by Kass Morgan
Wells gritted his teeth and crouched to lift the cart, the painful weight of it obliterating the memory; then he pulled the load down the central village path to the edge of the forest, where the others were milling about with their own cargo.
Red-haired Paul, off duty but still wearing his guard uniform, stood on a boulder, overseeing the Earthborn villagers and Colonists who’d volunteered to bring supplies down to the camp for tonight’s feast. “Okay, folks, I’ve done a thorough patrol of the woods and the coast is clear. But let’s keep things moving, just in case.” He clapped and pointed down the now well-trodden forest path. “Look alive now, and maintain constant awareness.”
Wells watched as a few of the villagers shot Paul bemused looks. Paul was a relatively new arrival, one of the Colonists who’d been on a dropship that had landed off course. His group had made its way to camp just after their bloody battle with a violent faction of Earthborns had ended in a truce.
Wells had vaguely known Paul back on the Colony. Affable and energetic, he’d always struck Wells as more of a dependable, competent soldier than a leader, but things had clearly changed in the past year. Whatever had happened to Paul’s band of survivors between their crash landing and their arrival at camp, it had made him their unofficial captain, and he still assumed that air of responsibility.
“Those of you carrying heavy loads, take care not to strain yourself. If you’re injured, you’ll be an easy target for the enemy.”
Wells rolled his eyes. The dangerous Earthborns were long gone. Paul was just frustrated to have missed all the action, and was overcompensating for it now. Wells had no patience for that, not after he’d witnessed the real price of battle.
Paul frowned slightly. “Graham, what are you doing with that knife? You’re not hunting today.”
“Says who?” Graham said, pulling the long knife from its sheath and twirling it in Paul’s direction. For a moment, Wells considered intervening. Although Graham had settled down over the past few months, Wells would never forget the violent gleam in his eyes when he tried to convince the original hundred to kill Octavia for stealing medicine.
But before Wells could act, Graham snorted, resheathing his knife, and sauntered off, nodding at Eric, who was coming from the other direction.
Eric walked up to Wells. “Need help with this?” He motioned toward the cart. “You don’t want to strain yourself and become an easy target for the enemy,” he said drily.
Wells forced a laugh. “Sure, thanks. I’m just going to grab some more firewood and then I’ll be right behind you.”
He turned and headed for the woodpile behind the far row of cabins, smile dropping away, his jaw heavy with the effort of pretending. Everything about him felt heavy these days, each step weighted with grief. But he kept walking anyway, lifted the ax from its perch, and split logs until he had a sizable pile of wood to carry. He stacked it neatly, ignoring the splinters in his palms, wrapped it all in a back sling, and hoisted it onto his shoulders.
The village had emptied out while he was chopping; they’d all left to join the others to eat and celebrate: the harvest, a fresh start, a bigger community, a newfound peace.
Wells exhaled, his shoulders slumping. The straps of the sling cut through his shirt into his skin as he looked around at the vacant valley. This was good. He’d get to the camp a little late but with plenty of wood for the stoves and the bonfire. He’d stay by the fire and keep it stoked. That would be his job tonight, a perfect excuse to avoid the feast, the speeches, the hundreds of familiar faces, all of them thinking about the people they wished were with them tonight.
Their loved ones back on the Colony… all dead because of Wells.
He’d been the one to loosen the airlock back on the ship, dooming the hundreds of people who couldn’t find seats on the dropships to a slow, suffocating death—his own father, the Chancellor, included. He’d done it to save Clarke, but still, every time he caught sight of his own reflection, he recoiled from it. Every action he took led to destruction and death. If the other Colonists knew what he’d done, they wouldn’t just turn him away from today’s Harvest Feast tables—they’d cast him out of their community entirely. And he would deserve it.
He exhaled again, and felt himself wobbling, suddenly weak. He turned to steady the heavy load on his back and saw that one of the cabins had its door ajar.
It was Max’s cabin. Sasha’s home.
