Homecoming

CHAPTER 13: Bellamy

The pain was searing and constant, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was much worse than the time he’d fallen down a flight of stairs during a fight and broken his collarbone. This was a deep, throbbing pain, like the inside of his bones were on fire. Bellamy slumped against the cold metal wall—a wall that must’ve been built around him while he was unconscious, because it sure as hell hadn’t been there when he was shot.

His stomach rumbled loudly, although the thought of swallowing anything added a layer of nausea to the waves of pain. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten; he had a vague recollection of Clarke encouraging him to take a few mouthfuls of protein paste but had no idea how long ago that’d been.

Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut and tried to distract himself by replaying his favorite moments with Clarke over again in his mind. The first time she’d kissed him, when she’d shed her reserved, serious-doctor persona like a set of binding clothes and thrown her arms around him in the woods. The night they went swimming in the lake and it’d felt like the entire planet belonged to him and the glistening girl with a mischievous spark in her eyes. He even reminisced over the past few days in the infirmary cabin, feeling his pain abate every time she stroked his cheek, or followed a tender kiss on the forehead with a decidedly undoctorlike kiss on his neck. Hell, taking a bullet to the shoulder almost seemed like a fair price to pay for one of her surprisingly diverting sponge baths.

It worked for a moment, but the pain inevitably returned with renewed fury. He started to raise a hand to adjust his bandage and realized his wrists were bound together and attached to the wall behind him. With a groan, he twisted around to investigate, his shoulder throbbing in protest at the movement, but the pain wasn’t quite enough to overwhelm his curiosity. He’d never seen anything like these cuffs before. They were lightweight, made of a thin metal cord that looked as delicate as thread, with a slim lock binding them together. He tried to pull his hands apart, but the fiber held strong and dug into his skin. As he tugged, he felt the tension in the cord getting stronger and watched in amazement as his wrists slammed together. The metal was reacting to his movements. He held very still and slowly the cord released its grip, until he was able to wiggle his hands again.

Bellamy’s shoulder burned, and he scooted himself further up the wall, trying to find a comfortable position. Grunting with the effort, he settled in and leaned his head back. He was exhausted, but the pain made it impossible to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.

Narrow shafts of sunlight filtered through the cracks between the sheets of metal that formed the walls and roof of the cabin. He studied the angle of the light and listened carefully to the sounds outside, trying to figure out where the prison was located. The far-off thwack of an ax hitting firewood told him he was a good distance from the woodpile. A group of boys walked by, right on the other side of the wall, chatting about a Walden girl. Under their voices, he could hear water sloshing, which meant he was near the path people used to get to the stream.

Bellamy strained to identify every sound he could make out. Logs clattering together, blankets and tarps snapping as someone shook them out, a guard’s officious tone as he corrected someone’s stacking technique. But there was only one sound Bellamy wanted to hear, and he held his breath, frustration building in his chest. Octavia’s voice. He wanted—needed—to hear his sister. He would be able to tell from just a few words whether she was happy or scared, in danger or safe. But he didn’t recognize any of the voices floating across the clearing. The place was overrun with newcomers.

Bellamy didn’t even have the strength to be angry anymore. He only cared about Octavia, Clarke, and Wells. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t care if he lived or died, if he was executed or set free to live alone in the woods. But what would happen to his sister if he were killed? Who would look after her once he was gone? The hundred had formed a community, but now that Rhodes and all the others were here, all bets were off. He couldn’t be sure anyone would look out for his kid sister when they were all busy looking out for themselves. Just like everyone else had been back on the ship.

A loud thud against the side of the cabin made Bellamy jerk to the side—which sent shooting pain through his upper body. “Jesus,” he grunted. Then he heard scuffling, followed by loud voices. One familiar voice rose above the rest: It was Wells.

“Put the shackles on,” Wells said in a voice Bellamy had never heard before, low and menacing. “Do it now,” he snapped, “and don’t make a sound. If you do so much as open your mouth, I’ll shoot you.” And although it contradicted everything Bellamy knew about his half brother, it sounded like Wells meant it.

Shit, Bellamy thought. Mini-Chancellor is starting to sound like a mini–Vice Chancellor.

There was silence as, presumably, the guard complied with Wells’s order. A few seconds later, two figures burst through the cabin door—a stony-faced, iron-jawed Wells and a flushed, rapidly-breathing Clarke. They fell into the room and rushed over to him, as Bellamy’s head swam with confusion and relief. Were they actually here to rescue him? How the hell had they managed that?

Bellamy’s chest swelled with a feeling he’d never really known before—gratitude. No one had ever done anything this dangerous for him, no one had ever thought he was worth that kind of risk. He’d spent his whole life taking reckless action to protect Octavia, but no one had ever done so much as transfer him a ration point or sneak out past curfew to check on him the few times he’d gotten sick.

Yet here they were, the girl he never would’ve dared dream about back on the ship, and the brother he never knew existed, putting their lives on the line for him.

Clarke sank to her knees next to him. “Bellamy,” she said, her voice cracking as she ran her hand along his cheek. “Are you okay?” She’d never sounded so afraid, so fragile. Yet there was nothing vulnerable about a girl who’d face down a clearing full of armed guards.

Bellamy nodded, then winced as Wells tugged on the cuffs attached to the peg on the wall. “How are you going to get those off?” Bellamy asked, his voice hoarse. The guard outside would alert the others any second. If they didn’t get out of there fast, not a single one of them would live to see another sunset.

“Don’t worry,” Wells said. “She has the key.”

Clarke reached into her pocket and pulled out a slim key, made of the same flexible metal as the cuffs.

“How the hell did you—you know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know,” Bellamy said. “Just get them off.”

Wells took the key from Clarke and began fumbling with the restraints while Clarke switched back into doctor mode and quickly examined his shoulder, muttering to herself as she peeled back the blood-stained bandage. Bellamy couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and a thin sheen of sweat misted her face, but she’d never looked more beautiful.

“Got it,” Wells said as the cuffs sprang open. “Let’s go.” He reached down, wrapped an arm behind Bellamy, and hauled him to his feet. Clarke slipped under Bellamy’s other arm, and helped him hurry across the cabin. When they reached the door, Clarke held up her hand and signaled for them to wait while she listened for sounds outside. At first, Bellamy wasn’t sure what they were waiting for, but then he heard it. A loud crash and series of cries echoed from the far side of the clearing, followed by shouts of “We’re under attack!” and “Guards—fall in!”

A stampede of heavy footsteps thudded past the cabin, toward the commotion.

Clarke turned to Wells and grinned. “She did it! Go, Sasha.”

“What’d she do?” Bellamy asked as he leaned a little harder on Wells. He hadn’t walked in days, and his muscles felt like jelly.

“She rigged up something in the trees to make it sound like the Earthborns were attacking the camp. If everything goes according to plan, Rhodes will have sent all the guards into the woods, and we’ll be able to sneak out the other side.”

“Your girl’s pretty badass, Wells,” Bellamy said with a weak smile. “Will she be okay?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s far enough out in the woods that they’ll never get to her in time.”

Clarke listened at the door for another moment, then waved at them urgently. “Let’s move.”

They slipped out the door. The coast was clear—everyone in camp was facing the other direction or racing toward the commotion on the far side. Bellamy, Clarke, and Wells hurried around the back of the cabin and, before anyone could notice they were gone, disappeared into the cover of the woods.