by Kass Morgan
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 fragile-looking, 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.