toward the Colony by now? Then another thought hit her, sharp as
a knife. What if the cord had broken? Glass knew enough about momentum
to know that unless she collided into something, she would keep spinning in
the same direction. In ten minutes, her oxygen would run out, and she
would die. And then her body would keep floating, forever and ever, into
the distance.
She felt herself crying and bit her lip. “Luke?” she asked, trying not to
use too much breath. Her head hurt from the disorienting spinning. Every
time the Colony flashed into view, it was smaller. This was it.
Then there was a sharp, violent tug on the front of her suit, and the cord
went taut. “Glass? Are you there? Are you okay?”
“Luke!” She had never been so happy to hear his voice. “I tried to jump,
and I missed the rung, and then—what happened?” The wire began to
slowly retract, pulling her back toward the ship.
“We had some… unexpected visitors in the control room, people
scavenging for supplies. Don’t worry, I took care of it.”
“What do you mean?”
Luke sighed. “I had to knock them out. There were four of them, Glass,
and they wanted to—” He paused. “They weren’t being friendly. You were
in danger, and I couldn’t take the time to explain what was going on.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” Then she caught sight of the skybridge, and the
series of handholds. She flexed her fingers in anticipation. There was no
way she was missing it this time.
“I’m almost there,” she told Luke. The handhold was approaching
rapidly. Glass stretched out her arm, fixed her eyes on it, and reached out
—“Got it!” she shouted as her fingers locked onto the metal rung.
“That’s my girl!” She could hear the smile in Luke’s voice.
Glass exhaled loudly and then swung her other hand over the adjacent
rung. It didn’t take her long to traverse the underside of the skybridge and
make her way up toward the Phoenix airlock.
When she finally reached the entrance, she planted her feet against the
side of the ship and used all her strength to rotate the heavy handle. The
door slid open with a satisfying hiss. “I’m here!” She grabbed the edge and
pulled herself into a small antechamber, almost identical to the one on
Walden.
Luke gave a joyful whoop. “Okay, I’m on my way. Meet you at the
skybridge.”
“See you there.”
Glass waited for the outer door to slide back into place, then unhooked
herself and hurried toward the second door, which opened automatically.
Without missing a beat, she took off the helmet, and began struggling with
the suit. It took her longer to get out of it than it had taken Luke to put it on,
but she managed.
There didn’t seem to be any guards in the corridors. There didn’t seem
to be any people at all. Glass’s exhilaration gave way to concern as she
imagined what her mother might be doing. Was she alone and panic-
stricken? Or were the Phoenicians pretending that everything was business
as usual, ignoring the fact that two-thirds of the Colony had been
abandoned to die?
There were only two guards at the skybridge, neither of whom was
paying any attention to the controls. They were both about a third of the
way down the bridge, their hands on the guns at their hips, watching the
partition at the middle of the skybridge. So many people were pressed
against the clear wall that it almost seemed to be made of human flesh.
Men and women were pushing their faces against it, screaming, holding
blue-faced children up for the guards to see. No sound came through, but
their anguish echoed in Glass’s head nonetheless. She watched palms grow
red from the banging. An elderly man was being crushed against the wall
by the surging crowd, his face white with panic as he slid down the barrier
toward the ground.
There wasn’t a choice. She had to let them through. Even if it meant less
oxygen for her, for her mother, for Luke.
Glass scrambled over the side of the unmanned control booth. The
switch looked simple enough. There wasn’t a great deal of nuance to the
technology. The bridge was either open or closed. She took a deep breath
and flipped the main switch.
By the time the alarm started ringing, it was too late. The guards spun
around and looked at Glass in shock and horror as the partition began to rise
into the ceiling.
An old man was the first to slide under, pushed by the frenzy of the
crowd. Then a few of the smaller women crawled underneath on their
stomachs. Within seconds, the partition had completely retracted, and the
skybridge was flooded with people—shouting, weeping with joy and relief,
taking huge lungfuls of air.
Glass rose up onto her toes, looking through the sea of bodies for the
only one who mattered to her. There he was, at the other end. As Luke came
toward her, a proud smile on his face, she hoped they had done the right
thing.
She’d just saved hundreds of lives—and drastically shortened hundreds
more. Including their own.
CHAPTER 13
Clarke
By midmorning, the cabin had mostly cleared out. After twelve hours spent
jostling for room in a densely packed space that reeked of fear and sweat,
everyone had apparently decided that the Earthborns weren’t so threatening
anymore.
But the mood in the camp was still tense. A large group was already
hard at work building a fourth cabin, so they could shelter more
comfortably. Wells was nowhere to be found, so Bellamy had taken over.
She could hear his voice in the distance as he gave orders about foundations
and support beams.
Clarke smiled, but then felt it slip away as she walked over to check on
Molly and Felix. They weren’t improving. Even worse, two others—an
Arcadian boy and a Walden girl—had begun showing the same symptoms
of fatigue, disorientation, and nausea.
Priya was inside the infirmary cabin, helping a half-awake Molly take a
few sips of water. She nodded at Clarke, then gently lowered Molly’s head
back down. She walked over, still holding the metal cup. “I thought we’d
use this one for the sick people,” she said softly. “In case whatever they
have is contagious.”
“That’s a good idea,” Clarke said. “Though you don’t seem to be afraid
of catching anything.”
Priya shrugged, then pushed a piece of her thick black hair behind her
ear. “If we can’t take care of each other, then it means they were right about
us all along.”
“They?”
“The people who sentenced us to die on our eighteenth birthdays. They
took me from the execution room, you know. The doctor had the needle
ready and everything. He was just about to inject me when he got a message
on his cornea slip telling him I was being sent to Earth instead.”
“What were you Confined for?” Clarke asked softly, sensing that it was
okay for her to ask Priya the one question that was strictly taboo in their
camp.
But before Priya had time to respond, the door swung open and Eric
trudged inside, worry and exhaustion etched on his face. “I think we should
give them the pills,” he said, abandoning any pretense of civility. Clarke
opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but Eric cut her off. “I
know about the radiation pills. I think you should give them to the sick
people. Now.”
Clarke gave him what she hoped was a confidence-inspiring look. “It’s
not radiation poisoning,” she said, calling on whatever reserves of patience
were left after their horrific night. “And those pills will kill them if they’re
used for anything else.”
“How can you be so sure? You didn’t even finish your medical training.
What do you know about radiation poisoning?”
Clarke blanched, not from the insult—she knew Eric was just worried
about Felix—but from the secret festering inside of her, far more toxic than
any wound. Only two people on the planet knew why Clarke had been
Confined. No one else knew anything about her parents’ experiments, or the
children who’d suffered under their watch.
She tried another route. “If there were toxic levels of radiation, all the
Earthborns would be dead.”
“Not if they evolved to be immune to it, or something.”
Clarke had no answer for that. She was desperate to ask Sasha more
about the other Colonists, the ones who’d come a year ago. A theory had
been percolating in her mind ever since she stumbled across the wreckage.
The bits of metal were the missing link, she was sure of it. She just needed
to find out more. “Don’t worry,” she said, placing her hand on Eric’s
shoulder. “We’re going to figure this out. They’re going to be okay. Can
you and Priya just keep an eye on everyone for a little bit? I’ll be right
back.”
Eric nodded, then slid to the ground next to Felix’s cot with a sigh. Priya
watched him for a moment, then sat beside him and gave his arm a squeeze.
“Go ahead, Clarke. We’ll be fine.”
Clarke squinted as she stepped into the sunlight. The pain in her arm
was mostly gone, and her head was clear for the first time in days. But
while she felt better physically than she had since the snakebite, anxiety
pooled in her stomach as she searched for Sasha. Had she somehow
managed to escape under Wells’s watch? Or worse, had Graham and his
buddies taken her somewhere?
She scanned the clearing, which was abuzz with activity, most of which
revolved around the new cabin. A bunch of people were dragging huge
pieces of wood toward the new site, while others carved notches into
smaller logs so they’d fit together. A few of the older boys had begun to roll
the largest logs into the ditches they’d dug for the foundation. Bellamy was
among them.
He had taken off his shirt, and his skin was slick with sweat. Even from
a distance, Clarke could see his back muscles contracting as he used all his
weight to drag the log into position.
A curly-haired girl approached him, trailed by two giggling friends. This
trio had taken the cutoffs trend to the extreme, and were now tugging at the
frayed edges of shorts that barely skimmed the tops of their thighs. “Hey,”
the first girl said. “We need a tall person to help us fix the roof on the north
cabin. It’s caving in already.”
Bellamy barely glanced at her. “Build a ladder.”
Clarke suppressed a laugh as a shadow of irritation flitted across the
girl’s face before she resumed her coy smile. “Can you show us how?”
Bellamy looked over his shoulder and made a beckoning motion. “Hey,
Antonio. Get over here.” A short, stocky kid with acne and a good-natured
smile came jogging over. “These ladies need help with the cabin. Can you
give them a hand?”
“With pleasure,” Antonio said, his eyes widening as he looked from
Bellamy to the girls, who were trying, with various degrees of success, to
hide their disappointment.
Clarke smiled to herself, secretly pleased by how little interest Bellamy
demonstrated toward the other, very pretty girls. He was so cocky, and so
charming when the mood struck him that it was hard to believe he’d only
ever had one girlfriend.
It was even harder to believe that that girlfriend was the person whose
face Clarke saw every night before she went to sleep. Whose voice she
could still hear when everything was quiet.
She shook her head and started toward Bellamy. “Such a gentleman,”
she teased, watching the girls trudge off with a visibly elated Antonio.
“Well, hello there.” Bellamy pulled her into a hug. “How are you
feeling?”
“Like I need to shower.” Clarke pushed Bellamy away, laughing. “Now
I have your sweat all over me.”
“Well, consider it payback for when I carried you six kilometers while
you were unconscious. I didn’t know it was possible for a human being to
drool that much without dying of dehydration.”
“I didn’t drool on you,” Clarke protested.
“How do you know? You were passed out. Unless…” He narrowed his
eyes and looked thoughtful. “Unless you just faked the whole snakebite
thing so you wouldn’t have to walk anymore. That would be pretty crafty.”
Clarke just smiled. “Do you know where Sasha went?” she asked.
Bellamy’s face hardened. “I think Wells might’ve taken her somewhere.
They’ve both been missing for hours.” He shook his head. “The idiot.”
“Oh,” Clarke said, trying her best to keep her voice neutral. There was
no reason for her to care that Wells had gone off with Sasha. He had just as
much right to talk to her as Clarke did. But for some reason, the idea of
them alone in the woods made her uncomfortable.
“Yeah, I know,” Bellamy said, mistaking her surprise for disapproval. “I
don’t know what the hell he was thinking. I can’t force her to help me find
Octavia, but Wells can go off on a picnic with her. Makes sense.”
“Listen, will you come with me? I want to go back and look at that
wreckage we found.”
Bellamy frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“We’ll be on the lookout for the Earthborns. It’ll be fine,” she said.
“It’s just… I don’t want to stray too far from camp, in case Octavia
comes back. I don’t want to miss her.”
Clarke nodded guiltily. Here she was, caught up with her ridiculous
theory, when Bellamy still didn’t know where his sister was or if she was
even alive. When her campmates might be dying in the infirmary cabin, and
she had pills that could possibly save their lives. “You’re right. I’ll go by
myself.”
“What?” Bellamy shook his head. “No way. I’d rather cover myself in
Graham’s drool than let you go out there on your own.”
“Let me?” Clarke repeated. “I’m sorry. Last time I checked, no one was
in charge of me.”
“You know what I mean. I’m just worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I know you’ll be fine, because I’m coming with you.”
“Okay,” Clarke said, forcing herself to sound more annoyed than she
felt. She knew Bellamy wasn’t trying to control her. He cared about her, and
the thought brought a flush to her cheeks.
They slipped away without telling anyone where they were going, and a
few minutes later, were deep in the stillness of the woods. They walked
mostly in silence, both of them relieved to escape the constant questioning
of their needy campmates. But after nearly an hour, a prickle of concern
prompted Clarke to speak.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” she asked, after they passed a
moss-covered rock for what seemed to be the second time.
“Positive. There’s the spot where I almost dropped you,” he said,
pointing vaguely into the distance. “That’s where I stopped to make sure
you weren’t choking on your own vomit. And, oh, look, that’s where you
regained consciousness for a few seconds and told me that I had the biggest
—” He cut himself off with a yelp as Clarke jabbed him in the stomach with
her elbow.
Bellamy laughed, but then something in the distance caught his
attention, and his face turned serious. “I think we’re close.”
Clarke nodded and began scanning the ground for anything metallic. She
was determined to figure out what the wreckage was from. A dropship? A
shelter the first Colonists had built?
But instead of the glint of metal, her eyes settled on a series of shapes
that sent her heart rushing into her throat.
Three large stones stuck out of the ground. They might’ve once been
straight, but now two were tilted toward each other, while a third teetered
precariously away from the group. They were approximately the same size,
and there was no mistaking that they’d been placed there on purpose. Even
from a distance, Clarke could make out crude markings on the stones—
letters, hastily carved with inadequate tools. Or, Clarke realized as she
deciphered the shapes, carved by someone shaking with fear and grief.
REST IN PEACE.
Clarke had never heard the words spoken aloud, but she could feel them
in her chest, as if the memory was stored somewhere inside her bones. Her
hand reached out for Bellamy’s, but her fingers grasped nothing but air.
She turned and saw him crouching in front of one of the markers. She
walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder. “They’re graves,” he said
quietly, without looking at her.
“There really was another mission, then. Sasha was telling the truth.”
Bellamy nodded and ran a finger along the stone. “It’s nice, you know,
having a place to visit the people you’ve lost. I wish we had something like
that on the Colony, something more personal than the Remembrance Wall.”
“Who would you have wanted to visit?” Clarke asked quietly,
wondering if there was any way he could know that Lilly had died.
“Just… friends. People I never got to say good-bye to.” Bellamy rose to
his feet with a sigh, then wrapped his arm around Clarke.
She leaned in to him, then turned her attention back to the graves. “Do
you think they died in the crash? Or later, after whatever happened with the
Earthborns?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“I just wish we’d come down sooner. Maybe we could’ve done
something to help them.”
Bellamy gave her a squeeze. “You can’t save everyone, Clarke,” he said
quietly.
You have no idea, she thought.
CHAPTER 14
Wells
“Careful,” Wells called out as he watched one of the younger boys reach
toward the fire. “Use the stick.”
“I got it,” he said, carefully removing the corn from the red-hot stones
Wells had piled on top of the flames, the way Sasha had told him to.
The corn had, quite literally, been a lifesaver. Now instead of furtive
whispers and weary complaints, the camp was filled with the sound of
crackling flames and reinvigorated chatter. Everyone sat around the fire,
gnawing at the strange but welcome food.
After returning with as much as they could carry, Wells and Sasha had
grabbed two empty water containers and headed back to the orchard for
more. By the time they’d staggered back, smiling and weary from their
efforts, Wells had almost forgotten that Sasha was their prisoner. He’d felt
exceedingly awkward when, after thanking her for her help, he’d had to
sneak her back to the infirmary cabin. Luckily, Clarke had been gone, and
the sick people asleep, so no one saw him apologizing to Sasha as he retied
her hands.
You caught her spying on you, he reminded himself as he watched a
group of girls challenge some Walden boys to a corncob-throwing contest.
Wells started to protest—Sasha had warned them not to leave the cobs in
the clearing, lest they attract unwelcome animal visitors—but he swallowed
the words. He’d have an easier time sneaking some food to Sasha if he
didn’t make a scene.
Wells gingerly plucked a few cobs from the embers, stretching out his
shirt so he could carry them without burning his hands, then headed back to
the infirmary cabin.
“Hey,” he whispered as he moved quietly toward her cot. “I brought you
one.” He handed her one of the corncobs, which had cooled enough to
touch, then placed the others next to Molly, Felix, and Tamsin so they’d
have something to eat when they woke up. It was becoming hard to find
volunteers to bring food and water to the sick people. Rumors about their
illness were spreading, and now it was rare for anyone besides Clarke,
Wells, Bellamy, Priya, and Eric to set foot inside the infirmary cabin.
“Thanks,” Sasha said, shooting a wary glance toward the door before
taking a small bite of the corn.
“How is it?” Wells asked, returning to sit on the edge of her cot. “Better
than the protein paste?”
She smiled. “Yes, definitely better. Although still pretty bland. Why
didn’t you season them with those pepper leaves like I told you?”
“I figured the corn was suspicious enough. Revealing some fancy
cooking tricks might’ve caused more trouble than it was worth.”
He expected her to tease him about his culinary skills, but instead her
face grew serious. “They really don’t trust me, do they?” There was an edge
to her voice as she shifted on the cot. “What can I do to convince you all
that I had nothing to do with the attacks?”
“It’ll just take some time,” Wells said, though he still wasn’t entirely
sure whether he believed her. He knew Sasha was kind and rational, but that
certainly didn’t mean her people—her father—weren’t capable of violence.
If, somehow, the Colony were threatened by some hitherto unimagined
enemy, Wells’s father wouldn’t have thought twice before launching an
attack.
The door opened and Kendall walked in. Wells jumped to his feet as
Kendall stared at them, an inscrutable look on her face. “Sorry to disturb
you,” she said, glancing between Wells and Sasha. “I was just coming to
take a quick nap. I didn’t get much sleep last night, obviously.”
“It’s fine,” Wells said. He gestured toward the empty cots. “There’s
plenty of room.” Apparently, Kendall wasn’t worried about catching the
mysterious illness.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll try one of the other cabins.” She gave Wells one more
lingering look before she turned around and walked back into the clearing.
“See? No one even wants to be in the same room as me. They all think
I’m a murderer.”
Wells glanced over at Tamsin, whose heavily bandaged leg might as
well have been emblazoned with a warning about the Earthborns. To say
nothing of the newly dug grave in the cemetery. Until Sasha could prove
that there really was a rogue band of Earthborns, people who had nothing to
do with her, it’d be impossible for the hundred to see her as anything but a
threat. “Do you want to go for a walk?” he said suddenly. “It’s silly for you
to be locked in here all day.”
Sasha gave him a long, searching look before raising her bound hands
from her lap. “Okay. But no more handcuffs. You know I’m not going
anywhere.”
Wells untied her and then, while Sasha rearranged her fur wrap, went
over to check on Molly. “Hey,” he whispered, crouching next to her cot.
“How are you feeling?” She murmured something but didn’t open her eyes.
“Molly?” With a sigh, Wells pulled her blanket up over her thin shoulders,
then tucked a strand of sweat-dampened hair behind her ear. “I’ll be back
soon,” he said quietly.
Wells peeked into the clearing. Most of the camp was still gathered
around the fire, or putting the finishing touches on the new roof. If they
hurried, they’d be able to leave unseen. Wells chose not to dwell on the fact
that, for the second time that day, he was doing something secret, hiding his
actions from the rest of the group. He turned around to gesture to Sasha,
and then they quickly darted outside and across the tree line.
Sasha led Wells in a different direction this time, one he hadn’t taken
before. Unlike Bellamy, he hadn’t spent a great deal of time in the woods,
and was only familiar with the path they usually took to fetch water from
the stream. “Watch out,” Sasha called over her shoulder. “It gets pretty
steep here.”
Steep was a bit of an understatement. The ground suddenly fell away,
and Wells was forced to creep down sideways, grabbing on to the thin,
flexible trees that grew out of the hillside to keep himself from tumbling
down. The incline was so sharp that some of their roots grew out into the air
instead of down into the ground.
Sasha didn’t seem bothered by the grade. She’d barely slowed down and
was now several meters ahead of Wells. She’d extended her arms to the
side, using her outstretched fingers for balance, looking like the birds he’d
seen swooping above the clearing.
A loud crack sounded from behind. Startled, Wells whipped his head
around. The movement was enough to send his feet flying out from under
him, and he fell, sliding down the slick grass. He tried to dig his fingers into
the ground to slow himself down, but he kept gaining speed until something
jerked him to a stop. Breathless, he looked up to see Sasha grinning at him
as she held the collar of his jacket. “You’re going to have to wait a few
months for sledding,” she said as she helped pull him to his feet.
“Sledding?” Wells repeated as he brushed off the back of his pants and
tried not to think about how much of an idiot he must’ve looked. “You
mean there’s going to be snow?”
“If you’re still alive that long,” Sasha said, grabbing Wells’s elbow as he
slipped again.
“If I die before seeing snow, it’ll be because I have one of your friends’
arrows in my back. Not because I keep falling on my ass.”
“How many times do I have to explain this? Those people are most
definitely not my friends.”
“Yeah, but don’t you know them well enough to ask them to stop trying
to kill us?” he replied, searching her face for a hint of whatever she was
hiding from him.
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” she said, pulling him along the
slope.
Wells gestured downward. “You seem to like complicated.”
She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, space boy. This will be worth it.”
When they were almost at the bottom, Wells pushed off the hill to jump
down the last few meters. But instead of landing on grass, his feet struck
something hard. The impact was enough to send a jolt of pain shooting up
his legs, though fortunately, he managed to stay upright this time. He
winced, but when he glanced down, surprise chased away all thoughts of
discomfort.
The ground wasn’t grass or dirt. It was rock. He bent down and brushed
his fingers along the rough gray surface. No, not rock—this was a road.
Wells jumped back and looked from side to side, half expecting to hear the
rumble of an engine.
“Are you okay?” Sasha asked, coming to stand next to him. Wells
nodded, unsure how to explain. When he’d found Clarke stranded in the
ruins of the church, he’d been too terrified to focus on anything besides
getting her out. Now he leaned over to study the cement, the way its
fissures cracked and grew, small plants growing in the gaps.
On the Colony, it had been easy to think about the Cataclysm in the
abstract sense. He knew how many people had died when it’d happened,
how many metric tons of toxins had been released into the air and so on.
But now, he thought about the people who’d driven, ran, or maybe even
crawled down this road in a desperate attempt to escape the bombs. How
many people had died in this very spot as the earth shook and the sky filled
with smoke?
“It’s just over here,” Sasha said, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“Follow me.”
“What’s just over there?” he asked, turning his head from side to side.
The air felt different here than it did in the clearing, heavy with memories
that made Wells shiver.
“You’ll see.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes. With each step, Wells’s heart
began to beat a little faster. “You have to promise me you won’t tell anyone
about this,” Sasha said. Her voice grew quiet, and she glanced nervously
over her shoulder.
Wells hesitated. He’d learned the hard way what happened when you
made promises you couldn’t keep. “You can trust me,” he said finally.
Sasha stared at him for a moment, then nodded. As they turned around a
bend in the road, Wells’s skin began to tingle, his nerves buzzing with
energy as his body braced for whatever awaited them.
But when the road straightened out again, there was nothing. Only more
cracked pavement veined with plants.
“There,” Sasha said, pointing toward the trees that bordered the side of
the road. “Do you see it?”
Wells started to shake his head, then froze as a geometric outline took
shape among the tangle of branches.
It was a house.
“Oh my god,” Wells whispered as he took a few steps forward. “This is
impossible. I thought there was nothing left!”
“There’s not much. But these mountains protected a few structures from
the blasts. Most of the people around here survived the bombs, but died
later from starvation or radiation poisoning.”
As they got closer, Wells saw that the house was made of stone, which
he supposed had a better chance of weathering the destruction, although
much of the right side had collapsed.
There was no glass left in any of the windows, and thick vines covered a
large portion of the surviving walls. There was something almost predatory
about the way they wrapped up the sides, snaking through the gaping
windows and up out of what had once been a chimney, as if the earth were
trying to erase all evidence of human life.
“Can we go inside?” Wells asked when he realized he’d been staring at
the house in shocked silence.
“No. I think it’ll be more fun to stand here all day and watch you gaping
like a fish.”
“Cut me some slack. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Sasha blinked at him incredulously. “You lived in space. You’ve seen
Mars!”
He grinned. “You have to use a telescope to see Mars, and even then it
just looks like a red dot. Now come on. Are we going inside or what?”
They walked toward the side of the house farthest from the collapsed
wall, where there was a window about two meters from the ground with an
inviting ledge beneath it. Wells watched as Sasha climbed up onto the ledge
with ease, then lowered herself through the window, disappearing into the
darkness inside.
“You coming?” she called back to him.
He grinned again and climbed through the window, landing with a soft
thud that jolted all other thoughts from his mind. He was standing in a
house, an actual home, where people had lived before the Cataclysm.
He turned his head from side to side. It seemed like they were in what
had once been a kitchen. The floor was covered in cracked yellow and
white tiles, and there were white cabinets hanging slightly askew over a
deep sink, the largest Wells had ever seen. The only light came from the
broken window, which, filtered through the surrounding trees, gave the
room a faint, greenish glow, as if he were looking at an old photograph. But
this was undeniably real. He took a few steps forward and gingerly ran his
finger along the counter, which was covered in generations of dust. He
reached up, and even more gently, opened one of the cabinets.
There were stacks of plates and bowls inside. Although they’d slid to the
side when the cabinet came loose, it was clear they’d been arranged with
care. Some seemed to belong to a set, others were one of a kind. Wells
removed a plate from the top of the pile. This one had an illustration on it,
though it looked like it’d been done by a child. There were four stick
figures with oversize, smiling faces, standing in a line holding one another’s
misshapen hands. I LOV ARE FAMLEE was printed in wobbly letters above
their heads. Wells replaced the plate carefully and turned to see Sasha
staring at him out of the silent, dusty gloom.
“It happened a long time ago,” she said quietly.
Wells nodded. The words I know formed in his brain but got lost
somewhere on the way to his mouth. His eyes began to prickle and he
turned away quickly. Eight billion. That’s how many people had died during
the Cataclysm. It’d always seemed as abstract as any huge figure, like the
age of Earth, or the number of stars in the galaxy. Yet now, he’d give
anything to know that the people who’d eaten dinner together in this
kitchen, with those plates, had somehow made it off the burning planet.
“Wells, come look at this.” He turned and saw Sasha kneeling next to a
pile of rubble on the far side of the room, where the wall had caved in. She
was brushing dust and bits of debris off something on the floor.
He walked over and crouched down next to her. “What is it?” he asked
as Sasha pulled at what looked like a clasp. “Careful,” he warned,
remembering Clarke’s snake.
“It’s a suitcase,” Sasha said, her voice a mix of surprise and something
else—apprehension? Fear?
The case fell open, sending a new cloud of dust into the air, and they
both leaned forward for a better look. There were only a few items inside.
Three small faded shirts that Wells examined one at a time, carefully
replacing each exactly as he’d found them. There was also a book. Most of
the pages had rotted away, but enough remained for Wells to tell it was
about a boy named Charlie. He hesitated before putting it back inside the
suitcase. He would’ve loved to examine it in the sunlight, but for some
reason, it didn’t seem right to take anything away from the house.
The only other recognizable item was a small stuffed bear. Its fur had
probably been yellow at one point, though it was hard to tell with all the
dust. Sasha picked it up and stared at it for a moment before pressing a
finger against his black nose. “Poor bear,” she said with a smile, although
she couldn’t quite keep her voice from catching.
“It’s just so sad,” Wells said, running his finger along one of the T-shirts.
“If they had left sooner, maybe they would’ve made it out in time.”
“Where were they supposed to go?” Sasha asked, shooting him a look as
she rubbed dust off one of the bear’s paws. “Do you have any idea how
much it cost to get to one of the launch sites during the Forsakening? The
people who lived around here didn’t have that kind of money.”
“That’s not how it worked,” Wells said, an edge creeping into his voice.
He took a deep breath to regain his composure. It felt terribly wrong to
shout in a place like this. “People didn’t have to pay to go on the ship.”
“No? Then how were the Colonists selected?”
“They came from the neutral nations,” Wells said, suddenly feeling like
he was back in a primary tutorial. “The ones that weren’t greedy or foolish
enough to get caught in nuclear war.”
The look Sasha gave him was unlike anything he ever saw on his tutors’
faces, even when he was wrong. They never stared at him with a mixture of
pity and scorn. If anything, Sasha looked more like his father. “Then why
does everyone on the ship speak English?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t have an answer for that. He’d spent his whole life imagining
what it’d be like to see real Earth ruins, and now that he was here, thinking
about all the lives that had been extinguished during the Cataclysm made it
difficult to breathe.
“We should get back,” he said, rising to his feet and reaching out to help
Sasha. She glanced at the suitcase for a long moment, then tucked the bear
under her arm and took Wells’s hand.
CHAPTER 15
Bellamy
It had taken a while to convince Clarke to head back to camp. She’d
insisted on looking for more pieces of wreckage, for anything that would
provide some information about the other Colonists. But as the shadows
lengthened, Bellamy’s skin prickled in a way that had nothing to do with
the chill creeping into the air. It was foolish to spend too much time in the
woods with the Earthborns lurking about. Once their little spy told him
where to find Octavia, Bellamy would go after them—spears and arrows be
damned. But he didn’t want to face them until he was prepared, and
certainly not with Clarke by his side.
After an hour of fruitless searching, Clarke had finally agreed that it was
time to leave. “Just—one more second,” she said now, and hurried over to
the edge of the clearing.
She stopped before a tree covered with white blossoms. It was fragilelooking, and seemed somehow too small for all the flowers dropping off it.
Bellamy was reminded of how Octavia used to look when she put all their
mother’s clothes on, layers upon layers of fabric, and paraded in front of
Bellamy.
Clarke rose up on her toes, plucked a few of the blossoms from the tree,
and knelt down to arrange them in front of each of the grave markers. She
stood there in silence for a moment, her head bowed. Then she came and
took Bellamy’s hand, leading him away from the lonely cemetery the rest of
the world had forgotten.
Clarke was unusually quiet as they made their way back to the camp.
Finally, Bellamy broke the silence. “Are you okay?” He extended his hand
to help Clarke over a fallen tree, but she didn’t even notice.
“I’m fine,” she said, clambering over the log and landing neatly on the
other side.
Bellamy didn’t reply. He knew better than to push. Clarke wasn’t the
type of girl who played mind games. She would talk when she wanted to
talk. But as he glanced at her again, something in her face tugged at his
chest, fraying his resolve. She didn’t just look serious, or even sad—she
looked haunted.
He stopped in his tracks and wrapped his arms around her. She flinched
for a moment, not returning the embrace.
Bellamy started to draw back, but thought better of it and tightened his
hold. “Clarke, what’s wrong?”
When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I can’t stop thinking about those
graves. I just wish I knew whose they are, how they died…” She trailed off,
but Bellamy knew she was thinking about the sick people she’d left behind
at the camp.
“I know,” Bellamy said. “But, Clarke, whoever those people were,
they’ve been dead for over a year. There’s nothing you could have done to
help them.” He fell silent for a moment. “And think of it this way—at least
they got to be here, on Earth, even if it wasn’t for very long. They were
probably really jazzed about that.”
To his surprise, Clarke smiled—it was a small smile, but enough to
chase away some of the sadness lurking in her eyes. “Jazzed? What does
that mean? Like you’re so happy, you’d be willing to listen to jazz music?”
“Willing to listen to jazz music? You must mean ‘happy because you get
to listen to jazz music.’ So happy that your heart starts beating a jazz riff.”
“Like you know jazz,” Clarke shot back, still smiling. “Most of that
music was lost centuries ago.”
Bellamy smirked. “Maybe on Phoenix. I found an old MP3 player with
some jazz songs on it once.” He shrugged. “At least, I assumed it was jazz.”
It had sounded the way he’d always expected jazz to sound—playful,
soulful, free.
“So what does a jazz riff sound like?”
“It’s more about what it feels like,” Bellamy said, reaching for Clarke’s
hand. He began tapping a rhythm up and down her arm.
She shivered as his fingers danced on the inside of her elbow. “So jazz
feels like some weirdo tickling your arm?”
“Not your arm. Your whole body. You feel it in your throat…” He
brought his fingers to her neck and tapped along her collarbone. “In your
feet…” He knelt down and tapped along the side of her boot, and Clarke
laughed. “In your chest…” He stood up, bringing his hand to rest lightly on
top of her heart, and was very still.
She closed her eyes as her breathing grew shallow. “I think I feel it
now,” she said.
Bellamy stared at Clarke in wonder. With her eyes closed and lips
slightly parted, the afternoon light dancing over her reddish-blond hair like
a halo, she looked like one of the fairies he used to describe to Octavia in
her bedtime stories.
He bent his head down and brushed his lips against hers. She kissed him
back for a moment, then pulled away with a frown. “Didn’t you want to get
going?” she asked. “I know we’ve been gone for a while.”
“It’s a long walk back. Maybe we should rest first.” Without waiting for
her to reply, Bellamy slid his arm down her back and scooped Clarke up in
his arms, the way he’d carried her back last time. But now, her eyes were
bright and focused on his, her arms laced around his neck. Slowly, Bellamy
guided them both to the ground, which was covered in moss and damp
leaves. “Better?” Bellamy whispered.
Clarke responded by twining her hands in his hair and kissing him.
Bellamy closed his eyes and pulled her closer, forgetting everything but the
feeling of Clarke’s body against him.
“Are you cold?” she asked, and he realized that at some point she had
pulled his shirt over his head.
“No,” he said softly. He knew in an objective sense that it was cold out,
but he didn’t feel it. He leaned back and looked at her, her hair spilling out
over the grass. “Are you?”
He ran his hand lightly along her side, and Clarke stiffened. “Bellamy,”
she whispered. “Have you ever…?”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to. Bellamy took his
time answering, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her delicate pink
lips. “I have,” he said finally. He could tell from Clarke’s telltale flush that
she hadn’t, and was a little surprised, given her history with Wells. “But just
with one person,” he added. “Someone I really cared about.”
He wanted to say more, but his voice faltered. All those memories of
Lilly were wrapped up in pain. And the only thing he wanted to think about
right now was the beautiful girl next to him: a girl he would never, ever let
go of, no matter what happened.
“Seriously? You took the whole thing?” Bellamy asked, surprised and more than a little
impressed. They were in the emergency staircase behind the care center—technically it
was past curfew, but no one ever really kept tabs on the older kids, so it was easy for
Bellamy and Lilly to meet here.
Lilly held up the platter of cakes she’d stolen from the distribution center. They were
meant for some Commitment Ceremony on Phoenix, but now they were about to be
committed to Bellamy’s and Lilly’s stomachs.
Bellamy grinned. “I’ve really been a bad influence on you, haven’t I?”
“Please. Don’t give yourself too much credit.” Lilly popped an apple tart into her mouth.
She picked up a vanilla cake—Bellamy’s favorite—and handed it to him. “I always had it in
me.”
Lilly raised her eyebrow in a way that was so adorable, Bellamy was seized by a
sudden, mad desire to kiss her. But he knew better. He’d kissed girls before, and it had
never done anything except scramble their brains, turning them into a walking mass of
giggles who always wanted to hold his hand. Lilly was his best friend. Kissing her would
most definitely be a mistake.
“Save this one for Octavia,” Lilly said, handing him a cake garnished with Venus berries.
Bellamy set the cake carefully on the step next to him, then went back to devouring his
own. He knew from experience that it was always best to get rid of stolen goods as quickly
as possible.
Lilly laughed, and he looked up at her with a grin. “What?” Bellamy asked, wiping his
mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t you dare criticize my table manners. We’re nowhere
near a table.”
“I’m actually curious,” she asked with faux sincerity. “How did you manage to get so
much cake on your face?” He swatted at her, and she laughed. “I don’t think I could get that
much cake on my face if I tried.”
“Challenge accepted.” Bellamy reached over, scraped the frosting off one of the cakes,
and smeared it across her chin and mouth. She shrieked and pushed him away, but not
before he managed to put a second dollop on the tip of her nose.
“Bellamy!” she exclaimed. “Do you know how much we could have sold that for?”
Bellamy smirked. It was hard to take someone covered in icing very seriously. “Oh, trust
me, this visual is priceless.”
Lilly’s expression shifted to something he couldn’t quite identify. “Is it?” she asked softly.
He closed his eyes, bracing himself for icing all over his face—and felt Lilly’s lips on his. He
froze for a moment in surprise, then kissed her back. Her kiss was soft, and tasted like
sugar.
When she finally pulled away, he searched her face, wondering what had just
happened. “Oh,” she said. “I think I forgot something.”
“What?” Bellamy shifted awkwardly. He knew it was a bad idea to kiss his best friend,
he never should have—
“I missed a spot,” Lilly murmured, pulling him forward and kissing him again.
Clarke sat up so quickly, her head bumped against Bellamy’s chin. “Whoa,”
he said, taking her by the shoulders. “Clarke, it’s okay. We don’t have to do
anything right now.” He rubbed his hands in slow circles on her back. Her
skin was cold through her thin T-shirt.
“It’s not that,” Clarke said quickly. “I just… I have something I need to
tell you.”
Bellamy took Clarke’s hand and interlocked her fingers with his. “You
can tell me anything,” he assured her.
She pulled her hand away, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging
them tightly. “I don’t really know how to say this,” Clarke began, almost
more to herself than to him. She stared straight ahead, unwilling—or unable
—to meet his eyes. “I’ve only told one person before, and it didn’t end
well.”
He knew instinctively she was talking about Wells. “It’s okay.” He
reached an arm around her shoulders. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”
She finally turned to face him, her expression stricken. “I wouldn’t
promise that.” She exhaled, seeming to deflate, and then, haltingly, began to
speak.
At first, Bellamy thought Clarke’s story about the testing was some kind
of joke. He couldn’t believe what she was telling him—how her parents
were researching radiation, how they were forced by the Vice Chancellor to
conduct experiments on unregistered children. But one look in Clarke’s
eyes and he knew that this was all terrifyingly real.
“That’s monstrous,” Bellamy finally interrupted, praying that she’d say
something to make it all make sense, to explain why she was telling him all
of this now. Suddenly, another thought made his blood run cold. “Octavia
was unregistered,” he said slowly. “Was she next in line for your little
experiments?” He shuddered in horror, imagining his sister locked in a
hidden lab where no one would hear her cry—where no one would know
she was slowly being poisoned to death.
“I don’t know,” Clarke said. “I don’t know how the children were
selected. But it was terrible. I hated myself every day.”
“Then why didn’t you stop it? Why did your parents kill innocent
children? How evil were they?”
“They weren’t evil. They didn’t have a choice!”
She was on the verge of tears, but Bellamy didn’t care. “Of course they
did,” he spat. “I made a choice to do everything I could to protect Octavia.
But you made a choice to stand by and watch a bunch of kids die.”
“I didn’t always stand by.” Clarke closed her eyes. “Not with Lilly.”
It took a moment for Bellamy to understand what Clarke was saying.
“Lilly? That’s how you knew her? Lilly was one of your… subjects?”
Clarke nodded, wincing, and Bellamy’s voice rose in anger. “She didn’t die
from some mysterious illness. She died because your murderer parents
performed experiments on her.” Lilly. The only person on the ship who’d
cared about him, aside from Octavia. The only person he’d ever loved.
He paused as Clarke’s words sank in. “What do you mean, you didn’t
always stand by?” When Clarke said nothing, he pressed on. “You mean
you helped her escape? Is she still alive?”
“She was my friend, Bellamy.” Tears were streaming down Clarke’s
cheeks, but Bellamy ignored them. “She told me how to talk to boys, and
made me promise to wear my hair down once a week. I used to bring her
books, and she would read them aloud in all these funny voices, until she
got too sick, and then I read them to her. And then, when she asked me to
help her, I did it, I had to, she didn’t give me a choice…”
“Help her how?” Bellamy asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“I… She begged me to make the pain go away. She asked me—” Clarke
sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her voice breaking.
“To help her die.”
“You’re lying,” Bellamy said, feeling nauseous. An hour ago he would
have insisted that Clarke was incapable of something like that, would have
defended her honor to the death. But now the girl in front of him looked
like a monstrous stranger. Lilly, though, he knew. “She would never have
said that,” he snarled, rising to his feet. “She would’ve done everything
possible to survive your sick game.”
“Bellamy,” Clarke started weakly. “You don’t understand—” She broke
off as a sob rose in her throat.
“Don’t you dare tell me what I understand,” Bellamy cut her off. “I
never want to see you again. Maybe you can offer yourself up to the
Earthborns. Wouldn’t that be fun? A whole new population of children to
experiment on.” He spun around and strode off, leaving Clarke alone and
trembling in the woods.
He tore through the forest blindly, blinking back tears. He never should
have trusted Clarke, never should have let himself get close to her. He’d
learned long ago that the only person he could rely on was himself. And the
only person who mattered to him was Octavia.
He’d wasted too much time already. It was time to get his sister back.
He was done playing nice with the Earthborn girl. He was done playing
at all.
CHAPTER 16
Wells
He’d been worried about how to sneak back into camp without being
spotted, although at least this time, he and Sasha weren’t carrying food—
only the memories of the ruined house that clung to his mind like a fine film
of dust.
When Wells saw Clarke step around from behind a large tree, he exhaled
with relief. They were close enough to the clearing that he could pass Sasha
to Clarke, and let her pretend that she’d been escorting the prisoner to the
bathroom. She wouldn’t mind covering for him. Of all people, Clarke saw
the foolishness of trying to keep Sasha tied up in the cabin.
Wells raised his hand in greeting, then noticed that something was
wrong. Clarke always moved with such purpose—whether reaching for a
book in the library at home, or striding forward to examine a plant that
caught her eye. It was a shock to watch her trudge through the woods as if
dragging some invisible weight behind her.
“Clarke,” Wells called. He exchanged a look with Sasha, who nodded a
silent agreement to stay where she was, then he broke into a jog. As he got
closer, he saw that her eyes were red. Clarke, who’d sat through her
parents’ trial in stony silence, had been crying? “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, looking straight ahead to avoid meeting his eyes.
Even without the tears, he’d know she was lying.
“Come on, Clarke,” Wells said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure
Sasha was still safely out of earshot. “After everything we’ve been
through”—after all the pain we’ve caused each other, Wells wanted to say,
but didn’t—“don’t you think I know when something’s wrong?” She
nodded, sniffing, but said nothing. Wells frowned. “Did something happen
with Bellamy?”
He expected her to brush him off, but to his surprise, Clarke looked up at
him, her eyes shiny with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Wells. I
punished you for so long. I should have forgiven you…” Her voice broke
and she turned away.
“It’s okay,” Wells said hesitantly, wrapping one arm around her.
Somehow, he knew her apology had more to do with Bellamy than it did
with him. “What can I do to help?” he asked. “Want me to go beat him up
for you?”
“No,” Clarke sniffed, but at least she was smiling.
Before he could say anything else, Clarke’s eyes widened as she caught
sight of something over Wells’s shoulder. For a moment, he thought she was
looking at Sasha, but as he turned to follow Clarke’s gaze, his discomfort
turned to horror.
Something was hanging from the branch of a tall, thick tree, rotating
slowly, wobbling from side to side as it bumped against the trunk.
It’s a person, Wells thought, before realizing that was impossible. No
one’s head could hang at that angle. No one’s face could possibly be that
blue.
Behind him, Clarke made a sound he’d never heard before, half shriek,
half moan.
Wells took a few steps forward, waiting for his brain to offer another
explanation, but nothing came.
“No,” he said aloud, blinking rapidly to dispel the image, like he used to
do with his cornea slips.
But the rotating shape remained.
It was a small girl, and although her face was bloated almost beyond
recognition, he knew her by her shiny dark hair. Her delicate wrists and
small hands that had always surprised Wells with their strength.
“Priya,” Clarke gasped behind him. She staggered next to Wells and
clutched his arm. For the first time since they’d landed on Earth, Clarke was
too horror-struck to do more than stare.
The rope that was wrapped around Priya’s neck was digging into her
skin—skin that had been golden brown hours ago, and was now a mottled
blue. “We have to get her down,” Wells said, although he knew she was
beyond help.
He took a shaky step forward, then realized that Sasha was already
scaling the tree. “Pass me your knife,” she said as she began creeping along
the branch. “Now,” she ordered when Wells didn’t move.
He took a few lurching steps forward while he fumbled for the knife in
his pocket, then tossed it up to Sasha, who caught it one-handed.
Silently, Sasha cut the rope tying Priya to the tree, and lowered her
carefully down. “Do you think… did she do this to herself?” Wells asked,
turning away as Clarke felt the bruised neck for a pulse they all knew she
wouldn’t find. Quiet, helpful, steadfast Priya. Why would she have done
something like this? Was it terrible homesickness? Or had she sensed the
hundred were beyond saving? Threads of guilt began to wind their way
through his horror. Could he have done more to make her feel safe?
“No,” Sasha said, her voice shaking. She’d climbed down from the tree
and was now standing a few meters behind Wells.
“I’m not sure yet,” Clarke said without taking her eyes from Priya. “I’d
have to think more about the marks on her neck, the position of the rope…”
She trailed off. Wells knew she didn’t relish the role of coroner.
“She didn’t kill herself,” Sasha said, more firmly this time.
“And how do you know?” Clarke asked, finally tearing her eyes from
Priya to face Sasha. Wells couldn’t tell whether Clarke disliked having her
medical authority questioned, or if she resented the outsider’s intrusion into
their private pain.
“Her feet,” Sasha said softly, pointing.
Until this moment, Wells hadn’t realized that Priya was barefoot. He
stepped forward and squinted in an attempt to see what Sasha was talking
about. There were marks on her soles that, at first, looked like streaks of
dirt. But as he got closer, Wells realized they were cuts—cuts in the shapes
of letters.
“Oh my god,” Clarke gasped.
There was a message carved into Priya’s flesh. One word on the sole of
each small foot.
Go. Home.
He didn’t have to worry about returning Sasha to the cabin. Once the sound
of footsteps and muffled shouts made it clear that people were coming to
investigate Clarke’s cries, Wells sent Sasha back into the woods with
instructions to sneak back into the clearing when the coast was clear. As
word about Priya spread, the clearing would fill with enough commotion
that no one would notice the Earthborn girl had gone missing.
About ten minutes later, Eric and an Arcadian girl were carrying Priya’s
body back down the hill, while Antonio escorted the wide-eyed, shaking
Clarke. Wells wished he could help her himself—especially considering
how upset she’d been about Bellamy earlier—but someone needed to
investigate the crime scene, such as it was, before the sun set.
He watched as the others trailed after the body. Once the impromptu
funeral procession had disappeared behind the trees, he began scanning the
ground, trying to determine whether Priya had been seized in the forest, or
dragged from another location. Wells tried not to think about how terrified
she must’ve been, or what the Earthborns had done to keep her from
screaming. He tried not to think about whether she’d felt the knife digging
into the soles of her feet, or if they’d waited until she was already dead to
carve her flesh.
He climbed up onto the branch to examine the frayed pieces of rope. It
turned out to be one of the thin, nylon cords that had secured the supply
containers in the dropship. That meant that the Earthborns had been in their
camp.
As more grim thoughts began to overpower his resolve, another scream
echoed through the trees, making his heart lurch in his chest.
Sasha.
In one smooth movement, he dropped from the branch and broke into a
sprint.
The scream came again, louder this time. Wells sped up, cursing every
time he skidded on a patch of mud or tripped over a hidden stone. He tore
past the path that had been formed by frequent trips to the stream, following
the sound deeper into the woods.
When he crashed through a clump of bushes and saw Sasha with
Bellamy, his first reaction was relief. Bellamy had heard the screams too
and come running. But then two details of the scene clicked into focus—the
fear in Sasha’s face, and the glint of metal at her throat.
Bellamy had his arm wrapped around Sasha’s neck from behind, and
was pressing something sharp and silver to her skin. “Tell me where your
friends took my sister,” he was saying, his eyes wild. “Where do your
people live? What are they doing with her?”
Sasha gasped and whispered something Wells couldn’t hear. With a
shout, he hurtled forward and knocked Bellamy to the ground.
“Are you crazy?” Wells shouted, kicking the piece of metal—a twisted
remnant of the dropship—out of Bellamy’s hand. He turned to Sasha, who
had her arms wrapped around her sides, trembling. “Are you okay?” he
asked, more gently.
She nodded, but when she reached up to touch her neck, her hand came
away smeared with blood. “Let me see.” Wells pushed back her hair to get a
closer look—there was a small puncture wound at the base of her throat, but
just a scratch. She would be fine. Wells didn’t want to think about what
would’ve happened if he’d arrived any later.
