Rebellion (The 100 4)

He kissed the top of her head. “Get some rest.”

She snuggled deeper against him. “You too.” But instead of feeling his breathing grow steady and his arms relax as he drifted off with her, she could tell he was wide-awake, his heart racing.

Clarke lifted her head. Bellamy’s eyes were open, his jaw tense.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll find them and bring them home.”

“Just go to sleep, Clarke.”

“You need to sleep too. We need you rested.”

“I can’t sleep.” A slight edge had crept into his voice.

“Bellamy…” She traced his cheek with her fingers. “You have to try—”

He wrenched his head to the side, and she let her hand fall. Clarke sat up. “I’m worried about them too, you know. Wells is my best friend, and I love Octavia and Eric and—”

He closed his eyes and winced, as if her words were causing him physical pain. “Just stop, okay? You can’t understand. You’ve never had a sibling, you don’t know what it’s like. And now I’ve lost two.” When he opened his eyes again, the tenderness from moments earlier was gone, replaced by a fierceness that made her want to lean away. “But they’ll pay. There won’t be any of those bald bastards left when I’m through with them.”

Clarke stared at him, startled. “Bellamy, we’re not planning a battle. We’re going to sneak in and get our people out. Or maybe even negotiate with their captors. There could be a peaceful solution.”

“A peaceful solution?” Bellamy spat. “Are you kidding me?”

“We only have two guns, and we have no idea what kind of forces we’re facing. We can’t turn this into a suicide mission just because you’re in the mood to shoot something.”

Bellamy stood up so quickly, Clarke was nearly knocked backward. “You still don’t trust me, do you? You think I’m just some hotheaded idiot without enough brain cells to come up with a coherent plan.”

Clarke sighed. “No, of course that’s not it. I just think there’s a possibility that—”

“You’re never going to trust me, will you? I’ll always be the Waldenite delinquent who messes everything up.” He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.

“That’s not true!” Clarke rushed forward to place her hand on his arm, but he jerked away.

“Go to sleep,” he said curtly. “We need to start moving again in a few hours.”

“Bellamy, wait…”

But he’d already disappeared into the shadows.

CHAPTER 12

Glass

Glass and the seven other girls seized from the camp stood in a long row. In their newly issued white dresses, they looked like the spokes of the picket fence Luke had built around their cabin.

They’d been led from the den through a series of winding, crumbling hallways into a vast, empty hall. Huge chunks of the ceiling and walls were missing, and early-morning sunlight pooled on the floor. A few flowering trees grew out of the cracks in the cement, filling the air with a subtle, sweet fragrance. In another situation, it might’ve seemed pretty, or at least striking, but the longer Glass spent at the Stone, the more her stomach filled with dread. She wasn’t sure what was going on here, but it all felt very, very wrong.

“What are they going to do to us?” Octavia whispered to her.

“I don’t know,” Glass said, glancing around nervously.

A blond woman in her late twenties, wearing a gray tunic dress, walked up and down the line, inspecting the girls. With each tiny frown or eyebrow raise, Glass grew more anxious. She didn’t know what they were being evaluated on, and even worse, she didn’t know whether it was better to fail or succeed.

The woman in gray reached Glass, looked her up and down, then peered into Glass’s eyes, unblinking. Glass wasn’t sure what to do except stare back. But it felt so intrusive, so personal, she could only hold the woman’s gaze for a second before averting her eyes.

The woman had already moved on to Octavia before Glass had a chance to gauge her reaction, beyond a vague sense that it had not gone well. But should she be upset or relieved? What was the point of impressing these people?

Survival, came the answer. It was like she was on autopilot, feeling nothing but a stark determination to do whatever it took to get out of here. To get back to the camp. To get back to Luke.

When the line of girls started to move, it took a glance of warning from Octavia for Glass to realize she needed to follow.

“We’re going on a tour of the Stone before your cleansing,” the blond woman called out. “Soren wishes for you to get a feel for your new home, now that you’re staying with us.”

“Staying with them?” Lina whispered from behind Glass. “They make it sound like we’re guests.”

Glass nodded, but said nothing, not wanting to incur the wrath of the woman who was already watching them suspiciously.

“This is the scullery,” the woman called from the front of the line, as they wound their way down a corridor.

They passed a bombed-out, windowless space, and Glass got a view of a few red-faced women in white dresses scrubbing earthenware on one side and clothing on the other side in giant, steaming pots. Something to look forward to.

The woman stopped, hand raised, and nodded into the room. “Tomorrow, all of you will take a turn with each of our tasks and will be given a position based on aptitude.”

Octavia scoffed quietly beside Glass. “Right. Aptitude. To see whether we have a god-given gift for washing disgusting clothes, or an innate talent for cleaning dishes.”

The woman in gray scowled at Octavia, and she fell silent.

The line moved again, and soon they were being led outside. In the distance, Glass saw a group of Protectors with shaved heads running alongside some exhausted-looking figures. From the way the Protectors were screaming at them, Glass gathered that they were also prisoners. Were more of her friends among them? She squinted into the sunlight, mind racing.

More alert than she’d been before, Glass tried to observe as many details as she could about the Stone. What had looked like a single structure from the outside was more like a collection of buildings in a honeycomb pattern, not unlike the layout of the Colony. Some structures they passed were no more than skeletons, bare steel beams surrounding piles of rubble, while others were more intact.