by Kass Morgan
Lilly hugged the heavy book to her chest. It was bound in green cloth—the color that always looked so striking against Lilly’s dark red hair. “No way,” she said. “I’ve been looking for this one for years. I need to know whether she ends up with the boy who called her ‘Carrots.’ ”
“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll go find a blond. Redheads are nothing but trouble.” Bellamy grinned and reached for the book. “Give it to me. That thing is half your weight… Carrots.”
She shoved it at him with a smile. “It’s about time. I didn’t bring you so you could stand around looking pretty.”
He grinned, but before he could respond, a shout rang out from around the corner. “They went this way!”
Bellamy and Lilly broke into a sprint.
“There they are, up ahead!”
“Oh my god,” Lilly panted. “They’re going to catch us.”
“No, they’re not.” Bellamy tightened his grip on Lilly’s hand and sped up, pulling her along with him.
They careened around another corner, and then darted into an alcove behind the stairwell. Bellamy dropped the book and wrapped his arms around the trembling Lilly, pressing them both against the wall, praying to whoever was listening that the guards wouldn’t look their way. Lilly shut her eyes as the footsteps grew louder, and the guards’ shouts more urgent.
But then the sounds faded. The guards had run right past them.
Bellamy remained silent for another minute to be safe, then exhaled loudly. “It’s okay,” he murmured, stroking Lilly’s wavy red hair. “We’re going to be okay.”
“I can’t be Confined,” she said hollowly, still shaking.
“You won’t be.” Bellamy tightened his hold. “I won’t let them.”
“I’d rather die than be a prisoner.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Bellamy chided with a smile. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”
She’d turned to him, her eyes full of tears, and nodded. He bent his head down to kiss her flushed forehead and said it again. “I promise.”
He turned to face Clarke. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, fiddling with the watch.
“She made you promise, didn’t she?” Bellamy said.
Clarke looked up, startled to hear him speak. But then understanding dawned on her face, and she nodded slowly.
“She made you promise that you’d… end her suffering.”
“Yes.” Clarke took a deep breath, then continued. “She couldn’t take it anymore. She hated the pain, but more than that she hated not being in control of her life. She didn’t want to be a prisoner in the lab.” The note of pain in Clarke’s voice was the same that rang in his heart.
Clarke wasn’t lying, he realized. The Lilly he knew was strong, but begging Clarke for mercy was, in its own way, an act of strength. The Lilly he knew would have rather died than become a sick, helpless test subject.
And Bellamy had never even stopped to consider how terrible that must have been for Clarke, having a friend ask her for something like that. He would never forgive the Vice Chancellor, or any of the people responsible for the horrific experiments that’d taken Lilly’s life, but he knew now that it wasn’t Clarke’s fault. She’d loved Lilly as much as he had. She’d loved her enough to do the terrible, painful thing her friend had asked for.
Bellamy walked over and sat down next to Clarke. “I’m sorry I said those things to you,” he said, looking into the fire.
Clarke shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said. “I deserved most of it.”
“No. You didn’t deserve any of it.” He sighed as Clarke reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his. “And I certainly don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“Bellamy,” she said, and her tone made him look up. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of.” Her brow furrowed, and Bellamy wondered if she was thinking of Wells.
“I know, but—”
“I’m going to need you to shut up now,” she said, and kissed him.
Bellamy closed his eyes, letting his lips say everything he was too stupid or stubborn to put into words.
He pulled gently on her lower lip. I’m sorry.
He moved his mouth to the soft spot under her jaw. I was an idiot.
He kissed the hollow of her neck. I want you.
Her breathing was growing heavy, and every time his lips brushed against a new patch of skin, she shivered.
He lowered his mouth to her ear. I love you.
It wasn’t enough. He wanted her to hear him say it. He wanted to hear himself say it. Bellamy drew back and took Clarke’s face in his hands. “I love you,” he whispered, staring into eyes that were aglow with firelight, and something else.