“What the hell?” he spat, turning to Bellamy, who was rising shakily to
his feet. When Bellamy caught sight of the blood on Sasha’s neck, he
seemed to pale slightly, but his tone was indignant.
“I was doing what I had to do, to get Octavia back. It’s clear that I’m the
only one who still cares what happens to her.” Bellamy glanced at Sasha. “I
wasn’t going to hurt her. I just wanted to show her that this isn’t a game. It’s
my sister’s life.”
“You need to stay the hell away from her,” Wells said, stepping in front
of Sasha.
Bellamy’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Are you serious? Whose side are
you on, Wells? Every day that passes, my chances of finding Octavia alive
grow smaller. What do you think she’s doing, having a tea party with the
Earthborns? They could be torturing her for all we know.” The pain in his
voice unlocked something inside Wells’s chest. He knew how Bellamy felt,
terror and desperation pushing him to the brink—because it was exactly
how he’d felt when he learned that Clarke was going to be executed, back
on the Colony.
“I know,” Wells said, struggling to keep his voice level. “But no more
trying to hurt anyone, okay? That’s not how we do things.”
“Please,” Bellamy shot back. “If I was actually trying to hurt her, there
would be a pool of her Earthborn blood on the ground right now.”
“That’s enough!” Wells shouted, his voice raw. “I’m taking Sasha back
to camp. I suggest you stay here until you’re ready to have a rational
discussion.”
Wells grabbed Sasha by the wrist and began leading her back toward the
clearing. “Traitor,” he heard Bellamy mutter under his breath. Wells tried to
ignore him, but he couldn’t help wondering if Bellamy was right. Was he
foolish to trust Sasha? He glanced over at her face, which was completely
closed off, her eyes looking straight ahead. His brain flashed, unbidden, to
an image of Priya’s hanging body. They’d been inside the camp. They’d
used the hundred’s own rope to kill her.
“I’m sorry about what happened back there,” Wells said quietly. “Are
you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” But her voice was still shaky, and he could feel her
trembling against him. Then her forearm shifted in his wrist, and she
slipped her palm into his, still looking straight ahead and revealing nothing.
Wells was silent as they walked back toward camp, hand in hand.
CHAPTER 17
Glass
“Don’t look,” Luke said as he pulled Glass away from the body on the
ground. She averted her eyes before she had a chance to see whether it was
a guard or a civilian. She didn’t even know if it was a man or a woman.
Glass wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Had she really thought the
skybridge would open, and all the Waldenites and Arcadians would file
onto Phoenix in a calm and orderly fashion, bidding polite hellos to the
people who’d left them all to die?
No, she’d known it wouldn’t be simple, or organized. But she hadn’t
expected the noise that filled the skybridge when the barrier raised—an
earsplitting chorus of sobs and shouts and cheers and screams.
She hadn’t expected a male voice to come blasting out of the speakers.
For the past seventeen years, Phoenix’s PA system had been used for inane,
prerecorded announcements read by the same slightly robotic-sounding
woman. “Please remember to abide by all curfew restrictions” and “All
signs of illness must be reported to a health monitor.”
But as the first wave of people surged across the skybridge, a very
different voice rang out over the chaotic clamor. “All residents of Walden
and Arcadia must return to their own ships immediately. This is your only
warning. All trespassers will be shot.”
Hearing a man’s voice coming out of the speakers was as disconcerting
as seeing the skybridge closed, almost as if the ship had been possessed.
But even that wasn’t as troubling as the sight of a dozen guards marching
toward the bridge, guns raised.
Even then, Glass hadn’t expected them to actually shoot anyone.
She was wrong.
The guards had opened fire on the first wave of Waldenites who crossed
the bridge, but even that wasn’t enough to deter the crowds who rushed
forward to overpower the guards and take their weapons. Within minutes,
Phoenix was filled with Waldenites and Arcadians. At first, most had just
seemed relieved to be able to breathe, taking huge gasps of oxygen-rich air.
But then they began to spread out throughout Phoenix, carrying whatever
they could find as weapons and breaking down doors to steal from the
Phoenicians. It had rapidly gotten violent and out of hand.
Luke pulled Glass to the side as two men ran past, each holding an
enormous container of protein packets. Then another pair of Waldenites
turned the corner, but these weren’t carrying supplies—they were dragging
an unconscious guard.
Glass covered her mouth in horror as she watched the young guard’s
head roll from side to side. There was a deep purple bruise on his cheek,
and he was bleeding from a gash in his shoulder, leaving a trail of blood
behind him. She could feel Luke tense next to her, and she grabbed his arm
to restrain him. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Let them go.”
Luke watched the Waldenites drag the guard around a corner and
disappear, although they could still hear their laughter echoing in the
corridor. “I could have taken them,” he said with a huff.
In another situation, Glass might’ve smiled at Luke’s indignation, but
she felt only a growing panic. All she could think about was finding her
mother and heading to the launch deck. She could only hope that her
mother was safe at home, that she’d known better than to venture out into
the chaos.
Glass loved her mother, but she had never been particularly good in a
crisis. Over the years, Glass had realized that there were some battles Sonja
simply couldn’t face.
And so Glass had learned how to fight for both of them.
It felt odd walking back from the Exchange by herself, without Cora or Huxley next to her
chattering about their purchases, or scheming of ways to keep their parents from
discovering how many points they’d spent. Their absence made Glass all the more aware of
the lightness of her pocket. Just minutes ago, it had held her mother’s last necklace.
Huxley’s mother had appeared at the jewelry booth just as Glass began haggling with
the vendor about how many points the necklace was worth. “It’s a lovely piece, dear,” she
murmured, giving Glass a pitying smile before leaning over to say something to a woman
Glass didn’t recognize. Glass had flushed, but kept arguing. She and her mom needed
those ration points.
Moving through the Exchange, Glass had felt everyone’s eyes on her. Phoenix was in a
state of delighted shock at the scandal surrounding her family. Affairs were nothing new, but
moving out was a drastic step given the housing shortage. And according to regulations,
two people couldn’t occupy a flat meant for three, which meant that Glass and Sonja had
been forced to move to a smaller unit on an inconvenient deck. Now, without her father’s
seemingly endless supply of ration points, they’d had to sell practically everything they
owned at the Exchange just to keep from living on water and protein paste.
Glass turned down their hallway and sighed with relief when she saw that it was empty.
The one benefit of living in such an undesirable location was that she wouldn’t run into
people she knew. Or, used to know. It had been weeks since Cora had done more than give
her a curt nod in the corridor, grabbing Huxley’s elbow when she smiled at Glass. Wells was
the only one of her friends who acted like nothing had changed—but he’d recently started
officer training, which kept him so busy, he barely had time to visit his mother in the hospital,
let alone hang out with Glass.
She pressed her hand against the door’s sensor and stepped inside, wrinkling her nose.
Their old flat had always smelled like a combination of expensive greenhouse fruit and her
mother’s perfume, and she still hadn’t gotten used to the stale, stuffy scent that choked the
smaller unit.
It was dark inside, so Sonja couldn’t be home. The lights were connected to motion
sensors. But when Glass stepped inside, they didn’t turn on. That was strange. She waved
her hand up and down, but still nothing happened. She groaned. Now she would have to
send a maintenance request, which always took forever. In the past, her father simply
would’ve messaged his friend Jessamyn—the head of the repairs unit—and it would be
fixed right away. But Glass couldn’t stomach the thought of asking for any favors from her
father.
“Glass? Is that you?” Sonja rose from the couch, an amorphous shape in the dim light.
She started to walk toward Glass, but yelped as she bumped into something that clanked to
the floor.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Glass demanded. “Did you send a message to
maintenance?” Sonja didn’t answer. “I’ll do it myself,” Glass said, annoyed.
“No, don’t. That won’t work.” Sonja sounded weary.
“What are you talking about?” Glass snapped. She knew she should try harder to be
patient with her mother, but she’d been so infuriating lately.
“The sensor isn’t broken. We went over our power quota, and I don’t have the ration
points to cover it.”
“What?” Glass said. “That’s ridiculous. They can’t do this to us.”
“We don’t have a choice. We’ll just have to wait until—”
“We’re not waiting,” Glass said indignantly.
She spun on her heel and strode out of the dark flat.
Cora’s father’s office was at the end of a long corridor where most of the department heads
worked. The hall wasn’t particularly busy—from her experience, most of the Councilappointed heads spent very little time in their offices—but her stomach still twisted at the
thought of running into one of her dad’s friends.
Mr. Drake’s assistant, a young man Glass didn’t recognize, was sitting at a desk,
fiddling with some numbers in a holograph. He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Can I
help you?”
“I need to talk to Mr. Drake.”
“I’m afraid the Resources Chief is busy at the moment. Why don’t I take a message and
I’ll let him know—”
“It’s okay. I’ll let him know.” Glass gave the boy a patronizing smile and swept past him
into the office.
Cora’s father looked up from behind his desk when Glass walked in. For a second, he
just stared at her in surprise, but then his face broke out into a big, insincere smile. “Glass!
What a nice surprise. What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
“You can turn my lights back on,” she said. “I’m sure it was just a mistake, of course.
You would never knowingly let me and my mother spend the next month sitting in the dark.”
Mr. Drake frowned as he tapped on his desk, opening a file on the screen. “Well, you
went over your quota, so unless you have points to transfer to your account, I’m afraid
there’s nothing I can do.”
“We both know that’s a lie. You’re the Resources Chief—you can do whatever you
want.”
He gave Glass a cold, appraising look. “I have the well-being of the entire Colony to
consider. If someone takes more than their fair share, it would be irresponsible of me to
make exceptions.”
Glass tilted her head to the side. “So bribing your way into the greenhouse and selling
fruit on the black market doesn’t count as an exception?” she said with feigned innocence.
Mr. Drake’s cheeks grew red. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sorry. I must’ve misunderstood Cora. I’ll have to get my friend Wells to explain it to me.
He knows much more about all this than I do, since he’s the Chancellor’s son and all.”
Mr. Drake was silent for a moment before clearing his throat. “I suppose I can make an
allowance this one time. Now, you should be on your way. I have a meeting.”
Glass flashed him a too-bright smile. “Thank you so much for your help,” she said, then
swept out of the office, pausing only to nod at the glaring assistant.
When she arrived home, the lights were already back on. “Did you do this?” Sonja
asked, gesturing to the lights in amazement.
“I just cleared up a little misunderstanding,” Glass said, going to the kitchen to assess
their options for dinner.
“Thank you, Glass. I’m very proud of you.”
Glass felt a thrill of satisfaction, but as she turned around to smile at Sonja, she realized
her mother had already disappeared back into her bedroom.
Glass’s smile faded as she stared at the spot where Sonja had been standing. She’d
spent her whole life believing that she’d never be as beautiful as her mother, never be as
charming. But perhaps Glass could succeed where her mother had failed. She would figure
out how to get what she wanted—what she needed—even when her long lashes failed to
convince, when her body was no longer young and beautiful.
She’d be more than pretty. She’d be strong.
Glass’s hallway was startlingly quiet. Glass wasn’t sure whether this was a
good or a bad sign. Her heart racing, she walked up to their door and
pressed her thumb to the scanner, Luke placing a hand on her shoulder in
silent reassurance. But before the machine had even read her print, the door
flew outward.
“Oh my god, Glass!” In a flash, her mother’s arms were around her.
“How did you get back? The skybridge is closed…” She trailed off as she
caught sight of Luke.
Glass braced for Sonja’s relief to curdle into disdain at the sight of him
—the boy she blamed for ruining Glass’s life. But to her surprise, her
mother stepped forward and clasped Luke’s hand in her own. “Thank you,”
she said with quiet dignity. “Thank you for bringing her back.”
Luke nodded, evidently unsure how to respond, but his good manners
and self-control won out as usual. “Actually, it was Glass who brought me.
You have a remarkably brave daughter, Mrs. Sorenson.”
Sonja smiled as she released Luke and wrapped her arm around Glass. “I
know.” She led them inside to the tiny but neat living room. Glass’s eyes
darted around, but she saw no evidence of packing, or any intention to
leave.
“What’s been going on over here?” she asked without thinking. “Do
they know how much longer the oxygen will last? Are there plans to
evacuate?”
Sonja shook her head. “No one knows. The Chancellor hasn’t emerged
from his coma, so Rhodes is still in charge.” Glass felt a pang of sadness for
Wells—it had been three weeks; at this point, it seemed like the Chancellor
might never recover. Especially not in time to make it off the ship.
“So what are they telling people?” Glass asked, shooting her mother a
look. The night before she fled for Walden, she’d seen her mother and
Rhodes together—and they had looked cozier than friends had a right to be.
But Sonja just shook her head.
“Nothing. There haven’t been any updates, any instructions.” She sighed
and her face fell. “But people are talking, of course. Once they closed the
skybridge, it became clear that… well… that things weren’t going to get
any better.”
“What about the dropships?” Glass asked. “Has anyone said anything?”
“Not officially. The entrance to the launch was still shut, last I heard.
But people have already started heading down there, just in case.”
She didn’t need to say anything else. The ship had been designed with
enough dropships for the population of the original Colony. After three
centuries in space, that number had more than quadrupled. Not even the
harsh population controls enacted a century ago had managed to make
much of a dent.
For children on Phoenix, the limited number of dropships had always
been something of a joke. When someone gave a stupid answer during
tutorial, or messed up during a game on the gravity track, one of their
friends would inevitably say something along the lines of “We’re giving
away your seat on the dropship.” It was safe to laugh about, because
humans were supposed to stay on the Colony for at least another century.
And when they finally did return to Earth, there’d be plenty of time for the
dropships to shuttle everyone back and forth. No one had ever imagined
what would happen in the event of a large-scale evacuation. The prospect
was too grim.
“We should go now, then,” Glass said firmly. “There’s no point in
waiting for an announcement. By then, it’ll be too late. All the spots will be
taken.”
“I’ll just get my things,” Sonja said, her eyes darting around the room as
she took inventory of her scant possessions.
“There’s no time,” Luke said, taking Glass’s mother by the arm and
leading her toward the door. “Nothing is worth losing our chance at getting
to Earth.” Sonja nodded, her eyes flickering with fear, and followed Luke
through the door.
The closer they got to the launch deck, the more crowded the halls
became—filled with anxious Phoenicians, some laden with bags and
children, others carrying nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Luke grabbed Glass with one hand and Sonja with the other, guiding
them through the crowd toward the stairwell. Glass tried not to make eye
contact with any of the people she passed. She didn’t want to remember
their faces when she thought about the dead.
CHAPTER 18
Clarke
“It’s not serious,” Clarke told Sasha as she finished cleaning the cut on her
neck and turned to rummage through their dwindling bandage supply. She
reached into the box, then hesitated, unsure whether to use one of the
remaining bandages. While Sasha’s wound wasn’t deep and would certainly
heal on its own, it’d feel good to be able to do something.
“You’re going to be fine,” Clarke said, wishing the same were true for
the girl lying on the far side of the cabin, her poor, disfigured face covered
with a blanket no one would want to remove. Clarke had asked to examine
Priya’s body one more time before they buried her, to see if there was any
important evidence she and Wells had missed in their shock and horror.
Wells nodded at her from where he was standing guard at the doorway,
and Clarke followed him outside.
“Bellamy’s gone insane,” he whispered to Clarke, and explained what
Bellamy had done, how he’d tried to force Sasha to give him information
she didn’t have. “You need to talk to him.”
Clarke winced. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d driven him to
do it; telling Bellamy about Lilly had pushed him over the edge. But she
couldn’t imagine filling Wells in on what had happened in the woods. “He’s
not going to listen to me,” she said, glancing around the clearing, somehow
both relieved and disappointed not to see Bellamy anywhere.
“I’ll go look for him,” Wells said wearily. “Will you stay here and keep
an eye on Sasha? If Bellamy comes back and finds her gone, he’ll murder
all of us.” He grimaced at his choice of words, then closed his eyes and
rubbed his temples.
Clarke’s hand extended out of habit, trained to ruffle Wells’s hair
whenever stress prompted this uncanny imitation of his father. She caught
herself just in time, and placed her hand on his shoulder instead. “You know
none of this is your fault, right?”
“Yes, I know.” It came out sharper than he’d evidently meant, because
he sighed and shook his head. “Sorry. I mean, thank you.”
Clarke nodded, then glanced over her shoulder at the infirmary cabin.
“Does she really need to stay in there? It seems cruel to make her sit so near
—” She cut herself off before she said the body. “Priya.”
Wells shuddered, then looked over at the other side of the clearing where
a mutinous-looking Graham was standing with his friends. They were too
far away to hear, but their heads swiveled back and forth between the grave
Eric was digging, and the infirmary cabin behind Wells and Clarke. “I think
it’s best to keep her away from the others for now. We can’t risk angering
the Earthborns if something happens to her. Look what they’ve done
already, unprovoked.”
He was speaking calmly, logically, in the same tone he’d use to talk
about water shifts and firewood duty, but there was something in Wells’s
expression that made Clarke wonder if perhaps he had another reason for
wanting to keep Sasha safe.
“Okay,” Clarke agreed. After Wells left, she took a deep breath and
walked back into the cabin. Sasha sat cross-legged on a cot, running her
finger along the bandage on her neck.
“Try not to touch it,” Clarke said, sitting down on the edge of her own
cot. “The bandage is sterile, but your hands aren’t.”
Sasha’s hand dropped to her lap as she shot a glance at Priya. “I’m so
sorry,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe they did that to her.”
“Thank you,” Clarke said stiffly, unsure how to respond. But when she
saw that the pain in Sasha’s face was real, she softened slightly. “I’m sorry
we brought her here with you. It’ll just be for a little while.”
“It’s okay. You should take your time. It’s important to spend time with
the dead. We always wait until the third sunset to bury anyone.”
Clarke stared at her. “You mean, you leave the body out?”
Sasha nodded. “People grieve differently. It’s important to give everyone
time to say good-bye in their own way.” She paused and surveyed Clarke
thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s different on the Colony. Death is rarer there,
isn’t it? You have medicine for everything?” Her voice was frayed by a mix
of wonder and longing that made Clarke wonder what kind of supplies the
Earthborns had, and how many people they’d lost from a lack thereof.
“A lot of things. But not everything. A friend of mine lost his mother a
few years ago. It was terrible. She’d been in the hospital for months, but in
the end, there was nothing they could do.”
Sasha drew her knees up to her chest. She’d removed her black leather
boots, revealing thick socks that stretched all the way up her calves. “It was
Wells’s mother, wasn’t it?” she asked.
Clarke blinked at her in surprise. “Did he tell you?” she asked.
Sasha turned away and began fiddling with the edge of her scraggly
black sweater. “No, I just can tell he’s suffered a lot. You can see it in his
eyes.”
“Well, he’s caused quite a bit of suffering himself,” Clarke said, slightly
more harshly than she’d meant to.
Sasha raised her head and stared at Clarke with an expression that was
more curious than hurt. “Haven’t we all? You know, it’s funny. When I
thought about kids on the Colony, I imagined you all as totally carefree.
After all, what could you have to worry about? You had robot servants,
medicine that allowed everyone to live to a hundred and fifty, and you spent
all day surrounded by stars.”
“Robot servants?” Clarke repeated, feeling her brow furrow. “Where’d
you hear that?”
“Just from stories people told. We knew most of it probably wasn’t true,
but it was fun to think about.” She paused and looked sheepish, then started
to slip her feet back inside her boots. “Come on, I have something to show
you.”
Clarke stood up slowly. “I told Wells we’d stay here.”
“So he’s in charge?”
It was an innocent question, but it still rankled Clarke. Yes, Wells had
been working hard to keep the camp from dissolving into chaos, but that
didn’t mean he got to order everyone around. “He’s not in charge of me,”
Clarke said. “So where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” Seeing Clarke’s hesitation, Sasha sighed. “Don’t you
trust me by now?”
Clarke considered the question. “I suppose I trust you as much as I trust
anyone here. After all, you aren’t on Earth because you committed a
crime.”
Sasha looked at her in confusion, but before she had time to ask a
question, Clarke turned to quickly check on her patients. Molly and Felix
were unchanged, but there was something odd about the Walden girl’s lip. It
seemed to be stained with something—was it blood? Clarke suppressed a
gasp as she thought back to Lilly’s final days, when her gums bled so badly,
it became difficult to talk. But when Clarke grabbed a scrap of cloth to wipe
the blood from the girl’s mouth, it came away easily, almost as if it were…
“Are you ready?” Sasha asked.
Clarke turned with a sigh and nodded. Perhaps Sasha could show her
some medicinal plants the Earthborns used. At this point, she was ready to
try anything.
She opened the door and they stepped into the clearing. “It’s okay,” she
called to the boy and the girl Wells had assigned to guard the cabin,
imbuing as much authority as possible into her voice. “I’m just taking the
prisoner for a bathroom break.”
The girl stared at them warily, but the boy nodded. “It’s fine,” Clarke
saw him mouth to the girl, who remained unconvinced. Clarke didn’t blame
her. There was still no evidence to support Sasha’s claim about the rogue
Earthborns. As they crossed the tree line, the back of Clarke’s neck
prickled, and she started to wonder if it was really a good idea to go off in
the woods with Sasha alone. A chilling thought passed over her. What if
Sasha had been the one who killed all the Colonists?
They walked along in silence. When Sasha stopped to examine a plant
growing along a fallen log, Clarke had trouble thinking about anything
other than how far they’d walked, and if anyone would be able to hear her
scream. She kept seeing Priya, her blue, puffy face and the terrible words
etched into her feet.
She looked up and saw Sasha staring at her. “Sorry, what did you say?”
Clarke asked.
“Just that you should probably pull up this wintershade. It’s growing
awfully close to your camp.”
Clarke glanced at the log, briefly registering the bright red berries. “Are
those good?” she asked, suddenly unable to remember the last time she’d
had anything to eat.
“No! They’re really poisonous,” Sasha said, lurching to stop Clarke
from touching the berries, though she hadn’t even started to reach for them.
A thought crashed through Clarke’s head, then seemed to settle in her
chest. “What are the symptoms?”
Sasha shrugged. “You throw up a lot, I think. You basically can’t get out
of bed for a week.”
Clarke raced through a list of the sick kids’ symptoms: nausea, fever,
fatigue. “Oh my god,” she muttered, thinking about the stain on Molly’s
mouth.
“That’s it,” Clarke said, turning to face Sasha. “That’s what’s making
people sick. They must’ve eaten the berries.”
Sasha’s eyes widened, and then she gave Clarke a small smile. “They’re
going to be okay, then. They tell you to stay away from wintershade, but
unless you eat a whole bush, they’re not fatal.”
Clarke exhaled as relief washed over her. “Is there any sort of antidote?”
“Not that I know of,” Sasha said, thinking. “But when we were seven a
friend of mine ate some on a dare. You should’ve seen the look on his
parents’ faces when they found out, oh my god. But after a week or so he
was totally back to normal—which for him meant causing all kinds of
trouble. So I think you just have to wait it out.”
Clarke grinned and, before she thought better of it, pulled Sasha into a
hug.
“So where are you taking me?” she asked, suddenly happy to be out in
the woods. It felt like a long time since she’d been anywhere but the
infirmary cabin.
“Keep walking. We’re almost there.”
They set off again, and after about ten minutes, Sasha stopped, looked
over her shoulder to make sure no one besides Clarke was watching, then
pulled aside a pile of brush, revealing the entrance to some sort of tunnel in
the hillside. “This way,” Sasha said. “Come on. It’s perfectly safe.”
Again, Clarke felt a prickle of unease as she thought about how far they
were from the camp. But as she caught sight of Sasha’s smiling, eager face,
her suspicion slipped away. They were the ones who’d captured Sasha,
who’d tied her up, denied her food, kept her away from her family. If she
trusted Clarke, then Clarke owed it to her to return the favor.
She watched Sasha duck and disappear into the cave, then took a deep
breath and followed her inside.
Clarke’s chest tightened as she was surrounded by darkness. She reached
her hands to the side, trying to figure out how large the space was. But then
her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she saw that the cave was larger than
her bedroom back on the Colony. There was plenty of air, and enough room
to stand up straight.
The dirt-packed ground was covered with piles of objects. Some she
recognized, like broken seats from the dropship and an outdated tablet, like
the ones they gave to little kids to play with at home. But there were lots of
things she couldn’t identify, scraps of metal that looked similar to the ones
Clarke had discovered in the woods, but not entirely the same.
“What is all this stuff?” Clarke asked, kneeling to examine a cracked
water container.
“I found it after the first dropship crashed,” Sasha said quietly. “The
Colonists left most of it behind, but I couldn’t just abandon it in the woods.
I’d spent my whole life imagining what it was like on the Colony, and now
that there was real stuff from space, right here… I needed to find out more.”
She reached down and picked up the tablet with a wry smile. “I guess you
don’t use these to summon your robot servants.”
Clarke was about to make a joke about sending a robot servant to make
them something to eat, when a glint of burnished silver caught her eye.
Sasha followed her gaze. “That one’s my favorite,” she said, scooping it
up. “I think it’s—”
“A watch,” Clarke said, suddenly numb.
Sasha gave her a funny look and handed it to her. “Are you okay?”
Clarke didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. She ran her finger along the face,
then, trembling, over the silver band. “Clarke,” Sasha called, her voice
sounding far away. “What’s wrong?”
She turned the watch over slowly, although there was no doubt in her
mind what she would see. There they were. Three letters carved into the
metal.
D.B.G.
It was her father’s watch, the one that had been handed down through
her family since her ancestor David Bailey Griffin carried it onto Phoenix
right before the Exodus.
Clarke blinked rapidly. This couldn’t be real. She had to be
hallucinating. There was no possible way for the watch to have made it to
Earth. Her father had been wearing it the last time she saw him, moments
before he died. Before he was given a lethal injection and floated into
space.
She ran her finger along the band, and shivered as a chill passed through
her whole body. Like she’d just held hands with a ghost.
In the end, they let her say good-bye to her father. Since Clarke had been charged but not
yet sentenced, the Chancellor permitted the guards to escort her from her cell to the
medical center.
Unfortunately, the Chancellor’s decision came too late for Clarke to see her mother. She
knew that her mom was gone before the guards even told her—she could see it on their
faces.
The guards led Clarke to a part of the medical center she’d never been in before.
Apprentice medics didn’t participate in executions.
Her father was sitting on a chair in what, at first glance, appeared to be a regular exam
room, except that there were no cabinets full of drugs, no bandages, no scanning
equipment—nothing that was needed to save a life. Only the tools to end it.
“Clarke,” her father said with a smile that didn’t reach his wide, haunted eyes. “It’s going
to be okay.” His voice was shaking, but his smile never wavered.
She broke free of the guards and flung herself at him. She’d promised herself she’d try
not to cry, but it was useless. The moment she felt his arms around her, a series of sobs
tore through her body. Tears streamed down her face and onto her father’s shoulder.
“I need you to be brave,” he said, his voice finally cracking. “You’re going to be fine, you
just need to stay strong. Your eighteenth birthday isn’t far off; they’ll retry you then, and
you’ll be pardoned. You have to.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “I know you’ll be okay, my
brave girl.”
“Dad,” Clarke sobbed. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant—”
“Time’s up,” one of the guards said brusquely.
“No!” Clarke dug her nails into her father’s shoulder, refusing to let go. “Dad, you can’t,
don’t let them, no!”
He kissed the top of her head. “This isn’t good-bye, sweetheart. Mom and I are going to
see you in heaven.”
Heaven? Clarke thought in confusion. Unbidden, the old song lyric popped into her
head. Heaven is a place on Earth. How could she be thinking of something so ridiculous at
a time like this?
He took her hands and clutched them in his. He was still wearing his watch—they
hadn’t confiscated it yet. Should she ask for it? It’d be her last chance to have something to
remember him by. But the thought of her father unclasping it with his shaking hands, leaving
his wrist oddly bare as they strapped him down to the table, was too much for Clarke to
endure.
A guard grabbed her arm. “Come on.”
Clarke cried out as if she’d been burned. “No,” she yelled, trying to wrench herself free.
“Get off of me!”
Her father’s eyes filled with tears. “I love you, Clarke.”
Clarke planted her feet into the floor, but it was no use. They were dragging her
backward. “I love you, Dad,” she said in between sobs. “I love you.”
Clarke was holding the watch so tightly, her palm felt numb. She kept her
eyes on the second hand, but of course it didn’t move; the watch had
stopped working years ago. When Clarke asked her father why he wore it,
he’d told her, “Its job isn’t to tell time anymore. It’s to remind us of our
past, of all the things that are important to us. It may no longer tick, but it
carries the memory of every life it recorded. It beats with the echo of a
million heartbeats.” Now it was holding her father’s.
“Are you okay?” Sasha asked, placing her hand on Clarke’s shoulder.
She flinched and spun around. “Where did you get this?” she asked.
She’d gone so deep inside the memory, she was surprised to hear her own
voice echoing in the cave.
“In the woods,” Sasha said. “Like the rest of this stuff. One of the
Colonists must’ve lost it in the crash. I would’ve given it back, but by the
time I found it, they were all gone.”
Could it be? Could Clarke’s father have been sent to Earth instead of
executed that day? What about her mother? She knew it was crazy, but she
couldn’t think of any other reason the watch would have ended up here. By
rights it should’ve been given to her after her father’s death, but since she
was in Confinement herself, it would’ve been archived with the other
historical artifacts, part of the collective heritage of the ship. And yet it
wasn’t back up on the Colony, locked in a dusty archive box. It was here, on
Earth.
She thought of her father’s good-bye, how he’d told Clarke that he
would see her in heaven. She’d always thought that was a strange thing to
say—he’d never been one to really believe in the afterlife. Was it actually a
message? Maybe he’d wanted her to think of the song lyrics, and make the
connection, since surely he couldn’t have said such a thing in front of the
guards?
It took all of Clarke’s control not to spill everything to Sasha. She was
desperate to share her theory, to have someone confirm that she wasn’t
being crazy. For all she knew, Sasha had met her parents.
But as Sasha looked at her with an expression of confusion and pity,
Clarke simply stammered, “This watch… looks familiar.” Hope swelled up
within her, filling the cracks in her broken heart, and she knew she couldn’t
bear to have anything sweep it away. Not yet. Not until she found out
definitively what had happened to the Colonists.
The more she thought about it, the more it seemed possible. Maybe her
parents were part of that first expedition. They’d been sentenced to die, but
Wells’s father could have taken pity on them. He couldn’t spare their lives
publicly, but what if he was able to put them on the secret initial mission to
Earth? After all, who better to send than the people who had been
researching the planet their whole lives?
“Sasha,” Clarke said, using all her strength to keep her voice steady. “I
need to see your father. There are things I have to know about the first
expedition.”
Sasha stared at her, her face suddenly inscrutable. Finally, she nodded. “I
suppose it’s okay. But I can’t take you all the way to the compound. You’ll
have to wait in the woods while I go find him. They’ll never forgive me if I
brought you inside.”
“That’s fine,” Clarke said. “I understand.”
“So you want to go right now?”
Clarke nodded. Her chest was so tightly wound with anxiety, she wasn’t
sure she’d be able to breathe for much longer, let alone talk.
“All right, then. Let’s do it.”
Clarke followed Sasha out of the cave, and once their eyes adjusted to
the sunlight, they set out. Sasha began explaining the route, but Clarke
barely heard her. She couldn’t stop running her fingers over the watch’s
cold metal as she turned over all that had just happened in her mind.
She was so distracted that when Sasha stopped short, Clarke walked
right into her. “What’s going on? Are we here already?”
Sasha turned and placed a finger over her lips, urging Clarke to keep
quiet. But it was too late. A moment later, five figures came crashing
through the trees. Wells, Graham, and three others Clarke had seen with
Graham before. They’d been collecting wood to make more spears, and the
long, pointed sticks they held seemed more menacing than they had in the
clearing.
“What the hell?” Graham bellowed as one of his minions grabbed
Sasha’s arm. His eyes flashed dangerously at Clarke. “Were you helping her
escape?”
“Graham,” Wells shouted, hurrying toward them. “Knock it off.”
Graham ran toward Clarke and twisted her arm roughly behind her. Two
of his friends fanned out behind him, surrounding her. “You’ve really
pushed your luck this time, Doctor. You’re coming with us,” Graham
snarled.
Clarke scanned the boys, weighing her options. There was no way she
could fight them, and they were blocking her path. “Listen,” she began,
trying to think of a way to explain why she had taken Sasha so deep in the
woods—but before she had finished the sentence Graham doubled over,
letting go of her arm.
For an instant, Clarke couldn’t figure out what had happened. But then
she saw Sasha struggling against the boy who was holding her, and realized
she’d kicked Graham to give Clarke the chance to escape. Clarke’s eyes
locked on Sasha’s green ones, and Sasha mouthed, Go.
Clarke gave a small, grateful nod before she took off running, leaving
the rest of them behind.
CHAPTER 19
Bellamy
He was packing up again. He’d done it twice before, but each time,
something had brought him back. Octavia had disappeared during the fire.
Clarke had been bitten by the snake.
But now he was leaving for good. He’d dealt with Wells’s mind games
and Clarke’s treachery for the last time. As he stuffed a few protein packets
into his pocket, a new wave of anger rose in his chest at the thought of
everything he’d given up to bring Clarke safely back to camp. He’d lost
Octavia’s trail, and wasted days waiting for the Earthborn girl to talk. He
should’ve left Clark in the woods, letting her limbs swell and her airway
close up so that she’d never be able to utter another lie again. She’d tortured
Lilly and then had been twisted enough to claim that Lilly had wanted to
die.
There wasn’t much to bring. He had a blanket. His bow. A few waterpurifying tablets. He and Octavia would figure the rest out on their own.
Before Wells had knocked Bellamy to the ground, the Earthborn girl had
whispered, “Four miles northwest. Halfway up the mountain.”
Bellamy didn’t know what he would find there—Sasha might have been
telling him that the other Earthborns lived on the mountain, or that the
rogue group had been spotted near there. Maybe it was a trap. But right now
it was all he had, and he wasn’t going to waste any more time.
Bellamy left without saying good-bye to anyone. Let them think he was
heading off to hunt. Wells had disappeared and there was no sign of Clarke,
thank god. He didn’t think he’d be able to look at her again. The idea that
he’d almost slept with the girl who’d killed Lilly was enough to make him
vomit.
The more distance he put between himself and the camp, the easier it
became to breathe. The air smelled different here than it did in the woods
closer to the clearing. Perhaps it was the species of trees, or the makeup of
the soil, but there was something else too. The scent of leaves and dirt and
rain had been mingling for centuries, undisturbed by any humans. It felt
cleaner here, purer, a place where no one had ever spoken and no one had
ever cried.
The sun started to set, and even as Bellamy picked up his pace, he knew
he’d never make it to the mountain before dark. It’d be better to find a place
to camp and then set out again in the morning. It was foolish—and
dangerous—to explore unfamiliar terrain at night, especially once he
crossed into Earthborn territory.
In the distance, he heard the faint sound of running water. Bellamy
followed it and found himself on the bank of a small stream. It was so
narrow, the trees on either side met in some places, creating an arch of
green and yellow leaves.
Bellamy removed his water canister, knelt down, and dipped it into the
stream. He shivered slightly as the cold water rushed over his hand. If he
were uncomfortable now, what would happen when winter came? There
hadn’t been any cold weather gear among their supplies. Either they had
burned in the crash landing of the dropship, or more likely, the Council
hadn’t expected the hundred to survive long enough to need it.
Bellamy sat back on the bank, wondering whether it was worth it to use
one of the purifying tablets, when he was startled by a flash of movement.
As he turned, his eyes settled on a small, reddish, long-haired animal
perched on the bank, reaching its snout into the water. Sensing Bellamy’s
presence, it whipped its head around to look at him.
It had white fur around its large dark eyes, and oversize ears that
twitched back and forth as it surveyed Bellamy. Drops of water clung to its
long whiskers, and despite the animal’s intense expression, it looked more
like a little kid with protein paste all over his face than a predator. Bellamy
smiled. He’d seen a few different species of animals in the woods, but none
that seemed to communicate so plainly. Before he thought better of it, he
reached out his hand. “Hey there,” he said.
The creature’s black nose twitched on the end of its reddish snout,
shaking the water droplets from its whiskers. Bellamy expected it to turn
and dash away, but to his surprise, it took a few tentative steps forward, its
bushy red tail swishing from side to side. “Hey,” Bellamy said again. “It’s
okay, I won’t hurt you.” He was pretty sure it was a fox.
The fox sniffed the air again, then trotted forward and gave Bellamy’s
hand a tentative nudge. Bellamy grinned as its damp nose and wet whiskers
brushed his skin.
“Bellamy?”
He wheeled around at the sound of his name, sending the fox
scampering away. Clarke was standing a few meters away with a pack on
her shoulder and an expression of surprise on her face. “Oh,” she said as her
gaze followed the fleeing fox. “I didn’t mean to scare him.”
“Are you following me?” Bellamy snapped, rising to his feet. He
couldn’t believe she had found him here, just when he was finally putting
some distance between himself and camp. When he was finally getting
away. “Never mind.” He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”
“I wasn’t following you,” she said quietly, taking a step forward. “I’m
going to find the Earthborns.”
Bellamy stared at her, momentarily stunned. “Why?” he asked finally.
She paused. There’d been a time when he’d thought he’d been able to
read Clarke’s thoughts, to see past the defenses she put up. But he realized
now it was all in his head. He’d wanted so badly to have someone on Earth
he could trust, to have someone, after Lilly, who he could actually love, but
he didn’t know the least bit about her.
“I… I think my parents were in the first group of Colonists. I need to
find out what happened to them.”
Bellamy stared at her. He certainly hadn’t expected her to say that. But
he forced himself to stifle his curiosity. There was no way he was letting
Clarke drag him into any more of her insanity.
“Sasha told me how to get to where she lives. She said it’s less than a
day’s walk from here.”
“Well then, you’d better get moving,” Bellamy snapped.
He started collecting wood. Without saying a word to Clarke, he
arranged the kindling in a pile, grabbed a match from his pack, and lit a
small fire. Let her be the one to leave first.
When he finally looked up, he saw that Clarke was still standing in the
same spot. The firelight reflecting in her eyes made her look younger, and
more innocent. Underneath his anger, he felt a pang of affection—not for
the girl standing in front of him, but for the girl she’d pretended to be. Was
that Clarke really in there somewhere? The Clarke who could look so
gravely serious one moment and then burst into laughter the next? The girl
who found everything on Earth miraculous, and kissed him as if he were the
most incredible find of all?
“You look creepy standing there. Either come down or get going,” he
said gruffly.
Clarke edged toward the fire, dropped her pack, and slowly lowered
herself to the ground. A cold wind swept through the trees, and she brought
her knees up to her chest and shivered. Just a few days ago, he would’ve
wrapped his arms around her, but now, they hung like twin weights against
his sides. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to stay. But he didn’t tell her to
leave either.
They spent the next hour watching the dancing flames in silence,
listening to the sound of the cracking twigs and the wind echoing above
them.
CHAPTER 20
Glass
It was far worse than any nightmare. Even in Glass’s darkest moments,
she’d never have imagined trying to shove past her neighbors—the people
she had grown up with—in an attempt to secure a spot on the dropship
before they did. She passed one of her old tutors, struggling to drag a large
bag down the crowded corridor. “Leave it!” Glass had yelled at her as she
hurried past. But her words were lost amid the frenzy of shouts, footsteps,
and sobs.
Up ahead, Cora’s father stood in the middle of the corridor, looking
desperately from side to side as he scanned the surging crowd for his wife
and daughter. He called their names while blinking rapidly, evidently trying
to message them on his cornea slip. But his efforts were in vain. The
network had shut down, rendering everyone’s devices useless.
By the time they had made it down the stairs and into the corridor that
led to the launch deck, it was so crowded that they almost couldn’t move.
Luke did his best to push his way through the people closest to the wall,
pulling Glass and Sonja steadily behind him. Glass winced as she knocked
against a man clutching something in his arms. He was holding it so
carefully, she assumed it was a child, but as she hurried past she realized it
was a violin. She wondered if he was an actual musician or just a music
lover who thought to grab the relic from its preservation chamber, the one
thing he apparently couldn’t leave behind.
Many of the other people in the crowd weren’t from Phoenix—not that it
mattered anymore. They were no longer Phoenicians, Waldenites, or
Arcadians. They were all just desperate, terrified people doing everything in
their power to get off the doomed ship.
Until recently, the thought of the Colony failing had concerned Glass
about as much as the prospect of the sun exploding—something she knew
would eventually happen, but far after her time. She remembered when she
was seven, the year her tutorial group had studied the inner workings of the
ship. A member of the engineering corps had led them down to the engine
room and proudly displayed a complex ventilation system and series of
airlocks. All the machines and generators had looked so solid and shiny and
invincible, like they would last forever. What had happened between then
and now?
A shout echoed from the other end of the corridor, prompting cheers to
ripple down the hall. “Someone must’ve managed to open the door to the
launch deck,” Luke said softly.
“Do you think it was the Vice Chancellor?” Glass asked. It wasn’t clear
who was in charge, or who the remaining guards were taking their orders
from. The few guards still in uniform had abandoned their posts, joining the
sea of bodies to fight their way toward the dropships. The terror in the air
was palpable.
The crowd pushed forward suddenly and Sonja stumbled, crying out as
her ankle twisted underneath her. “Oh no,” she said as she took a lurching
step forward, her eyes filling with pain and panic.
“Luke.” Glass pulled on his sleeve to get his attention. “I think my mom
is hurt!”
“I’m fine,” Sonja insisted through clenched teeth. “Just keep moving.
I’ll catch up.”
“No,” Glass said as a chilling sense of déjà vu washed over her. When
Glass had been nine or ten, there’d been an evacuation drill on Phoenix. It’d
all been clearly planned out ahead of time. When the alarm sounded, the
children would file out of their classrooms and walk two by two down to
the launch deck. Most of the kids had been in the type of exuberant good
mood that came from missing tutorial, but Glass had found the whole ordeal
frightening. Would the Council really send children to Earth without their
parents? What would it be like to leave without saying good-bye? It’d been
enough to reduce her to tears, although luckily, no one but Wells had
noticed. He’d taken her hand, ignoring the giggles and taunts, and held it
until the drill was over.
Luke pulled them both over to the side of the hall, and then bent down
so he was eye level with Glass’s mother. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he
reassured her. “Now, show me where it hurts.” She pointed to the spot.
Luke frowned, then turned around. “I’m going to have to carry you,” he
said.
“Oh god,” Glass muttered, feeling her breath catch in her chest. They
were already so far back in the crowd—they couldn’t afford to slow down
anymore.
“Luke?” another voice echoed hers. Glass spun around and saw Camille
staring at them. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she’d been running, and
sweat clung to the hair that’d come loose from her ponytail. “You’re here!
You made it!” Ignoring Glass, Camille pulled Luke into a hug, then reached
down to grab his arm. “The dropships are filling up. We need to move
quickly! Come with me!”
Some of the concern drained from Luke’s face as he smiled in relief at
his ex-girlfriend, his childhood friend whom he had known as long as Glass
had known Wells. “Camille,” he said. “Thank god you’re okay. When Glass
told me what you did, I…” He trailed off. “Forget about it. There’s no time.
You go on,” he said, giving her a nod. “We’ll be there in a second.”
Camille looked from Luke to Sonja to Glass, and her face darkened.
“You need to move,” she said, looking only at Luke. “You’ll never make it
if you have to take care of them.”
“I’m not leaving them,” Luke said, his voice suddenly hard.
Camille looked from Luke to Glass, but before she could respond, she
was knocked to the side by a large man shoving his way down the packed
corridor. Luke grabbed Camille’s arm to steady her, and as she regained her
balance, she placed her hand on top of his.
“Are you serious? Luke, that girl is not worth dying for.” Even with the
roar of the crowd, Glass could hear the venom in Camille’s voice.
Luke shook his head as if to keep the words from getting too close to
him, but even as he shot Camille a look of frustration, Glass felt a cold
wash of fear. Camille wanted Luke to come with her—and Camille didn’t
stop until she got what she wanted.
“You don’t know her. You don’t know what she did,” Camille insisted.
Glass caught her eyes in warning. She wouldn’t dare tell Glass’s secret,
would she? Not here and now, not after Glass had helped her get safely to
Phoenix. They had a deal. But Camille’s eyes revealed nothing. They were
hard and dark.
“I don’t know what you think you’re talking about, but I love her. And
I’m not going anywhere without her.” Luke took Glass’s hand and gave it a
firm squeeze before turning back to Camille. “Look, I’m sorry you’re upset,
but I never meant to hurt you, and I hardly think this is the—”
Camille cut him off with a bitter laugh. “You think this is because you
dumped me for her?” She paused. In that brief moment Glass felt her heart
go still in her chest. “Didn’t you ever wonder what really happened to
Carter? What Infraction he was suddenly accused of?”
Luke stared at her. “What could you possibly know about that?”
“He was arrested for violating population laws. Apparently, some girl on
Phoenix named him as the father of her unregistered child.”
A woman holding a baby paused to stare at Camille, but then tore her
eyes away from the group and kept moving.
“No,” Luke whispered. His grip on Glass’s arm tightened. Around them,
people were shouting and running forward toward the dropships, but Glass
couldn’t bring a cell in her body to move.
“They didn’t even bother to run a DNA test, from what I heard. They
just took the little slut’s word for it. I guess she was trying to keep the real
father safe. But, honestly, what kind of person would do something like
that?”
Luke turned to Glass. “It’s not true, is it?” It was more of a plea than a
question. “Glass. It can’t be true.”
Glass said nothing. She didn’t have to. He could see the truth written on
her face. “Oh my god,” he whispered, taking a step away from her. He shut
his eyes and winced. “You didn’t… you told them it was Carter?”
When he opened his eyes, they blazed with a fury far worse than
anything she could’ve imagined. “Luke… I…” She tried to speak, but the
words died on her lips.
“You had them kill my best friend.” His voice was hollow, as if the
emotion had been burned out of him. “He died because of you.”
“I didn’t have a choice. I did it to save you!” Before the words left her
mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say.
“I would’ve rather died,” he said quietly. “I would have rather died than
let an innocent person take the fall for me.”
“Luke,” Glass gasped, reaching for him.
But he had already turned off in the direction of the launch deck, leaving
Glass’s fingers clutching empty air.
CHAPTER 21
Wells
“I’m sorry about that,” Wells said, releasing Sasha with a sigh.
He hadn’t been all that surprised when he and the others stumbled across
Sasha and Clarke in the woods, heading in what was surely the direction of
the Earthborns’ camp. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry with
Clarke—she was only doing what he should’ve done himself. It had taken
every ounce of his willpower to turn toward Graham with a condescending
stare and order him back to camp. “I’ll handle this. You should go get in the
water. That looked like it hurt,” he’d added with a meaningful glance at
Graham’s crotch, where Sasha had kicked him. One of the other boys
snickered. They had all exchanged uncertain glances, but then started
walking toward the stream. Without another word, Wells had taken Sasha
back toward camp, staying silent until they’d been walking long enough to
lose the others.
“I’m sorry about everything,” he continued. It wasn’t enough, but he
needed to say it, anyway. “We should’ve let you go a long time ago.”
Keeping Sasha as their prisoner had made sense at the time, but now Wells
couldn’t look at the marks on her wrist without feeling a surge of nausea
and regret. If the next dropship landed right now, and his father emerged,
what would he think? What would he say to Wells when he found out that
they’d essentially kidnapped the very first Earthborn they’d encountered?
Would he deem his son a hero or a fool? A coward or a criminal?
“It’s okay,” Sasha said, tilting her head to the side, as if trying to survey
Wells from a new angle. “Although, for a second there, I thought you were
actually furious.” She lowered her voice in a terrible imitation of his. “I’ll
handle this.”
“Why would I be furious?” he asked.
Sasha gave him a searching look. The early evening sky was a deep
orange, and the light filtering through the leaves made her green eyes glow.
“Because I’m supposed to be your prisoner.”
Wells looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry I got carried
away. We were all scared after Asher and Octavia, and I didn’t know what
else to do.”
“I understand,” she said softly.
They’d both stopped walking, and although the light was fading, Wells
was in no hurry to get back to camp. “Want to rest for a little bit?” he asked,
pointing to a moss-covered log that lay ahead.
