Rebellion

by Kass Morgan

  Glass’s stomach roiled as she looked around the room, at the girls sitting on their mats, all of them at the mercy of these unhinged people.

  “I’m happy to show them just how useful I can be,” Octavia said, a dangerous edge to her voice. “As I stick a knife in their backs.”

  “A girl after my own heart,” Anna said. “Nothing I like more than a killer with a red ribbon in her hair.”

  Octavia brought her hand to her hair. “I told them I would strangle them with it if they so much as touched it, so they let me keep it.”

  Anna grinned at her. “For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  Footsteps echoed in the distance, and Anna’s face went suddenly grave and pale as she scrambled to place her feet back on the ground.

  Glass and Octavia exchanged glances, the same unspoken question running through their minds. What on earth was going on here?

  CHAPTER 9

  Wells

  “You run like a wounded rabbit, boy! Do you have a thorn in your foot? Pick up the pace!” The Protector’s rancid breath in Wells’s face nearly made him gag. He’d been running for what felt like an hour, and every cell in his body burned.

  After a seemingly endless ride in the putrid wagon, they’d arrived this afternoon at the Stone: a five-sided fortress with crumbling walls. They weren’t even given a moment to recover from the journey. After tumbling out of the wagon, they’d been marched toward a row of what looked like chemical vats. One by one, the Protectors had shoved the prisoners up and into the tanks without explanation. Eric was the first to stop yelling and realize they were submerged in nothing more than ice-cold water.

  “Wash,” the Protectors had shouted, and Wells had, almost gratefully. He’d felt awake, finally, alert. Then the Protectors had dragged the prisoners out, letting them air-dry in the frigid autumn wind as they walked to collect new uniforms from a pile of white clothing. Wells’s new uniform still had the name “Laurent” written on the collar. He wondered who Laurent had been: A prisoner? A true believer? Or did that amount to the same thing if you were here long enough?

  While the Stone looked as if it had once been a massive, enclosed complex, nature had reclaimed much of it. Hallways ended in patches of dense trees, and staircases stood on their own, leading to nowhere. There was a well-worn path around the perimeter, and that’s where Wells, Eric, Graham, and the Earthborn prisoners were running now. Whether it was a game, or a punishment, or a test, Wells wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had to keep moving.

  “You are running on Earth,” the bearded Protector jogging beside him shouted, spraying spittle at Wells’s shoes. “You are striking Her with your feet. Apologize!”

  “I’m sorry,” Wells huffed between strides. The Protectors were carrying short, blunt sticks, and he’d seen what they did with them to prisoners who didn’t answer.

  “You space scum abandoned Her to die. Beg Her forgiveness!”

  “Please… forgive me…”

  “Pledge yourself to Her service!”

  Wells’s legs were burning. His lungs were burning. He could barely move, let alone speak.

  “I pledge—”

  The Protector’s fist shot out, connecting with Wells’s jaw and sending him careening off to the side. His ankles threatened to give out, his whole face throbbing with hot pain, but he kept running. He had to keep running.

  The Protector kept pace beside him, but finally turned his eyes away. “You’re not fit for Her service. Not yet. Keep running.”

  A flash of movement to the left drew Wells’s attention away for a moment—Graham, stumbling off the track, gripping his jaw. The Protector next to him was opening and closing his fist, so Wells was guessing they’d just gotten to the “pledge yourself” section of the script too.

  A vein in Graham’s neck was pulsing, his whole face turning splotchy red. Wells watched Graham’s fists balling up and rising; then Wells let one of his feet catch on the other, sending him staggering straight into Graham, knocking him onto the ground.

  Graham looked like he was going to pummel Wells for a second, his eyes practically rabid. Wells had just enough time to lean close, as though he was collapsing onto Graham’s ear, and hiss, “Not like this. Not without a plan,” before the Protectors swooped, dragging both of them up by the armpits.

