by Kass Morgan
Bodies.
At first she thought she’d only imagined it, that her mind was using the shadows to play tricks on her. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to be such a fool. But when she turned back, the shapes were the same.
Two skeletons were draped over one of the benches, and another, smaller one lay at their feet. Although there was no knowing whether the bones had been disturbed, from what she could tell, these people had died huddled together. Had they been trying to keep warm as the skies darkened and nuclear winter set in? How many people had been left at that point?
Clarke took another small step forward, but this time, the wood creaked dangerously. She froze and started to inch her way back. But a loud crack sang out through the silence, and wi
th a sudden lurch, the floor fell out from underneath her.
She waved her hands wildly, grabbing hold of the balconyedge as the railing and floor tumbled through the air. Her legs dangled over a vast, open space as the pieces landed with a thud on the stone far below.
She screamed, a loud, wordless cry that rose up toward the ceiling and then faded away, joining the ghosts of whatever other screams still lingered in the dust. Her fingers started to slide.
“Help!” Using every ounce of strength in her body, she tried to pull herself up, her arms shaking with the effort, but her grip was failing. She started to scream again, but there was no more air left in her lungs, and the word died on her lips before she realized it had been Wells’s name.
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CHAPTER 22
Wells
Wells broke into a sprint as Clarke’s scream ignited every nerve in his body. It had been difficult following Clarke through the woods, especially since he had to keep his distance—she would have been furious if she’d spotted him. But now he was flying over the grass and could barely feel his boots hitting the ground. He had just reached the stained-glass window when a second, louder scream filled the air.
“Clarke!” he yelled, sticking his head through the gap in the broken glass. It was dark inside the ruin, but there was no time to take out his flashbeam. Up ahead, he could just make out fingers clinging to a ledge. Wells ducked inside, landing with a thud on a wooden platform, and then slid forward on his stomach, reaching over the edge to wrap one hand around Clarke’s wrist while he grabbed on to the stone wall for leverage. “I’ve got you,” he said.
But he spoke too soon. One of her hands disappeared, and he was now supporting her entire weight. He could feel himself slipping toward the edge. “Clarke!” he screamed again. “Hold on!”
With a grunt, he managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, then pressed one foot against the wall. His hand was sweating, and he could feel himself losing his grip. “Wells,” she shrieked. Her voice echoed through the cavernous space, making it sound like there were a hundred Clarkes in peril.
He gritted his teeth and pulled, gasping with relief and exhaustion when Clarke’s other hand regained its hold. “You’re almost there. Come on.”
She placed her elbows on the wooden platform, and he reached over to grab her upper arm, heaving the rest of her body up over the ledge. They collapsed into a heap against the stone wall.
Clarke was sobbing as she struggled to catch her breath. “It’s okay,” Wells said, wrapping his arm around her. “You’re okay.” He waited for her to recoil from his touch, but instead, she buried herself in his arms. Wells tightened his hold.
“What are you doing here?” she asked from inside his embrace, her voice muffled. “I thought… I hoped…”
“I followed you—I was worried,” Wells spoke into her hair. “I could never let anything happen to you. No matter what.” He spoke without thinking, but as the words left his lien twe shrps he knew that they were true. Even if she kissed someone else—even if she wanted to be with someone else—he would always be there for her.
Clarke didn’t say anything, but she stayed in his arms.
Wells held her there, terrified to say anything else and end this moment too soon, his relief expanding into joy. Maybe he had a chance to win her back. Maybe, here in the ruins of the old world, they could start something new.
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CHAPTER 23
Bellamy
He’d start with letting the bastards starve. Then, maybe when they were all so weak with hunger that they had to crawl over to him and beg for forgiveness, then he’d consider going out to hunt. But they’d have to make do with a squirrel or something else small—no way was he killing another deer for them.
Bellamy had spent the night unable to sleep, watching the infirmary tent in order to make damn sure no one got anywhere near his sister. Now that it was morning, he’d resorted to pacing around the perimeter of the camp. He had too much energy to sit still.
Bellamy stepped over the tree line, feeling his body relax slightly as the shadows washed over him. Over the past few weeks, he’d discovered that he enjoyed the company of trees more than people. He shivered as a breeze swept across the back of his neck, and looked up. The patches of sky visible through the branches were beginning to turn gray, and the air suddenly felt different—almost damp. He lowered his head and kept walking. Perhaps Earth had had enough of their bullshit already and was initiating a second nuclear winter.
He turned and began drifting in the direction of the stream, where there were usually animal tracks to follow. But then a flash of movement in a tree a few meters away caught his attention, and he paused.
Something bright red was waving in the wind. It might’ve been a leaf, except there wasn’t anything else close to that shade nearby. Bellamy squinted, then took a few steps forward, feeling a strange prickle on the back of his neck. It was Octavia’s hair ribbon. It made absolutely no sense—she hadn’t been out in the woods for days—but he’d recognize it anywhere. There were some things you could never forget.
