There was no way of keeping track of time at night, so Wells had to guess when it was time to change shifts. From the ache in his joints, he’d been patrolling the clearing for at least four hours. But when he went to fetch Eric, he found the Arcadian curled up next to Felix with such a peaceful look on his face, he couldn’t stomach the thought of disturbing them.
With a silent groan, Wells stretched his arms over his head and switched the spear from one hand to the other. The weapon was a joke. The arrow that had killed Asher had been shot with deadly accuracy. If the Earthborns returned and took aim at Wells, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Wells?” a girl called out.
He spun around, blinking in the darkness. “Priya? Is that you?”
“No…” There was a note of hurt in the girl’s voice. “It’s me. Kendall.”
“Sorry,” Wells said. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, everything’s fine!” she said, suddenly cheery. Way too cheery for the middle of the night. Luckily, it was too dark for her to see Wells cringe. “I just figured you could use some company.”
The last thing Wells wanted right now was to make small talk. “I’m okay. I’m about to trade off with Eric,” he lied. Even without seeing Kendall’s face, he could sense disappointment radiating out from her. “Now go back to bed before someone steals your spot.”
With a barely audible sigh, Kendall turned and traipsed back toward the cabin. When he heard the door close behind her, Wells returned his focus to the tree line. He was so tired, he had to use all his strength to keep his increasingly heavy eyelids from drooping.
Sometime later—it could have been minutes, it could have been another hour—a figure emerged from the shadows. Wells blinked, expecting it to disappear, but it only grew larger. He snapped to attention, raised the spear, and opened his mouth to shout a warning—but then the shape came into focus, and the words died on his lips.
Bellamy. He was lurching toward him, a limp figure in his trembling arms. For one brief moment, Wells thought it was Octavia—but even in the dark, there was no mistaking the rumpled, reddish-blond hair. He would know her anywhere.
Wells broke into a run and reached them just as Bellamy fell to his knees. His face was bright red and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he held on to Clarke long enough to pass her into Wells’s outstretched arms. “She… she…” Bellamy wheezed, pressing his hand to the grass to steady himself as he struggled to speak. “She was bitten. By a snake.”
That was all Wells needed to hear. Holding Clarke tight to his chest, he took off for the infirmary cabin. The tiny space was jammed with sleeping people—half a dozen were curled up on the few remaining blankets and cots. “Move it,” Wells bellowed, senseless to the indignant murmurs and sleepy protests. “Now.”
“What happened? Are they back?”
“Is it the Earthborns?” someone whimpered.
“Is that Clarke? Is she okay?”
Wells ignored them and set Clarke down on one of the now-empty cots, inhaling sharply as her head fell to the side. “Clarke,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently. “Clarke!” He knelt down and brought his face close to hers. She was breathing, but just barely.
Bellamy burst inside. “Get them out of here,” Wells ordered, gesturing to the remaining kids who were still staggering to their feet, gazing at Clarke in sleepy confusion.
Bellamy herded them toward the door. “Everybody out,” he said, his voice ragged with exhaustion. When the last few had been unceremoniously removed, he stumbled over to Wells, who was tearing wildly through the medical supplies.
“What can I do?” Bellamy asked.
“Just keep an eye on her.” Wells tossed bandages and vials over his shoulder, praying that they had antivenom, praying that he’d recognize it. He cursed himself for not studying harder during his biology tutorials. He cursed himself for not paying closer attention to Clarke when she spoke offhandedly about her medical training. He’d been too busy admiring the ways her eyes lit up when she talked about her apprenticeship. And now there was a chance those eyes would be closed forever.
“You’d better hurry up.” Bellamy’s voice came from the cot. Wells spun around to see him crouching next to Clarke, brushing the hair off her pale face. The sight momentarily resurrected the rage Wells had felt when he’d seen Bellamy kiss Clarke in the woods.
“Don’t touch her.” He winced at the sharpness of his tone. “Just… give her space to breathe.”
Bellamy locked eyes with Wells. “She’s not going to be breathing for much longer unless we figure out a way to help her.”
Wells turned back to the medicine chest, willing himself to stay calm. When his eyes landed on a bright orange vial, his relief nearly knocked him to the ground.
A few years ago, a group of scientists had given a lecture on their research in Eden Hall. They were developing a universal antidote, a medicine that would give people a fighting chance of surviving when they finally returned to Earth. Not only had humans lost many of their natural immunities, but it was likely that many plants and animals had mutated, rendering the old medicines useless. The lecture felt like a lifetime ago, before Wells had met Clarke, before the Vice Chancellor forced her parents to study the effects of radiation on human test subjects. Wells had only gone because it fell under his responsibilities as the Chancellor’s son. He’d never thought he’d ever set foot on Earth, let alone need to use such an antidote to save the girl he loved.
Wells grit his teeth as he attached a syringe to the vial and positioned it over a blue vein in Clarke’s arm. He froze as his heart pounded a warning. What if he was wrong about the drug? What if he screwed up and injected a fatal air bubble into her blood?