“Sure.”
They sat, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Wells was
staring straight ahead, watching the trees fade into silhouettes until they
were almost impossible to distinguish from the shadows. Then he glanced
over at Sasha, and saw her looking at him with an expression he hadn’t seen
in a long time. Not since the days when he and Clarke used to sit on the
observation deck, sharing the bits of information they’d saved up all day for
each other, knowing that the other was the only person in the universe they
wanted to share it with.
“It’s not your fault,” Sasha said, breaking the silence. “You were doing
what you thought was best to keep them safe. It isn’t easy, making those
kinds of decisions. I know that. And I also know the difference between you
when you’re trying to be the leader and you when you get to just be a boy.”
“It’s funny you should say that,” he said, surprised.
“Say what?”
“That you see the difference between me as a leader and me as a
person.”
“I believe I said boy,” she corrected. He could hear the smile in her
voice. Above them, the blossoms on one of the strange nocturnal trees were
glowing pink, as if the petals were clinging to bits of sunset.
“Well, I gave myself a promotion.”
“Person is definitely a step up from boy.” Sasha nodded in mock gravity.
“Although I’m not sure they’re quite the same species.”
He reached out and tugged lightly on a piece of the silky black hair that
swept down her shoulders. “I haven’t decided yet if we’re the same
species.”
She grinned and bumped his shoulder playfully, then scooted over to
close the distance between them. “Why is it funny, though?” she asked.
Wells had almost forgotten his original point, he was so lost in the sight
of her, her eyes luminous in the evening light. “Oh, just that I always used
to think about my father that way. There was the Chancellor, and then there
was my dad. Sometimes, it felt like they were two completely separate
people.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Sasha said quietly. “Your dad is going
to be so proud of you when he comes down.”
If he comes down, Wells thought. He fell silent as the now-familiar pain
crept into his chest.
“Look!” Sasha was pointing up to the sky, where the first intrepid star
was emerging from the gathering darkness. “Make a wish.”
“A wish?” Wells repeated, wondering if he’d heard her correctly.
Sasha pointed to the sky. “You’re supposed to make a wish when the
first star appears.”
Wells turned to Sasha to see if she was joking, but her face was sincere.
It must be some Earthborn custom, he realized. If stars granted wishes to
people living in space, his life would be very different. His mother would
still be alive. His father wouldn’t have been shot.
He had nothing to lose, so he closed his eyes. He started to wish for his
father to come to Earth, but then he realized what his father would think of
that. Non nobis solum nati sumus. Instead, he thought, I wish that Bellamy
would find Octavia, and that we could live peacefully with the Earthborns.
He looked back at Sasha, who was watching him with a small smile.
“Don’t you want to know what I wished for?” he teased, but she shook her
head emphatically.
“Oh no,” she protested. “You can’t ever tell anyone your wishes. They
have to be secret.”
Wells knew plenty about keeping secrets—after all, he’d learned from
the best.
Wells hadn’t been able to forget about his father’s lie. He’d spent the week following his
birthday paying extra attention to everything the Chancellor did or said, hoping some small
detail would explain why he’d lied about missing dinner for a Council meeting. But there was
nothing. Wells’s father still left at precisely the same time each morning, before the circadian
lights in the hallway began to chase the darkness away, returning just in time to kiss Wells’s
mother on the cheek before she went to bed—she’d been so tired lately—and interrogate
Wells about his schoolwork. His mother liked to joke that “how did you do on your calculus
exam?” was Chancellor-speak for “I love you, and I take pride in your accomplishments.”
Wells knew his father really was at work late, because he’d snuck out multiple times,
hurrying to his father’s office and pressing his ear against the door. Each time, his pounding
heart had been appeased by the sound of the Council arguing in weary tones, or the soft
clank of his father’s cup on his desk that marked another sip of tea.
So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that his father was hiding something—something
big?
By the time Unity Day came around, Wells could hardly look at his father without feeling
a stab of unease. Wells always hated Unity Day, when he had to spend the whole morning
standing between his parents, doing his best not to look bored as visiting children from
Walden and Arcadia marched by.
For as long as Wells could remember, he’d spent the ceremony staring up
surreptitiously at the boughs of the Eden Tree. If he looked at just the right angle, he could
imagine that he was an explorer lost in a forest. Sometimes, he fought a hungry tiger. Other
times, he built a boat to sail down a dangerous river.
But this year, he couldn’t take his eyes off his father. The Chancellor, who normally
observed the proceedings with a bland smile, was staring intently at one of the orphans
from the Walden Care Center. It was so unlike him that Wells found himself startled into
speaking.
“What’s going on?” he whispered to his father.
“What are you talking about?” The Chancellor gave a brief, sharp look before returning
his attention to the kids from the Care Center, who’d begun to recite the poem they had
been taught for the occasion.
Anger bubbled up in Wells’s chest. “What are you hiding?” he hissed.
This time the Chancellor looked straight at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking
about,” he said, speaking very slowly. “Now be quiet and behave yourself before you
embarrass me and your mother.”
His tone was normal—clipped, terse—but there was something different about the
Chancellor, something in his eyes Wells hadn’t seen before.
Fear.
“You can tell me if your wish came true, though,” Sasha whispered. She
was sitting so close to him, Wells could feel her breath on his cheek.
“What?” he asked, startled.
“Your wish. Has it come true?”
“Oh,” he said, suddenly confused. “Is it supposed to be immediate?
Because mine might take a while.”
“I see.” There was a faint hint of disappointment in her voice, which
confused him.
“What did you wish for?”
Sasha leaned forward and kissed him.
Wells hesitated for a moment, a million thoughts whirring around his
brain, but then Sasha slid her arms around his waist, and all those thoughts
were silenced. He pulled her closer to him, losing himself in the kiss.
Finally, she broke away and put her mouth to his ear.
“That’s what I wished for,” she whispered, her breath tickling him.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I’m
glad your wish came true.” He felt like he could stay in the woods with
Sasha forever. There was nothing he wanted more than to spend the night
watching the stars appear, using each silvery glimmer as an excuse to bring
his lips to hers.
But of course, that wasn’t a real option. We aren’t born for ourselves
alone. Wells couldn’t abandon the others after the horror of that day. He
needed to get back to help bury Priya, to comfort those who wouldn’t be
able to sleep. To restrain those whose grief and fear might turn into a need
for vengeance.
“You need to go,” Wells said, unable to keep his voice from cracking.
“Go?”
“Yes,” he said, this time more firmly. “Go home, just like you and
Clarke were planning to. It’s not safe for you here—you saw what Bellamy
did, and I know what Graham is capable of.” He reached through the
darkness to grab her hand. “Will you make it there safely alone?”
“Home,” she said, slightly wistfully. Sasha smiled, a slow, sad smile.
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She leaned forward and kissed him again, lightly,
before vanishing into the darkness.
If it weren’t for the tingle on his lips, he might’ve thought she’d never
been there at all.
CHAPTER 22
Bellamy
Even with the crackle of the flames, the silence was unbearable.
He wanted to ask her why she’d done it. Why she’d lied about Lilly. But
whenever he tried to shape his thoughts into words, they died on his lips.
Eventually, he’d grabbed his bow and a few arrows and went in search
of something for dinner. By the time he returned with a rabbit slung over his
shoulder, Clarke had spread out their bedrolls. He noticed with a strange
mix of relief and disappointment that she’d placed them far apart.
Twilight had settled over the trees, and the small campfire glowed in
welcome. Clarke was sitting on the ground, turning a watch over in her
hand. He wondered where she’d gotten it, and if it had to do with what
she’d said before, about her parents having been on the first mission to
Earth. The light from the flames flickered across her face, momentarily
illuminating what might’ve been a tear running down her cheek. But when
she spoke, her voice was steady. “Thanks,” she said, nodding at the rabbit,
quickly rubbing her eye with the back of her hand.
Bellamy nodded, but didn’t speak as he skinned the rabbit and began
methodically placing the chunks of meat on a sharp stick.
“Want me to do that?” Clarke asked as she watched him crouch over the
fire.
He winced as a small cloud of ash blew into his face. “I’ve got it under
control.”
“And all this time, I thought you just stood around looking pretty.”
“What?” Bellamy jerked around to face Clarke, ignoring the sizzle of
the meat that was now burning.
“Sorry,” Clarke said quickly. “It was a joke. Everyone knows that you’re
the reason we’re still alive.”
“No, it’s not that.” Bellamy turned to salvage the rabbit, before it turned
into a charred crisp. I thought you just stood around looking pretty. “It
just… you made me think of something.” He spoke so quietly, she probably
hadn’t even heard him over the crackle of the fire, but he didn’t care. He
just wanted to remember in peace.
“Come on,” Bellamy panted. He pulled Lilly around a corner, then paused to let them catch
their breath. “You… okay?”
She nodded, too winded to speak.
“We… need… to… keep… moving,” Bellamy said between gasps.
He’d been an idiot to sneak Lilly onto Phoenix. But he’d be worse than an idiot if he
didn’t get her off.
He’d be a killer.
He should’ve thought it through. He should’ve been practical. But the wistful look that
appeared in her eyes every time she talked about reading had melted any sense of reason
away. She’d been dying to return to the Phoenix library ever since she saw it in elementary
tutorial years ago.
The thud of approaching footsteps made them both jump. “Let’s just leave the book and
run for it,” Bellamy said, pulling her down the hall. “That’s really what they care about. They
might not come after us if they get it back.”
Lilly hugged the heavy book to her chest. It was bound in green cloth—the color that
always looked so striking against Lilly’s dark red hair. “No way,” she said. “I’ve been looking
for this one for years. I need to know whether she ends up with the boy who called her
‘Carrots.’”
“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll go find a blond. Redheads are nothing but
trouble.” Bellamy grinned and reached for the book. “Give it to me. That thing is half your
weight… Carrots.”
She shoved it at him with a smile. “It’s about time. I didn’t bring you so you could stand
around looking pretty.”
He grinned, but before he could respond, a shout rang out from around the corner.
“They went this way!”
Bellamy and Lilly broke into a sprint.
“There they are, up ahead!”
“Oh my god,” Lilly panted. “They’re going to catch us.”
“No, they’re not.” Bellamy tightened his grip on Lilly’s hand and sped up, pulling her
along with him.
They careened around another corner, and then darted into an alcove behind the
stairwell. Bellamy dropped the book and wrapped his arms around the trembling Lilly,
pressing them both against the wall, praying to whoever was listening that the guards
wouldn’t look their way. Lilly shut her eyes as the footsteps grew louder, and the guards’
shouts more urgent.
But then the sounds faded. The guards had run right past them.
Bellamy remained silent for another minute to be safe, then exhaled loudly. “It’s okay,”
he murmured, stroking Lilly’s wavy red hair. “We’re going to be okay.”
“I can’t be Confined,” she said hollowly, still shaking.
“You won’t be.” Bellamy tightened his hold. “I won’t let them.”
“I’d rather die than be a prisoner.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Bellamy chided with a smile. “I’m not going to let anything happen
to you. I promise.”
She’d turned to him, her eyes full of tears, and nodded. He bent his head down to kiss
her flushed forehead and said it again. “I promise.”
He turned to face Clarke. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her
chest, fiddling with the watch.
“She made you promise, didn’t she?” Bellamy said.
Clarke looked up, startled to hear him speak. But then understanding
dawned on her face, and she nodded slowly.
“She made you promise that you’d… end her suffering.”
“Yes.” Clarke took a deep breath, then continued. “She couldn’t take it
anymore. She hated the pain, but more than that she hated not being in
control of her life. She didn’t want to be a prisoner in the lab.” The note of
pain in Clarke’s voice was the same that rang in his heart.
Clarke wasn’t lying, he realized. The Lilly he knew was strong, but
begging Clarke for mercy was, in its own way, an act of strength. The Lilly
he knew would have rather died than become a sick, helpless test subject.
And Bellamy had never even stopped to consider how terrible that must
have been for Clarke, having a friend ask her for something like that. He
would never forgive the Vice Chancellor, or any of the people responsible
for the horrific experiments that’d taken Lilly’s life, but he knew now that it
wasn’t Clarke’s fault. She’d loved Lilly as much as he had. She’d loved her
enough to do the terrible, painful thing her friend had asked for.
Bellamy walked over and sat down next to Clarke. “I’m sorry I said
those things to you,” he said, looking into the fire.
Clarke shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said. “I deserved most of it.”
“No. You didn’t deserve any of it.” He sighed as Clarke reached for his
hand, lacing her fingers with his. “And I certainly don’t deserve your
forgiveness.”
“Bellamy,” she said, and her tone made him look up. “We’ve all done
things we aren’t proud of.” Her brow furrowed, and Bellamy wondered if
she was thinking of Wells.
“I know, but—”
“I’m going to need you to shut up now,” she said, and kissed him.
Bellamy closed his eyes, letting his lips say everything he was too stupid
or stubborn to put into words.
He pulled gently on her lower lip. I’m sorry.
He moved his mouth to the soft spot under her jaw. I was an idiot.
He kissed the hollow of her neck. I want you.
Her breathing was growing heavy, and every time his lips brushed
against a new patch of skin, she shivered.
He lowered his mouth to her ear. I love you.
It wasn’t enough. He wanted her to hear him say it. He wanted to hear
himself say it. Bellamy drew back and took Clarke’s face in his hands. “I
love you,” he whispered, staring into eyes that were aglow with firelight,
and something else.
“I love you too.”
Bellamy kissed her again, a little harder this time, repeating his
proclamation every time his lips pressed against a new sliver of skin. With
the fire crackling beside them, he placed his hand behind her head, and
lowered her to the ground.
CHAPTER 23
Clarke
Clarke shifted her head on Bellamy’s chest, wondering how it was possible
to feel so comfortable while lying on the ground in the middle of the night.
She’d normally be shivering under the thin blanket, but the warmth that
spread through her the moment Bellamy had taken her in his arms hadn’t
dissipated.
Bellamy’s eyes were closed, but every few minutes, he would tighten his
hold, or kiss her cheek, or run his fingers through her hair. The fire had
gone out, and the only light came from the smattering of stars peeking out
from the canopy of leaves.
Clarke shifted onto her other side so her back was against Bellamy’s
chest. He responded by tightening his hold and drawing her closer, but this
time, it seemed more like a reflex. From his steady, rhythmic breathing, she
could tell he was asleep.
A faint flicker of light winked at her from the darkness. Maybe the fire
hadn’t gone out? But this light seemed to be coming from a few hundred
meters away, near the rock formation that stuck out of the hill.
Her heart pounding, Clarke twisted back to face Bellamy. “Hey,” she
whispered in his ear, “wake up.” When that didn’t work, she gently shook
his shoulder. “Bellamy.” His head fell to the side, and he let out a loud
snore. “Bellamy!” She sat up suddenly, freeing herself from his grasp.
Bellamy’s eyes flew open. “What?” he asked, blinking sleepily. “What’s
going on?” When he saw her expression, concern swept away the
drowsiness, and he sat up. “Are you okay?”
Clarke pointed toward the light. “What do you think that is?”
In the darkness, she could see Bellamy’s eyes narrow. “I have no idea.”
He reached for his bow, which he’d laid on the ground next to him before
they went to sleep, and rose to his feet. “But let’s go find out.”
Clarke grabbed his hand. “Hold on, we should come up with a plan.”
Bellamy grinned at her. “A plan? Our plan is to see what it is. Come
on.”
They slipped through the trees toward the light, which grew brighter as
they approached. It was electric, Clarke realized—it cast a perfect circular
glow, bathing the nearby trees and rocks in a warm yellow light.
“Clarke,” Bellamy said, his voice tight with worry. He pulled her to a
stop. “I’m not sure about this. Maybe we should wait until morning.”
“No way.” Now that they were so close, she couldn’t bear not to find out
what it was. She tightened her grasp and stepped forward.
The light source was warm and most certainly metallic. Clarke stood on
her tiptoes to reach it, and realized that it was a lightbulb encased in some
sort of cage—there were bars on the front, as if the light were a creature
that might escape.
“What the hell?” she heard Bellamy whisper next to her. “That couldn’t
have been burning since the Exodus, could it?”
Clarke shook her head. “No way. It would’ve burned out a long, long
time ago.” She took a step back and gasped.
“What?” Bellamy said, startled. “What is it?”
The formation wasn’t just a pile of rocks. There were steps carved into
the ground, leading down the side of the hill. Clarke didn’t hesitate. She
moved toward them.
In the yellowish light, she could see Bellamy stiffen. “No way, Clarke.
You’re not going anywhere until we have at least some idea what the hell
this is.”
She squinted at something on the step that she’d mistaken for a shadow,
and bent down for a closer look. It was a metal plaque with writing on it,
although it was old and faded. She squinted. “Mount Weather,” she read
aloud.
“What does that mean?” Bellamy asked.
A memory jolted through her, and she jumped to her feet with a start. “I
know where we are!” she exclaimed. “They told me about this!”
“Who?” Bellamy’s voice had grown impatient. “Who told you about
this, Clarke?”
“My parents,” she said softly.
Bellamy stared, wide-eyed, as Clarke told him what she remembered
about Mount Weather, how it was supposed to be a shelter for the U.S.
government in times of crisis. “But my parents said that no one got there in
time.”
“Well, maybe they did,” Bellamy said. “Could they have survived the
Cataclysm here? By going underground?”
Clarke nodded. “And I have a feeling they never left. I think this is
where the Earthborns live.”
Bellamy looked at the stairs, then back to Clarke. “Well, what are you
waiting for?” he asked when she didn’t move. “Let’s go talk to them.”
Clarke grabbed his hand, and together, they started down the staircase
into the darkness.
CHAPTER 24
Wells
Wells shifted against the tree trunk, wincing as his exhausted muscles
cramped in protest. It was dawn, but he hadn’t been able to sleep at all.
Eventually he’d given up and volunteered for lookout duty, which the
bleary-eyed Arcadian on guard had gratefully accepted.
His eyes drifted toward the grave site, where a new mound of dirt rose
up from the grass like a scar. Wells had spent much of the night sitting by
Priya’s grave, which he’d draped with flowers, although he hadn’t managed
to do it as artfully as she or Molly had. But at least, he thought with relief,
Molly’s fever had finally broken. Clarke had asked Sasha to convey what
they’d discovered about the wintershade before she left, and the only bright
spot in Wells’s day was telling everyone in the infirmary cabin that they’d
make full recoveries as soon as the wintershade left their systems.
He glanced again at the crude tombstone, which was marked with
nothing more than PRIYA. He didn’t even know her last name, or why she’d
been Confined, or whether she’d ever been in love. Would her parents ever
find out that she’d died? If the bracelets were still functioning, then there
was a chance they’d been told already. If not, then Wells would have to wait
until they arrived on Earth. He imagined a woman who looked like Priya
stepping off the dropship, looking around with large brown eyes as she
searched for the daughter who’d been taken from her, and while the other
parents embraced their children, Wells would have to lead Priya’s mother to
her grave.
A twig snapped, and Wells jumped to attention, searching the woods for
signs of movement, but it was just an errant squirrel. Though he’d never
admit it, he’d been hoping it was Sasha.
He knew he was being an idiot. She wasn’t going to magically reappear
just because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And he’d done the right
thing, letting her go home. He just wished he’d thought to ask where her
people lived, or if she would ever come back. What if he never saw her
again?
Another thought nagged at the back of his mind, refusing to be
dismissed. What if Sasha hadn’t really meant anything she said? What if
their kiss was just part of her escape plan?
Shouts rose up from the clearing, yanking him from his stupor. They
weren’t the usual early morning “get your hands off my breakfast” shouts,
or the “if you try to get out of water duty I’m going to kill you” shouts.
Wells rose to his feet and headed over. He had a feeling he knew what this
was about.
A group was clustered around the infirmary cabin, and as Wells
approached, two dozen faces turned to look at him. Most appeared to be
confused, but a few blazed with anger.
“She’s gone,” Graham spat, striding toward Wells.
For a brief moment, Wells considered playing dumb, pretending that
Sasha had somehow escaped. But he knew what his father would have said
to that. A true leader owns up to his mistakes, rather than blaming others.
Not that Wells thought releasing Sasha was a mistake.
“You said you were going to bring her back, and then you let her go.”
Graham looked around the group to make sure his words had prompted the
proper amount of resentment.
“What were you thinking, Wells?” Antonio asked, his eyes widening in
disbelief. “She was the only leverage we had over the Earthborns. They
already killed Asher and Priya. What’s to stop them from wiping out the
rest of us?”
“We don’t even know where Sasha’s people are, let alone if they realized
that we had her. Besides, they weren’t the ones who killed Asher and
Priya,” Wells protested. “It was the other faction of Earthborns. The violent
ones.”
“That’s what she told you,” a girl chimed in. Wells turned and saw
Kendall looking at him with a mixture of sorrow and pity. “But we didn’t
ever have proof, did we?” The expression on her face made it clear she
thought Wells had been played.
“Just admit it!” Graham snarled. “You let her go, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Wells said, his voice calm. “I did. It was the right thing to do. She
didn’t know anything about Octavia, and we weren’t gaining anything by
keeping her here. We can’t just lock people up without a reason.”
“Are you serious?” Antonio stared at Wells incredulously. His normally
cheery face was twisted with rage as he gestured dramatically toward the
crowd. “Your father locked us all up for hardly any reason at all.”
“So what, then?” Wells asked, raising his voice in frustration. “We’re
going to keep making the same mistakes? We have the chance to do
something different. Something better.”
Graham snorted. “Cut the crap, Wells. We all know the only thing you’re
‘doing’ is some mutant Earthborn slut.”
The fury that Wells had been trying to contain ignited in his chest, and
he lunged wildly at Graham, throwing his fists up. But before he could wipe
the smug smile off that asshole’s face, Eric and another Arcadian boy
wrenched Wells’s arms behind him. “Let it go, Wells!” Eric shouted.
“See?” Graham turned around to face the others, clearly delighted. “You
see? I think he’s made it pretty damn clear where his loyalty lies.”
It wasn’t Graham’s words that hurt; it was the look on everyone’s faces.
Most were staring at Wells like they believed Graham, and were disgusted
with Wells.
Kendall’s lip was trembling. Eric’s face was red with frustration.
Antonio was glaring. Wells glanced around for Clarke, before remembering
that she was gone. He’d done the right thing. Why couldn’t everyone see
that?
But maybe it wasn’t the right thing, a small voice in his head countered.
After all, Wells knew that even the greatest leaders make mistakes.
As the Colonel moved past Wells’s unit, Wells exhaled and undid the top button of his
jacket. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that the uniforms he’d admired so much as a child
were pretty ridiculous in practice. Just because soldiers on Earth had dressed like this
shouldn’t mean they had to do the same in space.
“Whoa, check it out. Jaha’s going rogue,” one of his fellow cadets jeered. “Don’t you
know what happens to officers who violate the dress code?”
Wells ignored him. While the other cadets always seemed energized by the training
exercises on Walden, they left Wells exhausted. Not the physical component—he liked
running laps on the gravity track, and sparring during combat drills. It was the rest of it that
left him vaguely nauseous: conducting practice raids on residential units, stopping random
shoppers at the Exchange for questioning. Why did they have to assume that everyone on
this ship was a criminal?
“Attention!” the Colonel bellowed up ahead.
Automatically, Wells threw his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and pivoted into position
as the cadets formed a straight line down the corridor.
“At ease, Colonel,” the Chancellor’s voice called out. “I’m not here to inspect the
cadets.” Wells’s eyes were trained straight ahead, but he could feel the weight of his
father’s gaze. “Which is a lucky thing, given some of their appearances.” Wells bristled,
knowing exactly whom his father was referring to.
“Sir.” The Colonel lowered his voice. “Who’s in your security detail today?”
“I’m here on unofficial business, so I came alone.” Wells risked a glance and saw that
the Chancellor was indeed alone, a rare sight for a high-ranking official coming across to
Walden. The other Council members refused to cross the skybridge without at least two
guards at their side.
“Can I send a few of the cadets with you, at least?” he said, lowering his voice. “There
was another incident on Arcadia this morning and I think it’d—”
“Thank you, but I’m fine,” his father said in a tone that made it clear the discussion was
over. “Good afternoon, Colonel.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
When the Chancellor’s footsteps disappeared around the corner, the Colonel dismissed
them and ordered them back to Phoenix, double time. The cadets broke into a brisk jog.
Wells hung back, pretending to tie the lace on his boot. When he was sure no one was
looking, he peeled off and headed down the corridor after his father.
His father was hiding something, and Wells was going to figure out what it was. Today.
Wells slowed to a walk when he caught sight of the Chancellor turning a corner up
ahead—and saw something he hadn’t expected.
His father was standing in front of the Remembrance Wall, a stretch of hallway in the
oldest part of Walden that, over the centuries, had become a memorial for everyone who’d
died on the Colony. The oldest names were in larger handwriting, carved with knives into
the wall by the loved ones left behind. But as time went on and space on the wall grew
scarcer, names were carved over by newer and newer names, until the wall was so
crowded that most names were almost illegible.
Wells couldn’t imagine what his father was doing there. The only times Wells could
recall him visiting the wall were during official ceremonies, honoring Council members who
had died. As far as Wells knew, he’d never come here alone.
Then the Chancellor reached up and traced the outline of one of the names. His
shoulders slumped, radiating a sadness Wells had never seen.
Wells’s cheeks began to burn. He didn’t belong here, intruding on what was clearly a
private moment. But as he started to turn around, taking care to move as quietly as
possible, his father spoke up. “I know you’re there, Wells.”
Wells froze, his breath catching in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never should’ve
followed you.”
The Chancellor turned to look at him, but to Wells’s surprise, he didn’t look angry, or
even disappointed. “It’s okay,” he said with a sigh. “It’s time I told you the truth, anyway.”
A chill passed over Wells. “The truth about what?”
“This isn’t easy for me to say,” his father began, a slight tremor in his voice. He cleared
his throat. “A long time ago, before you were born, before I’d even met your mother, I fell in
love… with a woman from Walden.”
Wells stared at him, stunned. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard his father even use the
word “love.” He was so unemotional, so devoted to his job—it didn’t make sense. And yet,
the pain in his father’s eyes was enough to convince Wells that he was serious.
In a halting voice, the Chancellor explained that he’d met her as a young guard, during
one of his patrols. They’d started seeing each other and had fallen in love, although he’d
kept the whole thing a secret from his friends and family, who would’ve been horrified to
learn about his feelings for a Walden girl. “Eventually, I realized that it was foolish,” his
father said. “If we married, we would only cause our families pain. And by that point, there
was already talk of me joining the Council. I had responsibilities to people besides myself,
and so I decided to end things then.” He sighed. “She would have hated this life, being
married to the Chancellor. It was the right thing to do.” Wells said nothing, waiting for his
father to continue. “And then, a few months later, I met your mother and realized that she
was the partner I needed. Someone who would help me become the leader the Colony
needed.”
“Did you keep seeing her?” Wells asked, surprised by the harsh note of accusation in
his voice. “That… that Walden woman?”
“No.” His father shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. Your mother is everything
to me.” He cleared his throat. “You and your mother are everything to me,” he amended.
“What happened to her? The woman from Walden? Did she ever find someone else?”
“She died,” the Chancellor said simply. “Occasionally, I come here to pay my respects.
And that is all. Now you know everything.”
“Why does it need to be a secret?” Wells pressed. “Why did you act like you didn’t want
anyone to see you?”
His father’s face hardened. “There are things about being a leader that you couldn’t
possibly understand at your age.” He turned on his heel, heading back toward Phoenix.
“Now, this conversation is over.”
Wells watched in silence as his father strode off, knowing full well that when they sat
down together at dinner that night, they would both act like nothing had happened.
He turned back to the wall, to look at the name his father had touched so tenderly.
Melinda. He tried to make out her last name, but it was too scratched-over for him to read.
As close as he could tell, it started with a B.
Melinda B. The dead woman his father had once loved, whose memory brought him
back to the wall over and over again. The woman who, if things had been different, could
have been Wells’s mother.
Wells reached down and rebuttoned his jacket, then turned back toward Phoenix,
leaving the ghosts of his father’s past behind him.
“Chancellor Junior was completely out of line,” Graham was saying. “And
who the hell knows what he’ll do next?”
“I don’t know,” Lila was saying, “we can’t just—”
“It’s fine,” Wells said, interrupting them. “I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll
leave.”
“What?” Kendall said, startled. “No, Wells, that’s not what we want.”
“Speak for yourself,” Graham snapped. “It’s exactly what I want. I say
we’re better off without him.”
Wells wondered if Graham was right. Had he done the same thing that
his father did long ago, and made an error in judgment because of a girl?
What would the Chancellor say, if he were here right now?
“I hope you will be,” Wells told them, surprised by the amount of
sincerity, and lack of resentment, in his voice.
Then without meeting anyone’s eye, he spun on his heel and went off to
pack his bag for the last time.
CHAPTER 25
Bellamy
The stairs led down to an enormous metal door embedded in a rock wall. It
had a huge, impenetrable-looking circular lock, but the door itself was ajar.
“Sort of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” Bellamy pointed to the gap
between the heavy door and the rock.
“Not really,” Clarke said, slipping past him for a better look. “Until
recently, they were the only human beings on the entire planet. There was
no one to keep out.”
“Can you see anything?” he asked, trying his best to keep the concern
out of his voice. He’d been hoping to catch the Earthborns who’d taken
Octavia out in the open. Desperate as he was to find his sister, even
Bellamy knew better than to waltz right into an enemy compound in the
middle of the night. But once Clarke got an idea in her head, there was no
stopping her, and he had no intention of letting her go at it alone.
“Not yet.” She spun around, and her face softened as she saw the
worried look in his eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For doing this. For
being here with me.”
Bellamy just nodded.
“Are you okay?” Clarke asked.
“It’s just Jim Dandy.”
Clarke reached over and squeezed his hand. “Aren’t you excited? You’re
finally going to meet people who understand your weird, old-man Earth
slang.”
He managed a smile, but when he spoke, his voice was serious. “So, do
you think they’re expecting us?”
“No, not expecting us, exactly. But Sasha said they’d be happy to help
us.”
Bellamy nodded, hiding his fear. He knew that if something bad
happened to Clarke and himself tonight, they’d never be seen again.
“Let’s do it, then.”
Clarke pulled open the door, flinching as the creak of rusty hinges rang
out through the silent night air. Then she slipped in between the gap and
motioned for Bellamy to follow.
It was dark inside, but not pitch-black. There was a strange ambient
light, but Bellamy couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
Clarke took Bellamy’s hand, and they crept along what seemed to be a
tunnel through the rock. After a few steps, the ground began to slope down
sharply, and they had to slow their pace to keep from losing their balance
and tumbling to the bottom. The air was much cooler here than it’d been
outside, and it smelled different as well—damp and mineral, instead of
woodsy and crisp.
He forced himself to take a deep breath and keep his steps slow. The
weeks he’d spent hunting had changed the way he moved, his feet seeming
to float soundlessly above the ground. Clarke seemed to do it naturally.
But then she stumbled, gasping, and he pulled her close to his chest.
“Are you okay?” Bellamy’s heart was pounding so fast, it seemed like it
was trying to betray him to the Earthborns.
“I’m fine,” Clarke whispered, but she didn’t let go of him yet. “It’s
just… it drops off here.” The stone floor had given way to steep metal
stairs.
They made their way down slowly, following the stairs as they twisted
sharply downward. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it seemed like
they were spiraling into an enormous cavern. The walls were damp and
made of stone, and the farther they went, the colder the air became.
As they descended the stairs, Bellamy thought about what Clarke had
told him about Mount Weather. He tried to imagine what it would’ve been
like, running blindly for the safety of an underground bunker, saying goodbye to the sun and sky and the world you knew as you hurried into the
darkness. What had gone through the minds of the first people who
clambered down these steps? Were they overcome with relief at their good
fortune, or sorrow for all those they’d left behind?
“Do they have to go up and down these stairs every time they leave?”
Clarke whispered.
“There might be another entrance,” Bellamy said. “Otherwise, why
haven’t we seen anyone yet?” As they reached the bottom, Clarke and
Bellamy fell silent, the lonely echo of their footsteps far more eloquent than
any chatter.
The stairs ended in a vast, empty space that seemed more like a cave
than somewhere humans could’ve lived for centuries. Bellamy froze and
grabbed Clarke’s arm as an echo bounced through the darkness. “What was
that?” he whispered, jerking his head from side to side. “Is someone
coming?”
Clarke gently shook his hand off and took a step forward. “No…” Her
voice contained more wonder than fear. “It’s water. Look at the stalactites,”
she said, pointing at the craggy rocks above them. “The condensation
collects on the rock and then drips down into some kind of reservoir. I guess
that’s where they got their drinking water during the nuclear winter.”
“Let’s keep moving,” Bellamy said, grabbing hold of her hand. He
pulled Clarke through an opening in the rock and into a hallway with dull
metallic walls, similar to the old corridors on Walden. Long strips of lights
ran along the ceiling, wires spilling out from cracks in the plastic cover.
“Bellamy,” Clarke said breathlessly. “Look.”
There was a plastic case on the wall, similar to the locked boxes on the
Colony that housed control panels. But instead of a screen or buttons, there
was a sign. At the very top was an eagle inside a circle, holding a plant in
one claw and a bunch of arrows in the other. The words ORDER OF
SUCCESSION ran above it in two columns. The column on the left contained a
long list of titles: President of the United States, Vice President of the
United States, Speaker of the House, and so on.
Next to each title were the words SECURE, MISSING… and DEAD.
Someone had circled the word dead in black ink for the first six titles.
Secretary of the Interior had been marked as SECURE at first, but then
someone had crossed that out and circled DEAD in blue ink.
“You think someone might’ve taken this down by now,” Bellamy said,
tracing a finger across the plastic case.
Clarke turned to him. “Would you have taken this down?” she asked
quietly.
Bellamy shook his head with a sigh. “No. I wouldn’t have.”
They continued down the hall in silence until they reached an
intersection. There was another large sign, except that this one had no
plastic cover.
HOSPITAL
SEWAGE TREATMENT
COMMUNICATIONS
CABINET ROOM
GENERATORS
CREMATORIUM
“Crematorium?” Bellamy read aloud, suppressing a shudder.
“I guess it makes sense. You can’t float people on Earth, and you
certainly can’t bury them in solid rock.”
“But where do they live?” Bellamy asked. “How come we haven’t seen
anyone yet?”
“Maybe they’re all sleeping?”
“Where? The crematorium?”
“Let’s keep moving,” Clarke said, ignoring his quip.
To the right, a red light began flashing. “That’s probably not good,”
Bellamy said, tightening his grip around Clarke’s hand, ready to pull her
into a run.
“It’s fine,” Clarke said, though she’d already begun to move away from
the light. “I bet it’s on a timer or something.”
The sound of echoing footsteps made them both freeze. “I think
someone’s coming,” Clarke said, her eyes darting from Bellamy to the end
of the long hall.
He pulled Clarke behind him, slid his bow off his shoulder, and reached
for one of his arrows.
“Stop it,” Clarke hissed, stepping to the side. “We need to make it clear
that we’ve come peacefully.”
The footsteps grew louder. “I’m not taking any chances,” Bellamy said,
stepping in front of her again.
Four figures appeared at the end of the hall. Two men, and two women.
They were dressed similarly to Sasha, all in black and gray, except that they
weren’t wearing fur.
And they were holding guns.
For one excruciatingly long moment, they stared at Clarke and Bellamy,
seemingly bewildered.
Then they shouted something and began running toward them.
“Clarke, go,” Bellamy ordered as he drew back the bow and took aim.
“I’ll hold them off.”
“No!” she gasped. “You can’t. Don’t shoot at them!”
“Clarke! Move it!” Bellamy shouted, trying to give her a shove with his
shoulder.
“Bellamy, drop the bow.” Her voice was frantic now. “Please. You need
to trust me.”
He hesitated, just long enough for Clarke to slip under his arm and stand
in front of him, her hands raised in the air. “We have a message from
Sasha,” Clarke shouted. Her voice was loud and firm, though her whole
body was trembling. “She sent us here.”
There wasn’t even time to see whether the name registered on the
Earthborns’ faces. A strange whooshing sound filled the air, and Bellamy
felt something sting his upper arm.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER 26
Glass
Hundreds of bodies were packed onto the launch deck, with hundreds more
pushing against them from the ramp. In total, there were more than a
thousand people shoved into the bottom of the ship, filling the air with a
choking mix of sweat, blood, and fear.
Glass and Sonja had made it onto the deck, but just barely. They were
standing all the way in the back, pressed up against the ramp. Sonja
couldn’t put any weight on her ankle, so Glass had her arm around her,
although it was hardly necessary. The crowd was so dense, Sonja could lose
her balance and she still wouldn’t fall.
Every few moments, the sea of bodies would surge in one direction or
the other until the anxious Phoenicians, Arcadians, and Waldenites seemed
like nothing more than a tide of flesh.
Rising up onto her toes, Glass could see people trying to force their way
into one of the six remaining dropships. They were already crammed far
beyond capacity, and bodies kept spilling back out.
Glass tried to blink away the tears obscuring her vision to count again.
Six. There were supposed to be seven dropships. The one she’d escaped
from, that had supposedly carried Wells and the other prisoners to Earth,
was gone, of course. But what had happened to the seventh?
Even if there were a dozen dropships, Glass and her mother wouldn’t
make it off the Colony unless they kept pushing their way toward the front.
But Glass felt weak and immobile. Every time she moved, pain ripped
through her as she thought of the look of disgust on Luke’s face, and the
pieces of her heart she was trying so hard to hold together would slip from
her grasp.
But as she turned to look at her mother, Glass knew she had no choice.
She couldn’t think about what had happened with Luke, not now. Sonja’s
own heart had cracked long ago, but the difference was that she hadn’t
bothered to catch the pieces. Glass had done it for her. Without Glass, her
mom wouldn’t fight for a spot on the dropship, and Glass wasn’t going to
let that happen.
She tightened her hold around her mother’s waist. “Come on. Let’s keep
moving. One step at a time.” There was nowhere to move, yet somehow,
Glass and Sonja managed to wedge themselves between shoulder blades
and around elbows.
Glass gasped but didn’t look down when she stepped on something
fleshy. She kept her eyes fixed on the front of the launch deck, and gripped
her mother’s hand tightly as they carved a path through the wall of bodies.
They slid alongside a woman whose dress was damp with blood. From
the way she clutched her arm, Glass guessed she’d been hit by one of the
guards’ bullets. Her face was pale and she was swaying back and forth,
although there was no room for her to fall.
Keep moving.
Glass swallowed a cry as she shoved past the woman and felt her bloody
sleeve brush against Glass’s bare arm.
Keep moving.
A man was holding a little girl in one arm and a bundle of clothes in the
other, rendering him too bulky to navigate through the crowd. Drop the bag,
Glass wanted to tell him. But she said nothing. Her only job was getting her
mother on the dropship. That was all she could afford to care about.
Keep moving.
A young boy, hardly older than a toddler, sat on the ground, too shocked
and scared to do more than whimper and wave his chubby arms in the air.
Had he been jostled out of his parent’s grasp? Or had he been abandoned in
a moment of panic?
She felt a tug deep inside her chest, a jolt of pain in the empty space
behind her heart that never fully healed. Glass tightened her grip on Sonja,
and extended her other arm toward the little boy. But right before her
fingertips brushed against his outstretched hand, there was another surge,
and Glass found herself being swept in the other direction.
She let out a gasp, and scrambled to find her footing. When she turned
back to look for the boy, he’d disappeared behind a wave of bodies.
Keep moving.
By the time they made it to the center of the launch deck, the nearest
dropship was overflowing with bodies, far more than it was meant to
accommodate. People were standing in every centimeter of available space,
packed as tightly together as they could fit around the seats. Glass knew
that jamming people in like that was extremely dangerous—anyone who
wasn’t strapped in would be thrown violently against the walls during the
descent. They’d certainly die, and would probably end up killing some of
the seated passengers as well. But no one was stopping them, or forcing the
extra passengers off the dropship. No one was in charge.
A new sound joined the chorus of wails and shouts. At first, Glass
thought she was imagining it, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she
spotted the musician from earlier standing at the top of the ramp. He’d
tucked the violin under his chin and was drawing the bow across the strings.
With nearly one thousand people between him and the nearest dropship, he
must’ve realized he wasn’t going to make it. And instead of succumbing to
panic, he’d chosen to end his life doing what he loved best.
The man’s eyes were closed, rendering him oblivious to the confused
stares and angry jeers of everyone around him. But as the melody dipped
and soared, their faces softened. The bittersweet trills swept the pain out of
their chests and into the air. The crushing fear became a shared burden, and
for a moment, it felt like something they could bear together.
Glass turned from side to side, searching desperately for Luke. Growing
up on Walden, he’d never attended a Remembrance Day concert, and she
wanted him to hear this music. If he had to die tonight, she needed to know
his last moments would be marked by something other than heartache.
A loud beeping suddenly echoed through the room, breaking the spell of
the music, as the door on the farthest dropship started to close. The few
people who’d been trying to force their way inside began to frantically claw
their way forward, desperate to get on the ship before it launched.
“Wait!” a woman screamed, breaking free from the crowd to run toward
the door. “My son is in there!”
“Stop her!” another voice bellowed. A few people rushed forward to
grab the woman, but it was too late. She slipped into the airlock, but didn’t
make it into the ship. When she realized what had happened, she spun
around and pounded frantically on the sealed airlock door. There was
another, louder beep, then silence.
Behind her, the ship detached from the Colony and started toward the
blue-gray orb of Earth. Then a wave of horrified gasps rippled over the
crowd.
The woman was floating past the window, her face contorted by a
scream none of them could hear. Her arms and legs thrashed wildly, as if
she thought she could grab the ship and pull herself back inside. Yet within
a few seconds, she stopped moving, and her face turned a deep purple.
Glass turned away, but not quickly enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she
caught a sickening glimpse of an enormous, swollen purple foot before the
woman drifted from view.
Another beep sounded as the next dropship began to launch. Now only
four remained. The frenzy of the crowd had reached a fever pitch, the
launch deck echoing with the sounds of death and grief.
Gritting her teeth, Glass pulled her mother forward just as the sea of
bodies swept them even closer to the ramp. The third dropship detached
from the ship and launched. A redhead shoved past them, and it was only
after she was gone that Glass realized it had been Camille. Did that mean
Luke was close by? She started to cry out his name, but the shout died
before it even left her throat.
“Glass,” her mother’s voice came from behind her. It felt like an eternity
had passed since the last time Sonja had spoken. “We aren’t going to make
it. At least, not together. You need to—”
“No!” Glass cried, seeing a break in the crowd and moving toward it.
But just as she did, she saw Camille push a skinny boy off the dropship and
take his place. His shocked mother’s anguished wails echoed through the
deck as the doors closed with a final click.
“Move aside!” a harsh voice shouted. Glass spun around and saw a line
of guards jogging down the ramp, their boots thudding in perfect unison as
they escorted a handful of civilians onto the launch deck. One of them was
the Vice Chancellor.
No one heeded the guard’s orders. The mass of bodies continued to push
toward the remaining dropships. But the guards continued to surge forward,
pushing people aside with the butts of their guns to clear a path. “Move it!”
They shoved right past Glass and Sonja, pulling their charges alongside
them. As he was led past, Vice Chancellor Rhodes’s eyes settled on Sonja,
and a look Glass couldn’t quite identify came over his face. He stopped,
whispered something to a guard, and then motioned toward Glass’s mother.
The crowd parted as three guards stormed toward them. Before Glass
had time to react, they’d grabbed her and Sonja and were herding them
toward the last dropship.
The angry, violent shouts that followed sounded very far away. Glass
could barely register anything but the sound of her own frantic heartbeat
and the feel of her mother’s hand holding tight to hers. Were they really
going to make it? Had the Vice Chancellor just saved both of their lives?
The guards pushed Glass and Sonja onto the final dropship with the Vice
Chancellor. All one hundred seats were full save for three in the front.
Rhodes beckoned them forward. Glass moved like someone in a dream as
she seated Sonja next to the Vice Chancellor, then sat down in the last seat
herself.
But Glass’s relief was tempered with a sharp, aching sadness at the
thought that Luke probably wouldn’t be on Earth with her. She couldn’t be
sure he wasn’t on one of the earlier dropships, but she didn’t think so. Luke
would no sooner have knocked someone out of his way for a spot on the
dropship than he would let a friend die for his own crime.
As the final countdown began, Sonja clutched Glass’s hand. All around
them, people were crying, muttering prayers, whispering good-byes and
apologies to those they were leaving behind. Rhodes was helping Sonja
with her harness, and Glass began to fumble with her own.
But before her trembling hands could lock the buckle into place, a guard
appeared in the door. His eyes were wide and darting madly as he held his
gun in the air.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rhodes shouted. “Get off! You’ll kill us
all!”
The guard fired a shot into the air, and everyone fell silent. “Now, listen
up,” the guard said, looking around. “One of you is getting off this
dropship, or everyone dies.” His terror-filled eyes settled on Glass, who still
hadn’t managed to lock her buckle into place. He took a few steps forward
and aimed the gun at her head. “You,” he spat. “Get. Off.” His arm was
shaking so violently, the barrel of the gun almost scraped against Glass’s
cheek.
A disembodied voice filled the pod. “One minute until departure.”
Rhodes fumbled with his harness. “Soldier!” he snapped, in his most
commanding military voice. “Stand to attention!”
The guard ignored him, grabbing Glass’s arm. “Get up or I’ll shoot you.
I swear to god I will.”
“Fifty-eight… fifty-seven…”
Glass froze. “No, please.” She shook her head.
“Fifty-three… fifty-two…”
The guard pressed the muzzle of the gun to her temple. “Get up or I’ll
shoot everyone in here.”
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, but somehow, Glass was rising to her
feet. “Bye, Mom,” she whispered, turning toward the door.
“Forty-nine… forty-eight…”
“No!” her mother screamed. Suddenly, she was at Glass’s side. “Take
my seat instead.”
“No,” Glass sobbed, trying to push her mother back into her seat. “Stop,
Mom!”
The man waved the gun back and forth between the two of them. “One
of you better get the hell out of here, or I’ll shoot you both!”
“I will, please, hold your fire,” Glass pleaded, shoving her mom down
and turning toward the door.
“Stop!” A familiar form came barreling forward, jumping onto the ship
at the last minute.
Luke.
“Thirty-five… thirty-four…”
“Drop your weapon,” Luke shouted. “Just let them go.”
“Get back,” the guard spat, trying to shove Luke away. In a flash, Luke
had jumped onto the man from behind, locking his arm around the man’s
neck and wrestling him to the floor.
A deafening, bone-shuddering crack filled the dropship as the gun went
off.
Everyone screamed. Everyone except for one person.
“Thirty… twenty-nine…”
Her mother was slumped on the floor, a dark red stain blooming on the
front of her dress.
CHAPTER 27
Clarke
For the first few moments, she couldn’t remember where she was. Clarke
had woken up in so many different places over the past few weeks—her cell
during her final days in Confinement, the overcrowded infirmary tent where
Thalia had taken her last breaths, curled next to Bellamy under a star-filled
sky. She blinked and listened intently, waiting for something to come into
focus. The shadowy outlines of the trees. The sound of Bellamy’s even
breath.
But still there was nothing. Only darkness and silence.
She started to sit up, but winced as the small movement sent shooting
pain through her head. Where was she?
Then it came back to her. She and Bellamy had wound their way deep
inside Mount Weather. Those guards had come after them. And then…
“Bellamy,” she said hoarsely, ignoring the pain as she jerked her head
from side to side. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her surroundings
came into focus. She was in a small, empty room. A cell. “Bellamy!” He
had aimed an arrow at the guards. Could they have determined he was too
much of a threat? Her stomach roiled as she remembered the guns they’d
been carrying.
Something groaned a few meters away. Clarke rose onto her hands and
knees and crawled toward the sound. A long, lanky figure was stretched out
on the stone floor. “Bellamy,” she said again, her voice cracking as relief
swept through her. She slumped back down on the ground and cradled his
head in her lap.
He groaned, and then his eyes fluttered open.
“Are you okay?” she asked, stroking his hair away from his face. “Do
you remember what happened?”
