Just look at me.
Several shots rang out across the clearing, abrupt and loud. Bellamy realized a few things all at once: He wasn’t in any pain, he hadn’t felt a blow, and the sound had come from behind them, not in front of them. It wasn’t Rhodes’s men who had fired—someone was firing on them.
Then he saw them—a swarming band of aggressive Earthborns fanning out through the camp, swinging clubs and raising guns to fire at the Colonists. The entire place had erupted into chaos. No one was watching him anymore. Except for the high-tech bands around his wrists, he was free to run. Bellamy looked around frantically, hoping for a break. He found it: Rhodes’s right-hand man, Burnett, lay dead nearby. Bellamy wasn’t one to waste an opportunity—plus there was nothing he could do to help the guy. He dropped to his knees and turned his back to the body, blindly fumbling in Burnett’s pocket.
“Clarke, Wells—keys!” he yelled. They raced over. Wells and Clarke stood back-to-back and Bellamy unlocked her restraints. After he and Wells were freed as well, they bolted toward the supply cabin, where they knew they could find weapons.
Once they had armed themselves as best they could—Bellamy with a bow and arrow, Wells with an ax, and Clarke with a spear—they headed into the fray, moving in a circle with their backs to each other. It was a brutal, dirty battle. All around them, the hundred and the Colonists fought side by side. Barely taking the time to breathe, Bellamy aimed and shot, again and again. He was grimly satisfied to see his arrows finding their marks as a few Earthborns screamed and collapsed to the ground at the edges of the clearing. Bellamy’s arms began to burn from exertion, but he was driven by a desperate, almost primal energy.
“You good?” he shouted to Wells over the din.
“Good,” Wells grunted as he clubbed an Earthborn over the head with a sickening crack. “You?”
Before Bellamy could respond, an Earthborn with maniacal eyes lurched at him. The man let out a cackling yelp as he swung an ax high in the air, aimed right at Bellamy’s head. Bellamy sidestepped just as the blade came down. He felt a breeze as it whisked by his cheek. The Earthborn growled in frustration. Flush with renewed energy, Bellamy dropped into a low, defensive crouch, bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready for round two. His opponent raised the ax again and took a few staggering steps forward. Nostrils flaring and adrenaline coursing through him, Bellamy forced himself to stand still and let the man approach. Wait, he told himself. Just wait. When the Earthborn was close enough that Bellamy could smell the sweat on him and the ax had just begun its descent toward Bellamy’s head again, Bellamy dropped to the ground and rolled out of range. The Earthborn screamed in rage.
Bellamy waited again, letting his enemy tire himself out. As the man got close, Bellamy squatted down low, pulled one knee into his chest, and, with all his strength, kicked the Earthborn square on the side of his kneecap. The man’s leg splintered under him, and he dropped to the ground like he’d been shot.
Suddenly what felt like a thousand-pound weight landed on Bellamy’s shoulders, almost knocking him to the ground. He stumbled and righted himself as forceful hands closed around his neck. Frantic, he gasped for air but got none. Bellamy reached behind him to pull off his new attacker. He got a handful of hair, and he pulled it with all his strength, ripping some of it out at the roots. The man’s grip loosened just enough. His heart pounding and his chest hurting from lack of oxygen, Bellamy seized his chance: He bent forward, doubling over and flipping the Earthborn over his head and onto the ground. The man slammed into the dirt with a thud. Bellamy took a step backward, reached for his bow, and lined up an arrow, all in one smooth motion. Just as the man staggered to his feet, a nasty gleam in his eye, Bellamy let the arrow fly into his chest.
Bellamy didn’t stick around to watch the outcome. He turned back to see if Clarke and Wells were okay. In the heat of the moment, they had somehow all gotten separated. As he turned to look, someone slammed into his shoulder, and he lurched sideways. Struggling to regain his balance, Bellamy stepped backward, and his foot landed on something solid but soft. It was a person. He spun around and pointed a tightly strung arrow at the ground.