“Give it to me,” Bellamy snapped. “I’ll do it.”
“No,” Wells said firmly. Though he hated to admit it, the thought of Bellamy saving Clarke was too much for him to bear. It was his fault she’d been sent to Earth in the first place, but it wasn’t going to be his fault that she died.
In a single motion, he plunged the syringe into her skin and pressed the top down, watching the antidote empty into her body. “Clarke,” he whispered, grabbing her hand. “Can you hear me?” He intertwined his fingers with hers and closed his eyes. “Please. Stay with me.” He sat there holding her hand for a few moments in silence.
“Thank god,” Bellamy breathed behind him.
Wells looked up to see Clarke’s eyes flutter open. He exhaled and swayed slightly, woozy with relief. “Are you okay?” he asked, not caring that his voice cracked.
She blinked at him in confusion. Wells braced for the moment when she would remember everything that happened, and her face would harden with loathing. But Clarke’s eyes closed again, and her lips curved into a small smile. “I found—” she murmured.
“What did you find?” Wells asked, squeezing her hand.
“I had no…” Clarke trailed off with a sigh as sleep overtook her.
Wells stood up, grabbed a blanket from one of the other cots, and spread it gently over Clarke. Bellamy was still standing stiffly behind him, his eyes fixed on the curled figure of the girl who, despite her immense strength, always looked younger—and somehow more fragile—when she slept.
Wells cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, extending his hand. “For bringing her back.”
Bellamy nodded slowly, still in shock. “I was so worried. I thought…” He ran a hand through his hair, then slid to the ground and sat with his back against Clarke’s cot.
Wells bristled at the possessive gesture, but he found that he couldn’t say anything. He was grateful to Bellamy for bringing Clarke back to the camp, but it hurt to think about what they might’ve been doing for the past two days.
Wells lowered himself to the ground with a sigh. “I guess this means you didn’t find Octavia.”
“No. We found a trail, but it was… weird.” He spoke without looking up, and his voice was strangely flat. “The prints didn’t look like she ran off. It looked like she was dragged.”
“Dragged?” Wells repeated as the pieces of information clicked together, forming an even more troubling picture. “I can’t believe it. They took her.”
“They?” Bellamy’s head shot up. “Who?”
Wells told him about everything that had happened since Bellamy and Clarke left camp—the surprise attack, Asher’s death, the undeniable fact that there were other people on Earth.
When Bellamy finally spoke, his jaw was tight with anger. “And you think these people took Octavia during the fire?” Wells nodded. “Who are they? How did they survive the Cataclysm? And what the hell do these—these Earthborns want with my sister?”
“I don’t know. They might be defending their territory. Maybe they took her as a warning, and then when we didn’t show any signs of leaving, they killed Asher to make a stronger point.”
Bellamy stared at him for a long moment. “So you think they’re coming back?”
Wells opened his mouth to repeat the same vague response he’d been giving to the others in his attempt to prevent widespread panic. But when he met Bellamy’s eyes, the canned reassurances fell away. “Yes. They’ll be back.” He told Bellamy about Graham’s growing obsession with building an army, a move that would certainly lead to more deaths.
“It sounds like it hasn’t been a walk in the park here either,” Bellamy said with a snort. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Clarke, who still hadn’t stirred, though her face was peaceful and her breath was steady. “You should get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on Sleeping Beauty here, and let you know if there’s any change.”
Something in Bellamy’s tone rankled Wells. “I’m fine,” he said. “I have to stay up for guard duty, anyway. But you should definitely go to bed. You look exhausted.”
The boys stared at each other wordlessly until Bellamy raised his arms over his head and stretched his legs out with a groan. “I guess we’re both in it for the long haul, then.”
They sat in silence, each avoiding the other’s eyes, moving only to look at Clarke the few times she rolled over, or sighed in her sleep. As the night wore on, a handful of people tried to come back inside the infirmary cabin, but Wells shooed them away. It was slightly unfair to make people sleep outside when there was space indoors, but he couldn’t risk anything disturbing Clarke. Not after what she’d been through.
Wells wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but light was streaming between the logs when a loud thud jolted him from his doze, sending him jumping to his feet. Bellamy’s head snapped up. “What’s going on?” he asked, drowsily. Without waiting to respond, Wells hurried outside.
The clearing was quiet and still. The people he’d kicked out of the infirmary cabin had joined the others around the fire pit. Everyone seemed to still be asleep.
Wells had started to turn back when a flash of movement near the tree line caught his eye. Something darted from behind a tree and ran deeper into the woods—a short, wiry figure dressed in black.
Without thinking, Wells started sprinting across the tree line, his feet flying over the uneven, root-tangled ground. He closed in on the intruder, lunging forward to tackle him with a shout. Wells grunted as a knee jabbed him in the stomach, but it didn’t stop him from rolling over and pinning the stranger to the damp ground. He had one of them—an Earthborn.
Wells’s blood was pumping so swiftly through his veins, it took him a moment to get a clear look at the person whose wrists he’d clamped, the owner of the green eyes staring furiously up at him.
It was a girl.