by Kass Morgan
Clarke cut him off. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Bellamy will go on ahead of us, marking the way we go and making the path a little easier to follow. That way, you can stay in the front line to protect the rest of us, Paul. And since you won’t have to worry about orienteering, you can figure out where we stop to rest and make camp and look out for potential dangers, since you know the terrain so well. Luke will flank you with his rifle, providing cover for the rest of us.” She paused and scanned the group, giving them the chance to interject. When no one did, she continued. “I’m happy to take the rear. That way, if anyone needs my medical help, I won’t have to backtrack.”
“That sounds logical,” Paul said, smiling a little too widely and making Bellamy’s stomach churn. “I second the motion.”
“No one put it to a vote,” Felix said under his breath.
Bellamy was already starting to turn away. They’d already wasted too much time talking. It was time to leave. The moon was full tonight and would provide plenty of light, but if those clouds in the distance rolled in, they’d be screwed.
Bellamy walked until the quiet of the forest surrounded him, his eyes adjusting to the muted light. They landed on the crossed branches, the subtle marks of wheel ruts left in the piled leaves beyond.
Here we go, he thought, and followed the trail, heart pounding. Let’s do it. Let’s bring our people home.
CHAPTER 11
Clarke
As silly as keeping to formation had seemed at first, Clarke didn’t mind walking in the back. She could take in the new terrain, forests opening onto wide green fields full of plants she’d never seen, before the trail took them back down into smaller, sparser copses of trees and out again. Keeping pace behind the others helped draw her mind off one reality and onto this one—one foot landing in front of the other, forward progress, a sense of hope in the middle of hopeless circumstances.
“Circumstances” sounded much nicer than “brutal, devastating attack that you completely failed to prevent.”
The Earthborn members of the rescue party took turns hanging back and keeping Clarke company. Right now, it was tall, wiry Jessa, who was a little quieter than the others. Clarke didn’t mind the silence, but she noticed how the older girl’s eyes were fixed on the horizon, a furrow of worry dug into her brow.
“How old is your brother?” Clarke asked gently.
Jessa cleared her throat. “A few years older than me. Kit can handle himself,” she said, so sharply and suddenly, it was clear she was speaking more to herself than to Clarke. “He might not even need rescuing. But he’s the only family I’ve got, and just going on without him like he never existed is not an option. You help the people you love. That’s what you do.”
“I know what you mean,” Clarke said, her mind drifting to Bellamy. Since they’d set out from camp a few hours ago, he’d been too far ahead on the track for her to see him. She knew what was pulling him onward in such a frenzy, and it wasn’t just the raiders’ trail. It was his family. He’d spent his life protecting Octavia, and he and Wells had just started connecting as brothers. It was no wonder that he was desperate to get them back.
Clarke understood that fierce, desperate longing to find those who had been lost. She’d felt that for her parents, even when there was no logic to it, and against all odds, they’d returned to her.
At the thought of her parents, Clarke gritted her teeth against a wave of shame.
She’d spent the hours before they left by her mother’s side. Dr. Lahiri’s treatment seemed to be working well for her infection, and the bullet hadn’t pierced any organs, but she would still have a difficult recovery ahead. Sitting with her, chatting in low voices while holding hands, Clarke had nearly reversed her decision to leave. But then her mother had murmured, “I’m proud of you. I’m proud of what you’ve become,” and Clarke had known she meant her courage in setting out with the others. Still, her heart felt torn in two directions with every step she took away from home.
Nothing will happen to me, she promised herself. I’ll come back to them safe and sound, just as I told them I would.
The woods broke apart as the ground grew steep under their feet. The sun was starting to set, bathing everything before her in gold.
“What the—” Ahead of her, Paul ducked as a thick vine unwound itself from a tree branch. It stretched into the air, bright yellow leaves unfurling. Clarke knew from previous investigations that the leaves were sticky, and by morning, they would be covered with insects for the vine to absorb.
