by Kass Morgan
She was almost enjoying herself. She felt useful here, in a way she hadn’t the entire time they’d been on Earth. Maybe in her whole life. She’d trailed Soren all day long, providing water when she was thirsty, a cloak when she was cold, taking notes on scraps of parchment after Soren learned that Glass could write. But mostly Glass watched and listened… and learned. She was amazed at how Soren could be both powerful and beloved—a far cry from the leaders she’d known back on the Colony. And she couldn’t stop herself from imagining, someday, having people look at her with the same reverence.
But could she do that if she returned to the camp? What future was waiting there for her? Yet anytime her thoughts drifted in that direction, a face materialized in her mind. Luke. The warm, sleepy smile that greeted her the moment she woke up in the morning. The way his brown eyes crinkled when she made him laugh. The look of fear and anguish when he shouted at her to run.
But now it was the beginning of a new day, and Glass lay in her bed in the anteroom attached to Soren’s chamber, physically exhausted but half-awake, waiting for her next set of orders. After all, Margot had said that Soren kept odd hours. She might call for Glass at any moment. She needed to be—
She stirred, hearing a voice in the chamber beyond. Was this a summons? Through her little window, she could see a corner of sky and it was still dark, but now she heard a few low voices rising up from Soren’s room. Glass rose quietly and slipped from her nightgown into her white dress. If Soren and her advisors were awake, they’d call for her soon.
Glass had almost finished braiding her hair when she heard one of the advisors say her name. She hurried to the door that separated her room from Soren’s but some gut instinct made her hesitate before opening it. She stopped instead and listened.
“If she hadn’t spoken up that day…” It sounded like Margot’s voice.
“Yes, Glass would have stayed among the other female recruits.” This was Soren. The other voices fell silent as she spoke. “That’s why she was chosen in the first place, but I feel she’ll be more useful in our ranks. She has an aptitude. I also have the feeling that she may not pair well.”
“No?” Margot asked.
Glass held her breath, bracing herself into the corner of the room so she wouldn’t move, her ear turned toward the tiny crack in the doorframe. “Pair well”? What did that mean?
“I sense an attachment elsewhere,” Soren said briskly. “She’s in love and she’s holding on to it still. It closes her off to men, but it opens her up to Earth. To us. So we’ll have to be very considerate about her pairing.”
Glass’s hands flew to her chest. How could Soren know that?
“Anyhow, aside from our new friend, we’ll keep the ranks as they stand,” Soren said. There was a shuffle, like the others were rising from their seats. “We’ll finalize the pairings tomorrow so the first rites will be as fruitful as possible, if Earth wills it.”
“If Earth wills it,” they all repeated back. It sounded like there were four or five of them in there with her.
They hadn’t called for Glass yet. She probably wasn’t meant to have heard this, whatever this was. But even as her mind swam, her instincts kicked in. She scrambled out of her dress and back into her nightgown as quickly and quietly as she could, back under the covers, her eyes closing just as she heard the door swing open and Dara’s soft voice call out, “Glass? You’re needed.”
Glass rose slowly, feigning grogginess. “I’m sorry. How long have I…?”
Dara smiled sympathetically from the doorway. “You’ll get used to this. Take a few minutes. We’ll be out here when you’re ready.”
This time, Glass didn’t rush to get dressed. She was still straightening her hem as she emerged from the room, hoping she looked flushed from sleep instead of from panic.
“I’m sorry I didn’t wake up sooner,” she said, taking in the room. There were six of the gray women here, it turned out, all clustered around Soren, who sat by the crackling hearth on a thick woolen rug. “I’m ready now.”
Soren peered over her shoulder with a kind smile, and patted the empty spot on the rug beside her. “Come and sit.”
Glass obeyed, lowering herself into the tiny space next to Soren.
“Did you get some rest?” the High Protector asked pleasantly.
Glass forced a smile. “Yes, thank you.”
“I’m glad to hear it. There are some very exciting things in the works, events that I sincerely hope you’ll be a part of. We’re preparing for our next Pairing Ceremony—one of our most sacred rituals.”
For once, Glass didn’t have to feign an interested gleam in her eye. “What is it?”
“Well, first I need to tell you a little bit about our people’s history. May I tell you a story?”
Glass nodded, and Soren continued. “The early Protectors had taken refuge in shelters far to the west, where the mountains are tall and the wilderness much more brutal than even here.” Soren’s voice took on a melodic quality, as though she was reciting a story she’d told hundreds of times before. Glass felt drowsy and cozy hearing it, as if she were being tucked into a blanket with every word.
“They lived under the ground for a time, while Earth healed Herself, but there weren’t enough supplies to sustain them for long. They emerged too early.” Her tone darkened, her mouth pinched with sympathy. “The air was toxic, the water impure. They only remained on the surface for a few days before they realized how dire the situation was. They needed to return to the sheltering arms of Earth. But where and how? Just as they began to despair, Earth sent them a vision… a ray of light leading east. It was only a matter of hours before they found it.”
“Found what?” Glass asked eagerly.
“Earth’s gift,” Soren said, smiling. “The door to another shelter, its lock corroded by the very air that was making them ill. They opened it easily and found food, water, enough provisions for another fifty years.”