  At the next bend, the path opened up onto a large, rocky clearing. Unlike the rest of the fortress, which was filled with scattered clusters of trees, this section was empty except for a wide asphalt road that led to the largest, most intact part of the enormous building.

  A line of Protectors was waiting in front of the entrance with guns. Wells felt the blood rush out of his face and chest as he wondered whether he’d made a terrible mistake sending a message to Graham. He may have just gambled with his own life.

  “Line up,” the bearded Protector barked as they slowed to a halt.

  “Where are they taking us?” Wells asked, trying to make his voice as firm and steady as possible while he watched the others ahead of him lining up to be led away.

  “To eat,” the Protector said, coughing up the word as if disgusted by it. Wells nearly sighed with relief. “And then straight back here for more. You have a problem with that?”

  Wells shook his head and saluted like he was back in guard training. The Protector started to walk away, grumbling something inaudible, and Wells decided to press his luck.

  “What do I call you?” he asked. The Protector turned, nothing but menace on his face, but Wells didn’t flinch. “Do you have a name?”

  “You don’t get to hear my name,” the Protector said, his nose suddenly an inch from Wells’s. “If you have to call me anything, you call me Oak.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wells said, but his eyes were darting to the man’s collar, so close now that he could read the name written on it in crude ink: O’Malley. Was that this Protector’s name, or that of someone who came before?

  A bowl of cold oats and another grueling jog later—this one over obstacles obscured in the dark of night—Wells found himself staggering into a hole cut into the dark, endless wall of the fortress, barely in control of his legs anymore, his head lolling forward while two raiders kept him walking.

  By the time he could look up, he was at the last destination of the evening: a long room lined with cages. In his current exhausted state, it took him a few shocked seconds to realize the cages weren’t for animals—they were for them. In each cage, there was only enough room for a small bedroll and a bowl that Wells was pretty sure was meant to be used as a chamber pot. In addition to the guys captured from their camp—eleven total, including Wells—there were about a dozen other “recruits,” people who hadn’t arrived with them.

  Shock reverberated through Wells. Who were these other prisoners moaning and muttering in the other cages? And where did they come from? He knew about Max’s village, and the Earthborn faction who’d broken away. But clearly the Protectors had found—and raided—other societies on this planet.

  “You’ll bunk here until you’re officially one of us,” one of the Protectors shouted as the two holding Wells up shoved him inside and clanked the door shut. “Rest up. Tomorrow won’t be so easy.”

  The lights turned off, leaving them in impenetrable darkness. Wells listened, hearing anxious breathing, someone coughing down the line, no conversation at all in that weird, flat Protector accent.

  In the silence, Wells thought of the people he’d left behind. Bellamy, his brother; Clarke, not his girlfriend anymore, but still his rock; Max, as close to a father as he’d ever get again. He wondered whether they were safe, but his mind swam with possibilities, all of them too painful to contemplate, and then landed on one fundamental truth.

  He would do anything to see their faces again.

  He’d do anything to get up at dawn and walk through the silent clearing to find Molly waiting for him. Listening to her chatter as she perched on a rock, watching him chop firewood. He needed to help Luke rebuild the cabin
s. He had to plant flowers by Sasha’s grave and watch them grow. He might not have been the leader they thought he was, but he would do better. Be better. He would atone for the mistakes that’d led to so much suffering.

  “Wells?” came a whisper no more than six inches away. Wells jumped, making his cage clang. “Are you still awake?”

  It was Eric. Wells exhaled. This was the one benefit of being stored in here like cheap cargo: close proximity to the people he needed.

  “I’m awake,” Wells whispered back.

  “Me too,” came a low voice in the other direction. It was Graham, but he didn’t have that usual snide ring to his voice. He sounded as though all the bravado had been leached right out of him.

  Wells’s pulse jumped with as much adrenaline as his body could muster. “They were stupid to put us together.”

  Graham let out a faint snort. “What difference does it make?”