He stared at her, seemingly uncomprehending, then jumped to his feet so
quickly, he almost knocked Clarke over in the process. “Where are they?”
he shouted, looking around wildly.
“What do you mean?” she asked, wondering if he was still waking up
from a nightmare.
“Those Earthborn bastards who knocked us out.” He swatted at his neck.
“They shot us with tranquilizer darts or something.”
Clarke brought her hand up to her own neck. The foolishness she felt for
not understanding what had happened turned to dread as she realized what
it meant. The supposedly peaceful, civilized Earthborns—Sasha’s people—
had knocked Clarke and Bellamy unconscious and dragged them into a dark
cell.
“Are you okay?” In the dim light, she saw Bellamy’s face soften as his
fury gave way to concern. He pulled her toward him and kissed the top of
her head. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “We’re going to get out of here.”
Clarke said nothing. This was all her fault. She’d been the one to insist
they come down here, the one who had begged Bellamy to come with her.
She couldn’t believe she’d been such an idiot.
Sasha had lied about Asher. Lied about Octavia. Worst of all, she may
even have known what was going to happen to Priya. There was no other
“faction” of Earthborns. She must’ve invented them to make the hundred
trust her, to lure Clarke and the rest of them into a trap. Sasha had been so
vague when she spoke about the first Colonists, about the “incident” that
had forced the Earthborns to expel them. Clarke should’ve suspected
something was wrong.
She closed her eyes and thought about the graves she’d found. Was that
where she and Bellamy would end up after the Earthborns killed them? Or
would their bodies remain in this godforsaken bunker forever?
For a moment, all she could hear was Bellamy’s breath and her own
frantic heartbeat. But then another sound came, the unmistakable tread of
footsteps. “They’re coming,” Clarke whispered.
She heard the clank of metal, and then bright light streamed inside,
blinding her. Clarke brought her hand up to her eyes and saw the shadowy
outline of a person in the doorway.
The figure stepped forward, and a face came into focus. It was Sasha.
Clarke’s fear drained away, leaving only anger and disgust. “You liar,”
she exclaimed, lunging forward. “I trusted you! What the hell do you want
from us?”
“What? Clarke, no.” Sasha actually had the audacity to look hurt as she
backed away from Clarke. “Wells let me go, and I came as quickly as I
could. I wanted to make sure I was here when you arrived.”
“Right, so you could arrange for us to be sedated and locked up,”
Bellamy spat.
Sasha shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry about that. But you probably
shouldn’t have tried to shoot them with your bow.” She stepped forward
and tried to put her hand on Clarke’s arm, then winced as Clarke pulled
away. “The guards were only doing their job. As soon as I heard what had
happened, I ran down to get you. Everything’s fine now.”
“If this is your idea of fine, I’d hate to see what you think is bad,”
Bellamy said, his voice colder than the damp air.
Sasha sighed and pushed the door open further. “Just come with me. I’m
taking you to see my father. Everything will make sense after you talk to
him.”
Clarke and Bellamy exchanged glances. She knew he didn’t believe
Sasha any more than she did, but their only shot at escaping was to get out
of the cell. “Fine,” Clarke said, taking Bellamy’s hand. “We’ll go, but then
you have to show us the way out.”
“Absolutely.” Sasha nodded. “I promise.”
Clarke and Bellamy followed her out of the cell and into a dimly lit
hallway. Most of the doors they passed were shut, but when she saw one
that was open, Clarke paused a moment to look inside.
It was an infirmary, or something like it. The equipment was similar to
what they had on Phoenix; she recognized a heart-rate monitor, respirators,
and an X-ray machine. Yet the narrow beds were covered with ragged,
mismatched blankets, or in one case, what appeared to be animal fur.
And most striking of all, it was empty—no doctors, nurses, or patients in
sight. In fact, as Sasha led them through a series of corridors, Clarke didn’t
see a single person anywhere. “I thought you said there were hundreds of
you. Where is everyone?” she asked, curiosity momentarily overpowering
her wariness.
Bellamy was less easily distracted. “Probably out kidnapping more of
our people.”
Sasha stopped and turned to Clarke. “No one’s actually lived down here
for fifty years. Now the bunker’s mainly used to store all the generators and
the medical equipment, things that couldn’t be moved to the surface.”
“So where do you live?” Clarke asked.
“I’m going to show you. Come on.” Sasha led them around a corner,
past another open room full of empty metal cages that Clarke could only
hope had once contained animals, then stopped in front of a ladder that
extended up through an opening in the ceiling.
“After you,” Sasha said, gesturing toward the rungs.
“Like hell we’re going first,” Bellamy said, grabbing Clarke’s hand.
Sasha glanced between Clarke and Bellamy, then pressed her lips
together and stepped lightly onto one of the lower rungs. She scaled the
ladder so quickly, she’d nearly disappeared through the opening when she
called for them to follow her.
“You first,” Bellamy said to Clarke. “I’ll be right behind you.”
It was harder work than Sasha made it look. Or perhaps that was just
because Clarke was shaking so much, she had to use all her strength to keep
her hands from slipping.
The ladder disappeared into some sort of airshaft, almost a vertical
tunnel. It was so narrow that Clarke could feel the back of her shirt scrape
against the rock wall. She closed her eyes and kept climbing, imagining that
she was climbing through the Colony, not under thousands of pounds of
stone that felt like they were stifling her, crushing down on her until she
couldn’t breathe. Her hands were sweaty, and she tried to wipe them on her
shirt, terrified that at any moment, she’d slip and crash into Bellamy. She
forced herself to breathe steadily.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she glimpsed daylight above her.
As she grasped the top rung, a hand reached down. Clarke was so
exhausted that she grabbed it without hesitation, and allowed Sasha to pull
her up onto the grass.
While Clarke gasped for breath and rose shakily to her feet, Sasha
reached down for Bellamy.
“Do you climb that thing every day?” Bellamy panted, placing his hands
on his knees and taking a deep breath of the cool morning air.
“Oh, there’s a much easier way in and out. But I thought you’d
appreciate the view from up here,” Sasha said, smiling. They were standing
at the top of a hill looking out over a valley filled with wooden structures.
There were dozens of small houses whose narrow chimneys were sending
streams of smoke into the air, a larger building that might’ve been an
assembly hall, and a few fenced-in areas filled with grazing animals.
Clarke couldn’t stop staring at the people. They were everywhere:
carrying baskets full of vegetables, pushing huge piles of firewood in
wheeled carts, running down the streets and greeting one another. Children
laughed as they played some kind of game along the dirt path that wove
around the houses.
Clarke turned to Bellamy and saw the same look of awe reflected in his
eyes. For once, he was at a loss for words.
“Come on,” Sasha said as she started to make her way down the hill.
“My dad is waiting for us.”
This time, neither of them protested. Bellamy took Clarke’s hand, and
they followed Sasha down the slope.
Before they even reached the bottom, dozens of people had stopped to
stare at them. And by the time they set off down one of the dirt roads, it
seemed like the entire village had gathered to catch a glimpse of Clarke and
Bellamy.
Most of the Earthborns merely looked surprised or curious, though a few
were glaring at them with open suspicion, or even anger.
“Don’t worry about them,” Sasha said cheerfully. “They’ll come
around.”
Up ahead, a tall man was standing with two women, who were talking
animatedly, clearly arguing. He listened to them both, nodding gravely and
saying little. He had close-shaved hair and a gray beard, with pronounced
hollows underneath his sharp cheekbones. Yet despite his somewhat gaunt
appearance, he radiated strength. As his eyes fell on Sasha, Clarke, and
Bellamy, he excused himself from the women and strode forward with
powerful, purposeful steps.
“Dad.” Sasha stopped in front of him. “These are the Colonists I told
you about.”
“I’m Clarke.” Clarke stepped forward, extending her hand without
thinking about it. She still didn’t know whether she could trust these people,
but something about the man compelled her to be polite. “And this is
Bellamy.”
“Max Walgrove,” he said, shaking her hand firmly, then reaching over to
do the same to Bellamy.
“I’m looking for my sister,” Bellamy said without preamble. “Do you
know where she is?”
Max nodded, his brow furrowed. “A little over a year ago, a few
members of our community broke off, believing that they’d be better off
living by their own rules. They were the ones who took your sister—and
most unfortunately, killed those two kids.”
Next to her, Clarke could sense Bellamy growing frustrated. He
clenched and unclenched his fists, and when he spoke again, his face
strained with the effort of keeping his voice steady. “Yeah, Sasha keeps
mentioning this other ‘faction’ you have running around. But so far, no
one’s been able to tell me how the hell I’m supposed to find my sister.” He
crossed his arms and surveyed the Earthborn leader through narrowed eyes.
“And how do I know you’re not the one who took her?”
Clarke tensed and tried to give Bellamy a warning look. But Sasha’s
father seemed more amused than insulted by Bellamy’s accusatory tone. He
turned to glance over his shoulder at a field enclosed by a wooden fence.
On the far side, a group of children seemed to be playing tag. Max raised
his hand in the air, and they all began running toward them.
As they came closer, Clarke realized that they weren’t all children. An
older girl was with them, her long dark hair streaming behind her as she
ran, laughing, across the field.
“Octavia!” Bellamy broke into a sprint, and in a flash, he’d swept her
into his arms. He was too far away for Clarke to hear, but by the way his
shoulders were moving, he was either laughing or sobbing. Possibly both at
the same time.
A strange mix of feelings welled up in Clarke’s chest as she watched the
reunion. She was overjoyed that Octavia was safe, but part of her ached
thinking about the reunion that she might never get to have.
Blinking away tears, she turned back to Max and Sasha. “Thank you,”
she said. “How did you find her?”
Max explained how he’d sent a team to keep watch on the rebels. When
he learned that they had kidnapped a Colonist, they staged an attack to get
her back. “We just rescued her last night,” he explained. “I was going to
escort her to your camp myself today, but then you found us.” There was a
slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though he was trying to keep
from smiling.
“I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough,” Bellamy said, walking
over with Octavia. “You saved her.”
“You can thank me by keeping your group in line this time, and by
keeping to yourselves. Sasha’s told me that you’re good people and that you
treated her well, but I can’t risk another tragedy.”
“What happened last time, exactly?” Clarke asked tentatively. She was
desperate to ask about her parents, but she needed to hear the whole story
first.
“A little over a year ago, one of your dropships crashed about ten
kilometers from here. We’d always known about the Colony, but there’d
never been any way to communicate, so coming across strangers from
space was a bit… startling. But they were in bad shape, so we tried to help
the survivors. We gave them food, shelter, access to our hospital—whatever
they needed. They’d been sent to this location because they knew about
Mount Weather, which they hoped would provide shelter and supplies. Of
course, they hadn’t expected anyone to be living here.”
“Do you know what brought them to Earth?” Clarke asked. “The
mission was secret. None of us knew anything about it until Sasha told us.”
Max nodded. “They’d been sent to test Earth’s radiation levels, to
determine if the planet could support human life again. We made that part
easy for them, of course.”
“Who were they?” Clarke cut in. “Were they volunteers, or scientists, or
prisoners like us?”
Max frowned, but to his credit, he answered her question without
pressing the point. “Most seemed hesitant to discuss their pasts, but I
gathered that they weren’t exactly model citizens. Not criminals, exactly, or
I suppose they would’ve been killed. Or floated—as I’ve heard it.” He
grimaced slightly, then continued. “More like people who could disappear
without causing much attention.”
Clarke nodded, taking the information in. “And after they arrived here?”
she prompted.
“In the crash landing, they lost the ability to send messages back to the
Colony. None of them had ever imagined they’d be separated from the ship
indefinitely. So I suppose tensions started to run high. We hadn’t planned on
making them permanent members of our community, and they certainly
hadn’t counted on staying here forever.” He paused for a moment, and then
his face hardened. “I still think it was an accident, what happened with the
child. But not everyone saw it that way. All they knew was that one of our
children—a little boy—had taken a few of the Colonists fishing. He
volunteered to show them our best fishing hole, proud to be useful, but
when they finally came home at dusk…” Max winced at the memory.
“They were carrying his small body between them. He’d drowned, the poor
boy.” He sighed. “I’ll never forget the sound of his mother’s screams when
she saw him.”
“It was an accident,” Sasha said hollowly. “I know it was. Tommy
slipped off that rock, but none of the Colonists knew how to swim. They
tried to save him. Remember how wet they all were? They said that blond
woman practically drowned herself trying to get to him.”
“Perhaps,” Max continued. “But they seemed more defensive than sorry.
And that’s when the fighting started. A number of our people—the family
of that boy, the same group who came after your group as soon as you
landed—refused to give them any more food, said they needed to go fend
for themselves. I suppose the Colonists got scared, but they went about it
the wrong way. Started stealing, hoarding, even threatening people with
violence. At the end, I didn’t have a choice. They had to be banished.
“It was a… difficult sentence to carry out. I knew most of them were
good people. And I knew they didn’t stand much of a chance out there on
their own. But I never thought that when I delivered the sentence, they
would fight back. And of course, after that, I had to defend my people. I
didn’t have a choice.”
“So they’re all dead?” Clarke asked quietly.
“Except for the couple, the doctors. They left before things got bad, said
they disapproved of the way the other Colonists were behaving. They
wanted to strike out on their own, see as much of the planet as possible.”
“Doctors?” Clarke repeated, forcing the word out as the air drained from
her lungs. She reached out for something to grab on to and felt Bellamy at
her side, steadying her with his strong arms.
“Clarke, are you okay?” he asked.
“Were they… do you remember their names?” She closed her eyes,
suddenly afraid to see the look on Sasha’s father’s face when he heard the
question. “Was it Griffin?”
But she had to look. When she opened her eyes, the Earthborn leader
was nodding. “Yes. David and Mary Griffin, I remember.”
Clarke laughed, then gasped as the weight that had been pressed against
her chest for the last six months broke apart. Her face was wet; she reached
up a hand and realized that she was crying. She wasn’t alone on Earth.
Her parents were alive.
CHAPTER 28
Glass
She couldn’t hear the countdown.
She couldn’t hear the screams.
All she could hear was the sound of her mother’s ragged breath.
Glass was on the floor, cradling her mother’s head as blood blossomed
on Sonja’s chest, turning her shirt a deep red Glass had always tried and
failed to achieve with dyes.
The deranged guard was shouting something at Glass, but she couldn’t
make sense of it. There was a flurry of movement as Luke locked his arms
around the man’s neck and dragged him off the dropship.
“It’s okay,” Glass whispered as tears streamed down her cheek. “You’ll
be okay, Mom. We’re going to make it to Earth and then everything will be
fine.”
“We’re running out of time!” someone shouted. In the back of her mind,
Glass registered that the door was about to close, that the countdown was
somewhere around thirty seconds, but she couldn’t process the implications.
“Glass,” her mother said hoarsely. “I’m so proud of you.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.
“I love you, Mom.” Glass forced the words out of her mouth and clasped
her mother’s hand. “I love you so much.”
Sonja squeezed it back, just for a moment, before she sighed and her
body went limp.
“Mom,” Glass gasped as a sob tore through her. “No, please…”
Luke reappeared at Glass’s side. Everything that happened next was a
blur.
Her mother’s last words rang in her head. Louder than the screams and
shouts from outside the dropship. Louder than all the alarms. Louder than
the frantic thud of Glass’s broken heart.
You’re so brave, so strong.
I’m proud of you.
“Want me to walk you back?” Wells asked, shooting a nervous glance at the clock. “I didn’t
realize how late it was.”
Glass looked up. It was close to midnight. Even if she ran, she still wouldn’t make it
home before curfew. Not that she would run—that was a surefire way to catch a guard’s
attention. “I’ll be fine,” Glass said. “None of the guards really care if you’re out past curfew,
as long as you don’t look like you’re up to something.”
Wells smiled affectionately. “You are always up to something.”
“Not this time,” Glass said, slipping her tablet into her bag as she rose to her feet. “I’m
just an overworked, studious girl who lost track of time doing her math homework.” In the
old days, before her dad left, Glass would never have been caught dead studying. But now,
it was one of the only chances she had to see Wells. And, weirdly, it was kind of fun.
“You mean, you lost track of time watching me do your math homework.”
“See? This is why I need your help. You’re all about the logic.”
They were sitting in Wells’s living room, which was even neater than usual. His mother
was in the hospital again, and Glass knew he wanted to make sure the flat was in perfect
condition whenever she came home.
He walked Glass to the door, then paused before he swiped it open. “Are you sure I
can’t walk you back?”
She shook her head. If Glass were caught breaking curfew, she’d be given a
meaningless warning. If Wells were caught, it would mean weeks of frosty treatment from
his father—hardly what he needed right now.
She said good-bye and slipped into the dark, empty corridor. Glass was glad she’d
gotten to spend some time with her best friend, even if they had been studying. She barely
saw him anymore. When he wasn’t at school, he was with his mother at the hospital, or at
officer training. She’d see him even less when they finished school and Wells became a fulltime cadet.
Glass moved quickly and quietly down the stairs and onto B deck, which she’d have to
cross to get to her own residential unit. She paused for a moment as she passed the
entrance to Eden Hall. Remembrance Day was coming up. While she’d spent the past few
weeks agonizing over her dress—she had to work so much harder to find something, now
that she and her mother were living off their own meager ration points—she’d made very
little progress in the date department. Everyone assumed she would go with Wells. If
neither of them found a date, they probably would end up going together, but it would just
be as friends. She could no more imagine kissing him than she could envision moving to
Walden.
Then again, Glass had never spent much time thinking about kissing anyone. The real
fun was in making the boys want to kiss her. Picking out a dress that was sure to send a
boy’s heart racing was far more fun than letting him drool all over her face, like Graham had
that one time he’d cornered her at Huxley’s birthday party.
Glass was so absorbed thinking about her outfit for Remembrance Day that she didn’t
even see the guards until they were right in front of her. There were two of them, a middleaged man with a shaved head and a younger man—a boy really, just a few years older than
Glass.
“Everything okay, miss?” the older man asked.
“Yes, fine, thank you,” Glass responded with a well-practiced mixture of politeness and
indifference, as if she had no idea why she’d been stopped and couldn’t be bothered to find
out.
“It’s past curfew,” he said, eyeing her up and down. His gaze made her uncomfortable,
but she knew better than to let him realize that.
“Is it?” she asked, flashing him her warmest, most brilliant smile. “I’m so sorry. I lost
track of time studying at a friend’s flat, but I’m on my way home now.”
The older guard snorted. “Studying? Yeah, what were you studying? Brushing up on
your anatomy with one of your boyfriends?”
“Hall,” the younger guard said. “Cut it out.”
His partner ignored him. “You’re one of those girls who thinks the rules don’t apply to
you, aren’t you? Well, think again. All I have to do is enter a record of this incident, and
you’re going to find yourself in very different circumstances.”
“That’s not what I think at all,” Glass hurried to say. “I’m sorry. I promise that I’ll never
break curfew again, no matter how hard I’m studying.”
“I wish I could believe you, but you strike me as the kind of girl who loses track of time
about as often as she takes off her—”
“That’s enough,” the younger guard said in a commanding tone.
To Glass’s surprise, the bald guard fell silent. Then he narrowed his eyes and said, “All
due respect, sir, but this is why they don’t have members of the engineer corps patrol the
halls. You might know a lot about spacewalks, but you don’t know much about keeping the
peace.”
“Then you’ll have to make sure you don’t end up on another one of my patrol shifts.”
The younger guard’s voice was light, but his gaze was intense. “I think we can let her off
with a warning this time, don’t you?”
The older guard’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant.” The title
spoke louder than his bitter tone. Clearly the younger guard outranked him.
The younger one turned to Glass. “I’ll escort you home.”
“I’m fine,” Glass said, unsure why she was blushing.
“I think it’s best if I do. We don’t want you to have to go through this same process again
five minutes from now.”
He nodded at his partner, then set off with Glass. Perhaps it was because he was a
guard, but Glass was acutely aware of his movements as they walked down the corridor.
How he seemed to shorten his naturally long stride to match her pace. How his sleeve
brushed against her arm when they turned the corner.
“Do you really do spacewalks?” Glass asked, eager to fill the silence.
He nodded. “Once in a while. Those kind of repairs don’t happen very often, though.
They require a lot of preparation.”
“What’s it like to be out there?” Glass had always loved to stare out the ship’s small
windows, wondering what it would feel like, to go into the stars.
He stopped and looked at Glass—really looked at her, not the way that most guys did
when they gave her a once-over, but as if he could see what she was thinking. “Peaceful
and terrifying at the same time,” he said finally. “Like you suddenly know the answers to
questions you never even thought to ask.”
They’d reached Glass’s door, but she found that the last thing she wanted to do was go
inside. She fumbled with the thumb scanner clumsily.
“What’s your name?” she finally asked as the door opened.
He smiled, and Glass realized that it wasn’t the fact that he was a guard that was
making her chest flutter.
“I’m Luke.”
Luke never let go of her hand. Not when the dropship detached from the
launch deck with a violent shake that made most people scream. Not when
the beeping alarm and rumble of the thrusters gave way to a startling
silence. Not when Earth began to approach, closer and closer, until the
window filled with gray clouds.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, raising their interlocked hands to kiss her
fingers. “I know how much you loved her. How much she loved you.”
Glass nodded, worried that if she spoke, the tears would come again.
The pain was so new, so raw, she hardly knew what shape it would take,
what sort of scars it would leave. If her chest was going to burn like this for
the rest of her life.
But she would have a life—a life filled with trees and flowers and
sunsets and rainstorms, and best of all, Luke. She didn’t know what would
happen to them once they reached Earth, but whatever it was, they could
face it, as long as they were together.
The dropship began to rumble, and Luke squeezed Glass’s hand a little
harder. Then the entire ship began to thrash and careen to one side,
unleashing a torrent of screams.
“I love you,” Glass said. It didn’t matter that Luke couldn’t hear her. He
knew. No matter what happened, he would always know.
CHAPTER 29
Wells
Once he’d packed, Wells walked quietly toward the little cemetery to pay
his respects. Night had fallen, and the flowers draped over the headstones
were glowing. Wells was glad Priya had thought to decorate the graves with
living plants. Growing up on the ship, none of them had ever known true
darkness, and this way, their dead would always have some light shining
down on them.
But as he crouched down next to Priya’s marker, Wells shivered. Had
she sensed that she’d soon join the others?
He stood up and walked over to Asher’s grave, running his fingers along
the wobbly capital letters carved into the wood. He paused, wondering why
they seemed strangely familiar. The writing on all the markers was
different, yet he was sure he’d seen block letters like that before.
“Good-bye,” Wells whispered before swinging his pack over his
shoulder and stepping into the woods.
He crossed the tree line and took a deep breath of the cool forest air. He
was surprisingly calm about setting out on his own, more relaxed in the
woods than he’d been all morning at camp. The sound of the wind rustling
through the leaves was a welcome change from the malice-tinged whispers.
He’d indulged fleeting fantasies of setting out on his own before,
although in those scenarios, Clarke had always been with him. Or, more
recently, Sasha. His heart lurched in his chest as he thought about her
returning to the camp and finding him gone. What would she think when
the others told her that he’d left? Would he ever see her again? And what
would happen if his father came down? Would he try to find Wells, or
dismiss him as a disgrace?
“Wells,” a voice called out to him through the darkness. He turned and
blinked as Kendall’s slim outline appeared in the shadows. “Where are you
going?”
“I’m not sure yet. Away.”
“Can I come with you?” she asked with a mix of eagerness and
wistfulness that made it clear she already sensed what his answer would be.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said carefully. “You’ll be much
safer if you stay with the group.”
Kendall took a few steps closer. Hardly any moonlight filtered through
the thick canopy of leaves, yet her large, luminous eyes were looking at him
so intently, he almost shivered. “Are you going to find Sasha?”
“No… I have no idea where she went.”
In the darkness, Wells could see Kendall nod. “That’s good. She’s
dangerous, you know. Just think what those Earthborns did to Priya.”
“That had nothing to do with Sasha,” Wells said, unsure why he was
defending her.
“What kind of person would do that to someone?” Kendall continued, as
if she hadn’t heard him. “Hang someone from a tree? Carve a message into
her feet? You’d have to really want to make a point.” Her voice had taken
on a strange, almost singsong quality, and a chill danced down his spine.
“You can’t trust the Earthborns, remember that.” She took another few
steps forward, until she was standing less than a meter away from Wells. “I
know she’s pretty, that girl. But she’s not one of us. She doesn’t understand
you. She won’t do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
Wells’s breath grew shallow as an icy realization seeped into his brain.
That was why the writing on Asher’s grave seemed familiar. The block
letters—they looked a lot like the ones carved into Priya’s feet.
What if the Earthborns hadn’t killed her? What if—
“See you,” Kendall said with a smile as she bounded off to camp. Wells
froze. Should he go after her? Warn the others? Was the dread in his
stomach a real warning, or just paranoia?
A branch snapped up ahead and Wells whipped around, his heart racing.
It’s probably just an animal, he thought, wishing that he’d swallowed his
pride and asked Bellamy to teach him how to shoot. He hadn’t even brought
a spear with him.
But then the shapes ahead resolved into three distinctly human figures.
Wells tensed, scanning the ground for something he might be able to use as
a weapon. A large stick, or maybe even a rock. He could fight hand to hand
if it came down to it—he’d been at the top of his officer training class in
combat—but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle all three if they came at
him at once.
He found a sharp-looking rock and ducked behind a tree, holding it at
the ready. And then, as the strangers moved closer, laughter rang out
through the trees.
“Clarke?” he called out in shock, dropping the rock with a thud. The
moonlight shimmered on her hair like a halo, illuminating her wide,
delighted smile. Bellamy was with her… and was that Octavia?
When they spotted Wells, all three grinned and hurried over to him,
talking at once. Slowly, he pieced together what had happened: Octavia’s
capture, Bellamy and Clarke’s visit to Mount Weather, and everything
Sasha’s father had told them.
Wells’s heart sputtered at the sound of her name. “So, you saw Sasha? Is
she okay?”
He and Clarke locked eyes as understanding dawned on her face. She’d
always been good at noticing the small details, seeing things before anyone
else—it was what made her such a good doctor, he thought. She flashed
him a meaningful smile, and Wells knew that she understood what Sasha
meant to him, and that she was okay with it. “Sasha’s good,” she said.
“She’s going to come visit soon, after she’s had time to convince the rest of
the Earthborns that we don’t mean them any harm.” She paused, as if trying
to decide how much information was appropriate for her to share. “I think
she wants to see you.”
“Are you going somewhere?” Octavia asked, reaching over to tug at
Wells’s pack.
Bellamy and Clarke exchanged glances as Wells told them what had
happened that morning, how everyone was furious that he’d let Sasha go,
how he had decided to leave before they could kick him out.
“That’s ridiculous,” Bellamy said with more indignation than Wells ever
thought the Waldenite would muster on his behalf. “You can’t just leave
because Graham and a few of the others threw a hissy fit. They need you.
We need you.”
“Please, Wells,” Clarke interjected. “Everything’s going to be fine.
Especially once we tell them how you were right about Sasha. If you hadn’t
let her go, we never would’ve gotten Octavia back.” She shot a glance at
the younger girl, who was already setting off down the slope, eager for her
big entrance.
“I guess…” He shifted his pack from one shoulder to the other, then
turned to Bellamy. “Congratulations, man. I’m really glad you found her.
You never gave up on her, and it paid off.” He glanced at Clarke, then back
to Bellamy. “I think we all have a lot to learn from you.”
Bellamy shrugged. “I don’t really know how to live any other way. I’ve
always been taking care of her. It’s like… we aren’t born for ourselves
alone. You have to take care of other people.”
Wells looked up sharply. “What did you just say?” Bellamy had spoken
casually, as if that were a phrase that people used all the time. But Wells
had never heard anyone say it on Earth. In fact, it had been years since he
heard the saying spoken aloud, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think about it
every day.
There were some things you never forgot.
CHAPTER 30
Bellamy
Bellamy stared at Wells, wondering if the kid had finally cracked under the
pressure. Why was Wells looking at him like that?
Bellamy shrugged. “It’s just something my mom used to say about
Octavia and me. How we were lucky to have each other, and how it was my
responsibility to take care of her.” He snorted as the bitter memories stirred
inside of him. “My responsibility, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to
do it.” He fell silent for a moment. “I think it’s something my father used to
say, though he used it to explain why he was never able to see us.”
Wells seemed to pale at these words. “Hey… are you okay?” Bellamy
asked, shooting a glance at Clarke to see if she’d noticed how strange Wells
was behaving. But before she had time to react, Wells continued.
“Was… was your mom’s name Melinda, by any chance?”
The word landed with a thud on Bellamy’s chest. He hadn’t heard
anyone say his mother’s name in years. Not since the day the guards came
inside their flat and found her lying cold and still on the floor. “How—how
did you know that?” Bellamy asked hoarsely, too stunned to inject a note of
hostility or suspicion into his voice.
In a strangely calm voice, Wells told Bellamy about his father’s secret
past, his affair with the Walden woman and his long-standing commitment
to her family. “We live not for ourselves… it’s what my father always said
to justify the sacrifices he had to make, like not spending enough time with
me and Mom… or not marrying the woman he loved. But I never knew
they had a child together.”
The world around Bellamy seemed to spin, melting into a blur of
shadow and starlight as his brain reeled. The only thing that kept him
tethered to the ground was the sensation of Clarke’s hand on his arm. The
Chancellor—the man who’d been shot because of him—was his father? He
couldn’t talk. Couldn’t breathe. But then he felt Clarke’s arm around him,
and he took a deep breath. As he exhaled, his surroundings came back into
focus. The dark outlines of the trees, the patches of star-filled sky, Clarke’s
stunned expression, the nervous face of the kid Bellamy had once thought
he hated, but now seemed to be… something else entirely. “So that makes
you…”
“Your half brother.” Wells let the final word hang in the air, as if giving
both of them time to examine the shape of it before they claimed it for their
own. “I guess you and Octavia aren’t the only siblings in the Colony
anymore.”
A laugh escaped from Bellamy’s lips before he had time to stop it. “Half
brothers,” he repeated. “This is insane.” He shook his head, and with a grin,
extended his arm and reached for Wells’s hand. “Brothers.”
CHAPTER 31
Clarke
“Half brothers,” Clarke said for what was probably the twenty-ninth time
that night. She reached over and ran a finger along Bellamy’s cheek, as if
she might find some sign she’d overlooked that he and Wells were related.
Bellamy smiled as he gently removed her hand, then brought it to his
lips to kiss it. “I know it’s hard to believe. I’m just so much better looking.”
But then his grin faded. “Does it weird you out?”
Clarke turned to look at Wells and Sasha, who’d returned to camp even
earlier than expected. They were sitting on the other side of the campfire, a
little apart from the rest of the group. Through the flickering flames, she
could see Wells smiling at the Earthborn girl, who seemed to be blushing. A
few people were looking at them warily, but now that Octavia was back,
it’d been fairly easy to convince the group that she’d been telling the truth
about the rogue Earthborns, and most had been quick to forgive Wells for
letting her go.
Clarke sighed and rested her head on Bellamy’s shoulder. “The thing is,
the fact that you’re related to my ex-boyfriend isn’t even the weirdest thing
about you.”
Bellamy wrapped his arm around Clarke’s waist and tickled her
stomach. She laughed, and reached around to retaliate, but Bellamy sat up
sharp as something on the other side of the fire caught his attention.
“It’s true!” they heard Octavia cry, flipping her long dark hair over her
shoulder. She’d spent the past hour regaling the group with tales of her time
at Mount Weather.
“And how do we know you didn’t come back to spy on us?” a voice
asked. Clarke’s muscles tensed as Graham strode over toward Octavia, the
fire casting a flickering light on his smirk.
His voice was a mix of playful condescension and hostility, but Octavia
didn’t let that faze her. She tilted her head to the side and gave Graham a
searching look from under her dark lashes.
“You might find this hard to believe, Graham, but there are far more
interesting things to see on Earth than your little spear collection. If I had to
spy on you, I’d fall asleep.”
The people sitting near Octavia laughed, and to Clarke’s surprise,
Graham actually smiled, though even in the darkness, she could see it didn’t
extend to his eyes. “Oh, trust me, my spears are about as big as anyone can
handle,” he protested. Octavia giggled.
“Should I go punch that kid in the face now, or later?” Bellamy growled.
“Later,” Clarke said. “I’m comfortable sitting here.” She’d only joined
the group around the fire a few minutes earlier, having spent the past hour
in the infirmary cabin, making sure Molly, Felix, and the others were well
on their way to recovery as the wintershade left their systems. The look of
relief on Eric’s face when Clarke helped Felix to stand for the first time
since he’d gotten sick was enough to make Clarke forget that she had
walked nearly twenty kilometers in one day.
Clarke shifted so she was leaning against Bellamy. He wrapped his arms
around her waist and leaned back, so they were both looking up at the sky.
The roar of the fire was enough to muffle the voices of everyone around
them, and with their eyes tilted upward, it almost felt like they were the
only two people on Earth.
She wondered if her mother and father were looking up at the same sky,
feeling the same way. Earlier that day, Bellamy had told her that once
Octavia had recovered from her ordeal, they’d both go with Clarke to help
her look for her parents. The Griffins had nearly a year’s head start, but it
didn’t matter, Bellamy promised. They wouldn’t stop until they found them.
The thought was both thrilling and terrifying, almost too much to wrap
her head around. So for the moment, she contented herself with leaning
against Bellamy, letting the sound of his steady heartbeat temporarily drown
out the rest of her thoughts.
“Look at that,” Bellamy whispered in her ear.
“What?”
He took her hand, gently extended one of her fingers, and pointed it
toward a pinpoint of light moving quickly across the sky. “Did you ever
make wishes on meteors on Phoenix? Or was that just a Walden thing?” he
asked, his breath warm on her skin. “You probably already had everything
you wanted.”
“I definitely didn’t have everything I wanted,” Clarke murmured,
snuggling against his chest. “Though I think I might be getting close at the
moment.”
“So you don’t want to make a wish?”
Clarke looked up again. The speck of light was moving awfully fast,
even for a meteor. She sat up a little straighter. “I don’t think that’s a falling
star,” she said, unable to keep the note of anxiety out of her voice.
“What do you mean? What else could it be?” But then she felt him grow
rigid behind her, a sudden realization settling into his bones. “You don’t
think…” He trailed off and tightened his hold around her.
They didn’t have to say it. While the rest of the group sat around the fire
in blissful ignorance, Bellamy and Clarke knew the truth. The spot of light
wasn’t a star—it was one of the dropships.
The hundred would soon be the hundred no longer.
The rest of the Colony was coming to Earth.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am deeply grateful to everyone at Alloy for being a part of this adventure.
I’d never hijack a dropship without any of you.
Huge space hugs to my brilliant editors, the staggeringly clever Joelle
Hobeika, and the endlessly creative Katie McGee, for their unfailing
dedication to this series. It’s also a great privilege to work with Josh Bank,
Sara Shandler, and Les Morgenstein—people whose vision takes
storytelling to new heights.
Many thanks to my editor, Elizabeth Bewley, for her keen guidance, and
to the publishing wizards at Little, Brown for their hard work and
enthusiasm for The 100.
It takes a village to keep an author sane during the writing process, and
for that I am eternally indebted to my friends for their unwavering support.
Thank you for the coffee, encouraging texts, glamorous viewing parties,
and for reminding me to be excited when I could barely remember to do my
laundry. And special thanks to my Scholastic colleagues for making the
office a constant source of inspiration, wisdom, and bookish mirth.
Above all, I’m grateful to my family. Every word I write is shaped by
the stories you gave me, stories tucked into piles of books, shining out from
late night movies, and swirled into choruses of raucous laughter. I love you
more than all the stars in the galaxy.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Alloy Entertainment, LLC
Key artwork © 2015 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Cover design by Liz Dresner
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than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First ebook edition: February 2015
ISBN 978-0-316-38197-0
E3-20200715-JV-PC-REV
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing
of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the
author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review
purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
WELCOME
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1: Glass
CHAPTER 2: Wells
CHAPTER 3: Clarke
CHAPTER 4: Wells
CHAPTER 5: Glass
CHAPTER 6: Bellamy
CHAPTER 7: Wells
CHAPTER 8: Clarke
CHAPTER 9: Glass
CHAPTER 10: Clarke
CHAPTER 11: Wells
CHAPTER 12: Clarke
CHAPTER 13: Bellamy
CHAPTER 14: Wells
CHAPTER 15: Glass
CHAPTER 16: Bellamy
CHAPTER 17: Glass
CHAPTER 18: Clarke
CHAPTER 19: Wells
CHAPTER 20: Glass
CHAPTER 21: Wells
CHAPTER 22: Clarke
CHAPTER 23: Bellamy
CHAPTER 24: Glass
CHAPTER 25: Wells
CHAPTER 26: Bellamy
CHAPTER 27: Wells
CHAPTER 28: Bellamy
CHAPTER 29: Glass
CHAPTER 30: Clarke
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For Joelle Hobeika, whose imagination
brings stories to life and makes crazy dreams
come true.
And for Annie Stone, editor extraordinaire.
CHAPTER 1
Glass
Glass’s hands were sticky with her mother’s blood. The realization came to
her slowly, as if through a thick haze—as if the hands belonged to someone
else, and the blood was part of a nightmare. But they were her hands, and
the blood was real.
Glass could feel her right palm sticking to the arm of her seat in the first
row of the dropship. And she could feel someone squeezing her left hand,
hard. It was Luke. He hadn’t let go ever since he’d pulled Glass away from
her mother’s body and carried her to her seat. His fingers were grasping
hers so tightly he might’ve been trying to siphon the pulsing pain out of her
body and store it in his.
Glass tried to stay focused on the warmth of his hand on hers. She
concentrated on the strength of his grip, how he showed no signs of
loosening his hold even when the dropship began shaking and dipping on
its violent trajectory toward Earth.
Not more than a few minutes ago, Glass had been sitting in a seat next to
her mother, ready to face the new world together. But now her mother was
dead, shot by a deranged guard desperate for a spot on the last shuttle to
escape the dying Colony. Glass squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the
scene from playing out again in her mind: Her mother falling, silently, to
the ground. Glass dropping onto the floor next to her mother as she gasped
and moaned, unable to do anything to stop the bleeding. Glass, pulling her
mother’s head onto her lap and battling sobs to say how much she loved
her. Watching the dark stain on her mother’s dress spread as the life faded
from her. Watching her face go slack, just after hearing those final words:
I’m so proud of you.
There was no stopping the images, just as there was no changing the
truth. Her mother was dead, and Glass and Luke were hurtling through
space on a ship that would crash into Earth at any moment.
The dropship rattled loudly and jerked from side to side. Glass hardly
noticed. She had the vague sensation of a harness digging into her ribs as
her body followed the ship’s movements, but the pain of her mother’s death
gouged deeper than the metal buckle.
She’d always imagined grief as a weight—that is, when she’d thought
about it at all. The old Glass hadn’t spent a great deal of time dwelling on
other people’s anguish. That changed after her best friend’s mother died,
and she’d watched Wells slump around the ship as if carrying an enormous,
invisible burden. But Glass felt different—carved out, hollow, as if all
emotion had been scraped out of her. The only thing reminding her that she
was still alive was Luke’s reassuring hand on hers.
People pressed against Glass from all sides. Every seat was filled, and
men, women, and children stood in every spare inch of the cabin. They held
on to each other for balance, though no one could fall down—they were
packed too tightly, an undulating mass of flesh and quiet tears. Some
whispered the names of people they’d left behind, while others jerked their
heads wildly, refusing to accept that they’d said good-bye to loved ones for
the last time.
The only person who didn’t look panicked was the man sitting
immediately to Glass’s right, Vice Chancellor Rhodes. He was staring
straight ahead, either oblivious or impervious to the distraught faces around
him. A flash of indignation momentarily masked her pain. Wells’s father,
the Chancellor, would’ve been doing everything in his power to comfort
those around him. Not that he would’ve accepted a spot on the final
dropship in the first place. But Glass was hardly in a position to judge. The
only reason she’d made it onto the dropship was because Rhodes had
brought Glass and her mother with him when he forced his way on board.
A violent jolt threw Glass back against her seat as the dropship lurched
sideways, then tilted almost forty-five degrees before righting itself with a
stomach-turning swoop. A child’s wail cut through the collective gasp.
Several people shrieked as the metal frame of the dropship began buckling,
as if caught in the grasp of a giant fist. A high-pitched, mechanical whine
screeched through the cabin, threatening to burst their eardrums, drowning
out the cries and terrified sobs.
Glass gripped the arm of her seat and clutched Luke’s hand, waiting for
the surge of fear. But it never came. She knew she should be afraid, but the
events of the past few days had left her numb. It was hard enough watching
her home fall apart as the Colony ran out of oxygen. Hard enough risking
an insane, unauthorized spacewalk to make it from Walden to Phoenix,
where there was still breathable air. Everything she’d gone through had
seemed worth it, though, when Glass, her mother, and Luke had made it
onto the dropship. But at this moment, Glass didn’t care if she never got to
see Earth. Better to end it all now than have to wake up every morning and
remember that her mother was gone.
She glanced to the side and saw Luke staring straight ahead, his face a
stony mask of resolve. Was he trying to be brave for her? Or had his
extensive guard training taught him how to remain calm under pressure? He
deserved better than this. After everything Glass had put him through, was
this how it was going to end? Had they escaped certain death on the Colony
only to hurtle headlong into a different horrific fate? Humans weren’t
scheduled to return to Earth for at least another century, when scientists
were sure the radiation left after the Cataclysm would have subsided. This
was a premature homecoming, a desperate exodus promising nothing but
uncertainty.
Glass looked over at the row of small windows lining the vessel. Hazy
gray clouds filled each portal. It was oddly beautiful, she thought, just as
the windows suddenly popped and shattered, spraying shards of hot glass
and metal throughout the cabin. Flames shot through the broken panes. The
people closest to the windows frantically tried to duck and move away, but
there was nowhere to go. They leaned backward, falling onto the people
behind them. The tang of scorched metal burned Glass’s nostrils, while the
scent of something else made her gag.… With rising fear, Glass realized it
was the smell of burned flesh.
Pushing hard against the force of the ship’s velocity, she turned her head
to look at Luke. For a moment, Glass couldn’t hear the sounds of
whimpering and crying or the crunch of metal. She couldn’t feel her
mother’s last breath. She could only see the side of Luke’s face, the perfect
profile and strong jaw that she’d traced in her mind night after night during
those terrible months in Confinement, when she’d been sentenced to die on
her eighteenth birthday.
Glass was brought back to reality by the sound of metal ripping from
metal. It vibrated through her eardrums and down into her jaw, through her
bones and into her gut. She ground her teeth together. She watched in
helpless horror as the roof peeled off and flew away, as if it were nothing
more than a scrap of fabric.
She forced herself to turn back to Luke, who’d closed his eyes but was
now gripping her hand with renewed intensity.
“I love you,” she said, but her words were swallowed up by the screams
all around them. Suddenly, with a bone-shaking crack, the dropship
slammed into Earth, and everything went black.
In the distance, Glass heard a low, guttural moaning, a sound full of more
anguish than anything she’d ever heard. She tried to open her eyes, but the
slightest effort sent her head into a sickening spin. She gave up and allowed
herself to sink back into the darkness. A few moments passed. Or was it a
few hours? Again, she struggled against the comforting quiet, fighting her
way toward consciousness. For a sweet, groggy millisecond, she had no
idea where she was. All she could focus on was the barrage of strange
smells. Glass hadn’t known it was possible to smell so many things at once:
There was something she sort of recognized from the solar fields—her
favorite spot to meet Luke—but amplified a thousand times over. There was
something sweet, but not like sugar or perfume. Deeper, richer. Every
breath she took sent her brain into overdrive as it struggled to identify the
swirling scents. Something spicy. Metallic. Then a familiar scent jolted her
brain to attention. Blood.
Glass’s eyes fluttered open. She was in a space so large she couldn’t see
the walls, and the transparent, star-filled ceiling looked like it was miles
away. Slowly, her awareness clicked into place, and her confusion gave way
to awe. She was looking up at the sky—the real sky, on Earth—and she was
alive. But her wonder lasted only a few moments before an urgent thought
ripped through her brain, and panic shot through her body. Where was
Luke? She snapped into alertness and pushed herself into an upright
position, ignoring the nausea and pain that tried to force her back to the
ground.
“Luke!” she cried out, jerking her head from side to side, praying to see
his familiar outline among the mass of unfamiliar shadows. “Luke!” The
growing chorus of screams and wails swallowed her cries. Why won’t
someone turn on the lights? she thought groggily, before remembering that
she was on the ground. The stars gave off nothing more than a dull
glimmer, and the moon offered just enough light for Glass to tell that the
moaning, flailing black shapes were her fellow passengers. This had to be a
nightmare. This wasn’t what Earth was supposed to be like. This wasn’t a
place worth dying for. She called for Luke again, but there was no response.
She needed to stand, but her body felt strangely heavy, as if invisible
weights were tugging on her limbs. Gravity here felt different, harsher—or
was she injured? Glass placed her hand on her shin and gasped. Her legs
were wet. Was she bleeding? She glanced down, afraid of what she might
find. Her pant legs were torn, and the skin underneath was badly scratched,
but there were no visible wounds. She placed her hands on the floor, no,
ground, and gasped. She was sitting in water—water that stretched out far
in front of her across an impossibly vast distance, with only the faintest
shadow of trees at its far edge. Glass blinked, waiting for her eyes to
recalibrate and reveal something that made more sense, but the image didn’t
change. Lake. The word slid smoothly into her mind. She was sitting on the
edge, on the shore, of a lake on Earth—a fact that felt as surreal to her as
the devastation surrounding her on every side. When she turned to look, she
saw only horror: Bodies lying limp and broken on the ground. Wounded
people crying and begging for help. The mangled, smoking shells of several
dropships that had all landed within a few meters of each other, their frames
cracked open and splintered. People running into the still smoldering
wreckage, then clambering back out with heavy, still figures draped over
their shoulders.
Who had carried her out? If it was Luke, where was he?
Glass struggled to her feet, her legs shaky beneath her. She locked her
knees to prevent them from giving way and swung her arms out to regain
her balance. She stood in the icy water, cold creeping up her legs. She took
a deep breath and felt her head clear slightly, although her legs continued to
tremble. She took a few wobbly steps forward and knocked her foot against
a few rocks below the surface.
Glass looked down and inhaled sharply. There was just enough
moonlight to tell that the water was tinged a deep pink. Did the pollution
and radiation of the Cataclysm cause lakes to change color? Or was there an
area of Earth where water was naturally pink? She’d never paid much
attention in her Earth geography tutorials—a fact she was starting to regret
more and more by the second. But a desperate cry from a crumpled figure
on the ground nearby brought the painful answer to her mind: This wasn’t a
long-lasting side effect of radiation—the water was colored with blood.
She shuddered, then walked toward the woman who had called out. She
was slumped on the shore, the bottom half of her body in the rapidly
reddening water. Glass stooped down and took her hand. “Don’t worry,
you’re going to be fine,” she said, hoping she sounded more certain than
she felt. The woman’s eyes were wide with fear and pain. “Have you seen
Thomas?” she wheezed.
“Thomas?” Glass repeated, scanning the shadow landscape of bodies
and wreckage. She needed to find Luke. The only thing more terrifying than
being on Earth was the thought of Luke lying somewhere out there, injured
and alone.
“My son, Thomas,” the woman said, tightening her grip on Glass’s hand.
“We were on different dropships. My neighbor—” She cut herself off with
an anguished gasp. “She promised she’d take care of him.”
“We’ll find him,” Glass said, wincing as the woman’s fingernails dug
into her skin. She hoped that the first sentence she’d spoken on Earth didn’t
turn out to be a lie. She thought back to the chaotic scene she’d barely
escaped back on the ship: The crush of wheezing people filling the launch
deck, desperate for one of the remaining seats off the dying Colony. The
frantic parents who’d become separated from their children. The bluelipped, shell-shocked kids searching for the family members they’d
probably never lay eyes on again.
Glass only managed to escape when the woman cried out in pain and let
her hand fall back to the water. “I’ll look for him,” Glass said shakily as she
started to inch away. “We’ll find him.”