“You okay?” Clarke called.
“Yeah,” he said, pausing to let her catch up with him, and he turned from side to side, slightly dazed. “What was that?”
“I’ve been calling them nocturnal carnivorous vines. But I have no idea what they’re really called. Or if they’ve ever had a name at all. I think it’s a recent mutation.”
“It’s pretty incredible,” Paul said, glancing over his shoulder for a better look. His earlier bravado seemed to have vanished, replaced by a surprising air of wonder. Not many people other than Clarke were intrigued by plants.
“What’s incredible?” she asked.
Paul shook his head. “Nothing on Earth looks or acts the way they told us it would. The flowers we read about are poisonous. The deer have two heads. The vines have turned carnivorous. And at first, it all seems kind of terrifying and monstrous, but there’s a logic to it, you know? All these species, doing what they have to do to survive. They’re all fighters. I like that.”
Clarke surprised herself by smiling. “You consider yourself a fighter? You seem a little too cheerful for that.”
Paul smiled back. It was wistful, almost sad. “Sometimes being cheerful is a way of fighting. When you’ve seen some of the stuff I’ve seen…” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I didn’t have the easiest time growing up.” Clarke stared at him, wondering if perhaps Paul and Bellamy had more in common than anyone imagined. They’d both had tough childhoods but had chosen different ways of coping: Bellamy turned distant and rebellious, believing there was no one he could trust but himself, while Paul had tried to be open and amiable, someone other people could trust.
Paul shrugged. “But hey, who did, right? I assume it wasn’t all rainbows for you, or else you wouldn’t have ended up in Confinement.”
Clarke blanched slightly, thinking of Lily and the other kids she’d been unable to save. “It’s… complicated.”
He smiled at her—a kind, sincere smile, a world away from his usual overly cheery grin. “I doubt that,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you were just trying to do the right thing.”
They walked until it got dark, and then continued well into the night. Bellamy was right. It made sense to cover as much ground as possible at night, when they’d be harder to spot, and then rest for brief periods when they got tired. He was clearly having no trouble tracking the enemy. Every so often, he’d return to the group to point out a wagon rut Clarke never would’ve noticed in broad daylight, let alone at night. The longer they walked, the more energy Bellamy seemed to gain. He was practically bouncing now, eager to keep going and find the men who’d taken his sister.
But everyone else was growing weary, and eventually Bellamy conceded that they should rest for a bit. He hurried ahead to scout a good spot, and about half an hour later, the others caught up to him in a valley at the bottom of a hill, next to a little creek.
Though the evening was chilly, they all agreed not to build a fire, lest the smoke attract unwanted attention. The people who’d brought blankets laid them out on the ground. Clarke watched in fascination as Cooper and Vale half buried themselves under mounds of dried leaves.
“Do you want to give that a shot?” a quiet voice asked. She turned to see Bellamy grinning at her.
Seeing him smile filled her chest with warmth, as the worry weighing her down drained away. “I don’t need to. I brought a blanket, unlike some very noble, very foolish people I know.”
Bellamy cr
ossed his arms and gave an exaggerated shiver. “What do you think, Doc?” he asked, craning his head back to look at the sky. “Will I risk exposure? Frostbite?”
“Don’t worry. If you get frostbite, I’m sure I’ll be able to amputate without much trouble. That knife you brought is pretty sharp, right?”
“Of course, there is always preventative medicine.”
“Yeah,” Clarke said, elbowing him in the side. “Like bringing a blanket.”
“I did bring one.”
“What are you talking about? I saw you take it out of your pack.”
Bellamy smiled, and without another word, scooped Clarke off the ground, walked a little bit away from the others, and then toppled them both over into a massive pile of dried leaves.
“Let me go!” Clarke said with a laugh, scrambling to sit up.
“Man, this is one feisty blanket,” Bellamy said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back down toward him.
