by Kass Morgan
Wells inhaled sharply, then froze to keep his breath from disturbing the silence outside the study door.
“That’s why we’re emptying the detention center. Why not put the convicts to good use?”
“Even Confined children deserve a chance at life, Rhodes. That’s why they’re given a retrial on their eighteenth birthday.”
The Vice Chancellor scoffed. “You know none of them are going to be pardoned. We can’t afford to waste the resources. We’re running out of time as it is.”
What does he mean, running out of time? Wells wondered, but before he had a chance to think it through, his father broke in.
“Those reports are grossly exaggerated. We have enough oxygen for another few years at least.”
“And then what? You’ll order the entire Colony onto the dropships and just hope for the best?”
“We’ll send the Confined juveniles in the detention center, like you suggested. But not yet. Not until it’s our last resort. Unless the breach in sector C14 worsens, we’ve got a little time left still. The first prisoners will be sent in a year.”
“If that’s what you think is best.”
Wells heard the Vice Chancellor rise from his chair, and in a flash, he ran silently into his room and collapsed onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what h
e’d heard. The Colony was on its last breath. They had only a few years left up in space.
It all clicked into place, why everyone was being found guilty: There weren’t enough resources on the ship to support its population. It was a horrifying thought, but an even more terrible realization was making its way to the front of his brain. Clarke’s birthday was in six months. Wells knew he’d never convince his father to pardon her. Being sent to Earth would give her a second chance. But they weren’t going to start the mission for another year. Unless he did something, Clarke was going to die.
His only chance was to speed up the mission, to have the first group sent right away.
A terrifying plan began to take shape, and his chest tightened in fear as he realized what he would have to do. But Wells knew there was no other way. To save the girl he loved, he’d have to endanger the entire human race.
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CHAPTER 33
Bellamy
Bellamy slid down the trunk of the tree and sank to the ground, feeling as hollow as the burned-out shell of the dropship. He’d been searching for Octavia for hours, tearing through the forest and screaming her name until his throat was raw, but the woods had answered him with nothing but maddening silence.
“Hey.” A weary voice interrupted his thoughts. Bellamy turned to see Wells walking slowly toward him. Soot was smeared across his face, and the skin on his left forearm was badly scratched. “Any luck?”
Bellamy shook his head. “I’m so sorry.” Wells pressed his lips together and stared at a spot on the ground just beyond Bellamy for a long moment. “If it’s any consolation, I really don’t think she was here. We just searched the clearing pretty thoroughly. Everyone made it out in time except…” His voice trailed off.
“I know,” Bellamy said quietly. “I’m really sorry, man. I’m sure you did your best.”
Wells winced. “I don’t even know what that means anymore.” Bellamy looked at him in confusion, but before he had time to say anything, Wells gave him a small smile. “Octavia will turn up soon. Don’t worry.” Then he turned and trudged back into the clearing, where a few people were sifting through the ashes, looking for anything that had survived the blaze.
In the rosy dawn light, Bellamy could almost make himself believe that the horrors of the last few hours were nothing but a nightmare. The flames had long since died out, and while much of the grass had been burned away, the soil underfoot was damp. The fire hadn’t reached the trees, whose flowers stretched out to greet the light, blissfully unaware of—or unconcerned with—the tragedy below. But that was the thing about grief, Bellamy knew. You couldn’t expect anyone else to share your suffering. You had to carry your pain alone.
He heard a few of the kids arguing over what they thought had started the fire: whether the wind had carried a spark from their campfire to scorch the tents, or if someone had done something stupid.
But Bellamy didn’t give a shit what had caused it. All he cared about was Octavia. Had she gotten lost while running for safety, or had she left camp before the fire even started? And if so, why?
He rose shakily to his feet, holding on to the tree trunk for balance. He couldn’t stop to rest, not now, when every hour meant Octavia might be in danger. Now that it was light, he could search again. Farther this time. It didn’t matter how long it took. He wouldn’t stop moving until he found her.
As Bellamy moved deeper into the shade, he exhaled, relieved to be away from the insultingly bright sunlight. Relieved to be alone. But then his eyes landed on a figure winding its way toward him. He paused and squinted through the green-shadowed gloom. It was Clarke.
“Hey,” he asked hoarsely, his stomach twisting uneasily at the sight of her pale, drawn face. “Are you okay?”
“Thalia’s dead?” She said it more like a question, as though hoping he would assure her that it wasn’t true.
Bellamy nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.” She started to tremble, and he instinctively pulled her into his arms. For a long moment they just stood there, Bellamy holding Clarke’s shaking form tight against him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.
Finally, Clarke straightened up and stepped back with a sigh. Although tears were running down her face, the brightness had returned to her eyes, and a hint of color hat of cold snuck back into her cheeks. “Where’s your sister?” she asked, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
“She’s not here. I’ve been searching for hours, but it’s been too dark. I’m going out to look for her again.”
“Wait.” Clarke reached into her pocket. “I found this in the woods. Out past the stream, toward that giant rock formation.” She placed something in Bellamy’s hand. He inhaled audibly as his fingers closed around the familiar strip of satin. It was Octavia’s red ribbon.