The guilt building in her stomach was almost enough to stop Glass in
her tracks, but she knew she had to keep moving. There was nothing she
could do to ease this woman’s suffering. She wasn’t a doctor like Wells’s
girlfriend, Clarke. She wasn’t even a people person, like Wells or Luke,
who both always knew the right thing to say at the right time. There was
only one person on the planet she had any power to help, and she had to
find him before it was too late.
“I’m sorry,” Glass whispered, turning back to face the woman, whose
face was contorted in pain. “I’ll come back for you. I need to go find my—
someone.”
The woman nodded through a clenched jaw and squeezed her eyes shut,
tears sneaking from behind her eyelids.
Glass wrenched her gaze away and kept walking. She squinted, trying to
make sense of the scene in front of her. The combination of the darkness,
the dizziness, the smoke, and the shock of being on Earth seemed to make
everything a blur. The dropships had landed on the edge of a lake, leaving
piles of smoldering wreckage everywhere she looked. In the distance, she
could just make out the faint outline of trees, but she was too distraught to
give them more than a fleeting glance. What good were trees or even
flowers if Luke wasn’t there to see any of it with her?
Her eyes darted from one dazed and battered survivor to another. An old
man sat on a large piece of metal torn from the dropship, his head in his
hands. A young boy with a bloody face stood alone, just a few meters away
from a tangle of sizzling, sparking wires. Oblivious to the danger, he stood
staring blankly up at the sky, as if searching for a way to get back home.
All around lay the broken bodies of the dead. People with the ghosts of
heart-wrenching good-byes still on their lips, people who’d never even
gotten a glimpse of the blue sky they’d sacrificed everything to see. They
would’ve been better off staying behind, taking their last breaths
surrounded by their friends and families instead of being left here, all alone.
Still a little unsteady on her feet, Glass staggered toward the nearest
figures on the ground, praying with all her might that none of the lifeless
faces had Luke’s strong chin, narrow nose, or curly blond hair. She sighed
with bittersweet relief as she looked down at the first person. Not Luke.
With equal parts dread and hope, she moved to the next body. And the next.
She held her breath as she rolled people onto their backs or pushed heavy
chunks of wreckage off them. With each bloody, battered stranger, she
exhaled and allowed herself to believe that Luke might still be alive.
“Are you okay?”
Startled, Glass jerked her head to the side to follow the voice. A man
with a large gash above his left eye was looking at her quizzically.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said automatically.
“You sure? Shock can do crazy things to the body.”
“I’m okay. I’m just looking…” She trailed off, unable to shape the mass
of panic and hope in her chest into words.
The man nodded. “Good. I already checked this area, but if you find any
survivors I missed, just shout. We’re gathering the injured over there.” He
pointed a finger into the darkness where, in the distance, Glass could just
make out the shapes of bent figures hovering over still forms on the ground.
“There’s a woman, over by the water. I think she’s hurt.”
“Okay, we’ll go get her.”
He signaled to someone Glass couldn’t see, then broke into a lurching
jog. She felt a strange urge to call out, to tell him that it was better to look
for the missing Thomas first. Glass felt sure that the woman would rather
bleed out in the water than face a lifetime on Earth without the only person
who made her life worth living. But the man was already gone.
Glass took a deep breath and willed herself to keep moving, but her feet
no longer seemed connected to her brain. If Luke were unharmed, wouldn’t
he have found her by now? The fact that she hadn’t heard his deep voice
calling her name through the din meant that, at best, he was lying
somewhere, too hurt to move. And at worst…
Glass tried to resist the grim thoughts, but it was like attempting to
shove a shadow. Nothing could keep the darkness out of her mind. It would
be unimaginably cruel to lose Luke mere hours after their reunion. She
couldn’t go through it again, not after what happened to her mother. No.
Choking back a sob, she rose onto the balls of her feet and looked around.
There was more light now. Some of the survivors had used the burning
pieces of dropship to create makeshift torches, but the jagged, flashing light
was hardly comforting. Everywhere she looked, Glass saw glimpses of
mangled bodies and panicked faces emerging from the shadows.
The trees were closer now. She could see the bark, the twisted branches,
the canopy of leaves. After spending her whole life staring at one solitary
tree, it was startling to see so many all together, like turning a corner and
facing a dozen clones of your best friend.
Glass turned to glance at one particularly large tree and gasped. A boy
with curly hair was slumped against the trunk.
A boy in a guard’s uniform.
“Luke!” Glass shouted, breaking into a jerky run. As she got closer, she
saw that his eyes were closed. Was he unconscious or…
“Luke!” she cried again before the thought could gain traction.
Glass’s limbs felt both clumsy and electrified, like a reanimated corpse.
She tried to speed up, but the ground seemed to be pulling her down. Even
from a dozen meters away, she could tell: It was Luke. His eyes were
closed, his body slack, but he was breathing. He was alive.
Glass fell to her knees by his side and fought the urge to throw herself
across him. She didn’t want to hurt him any further. “Luke,” she whispered.
“Can you hear me?”
He was pale, and over his eye there was a deep cut, which oozed blood
down the bridge of his nose. Glass pulled her sleeve down over her hand
and pressed it against the cut. Luke moaned slightly but didn’t move. She
pressed a little harder, hoping to staunch the bleeding, and looked down to
survey the rest of him. His left wrist was purple and swollen, but apart from
that, he looked okay. Tears of relief and gratitude sprang to her eyes, and
she let them slide down her cheeks. After a few minutes, she took her
sleeve away and examined the wound again. It looked like the bleeding had
stopped.
Glass put a hand on his chest. “Luke,” she said gently. She ran her
fingers lightly over his collarbone. “Luke. It’s me. Wake up.”
Luke stirred at the sound of her voice, and Glass let out a mangled sound
that was part laugh, part sob. He groaned, his eyelids fluttering open and
sinking closed again. “Luke, wake up,” Glass repeated, then brought her
mouth to his ear, just like she used to do on mornings when he was in
danger of missing check-in at work. “You’re going to be late,” she said with
a small smile.
His eyes opened again, slowly, and fixed on her. He tried to speak, but
no sound came out. Instead he smiled back.
“Hey there,” Glass said, feeling her fear and sorrow melt away for a
moment. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re here, Luke. We made it. Welcome
to Earth.”
CHAPTER 2
Wells
“You look exhausted,” Sasha said, tilting her head to the side so her long
black hair spilled across her shoulder. “Why don’t you go to bed?”
“I’d rather be here with you.” Wells suppressed a yawn by turning it into
a grin. It wasn’t hard. Every time he looked at Sasha, he noticed something
that made him smile. The way her green eyes glowed in the flickering light
of the campfire. How the smattering of freckles on her sharp cheekbones
could be as fascinating to him as the nighttime constellations were to her.
She was staring at them now, her chin pointed upward as she gazed in
wonder at the sky.
“I can’t believe you lived up there,” she said quietly before lowering her
eyes to meet Wells’s. “Don’t you miss it? Being surrounded by stars?”
“It’s even more beautiful down here.” He raised his hand, placed a
finger on Sasha’s cheek, then gently traced a path from one freckle to
another. “I could stare at your face all night. I couldn’t do that with the Big
Dipper.”
“I’d be surprised if you lasted five more minutes. You can barely keep
your eyes open.”
“It’s been a long day.”
Sasha raised an eyebrow, and Wells smiled. They both knew that was a
bit of an understatement. Over the past few hours, Wells had been kicked
out of the camp for helping Sasha—the hundred’s former prisoner—escape.
That was before he ran into Clarke and Bellamy, who had just rescued
Bellamy’s sister, Octavia, thereby proving that Sasha’s people, the
Earthborns, weren’t the enemy they’d once appeared to be. That alone
would’ve been a lot to explain to the rest of the camp members, most of
whom were still a little uneasy around Sasha, but it was only the beginning.
Just that evening, Bellamy and Wells had made a shocking discovery.
Although Wells, the son of the Chancellor, had grown up privileged on
Phoenix, while Bellamy, an orphan, had scraped by on Walden, they were in
fact half brothers.
It was all too much to process. And while Wells was mostly happy, the
shock and confusion kept the full weight of the news from sinking in. That,
and the fact that he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in ages. Over the past
few weeks, he’d become the de facto leader of the camp. It wasn’t a
position he’d necessarily sought, but his officer training combined with his
lifelong fascination with Earth had given him a certain set of skills. Yet,
while he was glad to be able to help, and grateful for the group’s trust, the
position came with an enormous amount of responsibility.
“Maybe I’ll rest for a minute,” he said, lowering his elbows to the
ground, then lying back so he could rest his head in Sasha’s lap. Although
he and Sasha were sitting apart from the rest of the group gathered around
the campfire, the crackle of the flames didn’t fully mask the sound of the
typical evening arguments. It was just a matter of time before someone
came rushing over to complain that someone else had taken her cot, or to
get Wells to settle a dispute about water duty, or to ask what they were
meant to do with the scraps from that day’s hunt.
Wells sighed as Sasha ran her fingers through his hair, and for a
moment, he forgot about everything except the warmth of her skin as he let
his head sink against her. He forgot about the terrible week they’d just had,
the violence they had witnessed. He forgot about finding the body of his
friend Priya. He forgot that his father had been shot in front of his eyes
during a scuffle with Bellamy, who’d been desperate to get onto the
dropship with his sister. He forgot about the fire that had destroyed their
original camp and killed Clarke’s friend, Thalia—a tragedy that had severed
the last remaining bonds of his and Clarke’s romance.
Maybe he and Sasha could spend the whole night out in the clearing. It
was the only way they’d get any privacy. He smiled at the idea and felt
himself sinking deeper toward sleep.
“What the hell?” Sasha’s hand stopped suddenly, and there was a note of
anxiety in her voice.
“What’s wrong?” Wells asked as his eyes snapped open. “Is everything
okay?”
He sat up and took a quick survey of the clearing. Most of the hundred
were still huddled in clumps around the fire, speaking in low murmurs that
blended into a soothing hum. But then his gaze fell on Clarke, and although
she was curled up next to Bellamy, he could tell she was focused on
something else entirely. Although his intense, all-consuming feelings for
her had evolved into something akin to real friendship, he could still read
her like a tablet. He knew her every expression: the way she pursed her lips
in concentration when studying a medical procedure, or how her eyes
practically sparkled when talking about one of her weird interests, like
biological classification or theoretical physics. Right now, her brows were
knitted together in concern as she threw her head back, assessing and
calculating something in the sky. Bellamy’s head was tilted up too, his
expression stony. He turned and whispered something in Clarke’s ear, an
intimate gesture that would’ve once made Wells’s stomach roil, but now
only filled him with apprehension.
Wells looked up but didn’t see anything unusual. Just stars. Sasha was
still staring at the sky. “What is it?” Wells asked, placing his hand on her
back.
“There.” Sasha’s voice tightened as she pointed straight up into the
night, high above the infirmary cabin and the trees that ringed the clearing.
She knew this sky as well as he knew the stars up close. An Earthborn,
she’d been looking up her whole life, while he’d been looking down. Wells
followed her finger and saw it: a swiftly moving bright light, arcing toward
Earth. Toward them. Just behind it was another, then two more. Together
they looked like a star shower, raining down on the peaceful gathering
around the fire.
Wells inhaled sharply as his entire body went rigid.
“The dropships,” he said quietly. “They’re coming down. All of them.”
He felt Sasha’s body tense next to his. He wrapped his arm around her
shoulders and pulled her close as they watched the descending ships in
silence for a moment, their breath falling into the same rhythm.
“Do you… do you think your father’s on one of them?” Sasha asked,
clearly trying to sound more hopeful than she felt. While the Earthborns had
come to terms with sharing the planet with a hundred juvenile delinquents
in exile, Wells sensed that facing the entire population of the Colony was an
entirely different matter.
Wells fell silent as hope and dread battled for supremacy in his already
overtaxed brain. There was a chance that his father’s injury hadn’t been as
serious as it’d appeared, that he’d made a full recovery and was making his
way down to Earth. Then again, there was also a chance that the Chancellor
was still clinging to life in the medical center—or worse, already floating
still and silent among the stars. What would he do if his father didn’t
disembark from one of those dropships? How could Wells go on knowing
that he’d never get to win the Chancellor’s forgiveness for the terrible
crimes Wells committed back on the Colony?
Wells tore his eyes away and twisted around to look across the fire.
Clarke had turned to look at him, and they locked eyes, which filled Wells
with a flood of sudden gratitude. They didn’t have to exchange a single
word. She understood his mixture of relief and dread. She knew how much
he stood to gain or lose when those doors opened.
“He’s going to be so proud of you,” Sasha said, squeezing Wells’s hand.
Despite his anxiety, Wells felt his face soften into a smile. Sasha
understood too. Even though she’d never met Wells’s father, even though
she’d never witnessed their complicated relationship, she also knew what it
was like to grow up with a parent responsible for the well-being of an entire
community. Or in Wells’s case, a parent responsible for all known survivors
of the human race. Sasha’s father was the leader of the Earthborns, just as
Wells’s father was leader of the Colony. She knew what it meant to bear the
weight of that duty. Sasha understood that being a leader was as much a
sacrifice as it was an honor.
Wells looked around the fire at the gaunt, exhausted faces of the nearly
one hundred teenagers who’d survived the traumatic first few weeks on
Earth. Normally, the sight filled him with various degrees of worry as he
fretted about food stores and other rapidly dwindling supplies, but this time,
all he felt was relief. Relief and pride. They’d done it. Despite the odds,
they’d survived, and now help was on its way. Even if his father wasn’t on
one of those dropships, there would be huge amounts of rations, tools,
medicine—everything they needed to make it through the upcoming winter
and beyond.
He couldn’t wait to see the look on the new arrivals’ faces when they
saw how much the hundred had accomplished. They had certainly made
some mistakes along the way, and there had been horrible losses—Asher
and Priya, almost Octavia—but there had been triumphs too.
Wells turned his head and saw Sasha staring at him in concern. He
grinned, and before she had time to react, he tangled his fingers in her
glossy hair and brought his lips to hers. She seemed surprised at first, but
soon relaxed into him and kissed him back. He rested his forehead against
hers for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then stood. It was time to tell the
others.
He shot a quick glance at Clarke, silently asking for her consent. She
pressed her lips together and turned briefly to Bellamy before meeting
Wells’s eyes and nodding.
Wells cleared his throat, which caught a few people’s attention, but not
many. “Can everyone hear me?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over
the buzz of conversation and the crackle of flames.
A few meters away, Graham exchanged a sneer with one of his Arcadian
friends. When they’d first landed on Earth, he’d led the charge against
Wells, trying to convince the others that the Chancellor’s son had been sent
as a spy. And while most of the hundred had grown loyal to Wells, Graham
hadn’t lost all his power—there was still a considerable portion of the camp
who feared Graham more than they trusted Wells.
Lila, a pretty Waldenite who fawned over Graham, whispered something
to him, then giggled loudly at whatever he whispered back.
“Will you shut up?” Octavia snapped, shooting them a dark look. “Wells
is trying to talk.”
Lila glared at Octavia and muttered something under her breath, but
Graham looked mildly amused. Maybe it was because Octavia had spent
less time in camp than the others, but she was one of the few who wasn’t
intimidated by Graham, and she was willing to stand up to him.
“What’s going on, Wells?” Eric asked. The tall, serious-faced Arcadian
was holding the hand of his boyfriend, Felix, who’d recently recovered
from a mysterious illness. Though naturally undemonstrative, Eric’s relief
had temporarily overpowered his reserve. Wells hadn’t seen him let go of
Felix’s hand all day.
Wells smiled. Soon, they wouldn’t have to worry about battling strange
diseases. There would be fully trained doctors on those dropships. Doctors
with more medicine than there had been on Earth in centuries.
“We did it,” Wells said, unable to contain his excitement. “We lasted
long enough to prove that Earth is survivable, and the others are on their
way.” He pointed up at the sky with a grin.
Dozens of heads snapped up, the flickering flames reflecting on their
faces. A chorus of whoops and cries—and a few curses—rang out in the
clearing as everyone jumped to their feet. The ships were low in the sky
now, descending rapidly, picking up speed as they approached Earth.
“My mom is coming!” a young girl named Molly said, bouncing from
side to side. “She promised me she’d be on the first ship.”
Two Walden girls clutched each other and began squealing, while
Antonio, a normally cheerful Waldenite who’d grown quiet in recent days,
started muttering to himself. “We did it… we did it…”
“Remember what my father told us,” Wells said, shouting over the noise.
“About our crimes being forgiven. From this point on, we’re regular
citizens again.” He paused, then grinned. “Actually, that’s not entirely true.
You’re not regular citizens—you’re heroes.”
There was a smattering of applause, but it was quickly drowned out by a
piercing screech that suddenly filled the air. It seemed to emanate from the
sky itself and grew to a deafening volume, forcing everyone in the clearing
to cover their ears.
“They’re about to land,” Felix shouted.
“Where?” a girl asked in response.
It was impossible to say, but it was clear that the ships were coming in
fast and hard, with no detectable control over their approach. Wells watched
in helpless shock as the first vessel passed directly overhead, just a few
kilometers above them, so low that showers of burning debris singed the
tops of the tallest trees.
Wells cursed under his breath. If the trees caught on fire, it wouldn’t
matter who was on those dropships—they’d all be dead before morning.
“Great,” Bellamy said, loud enough to be heard over the din. “We risk
our lives to prove that Earth is safe, just so they can come down and set it
on fire.” His voice had its usual careless, mocking tone, but Wells could tell
Bellamy was scared. Unlike the others, he’d forced his way onto the
dropship—and gotten the Chancellor shot in the process. There was no way
of knowing whether Bellamy would be forgiven for his crimes, or whether
the guards had orders to shoot him on sight.
As the dropship moved past the clearing, Wells caught a glimpse of the
letters on the side—Trillion Galactic, the company that built the ships
generations ago. His stomach twisted as he realized that one was flying on
its side, at a full forty-five-degree angle to Earth. What could that mean for
everyone inside the cabin? It passed over the clearing, disappearing behind
the tops of the tallest trees, continuing its descent out of their line of vision.
Wells held his breath, waiting. After a tortured moment, a flash of light
and fire exploded far out beyond the trees. It was at least a few kilometers
from their camp, but seemed as bright as a solar flare. A millisecond later
came the delayed sound of the crash, a deep thundering that drowned out all
other noise. Before anyone could process what they’d just seen, the second
ship passed directly over their heads and landed in the same catastrophic
fashion, sending up more light and noise. A third ship followed.
Each crash shook the ground, sending violent vibrations up through
Wells’s feet and into his stomach. Was this what happened when their ship
crashed? Their landing had also been terrible—a few people had even been
killed. The frightening noises stopped abruptly. As Earth grew quiet again,
flames shot into the sky, coloring the darkness, and smoke began to curl
upward. Wells turned away from the trees and back to the others. Their
faces, illuminated in the orange light from above, asked the same question
that was repeating on a loop in his own head: Could anyone have survived
that?
“We have to go to them,” Eric said firmly, raising his voice to be heard
over the chorus of gasps and nervous murmurs.
“How will we find them?” Molly asked, trembling. Wells knew she
hated being in the woods, especially at night.
“It looks like they might’ve landed near the lake,” Wells replied, rubbing
his fingers in circles against his temples. “But they could be much farther.”
If anyone even survived, he thought. He didn’t need to say it out loud. They
were all thinking the same thing. Wells turned back toward the crash. The
flames rising above the trees were subsiding, shrinking down into the
woods. “We better start moving. Once that fire goes out, there’s no way
we’ll be able to find them in the dark.”
“Wells,” Sasha murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder, “maybe you
should wait until morning. It’s not safe out there.”
Wells hesitated. Sasha was right about the danger. There was a violent
faction of Earthborns who’d rebelled against her father and were now
roaming the woods in between Mount Weather and the hundred’s camp.
They were the ones who’d kidnapped Octavia, who’d killed Asher and
Priya. But he couldn’t bear the thought of the injured and scared Colonists
waiting for their help.
“We won’t all go,” Wells said to the group. “I just need a few volunteers
to take emergency supplies and lead everyone back to camp.” He looked
around the clearing they’d worked so hard to turn into a home and felt a
surge of pride.
Octavia took a few steps toward Wells so she was standing in the center
of the circle. She was only fourteen, but unlike the other younger members
of the group, she wasn’t shy about speaking up. “I say we let them find their
own way,” she said, raising her chin defiantly. “Or better yet, they can just
stay where they are. They pretty much sentenced us to die when they sent
us down here. Why should we risk our lives going to rescue them?” A
murmur of assent rippled around the crowd. Octavia shot a quick glance at
her brother, maybe seeking his support, but when Wells looked at Bellamy,
his face was strangely inscrutable.
“Are you kidding?” Felix asked, looking at Octavia with dismay. His
voice was still weak from his illness, but his anxiety was clear. “If there’s
even the slightest chance that my parents are out there, then I have to try to
find them. Tonight.” He stepped closer to Eric, who put an arm around
Felix’s shoulders and squeezed him tight.
“And I’m going with him,” Eric said.
Wells scanned the group for Clarke and Bellamy. They met his eye, then
Clarke took Bellamy’s hand and hurried along the outer edge of the circle to
where Wells was standing.
“I should go too,” Clarke said quietly. “There are probably injured
people who need my help.”
Wells glanced over at Bellamy, waiting for him to object to the risk. But
he’d gone tense and quiet, staring into the darkness beyond Wells. Perhaps
he knew it was futile to argue with Clarke when she had her mind set on
something.
“Okay,” Wells said. “Let’s get ready. Most of you should stay here and
prepare the camp for new arrivals.”
Clarke ran to the infirmary cabin for the medical supplies, while Wells
assigned other people to carry drinking water and blankets. “Eric, can you
find some food—anything we’ve got.”
As his team scurried off to prepare, Wells turned back to Sasha, who was
still standing next to him, her lips pressed together in concentration. “We
should bring something to use as a stretcher,” she said, casting an
appraising glance around the clearing. “There might be people who can’t
walk back.” She started toward the supply tent without waiting for Wells to
reply.
He broke into a jog after her. “Smart thinking,” he said, matching her
quick strides. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come with us.”
She stopped abruptly. “What are you talking about? None of you know
the terrain as well as I do. If anyone can get you there and back safely, it’s
me.”
Wells sighed. She was right, of course, but the thought of Sasha facing
hundreds of Colonists—and, most likely, many armed guards—who had no
idea Earthborns even existed sent a jolt of fear through him. He
remembered the shock and disorientation he’d felt when he first laid eyes
on her—it was as if his entire understanding of the universe had been
flipped on its head. He certainly hadn’t trusted her at first, and it had taken
the rest of his group even longer to believe that she was telling the truth
about belonging to a peaceful community of people living on Earth.
Wells shifted his weight from side to side as he stared into Sasha’s
almond-shaped eyes, which were already burning with defiance. She was
beautiful, and she was anything but fragile. She had proven how well she
could take care of herself, and she didn’t need him to protect her. But all the
strength and intelligence in the world wouldn’t be able to stop the bullet of
a panicked guard.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said, grabbing her hand. “They all
think the planet is empty. Now’s probably not the right time for them to
learn about Earthborns. Not when they’re disoriented and scared. The
guards could do something stupid.”
“But I’ll be helping them,” Sasha said, her voice a mix of patience and
confusion. “It’ll be pretty clear that I’m not the enemy.”
Wells fell silent, thinking about all the patrols he’d gone on during
officer training. The people he’d seen arrested for crimes as minor as
breaking curfew by five minutes or accidentally entering a restricted area.
He knew that strict order was absolutely necessary on the ship, but it’d be
hard for the guards to abandon their mantra of shoot first, ask questions
later.
“The thing you have to understand about my people—”
She cut him off by placing her hands on his shoulders, rising onto her
toes, and silencing him with a kiss. “Your people are my people now.”
“I hope they get that quote right in the history books,” he said with a
smile.
“I thought you wanted to write that book.” She put on what he assumed
was the Earthborn version of a snooty voice. “A firsthand account of man’s
return to Earth. Sounds like a great read, except for the fact that, you know,
some people never left.”
“You better watch it, or else I’ll take some artistic liberties with your
description.”
“What? You’ll say I was horribly ugly? See if I care.”
Wells reached out to tuck a strand of long hair behind her ear. “I’ll say
that you were so beautiful, you made me do ridiculous, reckless things.”
She smiled, and for a moment, every thought drained from Wells’s brain
except for how much he wanted to kiss her again. Then their reverie was
broken by voices calling out through the darkness. “Wells? We’re ready.”
The bitter smell of smoke from the crash site had begun wafting through the
trees, filling their noses.
“Okay,” he said to Sasha, his voice firm. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 3
Clarke
Clarke stared at the crash scene, eyes straining in the dark, waiting for the
inevitable moment when her training would kick in, when her instincts
would anesthetize her panic. But hovering at the edge of the wide expanse
of debris, absorbing the destruction, all she felt was horror.
It was far worse than when the hundred had landed. From what she
could see, three dropships had slammed into the ground just a few dozen
meters apart. It was amazing that they hadn’t crashed on top of each other.
Their jagged metal carcasses protruded from the earth around the water’s
edge, looming high above the surface of the lake. Motionless bodies were
scattered everywhere. The fires had mostly gone out, but the stench of
burning metal lay heavy on the air.
Even worse than the sight of so many bodies was the growing number of
wounded. By Clarke’s quick estimation, there were three hundred and fifty
or so survivors in various states of distress.
“Holy…” Wells’s voice trailed off next to her. But within moments, his
expression hardened into resolve. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“Where do we start?”
Clarke’s brain kicked into gear, and a familiar calmness stole over her as
she began to mentally triage the people in her sightline—sorting the ones
with mangled limbs from the ones who sat up on their own, beginning with
the children and moving upward in age.
They could do this. She could do this. Each of the dropships had to be
stocked with medical supplies. She had a lot more to work with this time
around, and she’d learned a massive amount over the past few weeks.
Besides, there had to be at least one or two fully qualified doctors among
the passengers. She could only hope that they were among the survivors.
She winced as a pang of regret radiated through her chest. She needed her
parents more than ever, but was no closer to finding them than she had been
when she left the camp days ago.
“Start separating them into groups,” she said to Wells, Sasha, and the
other members of the rescue party. “Leave the worst injuries where they are
and lead anyone who can walk back to the clearing.”
“What about the people in between?” Eric asked. “Should we let them
rest here or get them moving?”
“Everyone needs to get moving, as fast as possible,” Wells said before
Clarke could answer. “The dropships could blow at any moment. We’ll
break into two teams. One half starts from the left, one from the right.”
Clarke nodded, distributed the bandages and other basic medical
supplies, then headed into the center of the fray. She stepped over piles of
twisted metal and shards of fiberglass, and knelt down next to a little boy
whose dark skin was caked with gray ash. He was sitting with his knees
pulled to his chest as he stared straight ahead, wide-eyed and whimpering.
“Hey,” Clarke said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I’m Clarke.
What’s your name?”
He didn’t answer. There was no sign that he’d even heard Clarke or felt
the pressure of her touch.
“I know you’re scared. But everything’s going to be okay. You’re going
to love it here, I promise.”
She stood up and beckoned to Eric, who ran over.
“He’s fine. Just in shock. Can you find someone to look after him?”
Eric nodded, scooped the little boy into his arms, and hurried away.
Off to the left, Clarke could see Wells reassuring a middle-aged woman.
He helped her to her feet and walked her over to Sasha, who was getting
ready to bring the first group of survivors back to the camp. An icy chill ran
down Clarke’s spine when she saw a young man in a guard uniform
standing among them. Bellamy had promised to stay out of sight for the
time being, but it wouldn’t take much to draw him into a confrontation.
What if something happened to him while she was gone?
“Clarke!” She turned to see Felix signaling for her. “We need your help
over here.”
She hurried over and found him kneeling next to a young girl with long,
tangled, strawberry-blond hair. Felix had tried to bandage her arm, but it
was already soaked through with blood. “It won’t stop,” he whispered, his
face pale. “You need to do something.”
“I got it,” Clarke said. “You keep moving.”
She unwrapped the bandaged and surveyed the wound. “Am I going to
die?” the girl whispered hoarsely.
Clarke shook her head and smiled. “Nope. No way I’m going to let that
happen. Not before you get the chance to explore Earth!” She reached into
her kit and pulled out the antiseptic, praying that she’d find some more at
the crash site. She was almost out. “Guess what I saw the other day?” she
said, trying to distract the girl as she prepared to stitch the deep gash in her
arm. “A real live rabbit.”
“Really?” The girl turned her head to the side, as if expecting to see one
hop out from behind a pile of wreckage.
Ten minutes later, the girl was being led away by Wells, freeing Clarke
to deal with the more seriously injured. It was distressing to see so many
people in pain, but the intense focus it required provided a welcome relief
from her thoughts.
Clarke had spent the past few days in a haze, each new development or
revelation proving more bewildering than the last. She had gotten back
together with Bellamy, who had somehow found a way to forgive her for
what she had done to Lilly. Then they had rescued Octavia from Sasha’s
faction of Earthborns—who in turn had rescued Octavia from the violent
splinter group.
But the thing that made Clarke’s head spin most of all was the discovery
that her parents were alive. And on Earth. She kept thinking she was
dreaming and that the joy and relief bubbling in her chest would suddenly
sharpen into aching sorrow all over again. But the parents she had mourned
for a year hadn’t been executed and floated into space. They had somehow
made their way to Earth and even lived with Sasha’s family before heading
off on their own. Now she just had to figure out how to track them, which
seemed impossible in a thousand ways. But sitting still and doing nothing
wasn’t an option either. As soon as she’d done all she could for these
survivors, she’d be making her plans to leave.
“This one’s not breathing,” Eric said with a grimace as Clarke
approached.
She crouched down and brought her hand to the man’s neck. His skin
was still warm, but there wasn’t even the faintest whisper of a pulse. Clarke
pressed her lips together, then lowered her ear to the man’s chest, praying
for a heartbeat. But there was nothing but silence. “There’s nothing we can
do for him,” Clarke said, trying not to meet Eric’s eyes. She didn’t want to
see the horror in his face. And she didn’t want him to see the helplessness in
hers.
She looked down at the man again, seeing his face properly for the first
time. Clarke gasped as an invisible hand punched through her sternum and
wrapped its fingers around her heart. It was her old biology tutor, Mr.
Peters, the one who gave Clarke access to the ship’s restricted archive
center when she was only ten so she could look at photos of elephants.
“You okay?” Eric asked.
Clarke nodded, trying to blink away the tears threatening to blur her
vision. Had Mr. Peters lasted long enough for a glimpse at the night sky?
Had he been able to see the moon reflecting off the water, or catch the scent
of trees in the wind? Or had he died without ever setting eyes on the planet
he’d spent his whole life revering from afar?
“We should leave the bodies here for now,” she said, turning away. “It’s
more important to deal with the injured.” Clarke left Eric and carefully
stepped over a pile of twisted, red-hot metal in order to make her way
toward a man lying on his side. He wore a coat that had once been white but
was now covered with dust, soot… and a slowly expanding patch of blood.
His eyes were shut, and his mouth twisted in defiance of his pain. Clarke let
out a low gasp as she took in his tall, lanky frame and shoulder-length gray
hair. It was Dr. Lahiri, her former mentor and one of her father’s oldest
friends. The last time she’d seen him was when he’d come to her cell, and
she’d accused him of betraying her parents. He called her a traitor in
response, and before she could think better of it, she’d actually socked him
in the face.
The rage that had consumed her that day felt strangely distant now.
Although her parents had certainly been betrayed, they were alive. And
Clarke knew there were people far more accountable than Dr. Lahiri—like
Vice Chancellor Rhodes, the man who’d ordered her parents to perform the
monstrous radiation trials in the first place.
Clarke crouched down and placed her hand near his elbow. “Dr. Lahiri,”
she said in what she hoped was a confidence-inspiring tone. “Can you hear
me? It’s Clarke.”
His eyes sputtered open, and he stared at her for a long moment, as
though unable to tell if she were real or a hallucination. When he finally
spoke, it was through a clenched jaw, as if any extraneous movement would
push him past the limit of bearable pain. “Clarke… you’re alive.”
“Yes, despite your best efforts,” she said, smiling so he’d know she was
mostly joking. “Let me see what’s going on here, okay?”
He nodded slightly, then shut his eyes and winced. Clarke gently opened
his coat, palpating his abdomen, ribs, and chest. He grimaced when she
reached his collarbone. She carefully opened his eyes and checked his
pupils, and ran her hands over his scalp to check for any contusions she’d
missed.
“I think it’s just my shoulder and clavicle,” Dr. Lahiri said through
gritted teeth.
“And a concussion,” Clarke added, trying to keep her voice neutral. “I
think the bones are broken. I can set them and make you a sling, but I’m
afraid we don’t really have much here for the pain. Did you bring any
supplies with you?”
“I don’t know what’s on the dropships,” Dr. Lahiri said, causing Clarke’s
stomach to plummet with disappointment. “It all happened so quickly.
There wasn’t time to prepare.”
“We’ll make do. I’m going to help you sit up. Are you ready?” She
kneeled behind him and placed one hand under his good arm and the other
behind his shoulder blade. “On my count. One, two, three.” She raised him
to a sitting position, and he let out a pained cry as she helped him lean
against a wall of debris. The color began returning to his face. “Just stay as
still as possible until my friends come to get you.” She waved a hand in the
air, gesturing for Wells and his team. “They’ll help you get somewhere
safe.”
“Clarke,” Dr. Lahiri muttered, his voice growing hoarse. She reached for
her water container and lifted it to his lips. He took a small sip and
continued. “I’m sorry about what I said last time. Your parents would be so
proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Clarke said slowly, wondering whether Dr. Lahiri really
believed that her parents were dead or whether he was still too afraid to tell
her the truth. “I’m sorry for… for losing my temper.”
Despite the pain, he smiled. “I just wish I could take as much credit for
your left hook as I can your surgical skills.”
The next few hours passed in a blur. Clarke hardly noticed the dawn
breaking, except for the fact that it made suturing easier. By the time the
sun was high in the sky, all the uninjured Colonists had been led to camp,
and a good portion of the injured had been carried away as well.
Throughout the morning, a few more members of the hundred came down
to the lake to help and to search for their parents among the new arrivals.
But the relatively small number of happy reunions had been disheartening.
Apparently, the families of the hundred hadn’t been given priority on the
dropships, never mind that their kids had been sent on an impossibly
dangerous mission to Earth.
Clarke finished fashioning a splint for an elderly woman’s leg and then
stood up to stretch quickly before moving on to her next patient. She
noticed that the guards who’d been standing in a circle around their captain
a few minutes earlier had dispersed to help carry the wounded up to the
camp. She could only hope they remained more focused on helping their
fellow Colonists than on hunting down the boy who had gotten the
Chancellor shot.
Her eyes settled on a guard who looked uncomfortably familiar. Clarke
stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out why she felt suddenly
queasy. He was standing at the center of a slow-moving scrum of people,
directing them with one good arm and cradling an injured hand to his chest.
Clarke turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see her, stalling for time by
taking inventory of her bandages while she racked her mind for the guard’s
name.
Scott.
Scott had often been assigned to medical center patrol during her
apprenticeship, and Clarke had come to dread their frequent encounters.
Although the guards typically didn’t interact with the doctors and
apprentices unless there was a security issue, Scott had been an expert at
making his presence known. He wasn’t much older than she was, and there
was something snide and officious about him. He never looked at the
patients when he was in the room—only at the doctors or other guards, like
he was too good for anyone else. But what had really bothered Clarke was
the way he acted when he was alone with her, and the lengths to which he
seemed willing to go to make that happen.
Clarke had to force herself not to break into a jog as she walked
swiftly down the corridor toward the medical center. She was nearly
twenty minutes late for her rounds shadowing Dr. Lahiri, but the
punishment for “hazardous behavior” was even harsher than that for
tardiness. Being late meant that she was in trouble with her
supervisor. Breaking one of the ship’s rules meant facing the
Council. It was rare for guards to write someone up for running, but
the boy who’d been patrolling the medical center recently had quickly
gained a reputation for being a power-tripping bully.
Clarke turned the corner and groaned. She’d hoped to slip into
the medical center unnoticed, but Scott was standing in front of the
checkpoint. His back was to her, but she recognized his broad
shoulders and slightly greasy blond hair that always looked to be
longer than was typically allowed by guard regulations.
Clarke could tell he was in the middle of some kind of
confrontation, but only as she drew closer did she realize he was
holding a woman by her wrists. He had them pinched together
behind her back. She was a sanitation worker from Arcadia, and
based on the loud scolding Scott was doling out for everyone to
hear, she had simply forgotten her pass. Most guards would have let
her off with a warning, but not Scott, who was making a big show of
slapping restraints on her wrists. The poor woman had tears in her
eyes and could barely raise her head when Clarke slipped past.
Indignation and disgust curdled in Clarke’s stomach, but she
didn’t dare look back. She stood to gain nothing by intervening. If
she tried to get in the middle, Scott would probably threaten the
woman with even more severe repercussions, just to prove his
power to Clarke.
By the time Clarke started seeing patients, she’d pushed the
incident out of her mind. That was one of the things she loved about
being a medical apprentice, the way her mind could be one hundred
percent focused on the task at hand, leaving no room to worry about
anything else in her life. Not about her parents, or Lilly, or the terrible
secret she was keeping from Wells.
However, later that day, while she was busy cleaning a five-yearold girl’s cut knee, there was no avoiding Scott when he strode
unannounced into Clarke’s exam room.
“What do you want?” Clarke asked, not bothering to hide her
irritation. It was one thing for him to strut down the halls like he was
Chancellor of the corridors. It was another for him to barge into her
exam room when she was with a patient.
He waved a bruised and swollen finger in front of Clarke’s face
and smirked. “You won’t believe it, but that bitch actually bit me when
I was cuffing her.”
“Watch your language, please,” Clarke hissed, shooting a glance
at the little girl staring at Scott wide-eyed from the exam table.
He laughed unpleasantly. “I’m sure she’s heard worse. She looks
like a Waldenite.”
Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you a Waldenite?” she asked,
doing her best impression of Glass and her snooty friends.
He ignored the jab and took a step closer. “I’m in need of your
services, Doctor,” he said in a voice that somehow managed to be
both mocking and vaguely threatening.
“If you’ll just take a seat outside, I can look at that for you after I’m
done with Cressida here.”
“Well I’m sure little Cressida”—he tilted his head in the girl’s
direction—“would understand that a member of the guard suffered a
painful injury while subduing a threat to the Gaia Doctrine this
morning. And that I am in a hurry to get back to my work protecting
this ship.”
Clarke fought the urge to roll her eyes. She just managed to keep
her expression neutral while she sprayed a skin regenerator on
Cressida’s knee, gently affixed a bandage over it, and patted the girl
on the leg. “You’re all set. Just keep it clean and dry until tomorrow,
okay?”
Cressida nodded and hopped down from the table, running out
the door to her mom, who waited just outside.
Clarke turned to Scott and held out her hand. He placed his wrist
in her palm and winced as she uncurled his swollen finger. “You’re
going to need to see the actual doctor for this,” she said, releasing
her hold and stepping back.
He raised his eyebrows and gave her a humorless smile. “Who?
The old guy you follow around all day? No thank you.”
“Dr. Lahiri is the most respected doctor on the ship.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not who I want checking out my other injury.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That piece of Arcadian trash also tried to kick me. I knocked her
down, but she managed to knee me in a rather sensitive area, if you
know what I mean.”
Clarke sighed. “Is there bruising?”
“I haven’t had time to look,” Scott said with a smirk. “Don’t you
want to do the honors?” He reached for his belt buckle as he
stepped toward Clarke.
“I should call a nurse,” Clarke said, moving toward the intercom.
“Now, just hold on a second.” Scott grabbed Clarke’s arm with his
good hand and pulled her back. “I don’t need a nurse. I just need you
to do your job… Doctor.”
Before he could utter another word, the door behind him banged
open, and Wells strode in, looking even taller than usual in his
officer’s uniform. Scott snapped to attention, his gaze locking on the
floor. Clarke couldn’t help but smile at Wells over Scott’s shoulder.
“I’m sure you’re not preventing this medical apprentice from
getting her work done, are you?” Wells asked, his voice stern, but his
eyes playful.
“No, sir,” Scott said stiffly.
“Glad to hear it, Guard. Carry on with your rounds.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clarke stifled a grin until the door clicked shut behind Scott, then
stepped over to Wells and wrapped her arms around him. He tilted
her chin up and kissed her softly on the lips.
“Thank you, Officer Jaha.”
“You’re welcome, Medical Apprentice Griffin.”
Clarke was exhausted. She hadn’t eaten anything since the previous
evening, and all the food they’d taken to the crash site had gone to the
survivors. The team had taken turns leading the survivors back to camp, and
there were only a few injured left to deal with. She had put it off as long as
she possibly could, but there was no way to avoid treating Scott. He sat on a
log at the edge of the clearing, looking up at her as she approached.
“I thought you’d never get to me,” he said, his lips pressed together into
something resembling a grin.
“I’m sorry about the wait,” Clarke said, hoping that maybe he wouldn’t
recognize her after all the months she’d spent in Confinement and her
weeks down on Earth.
“It’s okay, Doc. It took me this long to come to Earth just so you could
finally show me your bandaging skills. I believe we were interrupted last
time.”
Clarke’s heart sank. Scott knew exactly who she was, and he hadn’t
grown any more charming since she’d last seen him.
“Let’s see what’s going on here.” She gestured for him to show her his
wrist. He held out his hand to her, and she took it, her stomach churning in
protest as she made contact with his clammy skin. She turned his hand over,
moving it gently back and forth and from side to side.
“So you’re a real doctor finally?” Scott said. “I guess that means you
can’t afford to get all squeamish during examinations now.”
“Not exactly,” Clarke replied without looking up. “I never finished my
training, but I’m the closest thing we’ve got down here.”
“Well, doctor or no doctor, you’d better do a good job.” He wiggled his
fingers in her palm. “That’s my shooting hand after all.”
Clarke pulled a bandage from her supply bag and began winding it
around his wrist and hand. “It’s not broken,” she said matter-of-factly,
hoping to get out of the conversation as quickly as possible. “But you’ll
need to limit your use of this hand for a few days to allow the swelling to go
down.” She inhaled deeply and looked him directly in the eye. “Which
shouldn’t be a problem, since we hunt with spears and arrows here, not
guns.”
Scott met her gaze with a glint in his eye. The skin on Clarke’s arms
rippled with goose bumps. “I wasn’t talking about shooting animals,” he
pronounced coolly. Before Clarke could ask him what he meant, he cocked
his head to the side and surveyed her with the same expression that used to
make her want to shower as quickly as possible. “So, why didn’t you finish
your training?”
“I was Confined before I completed it,” Clarke said flatly, not meeting
his eyes.
“Confined? You?” He paused for a moment, then snickered. “Little Miss
Perfect, Confined. You know what, though? I don’t mind being treated by a
convict. I kinda like knowing that, all that time, there was a bad girl hiding
under those scrubs.” He lowered his voice as a woman in an officer’s
uniform strode past, talking urgently with a man Clarke vaguely recognized.
“I hope you brought those scrubs to Earth. I always liked the way that they
made your—”
“You’re all set,” Clarke said with exaggerated cheer as she secured the
bandage and gave him an extrahard pat on the wrist, ignoring his grimace of
pain. “I’ll see you around.”
Without giving Scott another look, Clarke hurried away, shuddering as if
to throw off the weight of his heavy, lingering gaze.
CHAPTER 4
Wells
Wells winced as he trudged up the slope toward the lake for the eighth time
that day. He’d walked nearly twenty miles trekking back and forth, leading
survivors to the camp and then heading back for another group.
There were more adults than kids in the clearing, a sight that seemed
almost as a strange as the two-headed deer they’d spotted their first week on
Earth. Their presence was made all the more conspicuous by the fact that
they could do nothing more than stare in wonder and shock at their
surroundings while, all around them, teens who’d been rotting away in a
detention center just a few short weeks ago were barking out directions.
Wells had also been struck by the lack of happy reunions. He’d only
witnessed two of them finding any relatives, and they were both
Phoenicians. None of the Waldenites or Arcadians had any loved ones on
the ships.
“I can’t believe I made it.” A young woman panted as she gratefully
accepted Wells’s assistance climbing the steep slope.
“You had a pretty rough landing there,” he said, shortening his stride so
it’d be easier for her to keep up. Although it’d been only a few weeks since
his own arrival, he’d forgotten how unsteady he’d felt at first.
“Not the landing,” she said, stopping to look up at him. “On Phoenix. It
was… terrifying.” She turned to glance up at the sky, then sighed and shook
her head. “They don’t have much time left.”
Her words were like a fist to Wells’s gut. Before he could ask what she
meant, though, Eric stepped in to lead the young woman through the woods
to the camp, freeing Wells to return to the lake.
A hot coil of guilt tightened around Wells’s stomach. He didn’t need to
know the details to understand that he had probably been responsible for
whatever grim fate lay ahead for the people still on the Colony. He may
have become a leader down here on Earth, but he was still a coldhearted
murderer back on the ship. Wells could almost feel the cool metal of the
airlock at his fingertips as he opened it, just a little, allowing precious
oxygen to leak out of the ship. He had only been trying to speed up the
inevitable so Clarke could travel to Earth before her eighteenth birthday—
before her certain execution. But, he knew now, he had also hastened the
demise of thousands of innocent people still trapped on the Colony.
As he got closer to the lake, he wrinkled his nose at the now-familiar
smell of the crash site. Under the acrid scent of smoke and the metallic tang
of blood and sweat, he sensed something else. It took him a moment to
place it, but as soon as he did, his heart began to pound: It was fuel. The
smashed dropships were leaking it into the grass, dirt, and water all around
them. Most of the flames had started to die out, but all it would take was
one spark in the wrong place to turn the whole place into an inferno.
Then, like a scene out of a nightmare, Wells saw it happen. About a
hundred meters away, an enormous flame shot out the top of one of the
charred dropships, hurtling chunks of flaming wreckage into the air. “Watch
out!” Wells shouted, breaking into a run. “Everybody, move.”
Luckily, the injured had all been triaged in another area, but there was
too much smoke in the air to confirm that the others had moved to safety.
Wheezing, Wells ran forward, coughing and wiping his eyes with his
sleeves as he called out for anyone who needed help.
There was a faint buzzing sound, like something flying through the air.
Wells looked up but couldn’t see anything but dark gray smoke. It grew
louder, but before Wells could react, he felt himself flying through the air,
landing on the ground with a hard thud. He tried to roll over, but something
—or someone—was on top of him. After a moment, the weight moved, and
Wells looked up with a groan. Just a few meters from his head was an
enormous piece of smoldering fuselage. If he hadn’t been knocked to the
ground, it would’ve crushed his skull.
He turned to the other side and saw a slim figure standing over him, a
girl wearing the Colony’s standard-issue thin gray pants and T-shirt. She
reached for his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Thank you,” Wells said,
blinking rapidly as he waited for his vision to clear. When the world came
back into focus, the first thing he saw sent a wave of joy through him.
It was Glass.
They locked eyes at the same moment, and their faces lit up into
matching giant grins. Wells closed the space between them in an instant and
wrapped his arms around his childhood best friend, pulling her into a tight
hug. A million images flashed rapid-fire through his brain—years of happy
memories crashing together and replaying in a steady stream. He had been
so focused on following Clarke to Earth that he hadn’t had much time to
worry about Glass after she bolted from the dropship just before the
hundred launched. The familiar smell of her hair—that particular blend of
Glass and the synthetically scented shampoo back on the Colony—filled
him with comfort, and for a brief moment, Wells was transported back to
simpler times.
Growing up, she’d been the only one able to forget the fact that he was
the Chancellor’s son, the only one who made him feel like he wasn’t on
display. Around Glass, he could be immature, or playful, or sometimes even
mischievous—like the time he said he was taking her to the archives to
watch a video of some boring royal wedding when his real plan was to
watch a great white shark attack an orca. And in turn, Glass wasn’t afraid to
show him her goofy side. While the rest of the ship saw Glass as this
perfectly polished, well-mannered Phoenician girl, Wells knew that she
liked to make up silly dances and that she burst into laughter anytime
someone mentioned Uranus.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Wells said, pulling away so he could look
at her. “Are you okay? I was so worried about you.”