“I love you too.”
Bellamy kissed her again, a little harder this time, repeating his proclamation every time his lips pressed against a new sliver of skin. With the fire crackling beside them, he placed his hand behind her head, and lowered her to the ground.
CHAPTER 23
Clarke
Clarke shifted her head on Bellamy’s chest, wondering how it was possible to feel so comfortable while lying on the ground in the middle of the night. She’d normally be shivering under the thin blanket, but the warmth that spread through her the moment Bellamy had taken her in his arms hadn’t dissipated.
Bellamy’s eyes were closed, but every few minutes, he would tighten his hold, or kiss her cheek, or run his fingers through her hair. The fire had gone out, and the only light came from the smattering of stars peeking out from the canopy of leaves.
Clarke shifted onto her other side so her back was against Bellamy’s chest. He responded by tightening his hold and drawing her closer, but this time, it seemed more like a reflex. From his steady, rhythmic breathing, she could tell he was asleep.
A faint flicker of light winked at her from the darkness. Maybe the fire hadn’t gone out? But this light seemed to be coming from a few hundred meters away, near the rock formation that stuck out of the hill.
Her heart pounding, Clarke twisted back to face Bellamy. “Hey,” she whispered in his ear, “wake up.” When that didn’t work, she gently shook his shoulder. “Bellamy.” His head fell to the side, and he let out a loud snore. “Bellamy!” She sat up suddenly, freeing herself from his grasp.
Bellamy’s eyes flew open. “What?” he asked, blinking sleepily. “What’s going on?” When he saw her expression, concern swept away the drowsiness, and he sat up. “Are you okay?”
Clarke pointed toward the light. “What do you think that is?”
In the darkness, she could see Bellamy’s eyes narrow. “I have no idea.” He reached for his bow, which he’d laid on the ground next to him before they went to sleep, and rose to his feet. “But let’s go find out.”
Clarke grabbed his hand. “Hold on, we should come up with a plan.”
Bellamy grinned at her. “A plan? Our plan is to see what it is. Come on.”
They slipped through the trees toward the light, which grew brighter as they approached. It was electric, Clarke realized—it cast a perfect circular glow, bathing the nearby trees and rocks in a warm yellow light.
“Clarke,” Bellamy said, his voice tight with worry. He pulled her to a stop. “I’m not sure about this. Maybe we should wait until morning.”
“No way.” Now that they were so close, she couldn’t bear not to find out what it was. She tightened her grasp and stepped forward.
The light source was warm and most certainly metallic. Clarke stood on her tiptoes to reach it, and realized that it was a lightbulb encased in some sort of cage—there were bars on the front, as if the light were a creature that might escape.
“What the hell?” she heard Bellamy whisper next to her. “That couldn’t have been burning since the Exodus, could it?”
Clarke shook her head. “No way. It would’ve burned out a long, long time ago.” She took a step back and gasped.
“What?” Bellamy said
, startled. “What is it?”
The formation wasn’t just a pile of rocks. There were steps carved into the ground, leading down the side of the hill. Clarke didn’t hesitate. She moved toward them.
In the yellowish light, she could see Bellamy stiffen. “No way, Clarke. You’re not going anywhere until we have at least some idea what the hell this is.”
She squinted at something on the step that she’d mistaken for a shadow, and bent down for a closer look. It was a metal plaque with writing on it, although it was old and faded. She squinted. “Mount Weather,” she read aloud.
“What does that mean?” Bellamy asked.
A memory jolted through her, and she jumped to her feet with a start. “I know where we are!” she exclaimed. “They told me about this!”
“Who?” Bellamy’s voice had grown impatient. “Who told you about this, Clarke?”
“My parents,” she said softly.
Bellamy stared, wide-eyed, as Clarke told him what she remembered about Mount Weather, how it was supposed to be a shelter for the U.S. government in times of crisis. “But my parents said that no one got there in time.”