  “We’re getting out of here,” Wells whispered. “But it’s not going to be some mad dash, all right? They have sniper rifles, grenades, god knows what else that they haven’t shown us yet. The only way we’re going to be able to do this in any kind of smart way is to bide our time and play along.”

  “With what?” Wells heard his cage wall rattle as Graham gripped it. “This whole ‘worshipping the planet, taking over everything, you’ll learn’ bullshit?”

  “Yes,” Wells said. “Exactly. They act like we’d be lucky to be among them. So let’s make them think we’re learning.”

  “Like hell I am,” Graham spat. “The next time they open this cage, I’m out of here. I don’t care how many skulls I have to crack.”

  “They’d shoot you before you had the chance,” Eric said wearily. “I agree with Wells. It’s the only chance we have of finding a weakness and getting back home.”

  “What home?” Graham whispered bleakly. “What the hell is even left?”

  “Felix was still alive when they got me.” Eric’s voice was pinched as he said his boyfriend’s name. “I saw him across the field. He was helping kids run toward the infirmary. Maybe he made it. Maybe he’s waiting for me.”

  “We’re all better people down here,” Wells said. “Even you, Graham. I saw you at the creek that day, teaching Keith how to fish. Coming to Earth has made us braver. Nobler. Stronger. We’re not like these Protector psychos. We know Earth has forgiven us, but that doesn’t mean our work is over. That’s why we have to get out of here. That’s why we have to make it back home.”

  There came a little shuffle, as if Graham was sitting up. He sighed, and then after a long pause, he said, “Fine, you win, mini-Chancellor. If you think we need to play along… I’ll play along. And we’ll take these bastards down while we’re at it.”

  “If Earth wills it,” Eric said, a smile in his hushed voice.

  “If Earth wills it,” Wells repeated with a snort.

  Wells curled onto his scratchy bedroll, his heart pounding with fatigue and fear, but finally laced with a tiny drop of hope.

  CHAPTER 10

  Bellamy

  Eight bags sat in a row in the afternoon heat, tidily stuffed with supplies, ready to be hoisted and carried away down the long, uncertain road.

  Bellamy surveyed the contents of his bag and started to unpack it. Dried meat, apples, a hunk of cheese, half a loaf of charred bread, and a rolled woven cloth for bedding all went in a neat pile that he would return to the people remaining at camp. The only things Bellamy required were his bow and a quiver of arrows, along with one small leather canteen for storing water they sourced along the way. No need for a bedroll. He had his own small hunting knife, and any food they needed, he could hunt and forage for along the way.

  “Come on everybody,” Paul shouted, clapping in slow, maddening rhythm. “Bags up, feet on the ground, no time like the present.”

  Bellamy turned away and rubbed his temples. If this idiot kept talking this loudly, the raiders would pounce on them the second they set foot on the trail.

  Some of the children poked their heads out of the lean-to he’d helped cobble together. One small girl rubbed her eyes with a confused frown and stared at him. Bellamy gave a wave and she smiled shyly back, then ran out as fast as she could, hopping back and forth on chilly bare feet.

  Bellamy picked up an apple to offer to the girl if she promised she would share it, but she was already crooking a finger for him to come closer. He grinned and cocked an ear for her to speak into.

  “Are you going to find Octavia?” she whispered.

  “I sure am,” he said, rocking back to look into her eyes, smiling through the jolt of pain shooting through his chest.

  She leaned over to whisper again, “Will you tell her we love her and we miss her and we want her to come home?”

  “I’ll do better than that,” Bellamy said. “I’ll bring her back myself.”

  Before he had time to blink, he felt little arms wrapping themselves around his neck in a warm squeeze. Then the girl flitted away like a bird and disappeared back into the tent.

  With a sigh, Bellamy stood and turned to see Clarke at the end of the row of bags, unpacking her food to leave behind, just as he had. She held a bright purple apple up to him with a rueful smile and put it aside. He grinned back, then felt it fade as Paul came stomping up.

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea to be rearranging our bags right now? We’ve got to get going.”