Glass debated asking, but found she couldn’t resist. “Were there people inside already?”
Soren nodded gravely. “There were. Some were amazed by the story the Protectors told of how they found their salvation. Those new friends were brought into the fold as faithful servants. Others were angry that the Protectors had stepped into their shelter. They wanted to drive them out, back to certain death. Those people… had to be subdued.”
Though this had happened generations ago, there was a little note of regret in Soren’s voice, as if she were the one who’d made that decision. She must have been feeling the weight of her role in telling this story—the heavy mantle the High Protectors had worn for so long.
“Once they joined with their new followers, the shelter found peace and equilibrium,” Soren went on, more cheerfully. “No divisions. No strife. And it’s been that way ever since… for the faithful. In the old world, society was broken down into component parts, arbitrary things, really. Us versus them. My color against your color. My family unit feuding with yours.” She waved her hand in the air, eyes glittering. “We’ve done away with all that. There are no families but our one family. As Protectors, we are mothers to all our people’s children. Now, every time the Earth shows us a new home, we perform the Pairing Ceremony and officially welcome our newest members into our family as Protectors.”
“I… I suppose I understand that,” Glass said, though she had a sinking feeling that Soren was still keeping something from her. Though she’d told Glass about the Protectors’ history, she somehow skirted around the issue about what exactly the Pairing Ceremony was.
Soren turned to the other women, who were raising their eyebrows as if impressed. “This is what I meant by aptitude, you see?” She pivoted again, squeezing Glass’s hands with her own. “Glass, I think you’re going to play a very important role in this community. I’m so glad we get the chance to officially welcome you at the Pairing Ceremony. You’ll like that, right?”
Glass nodded politely, though her mind had started whirring. Whatever Soren
was keeping from her still, Glass had a bad, bad feeling about it. She had to warn Octavia, Anna, and the others. They had to find Wells and tell them the time had come. She’d find a way out, no matter what it took.
CHAPTER 20
Wells
Wells lined up with his fellow captives in the early-morning light. While the Protectors walked up and down the line, he stood at attention, chin raised proudly, his mouth set in a tepid smile, just like the others.
Eric, Graham, and Kit were still playing along, of course. As were the other seven recruits from their camp. But for all Wells knew, the other dozen male recruits were true converts. They were Earthborns, though not from Max’s village, or part of the group that’d split off. It made his mind spin, thinking about how many other hidden communities there could be… people who’d found different ways to survive the Cataclysm. Once this was all over, he was going to learn about them all.
Oak stepped forward to address the gathering. There seemed to be only a loose hierarchy among the Protectors, but Wells had gotten the sense of a pecking order among them, with Oak near the very top.
“Today, we’re doing something different,” Oak boomed. “Some of you will be leaving the Stone to go do Earth’s will.”
Oak turned away, taking something from one of the other Protectors. In one quick blink, he was in front of Wells, holding out a rifle. There was a strange intensity in his eyes. Wells knew even before he took the gun from Oak that it was loaded.
At the first touch of cool metal, his heart started pounding so loud he swore everyone around him could hear it. He nodded sharply and stood with his gun across his chest, the way they’d trained him to, as Oak continued down the line, arming the other recruits for whatever today’s mission would be.
Oak stopped three men down, at Graham, pausing with a squint before handing the gun over. Graham gave a nod and Oak stomped away, pointing to the others, who hadn’t been given weapons, including Eric and Kit.
“The rest of you will remain with me for further target training. Wish your brothers luck today on their mission.”
As the others murmured, “Luck be with you, if Earth wills it,” Wells realized what was happening in slow, gradual bursts.
He was going out on a mission.
He was going out… leaving this compound.
He was holding a loaded rifle.
Wells turned and saw Graham realizing the same thing. A trickle of sweat rolled down Graham’s forehead, despite the chilly air.
Graham’s finger twitched against the rifle’s trigger, his eyes traveling to Wells’s and holding there, pleading. Wells shook his head—this morning wasn’t the moment, their friends weren’t even heading out with them—but before he could mouth, not today, another Protector with eerie blue eyes stepped up and began to give orders.
“I’ll be leading today’s expedition,” the Protector called, crossing his arms over his chest. “This will be very simple. In and out. We don’t anticipate any altercations today. We’ll be heading out to a farm site we’ve discovered near here to bolster our food stores for the winter. One hour by wagon, one hour there, one hour back. Any questions?”
A farm site. Wells still couldn’t get over the fact that there were other people here on Earth, not too far from his own camp. People with farms. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but the offer was out there, and he did have a question. A big one. He raised his hand.
The blue-eyed Protector nodded at him. “Yes?”
“How can you be sure there won’t be any altercations?” he asked.
“We can’t be sure of anything.” The Protector blinked. “But the farm is, as of now, unoccupied. There shouldn’t be anyone there to oppose us.”
How can they know that? Wells wondered, but he nodded once and kept that question to himself, as they shouldered their weapons and stepped into a new set of horse-drawn wagons. This time they sat on the Protectors’ benches instead of being tied up on the floor. They must have scouted this farm, Wells realized as he sat down, just like they spied on my camp before taking us.