“Are you kidding? Think about how worried I was about you,” she said.
“No one knew if you guys made it. Are you okay? What’s it like here?”
It made his head spin just thinking about how much he had to tell her. So
much had happened since the last time they’d seen each other. He’d set the
Eden Tree on fire to get himself arrested, been Confined, faced off with his
father, rode with the rest of the hundred on the dropship Glass had escaped
from, and spent the last few weeks fighting for his life on Earth.
“The weird thing is—” he started.
“Are there actually—” she said at the same time.
“You go first,” they both said together, then laughed. They pulled away
from each other, the smiles fading on their lips as the scent of smoke and
charred metal reminded them of where they were, and why. Wells struggled
with the question that bubbled up in his throat, and the way Glass’s face
grew serious told him she knew what he was thinking. He swallowed hard
and found the courage to ask.
“Do you know anything about my father?”
Glass pressed her lips together, and her eyes filled with sympathy, a look
Wells recognized from the terrible weeks after his mother’s death. Wells
braced himself for whatever she was about to tell him, just grateful that if
he had to hear agonizing news, it would be from her.
“They haven’t told anyone much,” she began, her voice soft but steady.
Wells held his breath, waiting for her to continue. “But the last we heard, he
was still in a coma.” Glass paused, waiting for him to absorb the
information.
Wells nodded, his mind swirling with images of his father lying alone in
the medical center, his tall, broad frame looking frail under a thin sheet. He
focused his efforts on keeping his expression neutral as Glass’s words sank
down into his chest, lodging themselves in the deepest part of his heart.
“Okay,” he said with a long sigh. “Thanks for telling me.”
Glass stepped toward him. “Wells,” was all she said before wrapping her
arms around him again, this time in a comforting embrace. Glass knew him
far too well to let him get away with his stoic act. The best part of their
friendship was that he didn’t mind.
After a long moment, they pulled away from each other. There was
something Wells needed to tell Glass before she got to camp.
“Glass,” he started, “things are a little… different here on Earth than we
expected.”
Concern flashed across her face. “What is it?”
He tried to choose his words carefully, but there was no way to
sugarcoat the shocking, disorienting information. “We’re not alone. Here.
On Earth.” He said it quietly so no one around them could hear. He waited
for her to process what he’d said before continuing. At first, she smiled,
looking ready to make a joke about all the hundreds of other Colonists
around them. Then she grasped the implication of his words, and her
expression shifted.
“Wells, are you saying…” Glass trailed off.
“Yes. There are other people here on Earth. People who were born here.”
Glass’s eyes grew large and round. “What?” She swiveled her head from
side to side, as if expecting to see people watching her from the trees. “Are
you serious? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m one hundred percent serious. But it’s okay. They’re very peaceful
and kind. Well, most of them. There’s a small group that broke off about a
year ago, and they’re dangerous. But the rest of them are just like us.” Wells
thought of Sasha and couldn’t suppress a smile. “They’re actually pretty
inspiring. The Earthborns are good people, maybe better people than we
are. I think we have a lot to learn from them. I just have to figure out a way
to let the others know without scaring anyone.”
Glass was staring at him, but it was no longer with confusion. “Wells,”
she said slowly, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth, “is there
something you’re not telling me?”
He gave her a sidelong look. “Yes, there’s obviously a ton I haven’t told
you yet. There was this terrible attack, and a fire, and then people started
getting sick, and you’ll never guess what happened when—”
“No,” she said, cutting him off. “Something you’re not telling me about
these Earthborns. Or maybe one in particular?”
“What? No.” He was usually pretty adept at hiding his thoughts, but
something about Glass’s tone made his cheeks redden.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “There’s a girl. An Earth girl.” Her voice
was equal parts shock and delight.
“You’re crazy. There’s no Earth—” He cut himself off with a smile and
shook his head. “How could you possibly have known that?”
Glass reached out and squeezed his arm. “You can’t keep secrets from
me, Wells Jaha. It was the way you were talking about these inspiring
Earthborns. You had the same look on your face that you got when you used
to talk about Clarke.” Her expression grew less playful as her brow
furrowed. “Does that mean you two broke up? What happened?”
Wells sighed. “It’s a long story, but I’m fine.” He smiled, thinking about
the previous evening, lying with his head in Sasha’s lap as they stared up at
the stars. “More than fine, actually. I can’t wait for you to meet Sasha.”
“Sasha,” Glass repeated, seeming slightly disappointed that it wasn’t a
more exotic name. “Where is she?”
Before Wells could reply, a tall boy in a guard’s uniform approached,
carrying a small water container with one hand, his other arm bound in a
sling. Glass’s face lit up at the sight of him, and she didn’t look away as he
passed the container to her and waited for her to take a sip. “Thanks,” she
said, smiling at him before finally turning back to Wells. “Wells, this is
Luke.”
Wells extended his arm and shook the guard’s good hand firmly. “I’m
Wells. Nice to meet you.”
“I know. I recognize you, of course, and Glass has told me all about you.
It’s really good to meet you, man,” Luke said, grinning as he released
Wells’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder.
Glass hooked her arm through Luke’s and glanced back and forth
between the two boys, beaming.
Wells grinned. He had no idea how Glass had ended up with a guard, let
alone one who wasn’t from Phoenix, but none of that mattered down here.
Besides, there was something about Luke that Wells liked right away. He
seemed solid, sincere. Nothing like the slimy Phoenicians Glass used to
date. She was clearly in love, and that was all Wells needed to know.
“Welcome to Earth,” Wells said with a smile, gesturing to the sky and
trees and water all around them. As he did so, he noticed the blood covering
Glass’s shirt. He inhaled sharply. Had she been hurt without realizing it? He
pointed at her. “Glass, are you okay?”
Glass looked down at her shirt, and her face paled. “Yes, I’m fine,” she
said quietly. “That’s… that’s not mine.” Luke wrapped an arm around her
shoulders and pulled her in tight.
Wells’s stomach plummeted as he braced for the terrible news he could
already feel hovering in the air, as if Glass’s pain were radiating out from
the dark place she’d hidden it away.
Glass took a deep breath and tried to compose herself, but before she
was able to form any more words, she crumpled and buried her face in
Luke’s shirt. He whispered something into her ear that Wells couldn’t hear
and stroked Glass’s hair.
Wells stared in horror. Part of him wanted to wrap his arms around his
best friend, but that clearly wasn’t his place anymore. So he stood, waiting,
until Luke turned to face him. “It’s her mother,” he whispered. “She’s
dead.”
CHAPTER 5
Glass
Glass had never felt more out of place in her life. Not as a Phoenician
visiting Luke on Walden. Not as the daughter of a man who abandoned his
family. Not even as a recently freed convict back on Phoenix for the first
time. She stood by the fire pit, shivering though the sun was high overhead,
and watched the frenzy of activity around camp. Everywhere she looked,
kids her age or younger were busy with crucial tasks.
People darted in and out of the hospital cabin, bringing water for
Clarke’s patients and carrying out bloodstained bandages to burn or bury in
the woods. Some of the kids spilled into the clearing, carrying axes and
firewood they’d chopped themselves, while others were laying the
foundation for a new cabin. A few hours earlier, a group of grim-faced
volunteers had headed down to the lake to start digging graves for the
passengers who hadn’t survived. There were too many to fit in the cemetery
on the far side of the clearing, and there was no point to carrying the bodies
all the way to the camp.
Although the new Colonists had left without much warning, the
dropships had all been prestocked with enough basic supplies to make the
first-wave kids act like they’d been given the key to everlasting life. One of
the girls Wells had assigned to take inventory looked like she was going to
cry while running her hand along a new hammer, treating it with the same
reverence other girls showed toward a beautiful piece of jewelry at the
Exchange.
Glass was desperate to make herself useful, but she was completely out
of her element. She was too afraid even to ask where—or worse, how—she
was supposed to go to the bathroom. Luke had been called away with the
rest of the guards, and although he’d been reluctant to leave Glass on her
own, they both knew now wasn’t the moment for him to shirk his duty.
A group of girls Glass’s age were walking toward the fire, whispering
urgently, but as they passed Glass, they fell silent and stared at her warily.
“Hi,” Glass said, eager to start out on the right foot. “Is there anything I can
do to help?”
One of the girls, a tall brunette whose carefully torn shorts showed off
her long, unbelievably toned legs, narrowed her eyes as she looked Glass up
and down. “You were supposed to be on the dropship with us, weren’t
you?”
Glass nodded. “Yes, I was taken from the detention center, just like the
rest of you.” It was the first time she’d voluntarily confessed to having been
Confined. “But I snuck off at the last minute.” Snuck off was a somewhat
inaccurate way to describe her life-or-death sprint onto Walden to find
Luke, but she sensed that now wasn’t the time for a play-by-play of her
dramatic escape.
“Yeah, snuck off, okay,” a girl with an Arcadian accent said, exchanging
glances with her friends. “Must be nice to know people who can call in
favors.”
Glass bit her lips, wishing there were some way to make it clear how
much she’d gone through, that she hadn’t exactly spent the past few weeks
living it up on Phoenix. She had almost asphyxiated on Walden and barely
made it onto the last ship. She had just watched her own mother die, the
reality of which was still pummeling her chest with alternating waves of
searing pain and suffocating numbness.
“You should just hang out with the others,” one of the girls said, a little
more kindly. She gestured toward a group of other recent arrivals who were
clustered on the other side of the fire, staring at their shocking new
surroundings in wide-eyed wonder.
Glass nodded and watched the girls walk off, knowing full well she
wasn’t welcome among the recent arrivals either. Most of them had seen her
board the dropship with Vice Chancellor Rhodes, taking the seat the others
had so desperately hoped would be filled by one of the friends and family
members they’d been forced to leave behind. If only her mom were here.
She’d had a special gift for making herself at home in any social situation
and helping everyone around her feel at ease as well. Sonja might not have
known how to light a fire or chop wood any more than Glass did, but her
warm smile and musical laugh would’ve been just as valuable.
Glass wrapped her arms around herself and glanced up at the dizzyingly
tall trees. Swaying in the wind, they almost seemed to be looking down at
her, making her feel like a little kid lost in a sea of oblivious grown-ups.
She watched as Wells stepped out of the hospital cabin, and even from a
distance, she could tell his expression was grim. He ran his fingers through
his hair and rubbed his temples. Despite the gravity of the situation, Glass
couldn’t help but smile at the familiar gesture—the same one she’d seen the
Chancellor perform nearly every evening she’d spent studying at Wells’s
flat. A pang of regret washed over her as she thought about the Chancellor,
left behind on the dying ship. He’d never get the chance to see everything
his son had accomplished on Earth.
Glass had always known Wells was a natural-born leader, and it made
her heart swell with pride to see how much everyone seemed to rely on him,
though she felt a wistful twinge of sadness. It was a selfish thought, but she
missed the days when Wells belonged to her most of all.
“Watch this,” Glass called over her shoulder to Wells, who lagged
behind her on the gravity track. She looked around to make sure the
fitness monitor wasn’t watching, then ran over to the control panel,
grabbed the lever, and pushed it up a few notches. She felt
immediately lighter and giggled as she pushed off the floor and
hovered in the air for a moment before floating down slowly.
She bent her knees, pushed off with more force, extended her
arms out, and rotated them through the air one at a time. “Look! I’m
swimming!” She pinched her nose and puffed out her cheeks, before
letting out a sputtering laugh. “That’s how Earth kids got to school
when it rained.”
Wells bounced toward her with a grin. “How about this one?” he
asked breathlessly, raising his left arm out in front of himself, pushing
his right foot behind him, then switching his arms and legs in midair.
“I’m skiing!”
Glass did her best imitation of an ancient Earthborn. “I’m just
skiing over to the grocery store,” she singsonged in a fancy old-lady
voice, “where I will pick fresh vegetables from a tree and then drive
my vehicle to the beach for a picnic.”
“With my pet bear, Fido, and my six children!” Wells added.
Glass and Wells collapsed onto the track in a fit of laughter so
loud it brought the fitness monitor hurrying out of his office. “What do
you think you’re doing?” he scolded. “You know you’re not allowed to
touch the gravity settings.” He strode to them, his face stern, but it
was impossible to take him seriously when every angry step sent
him bouncing into the air. As he got closer and realized that Wells
was the Chancellor’s son, his anger subsided slightly, replaced by
the stiff smile most adults gave Wells when he caught them
unaware.
“Young lady. Mr. Jaha.” He turned from side to side, scanning the
fitness center for a guard. “I won’t write you up this time, but don’t
test me again. The gravity track isn’t a play area, okay?”
They nodded and watched him turn around with as much dignity
as he could muster while floating above the ground.
Glass and Wells pressed their lips tightly together, snorting sharp
breaths through their noses until he was far enough away. When he
was safely out of earshot, they burst out laughing until their sides
ached and tears streamed down their young faces.
Glass wandered over to the edge of the clearing and sat down on a log. If
she couldn’t be helpful, at least she could stay out of the way. The only
thing that made Glass feel like she wasn’t a complete waste of space was
the fact that Luke had quickly been recruited to the Vice Chancellor’s
personal guard, which was why she had barely seen him since they landed.
He was off somewhere at a briefing about setting up a security perimeter
around their camp.
Glass caught another glimpse of Wells at the far end of the clearing, this
time walking with a girl who had to be Sasha. Wells threw his arm around
the girl’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head. It was startling to see
Wells so outwardly affectionate and even more startling to think that his
girlfriend was an Earthborn. All the questions Glass hadn’t even thought to
ask bubbled up to the surface. Did she speak English? Where did she live?
What did she eat? And, more important, where did she get her clothes?
Glass looked enviously at Sasha’s tight black leggings, which seemed to be
made of animal skin, and ran her hands along her own torn, dirty pants.
It was also incredibly disorienting to see Wells kiss anyone but Clarke.
Last time she had seen her best friend, he was still so head over heels in
love with Clarke that he could barely talk about anything else. But then
again, if Glass had learned anything over the last couple of weeks, it was
that people can surprise you. She had even surprised herself.
Glass laughed to herself before blushing and looking around to see if
anyone noticed. She had to remember to tell Wells that she’d actually
spacewalked, alone, along the outside of the ship. Not to mention her
several suffocating trips through an air vent from Walden to Phoenix and
back again. He’d never believe me, she thought. Then she corrected herself.
He never would have believed me before. But now we’ll both believe
anything.
With a sigh, Glass skimmed her eyes across the clearing again. She
needed to find something to do. Her eyes fell on the hospital cabin. She
gathered her courage and started across the clearing toward it, taking care to
steer clear of two boys who were carrying something large between them.
At first, she thought it was another injured passenger, but then she realized
that what she’d taken to be two skinny arms and two long legs were
actually four legs. And they were covered with hair, not skin. Glass gasped.
It was an animal, a deer, maybe. She shuddered as her gaze landed on its
enormous, lifeless brown eyes, and felt a pang of regret that the first animal
she saw was a dead one. Earth was nothing like she’d imagined. It was cold
and strange, and instead of dazzling Glass with its beauty, it only seemed to
be full of death.
Glass turned away and walked up to the infirmary cabin, pausing at the
door for a moment before taking a deep breath and stepping inside. From
the first instance, she was overwhelmed by the efficiency of the operation,
even in such a small space. It was a swirl of activity: Felix and Eric zipped
across the room, handing off bandages and rummaging through a bin with
small vials and bottles of medications. Octavia tilted a water container to
the lips of a boy about her age, who lay on a cot with his leg propped up on
a hunk of repurposed plastic from the wreckage. Crash survivors crammed
the cots, sprawled across the floor, and even leaned on the wall. And at the
center of it all was Clarke, who seemed to be in three places at once. She
gave Octavia instructions without looking in her direction, passed Eric a
shard of metal they were using to cut bandages, helped an older woman sit
up, and pressed her hand against the forehead of a little girl nearby, all
without seeming the least bit flustered. Glass had never seen Clarke looking
so in control—so in her element.
“Hi, Clarke,” Glass said. The greeting felt humorously inadequate given
that it was the first time they’d come face-to-face on Earth, but now wasn’t
really the time to say, Hi, Clarke, I hope you’re doing well, and that you
aren’t too upset about breaking up with Wells after a traumatic journey to
Earth. And, oh yeah, sorry for being such a bitch to you when we were kids.
Clarke’s head shot up, a flash of suspicion crossing her face, then
disappearing behind her businesslike demeanor. “Glass. Do you need
something? Are you hurt?”
Glass tried not to bristle at Clarke’s curt tone. They had never been
particularly friendly—Glass had always found Clarke a little too serious for
her taste. Glass was always more concerned with tracking down pretty
accessories at the Exchange, while Clarke was preoccupied with learning
how to save lives. But they had always shared a deep affection for Wells
and a concern for his well-being. And at this point, any familiar face
seemed like a friendly one. Glass had nothing left to lose.
“Oh, no—sorry. I’m fine. I just wondered if you needed any help,” Glass
stammered.
Clarke stared at Glass for a moment, as if trying to determine whether
she was being serious. Glass waited awkwardly, until Clarke finally said,
“Sure. Definitely. The more hands the better.”
“Great,” Glass exhaled. She cast her eyes around the room, searching for
a task that needed doing. She spotted a teetering pile of dirty metal bins and
cups. She pointed at them. “I could clean those.”
Clarke nodded before turning back to the woman in front of her. “That
would be great,” she said to Glass over her shoulder. “Just be sure to take
them to the south stream, not the one we get our drinking water from. But
they need to be sterilized over the fire first. You just have to use a stick and
hold them over the flame for five minutes or so.”
“Got it.” Glass scooped up the first few items from the top of the stack
and moved toward the door.
“Glass,” Clarke called after her. “Do you know how to get to the south
stream?”
Glass shook her head, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “No,
sorry. I was just going to ask someone…”
Clarke gave her patient a few instructions, then grabbed an armful of
metal bins and followed Glass. “I’ll show you,” Clarke said. “I could use
some air.”
The girls stepped into the sunlight together, squinting and taking in big
gulps of cool air that seemed almost refreshing after the stuffy cabin.
As she and Clarke walked toward the fire pit at the center of camp,
Glass caught a quick flash of movement from the corner of her eye. She
whipped her head toward the tree line and squinted. Back in the shadows,
about ten feet into the woods, a tall, dark-haired boy stood halfway behind a
tree. He was staring at them. Glass sucked in her breath, startled, and
stopped walking.
“What is it?” Clarke asked. She followed Glass’s gaze and spotted the
boy.
“Should we tell someone?” Glass asked nervously. “Is that—is that one
of the Earthborns who want to hurt us?”
Clarke shook her head. “No, that’s Bellamy. He’s one of us, but he’s not
supposed to be here right now.”
Glass heard something in Clarke’s voice—was it worry? Fear? Much to
Glass’s surprise, Clarke furrowed her brow and shot Bellamy a strange look
—almost like a warning. But the boy just met Clarke’s eyes and grinned,
unruffled by her serious expression.
Bellamy took a few bouncing steps forward, as if he were heading into
camp. Clarke shook her head firmly this time. He stopped, though he didn’t
look happy about it. Clarke mouthed a few words and gestured toward him,
as if waving him away. He shrugged, and just before he stepped farther
back, he gave a little mocking salute before disappearing into the trees.
Glass turned to look at Clarke, who was blushing slightly. She knew
Wells was with Sasha, but it hadn’t occurred to her that Clarke could also
have met someone new so quickly. Things certainly moved fast down on
Earth.
“So, why are you keeping Bellamy in the woods?” Glass teased. “Do
you want to make sure you get him all to yourself?” She meant it as an
icebreaker, an attempt to tell Clarke that she knew she and Wells had moved
on. As soon as Glass uttered the words, though, she realized it hadn’t come
out that way.
“I’m not keeping him anywhere,” Clarke said, shooting Glass the same
look she used to give her when she said something ditzy during tutorial.
Glass flinched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Clarke must have realized how harsh she’d sounded. Her face softened.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said, exhaling. “That wasn’t fair. There’s just… there’s
just a lot going on that we haven’t told you about yet.”
Glass let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out.”
“Does that mean you know about Wells?”
“About him and…” Glass trailed off, not sure whether Wells’s secret
was hers to share.
“… and Sasha,” Clarke finished for her.
Glass nodded, relieved that Clarke knew as well. “So, you’re okay with
all that?” she asked hesitantly.
Before Clarke could respond, a boy with red hair and freckles dashed
over. “Clarke, one of the new people says he can’t breathe and he needs a
shot of something.”
She let out a small sigh. “He said all that?” The boy nodded. “If he can
talk, he’s fine. It’s probably just a mild panic attack. Tell him I’ll be there in
a second.” The boy nodded again and ran off.
“Yes, I’m definitely happy for Wells and Sasha. Things with Bellamy
are… I mean, I know it hasn’t been that long, but it almost feels like—”
“It’s okay,” Glass said, cutting her off with a smile. Clarke might be all
composed and in control when in doctor mode, but talking about boys made
her endearingly flustered.
Clarke looked like she was weighing whether to speak or not. “Did
Wells tell you anything about Bellamy yet?”
Glass shook her head.
“I’d better let him talk to you first, then.”
Glass scanned the bustling camp and turned back to Clarke. “I think it’s
going to be a while before Wells has time to gossip with me. What’s going
on?”
Clarke hesitated, biting her lip.
“Come on, Clarke,” Glass cajoled, slightly amused by the fact that
although she’d known Clarke for most of her life, they were having their
first proper chat on Earth. “I’m sure Wells won’t care if you’re talking
about your own boyfriend.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” She looked from side to side to
make sure no one else was in earshot, then turned back to Glass with a
small smile. “So, this is crazy, but what do you think the odds are that the
second guy I fell for would turn out to be the secret half brother of the first
guy I fell for?”
Glass stared at Clarke, certain she’d misunderstood. “Wells has a
brother?” she said slowly, bracing for Clarke to burst out laughing and
correct her.
But to her amazement, Clarke nodded. “The Chancellor and Bellamy’s
mother had a secret affair before he married Wells’s mother.”
Glass had heard a lot of confusing things come out of Clarke Griffin’s
mouth over the years, especially during math tutorial, but nothing as mindblowing as this. “I can’t believe it.”
“I couldn’t either at first, but it seems to be true. And that’s only the
beginning.” In a surprisingly calm voice, she told Glass about what Bellamy
had done to get on the dropship with his sister, Octavia, how he’d taken the
Chancellor hostage before knowing that he was his father. Clarke’s face
grew even more serious when she told Glass her biggest fear, her worries
about what the guards would do to Bellamy when they discovered that he
was responsible for the Chancellor’s shooting. “I’ve been trying to get him
to leave camp, but he refuses,” she said in a tone Glass couldn’t quite read,
a strange mixture of frustration and pride.
Glass struggled to take it all in and made a mental note to talk to Luke.
Maybe there was something he could do to throw the other guards off
Bellamy’s scent. “Wow,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s even crazier
than my spacewalk.”
“You spacewalked?” Clarke’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“I spacewalked,” Glass said, a tiny hint of pleasure sneaking into her
voice. “It was the only way to get to Phoenix. Otherwise my boyfriend
Luke and I plus a whole lot of other people would have died on Walden.”
The girls stood in silence for a moment, each struggling to process the
momentous news the other had just shared. Then the door to the hospital
cabin opened behind them, and Octavia stepped out.
“Clarke,” she called. “We need you in here for a sec.”
“Coming,” Clarke replied. She turned to Glass. “I’m glad you’re here,
Glass.”
“Me too,” Glass said with a smile. It was true that she was pleased to see
Clarke. Whether she was happy to be on Earth was another matter entirely,
but at least it wasn’t quite as cold and lonely as she’d always imagined,
staring down at the thick shroud of gray clouds from the ship. Especially
now that it seemed like she might have a friend.
CHAPTER 6
Bellamy
“Screw this,” Bellamy grumbled to himself, kicking a clump of dirt into the
air. He watched it sail in a smooth arc between two trees before landing
with a plop a few meters away. Footsteps pierced the silence of the woods,
where he lurked behind a cluster of tall trees, keeping himself out of sight.
He peered through the foliage into the clearing, watching three of the new
arrivals—a man and two women—wrinkle their noses at the deer roasting
over the fire. The deer Bellamy had killed that morning and had passed to
Antonio to take back to the camp. They could either learn to eat meat or
starve to death. Or, better yet, let them find their own food.
When the hundred landed, there was no one there to greet them or show
them the ropes. No one taught Bellamy how to track animals, use a bow
and arrow, or skin a two-headed deer. He’d figured it out himself, the way
Clarke had figured out how to treat injuries and illnesses she’d never seen
before. The way Wells figured out how to build a cabin. Even Graham, that
otherwise useless slimeball, had figured out how to make a spear. If
Graham could do it, these helpless fools could do it too.
Bellamy would have given his best bow to strut right into the middle of
camp, his head held high, and defy the bastards out there to just try to arrest
him. He knew that once the smoke cleared and the Colonists’ ears stopped
ringing, one of them would recognize him as the boy who had held the
Chancellor hostage on the launch deck. It didn’t matter that Bellamy hadn’t
pulled the trigger—he was the reason the Chancellor got shot. He hadn’t
had a chance to ask Wells if there had been any news on his father…
correction: their father. Would he ever get used to that idea? He certainly
wasn’t going to find out if the man had lived or died by standing out in the
woods by himself.
This camp was Bellamy’s home. He had helped build it with his bare
hands, side by side with the rest of the hundred. He’d carried logs from the
woods and laid them down to build a foundation. He had single-handedly
kept the group alive with the animals he hunted. He wasn’t going to leave it
all behind just because he’d had the audacity to try to protect his sister. It
wasn’t his fault the Colony had some stupid population rule that made
Octavia a freak of nature and gave other people permission to treat her like
a criminal.
A branch snapped, and Bellamy spun around with his fist raised, then
lowered it bashfully when he saw a little boy staring up at him. “What are
you doing out here?” Bellamy asked, looking around to make sure he
wasn’t being trailed by anyone else. It was bizarre seeing adults in the
camp, but it was even stranger seeing little kids.
“I wanted to see the fishes,” he said, though his lisp made the word
sound like fithith.
Bellamy crouched down so he was eye level with the boy, who looked to
be about three or four. “Sorry, buddy. The fish live in the lake. That’s a long
way from here. But look.” He pointed toward the trees. “There are birds up
there. Want to see some birds?”
The boy nodded. Bellamy stood up and craned his head back. “There,”
he said, pointing to a spot where the leaves were rustling. “You see?”
The boy shook his head. “No.”
“Let me help you get a closer look.” Bellamy reached down, scooped
the boy into his arms, and lifted him onto his shoulders, making the toddler
squeal with delight. “Keep it down, okay? No one’s supposed to know I’m
out here. Now, look, there’s the bird. See the birdie?” Bellamy couldn’t see
the boy’s face, so he took the silence as a yes. “So where are your parents?
Do they know where you went?”
Bellamy crouched down so the boy could slide off his back, then turned
to face him. “What’s your name?”
“Leo?” a girl’s voice called. “Where’d you go?”
“Shit,” Bellamy said under his breath, but before he had time to move, a
girl with long dark hair hurried into sight. He exhaled. It was just Octavia.
She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Already luring children
into the woods like a real creepy hermit, are we? That didn’t take long.”
Bellamy rolled his eyes, but he was secretly glad to see Octavia in such
good spirits. She’d had a tough few weeks, and just when she’d returned to
camp, the rest of the Colony had suddenly arrived. If nothing else, Octavia
was adaptable. She had spent her first five years living in a freaking closet,
and the rest of her life proving she deserved to be alive.
“You know this kid?” Bellamy asked.
“That’s Leo.”
“Where are his parents?”
Octavia shot a glance at Leo, then shook her head sadly.
Bellamy let out a long breath and looked at Leo, who was busy tugging
at a large vine encircling a nearby tree. “So he’s all on his own?”
Octavia nodded. “I think so. There are a bunch of them. I guess their
parents didn’t make it onto the dropships, or else…” She didn’t have to
finish the sentence. He knew they were both thinking of the freshly dug,
still unmarked graves down by the lake. “I’ve been looking after them all,
until we can figure out what to do.”
“That’s really sweet of you, O,” Bellamy said.
She shrugged. “No big deal. The little kids aren’t the ones we should be
pissed at. It’s their parents who locked us up.” She was trying to sound
blasé, but Bellamy knew that growing up in the Colony’s care center had
given her a soft spot for orphaned kids. “Come on, Leo,” she said, reaching
out for his hand. “I’ll show you where the bunny lives.” She looked at
Bellamy. “You going to be okay out here?” she asked.
Bellamy nodded. “It’s just for today. Once things settle down, we’ll
come up with a plan.”
“Okay… be careful.” She smiled and turned to Leo. “Let’s go, kiddo.”
Bellamy stared after them and felt something in his chest twinge as he
watched Octavia hop down the slope, pretending to be a rabbit in order to
make Leo laugh.
She had always been on the outside looking in. No one but Bellamy had
ever treated her fairly, or even kindly. Until now. She had finally been given
the chance to be a normal teenager, with friends and crushes and, if he was
being totally honest, a seriously smart mouth. He wasn’t going to leave her
behind, obviously. And he wasn’t going to take her away. So what choice
did that leave him? She deserved the chance to stay here, where she had
made her first real home. Their first real home.
Bellamy had a sudden flash of the expression on Clarke’s face as she
urged him to hide, and his stomach balled up into a knot. It took a lot to
frighten that girl—a brilliant doctor with a warrior’s spirit who just
happened to be breathtakingly beautiful, especially when the light hit her
blond hair—but the thought of the guards aiming their guns at him had been
enough to fill her luminous green eyes with fear.
Bellamy exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. Clarke was just looking
out for his best interests. Keeping him alive was a pretty basic one. But her
frantic pleas for him to stay safe and out of sight kindled more anger in him
than anything else. Not at Clarke, but at this whole messed-up situation. It
was getting dark. Was he going to spend the entire night in the forest?
He was just about to walk back into the clearing and resume his rightful
place when he saw Wells enter from the other side of the tree line, leading
another group of stunned survivors. Bellamy studied Wells’s upright
bearing, his brisk pace, and the confident way he addressed the shambling
group as if he were their leader, not a convicted criminal half their age. It
was hard for Bellamy to get his head around the fact that mini-Chancellor
was his actual, real-life brother.… It wasn’t every day that you not only
realized that you’d gotten your father shot but also that you had not one, but
two illegal siblings.
Everyone in the clearing suddenly fell silent, and all heads snapped
toward the spot from which Wells had just emerged. Bellamy followed their
gaze and saw Vice Chancellor Rhodes striding through the trees and into
the camp. He moved silently among the hundred and the other survivors
with his shoulders thrown back, wearing the slightly bored expression that
always made him look like a douche back on the ship. Here it just made
him look like a moron. He’d narrowly escaped death less than twenty-four
hours ago and now he was on the ground for the first time in his entire life.
Would it kill him to show the slightest bit of relief or, hell, excitement?
No one dared speak to the Vice Chancellor as he walked around the
clearing in a slow circle, flanked by four guards, surveying the camp they
had worked so hard to build. Dozens of people held their breath at once,
waiting for him to do or say something. After a long moment, the Vice
Chancellor stepped inside the nearest cabin. He was out of sight for a
moment, then came back into the sunlight, one corner of his mouth
twitching with amusement.
Bellamy wanted to fly across the clearing and punch the sadistic little
power grubber right in the face. But one look at the guards who followed
him at a short distance, forming a half circle around Rhodes at all times,
was enough to keep Bellamy’s feet in place. Not only were there a lot more
guards than he’d expected—at least twenty, not counting the ones who were
injured and still making their way back from the crash site—they all
seemed to have guns. Bellamy swallowed hard. The abstract threat of
guards with orders to shoot him was one thing. Staring down the barrel of a
real gun here on Earth was another. Bellamy wasn’t exactly more afraid
than he had been before the newcomers got here. He was just more certain
than ever that he and Octavia had to look out for themselves, because no
one else would do it for them.
Eventually, Rhodes made his way into the center of the clearing and
turned to address the group that had gathered around him. He paused,
keeping his audience waiting. Octavia stood in the front of the group,
eyeing the Vice Chancellor skeptically. Wells moved off to one side, his
arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. Clarke remained at
the very back of the crowd, leaning against the wall of the hospital cabin.
She looked exhausted, which made Bellamy all the more furious. He’d give
anything to be able to put his arm around her and tell her that she’d done an
amazing job.
The people gathered around looked at Rhodes, their dirt-smeared faces
filled with expectation—and, Bellamy realized with some surprise, relief.
Most of the hundred seemed glad Rhodes and his minions were here. They
actually thought he was here to help them.
Finally, Rhodes began. “My fellow citizens, this is a sad day, a day we
will mourn for generations, but it is also a great day. I am so honored to
stand here with you, at long last, on the soil of Earth. The contributions of
those of you who came down on the first dropship will not soon be
forgotten. You have bravely forged ahead where none of our people have
set foot in hundreds of years.”
Bellamy studied Clarke’s face. She betrayed no reaction, but he knew
they were thinking exactly the same thing. There were plenty of humans
who had set foot here, not all of them Earthborns. Clarke’s parents, for
example, and the others who had come to Earth with them. So far, though,
none of the hundred knew Clarke’s parents were alive besides Bellamy and
Wells.
“You have proven that human life can, indeed, exist again on Earth. That
is magnificent. But our lives do not depend solely on safe water or clean
air.” He paused for dramatic effect and looked around the crowd, locking
eyes with one person after another. “Our lives depend on each other,” he
continued. Several people in the crowd nodded emphatically, and Bellamy
wanted to gag.
“And in order to protect each other and ourselves, we must follow
certain rules,” Rhodes said. Here it comes, thought Bellamy, clenching his
hands into fists, as if he could somehow hold back the words he knew
would change everything. “Life on the Colony was peaceful. Everyone was
safe and provided for”—clearly this man had never lived on Arcadia or
Walden—“and we were able to keep our species alive because we respected
authority, did what was expected of us, and maintained order. Just because
we now live on Earth does not mean we can abandon that adherence to a
code that is more important than any one of us.” Rhodes paused again,
letting his words sink in.
Bellamy took in Wells’s and Clarke’s faces, and he could tell from their
expressions that they were all on the same page. Rhodes was full of shit. He
had said nothing about the hundred being forgiven for their crimes—which
they had all been promised in exchange for their “service” to humanity
when they came down here on the first dropship. And based on the number
of happy reunions Bellamy had witnessed that day—one or two among the
non-Phoenicians—obviously none of their families had been given priority
on the next wave of ships. The number of lies this man was spewing in one
short speech was repulsive. But even worse, it seemed like a lot of people
were eating it up. Open your eyes, Bellamy wanted to shout at them. We
survived fine here without these idiots, and we’ll be fine without them. Don’t
listen to a word this jerk says.
“I trust that each and every one of you”—Rhodes was wrapping up, his
words flowery but his tone ice cold—“will recognize the greater good and
do exactly what is expected of you, for your own personal well-being but
also for the continuation of our very race. Thank you.”
A chill shot down Bellamy’s spine. This wasn’t a warm and fuzzy
motivational speech. This was a warning. Do what I say or you will be
removed from the herd, the Vice Chancellor was threatening them. Bellamy
didn’t trust himself to toe the line, that was for sure. He had never been
much of a rule follower on the Colony. And now, here on Earth, where he
had spent entire days and nights alone, deep in the woods, there wasn’t a
chance in hell he’d obey anyone ever again. For the first time in his life—in
all their lives—Bellamy was free. They all were.
But Rhodes was never going to forgive Bellamy’s act of treason on the
launch deck. Bellamy saw that clearly now. Instead, the Vice Chancellor
and his followers would make an example of him, which meant execution.
Probably publicly.
A decision appeared whole in Bellamy’s mind, already considered and
made. He had to get out of here. He would come back for Octavia when it
was safe. Clarke and Wells would look after her for now. Bellamy took a
large step backward, farther into the woods, his eyes locked on the back of
Rhodes’s head. On his second step, he backed right into a tree, smacking it
hard. He fell forward with a grunt and struggled to keep his balance. He
managed to stay upright but stepped, heavily, on a pile of dry sticks near his
feet. They cracked loudly, the snap-snap-snapping echoing right out into the
clearing.
Hundreds of heads popped up to follow the sound. The guards raised
their guns to their shoulders and zigzagged the barrels at the tree line. With
surprisingly quick reflexes, Rhodes turned and scanned the landscape for
the source of the sound. Bellamy was stuck. He couldn’t move, or he’d
definitely be spotted. His only option was to stay perfectly still and hope
that Rhodes and his guards all had terrible eyesight.
No such luck. Rhodes spotted him almost instantly, his face pinching
into a delighted grimace. They stared at each other for a long moment,
during which Bellamy wasn’t sure if the Vice Chancellor recognized him as
the one who had held the Chancellor hostage. Then a flash of sheer joy
passed across his usually inscrutable face.
“There!” Rhodes yelled to his guards, pointing straight at Bellamy. The
uniformed crew crossed the clearing in record time. Bellamy spun around,
counting on his knowledge of the woods to put him at an advantage. He
could sprint over tree stumps and duck under low branches at top speed.
But he’d gone no more than a few meters when he felt one, then two bodies
throwing themselves against his, knocking him to the ground. The guard
who landed on him grunted and scrambled to get his hands around
Bellamy’s arms. Bellamy fought back, hard, shoving and kicking as he
wrestled his way to his knees, then to a standing position. His heart
pounded so hard he actually felt his ribs vibrating with each beat.
Adrenaline coursed through his limbs. He felt like one of the animals he’d
tracked and killed to keep the hundred alive.
More guards arrived and began to surround Bellamy. He took a couple
of short steps toward one of them, but at the last second, he ducked, whirled
around, and ran in the opposite direction. The guards scrambled to keep up.
Bellamy bolted a few steps farther into the shady woods, still hopeful that
he could shake them.
But they didn’t use their bodies to stop him this time. A sharp crack
pinged off the tree trunks, and dozens of startled birds fluttered out of the
highest branches. Bellamy cried out as a piercing pain tore through his
shoulder.
They had shot him.
Bellamy fell to the ground and was instantly swarmed with guards, who
roughly lifted him up and bound his arms behind his back with no regard to
the blood pouring from his wound. They dragged him into the clearing.
“Bellamy!” He heard Clarke’s voice as if from a long distance. Through
hazy vision, he saw her pushing her way through the crowd, yelling at the
guards as she approached. “Leave him alone. You shot him—isn’t that
enough? Please, let me look at him. He needs medical attention.”
The guards parted, allowing Clarke through. She wrapped her arms
around Bellamy’s chest and helped him sink to the ground. “It’s okay,” she
said, her breath ragged. She ripped his shirt at the neck and pulled it off his
shoulder. “I don’t think it’s too serious—I think the bullet passed right
through.” Bellamy nodded but couldn’t speak through his gritted teeth.
“Your orders, sir?” one of the guards called out across the clearing to
Rhodes.
Bellamy didn’t hear the answer. He had only one thought as he sank into
unconsciousness: He’d rather die than live on Earth as a prisoner.
CHAPTER 7
Wells
Wells normally slept outside, preferring the silent, star-filled clearing to the
overcrowded cabins, but he’d spent the past two nights on the floor in the
infirmary cabin, barely sleeping at all.
Clarke spent every possible moment at Bellamy’s side, cleaning his
wound, checking for fever, and saying whatever silly things she could to
distract him from the pain. But she also had dozens of other patients to tend
to, and so Wells pitched in as much as he could. He made sure Bellamy was
drinking water and, in Bellamy’s more lucid moments, kept him informed
about what’d been going on in camp.
Wells suppressed a groan as he rose to his feet, yawning while he rubbed
his shoulder. There weren’t nearly enough cots to go around, and Wells had
made sure they went to the injured. He glanced down at Bellamy, who’d
finally fallen asleep after a painful, restless night. There didn’t seem to be
any blood leaking through his bandage, which was a good thing, but Clarke
was growing increasingly worried about infection.
He looked at Bellamy’s pale face and felt a new surge of fury toward the
Vice Chancellor. His father would’ve never let the guards shoot Bellamy,
regardless of whether he realized their target was his son. Rhodes had a lot
to say about order and justice, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned
about practicing what he preached.
Wells slipped outside, careful not to let the door slam. Early mornings
used to be his favorite time on Earth. He’d have an hour to himself to watch
the sunrise, before the rest of the camp would wake up and begin the day’s
routine: The kids on water duty were up first, heading down to the stream
with empty containers and messy hair. The firewood team was next, always
racing through the chopping to see who could get it done fastest. They had
quickly settled into a community, with their own customs and traditions. In
many ways, it was a happier, freer life than anything they had known on the
Colony.
But although it’d been less than seventy-two hours since the other
Colonists arrived, those mornings felt like a distant memory. He hadn’t seen
Sasha in days. They’d both agreed that it was safer for her to stay at Mount
Weather until Wells figured out the right way to tell Rhodes about the
Earthborns. He felt her absence as a physical ache.
The normally empty clearing was scattered with groups of miserablelooking people—new arrivals who hadn’t secured spots in the cabins and
had spent a sleepless night staring terrified at the unfamiliar sky, or
disgruntled members of the hundred who had chosen to brave the wet grass
and frigid air rather than deal with the intruders who’d invaded their space.
A few adults were already standing around the cold fire pit, clearly
waiting for someone to come light it for them. A group of guards stood off
to the side, deep in conversation as they gestured toward the ridge where
the splinter Earthborns had first appeared. After weighing the pros and cons
of revealing that there were other people on Earth, Wells had told Rhodes
about the two groups yesterday—about the peaceful ones led by Sasha’s
father, and the violent ones who’d killed Asher and Priya. Ever since,
Rhodes had stationed around-the-clock guards at the edges of the clearing.
Wells walked over to the fire pit and forced a smile. “Good morning,” he
said.
The group nodded at him, but no one spoke. He knew how they felt,
because he’d felt the same way during his first days here—disoriented,
traumatized by the journey to Earth, but also haunted by the loss of the
people left behind. He also knew that the only way to move forward was to
keep busy.
“Who wants to learn how to start a fire?” he asked. They all accepted his
offer, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, but only one—a woman in her
twenties—hung around long enough to try it on her own. Wells stacked logs
in her arms and steered her back toward the fire pit. He showed her how to
stack the logs in a pyramid to get the best airflow and walked her through
the steps of lighting them. When they were done, she smiled, and he saw a
tiny spark of life return to her eyes.
“Great job,” Wells said. “Keep an eye on that, and when there’s some
food to cook, we’ll build it up a little more.” He headed toward the small
groups who had gathered for hunting duty, passing the cluster of guards on
the way. He felt their eyes on him and stopped. They stood with their guns
over their shoulders, waiting for someone to tell them what to do.
Although he’d been stripped of his officer’s rank when he was Confined,
he cleared his throat and addressed them with the same voice he’d learned
during training. “One of you should head out with each hunting party.
We’ve got a lot of people to feed, and those guns could come in handy.”
The guards looked at each other as if checking for permission, then
shrugged and followed him. Wells divided them up and gave them a few
tips on walking quietly so they didn’t scare off their prey. The only two who
stayed behind were the ones Rhodes had assigned to guard the infirmary
cabin, to ensure that Bellamy didn’t escape.
The clearing grew increasingly noisy as hungry people spilled out of the
overcrowded cabins, searching for something to eat for breakfast.
They were in desperate need of several more cabins, which would
require a massive harvesting of logs and at least a week of building. He’d
have to train twenty or thirty of the new arrivals to get it done quickly,
before the weather got cooler. They also needed more water buckets, which
they’d have to shape from metal wreckage. He made a mental note to send a
group over to the crash site to get at least ten good pieces that could work.
None of this would matter, though, if they didn’t get more food here, and
fast. With Bellamy out of commission, that was going to be harder than
ever. Wells exhaled slowly and organized his thoughts, letting the morning
sunlight warm his face for a moment.
Opening his eyes, he crossed to the supply cabin and stopped to talk to
the Arcadian boy who stood out front, reviewing a list. They had started
keeping an inventory and assigning shifts to track what came in and out.
Wells was about to ask the boy how they were doing on spare clothing
when someone cleared his throat behind him. Wells turned and found
himself face-to-face with Vice Chancellor Rhodes. Rhodes was studying
Wells with a curious look, his lips pressed together in a tight smile that
didn’t seem to reflect any actual happiness. Two older guards flanked the
Vice Chancellor. Wells recognized them from his officer training—one had
been his firearms instructor, and the other had once made him do five
hundred push-ups. He grimaced at the memory.
“Good morning, Officer Jaha.”
“Good morning, Vice Chancellor Rhodes. Officers.” Wells saluted them,
a gesture that felt out of place beneath the vast blue sky and soft clouds that
floated overhead, instead of the harsh lights of Phoenix.
Rhodes held out his hand to Wells, and Wells took it. Rhodes gripped his
fingers a bit too hard and shook his hand for a moment too long. Wells had
always been a model guard and officer, respectful of his superiors and the
rules. He had excelled at every stage of training, usually landing in the top
spot in his class. He had taken pride in knowing and following protocol,
even if it meant the other trainees ribbed him—or worse, whispered behind
his back that the Chancellor’s son was sucking up to their teachers. But
Wells didn’t care. He wanted to prove himself on his own merits, and he
had. No one could deny that Wells was a first-class officer. But today,
standing in the clearing, his hand held hostage by the Vice Chancellor,
Wells suddenly felt nothing but disgust. It was as if he knew what was
about to come out of Rhodes’s mouth before he even spoke.
“You have shown remarkable leadership, Officer Jaha.”
“Thank you, sir.” Wells braced himself.
“Particularly for one so young.” Rhodes emphasized the last word,
twisting it into an insult. “On behalf of the Council, I would like to thank
you for your service, young man.” Wells said nothing. “You have set up a
satisfactory—if temporary—camp here on Earth.” The Vice Chancellor’s
top lip curled in disdain. “But you have taken on far too much responsibility
for someone your age, when you should be enjoying your youth.”
Wells pictured the arrow piercing Asher’s neck just inches from his own,
saw Priya’s bloated body hanging from a tree, felt the gurgling and
terrifying hunger pangs they’d all shared in those first few days. Some
youth, he wanted to spit at Rhodes. But he kept his lips pressed together.
“We more experienced leaders will take over now,” Rhodes continued,
“while you enjoy a well-deserved break.”
Wells’s nostrils flared, and he felt his cheeks get hot. He struggled to
keep his expression soldier-neutral. Rhodes was taking control—but he
clearly had no idea what he was getting into. Neither had Wells at first, but
now he had several weeks of crucial knowledge that he could share. His
voice steady, his tone diplomatic, Wells said, “With all due respect, sir,
those of us who came down on the first ship have learned quite a bit in a
very short period of time. Things are more complicated down here than they
may seem, something we learned the hard way. We can save you a lot of
time and trouble. Allowing us to share what we’ve learned will serve the
greater good of everyone here.”
Rhodes’s smile grew tighter, and he let out a choked laugh. “With all due
respect, Officer, I think we are well qualified to handle anything that may
arise. The sooner we bring order back to this community, the sooner we can
all feel safe.”
Wells knew the look in Rhodes’s eye. It was the special combination of
disdain, mockery, and envy that he’d been seeing in people’s faces his
entire life. Being the Chancellor’s son had never been simple. Rhodes
looked at Wells and saw a spoiled, know-it-all child. Wells could singlehandedly build a cabin for each of the new Colonists, and Rhodes would
still see him as an entitled show-off. As the son of the one person who had
stood between the Vice Chancellor and the top job, Wells was the symbol of
Rhodes’s frustration.
Any goodwill Wells may have earned as the person who kept the
hundred alive for the first few weeks was quickly dissipating, along with his
influence. If this was his last chance to speak directly with Rhodes, then he
was going to use it well.
“Yes, sir,” Wells said in his most respectful tone. Rhodes saluted him
stiffly, clearly pleased with himself. He spun on his heel and began to walk
away, the guards trailing him like obedient pets. “There is just one thing,”
Wells called to Rhodes’s back. The Vice Chancellor stopped and turned
back, looking annoyed. “The prisoner, Bellamy Blake.”
Rhodes’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”
“He is vital to the survival of this camp.”