Her fatigue caught up with her, settling into her limbs. She relaxed and allowed herself to sink into him, resting her head on his chest. “Now this is what the doctor ordered,” Bellamy said quietly, running his hand through her hair.
“Leave the medicine to me, Blake,” she said sleepily. She took a deep breath, smiling as her senses flooded with her favorite scent in the world, a mix of campfire smoke, damp earth, pine needles, and salt: the smell of Bellamy.
He kissed the top of her head. “Get some rest.”
She snuggled deeper against him. “You too.” But instead of feeling his breathing grow steady and his arms relax as he drifted off with her, she could tell he was wide-awake, his heart racing.
Clarke lifted her head. Bellamy’s eyes were open, his jaw tense.
“It’s going to be okay. We’ll find them and bring them home.”
“Just go to sleep, Clarke.”
“You need to sleep too. We need you rested.”
“I can’t sleep.” A slight edge had crept into his voice.
“Bellamy…” She traced his cheek with her fingers. “You have to try—”
He wrenched his head to the side, and she let her hand fall. Clarke sat up. “I’m worried about them too, you know. Wells is my best friend, and I love Octavia and Eric and—”
He closed his eyes and winced, as if her words were causing him physical pain. “Just stop, okay? You can’t understand. You’ve never had a sibling, you don’t know what it’s like. And now I’ve lost two.” When he opened his eyes again, the tenderness from moments earlier was gone, replaced by a fierceness that made her want to lean away. “But they’ll pay. There won’t be any of those bald bastards left when I’m through with them.”
Clarke stared at him, startled. “Bellamy, we’re not planning a battle. We’re going to sneak in and get our people out. Or maybe even negotiate with their captors. There could be a peaceful solution.”
“A peaceful solution?” Bellamy spat. “Are you kidding me?”
“We only have two guns, and we have no idea what kind of forces we’re facing. We can’t turn this into a suicide mission just because you’re in the mood to shoot something.”
Bellamy stood up so quickly, Clarke was nearly knocked backward. “You still don’t trust me, do you? You think I’m just some hotheaded idiot without enough brain cells to come up with a coherent plan.”
Clarke sighed. “No, of course that’s not it. I just think there’s a possibility that—”
“You’re never going to trust me, will you? I’ll always be the Waldenite delinquent who messes everything up.” He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“That’s not true!” Clarke rushed forward to place her hand on his arm, but he jerked away.
“Go to sleep,” he said curtly. “We need to start moving again in a few hours.”
“Bellamy, wait…”
But he’d already disappeared into the shadows.
CHAPTER 12
Glass
Glass and the seven other girls seized from the camp stood in a long row. In their newly issued white dresses, they looked like the spokes of the picket fence Luke had built around their cabin.
They’d been led from the den through a series of winding, crumbling hallways into a vast, empty hall. Huge chunks of the ceiling and walls were missing, and early-morning sunlight pooled on the floor. A few flowering trees grew out of the cracks in the cement, filling the air with a subtle, sweet fragrance. In another situation, it might’ve seemed pretty, or at least striking, but the longer Glass spent at the Stone, the more her stomach filled with dread. She wasn’t sure what was going on here, but it all felt very, very wrong.
“What are they going to do to us?” Octavia whispered to her.
“I don’t know,” Glass said, glancing around nervously.
A blond woman in her late twenties, wearing a gray tunic dress, walked up and down the line, inspecting the girls. With each tiny frown or eyebrow raise, Glass grew more anxious. She didn’t know what they were being evaluated on, and even worse, she didn’t know whether it was better to fail or succeed.
The woman in gray reached Glass, looked her up and down, then peered into Glass’s eyes, unblinking. Glass wasn’t sure what to do except stare back. But it felt so intrusive, so personal, she could only hold the woman’s gaze for a second before averting her eyes.
The woman had already moved on to Octavia before Glass had a chance to gauge her reaction, beyond a vague sense that it had not gone well. But should she be upset or relieved? What was the point of impressing these people?