But if that were the case, why wouldn’t the Protectors have just gone in and looted then? Something wasn’t adding up about this mission.
The wagons rolled down a dirt road carved out of the rubble-strewn landscape, and Wells looked out the high windows to try to get his bearings. The morning sun was behind him, so they must have been heading north.
Good, Wells thought, glancing anxiously at Graham. If they’d headed back west, instead of into brand-new territory, Graham might have been tempted to make a break for it. I might have been tempted myself.
But that would mean leaving Eric and Kit behind, along with Glass, Octavia, and the others. It would mean risking large-scale retaliation. It wouldn’t solve anything.
After what felt like far less than an hour, the wagon rolled into a low valley and creaked to a stop.
Wells could smell it the second he stepped out into the crisp autumn air: charred wood… and something worse. As he turned to face the clearing beyond the wagon, his throat clenched tight.
So this was why they’d called it a farm site, instead of a farm. It wasn’t just their odd Protector terminology, it was the truth. This was a place where a farm used to be. Now it was just a burned-out field. In the center, there was the smoldering wreckage of what was once a homestead.
Wells stared at the far side of the site, disgust pooling in his stomach. The dirt was overturned there, loose and choppy, forming a wide, messy hill. Wells didn’t need to ask what that mound covered. The answer was in the blood still staining the grass around him. It was a mass grave.
They knew no one was here because they’d made sure of it.
“We had to wait for the fire to go out to search further,” the Protector said from behind Wells, the man’s eerily soft voice making him jump. He pointed over Wells’s shoulder at the desiccated heap where the building once stood. “There’s a cellar in the center that should be well stocked. Take whatever the fire didn’t destroy and load it in the carts.”
Wells couldn’t quite get the words “yes, sir” out, but this Protector didn’t seem to require it. He had already turned away, directing the others toward the remnants of the farm.
Wells started to shake more and more visibly the closer he got to the building. He wondered whether this was the real test. Were the Protectors bringing them here as a reminder of what they’d done to the recruits’ homes? Was this what Wells’s own camp looked like now, completely obliterated, the people who had lived there now buried in a heap of dirt?
Graham strode up beside him, his jaw clenched. He glanced at Wells darkly. Wells couldn’t muster a nod, a head shake, anything.
They marched together, fists clenched tight around their guns, to the center of the farmhouse, stepping gingerly over crumbling foundations and blackened beams. The two Protectors overseeing them watched unblinkingly from the wagon.
One of the other recruits walked nervously into the building, then gave a shout as his leg fell through the weakened floor. Wells hurried silently over to pull him out, looking into the boy’s eyes as he hoisted him up and patted him on the shoulder. This recruit had been there when Wells had arrived, but Wells had no idea what his name was, where he came from, or how he felt about all this, except that he looked white-knuckle terrified right now.
“Thanks, man,” the boy whispered, gripping his gun with sweaty hands as Wells nodded and moved away.
“It’s here,” Graham called, pointing downward with his rifle.
Wells made his way over. There was a rusted metal grate in the floor, and when they heaved it open, it revealed a poured-cement stairwell, still intact.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Wells said under his breath and started down, leading the way.
In the dusty light spilling down from above, Wells could make out shelves stocked with unmarked tins. Nets hung from the ceiling, full of potatoes, turnips, and other root vegetables, and a briny smell from the far corner
probably meant there were cured meats and fish stocked here for the winter as well.
As Wells stepped closer to the shelves, ready to load up and get out of here as quickly as possible, his foot touched something soft. He leaned down to see what it was, but Graham was already beside him, stooping, pulling it up.
They both stood and stared at it in thick silence. It was a teddy bear, worn through in patches, its stitched mouth set in a deep frown.
A child had lived here.
Graham looked at Wells, eyes burning with rage. He dropped the teddy bear onto the ground. Then he turned and barreled back up the stairs, pulling his rifle off his shoulder and into position.
Wells felt the click of Graham’s safety like a snap in his own brain. He drew a scalding breath and raced after him.
“Graham, don’t!” he screamed, but it was too late.
Graham was sprinting out of the building, letting out a guttural wordless scream that echoed throughout the valley. A shot rang out, Graham’s course wavering a little from the kickback. Wells stared up at the two Protectors, ducking with their hands over their shaved heads, and reached for his own rifle, frantically wondering which direction to point it in. If Graham had hit one of them, he could get the other…
Graham fired again. It ricocheted off the side of the wagon, and Wells could see the spot his first bullet had hit. He’d missed both times. The Protectors were up and running, one of them zigzagging, luring Graham closer while the other looped around behind Graham, tackling him to the ground, disarming him effortlessly while shoving something into his back.
A sedative, Wells realized, his rifle dipping useless in his hands. Just like when they got us in the first place.
“Get him in the wagon,” the blue-eyed Protector called out to the other one, his voice as hollowed of emotion as ever. Then he turned his gun on Wells. “Drop your guns, all of you.”
Wells let go of his rifle, watched it plummet into the dirt and staggered backward, hands up high. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other two prisoners follow suit.
