Rebellion (The 100 4)

“We’d have an actual shot of getting out,” Octavia cut in, her eyes ablaze, her face flushed with hope.

“Spread the word to the girls you trust. Tell them to get ready to run, but make sure they don’t act suspicious. I’m going to do the same with the guys. We don’t want the Protectors to have their guard up during the Pairing Ceremony, we want them to think we’re all going along with it happily.” He paused, thinking. “Get word to Glass too, if you can. What’s the latest with the boats? Will we know what to do when we get to them?”

“Oh, I think we’ll be fine. I’ve been practicing rowing.”

Wells’s jaw dropped. “What? When?”

“I convinced the Protector that oversees my laundry shift that we also needed to be cleaning the boats, since they were touching the precious river. She’s had me on boat-cleaning duty ever since, and whenever the Protectors look away, I grab a paddle and have at it.”

He shook his head with a smile. “You’re amazing, O.”

She shrugged and grinned. “I have my moments.” Then she grabbed the tray up and walked quickly out of the room.

After Wells finished eating, Oak came back to escort him to his quarters. As they walked, the older man droned on incessantly. “Mother says we’re going to put roots here,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean our work stops. We’re going to go up and down the coast. There may be other settlements in the area, and we’ll find them. We’re going to set up more fortresses like this one until there’s no one left but us, if Earth wills it.”

“If Earth wills it.” Wells’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, but Oak didn’t notice.

The Protector clasped Wells’s shoulder as they rounded the corner. “You’re going to be a part of that, boy. You’ve proven yourself now. You’ll be real useful, I can tell.”

“I appreciate that, Oak,” Wells said darkly.

When they reached the barracks, Wells saw the two Protectors who had dragged him into the basement only hours earlier to be interrogated. They grinned at him now, clapping him on the arm.

“We heard you made your first sacrifice tonight,” one said, eyebrows raised. “Earth be good. Welcome to the fold.”

Wells forced a “thank you” past clenched lips. Was that what these people called the murders they committed? A sacrifice?

Oak held the door to the sleeping quarters open for Wells, then led him to his cage. All of the other guys were already in their cages, asleep.

“Get some rest, son,” Oak said, locking him in. “At sunrise tomorrow, you officially become a Protector—and you’re going to want all of your energy for that. We’ll be back to get you soon.”

When Oak had left the room, Wells curled up on the mat in his cage. “Eric,” he whispered to the cot next to him.

Eric didn’t respond. From the steady pattern of his heavy breaths, it was clear he was fast asleep.

A pit formed in Wells’s stomach. If he couldn’t talk to the guys tonight, he’d have to try to get to them all in the morning. He hoped it’d be enough.

The door to their sleeping quarters slammed open. “Rise and shine, recruits,” Oak shouted cheerily. He walked up and down the row of cages, unlocking them all. “It’s almost sunrise. Get dressed, and we’ll be back to collect you soon. You’ll become Protectors today, if Earth wills it.”

As Oak strolled back out of the room, all of the guys crawled out of their cages. Wells tried to make eye contact with Eric and Kit, but they both looked quickly away.

The young recruit who’d been with him at the farm site glanced over at Wells. “We heard you killed Graham.”

So this was why their eyes were all shuttered. They weren’t sure if they could trust him.

“I didn’t,” Wells answered bluntly. “Graham killed himself to save the rest of us.”

He held his breath as a ripple of murmurs passed through the crowded room.

Wells strode forward. “All Graham wanted was to get home to his people, but he died a hero instead.”

His shoulders taut as bowstrings, Wells watched the dozen or so recruits that were not from their camp, checking each of their reactions. They were exchanging nervous glances, but underneath that knee-jerk response, Wells could see vulnerability.

He could see them starting to hope.

He walked up to the young recruit from the farm. “What’s your name?” Wells asked.

“Cob,” the boy said, eyes wide with apprehension.

“Cob,” Wells repeated, smiling. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Wells. Where are you from, Cob?”

The room drew in a scattered gasp at the question. Wells knew the question was taboo; they were supposed to have washed away their pasts in the river.

“I’m from… from here,” Cob sputtered. “I’m from the Stone.”

Wells shook his head, patient. “Before that.”

Cob paled, but he drew a deep breath. “I’m… from the mountains.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s a small…” His head sank. “Was a small village in a mountain valley, a week’s journey from here. The Protectors found us and recruited me as they made their way to the Stone. We kept sheep and goats. My mom worked the wool and my pa… my pa…” His voice dwindled, choked by the memories of all he’d lost. He shook his head, his eyes filling up.

Wells pressed a hand to his shoulder, then moved down the row to a heavyset recruit a little older than the others. “How about you?”

“We washed all that away in the river,” the recruit said brusquely, his expression closed off.

Wells nodded, considering. Either this guy was a true believer or he thought this was a test. There was so much fear rippling through the room, Wells could practically feel it. The older recruit was watching him with suspicion.

“My home,” Wells said, his voice rising, “is a few days west of here. It’s a camp that a hundred of us built with our hands and our sweat and our blood after crash-landing on the planet. We fought hard to make a home there… and I will be damned if I’m going to wash the memory of it away, just because a bunch of murderers told me ‘Earth wills it.’” He raised his hands to make air quotes, rewarded by the sound of a few tentative laughs.