Rebellion
Page 7
“Have you seen Clarke or Octavia?” Bellamy asked hoarsely.
Wells shook his head.
“Has anyone seen Felix?” Eric asked, leaning forward to peer into the clearing.
“He’s hiding under a table,” Bellamy said. “I was with him a moment ago. He was okay.”
Eric let out a long breath. “Thank god.”
“What the hell is going on?” Bellamy asked, the words spilling out though he knew he wouldn’t get a real answer. He could see his own confusion and terror mirrored in Eric’s and Wells’s faces.
“I don’t know,” Wells said, a note of anguish in his voice. “Wait… look there…”
On the opposite side of the clearing, people emerged from the shadows of the forest. There were at least two dozen of them, all male. They had shaved heads and wore all white. And they were marching.
Bellamy’s blood turned to ice as the figures moved closer, their expressionless, masklike faces coming into chilling focus. But nothing was as terrifying as the guns glinting in the late-afternoon sun.
As they moved toward the center of the clearing, a few of the men broke from formation to yank Colonists and Earthborns out from under the tables. They dragged the people away by their arms and legs, and headed back toward the woods with their captives.
“What are they doing? We can’t let them take anyone,” Wells said. He stood up and lunged forward, but not before Bellamy and Eric each took hold of a shoulder.
“Are you crazy?” Bellamy hissed. “They’ll kill you.”
“We can’t just hide. Look what they’re doing!” Wells wrenched away from Bellamy and Eric, and pointed with a shaking hand. Another group of the white-clad men marched out of the supply cabin, carrying large canvas sacks. The bastards were taking all their supplies, their food, their wood stores. Even the weapons they were using looked familiar, and for good reason. The intruders had stolen the Colonists’ rifles to use against them.
A hand on Bellamy’s shoulder made him jump. It was Clarke’s father, ashen and trembling. But it wasn’t his pale face that made Bellamy’s pulse stutter. He had one arm wrapped around his wife, who was clutching her side, her hands drenched in slick red.
“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked as Wells hurried to take her arm.
“I’m fine,” Mary said, though her face was contorted in pain. “But I’m worried about Clarke. She was on her way to the infirmary when the explosions started. I don’t know…” She trailed off with a grimace.
“I’ll find her.” Bellamy reached out to squeeze her uninjured arm. “I promise.”
“I’ll come with you,” Wells said.
“No, you stay with them.” Bellamy nodded toward Clarke’s parents. “Then you’ll be closer to the injured people.” He prayed that there’d still be people left to help when this thing was over.
The expressionless, white-clad men had spread out through the clearing. Some kicked the bodies on the ground, searching for signs of life. It was unclear to Bellamy who they were looking for, what determined who they left and who they dragged away. Every few moments, another ear-ringing shot ran out, followed by screams, or worse, silence.
Bellamy turned and ran through the woods toward the infirmary cabin at the other end of the clearing. Months of hunting had taught him to move quickly and silently, though this time, he wasn’t the hunter—he was the prey. He passed a number of people huddled behind the trees, watching him wide-eyed as he sprinted by. A few called to him, but he didn’t break stride. First he had to make sure Clarke and his sister were safe. Then he’d do whatever he could to help the others.
“Bel?” came a loud whisper. A flash of black hair tied in that ragged red ribbon. Octavia.
He skidded to a stop. His sister was crouched behind a bush near the edge of the clearing, her arms curved out to pen in as many of the children as she could, keeping them from wiggling into view of the invaders. “What do we do?” she asked quietly, her voice full of more fierceness than fear.
“Stay there,” Bellamy said quietly. “I’ll come back for you.”
Octavia nodded, whispering to the children.
Bellamy was nearly at the infirmary cabin, but he’d have to dash across open ground to get there. Thankfully, the invaders hadn’t come up this far; they were still concentrated at the other end of the clearing near the supply cabins, where the feast had been laid out.
Bellamy let out a long, ragged breath when he reached the door. The cabin looked untouched, no invaders in sight. But it was worryingly silent.
A branch cracked behind him and Bellamy whirled around, fists clenched. But instead of one of the men in white, it was a Colony guard, arms raised in surrender. Luke was almost unrecognizable, covered in gray soot from his curly hair to his boots. He held a rifle, which he lowered as he took a few steps toward Bellamy, limping more than usual.
Bellamy clapped a hand on Luke’s arm. “You all right?”
Luke looked more bewildered than scared. “I got thrown by the first blast, then somebody, one of those guys in white, started dragging me before the second one went off. I got away, got this gun, and fought them off.”
Bellamy glanced around. “Were you followed?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. Come on. Let’s get inside.”
Bellamy tried to open the infirmary door and found it barricaded with cabinets, medical bags, and cots. Good thinking, Clarke, he thought, even if it was keeping them out too. But they’d need to hurry. The invaders were still focused on raiding supplies from the other end of the clearing, but they’d make their way to this end soon enough. “Clarke,” he called softly. “It’s me.”
Clarke’s fingers appeared at the top of the pile, pulling objects downward. “You’ll need to climb!” she called. “I’ll make room at the top. Who’s with you? Do you have the kids?”
“They’re hiding with O,” Bellamy called back. “We’ll bring them here.”
“Go!” Clarke said, but Bellamy was already running back toward the perimeter, Luke on his tail.
Smoke poured out of the camp’s decimated buildings, and a huge gray cloud billowed over the new residential cabins. In the moments that he’d been at the infirmary, the men in white seemed to have left the clearing.