“Well, maybe they did,” Bellamy said. “Could they have survived the Cataclysm here? By going underground?”
Clarke nodded. “And I have a feeling they never left. I think this is where the Earthborns live.”
Bellamy looked at the stairs, then back to Clarke. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked when she didn’t move. “Let’s go talk to them.”
Clarke grabbed his hand, and together, they started down the staircase into the darkness.
CHAPTER 24
Wells
Wells shifted against the tree trunk, wincing as his exhausted muscles cramped in protest. It was dawn, but he hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Eventually he’d given up and volunteered for lookout duty, which the bleary-eyed Arcadian on guard had gratefully accepted.
His eyes drifted toward the grave site, where a new mound of dirt rose up from the grass like a scar. Wells had spent much of the night sitting by Priya’s grave, which he’d draped with flowers, although he hadn’t managed to do it as artfully as she or Molly had. But at least, he thought with relief, Molly’s fever had finally broken. Clarke had asked Sasha to convey what they’d discovered about the wintershade before she left, and the only bright spot in Wells’s day was telling everyone in the infirmary cabin that they’d make full recoveries as soon as the wintershade left their systems.
He glanced again at the crude tombstone, which was marked with nothing more than PRIYA. He didn’t even know her last name, or why she’d been Confined, or whether she’d ever been in love. Would her parents ever find out that she’d died? If the bracelets were still functioning, then there was a chance they’d been told already. If not, then Wells would have to wait until they arrived on Earth. He imagined a woman who looked like Priya stepping off the dropship, looking around with large brown eyes as she searched for the daughter who’d been taken from her, and while the other parents embraced their children, Wells would have to lead Priya’s mother to her grave.
A twig snapped, and Wells jumped to attention, searching the woods for signs of movement, but it was just an errant squirrel. Though he’d never admit it, he’d been hoping it was Sasha.
He knew he was being an idiot. She wasn’t going to magically reappear just because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And he’d done the right thing, letting her go home. He just wished he’d thought to ask where her people lived, or if she would ever come back. What if he never saw her again?
Another thought nagged at the back of his mind, refusing to be dismissed. What if Sasha hadn’t really meant anything she said? What if their kiss was just part of her escape plan?
Shouts rose up from the clearing, yanking him from his stupor. They weren’t the usual early morning “get your hands off my breakfast” shouts, or the “if you try to get out of water duty I’m going to kill you” shouts. Wells rose to his feet and headed over. He had a feeling he knew what this was about.
A group was clustered around the infirmary cabin, and as Wells approached, two dozen faces turned to look at him. Most appeared to be confused, but a few blazed with anger.
“She’s gone,” Graham spat, striding toward Wells.
For a brief moment, Wells considered playing dumb, pretending that Sasha had somehow escaped. But he knew what his father would have said to that. A true leader owns up to his mistakes, rather than blaming others. Not that Wells thought releasing Sasha was a mistake.
“You said you were going to bring her back, and then you let her go.” Graham looked around the group to make sure his words had prompted the proper amount of resentment.
“What were you thinking, Wells?” Antonio asked, his eyes widening in disbelief. “She was the only leverage we had over the Earthborns. They already killed Asher and Priya. What’s to stop them from wiping out the rest of us?”
“We don’t even know where Sasha’s people are, let alone if they realized that we had her. Besides, they weren’t the ones who killed Asher and Priya,” Wells protested. “It was the other faction of Earthborns. The violent ones.”
“That’s what she told you,” a girl chimed in. Wells turned and saw Kendall looking at him with a mixture of sorrow and pity. “But we didn’t ever have proof, did we?” The expression on her face made it clear she thought Wells had been played.
“Just admit it!” Graham snarled. “You let her go, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Wells said, his voice calm. “I did. It was the right thing to do. She didn’t know anything about Octavia, and we weren’t gaining anything by keeping her here. We can’t just lock people up without a reason.”