It was Vice Chancellor Rhodes.
Rhodes was alive and conscious but badly injured; there was blood coming from somewhere on his head, and his face and shirt were drenched in red. He was doubled over in pain, gagging and coughing. He couldn’t speak, but he looked up and locked eyes with Bellamy. There was a pathetic, pleading look in them. The man led like a coward, and he lost like a coward too.
Bellamy’s whole body relaxed. With the toe of one boot, he pushed the Vice Chancellor’s shoulder back so he was lying flat on the ground. Bellamy placed his foot firmly in the center of Rhodes’s chest, pinning him down. It felt good to see him trapped like the rodent he was.
Bellamy had a choice to make: He could either finish him off with one swift arrow to the heart, or he could let the bastard rot right here on the battlefield. His injuries looked bad enough to kill him. No one would argue that Rhodes deserved a better end. A powerful, satisfied feeling coursed through Bellamy, but something else awoke in him too. It wasn’t an emotion he was used to, but he recognized it right away: It was pity. Bellamy studied Rhodes’s dirty and bloodied face. His hands were clasped together, begging. Conflicting emotions surged through Bellamy—his desire for vengeance, and the deep-seated knowledge that he didn’t want to watch anyone die again. His brain was already full of memories he’d never be able to shake. Rhodes didn’t deserve a place among them.
Bellamy sighed and dropped his arms to his sides, letting the arrow fall away from the bow. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fire the shot, and he couldn’t turn his back on a broken man, leaving him to die here. He sure as hell hoped he wasn’t going to regret this later. Bellamy bent down and extended one hand. Rhodes just stared at it, unsure if Bellamy was toying with him.
“Let’s go before I change my mind,” Bellamy growled.
Rhodes reached up with a shaky hand, and Bellamy bent down and hauled him up, half carrying him back down into camp.
CHAPTER 27
Wells
Wells lost track of Bellamy in the chaos. He had no idea how many Earthborns he had fended off. His hands were blistered and raw from gripping and swinging the ax, and his muscles ached with fatigue. Wells found himself standing momentarily alone with no one charging or grabbing him—a respite in the sea of struggle. All around him, people fought for their lives, while others lay on the ground, wounded or dead. Wells couldn’t tell who had the upper hand, the Earthborns or his comrades, but he feared it was the enemy. The Colonists and the hundred looked like they were getting beaten, badly. He needed to get a better vantage point.
No one seemed to notice as he slipped away from the scrum, leaping over bodies and rubble, and headed for the edge of the clearing. He moved a few meters into the woods and circled toward the side of the camp, where he knew he could be less visible and get a higher sight line. He could still hear the cries and moans of injured people as he ran through the thick foliage.
Wells emerged from the forest near the prison cabin. He quickly scaled the side and perched atop the building, scanning the battleground. He was shocked by what he saw. From the middle of the fight, it felt like total mayhem, but the Earthborns had clearly been strategic about their attack. They had destroyed nearly every vital element of the camp: several of their food stores, all the extra ammunition. Yet the dormitories, dining hall, and prison were intact. There was no way they could have just guessed which buildings’ destruction would cripple the Colonists the most. They had to have known the purpose of each.
Wells struggled to figure out how. Spying, maybe, but the Colonists had routinely swept the woods around camp and hadn’t caught anyone yet. Just then, a small group of Earthborns stormed through the center of camp, their stolen guns raised high. Wells gasped in shock and horror when he saw who led them: Kendall.
She was no longer wearing the clothes of a Colonist, and i
n a sick flash, Wells had all his worst suspicions confirmed. Kendall was an Earthborn.
Everything made sense. Her forced Phoenician accent, the way her stories never quite added up, her insistence on following Wells around. She’d been spying on them all along.
Wells could have kicked himself for not acting on his hunch. He had known in his gut that something was wrong, but he hadn’t done anything about it. He had backed down when Rhodes told him to. And that’s what she had relied on. Kendall had known that the arrival of more dropships, more people—grown-ups—would weaken the Colonists’ community, not strengthen it. That’s what she had taken advantage of.