“Excuse me, Officer?” Rhodes shook his head in disbelief. “Are you
referring to the young man who almost got your father killed?”
“Yes, I am, sir. Bellamy is by far the best hunter we have. He has kept us
all alive. We need him.”
The smile fell from Rhodes’s face, and his expression grew cold. “That
boy,” Rhodes said slowly, “is a murderer.”
“He’s not,” Wells said, trying hard to sound calmer than he felt. “He
didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He was just trying to protect his sister.” He’d
hoped Bellamy’s protectiveness would strike a chord with the Vice
Chancellor, but the word sister only prompted a sneer. Wells could only
imagine what would happen if, out of desperation, he admitted that Bellamy
was his brother.
“He’s the reason your father isn’t here,” Rhodes spat. “The reason I’m in
charge.” With that, he spun around and stormed away.
Wells watched him go, his heart sinking. There would be no leniency for
Bellamy. No mercy.
CHAPTER 8
Clarke
The stitches weren’t holding. Clarke clenched her jaw as she cleaned the
wound on Bellamy’s shoulder for the third time that day. She knew
objectively that her frustration wasn’t helping, but she was half out of her
mind trying to figure out what to do next. She could take her chances and
hope Bellamy’s body fought off an infection and began to heal despite the
stitches. Or she could remove the stitches and put new ones in—but that
would put him at risk for reopening the wound inside, which could set him
back.
She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and tried to focus. Though
Bellamy had been lucky that the bullet had made a clean exit, it had entered
in the worst possible place, within millimeters of a major artery. It would
have been a tricky spot to stitch up if they had been back on the ship with a
sterile surgical suite and bright lights. But in this dark cabin, with two
guards hovering over Bellamy and bumping into Clarke every time she tried
to check his wound, it was nearly impossible.
This was why doctors weren’t supposed to operate on people they cared
about. She could barely keep her hands from shaking, let alone make an
objective decision under pressure. She felt Bellamy’s forehead with the
back of her hand. His fever had come down, which was a good sign, but he
was still disoriented and in a lot of pain. It made Clarke sick to think of how
much he was suffering—and how little she could do to help him.
“Clarke?” a weak voice called from across the room. “Clarke? I need
you, please.” It was Marin, an older woman with a deep gash in her leg.
Clarke had cleaned and stitched the wound, but they were running
desperately low on painkillers, which meant they could only be used in the
most dire cases.
“I’ll be right there,” Clarke said. It killed her to leave Bellamy, but there
were still so many people who needed serious medical care that Clarke
couldn’t spend more than a few minutes with him at a time. She squeezed
his hand, and he half opened his eyes, smiled, and gave her hand a weak
squeeze in return. She gently placed his arm back down on the cot and
turned, bumping into one of the guards.
“Excuse me.” Clarke could barely keep the irritation out of her voice.
The constant security wasn’t just excessive—it was hampering her ability to
care for her patients. Where was Bellamy supposed to go while
semiconscious and half-delirious with fever?
“Clarke, please? It hurts.” The voice was plaintive, desperate now.
Clarke didn’t have time to wallow. She had dressings to change and
medicine to administer. Yet while she was grateful for the chance to be
helpful, the exhausting, around-the-clock care she had to provide wasn’t
enough to clear her mind of worry. Every time she caught a glimpse of
Rhodes, her body seized with fury and disgust. Not only had he nearly
killed Bellamy, but he was essentially keeping her prisoner. There was no
way she could leave the camp with Bellamy in danger, and every hour that
passed was one that could’ve been spent tracking down her parents. As far
as they knew, she was still on the Colony, not standing on the same ground,
under the same sky. It was a thought almost too frustrating to contemplate.
Clarke crossed the room and leaned over Marin. As she lifted the
bandage from her leg, she pushed away thoughts of how she was letting her
parents down by standing here, in this cramped cabin, instead of setting off
on her own to find them.
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain,” Clarke said softly. “I know it hurts,
but the good news is that this is healing beautifully.” Marin looked
miserable, her face pale and clammy, but she managed a nod and a quiet
thank you.
Clarke had spent so many nights on Phoenix leaning over her textbooks,
marveling at the sophistication of medicine on the ship. Most major
diseases had been eradicated—there was no more cancer or heart disease,
not even the flu—and they had developed ways to regrow skin and rapidly
fuse bones. She was awestruck to live in a time of such medical brilliance.
She wanted to live up to the doctors who had come before her, so she
worked hard, memorizing procedures and medications and physiological
processes.
What Clarke wouldn’t give to have even a tenth of that medical
equipment right then. She was essentially practicing in the dark, with
fumbling hands instead of razor-edged scalpels, and flimsy assurances
instead of bacteria-killing medicines. She might as well have offered her
patients a wooden spoon to bite, like they did in the Middle Ages. She
looked around at the faces of the bewildered adults and shell-shocked kids
who groaned and wept and just stared off into the distance. There were
hundreds more like them right outside. Could she care for all these people,
day after day, all by herself?
And these were the lucky few who had somehow managed to secure a
spot on one of the dropships. By the looks on some of their faces, the cost
of saving themselves had been horrifyingly high. She could see the pain of
leaving loved ones, friends, and neighbors behind—of letting others die so
they could survive—written in their eyes. Clarke crouched down next to a
boy, Keith, who lay quietly on a low cot at the back of the room. She smiled
at him, and he gave her a little wave. Last night, she had asked Keith if his
mom or dad were here with him, and he had shaken his head silently.
Clarke could tell from his haunted expression that he was on Earth alone,
and she stopped asking questions.
She wondered what would happen to him after he left her care. His
broken ribs would heal soon, and he would leave the relative quiet of the
hospital cabin. So far, Octavia had been taking care of the parentless
children, but there was only so much one teenage girl could do. Who would
teach him how to hunt or tell if the water was clean enough to drink? Would
he be scared the first night he slept under the stars? Clarke brushed his
sweaty hair back from his forehead and tapped the tip of his nose. “Get
some rest, buddy,” she whispered. Keith closed his eyes, though Clarke
doubted he would be able to rest.
Just seeing him so tiny and alone made Clarke grateful for the people
she knew on Earth. There had been quite a few familiar faces among the
latest arrivals—Dr. Lahiri, for one, and a few people from her residence
corridor. Even Glass. Though they’d never really been friends, the girls had
known each other their entire lives. There was something comforting about
seeing a face you’ve seen all your life, about knowing that Glass had
brought many of the same memories with her from the dying ship. Almost
like Clarke didn’t have to remember everything herself—she had someone
to share the load.
Although her limbs were heavy with exhaustion and anxiety, she forced
herself to continue on to her next patient. It was Dr. Lahiri, whose shoulder
was still causing him an unnerving amount of pain.
He lifted his head from the cot. His normally immaculately kept gray
hair was greasy and tangled, which was almost more upsetting than the
wound in his shoulder. “Hello, Clarke,” he said wearily.
“Hi, Dr. Lahiri. How’s your head?”
“Better. The dizziness has subsided, and I’m only seeing one of you at
the moment.”
Clarke smiled. “Well that’s an improvement. Though I wish there were
two of me, frankly.”
Dr. Lahiri studied her carefully for a moment. “You’re doing a great job
here, Clarke. I hope you realize that. Your parents would be very proud of
you.”
Clarke’s heart swelled—with sadness or gratitude, she wasn’t sure. For a
few glorious days, she’d been absolutely sure she’d see her parents again
and had spent long hours imagining all the things she would tell them,
unloading all the thoughts and stories she’d tucked away, having no one to
share them with. But now, the odds seemed slimmer and slimmer that she’d
ever find the information she needed to track them down.
“I have to ask you something,” Clarke said quietly, looking around to
make sure the guards were out of earshot. “I found something the other day,
something that made me think my parents might be alive.” She watched Dr.
Lahiri’s eyes widen, but it wasn’t with shock or even disbelief. Could he
have known about this already? “And I think they’re on Earth,” she
continued, taking a deep breath. “I know they are. I just need to figure out
how to find them. Do you… do you know anything? Anything that could
point me in the right direction?”
Dr. Lahiri sighed. “Clarke, I know you want—”
They were interrupted by a commotion by the door. Clarke spun around
to see Vice Chancellor Rhodes standing at the front of the room. A murmur
rippled across the cots as patients lifted their heads and saw who had
entered. Clarke looked back at Dr. Lahiri desperately, wishing they could
finish their conversation. He nodded at her, as if to say they would talk
more later.
Clarke crossed toward the Vice Chancellor. She stopped in front of him,
her hands on her hips, feeling protective of her patients and her infirmary.
Guards fanned out in a semicircle around him, blocking out all light from
the doorway. The room had darkened, in more ways than one. Just the sight
of Rhodes’s smug face filled Clarke with rage. She didn’t think she’d ever
felt this strongly about anything before. Rhodes was the one who had
ordered her parents to test the effects of radiation on human subjects. On
children. Rhodes was the one who had threatened to kill Clarke if they
didn’t comply, then denied any involvement in the horrific experiments. He
had sentenced her parents to die. And now he was here for Bellamy.
“Vice Chancellor,” Clarke said, not bothering to try to hide her disdain.
“How can I help you?”
“Clarke, this doesn’t concern you. We’re here about Bellamy Blake.” He
brushed against her shoulder as he stepped past her and farther into the
room. Clarke clenched her hands into fists, her fingernails digging hard into
her palms. The blood ran hot in her veins, and she had to take a couple of
quick breaths to make sure she didn’t do something she’d regret. As corrupt
and immoral as Rhodes was, he was also dangerous. Her parents had
learned that the hard way.
Clarke watched as Rhodes approached Bellamy, who was, mercifully,
asleep. The Vice Chancellor studied him for a moment, then turned and
stepped briskly toward the door again. As he passed his guards, he spoke
without looking at them. “Put the prisoner in solitary confinement until his
trial.”
“Sir,” ventured one of the guards, “where will we keep him?”
Rhodes stopped and spun slowly to look at him with narrowed eyes.
“Figure it out,” he snapped before disappearing through the door.
“Yes, sir,” the guard said to Rhodes’s retreating back.
Clarke’s stomach did a slow turn as she recognized the voice. It was
Scott. She looked up to see him staring at Bellamy, his face unreadable.
Normally the sight of his blotchy skin and watery eyes made her want to
take a long, hot shower. But this time, she didn’t feel her usual revulsion.
This time she felt more hope than disdain, because Scott had given her an
idea. No one—especially not Vice Chancellor Rhodes—was going to hurt
Bellamy. Clarke would see to that.
CHAPTER 9
Glass
Glass knew she was lucky to be on Earth, but a part of her wondered if
she’d have fought quite so hard to get here if she’d known she was going to
spend the rest of her life peeing in the woods. Glass stepped out of the tiny
shed, which really wasn’t much more than a lean-to with a tree as the fourth
wall, and headed back toward camp. At least, she thought she was heading
toward camp. All the trees looked the same, and she was still getting her
bearings.
The distant sound of voices reassured her she was getting closer. She
stepped into the clearing, reluctantly leaving behind the comforting quiet of
the woods. Glass stopped in her tracks, suddenly disoriented. She wasn’t in
the right place. She was used to arriving between the infirmary and the
supply cabins, but somehow she had ended up on the opposite side of the
camp, near one of the new dormitory-like structures that was going up. She
sighed at her own miscalculation, making a mental note to be more careful
next time. Luke had already lectured her several times about staying alert
and not going off into the woods alone. But he was working all the time,
and Glass wasn’t comfortable enough with anyone else in camp to ask them
to come with her to the bathroom.
Glass rounded the construction site and came up behind two men talking
in low voices near the tree line. They were engrossed in conversation and
didn’t seem to notice she was there. She stopped, unsure whether to alert
them to her presence, stay still until they were done, or just keep walking
past them. Before she had a chance to decide, she realized that one of the
men was familiar—it was Vice Chancellor Rhodes.
Glass froze as her brain unleashed a storm of conflicting emotions.
Something about him had always made Glass’s skin prickle, and watching
him order his guards to shoot Bellamy certainly hadn’t helped matters. Yet
at the same time, he was the reason Glass was alive. When he’d spotted
Glass and her mother in the crush of people trying in vain to make their way
to the dropships, he’d swept them along with his entourage and secured
them the final two seats.
Glass hadn’t been near enough to Rhodes to speak to him since that
moment, but now a thousand unspoken questions bubbled up in her throat.
Why had he helped them? What was his relationship with her mother? Had
she spoken of how much Glass had disappointed her, back on the Colony?
The Vice Chancellor’s voice snapped Glass out of her thoughts. “We’ll
hold the trial in the center of camp. Make sure everyone knows attendance
is mandatory. I want them to see up close that treason or self-serving
treachery of any kind will not be tolerated.”
Glass stifled a gasp. He was talking about Bellamy.
“Yes, sir,” said the other man, who wore a ripped and dirt-dusted
officer’s uniform. Glass recognized him as the Vice Chancellor’s second-incommand, Burnett—the man who had grabbed her arm and pulled Glass
and her mother to safety on the launch deck. “And have you thought about
where we will house him long-term if his sentence is Confinement?”
Rhodes let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Confinement? There’s only one
outcome to this trial, and I assure you, it is not Confinement.”
Burnett nodded. “I see.”
“You and I will sit on the Council, as will a couple of the elder
Phoenicians who came down with us,” Rhodes continued. “I’ve already
spoken to them. They understand what they need to do. We will execute the
prisoner, which should serve as a clear reminder to all that maintaining
order here on Earth is just as important—indeed, more so—than it was on
the Colony.”
“I understand, sir. But as to the logistics. We can’t exactly float the
prisoner down here. How would you like to handle the execution? We have
firearms, but…” Burnett hesitated for only the briefest of moments. “Will
you pull the trigger yourself?”
Glass shut her eyes as a wave of nausea crashed over her. She couldn’t
believe her ears. They were talking about executing Bellamy in the same
off-hand manner they might have used to discuss electricity rations or an
upcoming Remembrance Day celebration.
“I’ve been giving that some thought, and I believe I have just the person
for the job. He’s a rule abider, and he’s an excellent guard. A member of the
engineering corps in fact. But he’s displayed some rebellious tendencies
lately, harboring a fugitive, among other things, and I think this task will do
nicely to remind him where his loyalties lie.”
Glass’s head started to spin, as if someone had cut off the oxygen supply
to her brain, and she reached out a hand to steady herself on the nearest tree
trunk. Luke. The Vice Chancellor was going to force Luke to execute
Bellamy to prove his loyalty. But Luke would never kill someone—she
knew he couldn’t possibly pull the trigger. What would Rhodes do to him
then? Would he question more than just Luke’s allegiance? Would he
wonder if Luke could be trusted at all? Because it had become crystal clear
what Rhodes did to people he couldn’t trust.
Rhodes and Burnett began walking toward a small cluster of guards she
didn’t recognize. As soon as they were out of earshot, Glass let out a long
breath that ended in a choked sob. She had to find Luke. She scanned the
campsite but didn’t see him anywhere. Panic began to rise in her chest. Stay
calm, she told herself. Freaking out will solve nothing. You kept it together
during a spacewalk—you can certainly keep it together long enough to find
Luke.
Glass forced herself to walk calmly across the center of camp, headed
for the infirmary cabin. Maybe Clarke had seen Luke. She stepped inside. It
took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim, windowless cabin, and she
felt momentarily blinded. When her vision returned, she saw Luke standing
across from her, his back to her. He was on duty, guarding Bellamy. The
relief she felt upon seeing him nearly brought tears to her eyes. But then an
image of Luke raising a gun and pointing it at Bellamy, pulling the trigger,
the loud pop as he fired it, flooded her mind. She couldn’t let it happen. She
couldn’t let them force Luke to make that decision—and she wasn’t going
to stand by while they threatened to hurt him too.
Glass crossed the room in three big steps and grabbed Luke’s arm. He
spun around, his fists up in a defensive gesture, then laughed when he saw
her.
“Hi,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides. “You trying to get me in
trouble?” His smile fell when he saw the expression on Glass’s face. “Are
you okay?” Luke said in a low voice, leaning toward her so no one else
could hear their conversation.
“Can we talk?” She nodded toward the door. “Outside?”
“Sure.” Luke turned to the other guard. “Hey, man, I need to step out for
a second. You okay?” The guard shrugged, looked at Bellamy, who lay
sound asleep and strapped down to the cot, and turned back to Luke and
nodded. Luke followed Glass out into the sunlight.
They stepped behind the cabin, and after checking to make sure no one
was listening, Glass told Luke everything she had heard Rhodes say. She
hated seeing the pained look on his face as he absorbed the full weight of
her words. He looked away from her, casting his gaze far out over the
treetops. He was silent for a long moment, and Glass held her breath. Birds
chirped, the sound of an ax splicing wood echoed across the camp.
Finally Luke turned back to her, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with
resolve. “I won’t do it,” he said firmly.
Glass’s heart fluttered with love and pride at Luke’s clear sense of right
and wrong. She admired his integrity and honor—it was one of the first
things she had been drawn to. But she would never—could never—let him
jeopardize himself to save someone else.
“But, Luke, you understand what that means, right? They’ll punish
you.” Glass’s voice trembled with fear. “I know he saved my life, but
Rhodes is dangerous. You should have seen the way he talked about
executing Bellamy. It was… awful. Who knows what he’s capable of?”
“I know.” Luke’s jaw clenched and unclenched.
They were both quiet for a moment. Glass took his hand and squeezed it.
He felt far away, distant, like he did when he was preparing for a
spacewalk.
“Luke.” She squeezed his hand again. Slowly he turned to look at her.
“It can’t end this way.” After all they had been through, after all they had
fought for and survived, it’d be madness to let Rhodes turn either of them
into scapegoats just like he was doing to Bellamy.
“It won’t,” Luke said, pulling her into a tight embrace.
She breathed in his familiar scent, which was now layered with earthy
smells that she was growing to love as she began to associate them more
and more with Luke. His heart beat a steady rhythm against her cheek. Her
blood pressure began to fall, her pulse slowed, and the adrenaline in her
veins subsided. This was all she needed. He was all she needed.
Glass pulled away suddenly. Luke’s head shot around, his instincts
programed to check for danger.
“I know what to do,” Glass said.
Luke looked down at her, his brows knit together. “What?”
“We’ll leave.”
“What do you mean ‘leave’? Where would we go?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. Wells can help us. He and Sasha
can tell us which way to go. We can hide out for a while—as long as it takes
for us to be sure that when we get back, all this will have been forgotten.”
“What about the Earthborns? The dangerous ones?” Luke asked, looking
at her as if she’d gone completely insane.
“We’ll have to take our chances.”
Luke stared at her for a long moment, and Glass braced for the weary
shake of his head, and some vagaries about not abandoning his duties. But
to her surprise, a small smile crept across his face. “We’d have to go
tonight, then. We don’t want to give Rhodes the chance to find me.”
Glass looked at him, startled. “Seriously? You really want to go off on
our own?”
He placed his uninjured hand on her waist. “Do you know what’s kept
me going this last year? All the time you were in Confinement, those nights
on Walden when I was certain we were dying? It was the thought of being
on Earth with you. Even when I was sure it was just a fantasy, I couldn’t
stop imagining exploring the planet with you. Just us.” He let go of her
waist and ran his fingers through her hair. “It’s incredibly risky, though. You
know that.”
She nodded. “I know. But I’d rather be in danger out there with you than
risk being here without you.” She smiled up at him and ran her hand softly
across his stubbly cheek. He took her hand in his and kissed her fingertips.
“And I’d rather be out there with you than cause anyone else more
pain,” he said.
“Then let’s go get ready. We’ll take whatever supplies we can grab
without attracting attention and then head out.”
“I have to finish this shift. You get some water and whatever food you
can hide in your clothes, and we’ll meet back here after sundown. While
everyone’s eating dinner.”
“Okay,” Glass agreed. “I’ll find Wells. And I think we should tell Clarke
too. She needs to know what they’re planning for Bellamy. Because if it
isn’t you, it’s going to be someone else.”
“Can we trust her?”
“Yes.” Glass was emphatic. “We can trust her.”
“Good.” Luke bent his head to give Glass a quick, soft kiss. “We’ll be
just like Adam and Eve,” he said with a smile.
“There’s no way I’m dressing in leaves, no matter how long we’re alone
in the woods.”
Luke made a show of looking her up and down, then grinned
mischievously, making it clear exactly where his mind was. “Go get ready,”
he said, tapping her elbow. With one last lingering look, he turned around
and headed back to the infirmary cabin.
CHAPTER 10
Clarke
For one fleeting, blissful moment, Clarke was happy. As Keith stood up for
the first time since the dropships landed and took a few steps, everyone in
the infirmary cabin cheered. Clarke stood in front of him, holding out her
arms as he hobbled forward. He had one skinny arm wrapped protectively
around his ribs, the other waving out to the side for balance. He stepped
into Clarke’s arms, and she hugged him gently. The boy was going to be
fine.
“Okay, buddy, let’s get you back to bed. That’s enough for one day,”
Clarke said.
“Thanks, Dr. Clarke.” Keith’s smile was big enough to light up the
room.
“Just ‘Clarke.’” She smiled, easing him back down onto the cot. Out of
the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the one unoccupied cot in the cabin, and
all the temporary happiness flooded out of her, leaving only panic and
despair in its wake. Guards had come that afternoon to move Bellamy to a
new prison cabin they’d built on the edge of the clearing, a dismal,
windowless shack made of sheet metal salvaged from the crash site. He was
locked up by himself, with two armed men outside the door at all times.
Clarke wasn’t sure exactly what Rhodes had planned, but she knew it was
just going to get worse. Either Bellamy would succumb to infection from a
lack of proper medical care, or else Rhodes would expedite his demise by…
She shook the thought out of her head. It was too terrible to contemplate.
She would figure something out. She had to.
As Keith gingerly settled himself, Clarke turned to Marin, whose leg had
shown huge improvement. The wound had begun to heal with no hint of
infection. “You’re next, Marin,” Clarke said. “We’ll get you up and walking
in no time.”
“I can’t wait.” Marin grinned. “How long have I been on this planet, and
I still haven’t seen so much as a tree or a leaf?”
“Well, that’s what you get for being unconscious when we brought you
in here,” Clarke teased, her light tone belying the dread building in her
stomach. “But I’ll bring you a few samples later, to tide you over.”
“Clarke?” someone called from the doorway, a desperate tinge to the
voice.
Clarke spun around to see a pale, anxious-looking Glass shifting her
weight from side to side. “Glass, what’s wrong?”
“I… I need to talk to you for a sec.”
“Sure.” Clarke hurried over to her as quickly as her overtaxed legs
would allow. Glass’s face was drawn and pale. “Is everything okay?”
Clarke’s heart seized a little. Had something happened to Wells?
“I think we should go outside,” Glass said, shooting a nervous look
around the cabin.
Clarke nodded and, without another word, followed Glass through the
door and into the clearing. The late-afternoon sun seemed to mellow the
frenetic scene somewhat, although everywhere she looked, Clarke could see
signs of strain—people arguing over rations, guards casting uneasy glances
toward the trees, and, in the distance, people bending their heads to avoid
meeting the eyes of the two guards standing to attention in front of
Bellamy’s prison. The idea of him in there, alone and ill, made Clarke want
to break into a sprint and crash through the door, guards be damned.
She tore her eyes away and turned her attention to Glass. “What’s going
on?”
“It’s about Luke… and Bellamy.”
Clarke scrunched up her face in confusion. What could Bellamy and
Luke possibly have to do with each other? Bellamy had basically been
unconscious or asleep since Luke landed on Earth—had they even met?
Glass inhaled and exhaled slowly, as if summoning the courage to speak.
“Clarke, I just—I thought you should know. They’re planning to execute
Bellamy.” Her voice had grown faint, as if saying the terrible word took a
physical toll.
Clarke’s stomach dropped out, and she bit her lip to stifle a cry.
“Execute him?” she whispered. Glass nodded.
It wasn’t as if Clarke hadn’t expected something like this. Her medical
training had taught her to consider every eventuality and face even the
grimmest head-on. But there was an enormous difference between forcing
herself to imagine the worst-case scenario and actually hearing it articulated
on another person’s lips.
“They’re planning to hold a trial, but it’s going to be a total sham,”
Glass continued, her face growing more pained with each word. She
explained that Rhodes was going to make Luke kill Bellamy. “But we’re
not going to let them force Luke to do it,” she said quickly. “We’re leaving
camp. Tonight. That should buy you some time.”
“How… how will that help us?”
“If Luke isn’t there to carry out Rhodes’s orders, they’ll have to rethink
the execution. It’s not a permanent solution, but it might buy you an extra
day to figure something out.”
“Is that… is that why you’re leaving? So Luke won’t have to kill
Bellamy?”
Glass nodded, unhinging something in Clarke’s chest, allowing a surge
of unprecedented affection and gratitude to rush forth. Clarke wanted to
grab Glass’s hand and beg her forgiveness for every snide comment, every
time she’d giggled inwardly at one of Glass’s mistakes in school. She’d
never judged a person so unfairly. But she couldn’t move, could barely
speak. They were going to kill Bellamy. They were going to drag the boy
she loved into the clearing, point a gun at the kindest, bravest person she’d
ever met, and end his life with the twitch of a finger.
But then Clarke’s brain kicked into another gear, and she felt other
instincts taking over. No. She refused to let this happen. She saved lives;
she didn’t stand by and watch them fade into oblivion. She would save
Bellamy. If Glass could find the courage to flee the camp with Luke, Clarke
could find the courage to do whatever was necessary.
At that thought, the gravity of Glass’s plan began to sink in. “Glass,
there has to be another way. It’s too dangerous. You guys don’t know the
terrain, and there are—there are… people… out there who want to hurt us.”
“Wells told us about the other faction of Earthborns. We’ll be careful, I
promise.” She forced a smile that didn’t reach her wide, sad blue eyes. “But
listen, Clarke,” Glass said, putting her hand on Clarke’s arm. “Just because
Luke isn’t here doesn’t mean Bellamy will be safe. They’ll find someone
else to do it.”
Clarke nodded, her mind whirring. “I know. I think I have a plan.” She
thought of Scott’s sour breath and penetrating stare. A shudder passed
through her, but her resolve was firm: She would use whatever powers of
persuasion she had to get Scott to free Bellamy.
“Can I help?” Glass asked, her face full of hope and concern. “I mean,
before we leave?”
Clarke ran through the plan forming in her head one more time, then
nodded slowly before stammering what she needed Glass to do. For a
second, Clarke worried that she’d said too much. Glass was staring at her
with enormous eyes, her mind turning behind them. But something in
Glass’s face shifted, and a look of understanding and resolve took over. It
was clear she understood the lengths Clarke was willing to go to in order to
save Bellamy.
She could only hope it was enough.
CHAPTER 11
Wells
Wells had never set out to be in charge. It had just evolved. He saw things
that needed to be done, and he did them. If he thought something could be
done better, he suggested it. It wasn’t a power thing, like it clearly was with
Rhodes. It was just the best way Wells had found to keep people alive.
He stepped into the supply shed and surveyed the stacks of odds and
ends they’d collected from the crash sites. He knew Rhodes wouldn’t want
him assessing their inventory, but the Vice Chancellor had been
conspicuously absent for most of the day, and Wells figured he could
always come up with some excuse if he were caught. He needed to do
something to keep busy. He could hardly stand to be in the clearing. The
sight of the armed guards in front of the new prison made him physically ill.
He racked his brain trying to come up with a way to help Bellamy, but he
couldn’t think of a way to talk to Rhodes without making the situation even
worse.
So until he came up with a plan that didn’t involve getting both him and
Bellamy killed, he’d take inventory.
There hadn’t been much in the way of actual supplies prepared and
loaded onto the hundred’s dropship by whoever was in charge up there on
the Colony. It seemed as if they hadn’t believed the hundred would survive
the trip, let alone spend more than a month on Earth. There had been a
smattering of useful things—one case of medicine and first-aid tools; two
cartons of protein paste, which were long gone; and a handful of blankets,
water containers, cooking utensils, and weapons. The second round of
dropships hadn’t carried much more. Wells figured that was the result of
having no advance notice when they left the Colony.
But somehow, the hundred and the newcomers had managed to stockpile
an impressive number of supplies. They had repurposed broken seats and
shards of metal into water buckets, cots, chairs, and tables. They had used
straps and wires to bind canvas and upholstery into tarps and tents and
blankets. They had foraged for wide, flat leaves they could dry out and use
for multiple purposes—from woven baskets to plates and bowls. They used
everything they could find to cook, clean, and protect themselves. It was
awe-inspiring, really, that all these people had put their heads together and
figured out how to survive. Wells had never been so aware of how easy
they’d had it on the ship.
The quiet of the supply shed was a welcome change from the hubbub
outside. Wells took his time assessing their inventory, making a mental note
that they needed to start gathering more leaves and small pieces of wood for
kindling. They were doing okay on berries and plants, and a whole new
crew was training to track animals—which was good, considering that it’d
be a long time before Bellamy would be able to go hunting.
Wells stood up and stretched his arms over his head. He heard a soft
thunk against the side of the building. Maybe it was Felix dragging the rain
barrels over, as Wells had asked him to. He stepped outside to see if he
could help. Moving around the side of the shed, his eyes landed on Kendall
and his body went rigid. The younger girl had seemed sweet at first and had
paid so much attention to Wells he’d thought she’d had a harmless crush on
him. But over the past week, he’d grown more concerned with her behavior.
Nothing about her quite added up, from her strange accent, to the way her
story about ending up in Confinement kept changing.
But that wasn’t the most troubling part. Wells’s skin prickled as he
thought about Priya, his friend who’d been violently killed and left hanging
from a tree. They’d all thought the Earthborns had done it, of course, just
like they’d murdered Asher. But even the horrific details of that terrible day
didn’t add up. Priya had been strung up with a rope from the hundred’s own
camp, and the gruesome letters carved into her feet bore a startling
resemblance to the handwriting on her grave maker—a marker Kendall had
fashioned herself.
Part of Wells thought he was just being paranoid, that he’d been rattled
by the traumatic events. But there was also part of him that knew not to let
Kendall out of his sight.
She stood alone, her back to him, leaning over one of the rain barrels.
She was reaching down into it.
“Hey, Kendall,” Wells said, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Kendall jumped at the sound of his voice and faced him with a large
smile plastered on her face.
“Oh, hi, Wells,” she said smoothly.
“What’s going on? What’s up with the rain barrel?”
“Nothing. Just checking to see how much was in there. Felix just rolled
these over. I don’t know how he did it with so much water in them.”
“It’s not hard if you get it at the right angle,” Wells replied. “Why do
you need to check the water level?”
Kendall looked up at the sky and held up her hands near her shoulders,
palms up, as if checking the air for moisture. “It doesn’t look like we’re
going to have any rain today, and I wanted to be sure we had enough.”
Wells studied her face. Something about her was out of synch—it was
almost as if her semiclueless voice and her piercing stare belonged to two
different people but had accidentally ended up together.
“Did you find something in there?”
Kendall tittered. “In the rain barrel? No. Why?”
“What were you doing with your hand in it, then?”
“Wells, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t have my hand
in the barrel.”
“Kendall, I saw you standing there reaching into it.”
She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. For a moment so brief Wells
thought he might be imagining it, her expression transformed from innocent
and awkward to cool and calculating. Then she opened her eyes wide again,
smiled shyly, and shrugged. “Wells, I don’t know what to tell you. I wasn’t
reaching into the barrel. I have to get to my hunting shift.” Before Wells
could say another word, she turned on her heel and scurried back to the
center of camp.
Wells felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right. He looked down into the
barrel, but all he saw was crystal clear water, about halfway up the side.
With a frustrated slap of his palms against the side of the barrel, Wells
decided he needed to tell Rhodes what he’d just seen. Making sure the
water was safe to drink was more important than some stupid power
struggle.
It wasn’t hard to track down the Vice Chancellor. He just had to spot the
clump of guards gathered around, waiting for orders. With an excuse me or
two, he made his way to the front of the group and stood behind Rhodes,
who was talking to Officer Burnett, his second-in-command.
“Sir?” Wells said in his well-trained officer’s respectful tone.
Rhodes spun around and looked Wells over from head to toe. He seemed
surprised to see Wells again. “Yes, Officer Jaha? How can I help you?”
Wells felt the eyes of the guards on him. “I witnessed something I think
you should know about, sir.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. I saw a girl named Kendall dropping something into one of the
rain barrels. I believe she was putting something into our water supply.”
“And what do you think this Kendall was putting into our water
supply?” Rhodes asked coolly.
“I don’t know, sir. But there’s something about her that doesn’t feel quite
right. She’s just a little… off.”
Rhodes let out a dry chuckle. “She’s ‘off’?”
Wells nodded.
Rhodes looked from Wells to Burnett, then back again. “Well, Jaha.
Thank you for bringing this very critical piece of intelligence to my
attention. I will be sure to have my men investigate anyone who may seem
a little off. We can’t have that.”
The men gathered around snickered. Wells felt his cheeks burn.
“It’s not a joke,” Wells said firmly. “She was up to something. I just
don’t think she’s as innocent as she seems.”
Rhodes pinned Wells with a cold stare. “I realize that your brief time as
leader here on Earth was very satisfying for you. And one day, if you
manage to keep your desperation in check, perhaps you’ll be in charge
again. But right now I find it shameful that you would make up accusations
against an innocent girl simply because you would like to feel important.”
Any sense of embarrassment Wells felt was gone in a flash, replaced by
pure disgust. He wasn’t the one playing games here—and he wasn’t the one
letting power go to his head. Rhodes was putting all their lives at risk
because he was… what? Threatened by a teenager? He wasn’t going to give
Rhodes the satisfaction of letting his frustration show. As hard as it was, he
ignored Rhodes’s accusations and focused on giving him concrete evidence
so he’d have to act, regardless of whatever personal beef he had with Wells.
“Sir. Before you arrived here, two members of our group were killed.”
“Yes, I heard about those unfortunate incidents.” Rhodes waved his hand
dismissively at Wells. “But I understand that you were not properly
protected. We’ve established a security perimeter that will prevent that from
happening again.”
“I’m not sure how a perimeter would prevent an arrow from hitting
someone in the neck. Sir. And I’m not sure how a perimeter would help if
one of their people has already infiltrated our camp. My friend Priya was
strung up from a tree like an animal. We couldn’t understand how someone
could have snuck into camp for long enough to do that to her without
anyone noticing a stranger among us. But I think I’ve figured it out. I think
that the culprit was already here, not an outsider at all. I think it was
Kendall.”
Rhodes looked at Wells like he was a scrap of trash stuck to his boot.
“That’s enough. Come back to me when you’re ready to help. I don’t have
time to listen to your conspiracy theories and delusions. I have a settlement
to run. If you can tell us where to find an ample food supply, then I’m
happy to listen to you. Now go.”
Without a word, Wells stormed away. As he rounded the corner of the
nearest hut, he slammed directly into someone.
“Sorry,” he said, looking up into a familiar face. Kendall. She had been
standing right there and had heard everything he said to Rhodes. Wells
braced himself for a harsh exchange of some kind. But instead, all Kendall
did was shoot him a strange, unreadable smile before turning around and
heading off into the woods. Wells watched her get swallowed up by the
trees, his heart pounding in his chest, somehow knowing in his gut that she
wasn’t coming back.
CHAPTER 12
Clarke
Clarke didn’t have the stomach to tell Wells all the details about her plan to
rescue Bellamy. She needed his help, but there was a limit to what your exboyfriend needed to know. Especially when the plan essentially consisted of
one step: flirt dangerously with a sociopathic guard. And particularly when
your ex-boyfriend was the protective and occasionally self-righteous type,
who also happened to be the de facto leader of the camp.
“So what exactly is it you want me to do?” Wells asked, surveying her
with an expression that made it very clear he knew she wasn’t telling him
everything.
“Someone has to create a distraction so Bellamy and I can get out of
camp without anyone noticing.”
“I can certainly create a distraction, but how exactly do you plan on
getting past the guards?”
“I have a plan. Don’t you trust me?”
Wells sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Of course I trust you,
Clarke, but what I don’t understand is why you won’t trust me. Why won’t
you tell me what’s going on? I know he’s your boyfriend, but he’s also my
brother.” The word sounded strange coming from Wells’s lips, but it
nonetheless landed in a soft spot deep inside her heart.
“I know, Wells. That’s why I need you to believe me. The less you
know, the better chance this has of working.”
Wells shook his head, then gave her a wry smile. “You could convince
me to do pretty much anything. You know that, right?”
Clarke grinned. “Good. Because I have one more favor to ask.”
“Anything you want, Griffin.”
“Once we get out of here, we’ll need somewhere to go. Do you think
Sasha would ask the Earthborns to take us in—at least for the time being?”
“I’ll talk to her,” Wells said. He and Sasha had agreed to meet in the
woods at noon each day, a temporary measure until it was safe for her to
visit the camp again. “I’m sure she’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” She ran through her mental checklist again. Nearly all the
pieces of her plan were in place.
Her only regret was that leaving camp would mean leaving behind Dr.
Lahiri. They hadn’t had a chance to finish their conversation, and she knew
there was something he hadn’t told her about her parents.
“What is it, Clarke?” Wells asked, apparently reading the concern in her
face. He’d always been able to tell what she’d been thinking, a skill that had
made the beginning of their relationship so magical, and the end of it so
heartbreaking.
“What’s wrong?”
“Besides the fact that I have to drag Bellamy and his open wound
through the woods to get away from that maniac Rhodes?”
“Yeah, besides that.”
She filled him in on what Dr. Lahiri had looked like when she’d asked
him about her parents, but how she hadn’t had a chance to finish the
conversation.
Wells put his hand on her shoulder. “Clarke, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything. For being naïve. For not getting how sick Rhodes is. I
really thought they would do what was right. It sounds so stupid now.”
Clarke wanted to take Wells in her arms and hug him—out of gratitude,
out of appreciation, out of empathy. But that wasn’t her place anymore.
“Don’t ever apologize for seeing the best in people, Wells. That’s an
amazing quality.”
He looked away from her and cleared his throat. “Bellamy’s my brother.
I’ll do anything to help.” He settled his gaze back on Clarke, his eyes
glinting with a spark she’d never seen there before. “And if it happens to
undermine Rhodes’s authority in the process, well, that’s just a two-for-one
deal.”
An hour later, after Clarke had rinsed off in the stream, then changed into
slightly less filthy clothes, she set off on her mission. It’s just for show, she
repeated to herself, trying to slow her pounding heart. Nothing’s actually
going to happen. The repetition soothed her, and soon the words blended
into a melody in her head.
She stopped in her tracks. There he was, leaning against the supply shed,
his thumbs hooked in his belt, a smug smile squirming across his face. He
was talking to an Arcadian girl about Clarke’s age, with the same color hair
and general build as Clarke too. Well, at least he has a type, she thought.
Gross.
Clarke took a slow breath, braced herself, and reviewed her plan, hoping
for the millionth time it would work, that she wasn’t just about to re-create
one of her own nightmares.
“Hi, Scott,” Clarke said as she headed for the supply cabin door. Instead
of avoiding eye contact and walking past him as quickly as possible, like
she’d normally do, she forced herself to let her gaze linger on his face, and
she flashed him what she hoped was a beaming smile, though it could’ve
well been a grimace.
“Hello, Doc,” he drawled, giving her a quick look up and down. The girl
Scott was talking to turned to glare at Clarke and, when it was clear Scott’s
attention was now fixed elsewhere, stormed away.
He’s all yours, honey, Clarke thought. Just as soon as I get what I need.
Adrenaline pumped through her body as she stopped in the cabin
entryway, just a few inches from Scott. His intense expression made her
nervous—he looked suspicious. Was she coming on too strong? Flirting
was not her specialty. She’d always been much more comfortable using
scalpels and microscopes than smiles and sauntering strides.
Scott’s mouth slithered higher at the corners, and his eyebrows shot up,
as if asking her a silent question. “To what do I owe the honor?” he asked,
reaching out to hold the door for her.
“I was just looking for something in here,” Clarke said. “Do you mind
helping me?”
“Sure, no problem.” He followed her inside and pulled the door shut
behind him with a thud that made Clarke’s stomach churn, but she had to
keep going.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned to face him. “Listen, I
wanted to apologize.”
He looked momentarily startled, but then smirked and said, “What could
you have to apologize for, sweetheart?”
His voice made Clarke’s skin crawl, but she continued. “For not always
giving you proper medical attention. I…” This was it, she couldn’t screw it
up now. She lowered her voice and tried to make it as breathy as possible.
“I still get a little nervous, around certain patients.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, what kind of patients?”
She forced herself to place her hand on his arm. “The ones who make
me feel more like a schoolgirl with a crush than a real doctor.”
Scott’s eyes popped in a way that gave Clarke a whole new sense of the
expression his eyes lit up. If they hadn’t been Scott’s eyes, she would have
been flattered to have a guy look at her like that. A flash of guilt cut through
her as she realized Bellamy did look at her that way.
“Really?” His voice was tinged with a note of disbelief, but that didn’t
stop him from putting his hand on her waist.
Clarke nodded, ignoring the pressure of his touch, though it was like
letting a spider crawl across her arm.
“Do you forgive me? I promise to be more… professional going
forward.”
Scott placed his other hand on her hip, then let both hands slide around
until they were on her butt. It took a considerable amount of willpower for
Clarke not to pull away. “Professional might be overrated.”
Steeling herself, she leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Well, in that
case, want to go on a little walk with me? There’s a part of the woods I’ve
been dying to explore.”
He tightened his grip for a moment before letting her go and shooting
her an oily smile. “Absolutely.”
They stepped back outside, and Clarke hoped Scott didn’t notice how
she shuddered as he placed his hand on the small of her back. “Lead the
way, Doctor.”
Clarke turned toward the woods just in time to see Octavia cross over
the tree line, leading two small children by the hand. To Clarke’s horror,
Bellamy’s sister was staring straight at her, a look of pure loathing burning
on her face. Octavia didn’t know about Clarke’s plan to use Scott. She
probably thought this scene was exactly what it looked like: Clarke cheating
on Bellamy with a guard.
Clarke locked eyes with Octavia, wishing they still had cornea slips and
she could send the girl a message. But the only way to communicate with
her on Earth was to speak to her, and that would never work. She had Scott
on the hook, and she couldn’t break the momentum now. She didn’t want to
do anything to arouse his suspicions. It was too risky to talk to Octavia. All
Clarke could do was hope Octavia wouldn’t get to Bellamy before she did.
If Octavia told him what she had seen, Bellamy would never leave camp
with Clarke that night. Octavia turned and stomped back toward the fire pit.
Clarke watched Octavia walk off, then took a deep breath and turned
back to Scott. She held his gaze for an extra beat, brushed her hand against
his, and said in a throaty voice, “Follow me.” She tipped her head toward
the woods. Scott’s eyes grew big and round.
“I’m right behind you,” he breathed into her ear. His breath was hot and
damp on her face. Clarke suppressed her gag reflex and reminded herself
that Bellamy would die if she didn’t go through with this. She grabbed
Scott’s hand and tugged him toward the trees.
They ducked into the dim forest, the branches brushing against their
shoulders. She led Scott into a particularly dense area of woods, where the
leaves grew in a thick tangle. They would hear someone approaching before
they could be seen. She turned to face Scott, who bumped right into her in
his excitement. He pressed his chest against her and wrapped his arms
around her shoulders.
He wasn’t wasting any time. Clarke tried to focus on Bellamy. All this
was for him. For them.
“Are you in a rush?” Clarke managed to say just before he planted a
firm, wet kiss on her. She reflexively turned her face, and his lips slid off
hers and onto her cheek.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Scott said, grabbing her face
with both hands and repositioning it.
“And I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Clarke said as she raised
her hand in the air and slammed it down into his neck, the syringe
puncturing his skin with a small pop. She pressed the plunger hard with her
thumb, administering a massive dose of sedative right into his bloodstream.
For a millisecond, Scott’s eyes filled with confusion and betrayal. Then he
released his hold on her and slid to the ground with a dull thud.
Clarke wiped her slobbery face with her sleeve and got to work. She
knelt down and fumbled around in Scott’s uniform and utility belt. Her
hands were shaking, but she finally managed to wrap her fingers around his
heavy key ring and the cold, smooth metal of his gun. Without so much as a
backward glance, she hopped up and headed back through the trees, leaving
him unconscious on the ground. Clarke wanted to be far away from him
when he woke up.
She pushed Scott from her mind and slipped back into the clearing. She
ran her eyes around the camp, checking for guards and looking for Wells.
He was in the arranged spot. Clarke closed her eyes and listened hard—yes
—she could hear the lower whistle from the trees that was their signal from
Sasha. She’d gotten the message. Clarke steeled herself. It was go time.
CHAPTER 13
Bellamy
The pain was searing and constant, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It
was much worse than the time he’d fallen down a flight of stairs during a
fight and broken his collarbone. This was a deep, throbbing pain, like the
inside of his bones were on fire. Bellamy slumped against the cold metal
wall—a wall that must’ve been built around him while he was unconscious,
because it sure as hell hadn’t been there when he was shot.
His stomach rumbled loudly, although the thought of swallowing
anything added a layer of nausea to the waves of pain. He couldn’t
remember the last time he’d eaten; he had a vague recollection of Clarke
encouraging him to take a few mouthfuls of protein paste but had no idea
how long ago that’d been.
Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut and tried to distract himself by replaying
his favorite moments with Clarke over again in his mind. The first time
she’d kissed him, when she’d shed her reserved, serious-doctor persona like
a set of binding clothes and thrown her arms around him in the woods. The
night they went swimming in the lake and it’d felt like the entire planet
belonged to him and the glistening girl with a mischievous spark in her
eyes. He even reminisced over the past few days in the infirmary cabin,
feeling his pain abate every time she stroked his cheek, or followed a tender
kiss on the forehead with a decidedly undoctorlike kiss on his neck. Hell,
taking a bullet to the shoulder almost seemed like a fair price to pay for one
of her surprisingly diverting sponge baths.
It worked for a moment, but the pain inevitably returned with renewed
fury. He started to raise a hand to adjust his bandage and realized his wrists
were bound together and attached to the wall behind him. With a groan, he
twisted around to investigate, his shoulder throbbing in protest at the
movement, but the pain wasn’t quite enough to overwhelm his curiosity.
He’d never seen anything like these cuffs before. They were lightweight,
made of a thin metal cord that looked as delicate as thread, with a slim lock
binding them together. He tried to pull his hands apart, but the fiber held
strong and dug into his skin. As he tugged, he felt the tension in the cord
getting stronger and watched in amazement as his wrists slammed together.
The metal was reacting to his movements. He held very still and slowly the
cord released its grip, until he was able to wiggle his hands again.
Bellamy’s shoulder burned, and he scooted himself further up the wall,
trying to find a comfortable position. Grunting with the effort, he settled in
and leaned his head back. He was exhausted, but the pain made it
impossible to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.
Narrow shafts of sunlight filtered through the cracks between the sheets
of metal that formed the walls and roof of the cabin. He studied the angle of
the light and listened carefully to the sounds outside, trying to figure out
where the prison was located. The far-off thwack of an ax hitting firewood
told him he was a good distance from the woodpile. A group of boys
walked by, right on the other side of the wall, chatting about a Walden girl.
Under their voices, he could hear water sloshing, which meant he was near
the path people used to get to the stream.
Bellamy strained to identify every sound he could make out. Logs
clattering together, blankets and tarps snapping as someone shook them out,
a guard’s officious tone as he corrected someone’s stacking technique. But
there was only one sound Bellamy wanted to hear, and he held his breath,
frustration building in his chest. Octavia’s voice. He wanted—needed—to
hear his sister. He would be able to tell from just a few words whether she
was happy or scared, in danger or safe. But he didn’t recognize any of the
voices floating across the clearing. The place was overrun with newcomers.
Bellamy didn’t even have the strength to be angry anymore. He only
cared about Octavia, Clarke, and Wells. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t
care if he lived or died, if he was executed or set free to live alone in the
woods. But what would happen to his sister if he were killed? Who would
look after her once he was gone? The hundred had formed a community, but
now that Rhodes and all the others were here, all bets were off. He couldn’t
be sure anyone would look out for his kid sister when they were all busy
looking out for themselves. Just like everyone else had been back on the
ship.
