When Wells saw Clarke step around from behind a large tree, he exhaled with relief. They were close enough to the clearing that he could pass Sasha to Clarke, and let her pretend that she’d been escorting the prisoner to the bathroom. She wouldn’t mind covering for him. Of all people, Clarke saw the foolishness of trying to keep Sasha tied up in the cabin.
Wells raised his hand in greeting, then noticed that something was wrong. Clarke always moved with such purpose—whether reaching for a book in the library at home, or striding forward to examine a plant that caught her eye. It was a shock to watch her trudge through the woods as if dragging some invisible weight behind her.
“Clarke,” Wells called. He exchanged a look with Sasha, who nodded a silent agreement to stay where she was, then he broke into a jog. As he got closer, he saw that her eyes were red. Clarke, who’d sat through her parents’ trial in stony silence, had been crying? “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, looking straight ahead to avoid meeting his eyes. Even without the tears, he’d know she was lying.
“Come on, Clarke,” Wells said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Sasha was still safely out of earshot. “After everything we’ve been through”—after all the pain we’ve caused each other, Wells wanted to say, but didn’t—“don’t you think I know when something’s wrong?” She nodded, sniffing, but said nothing. Wells frowned. “Did something happen with Bellamy?”
He expected her to brush him off, but to his surprise, Clarke looked up at him, her eyes shiny with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Wells. I punished you for so long. I should have forgiven you…” Her voice broke and she turned away.
“It’s okay,” Wells said hesitantly, wrapping one arm around her. Somehow, he knew her apology had more to do with Bellamy than it did with him. “What can I do to help?” he asked. “Want me to go beat him up for you?”
“No,” Clarke sniffed, but at least she was smiling.
Before he could say anything else, Clarke’s eyes widened as she caught sight of something over Wells’s shoulder. For a moment, he thought she was looking at Sasha, but as he turned to follow Clarke’s gaze, his discomfort turned to horror.
Something was hanging from the branch of a tall, thick tree, rotating slowly, wobbling from side to side as it bumped against the trunk.
It’s a person, Wells thought, before realizing that was impossible. No one’s head could hang at that angle. No one’s face could possibly be that blue.
Behind him, Clarke made a sound he’d never heard before, half shriek, half moan.
Wells took a few steps forward, waiting for his brain to offer another explanation, but nothing came.
“No,” he said aloud, blinking rapidly to dispel the image, like he used to do with his cornea slips.
But the rotating shape remained.
It was a small girl, and although her face was bloated almost beyond recognition, he knew her by her shiny dark hair. Her delicate wrists and small hands that had always surprised Wells with their strength.
“Priya,” Clarke gasped behind him. She staggered next to Wells and clutched his arm. For the first time since they’d landed on Earth, Clarke was too horror-struck to do more than stare.
The rope that was wrapped around Priya’s neck was digging into her skin—skin that had been golden brown hours ago, and was now a mottled blue. “We have to get her down,” Wells said, although he knew she was beyond help.
He took a shaky step forward, then realized that Sasha was already scaling the tree. “Pass me your knife,” she said as she began creeping along the branch. “Now,” she ordered when Wells didn’t move.
He took a few lurching steps forward while he fumbled for the knife in his pocket, then tossed it up to Sasha, who caught it one-handed.
Silently, Sasha cut the rope tying Priya to the tree, and lowered her carefully down. “Do you think… did she do this to herself?” Wells asked, turning away as Clarke felt the bruised neck for a pulse they all knew she wouldn’t find. Quiet, helpful, steadfast Priya. Why would she have done something like this? Was it terrible homesickness? Or had she sensed the hundred were beyond saving? Threads of guilt began to wind their way through his horror. Could he have done more to make her feel safe?
“No,” Sasha said, her voice shaking. She’d climbed down from the tree and was now standing a few meters behind Wells.
“I’m not sure yet,” Clarke said without taking her eyes from Priya. “I’d have to think more about the marks on her neck, the position of the rope…” She trailed off. Wells knew she didn’t relish the role of coroner.
“She didn’t kill herself,” Sasha said, more firmly this time.
“And how do you know?” Clarke asked, finally tearing her eyes from Priya to face Sasha. Wells couldn’t tell whether Clarke disliked having her medical authority questioned, or if she resented the outsider’s intrusion into their private pain.
“Her feet,” Sasha said softly, pointing.
Until this moment, Wells hadn’t realized that Priya was barefoot. He stepped forward and squinted in an attempt to see what Sasha was talking about. There were marks on her soles that, at first, looked like streaks of dirt. But as he got closer, Wells realized they were cuts—cuts in the shapes of letters.
“Oh my god,” Clarke gasped.