The halls were dark as Bellamy scurried up the stairs to their flat. It had been worth staying out after curfew, as long as he didn’t get caught. He’d broken through an old air shaft, too small for anyone but a child to crawl through, into an abandoned storage room he’d heard about on C deck. It was full of all kinds of treasures: a brimmed hat topped with a funny-looking bird; a box that said EIGHT MINUTE ABS on it, whatever that meant; and a red ribbon he’d found wrapped around the handle of a strange wheeled bag. Bellamy had traded his other discoveries in exchange for ration points, but he’d kept the ribbon, even though it would have fed them for a month. He wanted to give it to Octavia.
He pressed his thumb to the scanner and carefully opened the door, then froze. Someone was moving inside. His mother was normally asleep by now. He took a silent step forward, just enough to hear better, and felt himself relax as a familiar sound filled his ears. His mother was singing Octavia’s favorite lullaby, something she used to do all the time, sitting on the floor and singingn theht red was through the door of the closet until Octavia fell asleep. Bellamy sighed with relief. It didn’t sound like she was in the mood to scream at him, or worse, have one of her endless crying fits that made Bellamy want to hide in the closet with his sister.
Bellamy smiled as he crept into the main room and saw his mother kneeling on the floor. “Hush, little baby, don’t you cry, mama’s gonna buy you a star in the sky. And if that star can’t carry a tune, mama’s going buy you a piece of the moon.” Another sound drifted through the darkness, a faint wheeze. Was the ventilation system acting up again? He took a step forward. “And if the moon ever loses its shine, mama’s gonna buy you—”
Bellamy heard the sound again, although this time, it sounded more like a gasp.
“Mom?” He took another step. She was crouched over something on the floor. “Mom,” he bellowed, lunging forward.
His mother had her hands around Octavia’s neck, and even in the darkness, Bellamy could see that his sister’s face was blue. He knock
ed his mother to the side and scooped Octavia into his arms. For one heart-stopping second, he was sure she was dead, but then she twitched and started coughing. Bellamy exhaled, and his heart began thumping wildly.
“We were just playing a game,” his mother said faintly. “She couldn’t sleep. So we were playing a game.…”
Bellamy held Octavia close, making soothing noises, staring at the wall as a strange feeling came over him. He wasn’t sure what his mother had been doing, but he was sure she was going to try again.
Bellamy rose onto the balls of his feet and stretched his arm toward the ribbon. His fingers wrapped around the familiar satin, but as he tried to pull it down, he realized the ornament wasn’t just caught on the branch—it had been tied there.
Had someone found the ribbon and tied it to the tree for safekeeping? But why wouldn’t they just have brought it back to camp? He absentmindedly ran his hand down the branch, letting the rough bark dig into his skin as he traced a line from the branch down to the trunk. But then he froze. His fingers were hovering on the edge of a dip in the trunk, where a chunk of wood had been scooped out. There was something sticking out—a bird’s nest, maybe?
Bellamy grabbed on to the edge and pulled, watching in horror as the medicine he and Clarke had discovered came tumbling out. The pills, syringes, bottles—all of it was scattered in the grass by his feet. His brain raced for an explanation, anything to staunch the panic welling up in his chest.
He sank to the grass with a groan and closed his eyes.
It was true. Octavia had taken the medicine. She’d hidden it in the tree and used her hair ribbon as a marker so she could find it again. But he couldn’t think why she’d done it. Had she worried about what would happen if one of them had gotten sick? Maybe she’d been planning to take the supplies with them when they set out on their own.
But then Graham’s words rang in his ears. We can’t let anyone else die just because your little sister’s a drug addict.
The boy assigned to stand guard outside the infirmary tent had fallen asleep. He barely managed to scramble to his feet and mumble a quick “Hey, you can’t go in there” before Bellamy burst through the flap. He jerked his head around, confirming that it was empty except for Clarke’s sleeping sick friend, then strode over to where Octavia was sitting cross-legged on her cot, braiding her hair.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.
“What are you talking about?” Her voice was a mixture of boredom and irritation, as if he were pestering her about schoolwork like he always used to when checking up on her in the care center.
Bellamy threw the hair ribbon down on her cot, wincing as he saw horror rush to Octavia’s face. “I didn’t…,” she stammered. “It wasn’t…”
“Cut the bullshit, O,” he snapped. “Now you can finish braiding your goddamn hair while a girl is dying in front of you.”
Octavia’s eyes darted to Thalia, then shifted down. “I didn’t think she was really that sick,” she said softly. “Clarke had already given her medicine. By the time I realized she needed more, it was too late. I can’t confess now. You saw how they were. I didn’t know what they’d do to me.” When she looked up again, her deep-blue eyes were filled with tears. “Even you hate me now, and you’re my brother.”
Bellamy sighed and sat down next to his sister. “I don’t hate you.” He grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I just don’t understand. Why’d you do it? The truth this time, please.”
Octavia fell silent, and he could feel her skin growing clammy as she began to tremble. “O?” He released her hand.