Wells had only known Sasha for a few weeks, but it felt like years of vivid memories had built up during that short time. He’d especially loved being with her in the village. She hadn’t just been the Earthborn leader’s daughter—she’d been part of the community’s life force. She was the one who’d first volunteered to gather intelligence on the hundred, even though the mission put her life in danger. She was the first to lend a helping hand, offer a sympathetic shoulder, or voice an unpopular opinion on behalf of the less powerful. She was useful, she was valued, she was loved, and now she was gone.
Wells dropped his sling, ignoring the clatter of the firewood, and stumbled like a sleepwalker to the doorway. He hadn’t been inside the cabin for nearly a month, avoiding both memories and interactions with the grieving Earthborns for as long as possible. But now there was no one around, and the cabin was drawing him in like a magnet.
His eyes searched the dim interior, taking in a table crammed with scraps of electronics, a small kitchen space, Max’s sleeping quarters… and there, in the back, Sasha’s corner.
Her bed, her quilt, a bundle of dried flowers, a drawing of a bird scratched into the wooden wall. All still there.
“I couldn’t bring myself to move any of it,” came a deep, gravelly voice behind Wells.
He turned to see Max standing a foot away, peering past him with an inscrutable expression. His beard was neatly trimmed, his best clothes neatly darned, all ready for his official role at tonight’s festivities. But right now he didn’t look like the leader of the Earthborns and a member of the new, united Council. He looked like a wounded man—a father still in the freshest wave of grief.
“She drew that bird when she was five, you know. I thought it was pretty good for that age. For any age.” He let out a little laugh. “Maybe in the old world, she could have been an artist.”
“She could have been a lot of things,” Wells said softly.
Max nodded, then pressed a hand against the wall of the cabin for balance, as if something inside of him had just cracked.
I shouldn’t be here, Wells thought, but before he could make an excuse to leave, Max straightened and walked into the cabin, motioning for Wells to follow.
“I prepared a few words to start the feast, but of course, I left them all the way back here,” Max said, riffling through his makeshift desk for a little scrap of paper crammed with scribbled words. “The spots at the table are filling up fast. You might want to get over there.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not even sure I’m going.” Wells stared at his boots but felt Max’s eyes lingering on him.
“You have as much reason to be at that table as anybody, Wells,” the older man said. His voice was quiet but firm as stone. “These people… our people… are together because of you. Alive because of you.”
Wells’s eyes shot to Sasha’s corner. Max glanced over his shoulder at it, following Wells’s gaze.
“She’ll be there too in a way, you know,” Max said, his voice softening slightly. “The Harvest Feast was her favorite holiday.” He stepped forward, pressing a hand to Wells’s shoulder. “She’d want you to enjoy it.”
Wells felt his eyes stinging. He cast them down and nodded. Max squeezed his shoulder and let go.
“I’ll be sitting up at the head of the table with the rest of the Council,” he said, striding out. “I’ll save you a seat beside me. You wouldn’t want to miss Bellamy’s speech, right?”
Despite himself, Wells smiled at the thought of his brother, the brand-new Councilor, giving a speech to hundreds of people. They’d only
recently discovered that they were half brothers, but their relationship was evolving quickly, moving from begrudging mutual respect to true loyalty and affection.
Wells followed Max out of the cabin and shut the door gently behind him, letting his gaze linger on the little bird. It was hard to believe that a child had carved it. The young Sasha had captured the animal in mid-flight, making it appear light and joyful, just like she looked on the rare occasion when she set aside her responsibilities and let herself be free. He’d been privileged, he realized, to see that side of her—to watch her shriek with delight as she plunged into the lake from a far greater height than Wells would ever dare. To see her fierce green eyes mellow with tenderness after a kiss. Wells’s carelessness had robbed them of a lifetime of these moments, but it couldn’t take away the memories stored deep within his heart.
He might not have the right to celebrate tonight, not after all he’d done, all he had to answer for—but he did have plenty left to be thankful about.