He was completely useless as a leader. What had he been thinking, pretending like he had what it took to inspire, to keep the others safe? No matter what he did or where he went, people suffered.
Wells heard a scrabbling sound in the cabin beneath him. The Earthborns had invaded the prison, and he was the only Colonist on this side of camp. He hefted his ax over his shoulder and prepared to face them. He might not be the leader his people deserved, but he could still kill a few Earthborns for them.
He would wait until they came outside, then attack from above. He squatted down and tried not to move, for fear of making any sound.
Two small figures scurried out of the cabin into the shadows below him, a small boy and girl. Wells recognized the boy—it was Leo, one of the kids Octavia had been caring for. What was he doing on his own? Why hadn’t Rhodes assigned anyone to look after the parentless children after dragging Octavia away to witness her brother’s execution?
They were both trembling, tears running down their cheeks. “Hey,” Wells whispered loudly. Their heads shot up to look at him, and the boy let out a scared squeal. “It’s okay—it’s just me. Watch out. I’m coming down.”
Wells hopped onto the ground next to them. “Are you over here alone?” Wells asked. The girl shook her head. Wells turned; six more older kids emerged from the cabin, including Molly and the other younger members of the hundred. Their faces were dirty and bloodied; their shoulders slumped with fear and exhaustion. They stood silently, expectantly, watching him. Another handful of them began to step quietly out of the trees behind the cabin, where they had been hiding, and then another followed, until almost all the members of the original hundred stood before him.
Wells looked at each of their faces, these teenagers who up until a few weeks ago had just been normal young people locked up for some trumped up infraction.
They had been taken from their families, thrown in a cell, and, for all they could tell, forgotten. Now they were on a planet far from anyone they once knew and loved—people who were all dead by now. All they had was each other.
Rhodes didn’t understand what it meant to be a community. He’d never be able to appreciate what the hundred had created during their short time on Earth, the foundations they’d laid for a better future. They weren’t perfect—Wells knew that better than anyone—but they had what it took to turn the planet into a real home. Maybe now wasn’t the time for him to stop trying. Maybe now was the time to accept the mistakes he made and move forward, learning from them. He’d never make up for what he did on the Colony, or the pain he’d caused Max and Sasha, but that didn’t mean he had to give up.
Slowly a plan formed in Wells’s mind. All the time spent talking through tactics with Max at Mount Weather had brought back everything he’d learned in his strategy classes. Their plan at Mount Weather had been a good one—to surprise the enemy from behind and take advantage of the attackers’ position. There had just been extenuating circumstances—Rhodes had had the upper hand, with hostages back at camp. Well, not this time. Wells knew what they had to do. He just couldn’t do it alone.
A renewed fire coursed through Wells. After all the hundred had faced, after all they had worked for, he wasn’t going to let Kendall and her vicious accomplices take them down. No way.
“Listen up!” he yelled. Dozens of eyes locked on him, filled with a desperate longing for direction. “I know you’re tired, and I know you’re scared,” he began. “I know there are more of them than there are of us. They have more weapons. But we have each other—and we aren’t going to let them win.”
Bellamy appeared at the back of the crowd. He looked wiped out, but Wells was glad to see that he was all right. They nodded at each other, and Wells continued. “They’re coming at us from the north, and they’re pushing us back against the tree line that way.” Wells gestured with his ax. “They’re busy with Rhodes’s guys right now. You”—he signaled to one of the older boys—“stay behind to guard these younger kids. The rest of us will spread out into the woods and circle around to the north. We can attack them from behind. Who’s with me?”
For a second, they all just stared at him. Wells wasn’t sure he had read them right. Then a hand shot up, then another, then a dozen more. They pushed their shoulders back, raised their chins, and planted their feet firmly on the ground. Bellamy stood at the back, smiling grimly.
