The 100 (The 100 Series) (11 page)

It was dark inside the tent. Clarke almost tripped as she stepped in, making a mental note to change the bandages on one boy’s leg, fix the sloppy stitches she’d given the girl with
the gash on her thigh. She’d finally found a container with real bandages and surgical thread, but there wasn’t going to be much more she could do if they didn’t find the actual medicine chest. It hadn’t turned up in the wreckage, most likely thrown from the dropship during the crash and destroyed.

Thalia was lying on one of the cots. She was still asleep, and the newest bandage seemed to be holding up. Clarke had already changed the wrappings three times since she’d found Thalia after the crash, blood pouring out of an ugly gash in her side.

The memory of stitching up the wound made Clarke’s stomach churn, and she hoped that her friend remembered even less. Thalia had passed out from the pain and had been fading in and out of consciousness ever since. Clarke knelt down and brushed a strand of damp hair back from her friend’s brow.

“Hi,” she whispered as Thalia’s eyes fluttered open. “How are you feeling?”

The injured girl forced a smile that seemed to drain the energy from the rest of her body. “I’m just great,” Thalia said, but then winced, the pain flashing in her eyes.

“You used to be a much better liar.”

“I never
lied
.” Her voice was hoarse but still full of mock indignation. “I just told the guard that I had a neck problem and needed an extra pillow.”

“And then convinced him that black-market whiskey would keep you from singing in your ‘sleep,’ ” Clarke added with a smile.

“Yeah.… It’s too bad Lise wasn’t willing to play along.”

“Or that you can’t carry a tune to save your life.”

“That’s what made it so great!” Thalia protested. “The night guard would’ve done anything to shut me up at that point.”

Clarke shook her head with a smile. “And you say that Phoenix girls are lunatics.” She gestured toward the thin blanket draped over Thalia. “May I?”

Thalia nodded, and Clarke pulled it back, trying to keep her face neutral as she unwrapped the bandage. The skin around the wound was red and swollen, and pus was forming in the gaps between the stitches. The wound itself wasn’t the problem, Clarke knew. While it looked bad, it was the kind of injury they wouldn’t bat an eye at in the medical center. The infection was the real threat.

“That bad?” Thalia asked quietly.

“Nah, you look great,” Clarke said, the lie falling smoothly from her lips. Her eyes slid involuntarily toward the empty cot where a boy who died the day before had spent his final hours.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Thalia said quietly.

“I know.” Clarke sighed. “I just wished he hadn’t been alone.”

“He wasn’t. Wells was here.”

“What?” Clarke asked, confused.

“He came to check on him a few times. I think the first time he came into the tent, he was looking for you, but once he saw how badly that boy was hurt…”

“Really?” Clarke asked, not quite sure whether to trust the observations of a girl who’d spent most of the past day unconscious.

“It was definitely him,” another voice called. Clarke looked over and saw Octavia sitting up, a playful smile on her face. “It’s not every day Wells Jaha comes and sits by your bed.”

Clarke looked at her in disbelief. “How do you even know Wells?”

“He visited the care center with his father a few years ago. The girls were talking about it for weeks. He’s kind of a supernova.”

Clarke smiled at the Walden slang as Octavia continued. “I asked him if he remembered me. He said he did, but he’s too much of a gentleman to say no.” Octavia gave an exaggerated sigh and placed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Alas. My one chance at love.”

“Hey, what about me?” A boy Clarke had thought was asleep shot Octavia an injured look, and she blew him a kiss.

Clarke just shook her head and turned back to Thalia,
her eyes traveling from her friend’s face back to the infected wound.

“That’s not a good sign, is it?” Thalia asked quietly, fatigue beginning to tug at the ragged edges of her voice.

“It could be worse.”

“Your lying skills are slipping as well. What’s going on?” She managed to raise an eyebrow. “Is love making you soft?”

