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.
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 f e w 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 knocked 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.