“Was it tied to a tree?” he asked faintly, unsure what he hoped the answer would be.
“No.” Clarke’s dirt-streaked face softened. “I saw it on the ground. It must’ve fallen out of her hair at some point. She was wearing it last night, wasn’t she?”
“I think so,” Bellamy replied, his brain frantically racing for snippets of memory. “Yes. She had it when she went to sleep.”
“Okay,” Clarke said with sudden firmness. “So that means she left the camp before the fire started. Look,” she added, in answer to Bellamy’s questioning look, “there’s no ash on it. No sign that it was anywhere near the flames.”
“You may be right,” Bellamy said softly, rubbing the ribbon between his fingers. “I just don’t understand why she would have left before the fire started.” He glanced back up at Clarke. “Weren’t you outside the infirmary last night? Did you notice anything?”
Clarke shook her head, her expression suddenly unreadable. “I stepped away for a while,” she said, her voice tense. “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind,” Bellamy said. He slipped the ribbon into his pocket. “I never got to apologize. You were right about O all along. I’m sorry.” Clarke just nodded in acknowledgment. “Thanks for telling me about the ribbon. I’m
going out to look for her.”
He started to turn away, but Clarke reached out to lay a hand on his wrist. “I’ll come with you.”
“That’s nice of you, but I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. This isn’t like when we went out to find the medicine. It might be a while.”
“I’m coming with you,” she repeated. Her voice was firm, and there was a fire in her eyes that made him hesitate to contradict her.
“Are you sure?” Bellamy raised an eyebrow. “I doubt Wells will be happy to hear tha
t.”
“He’s not going to hear it from me. We’re done.”
Bellamy’s brain buzzed with questions that never made it to his lips. “Okay, then.” He took a step forward and gestured for her to follow. “But I should warn you… I’ll probably take off my shirt at some point.” He glanced over his shoulder and saw a smile flicker across her face, so small it might have been a trick of the light filtering through the heavy leaves.
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CHAPTER 34
Glass
The Colony was eerily quiet, even for one in the morning. Glass didn’t see anyone else as she dashed through the dark hallways, lit only by the dim glow of the blue emergency lights along the floor.
She’d slipped out after her mother had finally gone to bed, and now she tried to banish the image of her mothere waking up and finding Glass gone. The hurt and horror that would contort her delicate features, just as they’d done countless times over the past two years. Glass would never forgive herself for the pain she’d caused her mother, but she didn’t have a choice.
She had to get to Walden, and to Luke.
She paused on the landing to F deck, straining her ears for footsteps, but she heard nothing except the sound of her own ragged breath. Either the guards were on patrol in some other part of Phoenix, or they’d all been banished back to Walden and Arcadia, where they wouldn’t steal any more of the air that had been reserved for Phoenician lungs.
Glass darted down the unfamiliar corridor, straining her eyes for the telltale silver gleam of an air vent. Nearly at the bottom of the ship, F deck was mostly devoted to storage. The air vent she’d crawled through after she’d escaped the dropship had led to the F deck on Walden. She just hoped that the same applied on Phoenix. Slowing to a walk, she scanned the walls for an opening, feeling dread seep into her with each step. What if she’d been wrong about the layout? Or perhaps the vent had once connected Walden and Phoenix, but it had been filled long ago?
Then a glint of metal caught her eye, and the tension building in her chest was swept away by excitement and relief. She quickly rose onto her toes, reaching for the edge of the grate, but it was too high up. She let out a frustrated sigh and turned to survey the hallway. None of the doors were marked, but they didn’t seem to be protected by retina scanners. She grabbed the nearest handle and yanked. It groaned open, revealing a dark supply closet.
Glass’s eyes settled on a small barrel, which she rolled out into the hallway. She stepped on top, removed the grate, and pulled herself up into the shadowy space.
Glass thought briefly of her last crawl through an air shaft, how the metal walls had seemed to press in on her from all sides, and shivered, reaching for her back pocket. At least this time she’d brought a flashbeam. She directed the feeble beam of light forward, but there was nothing in sight except the air shaft, stretching endlessly ahead.
It would end eventually, Glass knew. She just hoped she wouldn’t run out of air before she got there. If she had to die, she wanted it to be in Luke’s arms.
The scene on Walden was different than she’d expected. The lights seemed to be functioning normally, and as she hurried toward Luke’s flat, Glass didn’t see any guards. For a moment, she felt a brief surge of hope. Perhaps her mother had been wrong. The panic on Phoenix was all a misunderstanding. But as she climbed the stairs, she felt a strange tightness in her chest that only got worse when she paused to catch her breath. Her eagerness to see Luke might account for her racing pulse, but Glass knew she couldn’t ignore the truth. Oxygen was already running low on Walden.
She forced herself to move slowly as she turned onto Luke’s floor, breathing careful, shallow breaths to keep her heart rate steady. The corridor was full of adults speaking in low voices, shooting worried looks at the children scampering up and down the hall, so excited to be out of bed at such a late hour that they hardly noticed their labored breaths. Glass wanted to tell the parents to keep the children calm and still to conserve oxygen, but that would only create more panic, and there was nothing they could do, anyway.
