The 100

32 Wells

Wells watched Clarke stride off into the woods, feeling as if she’d punched through his sternum and torn away a chunk of his heart. He was only vaguely aware of the gleeful roar of the flames as they swallowed the supplies, the tents… and anyone who’d been unfortunate enough to be left inside. Around him, a few people had fallen to the ground, gasping for breath or shaking with horror. But most were standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the inferno, their figures still and quiet.

“Is everyone okay?” Wells asked hoarsely. “Who’s missing?” The numbness at Clarke’s words was burning away, replaced by a frantic energy. He stepped forward to the edge of the tree cover, shielding his eyes as he tried to peer through the wall of flames. When no one answered, he took a breath and shouted, “Did everyone make it out?” There was a ripple of vague nods.

“Do we need to go farther?” a small Walden girl asked, her voice trembling as she took a step deeper into the woods.

“It doesn’t look like it’s spreading to the trees,” an Arcadian boy said hoarsely. He was standing next to a few battered water jugs and blackened containers he’d carried out of the camp.

The boy was right. The ring of bare dirt that bordered the clearing was wide enough that the flames engulfing the tents flickered just out of reach of the lowest branches.

Wells turned, searching through the darkness for a sign of Clarke. But she’d disappeared into the shadows. He could almost feel her grief pulsing through the darkness. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to go to her, but he knew it was hopeless.

Clarke was right. He destroyed everything he touched. “You look tired,” the Chancellor said, surveying Wells from across the dinner table.

Wells looked up from the plate he’d been staring at, then nodded curtly. “I’m fine.” The truth was, he hadn’t slept in days. The look of fury Clarke had given him was branded into his brain, and every time he closed his eyes, he could see the terror on her face as the guards dragged her away. Her anguished scream filled the silence between his heartbeats.

After the trial, Wells had begged his father to lift the charges. He swore Clarke had nothing to do with the research, and that the guilt she’d been carrying around had nearly killed her. But the Chancellor had simply claimed that it was out of his hands.

Wells shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He could barely stand to be on the same ship as his father, let alone sit across from him at dinner, but he had to maintain some semblance of civility. If he allowed his rage to break free, his father would simply accuse Wells of being too irrational, too immature to understand the law.

“I know you’re angry with me,” the Chancellor said before taking a sip of water. “But I can’t overrule the vote. That’s why we have the Council, to keep one person from becoming too powerful.” He glanced down at the chip flashing in his watch, then looked back at Wells. “The Gaia Doctrine is harsh enough as it is. We have to hold on to whatever shred of freedom we have left.”

“So you’re saying that even if Clarke is innocent, it’d be worth it to let her die in order to keep democracy alive?”

The Chancellor fixed Wells with a stare that, a few days ago, would’ve made him sink into his chair. “I believe innocent is a relative term here. There’s no denying she knew about the experiments.”

“Rhodes forced them to conduct those experiments. He’s the one who should be punished!”

“That’s enough,” the Chancellor said in a voice so cold, it almost extinguished Wells’s rage. “I refuse to listen to this heresy in my own home.”

Wells was about to launch an angry retort, but he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. His father silenced him with a final look as he opened the door and ushered in the Vice Chancellor himself.

Wells could barely contain his hatred as Rhodes gave him a curt nod in greeting. The Vice Chancellor wore his usual self-satisfied look as he followed the Chancellor into his study. After they closed the door firmly behind them, Wells stood up from the table. He knew he should go to his room and shut the door, like he always did when his father took meetings in their home.

A few days ago, he might have. A few days ago, he wouldn’t have dared to eavesdrop on a private conversation. But now he didn’t care. He crept toward the door and pressed himself against the wall. “The dropships are ready,” Rhodes began. “There’s no reason to wait.”

“There are plenty of reasons to wait.” There was a note of irritation in his father’s voice, as if they’d already had this discussion many times. “We’re still not sure if the radiation levels are safe.”

Wells inhaled sharply, then froze to keep his breath from disturbing the silence outside the study door.

“That’s why we’re emptying the detention center. Why not put the convicts to good use?”

“Even Confined children deserve a chance at life, Rhodes. That’s why they’re given a retrial on their eighteenth birthday.”

The Vice Chancellor scoffed. “You know none of them are going to be pardoned. We can’t afford to waste the resources. We’re running out of time as it is.”

What does he mean, running out of time? Wells wondered, but before he had a chance to think it through, his father broke in.

“Those reports are grossly exaggerated. We have enough oxygen for another few years at least.”

“And then what? You’ll order the entire Colony onto the dropships and just hope for the best?”

“We’ll send the Confined juveniles in the detention center, like you suggested. But not yet. Not until it’s our last resort. Unless the breach in sector C14 worsens, we’ve got a little time left still. The first prisoners will be sent in a year.”

“If that’s what you think is best.”

Wells heard the Vice Chancellor rise from his chair, and in a flash, he ran silently into his room and collapsed onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what he’d heard. The Colony was on its last breath. They had only a few years left up in space.

It all clicked into place, why everyone was being found guilty: There weren’t enough resources on the ship to support i t s population. It was a horrifying thought, but an even more terrible realization was making its way to the front of his brain. Clarke’s birthday was in six months. Wells knew he’d never convince his father to pardon her. Being sent to Earth would give her a second chance. But they weren’t going to start the mission for another year. Unless he did something, Clarke was going to die.

His only chance was to speed up the mission, to have the first group sent right away.

A terrifying plan began to take shape, and his chest tightened in fear as he realized what he would have to do. But Wells knew there was no other way. To save the girl he loved, he’d have to endanger the entire human race.