CHAPTER 3
Glass
Silence wrapped around their bed like an extra blanket. This side of the camp had emptied out as everyone left to help with preparation for the Harvest Feast. But Glass had spent the afternoon here, in their little cabin nestled at the edge of the clearing, distracting Luke and being distracted. This was a rare stolen moment for them. Since Luke had recovered from a near-fatal leg wound, he’d become busier than ever. He left their cabin at dawn and returned long after sunset, generally exhausted and with a slight limp that always made Glass’s heart twinge.
Luke tried to perch on an elbow, but Glass held him down, kissing his shoulder, his bicep, his chest, then letting her mouth trail teasingly lower.
He let out a smiling groan. “I’ve got to get to my shift.”
She kissed his chin, his neck. “Not yet.”
“You keep making me late.” He traced her spine with his fingertips, his expression uncomplaining.
“They won’t mind,” Glass said, nestling closer. “You get more done in your shifts than anybody else. You’ve built half this camp.” She tilted her head to the side, surveying him with a proud smile. “My brilliant engineer.”
Luke had designed two different models: a small structure with a lofted sleeping space for families, and a longer cabin for groups of people to bunk together, like the camp’s orphaned children and the guards. But Glass and Luke’s cabin was special. It was set back from the others, and its small windows faced the spot where the sun rose over the clearing at this time of year. There was even a fireplace, and a small kitchen area with a table and chairs. No one had batted an eye about them living together, a welcome change after all the time they’d spent sneaking around back on the ship—first because of the oppressive social hierarchy, then later because Glass had been a fugitive.
“I’ve overseen some of the construction,” he corrected. “Everybody’s worked incredibly hard. Besides, I’m not on a construction shift. I have guard duty this evening.” Luke reached up to run his fingers through the blond hair that hung loose around Glass’s face like a veil, then sighed against her neck.
Glass knew that sigh. It meant time was up. She smiled and pushed herself upright, giving him room to scoot out of bed and get dressed.
“Why do you need to go on patrol right in the middle of the Harvest Feast?” she asked, pulling her shirt over her head, her toes searching the floor for the thick woolen tunic she’d discarded there hours ago—a welcome gift from their new Earthborn friends. Even inside the cabin, the air had an icy edge to it, and the sun hadn’t even set yet. Their first winter was on its way.
Winter on Earth. Glass felt excitement ripple through her at the thought of log fires and blinding white snow and nights wrapped up warm in Luke’s arms.
“Somebody’s got to do it. Might as well be me,” he said, pulling on his boots. He stretched, groaning slightly as his back cracked. “You won’t be lonely, will you?” he asked, coming to sit beside her on the little bed. “You can sit with Clarke and Wells.”
Glass bumped him with her shoulder. “I’ll be fine.” Her tone was light, but the truth was that she’d had a harder time adjusting to life at the camp than he had. As a member of the elite engineer corps back on the ship, Luke had made himself useful right away. Glass was a hard worker and did her best, but she wasn’t a natural leader like her childhood friend Wells, and she didn’t have a clear expertise like Clarke, whose medical training had already saved countless lives. And while Clarke had shown nothing but patience and kindness toward her, Glass couldn’t shake the feeling that her old schoolmate still saw her as the shallow girl whose life had revolved around picking up trinkets at the Exchange and gossiping with her equally small-minded friends.
Glass stood, forcing a smile. “We should get going. I told Clarke I’d help her bring food over to the people in the infirmary, so…” She nodded to the door. “Onward.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Luke said with a playful salute. Glass shoved him out the door, and he laughed, hands up in surrender. She watched him jog a few steps ahead of her.
Dr. Lahiri said Luke’s recovery had been miraculously swift, but Glass still couldn’t look at his leg without seeing the Earthborn spear embedded in it. She had dragged Luke to safety, down rivers and through forests, arriving back at camp just in time to get him the medicine he needed to heal. Wells had called her “courageous,” but she’d been acting out of fear and desperation. After everything they’d been through, everything they’d sacrificed, she couldn’t imagine life without Luke.
