Homecoming Page 3

Wells hesitated. Sasha was right about the danger. There was a violent faction of Earthborns who’d rebelled against her father and were now roaming the woods in between Mount Weather and the hundred’s camp. They were the ones who’d kidnapped Octavia, who’d killed Asher and Priya. But he couldn’t bear the thought of the injured and scared Colonists waiting for their help.

  “We won’t all go,” Wells said to the group. “I just need a few volunteers to take emergency supplies and lead everyone back to camp.” He looked around the clearing they’d worked so hard to turn into a home and felt a surge of pride.

  Octavia took a few steps toward Wells so she was standing in the center of the circle. She was only fourteen, but unlike the other younger members of the group, she wasn’t shy about speaking up. “I say we let them find their own way,” she said, raising her chin defiantly. “Or better yet, they can just stay where they are. They pretty much sentenced us to die when they sent us down here. Why should we risk our lives going to rescue them?” A murmur of assent rippled around the crowd. Octavia shot a quick glance at her brother, maybe seeking his support, but when Wells looked at Bellamy, his face was strangely inscrutable.

  “Are you kidding?” Felix asked, looking at Octavia with dismay. His voice was still weak from his illness, but his anxiety was clear. “If there’s even the slightest chance that my parents are out there, then I have to try to find them. Tonight.” He stepped closer to Eric, who put an arm around Felix’s shoulders and squeezed him tight.

  “And I’m going with him,” Eric said.

  Wells scanned the group for Clarke and Bellamy. They met his eye, then Clarke took Bellamy’s hand and hurried along the outer edge of the circle to where Wells was standing.

  “I should go too,” Clarke said quietly. “There are probably injured people who need my help.”

  Wells glanced over at Bellamy, waiting for him to object to the risk. But he’d gone tense and quiet, staring into the darkness beyond Wells. Perhaps he knew it was futile to argue with Clarke when she had her mind set on something.

  “Okay,” Wells said. “Let’s get ready. Most of you should stay here and prepare the camp for new arrivals.”

  Clarke ran to the infirmary cabin for the medical supplies, while Wells assigned other people to carry drinking water and blankets. “Eric, can you find some food—anything we’ve got.”

  As his team scurried off to prepare, Wells turned back to Sasha, who was still standing next to him, her lips pressed together in concentration. “We should bring something to use as a stretcher,” she said, casting an appraising glance around the clearing. “There might be people who can’t walk back.” She started toward the supply tent without waiting for Wells to reply.

  He broke into a jog after her. “Smart thinking,” he said, matching her quick strides. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come with us.”

  She stopped abruptly. “What are you talking about? None of you know the terrain as well as I do. If anyone can get you there and back safely, it’s me.”

  Wells sighed. She was right, of course, but the thought of Sasha facing hundreds of Colonists—and, most likely, many armed guards—who had no idea Earthborns even existed sent a jolt of fear through him. He remembered the shock and disorientation he’d felt when he first laid eyes on her—it was as if his entire understanding of the universe had been flipped on its head. He certainly hadn’t trusted her at first, and it had taken the rest of his group even longer to believe that she was telling the truth about belonging to a peaceful community of people living on Earth.

  Wells shifted his weight from side to side as he stared into Sasha’s almond-shaped eyes, which were already burning with defiance. She was beautiful, and she was anything but fragile. She had proven how well she could take care of herself, and she didn’t need him to protect her. But all the strength and intelligence in the world wouldn’t be able to stop the bullet of a panicked guard.

  “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said, grabbing her hand. “They all think the planet is empty. Now’s probably not the right time for them to learn about Earthborns. Not when they’re disoriented and scared. The guards could do something stupid.”

  “But I’ll be helping them,” Sasha said, her voice a mix of patience and confusion. “It’ll be pretty clear that I’m not the enemy.”