“I needed them,” she said, her voice small. “I can’t sleep without them.” She paused and closed her eyes. “At first, it was just at night. I kept having these terrible dreams, so the nurse at the care center gave me medicine to help me sleep, but then it got worse. There were times when I couldn’t breathe, when it felt like the whole universe was closing in on me, crushing me. The nurse wouldn’t give me any more medicine, even when I asked, so I started stealing pills. It was the only thing that made me feel better.”
Bellamy stared at her. “That’s what you were caught stealing?” he asked slowly, the realization overtaking him. “Not food for the younger kids in the care center. Pills.”
Octavia didn’t say anything, just nodded, her eyes full of tears.
“O,” Bellamy sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I know how much you worry about me.” She took a deep breath. “I know how you want to protect me all the time. I didn’t want you to feel like you’d failed.”
Bellamy felt pain radiating out from a spot behind his heart. He didn’t know which hurt more: that his sister was a drug addict, or that she hadn’t told him the truth because he’d been so blinded by his insane need to watch over her. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “So what do we do now?” he asked. For the first time in his life, he had no idea how to help his sister. “What will happen when we give the medicine back?”
“I’ll be okay. I just need to learn how to live without them. It’s already easier here.” She reached out and took his hand, giving him a strange, almost pleading look. “Do you wish you hadn’t come here for me?”
“No,” Bellamy said firmly, shaking his head. “I ju hefull ofst need some time to process everything.” He rose to his feet, then looked back at his sister. “But you need to make sure Clarke gets the medicine. You have to be the one to tell her. I’m serious, O.”
“I know.” She nodded, then turned to look at Thalia and seemed to deflate a little. “I’ll do it tonight.”
“Okay.” Sighing, Bellamy strode out of the tent and into the clearing. When he reached the tree line, he took a deep breath, allowing the damp air to seep through his lungs into his aching chest. He tilted his head back to let the wind wash over his flushed skin. Now that the sky was unobstructed by trees, it looked even darker, almost black. Suddenly, a line of jagged light flashed across the sky, followed by a violent, resounding crack that made the earth shudder. Bellamy jumped, and screams filled the clearing. But they were quickly drowned out by another deafening boom, this one louder than the first, like the sky was about to tumble to Earth.
Then something did start to fall.
Drops of liquid were cascading down his skin, dripping off his hair, and quickly seeping into his clothes. Rain, Bellamy realized, real rain. He tilted his face up toward the sky, and for a moment, his wonder drowned out all the rest—his anger at Graham and Wells and Clarke, his concern for his sister, the screams of the idiot kids who didn’t know that rain was harmless. He closed his eyes, letting the water wash away the dirt and sweat caked on his face. For a second, he let himself imagine that the rain could wash everything away: the blood, the tears, the fact that he and Octavia had failed each other. They could have a clean start, try again.
Bellamy opened his eyes. He was being ridiculous, he knew. The rain was only water, and there was no such thing as a clean start. That was the thing about secrets—you had to carry them with you forever, no matter what the cost.
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CHAPTER 24
Glass
As she walked across the skybridge, the terrible realization that her mother was right hung like a weight on Glass’s heart. She couldn’t risk a single misstep—not for her sake, but for Luke’s. What if the Chancellor woke up and revoked her pardon, and then Luke did something stupid and admitted the truth about the pregnancy? It was like history was repeating itself, and yet she knew she’d always make the same choice. She would always choose to protect the boy she loved.
She’d been avoiding Luke for several days, though he’d been summoned for so many emergency shifts lately that she wasn’t sure he’d even noticed. She’d finally arranged to meet at his flat this evening, and the thought of him greeting her with a smile made her chest ache. At least this time, there’d be no tricks, no lies. She’d simply tell him the
truth, no matter how difficult. Maybe he’d seek comfort in Camille again, and then things would truly come full circle. The thought came with a knife-sharp pang, but Glass ignored it and kept walking.
As she approached the far end of the skybridge, her eyes landed on a small group gathered near the checkpoint. A few guards stood speaking in a tight circle, while a number of civilians whispered and pointed at something through the long, star-filled window that bordered the walkway. Glass suddenly recognized a few of the guards—they were Luke’s team, members of the elite guard’s engineering corps. The woman with graying hair who was moving her fingers rapidly through the air, manipulating a holo-diagr gmoving ham in front of her face, was Bekah. Next to her was Ali, a boy with dark skin and bright-green eyes fixed intently on the image Bekah was creating.
“Glass!” Ali exclaimed warmly, looking up as she approached. He jogged forward a few steps and clasped her hands in his. “It’s great to see you. How are you?”
“I’m… good,” she stammered, confused. How much did they know? Were they greeting her as Luke’s ex, the snotty Phoenix girl who’d broken his heart, or as Luke’s escaped-convict girlfriend? Either way, Ali was being much kinder than she deserved.
Bekah shot Glass a quick smile and then returned to her diagrams, frowning as she rotated a complicated-looking three-dimensional blueprint. “Where’s Luke?” Glass asked as she glanced from side to side. If they were still on duty, he wouldn’t be home yet either.