A loud thud against the side of the cabin made Bellamy jerk to the side
—which sent shooting pain through his upper body. “Jesus,” he grunted.
Then he heard scuffling, followed by loud voices. One familiar voice rose
above the rest: It was Wells.
“Put the shackles on,” Wells said in a voice Bellamy had never heard
before, low and menacing. “Do it now,” he snapped, “and don’t make a
sound. If you do so much as open your mouth, I’ll shoot you.” And
although it contradicted everything Bellamy knew about his half brother, it
sounded like Wells meant it.
Shit, Bellamy thought. Mini-Chancellor is starting to sound like a mini–
Vice Chancellor.
There was silence as, presumably, the guard complied with Wells’s
order. A few seconds later, two figures burst through the cabin door—a
stony-faced, iron-jawed Wells and a flushed, rapidly-breathing Clarke. They
fell into the room and rushed over to him, as Bellamy’s head swam with
confusion and relief. Were they actually here to rescue him? How the hell
had they managed that?
Bellamy’s chest swelled with a feeling he’d never really known before
—gratitude. No one had ever done anything this dangerous for him, no one
had ever thought he was worth that kind of risk. He’d spent his whole life
taking reckless action to protect Octavia, but no one had ever done so much
as transfer him a ration point or sneak out past curfew to check on him the
few times he’d gotten sick.
Yet here they were, the girl he never would’ve dared dream about back
on the ship, and the brother he never knew existed, putting their lives on the
line for him.
Clarke sank to her knees next to him. “Bellamy,” she said, her voice
cracking as she ran her hand along his cheek. “Are you okay?” She’d never
sounded so afraid, so fragile. Yet there was nothing vulnerable about a girl
who’d face down a clearing full of armed guards.
Bellamy nodded, then winced as Wells tugged on the cuffs attached to
the peg on the wall. “How are you going to get those off?” Bellamy asked,
his voice hoarse. The guard outside would alert the others any second. If
they didn’t get out of there fast, not a single one of them would live to see
another sunset.
“Don’t worry,” Wells said. “She has the key.”
Clarke reached into her pocket and pulled out a slim key, made of the
same flexible metal as the cuffs.
“How the hell did you—you know what? Forget it. I don’t want to
know,” Bellamy said. “Just get them off.”
Wells took the key from Clarke and began fumbling with the restraints
while Clarke switched back into doctor mode and quickly examined his
shoulder, muttering to herself as she peeled back the blood-stained bandage.
Bellamy couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her brow was furrowed in
concentration and a thin sheen of sweat misted her face, but she’d never
looked more beautiful.
“Got it,” Wells said as the cuffs sprang open. “Let’s go.” He reached
down, wrapped an arm behind Bellamy, and hauled him to his feet. Clarke
slipped under Bellamy’s other arm, and helped him hurry across the cabin.
When they reached the door, Clarke held up her hand and signaled for them
to wait while she listened for sounds outside. At first, Bellamy wasn’t sure
what they were waiting for, but then he heard it. A loud crash and series of
cries echoed from the far side of the clearing, followed by shouts of “We’re
under attack!” and “Guards—fall in!”
A stampede of heavy footsteps thudded past the cabin, toward the
commotion.
Clarke turned to Wells and grinned. “She did it! Go, Sasha.”
“What’d she do?” Bellamy asked as he leaned a little harder on Wells.
He hadn’t walked in days, and his muscles felt like jelly.
“She rigged up something in the trees to make it sound like the
Earthborns were attacking the camp. If everything goes according to plan,
Rhodes will have sent all the guards into the woods, and we’ll be able to
sneak out the other side.”
“Your girl’s pretty badass, Wells,” Bellamy said with a weak smile.
“Will she be okay?”
“She’ll be fine. She’s far enough out in the woods that they’ll never get
to her in time.”
Clarke listened at the door for another moment, then waved at them
urgently. “Let’s move.”
They slipped out the door. The coast was clear—everyone in camp was
facing the other direction or racing toward the commotion on the far side.
Bellamy, Clarke, and Wells hurried around the back of the cabin and, before
anyone could notice they were gone, disappeared into the cover of the
woods.
CHAPTER 14
Wells
There was no sound except the sharp intake of breath and the crunch of
twigs and dried leaves under their feet. Wells, Bellamy, and Clarke had run
until their sides cramped, eventually slowing to a walk. Wells glanced over
his shoulder to check on Bellamy, whose shoulder was clearly hurting him,
although he refused to complain, and who seemed much more anxious
about Octavia than he was about his injury.
“You’re sure she doesn’t think I abandoned her?” Bellamy said as he
allowed Clarke to help him step over a moss-covered log blocking their
path.
“Positive,” Wells said, glad he could provide at least that modicum of
comfort. “We told her the plan, and she agreed that it was better for
someone to remain at the camp and keep tabs on Rhodes for a while.”
“She would’ve come if it weren’t for the kids,” Clarke chimed in. “She’s
the only one who’s looking after them. It’s really amazing, what she’s
done.”
Wells watched as pride momentarily chased away the fear in Bellamy’s
face. “I always knew she had it in her.”
“Where did Sasha say she’d meet us?” Clarke asked, scanning the trees
nervously. Although she and Bellamy had stumbled across Mount Weather
once before, Wells knew neither of them were confident about finding it
again.
“She’ll find us,” Wells said.
There was a rustling in the tree ahead of them, and a moment later, a
figure dropped down from the branches, landing silently on her feet.
“Okay, that was kinda creepy,” Wells said with a grin as Sasha walked
toward them. He still hadn’t gotten used to how Sasha managed to blend in
with her surroundings. It was almost as if she changed color, like the lizards
he’d read about when he was a kid. But she didn’t, of course—it was
something about the way she breathed, her stillness. She just became part of
the woods.
He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her long dark hair that
always smelled like rain and cedar. “Thank you for your help,” he said,
cupping his hand under her chin and raising it for a kiss. “That was
amazing.”
“Does that mean it worked?” Sasha asked, breaking away to look from
Wells to Clarke and Bellamy.
“It worked perfectly,” Wells said.
“So what’s the plan now?” Bellamy asked, clearly in pain. His face was
pale, and his breathing had grown ragged.
“I’m taking you all back to Mount Weather with me,” Sasha said. “You
can stay there as long as you need.”
“They won’t mind?” Bellamy asked, looking nervously from Clarke to
Sasha.
Sasha shook her head. “As long as you’re with me, it’ll be fine,” she
assured him.
“We shouldn’t stop for long,” Wells said, his voice strained. “Once they
realize you’re missing, they’re going to come after us.”
“Bel, are you okay to keep moving?” Clarke asked gently.
“I’m good,” he said, though he wouldn’t meet Clarke’s eye.
They followed Sasha as she darted, quickly and quietly, through the
darkening forest. “So are you all right?” Sasha asked when they were a few
meters ahead of Clarke and Bellamy. With the rush to free Bellamy, he and
Sasha had barely had time to talk about anything besides the actual
logistics.
“I don’t know.” That was the truth. It’d all happened so quickly, he
hadn’t had time to process the implications of disobeying Rhodes, of
leaving the camp. Wells certainly wasn’t going to stand by and watch
Rhodes execute his brother in cold blood. But it was still hard to fathom
that they’d been forced to leave their new home behind—the home, the
community, that they had built with their bare hands, from nothing.
“It won’t be forever. As soon as your father gets better, he’ll come down
on one of the other dropships and everything will be okay.”
“No, it won’t. Sasha, my dad’s in a coma, and there aren’t extra
dropships just lying around.” His tone was sharp and bitter, but he didn’t
care. This wasn’t a situation he could count on anyone to fix. He’d been an
idiot to trust Rhodes. He should’ve acted sooner, before everything spiraled
out of control.
Another girl might’ve been hurt—or worse, apologized as if she’d done
something wrong. But Sasha just took Wells’s hand and gave it a squeeze. It
was deeply unfair. Bellamy had only been trying to save his sister. He
hadn’t even been the one to pull the trigger—one of Rhodes’s own precious
guards had done that. Besides, it was Wells’s father who had gotten shot,
and if Wells didn’t think Bellamy should pay for that, then who was Rhodes
to say otherwise?
Actually, Wells smiled grimly, it was Bellamy’s father too. If only
Rhodes knew that, he’d probably have an aneurysm. Wells couldn’t deny
that the image brought him some pleasure.
Sasha raised an eyebrow, clearly curious about what he was thinking. “I
was just imagining what would happen if Rhodes found out that Bellamy
and I were brothers,” Wells said.
Sasha laughed. “He’d probably have a heart attack. Actually, that might
be the best plan. I’ll head back to your camp, shout the news, and wait for
Rhodes to drop dead. Problem solved.”
Wells squeezed her hand back. “Your tactical mind never ceases to
amaze me.”
They walked on, with Wells only half listening as Sasha pointed out
various geographic features. At one point, Clarke began peppering Sasha
with questions about different animal species, but Wells could tell she doing
it more to distract Bellamy.
They walked for what seemed like hours. Finally Sasha pointed to a
small rise in the ground, so subtle they would never have noticed it on their
own.
“That way,” she said. They followed her, picking their way carefully
among the branches. Wells felt the ground beneath him slowly sloping
downward, and he adjusted his gait to keep from toppling forward. They
rounded a curve and Wells’s breath caught in his chest as he took in the
sight spread out before him. At the bottom of the hill, in a wide valley, was
an entire town, just like he’d spent his entire life reading about. Just like
he’d imagined building with the hundred on Earth.
Wells had never seen anything so remarkable since he’d arrived on the
planet—not the endless trees reaching to the horizon, not the lake or the
sky. Nature was beautiful in a way he’d never imagined, but this… this was
life. Signs of vibrancy and energy were everywhere: light-filled windows
with the shadows of families inside; animals stomping their hooves,
harnesses jangling; smoke curling out of a dozen chimneys in a coordinated
dance toward the sky; wheelbarrows tipped on their sides, as if they’d just
been dropped moments ago; balls and toys at rest, the echoes of children’s
laughter floating in the air around them.
Wells let out an astonished laugh. Clarke turned to him and smiled.
“Pretty cool, right?” He was glad that she was here to share this moment.
She was one of the only people in the solar system who knew how much
this meant to him.
“It’s spectacular.”
Sasha slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “Let’s go.” She led them
down the hill and onto the dirt road that ran through the center of her town.
Wells breathed in the smell of roasting meat and something lighter and
sweeter—was someone baking bread?
Sasha walked up to the front door of the last house on a row and entered
without knocking. They stepped through the doorway and into a room lit by
a small lamp and a flickering fire. The first thing Wells noticed was the
enormous oil painting of a star-filled sky on the wall. Back on the ship,
something like that would’ve been behind a foot of bulletproof glass,
maybe inside an oxygen-free chamber, but here it hung unadorned, just a
few meters from the ash-spewing fire. Yet Wells could tell that the firelight
somehow brought it to life more than the harsh, fluorescent lights of
Phoenix ever could, making the stars appear to glow.
Wells pulled his gaze from the painting and turned his attention to the
gray-bearded man who’d just stood to greet them. He was standing next to a
plain wooden table that was covered with electronics, most of which Wells
didn’t recognize. The only piece that looked at all familiar was an ancient
laptop that’d been welded onto an enormous solar panel, and not
particularly neatly.
“Hi, Dad,” Sasha said, stepping forward to kiss her father’s cheek. “You
remember Clarke and Bellamy, right?”
The man raised a bushy eyebrow. “How could I forget?” He turned to
his guests and nodded. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you,” Bellamy said, slightly bashful. “Sorry I keep showing up
like this.”
Sasha’s father glanced at his heavily bandaged arm. “Somehow, I don’t
think it’s entirely your fault, although you do seem to have a special talent
for finding trouble.”
“Talent is one word for it,” Clarke said, reaching her arm forward. “It’s
nice to see you again, Mr. Walgrove.”
“Dad, this is Wells.” Sasha caught Wells’s eye for a brief moment and
shot him an encouraging look.
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Wells stepped forward and held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you too, Wells.” Sasha’s dad gripped Wells’s hand in a
firm shake. “Call me Max.”
Max turned back to Bellamy. “Where’s your sister?” He said the word
casually, without twisting his lips with disdain like Rhodes would’ve done.
In this world, having a sibling didn’t mark your family as deviants.
“She didn’t come with us,” Bellamy told Max, trying to keep his voice
steady as he shot Clarke an anguished look.
Sasha led them back outside and explained that there was only one spare
cabin at the moment, and it only had one bed. Wells quickly said that
Bellamy should take it, and he helped Clarke walk Bellamy over while
Sasha ran to get Clarke some medical supplies.
Once Bellamy and Clarke were safely inside, Sasha took Wells’s hand
and interlaced her fingers through his. “So… where to? You can crash on
the floor at my dad’s house, or if you don’t mind the cold, I can take you to
my favorite spot.”
“Hmmm,” Wells said, pretending to weigh the choices. “While sleeping
a few meters from your father sounds amazing, I’ll have to go with option
B.”
Sasha smiled and led Wells back through the tiny town and into a small
patch of trees that grew between the cabins and the hill leading up to Mount
Weather. “I hope I can find it in the dark,” Sasha said, running her hand
along the trunk of one of the larger trees.
“Find what?” Wells asked.
“This.” Sasha’s voice was triumphant. In the dim light, Wells could just
make out some kind of ladder, made from ragged rope. “Follow me.”
Silently, Sasha scaled the tree, disappearing into the branches before calling
down to Wells. “Come on, slowpoke.”
Wells grabbed on to the rope hesitantly. It hardly looked capable of
supporting his weight, but there was no way he was going to wimp out in
front of Sasha. With a deep breath, he slipped his foot into the first rung,
and, holding on to the tree to steady himself, took a big step. He swayed
from side to side but managed to keep climbing, wincing slightly as the
rope cut into his hands.
Without looking down, he moved up the ladder and eventually saw
Sasha resting on a small wooden platform tucked among the branches.
“Like it?” she asked, grinning as if she’d just invited Wells into the most
magnificent palace.
Carefully, he slipped off the ladder and crawled over next to her. “Love
it,” he said with a smile. “Did you make it yourself?”
“I was pretty little, so my dad helped.”
“And he won’t mind if we spend the night here?”
“Wells, my father is in charge of our entire society. He’s a little too busy
to care about where I sleep.”
Wells snorted. “No father is that busy.”
“It’s fine. Though we can certainly go back if it’ll make you more
comfortable.”
In response, Wells reached his arm around Sasha and pulled her close.
“I’m pretty comfortable here, actually.”
She smiled and gave him a quick, light kiss. “Good.”
“I’ve missed you these past few days,” Wells said, lowering himself
onto the wooden platform and pulling her down with him.
“I’ve missed you too.” Her voice was muffled as she snuggled into his
chest.
“Thank you… for everything. I never meant for you to get caught up in
all this, let alone impose on your people.”
Sasha sat up slowly and looked at him. She traced her hand along the
side of his face and then began running it through his hair. “You don’t have
to thank me, Wells. I want to keep you all safe too, you know.”
“I know.” He took her hand and kissed it. “So…” he said, looking
around. “This seems like a nice place to sleep.”
“Are you tired?”
“Exhausted,” he said, wrapping his hand behind her, and pulling her in
for another kiss. “You?”
“Maybe not quite that tired.”
She kissed him again, and the rest of the world slipped away. There were
no new Colonists. No Earthborns. No Rhodes. Just Sasha. Just their breath.
Just their lips.
The camp suddenly felt light-years away, as distant as Earth used to look
from the Colony. “You make me feel legitimately crazy. You know that,
right?” Wells whispered, running his hand down her back.
“Why? Because I’m seducing you in a tree?”
“Because no matter what else is going on, being with you makes me
perfectly happy. It’s crazy, switching gears that fast.” Wells ran his hand
along her cheek. “You’re like a drug.”
Sasha smiled. “I think you need to work on your compliments, space
boy.”
“I’ve never been the best with words. I’m much better at showing what I
mean.”
“Is that so?” Sasha breathed as Wells brought his other hand to her
stomach. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” Wells let his fingers
drop a little lower, and she shuddered. “Okay, now you’re the one making
me feel crazy.”
“Good,” Wells whispered into her ear, thinking that things on Earth
weren’t quite as dire as he’d feared. As long as he had Sasha, it would
always feel like home.
CHAPTER 15
Glass
Glass looked around her, feeling genuine awe for the first time since setting
foot on the ground. Sunlight filtered through the trees, showering the
ground with golden dots of light, like thousands of little gemstones. This
was how Earth was supposed to look—peaceful, beautiful, and full of
wonder.
Luke took Glass’s hand to steady her as they made their way down a
steep slope. There was a narrow stream at the bottom, the water perfectly
clear except for the red and yellow leaves dancing in the current. When they
reached the bottom, Glass hesitated, turning from side to side as she
scanned the bank for the best place to cross. But as she took a hesitant step
toward the edge, Luke picked her up with his good arm and crossed the
stream with an easy bound, despite the fact that they were both carrying
heavy packs.
When they reached the other side, Luke lowered her carefully to the
ground, then took her hand again as they continued. At first, they’d kept up
nearly constant conversation as they exclaimed and pointed out different
trees, and signs of various animal life. But after a while, they’d fallen silent,
too overwhelmed by the beauty around them to fumble with the inadequate
words they had to express it. Glass almost liked it better that way. She loved
watching Luke’s face light up each time his eyes settled on a new wonder.
It had taken a couple of hours for Glass’s heart rate to come down after
they’d slipped away from the camp. The quiet had scared her initially.
Every snap of a twig or rustling of leaves boomed in her ears and made her
jump. She knew it was just a matter of time before Rhodes realized they
were gone and sent a search party to hunt them down.
But after a few hours, her stress faded away, and she began to savor the
silence, the freedom of being completely alone with Luke. Glass couldn’t
believe they’d ever considered staying at camp. The air was fragrant with
damp leaves and musky tree bark. It was a riot of sensory input that Glass
had never experienced before. She couldn’t have imagined how much
brighter and more saturated the colors were on Earth, how much sweeter the
air, or how the rich smells would compete for her attention.
They’d walked long into the night and slept for a few hours before
setting off again, eager to put as much distance between them and Rhodes
as possible before the Vice Chancellor sent a search party after them. Every
half hour or so, Luke would stop, fish a compass out of his pocket, and set it
on the ground, checking to make sure they were still heading due north.
Sasha had told him that the splinter Earthborns, the violent ones, had
claimed a vast area to the south of the Colonists’ camp as their territory. It
was no guarantee, of course, but heading north at least wouldn’t lead them
directly into harm’s way.
The trees grew close together, creating a canopy of leaves so thick it
almost blocked the sky. But the amber light spilling through the branches
and the rapidly cooling air made it clear that the day was nearly over.
“I think we made it,” Glass said wearily. The fear and adrenaline that
had kept her going yesterday had drained away, and exhaustion had set in.
“They’re not sending anyone after us, are they?”
“It doesn’t seem like it,” Luke said with a sigh. He reached over and slid
Glass’s pack off her shoulder. “Let’s rest for a little bit.”
They dropped the packs and walked toward an enormous, moss-covered
tree whose huge, twisty roots stuck out of the ground. Luke raised his arms
over his head and stretched before lowering himself onto the root. “Come
here,” he said, grabbing Glass’s hand and pulling her onto his lap.
Glass laughed and pressed her hand against his chest. “We have the
whole planet to ourselves, and you want to share the same seat.”
“We don’t have the whole planet, you little imperialist,” Luke said,
twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. “We have to leave some
room for the Earthborns.”
“Oh, right.” Glass nodded with mock gravity. “In that case, we better
conserve space.” She smiled and swung her leg over Luke’s so they were
facing each other.
“Good plan,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist, closing the
narrow distance between them. He kissed her gently on the lips and then
brought his mouth down to her chin, her neck. Glass let out a small sigh,
and Luke grinned. He kissed the spot where her jaw met her neck and raised
his head to whisper in her ear. “It feels good to be selfless, doesn’t it?”
“It has its benefits,” Glass breathed, running her hand down Luke’s
back. Their joking aside, it felt incredible to be so alone. On the ship, there
were thousands of people packed into a space originally designed for
hundreds. There were always ears listening, eyes watching, and bodies
brushing up against each other. People knew your name, your family, and
your actions. But out here, there was no one watching them. No one judging
them.
“Oh, look,” Glass said, pointing over Luke’s shoulder at a cluster of
small pink flowers she hadn’t noticed before. He twisted around and
extended his arm, reaching for one. But just as his fingers were about to
close around the stem, he pulled back and let his hand fall back to his side.
“It doesn’t seem right to pick it,” he said, turning back to Glass with a
sheepish expression on his face.
“I agree.” She smiled and placed her hand on the back of his head,
bringing his lips back to hers.
“It’s a shame, though,” Luke murmured. “It would’ve looked beautiful
in your hair.”
“Better just to imagine it.”
Luke kissed her again, then slid his arm under her and stood up, lifting
her into the air. “Luke!” she laughed. “What are you doing?”
He took a few steps and, without a word, lowered her to the ground,
laying her gently in the patch of flowers. Glass’s breath quickened as she
watched Luke kneel beside her. The playfulness in his face had disappeared,
replaced by something closer to reverence. He reached down and ran his
fingers through her hair, allowing it to fan out across the pink blossoms.
Glass’s heart was pounding, but she forced herself to stay still as Luke
bent down to kiss her, using his good hand to support his weight. She parted
her lips slightly, then reached her arms around to pull him closer. She took a
deep breath, savoring the heady combination of the flowers, the forest air,
and Luke.
“We should get going,” Luke said finally, looking up at the darkening
sky. “We’re going to need to find a place to stay tonight.”
Glass let out a long, contented sigh. “Can’t we just stay right here
forever?”
“I wish. But we’re not actually safe out here in the dark. We should find
a spot that’s more protected.”
They walked on with renewed energy for a few more hours as the sky
went from a deep grayish purple to a rich, velvety black. The moon was so
bright, it blocked out most of the stars and painted strangely beautiful
shadows on the forest floor. It was so beautiful, it made Glass’s heart ache,
as each new wonder served to remind her how much her mother was
missing, how much she’d never get to see.
Luke came to a sudden halt and held out his hand to stop her. He cocked
his head, listening, though Glass didn’t hear anything. After a moment,
Luke whispered, “Do you see that?”
At first, all she could see was a shadowy landscape of trees, but then she
spotted it: It was a small building. Right there in the middle of nowhere.
“What is it?” she asked, suddenly nervous that they’d wandered
somewhere they weren’t meant to be.
“It looks like a cabin,” Luke said, tightening his hold on her hand as he
led her forward, stepping slowly and silently. They made their way toward
it, moving in a wide arc before approaching it from the side. It wasn’t a
cabin; it was a tiny stone house, remarkably intact. The sides were covered
with vines and moss, but it was clear that the walls were sturdy and strong.
They stopped a few feet away. A sudden breeze rustled the trees, and
then it fell silent. Both Luke and Glass held their breath, waiting for any
sign of life, but none came.
Luke stepped up to the door, pressed his ear against it for a moment,
then pushed it open and stepped inside before beckoning for Glass to join
him. She took a deep breath, adjusted her pack, and crossed over the
threshold. There was just enough light coming through the cracked, dustcaked windows for them to see the frozen tableau inside.
“Oh,” Glass murmured, half in surprise, half in sorrow. It was as if
whoever lived there had stepped out for a moment but never come back. A
small bed rested in the far corner. Next to it, stacked wooden boxes formed
a dresser. Glass’s eyes darted across the tiny space. Opposite the bed was a
kitchen that looked sized for a doll family. Pots and pans hung from nails in
the wall. A lopsided wooden table sat, waiting for someone to join it, by the
cold fireplace. A basin rested against a far wall, with clean dishes piled up
on one side. The house seemed lonely, like it had been waiting for a long
time for its family to come back.
Glass walked over to the table and ran her hand over its rough surface.
Her hand came away dusty. She turned back to Luke.
“Can we stay here?” she asked, scared it might be too good to be true.
Luke nodded. “I think we should. It seems abandoned, and it’s clearly
safer than staying out there.”
“Good,” Glass said, looking around, grateful for their good luck and for
the chance to dispel the sense of loneliness that clung heavier than the dust.
She dropped her pack to the floor and then reached for Luke’s hand.
“Welcome home,” she said, rising onto her toes to kiss his cheek.
He smiled. “Welcome home.”
They went back outside to look for firewood and any supplies that
might’ve survived. There was a tiny, half-collapsed wooden shed behind the
house, but the only tool they found was a mangled shovel, rusted beyond
use. Luckily, there were enough dried branches on the ground that they
didn’t need an ax, at least not for now.
The faint sound of running water called out to them through the
darkness. Glass took Luke’s hand and pulled him toward it. While the house
was surrounded by trees on three sides, there was a slope at the back that
led down to a river. “Look,” Luke said, pointing at a chunk of jagged wood
that stuck out over the water. “It looks like they built something on the
river. I wonder why.”
He tightened his grip on Glass’s hand and led her a little closer, taking
care not to lose their footing in the dark. “Is that…” He trailed off as he
pointed at an oddly-shaped shadow, a strange combination of sharp edges
and curved lines.
“It’s a boat, isn’t it?” Glass said, taking a few steps closer to run a finger
along it. It was cold, almost like metal but lighter. It had once been white,
but most of the paint had peeled off, leaving nothing but large patches of
rust. She peered inside and saw what appeared to be a paddle resting on the
bottom. “Do you think it still works?”
Luke walked around the side, staring at it. “There doesn’t seem to be an
engine, just the paddle. I guess that means if it still floats, it’ll work.” He
turned to Glass and smiled. “Maybe when my wrist is better, we’ll give it a
try.”
“Well, I have two functioning wrists. Unless you think I’m not up to the
task.”
“You know there’s nothing I think you can’t do, my little spacewalker. I
just thought it’d be romantic to take you for a boat ride.”
Glass leaned against him, nestling into his side. “That sounds
wonderful.”
They stood there for a moment, watching the moonlight rippling on the
water, then went back inside the house.
Using the matches he’d taken from the camp, Luke built a small fire in
the fireplace while Glass took out their tiny supply of food. Neither had felt
comfortable taking more than a few days of rations. “This is crazy,” Glass
said, passing Luke a piece of dried fruit from her pack. “It’s like something
out of a fairy tale. A house in the woods.”
Luke took a sip of water from his canteen, then passed it to Glass. “I
wish we knew what happened to the people who lived here, whether they
tried to make it through the Cataclysm, or whether they evacuated.” He
looked around. “It seems like they might’ve left in a hurry.” There was a
note of wistfulness in his voice that made it clear he’d been thinking the
same thing as Glass.
“I know, it’s like the house held on to their memories long after they
were gone.”
Growing up on the ship, believing in ghosts had seemed like the most
foolish thing in the world. But here, on Earth, in this house, Glass was
beginning to understand how someone could believe in a lingering
presence.
“Well, then it’s our responsibility to replace them with some happy
memories,” Luke said with a smile. He scooted closer to Glass and wrapped
his arm around her. “Aren’t you warm in front of the fire? Don’t you want
to take off your jacket?”
Glass grinned as he unzipped her jacket. She closed her eyes as he began
kissing her, softly at first, then with more urgency. But as much as she
wanted to lose herself in his touch, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought
building in the back of her mind. Luke was wrong. You couldn’t replace sad
memories with happy ones.
That was the thing about heartache. You never could erase it. You
carried it with you, always.
Luke’s rhythmic breath was like a lullaby. Glass’s head rose and fell
on his chest as he inhaled, exhaled. She had always envied his
ability to pass out cold—the sleep of the innocent, her mother had
always called it. Glass’s head was spinning too fast for her to fall
asleep. She wished she could just enjoy the moment, savor the
magic of lying next to Luke, but she could barely look at him without
feeling a heavy pang of sorrow bang against her heart. They didn’t
have much longer. Soon, Glass would have to end it, before Luke
discovered the secret that would get them both killed.
Tears sprang to Glass’s eyes, and she was grateful that he
couldn’t see her face. He didn’t know that their future together didn’t
involve anything but pain and sorrow. She took a couple of deep
breaths, steadying herself.
“You okay, baby?” Luke mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
“Fine,” she whispered.
He extended his arm, and without opening his eyes, pulled her
closer to him and kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she managed to say before her voice cracked.
After a few moments, she could tell from the rhythm of his breath
that he had drifted back off to sleep. She took his hand and gently
placed it on her belly, letting his warmth seep through her skin. She
watched his face as he slept. He always looked like a little boy when
he was asleep, his long lashes practically brushing his cheeks. If
only she could tell him about their child, the one growing inside her
as they lay there.
But he could never know. Whereas at seventeen, Glass had a
wisp of a chance of being forgiven for violating the Gaia Doctrine, at
nineteen, Luke would be floated—executed after a cursory trial. She
would have to leave him, cut off all contact so the Council couldn’t
trace him back to her.
“I’m sorry,” Glass whispered as the tears slid down her cheeks,
wondering which one of them her heart ached for the most.
Luke sighed in his sleep. Glass shifted her weight and brushed her hand
against his cheek, wishing she could tell what he was thinking. In the chaos
of their escape from the Colony, and the trauma of their crash landing on
Earth, there hadn’t been any time to talk about their devastating fight on the
ship. Or maybe Luke wanted it that way.
Glass had tried to conceal her pregnancy, but she was eventually found
out. Violating the ship’s strict population control rules was one of the most
serious crimes of all, and even after suffering a miscarriage, Glass still had
to face the Chancellor. When he’d insisted that Glass reveal the father,
she’d panicked and lied. Instead of Luke, she’d given the name of his
roommate, Carter, a manipulative, dangerous older boy who had tried to
assault Glass when Luke was away.
But although Carter was a vile slimeball, he hadn’t deserved to die. But
that was exactly what had happened. The Chancellor had taken Glass’s
word, sending Glass, a minor, into Confinement, and ordering Carter’s
execution.
Glass would never forget the look of fury and disgust in Luke’s face
when he’d discovered the truth. And even though he’d forgiven her, she
worried she’d broken something that couldn’t be fully repaired—Luke’s
trust.
He sighed again and, without opening his eyes, pulled her closer to him.
She smiled, allowing the reassuring thud of his heartbeat to drown out her
other thoughts. Coming to Earth was a chance to start over, to put the horror
of the past behind them.
Glass closed her eyes and was just beginning to drift off to sleep when a
loud noise startled her awake. All her senses fired up, she sat up in bed and
looked around. The cabin was empty. Had she dreamed the sound? What
was it? She replayed it in her head—it wasn’t quite a howl, and it wasn’t
quite a voice. It was something else—like a call, a signal, but not words.
Just a… communication of some kind. Between what kinds of creatures,
she had no idea. Camp was miles away, and they’d seen no other signs of
civilization out here. They were totally alone. It was probably just the sound
of the wind against the cabin roof or something. She had nothing to worry
about.
Glass lay back down, pressed herself into Luke’s warm, relaxed body,
and finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER 16
Bellamy
Bellamy wasn’t used to sitting on his ass, doing nothing. He didn’t like
feeling helpless. Useless. He was used to fighting for the things he needed
—food, safety, his sister, life itself—and having to depend on other people
drove him crazy. Yet that tendency was what got him into this mess in the
first place. If he hadn’t been in such a rush to get on the dropship with
Octavia, the Chancellor—his father—never would’ve been shot. And then a
few weeks later, Bellamy could’ve come down with the second wave of
Colonists, as a citizen instead of a condemned prisoner.
He sat on a wooden bench on the village green, a small grassy area in
the center of Sasha and Max’s town. He watched a group of kids a few
years his junior walk by on their way to the schoolhouse. Three boys
punched each other on the shoulders. He could hear their teasing tone. One
took off running, and the other two chased him, laughing. An older boy and
girl held hands, drawing out their good-bye, sharing a private joke and a
blush-inducing kiss.
But then again, he’d had no idea that the Colony was running out of
oxygen and that they’d been weeks away from an emergency evacuation.
And it’s not like some nineteen-year-old nobody from Walden would’ve
been first in line for a spot on the dropship. Forcing his way to Earth had
been the right decision. He’d been able to keep an eye on Octavia. And he’d
met a beautiful, intense, intimidatingly smart girl who made him start and
end every day with the same goofy grin on his face. That is, when she
wasn’t driving him totally crazy.
He lifted his head and looked around for Clarke, who’d been asked to
examine a kid’s broken arm. Under other circumstances, staying in this
town wouldn’t suck. It was both orderly and relaxed. Everyone had a place
to live and enough to eat, and there were no power-tripping guards running
around, scrutinizing everyone’s movements. Sasha’s father was clearly in
charge, but he wasn’t like Rhodes, or even like the Chancellor. He listened
closely to his advisors, and from what Bellamy could tell, most important
decisions were put to a vote. The other bonus was that here no one even
thought it was weird that he had a sister—they all had siblings, lots of them.
Yet the peacefulness had an ominous quality in light of recent events.
What if Rhodes came after them? What if Bellamy accidentally turned the
Earthborns’ quiet village into some kind of war zone? He’d never forgive
himself if innocent people got hurt because of him.
Bellamy bounced his leg nervously. His stomach had been in knots since
they’d arrived here three days ago. He didn’t know what to do. Max, Sasha,
and their people wanted him to stay. They wanted to protect him. And it
wasn’t all that bad, staying in a place with a real roof over his head and
delicious food that he hadn’t had to track, kill, and skin himself. Bellamy
couldn’t deny it: A little kernel in his chest longed for a life this simple. He
wanted Rhodes to forget about him, for his past to go away, for his life to be
as easy as it was for those kids.
He scanned the tree line and the path leading into town, searching for
signs of intruders. Nothing. He’d hardly been able to sleep since he got
here. He was too busy straining his ears in the overnight quiet, listening for
the sound of approaching footsteps, the rustle of leaves that would tell him
they were about to be attacked—that he was about to be taken.
This was no way to live. The anticipation and dread were getting to him,
and even the little town was starting to feel like a prison. Since he’d been
on Earth, Bellamy had gotten used to spending hours of every day out in the
woods by himself. Being confined to the village was certainly better than
being stuck on a ship in space, but still.
He leaned back against the bench with a sigh and looked up at the blue
expanse above. What the hell was he going to do all day? He couldn’t hunt;
he couldn’t even wander off by himself. The kids were in school, so he
couldn’t play ball with them. Everyone else had something to do. He looked
around at the people busily going about their tasks—building, fixing,
washing, tending to the animals, and so on. And they were all so pleasant; it
made him kind of uncomfortable. Every single person he passed wished
him a good day. He didn’t know what to say or do with his face—was he
supposed to smile back? Say hi? Or just nod?
At least he knew Octavia was okay. Sasha had been back to the camp
twice to check on her from afar and had gotten a message to Octavia letting
her know that Bellamy was safe. For whatever reason, Rhodes had chosen
not to take out his vengeance on Octavia, at least not yet. There was only so
long Bellamy was willing to stay away from her, though. He couldn’t rely
on Rhodes’s goodwill, if that’s what it was, for long.
“Morning.” Max had approached without Bellamy realizing it.
“Morning,” Bellamy replied, happy to be shaken from his miserable
thoughts.
“May I join you?”
“Sure.” Bellamy scooted over, and Max dropped onto the bench next to
him. Steam rose from a metal cup in his hand. They sat in silence for a long
moment, watching the last of the children running late into school.
“How’s the shoulder?” Max asked.
“Better. Thanks for giving Clarke all that stuff to use. I know it’s pretty
valuable, and you’ve done so much for us already.” He paused, wondering
if it were noble or foolish to share his concerns about sticking around. “I
don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay here, though.”
“Where do you plan to go?” Max didn’t sound surprised, and Bellamy
appreciated the lack of judgment in his tone.
“I haven’t figured that part out yet. All I know is that I can’t just sit here
and wait for them to come get me, and I can’t let anyone here risk getting
hurt for me.”
“I understand how you must feel, knowing that there are people out
there who want to harm you. But they don’t have the right to take your life,
Bellamy. No one does.” Max paused. “And no one here is doing anything
they don’t want to do. The truth is, I don’t think you’re any safer out there,”
Max went on, tipping his head toward the woods. “There are greater
dangers than Rhodes. I’m not sure how much you know about the others?”
Max raised his eyebrows. “The people from our group who left us.”
“A little.” The last time he’d been here, when he’d come to rescue
Octavia, Bellamy had heard the story about the Colonists who’d come
down from the ship, way before the hundred had arrived. The Earthborns
had taken them in, shared their food, but not everyone had been happy
about welcoming the strangers, especially since the strangers were the
descendants of the people who’d fled the dying Earth in a spaceship,
leaving everyone else to perish.
The two groups had established an uneasy peace, but then something
happened. An Earthborn child died, and chaos broke out. There was a
faction of Max’s people who blamed the Colonists, and who blamed Max
for letting strangers into their home. They demanded retribution, and when
Max refused to let them kill the Colonists, they split off to live on their
own, outside of Max’s authority.
The craziest part of the whole story was that Clarke’s parents—who she
had thought were dead, sentenced to floating from the Colony—had been
among that first wave of Colonists. They had been banished along with the
others after the child’s death.
Max took another sip of his drink. “I grew up with them. We raised our
children together, I thought I knew them.” He paused for a moment, as if
letting the memories play out in his mind before continuing. “But now
they’ve become unrecognizable. They’ve become obsessed with violence
and claiming as much land as possible as their own. They’re angry, and they
have nothing to lose. Which makes them very, very dangerous.”
“What do they want?” Bellamy asked, not even sure he wanted to know
the answer.
“I wish I knew.” Max sighed and ran a hand along his gray beard.
“Revenge? Power? What could they want that we didn’t have right here?”
They were silent for a moment.
“Clarke wants to go find her parents,” Bellamy said.
“I know she does. But it’s not safe. If the splinter group is willing to hurt
their own neighbors and friends, they certainly won’t hesitate to hurt
Clarke. And if they find out that she is their daughter—well, I’d hate to
think of what they might do. The Griffins had nothing to do with the boy’s
death, but these aren’t rational people we’re talking about here.” Max
turned and locked eyes with Bellamy. “Do you think she understands the
risks?”
Bellamy shook his head. “I don’t know. But she’s not going to stay here
and wait around forever. She wants to find her mom and dad. Soon. I tried
to convince her to wait until it’s safe for me to go with her. We need to find
out more about where they might have gone. But she’s determined.”
“I don’t blame her.” Max sighed. “I’d want to find them too.”
“Yeah.” Bellamy knew what it was like to feel a desperate, primal urge
to find someone you love. He got why Clarke wanted to start tracking her
parents. But was he willing to let her die for it?
Bellamy’s thoughts were interrupted as a man raced toward them.
“Max,” the man said breathlessly, coming to a sudden halt in front of
their bench. “There’s a group approaching the town. They’re about a
hundred meters out. They’ll be here in a few minutes. And—Max—they’re
armed.”
Bellamy’s heart leapt into his throat as a wave of guilt crashed over him.
They’re here for me.
Max jumped to his feet. “Send out the signal. And dispatch a group to
meet them and bring them in. Peacefully.” The man nodded and ran off.
Max turned back to Bellamy. “Follow me.”
Bellamy tried to remain calm, but a surge of anger and fear welled up
inside of him, the same combination of feelings that generally prompted
him to do something stupid. He trailed Max closely as they jogged down
the path and toward the town’s main hall, where people were already
gathering, many bearing guns and spears. Clarke, Wells, and Sasha ran
inside a few minutes later, looking anxious but determined. Sasha joined
her father at the front of the room, while Wells and Clarke wended their
way through the crowd to stand with Bellamy at the back.
“Don’t worry,” Wells said to Bellamy as the crowd chattered anxiously
all around them. “We’re not going to let them take you.”
But that wasn’t what Bellamy was worried about, not really. He was
more worried about what would happen when the Earthborns refused to
hand him over—what Rhodes would do if he didn’t get his way.
Max raised a hand, and the room fell silent.
“As most of you know, we have some visitors coming,” he called out,
his voice commanding but calm. “They’re being brought in now. We will
meet with them, hear what they want, and then we will decide what to do.”
A tide of murmurs and muffled questions rose up from the crowd. Max
held up his hand again, and everyone quieted down. “I know you have a lot
of questions. I do too. But let’s start by listening. Remember, there is no
peace without peaceful exchange.”
A tense silence settled over the room. A few minutes later, a handful of
Earthborns led in a group of Rhodes’s guards. They had been relieved of
their weapons but not restrained in any way.
“Welcome,” Max said. The guards were stony-faced and silent, their
eyes darting around the room, strategizing and assessing. “Please make
yourselves comfortable and tell us why you’ve come.”
The guards exchanged glances. The eldest, a middle-aged man named
Burnett who Bellamy recognized from the prison cabin, stepped forward.
“We are not here to harm your people,” Burnett said in the same cold,
flat voice Bellamy had heard countless guards use before dragging someone
off to Confinement, making them disappear forever. He scanned the room
until his eyes landed on Bellamy. Every muscle in Bellamy’s body tensed
up, and he had to fight the urge to bolt to the front of the hall and wrap his
hands around Burnett’s thick neck. “We are under orders to collect our
prisoner, that’s all. You are harboring a fugitive, who must answer for his
crimes. Hand him over, and we’ll leave you in peace.”
Clarke grabbed Bellamy’s hand and held it tight. He knew she’d do
anything to keep him safe, but at this point, all he wanted to do was spare
her any more pain.
Max surveyed Burnett carefully, pausing before he spoke. “My friend, I
appreciate that you have come here under orders. And it is not our intention
to cause trouble in any way.” Max shot Bellamy a look over the sea of
heads that separated them, his expression unreadable. “But it’s my
understanding that the prisoner, as you call him, will not be receiving any
sort of just sentence. If he returns to your camp, he will be executed.”
A sea of shocked gasps and whispers rippled over the crowd. An
Earthborn woman near Clarke and Bellamy turned to stare at them, taking
in their frightened expressions and clasped hands, and her expression
changed from confusion to resolve. Three men who’d been standing near
Bellamy’s side exchanged glances, then took a few steps so they were
standing between Bellamy and the guards. “And we are not in the business
of sending young men to their deaths,” Max finished.
Burnett shot an amused look at one of the other guards, and a small
smile crept across his face. “It wasn’t a request,” he said. “You understand
that there will be consequences to your refusal, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Max replied calmly, though his eyes had grown cold. “You’ve
made yourself very clear.” He turned toward the other Earthborns. “I
believe I can speak for everyone here when I say that we will not be
accomplices to this unjust punishment. But I will allow them to decide.”
There was a long pause. Bellamy felt suddenly queasy as he looked
around at the faces of these people—these strangers—who held his fate in
their hands. Was it fair to make them decide—to ask them to put their own
safety on the line to protect him?
He was steeling himself to rise and surrender himself to Rhodes when
Max cleared his throat. “All those in favor of letting our visitors take the
boy with him, please raise your hands.”
One of the guards smirked, while the man next to him cracked his
knuckles. They were clearly relishing this, eager to watch the Earthborns
relinquish Bellamy to his grim fate.
But to Bellamy’s shock, no one raised their arm. “What the…” he
whispered as Clarke squeezed his hand.
“All in favor of letting Bellamy, Clarke, and Wells stay here, under our
protection?”
Countless hands shot into the air, blocking Max, Burnett, and the other
guards from view. Bellamy’s knees began to buckle as an overwhelming
tide of gratitude rose within him. The adults back at the Colony had never
offered Bellamy so much as a crumb of kindness. Never, not even when he
and Octavia were practically starving. But these people were willing to risk
everything for him—a total stranger.
That’s what made it worse. These were good people. They didn’t
deserve to die for some kid who’d spent nineteen years making nothing but
terrible decisions.
Clarke slid her arm around his waist and leaned into him, helping to
support his weight.
“It’s okay,” she whispered into his ear.
“No,” Bellamy said under his breath, as much to himself as to her. Then,
“No,” he called out, louder. No one heard him over the clamor in the room.
Except Clarke and Wells. Clarke’s hand fell away from him, and she and
Wells stared at him in confusion.
“Bellamy!” Clarke said, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t just stand here and let all these innocent people put their asses
on the line for me. They have kids; they have families. They don’t need this
shit.”
Wells stepped forward and put a firm hand on Bellamy’s shoulder.
“Hey,” he said. “Hey, just relax.” Bellamy tried to shake free of Wells’s
grasp, but Wells wouldn’t let him. “Bellamy, I get it. You’re not used to
accepting help. But this isn’t Confinement for selling stolen goods at the
Exchange. This is the death penalty. Rhodes is going to kill you.”
Bellamy leaned over and put his hands on his knees. He took a few
deep, steadying breaths. He knew that Max and Sasha’s people believed in
something bigger than themselves. He had seen it in their kindness toward
each other, in the way they welcomed three strangers into their lives. He
had seen it in Max’s leadership. But he didn’t know how he could ever bear
the burden of their generosity.
Clarke took Bellamy’s hand again and looked into his eyes. “Even if you
won’t do it for you, will you do it for me? Please?” Her voice was
trembling, and something in Bellamy’s chest shifted. He’d never heard her
sound so vulnerable, so scared. He’d never heard her beg anyone for
anything. Anything she wanted, she went after herself. But that wouldn’t be
enough this time. She needed help.
“And for me.” Wells clapped his hand on Bellamy’s good shoulder.
Bellamy turned from Clarke to Wells. How had this happened? When he
and Octavia had left the Colony, it’d been them against the universe. And
now he had people who cared about him. He had a family.
“Okay,” he said with a nod, fighting back the tears threatening to make
an appearance. He forced a smile. “But just this one time. Next time I’m
sentenced to death for being a hotheaded idiot, you have to let them take
me.”
“Deal,” Wells said, stepping back with a grin.
“No way. You’re my hotheaded idiot.” Clarke rose onto her toes and
kissed him. Bellamy wrapped his arm around her and kissed her back, too
moved to be embarrassed by the prickle of tears in his eyes.
CHAPTER 17
Glass
Glass shoved the cabin door open with her shoulder. Both her hands were
full, one with a bucket of water from the river, the other with a sack of
berries she’d found growing nearby. She dropped the food on the uneven
wooden table and carried the water over to the basin. Without having to
think about it, Glass reached up and took down a small bowl from the shelf.
After just two days, she was already so comfortable in their little house that
it felt as if she and Luke had been settled there forever.
Their first morning in the cabin, they had stepped outside cautiously,
scanning for signs of Earthborns. But there was no hint of any other human
life. Slowly their comfort and confidence grew, and they trekked a few
meters away in an attempt to find food.
They were both so focused on their search, they almost didn’t notice a
deer grazing nearby. Glass raised her head to call Luke over, and just before
his name left her lips, she saw it, standing just feet from her. It was young—
was there a special name for a baby deer? Glass strained to remember—
and so beautiful. Its soft brown muzzle twitched as it sniffed the air, and its
wide brown eyes were sweet and sad. Glass was afraid to move, for fear of
scaring it away. She wanted Luke to see it too, but she couldn’t make a
sound. She and the deer stared at each other for a long moment, until finally
Luke turned and saw it. He froze. She could tell from the look on his face
that he was as awestruck by the animal as she was.
The three of them stood there, locked in a silent exchange. Finally, a
distant rustle in the trees sent the deer bolting off into the woods with barely
a sound. Glass let out a sigh as it disappeared. “That was incredible,” she
said.
“Yeah,” Luke agreed, but his expression was serious.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised at his reaction.
“It’s just—if we don’t find something to eat, we’re going to have to, you
know…” He trailed off.
Glass’s heart sank. She had been so transfixed by the deer’s expressive
eyes; she hadn’t stopped to think that she might be forced to eat it. The
thought made her stomach turn. “Let’s not worry about that now,” she said.
“Just keep looking.”
Luckily they’d found the berries, and so far they’d been okay. But she
knew deep down it was only a matter of time before something changed.
They were running low on water-purifying tablets, and there was no pot in
the house that would enable them to boil any water. There were weird bugs
that scuttled across the floor in the predawn hours, waking Glass from a
dead sleep and giving her goose bumps. Luke just laughed at her as she
scooted closer to him and pulled the blankets tighter over them both. And
there had been the constant, nagging worry about what would happen next.
Would they be able to stay here? Could it really be that simple? She
remembered learning about Earth seasons—the pretty fall leaves meant
that, soon enough, winter would