  Wells fell silent, thinking about all the patrols he’d gone on during officer training. The people he’d seen arrested for crimes as minor as breaking curfew by five minutes or accidentally entering a restricted area. He knew that strict order was absolutely necessary on the ship, but it’d be hard for the guards to abandon their mantra of shoot first, ask questions later.

  “The thing you have to understand about my people—”

  She cut him off by placing her hands on his shoulders, rising onto her toes, and silencing him with a kiss. “Your people are my people now.”

  “I hope they get that quote right in the history books,” he said with a smile.

  “I thought you wanted to write that book.” She put on what he assumed was the Earthborn version of a snooty voice. “A firsthand account of man’s return to Earth. Sounds like a great read, except for the fact that, you know, some people never left.”

  “You better watch it, or else I’ll take some artistic liberties with your description.”

  “What? You’ll say I was horribly ugly? See if I care.”

  Wells reached out to tuck a strand of long hair behind her ear. “I’ll say that you were so beautiful, you made me do ridiculous, reckless things.”

  She smiled, and for a moment, every thought drained from Wells’s brain except for how much he wanted to kiss her again. Then their reverie was broken by voices calling out through the darkness. “Wells? We’re ready.” The bitter smell of smoke from the crash site had begun wafting through the trees, filling their noses.

  “Okay,” he said to Sasha, his voice firm. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Clarke

  Clarke stared at the crash scene, eyes straining in the dark, waiting for the inevitable moment when her training would kick in, when her instincts would anesthetize her panic. But hovering at the edge of the wide expanse of debris, absorbing the destruction, all she felt was horror.

  It was far worse than when the hundred had landed. From what she could see, three dropships had slammed into the ground just a few dozen meters apart. It was amazing that they hadn’t crashed on top of each other. Their jagged metal carcasses protruded from the earth around the water’s edge, looming high above the surface of the lake. Motionless bodies were scattered everywhere. The fires had mostly gone out, but the stench of burning metal lay heavy on the air.

  Even worse than the sight of so many bodies was the growing number of wounded. By Clarke’s quick estimation, there were three hundred and fifty or so survivors in various states of distress.

  “Holy…” Wells’s voice trailed off next to her. But within moments, his expression hardened into resolve. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Where do we start?”

  Clarke’s brain kicked into gear, and a familiar calmness stole over her as she began to mentally triage the people in her sightline—sorting the ones with mangled limbs from the ones who sat up on their own, beginning with the children and moving upward in age.

  They could do this. She could do this. Each of the dropships had to be stocked with medical supplies. She had a lot more to work with this time around, and she’d learned a massive amount over the past few weeks. Besides, there had to be at least one or two fully qualified doctors among the passengers. She could only hope that they were among the survivors. She winced as a pang of regret radiated through her chest. She needed her parents more than ever, but was no closer to finding them than she had been when she left the camp days ago.

  “Start separating them into groups,” she said to Wells, Sasha, and the other members of the rescue party. “Leave the worst injuries where they are and lead anyone who can walk back t
o the clearing.”

  “What about the people in between?” Eric asked. “Should we let them rest here or get them moving?”

  “Everyone needs to get moving, as fast as possible,” Wells said before Clarke could answer. “The dropships could blow at any moment. We’ll break into two teams. One half starts from the left, one from the right.”

  Clarke nodded, distributed the bandages and other basic medical supplies, then headed into the center of the fray. She stepped over piles of twisted metal and shards of fiberglass, and knelt down next to a little boy whose dark skin was caked with gray ash. He was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest as he stared straight ahead, wide-eyed and whimpering.

  “Hey,” Clarke said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I’m Clarke. What’s your name?”

  He didn’t answer. There was no sign that he’d even heard Clarke or felt the pressure of her touch.

  “I know you’re scared. But everything’s going to be okay. You’re going to love it here, I promise.”

  She stood up and beckoned to Eric, who ran over.

  “He’s fine. Just in shock. Can you find someone to look after him?”

  Eric nodded, scooped the little boy into his arms, and hurried away.