“Are you serious?” Antonio stared at Wells incredulously. His normally cheery face was twisted with rage as he gestured dramatically toward the crowd. “Your father locked us all up for hardly any reason at all.”
“So what, then?” Wells asked, raising his voice in frustration. “We’re going to keep making the same mistakes? We have the chance to do something different. Something better.”
Graham snorted. “Cut the crap, Wells. We all know the only thing you’re ‘doing’ is some mutant Earthborn slut.”
The fury that Wells had been trying to contain ignited in his chest, and he lunged wildly at Graham, throwing his fists up. But before he could wipe the smug smile off that asshole’s face, Eric and another Arcadian boy wrenched Wells’s arms behind him. “Let it go, Wells!” Eric shouted.
“See?” Graham turned around to face the others, clearly delighted. “You see? I think he’s made it pretty damn clear where his loyalty lies.”
It wasn’t Graham’s words that hurt; it was the look on everyone’s faces. Most were staring at Wells like they believed Graham, and were disgusted with Wells.
Kendall’s lip was trembling. Eric’s face was red with frustration. Antonio was glaring. Wells glanced around for Clarke, before remembering that she was gone. He’d done the right thing. Why couldn’t everyone see that?
But maybe it wasn’t the right thing, a small voice in his head countered. After all, Wells knew that even the greatest leaders make mistakes.
As the Colonel moved past Wells’s unit, Wells exhaled and undid the top button of his jacket. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that the uniforms he’d admired so much as a child were pretty ridiculous in practice. Just because soldiers on Earth had dressed like this shouldn’t mean they had to do the same in space.
“Whoa, check it out. Jaha’s going rogue,” one of his fellow cadets jeered. “Don’t you know what happens to officers who violate the dress code?”
Wells ignored him. While the other cadets always seemed energized by the training exercises on Walden, they left Wells exhausted. Not the physical component—he liked running laps on the gravity track, and sparring during combat drills. It was the rest of it that left him vaguely nauseous: conducting practice raids on residential units, stopping random shoppers at the Exc
hange for questioning. Why did they have to assume that everyone on this ship was a criminal?
“Attention!” the Colonel bellowed up ahead.
Automatically, Wells threw his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and pivoted into position as the cadets formed a straight line down the corridor.
“At ease, Colonel,” the Chancellor’s voice called out. “I’m not here to inspect the cadets.” Wells’s eyes were trained straight ahead, but he could feel the weight of his father’s gaze. “Which is a lucky thing, given some of their appearances.” Wells bristled, knowing exactly whom his father was referring to.
“Sir.” The Colonel lowered his voice. “Who’s in your security detail today?”
“I’m here on unofficial business, so I came alone.” Wells risked a glance and saw that the Chancellor was indeed alone, a rare sight for a high-ranking official coming across to Walden. The other Council members refused to cross the skybridge without at least two guards at their side.
“Can I send a few of the cadets with you, at least?” he said, lowering his voice. “There was another incident on Arcadia this morning and I think it’d—”
“Thank you, but I’m fine,” his father said in a tone that made it clear the discussion was over. “Good afternoon, Colonel.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
When the Chancellor’s footsteps disappeared around the corner, the Colonel dismissed them and ordered them back to Phoenix, double time. The cadets broke into a brisk jog. Wells hung back, pretending to tie the lace on his boot. When he was sure no one was looking, he peeled off and headed down the corridor after his father.
His father was hiding something, and Wells was going to figure out what it was. Today.
Wells slowed to a walk when he caught sight of the Chancellor turning a corner up ahead—and saw something he hadn’t expected.
His father was standing in front of the Remembrance Wall, a stretch of hallway in the oldest part of Walden that, over the centuries, had become a memorial for everyone who’d died on the Colony. The oldest names were in larger handwriting, carved with knives into the wall by the loved ones left behind. But as time went on and space on the wall grew scarcer, names were carved over by newer and newer names, until the wall was so crowded that most names were almost illegible.
