Текст книги "The 100 / The Hundred"

Автор книги: Кэсс Морган

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

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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’tbe 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 killme,” 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.”

Their eyes met, and Glass turned away from him, wincing as she imagined Luke being dragged away in the middle of the night, the terror on his face as he begged the guards to tell him what was going on. Would they tell him the truth, allowing just enough time for the pain to register before they plunged the needle into his chest? Or would he die believing he’d been the victim of a terrible mistake?

She couldn’the could let that happen.

But the Chancellor was right. The Council wouldn’t stop until they’d found the accessory to her crime. Eventually, one of the guards would trace Glass’s movements to Walden, to Luke’s floor—maybe even to his flat.

Slowly, she turned back to the Chancellor, knowing what she had to do. When she finally spoke, her voice was as cold as a death sentence.

“The father was Carter Jace.”

There was a loud creaking noise in the hallway. She sat up, straining her ears in the darkness. She felt a coil of panic tighten around her chest. It sounded almost like the ship was moaning.

“Oh my god,” Luke whispered, rising quickly to his feet. The sound came again, followed by a rumbling that shook the walls. “Let’s go.”

The corridor was still full of people, although now even the children had fallen silent. The lights began to flicker. Luke held Glass’s hand tightly as he wove through the crowd toward his neighbor. Her face was grave as she whispered something to Luke that Glass couldn’t hear, though Glass could tell from her expression that it was nothing good. Then another figure materialized next to them, and Glass inhaled sharply.

It was Camille. Her eyes narrowed as they settled on Glass.

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 diedbecause 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.”

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CHAPTER 35

Clarke

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 for 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.”

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CHAPTER 36

Wells

“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.

His plan was reckless and stupid and incredibly selfish, but he didn’t care. He had to make sure Clarke was sent to Earth instead of the execution chamber.

Wells jogged down the empty, narrow staircase, lit only by faint emergency lights. There was no reason for anyone to visit the airlock except for routine checks, and Wells had already hacked into the maintenance files to check the schedule. He would be totally alone.

The airlock in C14 was original to the ship. And despite the engineers’ efforters’ es to keep it in top condition, after three hundred years of facing the extreme temperatures and UV rays of space, it had started to deteriorate. There were tiny cracks along the edge and shiny squares where newer material had obviously been patched over the airlock.

Wells reached behind him for the pliers he’d tucked into the waistband of his pants. It would be fine, he told himself, his arms shaking. They were all going to be evacuated soon, anyway. He was just speeding up the process. Yet in the back of his mind, he knew that there weren’t enough dropships for everyone. And he had no idea what would happen when it came time to use them.

But that was his father’s concern, not his.

He reached out and began to pry up the flimsy edge of the airlock, wincing when he heard the faint hiss. Then he turned and raced back toward the stairs, trying to ignore the horror welling up in his stomach. He could barely stand to think of what he’d done, but as he hurried down the stairs, he told himself he’d done what he had to do.

Wells rose wearily to his feet. It was getting dark, and there was still a lot of work to do on the new cabins. They needed to finish at least some of the shelters before the next storm. As he approached camp, wondering if Clarke had taken enough blankets with her, if she would be warm when the temperature dropped, Asher came up beside him and launched into another line of questioning. He held one of the trimmed logs and seemed to want Wells’s opinion on the size and cut.

Wells was too absorbed in his own thoughts to hear what Asher was saying. As they walked side by side toward the tents, he could see the boy’s mouth moving, but the words never made it to Wells’s ears.

“Listen,” Wells began, ready to tell Asher it could wait until morning. Just then, something streaked past his face. There was a sickening thwack, and Asher flew backward. Blood bubbled out of his mouth as he fell to the ground.

Wells dropped to his knees. “ Asher,” he screamed as his eyes struggled to make sense of the image in front of him. There was an arrow sticking out of the boy’s neck.

His first, mad thought was Bellamy. He was the only one who could shoot like that.

Wells spun around with a yell, but it wasn’t Bellamy behind him. A line of shadowy figures stood at the bottom of the hill, the setting sun behind them. He gasped as shock and horror raced through his veins. Suddenly, it became clear who had set fire to the camp—and who had taken Octavia. It wasn’t anyone from the Colony.

The hundred might have been the first humans to set foot on the planet in three centuries, but they weren’t alone.

Some people had never left.

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