He glanced back at her, clearly wondering why she was taking so long.
She grinned at him and called out, “Just taking in the view.”
He raised his eyebrows. Glass skipped closer, grabbed his arm, and pressed herself against him, matching him stride for stride. As they walked past the cabins into the clearing, they got their first glimpse of the festivities: a circle of long tables decorated with wreaths, braided evergreen garlands, and more food than Glass had seen since landing on Earth.
“On second thought, you’re right,” Luke said wistfully. “It does seem a little unfair that I have to be on duty right now.”
“I’ll save you some. I promise. Plus dessert.”
“Don’t worry about the dessert,” Luke said. He tilted his head to brush his lips against the nape of her neck before raising his mouth to whisper in her ear, “There’s only one thing I want, and I’m not worried about them running out.” His warm breath on her skin made her shiver.
“Careful there, soldier!” Paul walked by, shaking his head with mock scorn. “Engaging in intimate activities while on duty is strictly forbidden. Section 42 of the Gaia Doctrine.” Paul let out a loud laugh, winked, and continued on his way.
Glass rolled her eyes, but Luke just smiled. “Paul’s all right. He just takes some getting used to.”
“You’d say that about anybody,” Glass said, squeezing his arm tighter. “You see the best in everyone.” It was a quality she admired in Luke, although it sometimes kept him from seeing people’s true colors, like his creepy friend and roommate back on the Colony, Carter.
At the edge of the clearing stood the newly built watchtower, where the guards kept their weapons. It was the most fortified building in the camp.
One of the younger guards, Willa, emerged from the tower, yawning. “Do you have the next shift, Luke?” she called, breaking into a slow jog as she made her way toward them. “It’s completely dead. No signs of activity. There aren’t even weapons to look after.”
Luke’s brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I guess they moved the weapons out?” Willa shrugged. “I left my rifle on the rack but now it’s gone.”
“Okay…” Luke’s step stalled slightly. “Thanks, Willa. I’ll find out what’s going on.”
Glass rose onto her toes to give Luke one more kiss, then stood and watched him head inside the tower. Once he’d disappeared, the smell of roasting meat turned her head back to
ward the rapidly filling Harvest Feast tables. In the center of the clearing, the new members of the Council were standing together, talking animatedly. Bellamy stood off to the side, glancing nervously over his shoulder every few moments. Farther down, Glass spotted Clarke headed to the infirmary on the far side of the clearing, arms laden with platters.
Glass broke into a jog and quickly caught up to her.
“Can I help?” she asked, reaching out for one of the platters.
Clarke looked up at her, clearly frazzled. “I’ve got it,” she said. “But can you do me a huge favor? Can you run and grab some chamomile from the patch by the pond? Some of our patients need it to sleep, and it takes ages to brew.”
“Absolutely,” Glass said quickly, eager to be of use. “What does it look like?”
“Small white flowers. Bring as many as you can find, roots included.”
“Got it. And where’s the pond?”
“About a ten-minute walk east. You head toward the Earthborn village, but turn when you get to that pine tree. Then keep going for a bit and turn left at that cluster of blackberry bushes.”
“Sorry, which ones are the pine trees again?”
A flicker of irritation crossed Clarke’s harried face. “The ones with the needles instead of leaves.”
“Right,” Glass said, nodding. “And the blackberry bushes will have—”
“Actually, don’t worry about it,” Clarke cut in. “I’ll go myself.”
“No, it’s fine. I can do it,” Glass said. She was sure Luke had pointed out the blackberry bush to her at some point. “I’ll find it.”
Clarke sighed. “It’s just easier if I do it. But thank you. Maybe next time.” She hurried away, leaving Glass standing on her own, cheeks burning as she wondered how long it would take for her to stop feeling like an outsider. Or worse, like a burden.