Kass Morgan: The 100

Glass turned away, unable to look at Camille right now. She couldn’t help feeling guilty about how things had turned out. She wouldn’t blame the other girl for hating her.

A group of children was huddled on the floor next to their parents, who talked in low, worried tones. One of the little girl’s lips had a bluish cast, and the boy whose hand she was clutching was struggling for breath.

The lights sputtered one more time, then went out. A series of gasps rose up in the thick, sudden darkness. Unlike Phoenix, Walden didn’t have any emergency lights.

Luke wrapped his arm around Glass’s waist and drew her closer to him. “We’re going to be okay,” he whispered in her ear.

But then another voice reached through the shadows. Camille had snuck over and was now standing on Glass’s other side. “Are you going to tell him, or should I?” she said, too quietly for Luke to hear.

Glass turned to her, startled, but she couldn’t make out the expression on Camille’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“He deserves to know the truth. That his friend died because of you.”

Glass shuddered, and even though she couldn’t see Camille smile, she could hear it in her voice.

“I know your secret. I know what you did to Carter.”

They had been walking for hours, making widening concentric circles through the woods, trying to cover every inch of terrain. The backs of Clarke’s legs were burning, but she relished the sensation; the physical pain was a welcome distraction from her thoughts. The flames engulfing the sides of the infirmary tent… Wells’s arms like handcuffs around her… the sickening crack as the walls collapsed.

“Hey, look over here.” Clarke turned to see Bellamy kneeling on the ground near the spot where she’d discovered Octavia’s ribbon, staring intently at what appeared to be footprints in the dirt. She was no tracker, but the marks of struggle were easy to read. Whoever had left the prints hadn’t been on a pleasant stroll through the woods.

“It looks like someone was running, or in a fight,” Clarke said softly. She refrained from finishing the sentence: almost like someone had been dragged away . They’d assumed Octavia had run away… but what if she’d been taken?

She could read the same terrible line of questioning on Bellamy’s furrowed brow, and knelt down beside him. “She can’t be far,” Clarke said, meaning it. “We’ll find her.”

“Thank you.” Bellamy nodded as he rose, and they continued walking. “I’m… I’m glad you’re here with me.”

They trudged on for what felt like hours, the sun rising and then sinking in the sky. As their circles grew wider, Clarke could tell they were approaching the edge of the forest. Through the outlines of the trees she saw a clearing and paused. There were more trees, but these looked different from the ones in the woods. They had massive, gnarled trunks and thick limbs covered with a canopy of green leaves. The branches sagged with round, red fruit. Apples.

Clarke approached the apple trees, Bellamy close behind her. “That’s strange,” she said slowly. “The trees are spaced so evenly. It almost looks like an orchard.” She walked over to the closest one. “But could it really have survived all these years?”

Although the tree loomed over her, the lowest branch was fairly close to the ground. Standing on her toes, it was easy f o r Clarke to stretch up and pluck an apple. She twisted around and tossed it to Bellamy before reaching for another one.

Clarke held the apple up to her face. They grew fruit in the solar fields on the ship, but those apples looked nothing like these. The skin wasn’t just red; it had threads of pink and white running through it, and it gave off a scent unlike anything she had smelled before. She took a bite and gasped as juice began running down her chin. How could something taste sweet and tart at the same time? For just a moment, Clarke allowed herself to forget everything that had happened on Earth and let the sensation overtake her.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bellamy asked, and Clarke looked over. While she’d been busy eating, he’d begun using fallen branches to measure the distance between the trees.

“To be honest, I wasn’t thinking anything beyond how good this tastes,” Clarke admitted, feeling the hint of a smile curl her lips. But Bellamy didn’t laugh or tease her. He just kept staring at the perfectly spaced trees.

“These didn’t survive the Cataclysm, and they didn’t just grow like this,” he said slowly, his voice filled with wonder and dread. Before he’d even finished, Clarke knew what he was going to say. Her chest tightened with fear. “Someone planted them.”

“Is this better?”

Wells turned and saw Asher, the Arcadian boy, pointing to the log he’d been chopping. The grass was covered with wood shavings and pieces tha t had been discarded after false starts—but this one actually looked promising.

“Definitely.” Wells nodded and crouched down next to the log, running his fingers over the grooves Asher had carved into the wood. “Just make sure they’re all approximately the same depth, or else the logs won’t lock into place.” As Wells stood up, Graham walked by, carrying a shred of melted tarp toward the growing mound of salvaged supplies in the middle of the clearing. Wells stood a little taller, bracing for a scoff or snide remark, but Graham kept his eyes forward and continued on without a word.

The fire had destroyed their tents, but most of the tools had been spared, and the medicine, too. It had been Wells’s idea to try to build permanent wood structures. It was a thousand times more difficult than it sounded in books, but they were slowly figuring it out.

“Wells!” A girl from Walden ran over. “How are we going to hang the hammocks? Eliza says they’re going to hang from the roof beams, but those aren’t going to be ready for days, right? Also, I was thinking—”

“I’ll come over in a few minutes, okay?” Wells said, cutting her off. A look of hurt flitted across her round face. “I’m sure you and Eliza are doing a great job,” he added, giving her a small smile. “I’ll be right there.”

She nodded and dashed away, darting around a pile of melted tent rods that still looked too hot to touch.

Wells glanced over his shoulder, then started walking toward the tree line. He needed a moment to himself, to think. He moved slowly, the heaviness in his chest seeming to seep into his limbs, making every step laborious and painful. At the edge of the forest, he paused, breathing the cooler air deep into his lungs, and closed his eyes. This was where he’d kissed Clarke for the very first time on Earth—and for what was surely the last time in his life.

He thought he’d already experienced the most terrible kind of pain possible—knowing that Clarke hated him, that she couldn’t stand the sight of him. But he’d been wrong. Watching her leave with Bellamy had nearly killed him. She hadn’t even looked his way when she’d come to collect what was left of her gear. She’d just nodded silently at the rest of the group before following Bellamy into the forest.

If only she knew what he’d really done to be with her on Earth. He’d risked everything. And it was all for nothing. None of the guards gave Wells more than a cursory glance as he raised his eyes to the retina scanner, then strode through the doors. Entry to sector C14 was highly restricted, but his officer’s uniform, purposeful walk, and well-known face guaranteed access to pretty much any part of the Colony. He’d never taken advantage of his status, until now. After he’d heard his father’s conversation with the Vice Chancellor, something inside of Wells had snapped.