  “I’m all done,” Bellamy said, standing up, pleased to note that he was a good two inches taller than Paul. “Just ensuring that our people don’t starve to death while we’re gone.”

  Paul didn’t seem to note the sarcasm in his voice. “You’re leaving your food behind?”

  “We don’t need all this,” Clarke piped up, waving to her own discarded supplies. “We’ll be quicker with lighter packs, don’t you think?”

  “Good thinking, Griffin,” Paul said, placated. Bellamy rolled his eyes.

  The other members of the expedition were waiting at the edge of the clearing. There had been over twenty volunteers, but Max and Rhodes had whittled the group down to eight key members. Along with Bellamy, Clarke, Luke, Paul, and Felix, there were three Earthborns known to be skilled fighters, foragers, and trackers. A young woman named Vale, a stocky man named Cooper with a scar across his cheek, and a girl a little older than Bellamy, Jessa, whose brother Kit, a Councilor, was among those taken by the raiders.

  At first, Rhodes and Max had expressed concern about Luke’s limp, but he’d refused to back down. “With all due respect, Councilors, I’m one of the best marksmen we have,” he’d said with impeccable politeness. “And I’m not putting this rifle down until I’ve used it to rescue Glass.”

  And then there was Paul. He wasn’t close to any of the people who’d been taken, but he’d still felt it was his duty to volunteer because he’d been an officer back on the ship. Like anyone gave a shit about that anymore. “I’m the only one of us who’s been east of here,” Paul had argued—loudly, of course. “I know the terrain, I know the challenges. I got my people from there to here, I can get these people from here to there.”

  Bellamy wanted to slip away without much fanfare. The quieter, the better. He heaved his pack over his shoulders, and for a brief, foolish moment, thought about picking Clarke’s up for her. But then he pictured the flash of indignation that would light up her green eyes and thought better of it. She was a thousand times tougher than he was anyway. He shook Max’s hand, nodded at Rhodes, and started to head across the tree line, when he heard Paul clear his throat.

  “Here we are. The brave eight, walking into danger because it’s the right thing to do. We don’t know what we’re going to find at the end of this road, but I know…” He pressed a fist to his heart, jaw clenched. “I have faith that we will overcome it and bring our friends home. When my dropship landed and everyone was consumed with worry and despair, do you know what I said to them? I said—”

  “Let’s save the end of that fascinating anecdote for later,
Paul,” Bellamy cut in. “It’s time to head out.”

  Paul shook his head. “We can’t just head into the woods willy-nilly. We need to march in formation.”

  “Formation?” Bellamy repeated, willing his blood to stop boiling.

  “It’s how we do it in the guard corps. Here’s what I suggest: I take the advance position, in case we run into trouble. Everybody else pairs up behind me.”

  “We’re an even number,” Bellamy said dryly. “There aren’t enough of us to pair—”

  “I know that,” Paul said quickly. “Luke takes the rear, protecting the flank.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Bellamy said, no longer trying to hide his anger. He counted off on his fingers. “For one thing, Luke taking the flank is a terrible idea.” He glanced at Luke with an apologetic wince. “No offense, man, but your leg isn’t healed yet. You’ll lag with that limp.” He turned back to Paul. “And second, no way you should lead. Do you know how to follow a nearly dead track through a forest, day and night? Do you know what to look for? The way grass bends from a foot hitting it versus a hoof? The way rocks show mud when they’ve been overturned? Is that something you’re familiar with?”

  Paul stayed silent, his mouth clenched shut.

  Bellamy nodded. “It doesn’t have to be me.” He pointed to Cooper, Vale, and Jessa. “They’ve got even more experience hunting than I do. But I’m telling you right now, it makes zero sense for you to be the guy in front. You’ll lead us around in circles.”

  “Circles?” Paul’s voice had lost some of its cheeriness. “Might I remind you that I was a senior officer back on the ship? I think that entitles me to a little respect, especially from someone who—”