Glass had barely started to knock on Luke’s door before he’d efore hepulled her inside and into his arms. For a moment, all she was aware of was the warmth of his body and the weight of his embrace. But then he broke away, and she could see shock and concern warring with the joy in his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked, running his hand along her cheek as if needing more proof that she wasn’t an illusion. He glanced toward the closed door and lowered his voice before continuing. “It’s not safe.”
“I know,” Glass said quietly, slipping her hand into his.
“I don’t know how you even got here, but you need to go back,” Luke said, shaking his head. “You have a better chance of surviving on Phoenix.”
“I’m not going back without you.”
He led her over to the couch with a sigh and pulled her onto his lap. “Listen,” he said, as he wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger, “if the guards catch us sneaking onto Phoenix, they’ll shoot me, and then they’ll probably shoot you.” He closed his eyes, wincing. “This is what they’ve been training us for, Glass. It was never said overtly, but… we all had a sense something big was coming, and we’ve been drilled on what to do.” When he opened his eyes again, they were full of a cold fury she’d never seen in them. He must’ve noticed the worry on her face, because his expression softened. “But that’s not any of your concern. You’ll be fine. And that’s all I care about.”
“No,” Glass said, startled by her own vehemence. “I won’t be fine.” Luke frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Glass cut him off. “It’ll kill me, knowing you’re down here alone. It’ll kill me,” she repeated, suddenly frantic, gasping as she fought for air. “And if I have to die, I want it to be down here with you.”
“Shhh,” Luke murmured, running his hand down the back of her head. “Okay, okay.” He smiled sadly. “The worst thing we can do is run out of oxygen arguing.”
“Are you afraid?” Glass asked after a long moment of silence.
Luke turned back to her and shook his head. “No.” He placed his finger under her chin and tilted it up, so that she was looking straight into his eyes. “I’m never afraid when I’m with you.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly. She shivered, his breath making her skin tingle.
Glass pulled away with a smile. “Isn’t this a waste of oxygen?”
“Just the opposite,” Luke whispered, drawing her back. “We’re conserving it.” His mouth found hers again, and she parted her lips as his kiss grew deeper.
Glass ran her hand up his arm, smiling as he shivered. Without breaking away, she began to unbutton his shirt, telling herself that his unusually rapid heartbeat was a response to her touch. Her lips moved to his jaw, then trailed down his neck. She paused at his chest. There were numbers tattooed on his ribs. Two sets of dates that made Glass’s stomach churn.
“What’s wrong?” Luke asked, sitting up.
She lowered her finger toward the tattoo, then snatched it away, afraid to touch the ink. “What’s that?”
“Oh.” Luke frowned as he glanced down. “I thought I told you. I wanted something to honor Carter.” His voice grew distant. “It’s his birthday and the day he was executed.”
Glass barely managed to suppress a shudder as she looked back at the second set of numbers. Glass didn’t need a tattoo to remind herself of the day Carter had died. The date was bra date wanded as clearly in her mind as it was on Luke’s skin.
Glass groaned as she brought her knees up to her chest. The sheets on her cot were twisted and damp with sweat. She was desperate for a drink, but it’d be hours before they brought her dinner tray and her evening water allotment. She thought longingly of all the years she’d spent blissfully unaware that water was rationed elsewhere on the Colony.
There was a low beep, followed by footsteps. Glass winced as she lifted her throbbing head from the pillow and saw
a figure in the door. It wasn’t a guard. It was the Chancellor.
Glass drew herself into a seated position and pushed a strand of damp hair away from her face. She braced for a flare of fury as she locked eyes with the man who’d ordered her arrest, but through the haze of pain and exhaustion, she didn’t see the head of the Council. All she saw was the concerned face of her best friend’s father.
“Hello, Glass.” He gestured toward the other side of the cot. “May I?”
She nodded weakly.
The Chancellor sighed as he sat down. “I’m sorry about what happened.” He looked more haggard than she’d ever seen him, worse even than when his wife was dying. “I never wanted to see you get hurt.”
Without thinking, Glass brought her hand to her stomach. “I’m not the one who was hurt.”
The Chancellor closed his eyes for a moment while he rubbed his temples. He never showed frustration or fatigue in public, but Glass recognized the expression from the few times she’d seen him working in his study at home. “I hope you understand that I didn’t have a choice.” His voice grew firm. “I swore an oath to uphold the laws of this Colony. I don’t have the luxury of turning a blind eye just because the criminal in question happens to be my son’s best friend.”
“I understand that you need to believe that,” Glass said, her voice hollow.
His face hardened. “Are you ready to tell me the name of the father?”
“Why should I do that? So you can lock him up in here with me?”
“Because it’s the law.” The Chancellor rose to his feet and took a few steps toward her. “Because it’s not fair that the father not be punished equally. And because it won’t take my investigators long to go through the retina scanner records and figure out where you’ve been spending your time. We’re going to find him either way. But if you help us, you’ll have a much better chance of being pardoned at your retrial.”
