She tore her eyes away and turned her attention to Glass. “What’s going on?”

“It’s about Luke… and Bellamy.”

Clarke scrunched up her face in confusion. What could Bellamy and Luke possibly have to do with each other? Bellamy had basically been unconscious or asleep since Luke landed on Earth—had they even met?

Glass inhaled and exhaled slowly, as if summoning the courage to speak. “Clarke, I just—I thought you should know. They’re planning to execute Bellamy.” Her voice had grown faint, as if saying the terrible word took a physical toll.

Clarke’s stomach dropped out, and she bit her lip to stifle a cry. “Execute him?” she whispered. Glass nodded.

It wasn’t as if Clarke hadn’t expected something like this. Her medical training had taught her to consider every eventuality and face even the grimmest head-on. But there was an enormous difference between forcing herself to imagine the worst-case scenario and actually hearing it articulated on another person’s lips.

“They’re planning to hold a trial, but it’s going to be a total sham,” Glass continued, her face growing more pained with each word. She explained that Rhodes was going to make Luke kill Bellamy. “But we’re not going to let them force Luke to do it,” she said quickly. “We’re leaving camp. Tonight. That should buy you some time.”

“How… how will that help us?”

“If Luke isn’t there to carry out Rhodes’s orders, they’ll have to rethink the execution. It’s not a permanent solution, but it might buy you an extra day to figure something out.”

“Is that… is that why you’re leaving? So Luke won’t have to kill Bellamy?”

Glass nodded, unhinging something in Clarke’s chest, allowing a surge of unprecedented affection and gratitude to rush forth. Clarke wanted to grab Glass’s hand and beg her forgiveness for every snide comment, every time she’d giggled inwardly at one of Glass’s mistakes in school. She’d never judged a person so unfairly. But she couldn’t move, could barely speak. They were going to kill Bellamy. They were going to drag the boy she loved into the clearing, point a gun at the kindest, bravest person she’d ever met, and end his life with the twitch of a finger.

But then Clarke’s brain kicked into another gear, and she felt other instincts taking over. No. She refused to let this happen. She saved lives; she didn’t stand by and watch them fade into oblivion. She would save Bellamy. If Glass could find the courage to flee the camp with Luke, Clarke could find the courage to do whatever was necessary.

At that thought, the gravity of Glass’s plan began to sink in. “Glass, there has to be another way. It’s too dangerous. You guys don’t know the terrain, and there are—there are… people… out there who want to hurt us.”

“Wells told us about the other faction of Earthborns. We’ll be careful, I promise.” She forced a smile that didn’t reach her wide, sad blue eyes. “But listen, Clarke,” Glass said, putting her hand on Clarke’s arm. “Just because Luke isn’t here doesn’t mean Bellamy will be safe. They’ll find someone else to do it.”

Clarke nodded, her mind whirring. “I know. I think I have a plan.” She thought of Scott’s sour breath and penetrating stare. A shudder passed through her, but her resolve was firm: She would use whatever powers of persuasion she had to get Scott to free Bellamy.

“Can I help?” Glass asked, her face full of hope and concern. “I mean, before we leave?”

Clarke ran through the plan forming in her head one more time, then nodded slowly before stammering what she needed Glass to do. For a second, Clarke worried that she’d said too much. Glass was staring at her with enormous eyes, her mind turning behind them. But something in Glass’s face shifted, and a look of understanding and resolve took over. It was clear she understood the lengths Clarke was willing to go to in order to save Bellamy.

She could only hope it was enough.

CHAPTER 11

Wells

Wells had never set out to be in charge. It had just evolved. He saw things that needed to be done, and he did them. If he thought something could be done better, he suggested it. It wasn’t a power thing, like it clearly was with Rhodes. It was just the best way Wells had found to keep people alive.

He stepped into the supply shed and surveyed the stacks of odds and ends they’d collected from the crash sites. He knew Rhodes wouldn’t want him assessing their inventory, but the Vice Chancellor had been conspicuously absent for most of the day, and Wells figured he could always come up with some excuse if he were caught. He needed to do something to keep busy. He could hardly stand to be in the clearing. The sight of the armed guards in front of the new prison made him physically ill. He racked his brain trying to come up with a way to help Bellamy, but he couldn’t think of a way to talk to Rhodes without making the situation even worse.

So until he came up with a plan that didn’t involve getting both him and Bellamy killed, he’d take inventory.

There hadn’t been much in the way of actual supplies prepared and loaded onto the hundred’s dropship by whoever was in charge up there on the Colony. It seemed as if they hadn’t believed the hundred would survive the trip, let alone spend more than a month on Earth. There had been a smattering of useful things—one case of medicine and first-aid tools; two cartons of protein paste, which were long gone; and a handful of blankets, water containers, cooking utensils, and weapons. The second round of dropships hadn’t carried much more. Wells figured that was the result of having no advance notice when they left the Colony.