Clarke stiffened and snatched her hand back from Thalia’s blanket. “Are your injuries making you delirious?” She glanced over her shoulder and was relieved to see Octavia absorbed in conversation with the Arcadian boy. “You
know
what he did to me.” She paused as her stomach churned with revulsion. “What he did to my
parents
.”

“Of course I know.” Thalia looked at Clarke with a mixture of frustration and pity. “But I also know what he risked to come here.” She smiled. “He loves you, Clarke. The kind of love most people spend their whole lives looking for.”

Clarke sighed. “Well, I hope, for your sake, that you never find it.”

It was crazy how much their surroundings could change throughout the day. In the mornings, everything felt crisp and new. Even the air had a sharpness to it. Yet in the afternoon, the light mellowed and the colors softened. That’s what Bellamy liked best about Earth so far—the unexpectedness. Like a girl who kept you guessing. He’d always been drawn to the ones he couldn’t quite figure out.

Laughter rose up from the far side of the clearing. Bellamy turned to see two girls perched on a low tree branch, giggling as they swatted at the boy attempting to climb up and join them. Nearby, a bunch of Walden boys were playing a game of keep-away with an Arcadian girl’s shoe, the owner ^27">< absorof which
was laughing as she skidded barefoot across the grass. For a moment, he felt a twinge of regret that Octavia still wasn’t well enough to join in—she’d had so little fun in her life. But then again, it was probably best that she didn’t form any real attachments. As soon as her ankle healed, she and Bellamy would be off for good.

Bellamy tore open a crumpled nutrition pack, squeezed half the contents into his mouth, then slipped the carefully folded wrapper back into his pocket. After sorting through the remainder of the wreckage, they’d discovered what they’d all feared: The few weeks’ worth of nutrition packets they’d found when they first landed was all they’d been sent with. Either the Council had assumed the hundred would figure out how to live off the land after a month… or they didn’t plan on them surviving that long.

Graham had strong-armed most people into handing over any packs they’d salvaged and had supposedly put an Arcadian named Asher in charge of distributing them, but there was already a fledgling black market; people were trading nutrition packs for blankets and taking on extra water shifts in exchange for reserved spots inside the crowded tents. Wells had spent the day trying to get everyone to agree to a more formal system, and while some people had seemed interested, it hadn’t taken Graham long to shut him down.

Bellamy turned as the laughter at the short end of the clearing gave way to shouts.

“Give that to me!” one of the Waldenites cried, trying to wrench something away from another. As Bellamy hurried over, he realized it was an ax. The first boy was holding the handle with both hands and was trying to swing it out of reach while the second boy attempted to grab on to the blade.

Others began to descend on the boys, but instead of pulling them apart, they darted between the trees, scooping items into their arms. Tools were scattered on the ground—more axes, knives, even spears. Bellamy smiled as his eyes landed on a bow and arrow.

Just this morning, he’d found animal prints—goddamn real tracks, leading into the trees. His discovery had caused a huge commotion. At one point, there’d been at least three dozen people gathered around, all making intelligent, helpful observations like
It’s probably not a bird
and
It looks like it has four legs
. Finally, Bellamy had been the one to point out that they were hooves, not paws, which meant that it was probably an herbivore, and therefore something they could conceivably catch and eat. He’d just been waiting for something to hunt with, and now, in his first stroke of good luck on Earth, he had it. Hopefully he and Octavia would be long gone before the nutrition packets ran out, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Hold it, everyone,” a voice rang out over the crowd. Bellamy glanced up as Wells reached the tree line. “We can’t just let random people carry weapons. We need to sort and organize these, and
then
decide who should have them.”

A flurry of snorts and defiant glares rose up from the crowd.

“That guy took the Chancellor hostage,” Wells went on, pointing at Bellamy, who’d already swung the bow and arrows over his shoulder. “Who knows what else he’s capable of. You want someone like
him
walking around carrying a deadly weapon?” Wells raised his chin. “We should at least put it to a vote.”

Bellamy couldn’t help but laugh. Who the hell did this kid think he was, anyway? He reached down, picked a knife up off the ground, and began walking toward Wells.