Survival, came the answer. It was like she was on autopilot, feeling nothing but a stark determination to do whatever it took to get out of here. To get back to the camp. To get back to Luke.
When the line of girls started to move, it took a glance of warning from Octavia for Glass to realize she needed to follow.
“We’re going on a tour of the Stone before your cleansing,” the blond woman called out. “Soren wishes for you to get a feel for your new home, now that you’re staying with us.”
“Staying with them?” Lina whispered from behind Glass. “They make it sound like we’re guests.”
Glass nodded, but said nothing, not wanting to incur the wrath of the woman who was already watching them suspiciously.
“This is the scullery,” the woman called from the front of the line, as they wound their way down a corridor.
They passed a bombed-out, windowless space, and Glass got a view of a few red-faced women in white dresses scrubbing earthenware on one side and clothing on the other side in giant, steaming pots. Something to look forward to.
The woman stopped, hand raised, and nodded into the room. “Tomorrow, all of you will take a turn with each of our tasks and will be given a position based on aptitude.”
Octavia scoffed quietly beside Glass. “Right. Aptitude. To see whether we have a god-given gift for washing disgusting clothes, or an innate talent for cleaning dishes.”
The woman in gray scowled at Octavia, and she fell silent.
The line moved again, and soon they were being led outside. In the distance, Glass saw a group of Protectors with shaved heads running alongside some exhausted-looking figures. From the way the Protectors were screaming at them, Glass gathered that they were also prisoners. Were more of her friends among them? She squinted into the sunlight, mind racing.
More alert than she’d been before, Glass tried to observe as many details as she could about the Stone. What had looked like a single structure from the outside was more like a collection of buildings in a honeycomb pattern, not unlike the layout of the Colony. Some structures they passed were no more than skeletons, bare steel beams surrounding piles of rubble, while others were more intact.
White-clad Protectors were everywhere, but oddly, they didn’t seem to be doing much. Since she’d arrived at the Colonists’ camp, every day was a constant flurry of activity, with people weeding the garden, collecting firewood, chasing after the children, or buil
ding new structures. What did these people do all day?
There were at least some signs of actual life in the center of the building, which the woman called the “Heart of the Stone” as she led them toward it. It was a tiny forest—maybe a courtyard once—now full of trees, some of them bearing fruit. Glass breathed in the smell of ripening apples and pears, dimly hearing the woman’s droning explanation of something about religious ceremonies and offerings to Earth. The group started out again before Glass was ready to leave the comforting green canopy.
“Now I will take you all to meet our leader and see our bounty,” the blond woman said reverentially, leading them back through the building. “Soren has returned from a long spirit walk and is eager to meet you all.” Glass and Lina exchanged nervous glances. Meet felt like an odd word to use with girls who’d been drugged and kidnapped. And this was the person in charge, who’d given the orders and approved the Protectors’ violent actions.
The building opened up onto a huge vista, so sprawling and bright that Glass nearly staggered from the scope of it. An enormous rectangular field full of planters stretched out before them, and beyond that, a river basin, glittering in the midday sunshine. As her eyes adjusted, she took in more details: the remains of fallen buildings along the far horizon, the crops in the field. There was a lone woman in a white dress picking through the crops with a careful squint, her black hair falling over one shoulder.
Something strange caught her eye, and Glass stepped closer to get a better glimpse. There were wheels underneath one of the planters, this one full of potatoes and other root vegetables. As the blond woman started a speech about Earth’s bounty, two realizations struck Glass: that potatoes grew under the ground, not in heaped piles, and that every single planter here had wheels.
They weren’t planters at all. They were carts. This wasn’t a farm, just a place to sort through the food these people had looted.
Anger swept aside her fear as Glass thought about how hard everyone had worked getting ready for the Harvest Feast. The weeks spent working the fields, the hours spent hunting, the days spent gathering and drying fruit.