Wells shook his head.
“Has anyone seen Felix?” Eric asked, leaning forward to peer into the clearing.
“He’s hiding under a table,” Bellamy said. “I was with him a moment ago. He was okay.”
Eric let out a long breath. “Thank god.”
“What the hell is going on?” Bellamy asked, the words spilling out though he knew he wouldn’t get a real answer. He could see his own confusion and terror mirrored in Eric’s and Wells’s faces.
“I don’t know,” Wells said, a note of anguish in his voice. “Wait… look there…”
On the opposite side of the clearing, people emerged from the shadows of the forest. There were at least two dozen of them, all male. They had shaved heads and wore all white. And they were marching.
Bellamy’s blood turned to ice as the figures moved closer, their expressionless, masklike faces coming into chilling focus. But nothing was as terrifying as the guns glinting in the late-afternoon sun.
As they moved toward the center of the clearing, a few of the men broke from formation to yank Colonists and Earthborns out from under the tables. They dragged the people away by their arms and legs, and headed back toward the woods with their captives.
“What are they doing? We can’t let them take anyone,” Wells said. He stood up and lunged forward, but not before Bellamy and Eric each took hold of a shoulder.
“Are you crazy?” Bellamy hissed. “They’ll kill you.”
“We can’t just hide. Look what they’re doing!” Wells wrenched away from Bellamy and Eric, and pointed with a shaking hand. Another group of the white-clad men marched out of the supply cabin, carrying large canvas sacks. The bastards were taking all their supplies, their food, their wood stores. Even the weapons they were using looked familiar, and for good reason. The intruders had stolen the Colonists’ rifles to use against them.
A hand on Bellamy’s shoulder made him jump. It was Clarke’s father, ashen and trembling. But it wasn’t his pale face that made Bellamy’s pulse stutter. He had one arm wrapped around his wife, who was clutching her side, her hands drenched in slick red.
“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked as Wells hurried to take her arm.
“I’m fine,” Mary said, though her face was contorted in pain. “But I’m worried about Clarke. She was on her way to the infirmary when the explosions started. I don’t know…” She trailed off with a grimace.
“I’ll find her.” Bellamy reached out to squeeze her uninjured arm. “I promise.”
“I’ll come with you,” Wells said.
“No, you stay with them.” Bellamy nodded toward Clarke’s parents. “Then you’ll be closer to the injured people.” He prayed that there’d still be people left to help when this thing was over.
The expressionless, white-clad men had spread out through the clearing. Some kicked the bodies on the ground, searching for signs of life. It was unclear to Bellamy who they were looking for, what determined who they left and who they dragged away. Every few moments, another ear-ringing shot ran out, followed by screams, or worse, silence.
Bellamy turned and ran through the woods toward the infirmary cabin at the other end of the clearing. Months of hunting had taught him to move quickly and silently, though this time, he wasn’t the hunter—he was the prey. He passed a number of people huddled behind the trees, watching him wide-eyed as he sprinted by. A few called to him, but he didn’t break stride. First he had to make sure Clarke and his sister were safe. Then he’d do whatever he could to help the others.
“Bel?” came a loud whisper. A flash of black hair tied in that ragged red ribbon. Octavia.
He skidded to a stop. His sister was crouched behind a bush near the edge of the clearing, her arms curved out to pen in as many of the children as she could, keeping them from wiggling into view of the invaders. “What do we do?” she asked quietly, her voice full of more fierceness than fear.
“Stay there,” Bellamy said quietly. “I’ll come back for you.”
Octavia nodded, whispering to the children.
Bellamy was nearly at the infirmary cabin, but he’d have to dash across open ground to get there. Thankfully, the invaders hadn’t come up this far; they were still concentrated at the other end of the clearing near the supply cabins, where the feast had been laid out.
Bellamy let out a long, ragged breath when he reached the door. The cabin looked untouched, no invaders in sight. But it was worryingly silent.
A branch cracked behind him and Bellamy whirled around, fists clenched. But instead of one of the men in white, it was a Colony guard, arms raised in surrender. Luke was almost unrecognizable, covered in gray soot from his curly hair to his boots. He held a rifle, which he lowered as he took a few steps toward Bellamy, limping more than usual.
Bellamy clapped a hand on Luke’s arm. “You all right?”
Luke looked more bewildered than scared. “I got thrown by the first blast, then somebody, one of those guys in white, started dragging me before the second one went off. I got away, got this gun, and fought them off.”
Bellamy glanced around. “Were you followed?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. Come on. Let’s get inside.”
Bellamy tried to open the infirmary door and found it barricaded with cabinets, medical bags, and cots. Good thinking, Clarke, he thought, even if it was keeping them out too. But they’d need to hurry. The invaders were still focused on raiding supplies from the other end of the clearing, but they’d make their way to this end soon enough. “Clarke,” he called softly. “It’s me.”
Clarke’s fingers appeared at the top of the pile, pulling objects downward. “You’ll need to climb!” she called. “I’ll make room at the top. Who’s with you? Do you have the kids?”
“They’re hiding with O,” Bellamy called back. “We’ll bring them here.”
“Go!” Clarke said, but Bellamy was already running back toward the perimeter, Luke on his tail.
Smoke poured out of the camp’s decimated buildings, and a huge gray cloud billowed over the new residential cabins. In the moments that he’d been at the infirmary, the men in white seemed to have left the clearing.