Wells stood his ground, and cs gd cs gd Bellamy wondered if he was trying not to flinch, or if maybe Wells was less of a pushover than Bellamy had thought. Just when it seemed like he might stab Wells in the chest, Bellamy flipped the weapon so that the handle faced Wells, and pushed it into his hand.

“Breaking news, pretty boy.” Bellamy winked. “We’re all criminals here.”

But before he had time to respond, Graham sauntered over. As he looked from Wells to Bellamy, a wry smile flickered across his face.

“I agree with the right honorable mini-Chancellor,” Graham said. “We should lock up the weapons.”

Bellamy took a step back. “What? And put you in charge of those as well?” He ran his finger along the bow. “No way. I’m ready to hunt.”

Graham snorted. “And what exactly did you hunt back on Walden except for girls with low standards and even lower self-esteem?”

Bellamy stiffened but didn’t say anything. It was a waste of time to rise to Graham’s bait, but he could feel his fingers clenching.

“Or maybe you don’t even have to chase after them,” Graham continued. “I suppose that’s the benefit to having a sister.”

With a sickening crunch, Bellamy’s fist sank into Graham’s jaw. Graham staggered back a few steps, too stunned to raise his arms before Bellamy landed another punch. Then he righted himself and struck Bellamy with a powerful, well-aimed shot to the chin. Bellamy lunged forward with a growl, using his whole body weight to send Graham flying backward. He landed on the grass with a heavy thud, but just when Bellamy was about to deliver a swift kick, Graham rolled to the side and knocked Bellamy’s legs out from under him.

Bellamy thrashed around, trying to sit up in time to gain leverage over his opponent, but it was too late. Graham had him pinned to the ground and was holding something just
above his face, something that glinted in the sun. A knife.

“That’s
enough
,” Wells shouted. He grabbed Graham by the collar and flung him off Bellamy, who rolled over onto his side, wheezing.

“What the hell?” Graham bellowed, scrambling to his feet.

Bellamy winced as he rose onto his knees and then slowly stood up and walked over to pick up the bow. He shot a quick glance at Graham, who was too busy glaring at Wells to notice.

“Just because the Chancellor used to tuck you into bed doesn’t mean you’re automatically in charge,” Graham spat. “I don’t care what Daddy told you before we left.”

“I have no interest in being in
charge.
I just want to make sure we don’t
die
.”

Graham exchanged a glance with Asher. “If that’s your concern, then I suggest you mind your own business.” He reached down and scooped up the knife. “We wouldn’t want there to be any accidents.”

“That’s not how we’re going to do things here,” Wells said, holding his ground.

“Yeah?” Graham raised his eyebrows. “And what makes you think you have any say over that?”

“Because I’m not an idiot. But if you’re anxious to become the first thug to try to kill someone on Earth in centuries, be my guest.”

Bellamy exhaled as he crossed the clearing toward the area where he’d seen the animal tracks. He didn’t need to get pulled into a pissing contest, not when there was food to find. He c tord the aswung the bow over his shoulder and stepped into the woods.

As he’d learned at a young age, if you wanted to get something done, you had to do it yourself.

Bellamy had been eight years old during the first visit.

His mother hadn’t been home, but she’d told him exactly what to do. The guards rarely inspected their unit. Many of them had grown up nearby, and while the recruits liked showing off their uniforms and hassling their former rivals, investigating their neighbors’ flats felt like crossing the line. But it was obvious the officer in charge of this regiment wasn’t a local. It wasn’t just his snooty accent. It was the way he’d looked around their tiny flat with a mixture of surprise and disgust, like he couldn’t imagine human beings living there.

He’d come in without knocking while Bellamy had been trying to clean the breakfast dishes. They only had running water a few hours a day, generally while his mother was working in the solar fields. Bellamy was so startled, he dropped the cup he was cleaning and watched in horror as it bounced on the floor and rolled toward the closet.