There was a message carved into Priya’s flesh. One word on the sole of each small foot.
Go. Home.
He didn’t have to worry about returning Sasha to the cabin. Once the sound of footsteps and muffled shouts made it clear that people were coming to investigate Clarke’s cries, Wells sent Sasha back into the woods with instructions to sneak back into the clearing when the coast was clear. As word about Priya spread, the clearing would fill with enough commotion that no one would notice the Earthborn girl had gone missing.
About ten minutes later, Eric and an Arcadian girl were carrying Priya’s body back down the hill, while Antonio escorted the wide-eyed, shaking Clarke. Wells wished he could help her himself—especially considering how upset she’d been about Bellamy earlier—but someone needed to investigate the crime scene, such as it was, before the sun set.
He watched as the others trailed after the body. Once the impromptu funeral procession had disappeared behind the trees, he began scanning the ground, trying to determine whether Priya had been seized in the forest, or dragged from another location. Wells tried not to think about how terrified she must’ve been, or what the Earthborns had done to keep her from screaming. He tried not to think about whether she’d felt the knife digging into the soles of her feet, or if they’d waited until she was already dead to carve her flesh.
He climbed up onto the branch to examine the frayed pieces of rope. It turned out to be one of the thin, nylon cords that had secured the supply containers in the dropship. That meant that the Earthborns had been in their camp.
As more grim thoughts began to overpower his resolve, another scream echoed through the trees, making his heart lurch in his chest.
Sasha.
In one smooth movement, he dropped from the branch and broke into a sprint.
The scream came again, louder this time. Wells sped up, cursing every time he skidded on a patch of mud or tripped over a hidden stone. He tore past the path that had been formed by frequent trips to the stream, following the sound deeper into the woods.
When he crashed through a clump of bushes and saw Sasha with Bellamy, his first reaction was relief. Bellamy had heard the screams too and come running. But then two details of the scene clicked into focus—the fear in Sasha’s face, and the glint of metal at her throat.
Bellamy had his arm wrapped around Sasha’s neck from behind, and was pressing something sharp and silver to her skin. “Tell me where your friends took my sister,” he was saying, his eyes wild. “Where do your people live? What are they doing with her?”
Sasha gasped and whispered something Wells couldn’t hear. With a shout, he hurtled forward and knocked Bellamy to the ground.
“Are you crazy?” Wells shouted, kicking the piece of metal—a twisted remnant of the dropship—out of Bellamy’s hand. He turned to Sasha, who had her arms wrapped around her sides, trembling. “Are you okay?” he asked, more gently.
Wells raised his hand in greeting, then noticed that something was wrong. Clarke always moved with such purpose—whether reaching for a book in the library at home, or striding forward to examine a plant that caught her eye. It was a shock to watch her trudge through the woods as if dragging some invisible weight behind her.
“Clarke,” Wells called. He exchanged a look with Sasha, who nodded a silent agreement to stay where she was, then he broke into a jog. As he got closer, he saw that her eyes were red. Clarke, who’d sat through her parents’ trial in stony silence, had been crying? “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, looking straight ahead to avoid meeting his eyes. Even without the tears, he’d know she was lying.
“Come on, Clarke,” Wells said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Sasha was still safely out of earshot. “After everything we’ve been through”—after all the pain we’ve caused each other, Wells wanted to say, but didn’t—“don’t you think I know when something’s wrong?” She nodded, sniffing, but said nothing. Wells frowned. “Did something happen with Bellamy?”
He expected her to brush him off, but to his surprise, Clarke looked up at him, her eyes shiny with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Wells. I punished you for so long. I should have forgiven you…” Her voice broke and she turned away.
“It’s okay,” Wells said hesitantly, wrapping one arm around her. Somehow, he knew her apology had more to do with Bellamy than it did with him. “What can I do to help?” he asked. “Want me to go beat him up for you?”
“No,” Clarke sniffed, but at least she was smiling.
Before he could say anything else, Clarke’s eyes widened as she caught sight of something over Wells’s shoulder. For a moment, he thought she was looking at Sasha, but as he turned to follow Clarke’s gaze, his discomfort turned to horror.
Something was hanging from the branch of a tall, thick tree, rotating slowly, wobbling from side to side as it bumped against the trunk.
It’s a person, Wells thought, before realizing that was impossible. No one’s head could hang at that angle. No one’s face could possibly be that blue.
Behind him, Clarke made a sound he’d never heard before, half shriek, half moan.
Wells took a few steps forward, waiting for his brain to offer another explanation, but nothing came.
“No,” he said aloud, blinking rapidly to dispel the image, like he used to do with his cornea slips.
But the rotating shape remained.