“Let’s do it!” someone shouted from the small crowd. A rousing cheer went up, and Wells, for the first time since Sasha’s death, didn’t feel panic in the face of responsibility. He felt exhilaration.
“Okay. On my count. Three… two… one!”
At first the plan seemed to work: The hundred startled the Earthborns with the attack from behind, pushing them toward Rhodes’s men, who kept up their defense on the opposite flank. But Wells soon lost track of what was happening around him as he struggled to stay alive. Two Earthborns approached Wells at once, each wielding a spear. Wells feinted with the ax in his hand, pretending to swing to the right. As they both reacted in that direction, he turned in a circle and swung the ax from the left, hacking one Earthborn’s spear into two pieces. The other stepped forward, and Wells sank the ax blade deep into his spear. It splintered into shards on the ground, and the two disarmed Earthborns scurried off.
Wells allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. During officer training, he’d worked hard in his Earth-combat conditioning classes, and it was paying off now. But just as a gratified smile flickered across his face, he felt an arm wrap tightly around his neck.
Wells tried to jab his elbows into his opponent, but he couldn’t get enough leverage. The man’s arm tightened, making it impossible for Wells to breathe. He couldn’t even gasp—there was no way for air to get in or out. His lungs began to burn as his head spun.
No, Wells thought, wanting to scream but unable to make a sound. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This wasn’t how it was meant to end.
The Earthborn’s arm tightened even further. Wells saw flashes of light in front of him, then patches of black as everything grew blurry.
Suddenly, the pressure released, and Wells fell to the ground with a gasp. For a long moment, all he could do was wheeze as his lungs became reacquainted with the air, clawing at it greedily. He rose up onto his knees and looked around. An enormous Earthborn was lying on his side, his hand clutched around the shaft of an arrow embedded in his arm.
Wells turned in the direction the arrow had come from. Bellamy stood a few meters away, a twinkle in his eye. He nodded at Wells, who just grinned back.
“Thanks!” Wells shouted.
“No problem,” Bellamy called back.
Wells turned back in the direction of camp. For a moment, his whole body seized with panic: From where he stood in the woods, he couldn’t see a single other member of the hundred still fighting near him. He swore under his breath and gathered his last ounce of energy before barreling back out into the clearing, Bellamy close behind him.
What he saw stopped him in his tracks. The hundred and the Colonists who could still stand were gathered together in a group, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. The few remaining guards seemed to have captured someone of importance—a large Earthborn man with a wounded leg, who was being held at gunpoint. Several other Colonists were speaking animatedly with a small group of Earthborns, seemingly
negotiating terms, as the rest of the Earthborns sullenly surrendered their weapons and slowly backed away.
Wells couldn’t believe it. It had worked! They were negotiating a surrender! Filled with new energy, he and Bellamy raced over to where the remainder of the hundred were standing. Sure, they were exhausted and injured, but they were victorious. Together, they sent up an eardrum-rattling cheer that seemed to echo up to the sky and back.
“Nice work!” Bellamy shouted over the celebratory din.
“You didn’t do too badly either… for a Waldenite,” Wells yelled back with a grin.
The assembled group danced around the clearing, hugging and cheering, until a cry rose above the noise.
“They’re back!” someone screamed.
Wells and Bellamy spun around to find a group of strangers stumbling out of the woods and into camp. They raised their weapons and stood their ground. Something about these new arrivals, though, was different. Wells quickly took in their clothes, their demeanor, their confused expressions. These weren’t Earthborns. These were… more Colonists?
The group stopped on the edge of the clearing. A woman stepped forward.
“We found you,” she said, breathing heavily, her voice weak.
She looked vaguely familiar to Wells. He struggled to place her, and then it came to him: She had worked in his father’s administration, in an office down the hall. They must have been on another dropship—one of the few that they figured must have veered off course.
“Please, do you have anything to eat?” she asked. Wells hadn’t noticed at first how gaunt she and the others looked.
“It’s okay,” Wells said to the group. “They’re from the Colony. Someone, please, get them some food and water.”
A couple of kids scurried off.