  Off to the left, Clarke could see Wells reassuring a middle-aged woman. He helped her to her feet and walked her over to Sasha, who was getting ready to bring the first group of survivors back to the camp. An icy chill ran down Clarke’s spine when she saw a young man in a guard uniform standing among them. Bellamy had promised to stay out of sight for the time being, but it wouldn’t take much to draw him into a confrontation. What if something happened to him while she was gone?

  “Clarke!” She turned to see Felix signaling for her. “We need your help over here.”

  She hurried over and found him kneeling next to a young girl with long, tangled, strawberry-blond hair. Felix had tried to bandage her arm, but it was already soaked through with blood. “It won’t stop,” he whispered, his face pale. “You need to do something.”

  “I got it,” Clarke said. “You keep moving.”

  She unwrapped the bandaged and surveyed the wound. “Am I going to die?” the girl whispered hoarsely.

  Clarke shook her head and smiled. “Nope. No way I’m going to let that happen. Not before you get the chance to explore Earth!” She reached into her kit and pulled out the antiseptic, praying that she’d find some more at the crash site. She was almost out. “Guess what I saw the other day?” she said, trying to distract the girl as she prepared to stitch the deep gash in her arm. “A real live rabbit.”

  “Really?” The girl turned her head to the side, as if expecting to see one hop out from behind a pile of wreckage.

  Ten minutes later, the girl was being led away by Wells, freeing Clarke to deal with the more seriously injured. It was distressing to see so many people in pain, but the intense focus it required provided a welcome relief from her thoughts.

  Clarke had spent the past few days in a haze, each new development or revelation proving more bewildering than the last. She had gotten back together with Bellamy, who had somehow found a way to forgive her for what she had done to Lilly. Then they had rescued Octavia from Sasha’s faction of Earthborns—who in turn had rescued Octavia from the violent splinter group.

  But the thing that made Clarke’s head spin most of all was the discovery that her parents were alive. And on Earth. She kept thinking she was dreaming and that the joy and relief bubbling in her chest would suddenly sharpen into aching sorrow all over again. But the parents she had mourned for a year hadn’t been executed and floated into space. They had somehow made their way to Earth and even lived with Sasha’s family before heading off on their own. Now she just had to figure out how to track them, which seemed impossible in a thousand ways. But sitting still and doing nothing wasn’t an option either. As soon as she’d done all she could for these survivors, she’d be making her plans to leave.

  “This one’s not breathing,” Eric said with a grimace as Clarke approached.

  She crouched down and brought her hand to the man’s neck. His skin was still warm, but there wasn’t even the faintest whisper of a pulse. Clarke pressed her lips together, then lowered her ear to the man’s chest, praying for a heartbeat. But there was nothing but silence. “There’s nothing we can do for him,” Clarke said, trying not to meet Eric’s eyes. She didn’t want to see the horror in his face. And she didn’t want him to see the helplessness in hers.

  She looked down at the man again, seeing his face properly for the first time. Clarke gasped as an invisible hand punched through her sternum and wrapped its fingers around her heart. It was her old biology tutor, Mr. Peters, the one who gave Clarke access to the ship’s restricted archive center when she was only ten so she could look at photos of elephants.

  “You okay?” Eric asked.

  Clarke nodded, trying to blink away the tears threatening to blur her vision. Had Mr. Peters lasted long enough for a glimpse at the night sky? Had he been able to see the moon reflecting off the water, or catch the scent of trees in the wind? Or had he died without ever setting eyes on the planet he’d spent his whole life revering from afar?

  “We should leave the bodies here for now,” she said, turning away. “It’s more important to deal with the injured.” Clarke left Eric and carefully stepped over a pile of twisted, red-hot metal in order to make her way toward a man lying on his side. He wore a coat that had once been white but was now covered with dust, soot… and a slowly expanding patch of blood. His eyes were shut, and his mouth twisted in defiance of his pain. Clarke let out a low gasp as she took in his tall, lanky frame and shoulder-length gray hair. It was Dr. Lahiri, her former mentor and one of her father’s oldest friends. The last time she’d seen him was when he’d come to her cell, and she’d accused him of betraying her parents. He called her a traitor in response, and before she could think better of it, she’d actually socked him in the face.