It was a small girl, and although her face was bloated almost beyond recognition, he knew her by her shiny dark hair. Her delicate wrists and small hands that had always surprised Wells with their strength.
“Priya,” Clarke gasped behind him. She staggered next to Wells and clutched his arm. For the first time since they’d landed on Earth, Clarke was too horror-struck to do more than stare.
The rope that was wrapped around Priya’s neck was digging into her skin—skin that had been golden brown hours ago, and was now a mottled blue. “We have to get her down,” Wells said, although he knew she was beyond help.
He took a shaky step forward, then realized that Sasha was already scaling the tree. “Pass me your knife,” she said as she began creeping along the branch. “Now,” she ordered when Wells didn’t move.
He took a few lurching steps forward while he fumbled for the knife in his pocket, then tossed it up to Sasha, who caught it one-handed.
Silently, Sasha cut the rope tying Priya to the tree, and lowered her carefully down. “Do you think… did she do this to herself?” Wells asked, turning away as Clarke felt the bruised neck for a pulse they all knew she wouldn’t find. Quiet, helpful, steadfast Priya. Why would she have done something like this? Was it terrible homesickness? Or had she sensed the hundred were beyond saving? Threads of guilt began to wind their way through his horror. Could he have done more to make her feel safe?
“No,” Sasha said, her voice shaking. She’d climbed down from the tree and was now standing a few meters behind Wells.
“I’m not sure yet,” Clarke said without taking her eyes from Priya. “I’d have to think more about the marks on her neck, the position of the rope…” She trailed off. Wells knew she didn’t relish the role of coroner.
“She didn’t kill herself,” Sasha said, more firmly this time.
“And how do you know?” Clarke asked, finally tearing her eyes from Priya to face Sasha. Wells couldn’t tell whether Clarke disliked having her medical authority questioned, or if she resented the outsider’s intrusion into their private pain.
“Her feet,” Sasha said softly, pointing.
Until this moment, Wells hadn’t realized that Priya was barefoot. He stepped forward and squinted in an attempt to see what Sasha was talking about. There were marks on her soles that, at first, looked like streaks of dirt. But as he got closer, Wells realized they were cuts—cuts in the shapes of letters.
“Oh my god,” Clarke gasped.
There was a message carved into Priya’s flesh. One word on the sole of each small foot.
Go. Home.
He didn’t have to worry about returning Sasha to the cabin. Once the sound of footsteps and muffled shouts made it clear that people were coming to investigate Clarke’s cries, Wells sent Sasha back into the woods with instructions to sneak back into the clearing when the coast was clear. As word about Priya spread, the clearing would fill with enough commotion that no one would notice the Earthborn girl had gone missing.
About ten minutes later, Eric and an Arcadian girl were carrying Priya’s body back down the hill, while Antonio escorted the wide-eyed, shaking Clarke. Wells wished he could help her himself—especially considering how upset she’d been about Bellamy earlier—but someone needed to investigate the crime scene, such as it was, before the sun set.
He watched as the others trailed after the body. Once the impromptu funeral procession had disappeared behind the trees, he began scanning the ground, trying to determine whether Priya had been seized in the forest, or dragged from another location. Wells tried not to think about how terrified she must’ve been, or what the Earthborns had done to keep her from screaming. He tried not to think about whether she’d felt the knife digging into the soles of her feet, or if they’d waited until she was already dead to carve her flesh.
He climbed up onto the branch to examine the frayed pieces of rope. It turned out to be one of the thin, nylon cords that had secured the supply containers in the dropship. That meant that the Earthborns had been in their camp.
As more grim thoughts began to overpower his resolve, another scream echoed through the trees, making his heart lurch in his chest.
Sasha.
In one smooth movement, he dropped from the branch and broke into a sprint.
The scream came again, louder this time. Wells sped up, cursing every time he skidded on a patch of mud or tripped over a hidden stone. He tore past the path that had been formed by frequent trips to the stream, following the sound deeper into the woods.
When he crashed through a clump of bushes and saw Sasha with Bellamy, his first reaction was relief. Bellamy had heard the screams too and come running. But then two details of the scene clicked into focus—the fear in Sasha’s face, and the glint of metal at her throat.
Bellamy had his arm wrapped around Sasha’s neck from behind, and was pressing something sharp and silver to her skin. “Tell me where your friends took my sister,” he was saying, his eyes wild. “Where do your people live? What are they doing with her?”
Sasha gasped and whispered something Wells couldn’t hear. With a shout, he hurtled forward and knocked Bellamy to the ground.
“Are you crazy?” Wells shouted, kicking the piece of metal—a twisted remnant of the dropship—out of Bellamy’s hand. He turned to Sasha, who had her arms wrapped around her sides, trembling. “Are you okay?” he asked, more gently.