  The rage that had consumed her that day felt strangely distant now. Although her parents had certainly been betrayed, they were alive. And Clarke knew there were people far more accountable than Dr. Lahiri—like Vice Chancellor Rhodes, the man who’d ordered her parents to perform the monstrous radiation trials in the first place.

  Clarke crouched down and placed her hand near his elbow. “Dr. Lahiri,” she said in what she hoped was a confidence-inspiring tone. “Can you hear me? It’s Clarke.”

  His eyes sputtered open, and he stared at her for a long moment, as though unable to tell if she were real or a hallucination. When he finally spoke, it was through a clenched jaw, as if any extraneous movement would push him past the limit of bearable pain. “Clarke… you’re alive.”

  “Yes, despite your best efforts,” she said, smiling so he’d know she was mostly joking. “Let me see what’s going on here, okay?”

  He nodded slightly, then shut his eyes and winced. Clarke gently opened his coat, palpating his abdomen, ribs, and chest. He grimaced when she reached his collarbone. She carefully opened his eyes and checked his pupils, and ran her hands over his scalp to check for any contusions she’d missed.

  “I think it’s just my shoulder and clavicle,” Dr. Lahiri said through gritted teeth.

  “And a concussion,” Clarke added, trying to keep her voice neutral. “I think the bones are broken. I can set them and make you a sling, but I’m afraid we don’t really have much here for the pain. Did you bring any supplies with you?”

  “I don’t know what’s on the dropships,” Dr. Lahiri said, causing Clarke’s stomach to plummet with disappointment. “It all happened so quickly. There wasn’t time to prepare.”

  “We’ll make do. I’m going to help you sit up. Are you ready?” She kneeled behind him and placed one hand under his good arm and the other behind his shoulder blade. “On my count. One, two, three.” She raised him to a sitting position, and he let out a pained cry as she helped him lean against a wall of debris. The color began returning to
his face. “Just stay as still as possible until my friends come to get you.” She waved a hand in the air, gesturing for Wells and his team. “They’ll help you get somewhere safe.”

  “Clarke,” Dr. Lahiri muttered, his voice growing hoarse. She reached for her water container and lifted it to his lips. He took a small sip and continued. “I’m sorry about what I said last time. Your parents would be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” Clarke said slowly, wondering whether Dr. Lahiri really believed that her parents were dead or whether he was still too afraid to tell her the truth. “I’m sorry for… for losing my temper.”

  Despite the pain, he smiled. “I just wish I could take as much credit for your left hook as I can your surgical skills.”

  The next few hours passed in a blur. Clarke hardly noticed the dawn breaking, except for the fact that it made suturing easier. By the time the sun was high in the sky, all the uninjured Colonists had been led to camp, and a good portion of the injured had been carried away as well. Throughout the morning, a few more members of the hundred came down to the lake to help and to search for their parents among the new arrivals. But the relatively small number of happy reunions had been disheartening. Apparently, the families of the hundred hadn’t been given priority on the dropships, never mind that their kids had been sent on an impossibly dangerous mission to Earth.

  Clarke finished fashioning a splint for an elderly woman’s leg and then stood up to stretch quickly before moving on to her next patient. She noticed that the guards who’d been standing in a circle around their captain a few minutes earlier had dispersed to help carry the wounded up to the camp. She could only hope they remained more focused on helping their fellow Colonists than on hunting down the boy who had gotten the Chancellor shot.

  Her eyes settled on a guard who looked uncomfortably familiar. Clarke stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out why she felt suddenly queasy. He was standing at the center of a slow-moving scrum of people, directing them with one good arm and cradling an injured hand to his chest.