“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said, grabbing her hand. “They all think the planet is empty. Now’s probably not the right time for them to learn about Earthborns. Not when they’re disoriented and scared. The guards could do something stupid.”
“But I’ll be helping them,” Sasha said, her voice a mix of patience and confusion. “It’ll be pretty clear that I’m not the enemy.”
Wells fell silent, thinking about all the patrols he’d gone on during officer training. The people he’d seen arrested for crimes as minor as breaking curfew by five minutes or accidentally entering a restricted area. He knew that strict order was absolutely necessary on the ship, but it’d be hard for the guards to abandon their mantra of shoot first, ask questions later.
“The thing you have to understand about my people—”
She cut him off by placing her hands on his shoulders, rising onto her toes, and silencing him with a kiss. “Your people are my people now.”
“I hope they get that quote right in the history books,” he said with a smile.
“I thought you wanted to write that book.” She put on what he assumed was the Earthborn version of a snooty voice. “A firsthand account of man’s return to Earth. Sounds like a great read, except for the fact that, you know, some people never left.”
“You better watch it, or else I’ll take some artistic liberties with your description.”
“What? You’ll say I was horribly ugly? See if I care.”
Wells reached out to tuck a strand of long hair behind her ear. “I’ll say that you were so beautiful, you made me do ridiculous, reckless things.”
She smiled, and for a moment, every thought drained from Wells’s brain except for how much he wanted to kiss her again. Then their reverie was broken by voices calling out through the darkness. “Wells? We’re ready.” The bitter smell of smoke from the crash site had begun wafting through the trees, filling their noses.
“Okay,” he said to Sasha, his voice firm. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 3
Clarke
Clarke stared at the crash scene, eyes straining in the dark, waiting for the inevitable moment when her training would kick in, when her instincts would anesthetize her panic. But hovering at the edge of the wide expanse of debris, absorbing the destruction, all she felt was horror.
It was far worse than when the hundred had landed. From what she could see, three dropships had slammed into the ground just a few dozen meters apart. It was amazing that they hadn’t crashed on top of each other. Their jagged metal carcasses protruded from the earth around the water’s edge, looming high above the surface of the lake. Motionless bodies were scattered everywhere. The fires had mostly gone out, but the stench of burning metal lay heavy on the air.
Even worse than the sight of so many bodies was the growing number of wounded. By Clarke’s quick estimation, there were three hundred and fifty or so survivors in various states of distress.
“Holy…” Wells’s voice trailed off next to her. But within moments, his expression hardened into resolve. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Where do we start?”
Clarke’s brain kicked into gear, and a familiar calmness stole over her as she began to mentally triage the people in her sightline—sorting the ones with mangled limbs from the ones who sat up on their own, beginning with the children and moving upward in age.
They could do this. She could do this. Each of the dropships had to be stocked with medical supplies. She had a lot more to work with this time around, and she’d learned a massive amount over the past few weeks. Besides, there had to be at least one or two fully qualified doctors among the passengers. She could only hope that they were among the survivors. She winced as a pang of regret radiated through her chest. She needed her parents more than ever, but was no closer to finding them than she had been when she left the camp days ago.
“Start separating them into groups,” she said to Wells, Sasha, and the other members of the rescue party. “Leave the worst injuries where they are and lead anyone who can walk back to the clearing.”
“What about the people in between?” Eric asked. “Should we let them rest here or get them moving?”
“Everyone needs to get moving, as fast as possible,” Wells said before Clarke could answer. “The dropships could blow at any moment. We’ll break into two teams. One half starts from the left, one from the right.”
Clarke nodded, distributed the bandages and other basic medical supplies, then headed into the center of the fray. She stepped over piles of twisted metal and shards of fiberglass, and knelt down next to a little boy whose dark skin was caked with gray ash. He was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest as he stared straight ahead, wide-eyed and whimpering.
“Hey,” Clarke said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I’m Clarke. What’s your name?”
He didn’t answer. There was no sign that he’d even heard Clarke or felt the pressure of her touch.
“I know you’re scared. But everything’s going to be okay. You’re going to love it here, I promise.”
She stood up and beckoned to Eric, who ran over.
“He’s fine. Just in shock. Can you find someone to look after him?”
Eric nodded, scooped the little boy into his arms, and hurried away.
Off to the left, Clarke could see Wells reassuring a middle-aged woman. He helped her to her feet and walked her over to Sasha, who was getting ready to bring the first group of survivors back to the camp. An icy chill ran down Clarke’s spine when she saw a young man in a guard uniform standing among them. Bellamy had promised to stay out of sight for the time being, but it wouldn’t take much to draw him into a confrontation. What if something happened to him while she was gone?
“But I’ll be helping them,” Sasha said, her voice a mix of patience and confusion. “It’ll be pretty clear that I’m not the enemy.”
Wells fell silent, thinking about all the patrols he’d gone on during officer training. The people he’d seen arrested for crimes as minor as breaking curfew by five minutes or accidentally entering a restricted area. He knew that strict order was absolutely necessary on the ship, but it’d be hard for the guards to abandon their mantra of shoot first, ask questions later.
“The thing you have to understand about my people—”
She cut him off by placing her hands on his shoulders, rising onto her toes, and silencing him with a kiss. “Your people are my people now.”
“I hope they get that quote right in the history books,” he said with a smile.
“I thought you wanted to write that book.” She put on what he assumed was the Earthborn version of a snooty voice. “A firsthand account of man’s return to Earth. Sounds like a great read, except for the fact that, you know, some people never left.”
“You better watch it, or else I’ll take some artistic liberties with your description.”
“What? You’ll say I was horribly ugly? See if I care.”
Wells reached out to tuck a strand of long hair behind her ear. “I’ll say that you were so beautiful, you made me do ridiculous, reckless things.”
She smiled, and for a moment, every thought drained from Wells’s brain except for how much he wanted to kiss her again. Then their reverie was broken by voices calling out through the darkness. “Wells? We’re ready.” The bitter smell of smoke from the crash site had begun wafting through the trees, filling their noses.
“Okay,” he said to Sasha, his voice firm. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 3
Clarke
Clarke stared at the crash scene, eyes straining in the dark, waiting for the inevitable moment when her training would kick in, when her instincts would anesthetize her panic. But hovering at the edge of the wide expanse of debris, absorbing the destruction, all she felt was horror.
It was far worse than when the hundred had landed. From what she could see, three dropships had slammed into the ground just a few dozen meters apart. It was amazing that they hadn’t crashed on top of each other. Their jagged metal carcasses protruded from the earth around the water’s edge, looming high above the surface of the lake. Motionless bodies were scattered everywhere. The fires had mostly gone out, but the stench of burning metal lay heavy on the air.
Even worse than the sight of so many bodies was the growing number of wounded. By Clarke’s quick estimation, there were three hundred and fifty or so survivors in various states of distress.
“Holy…” Wells’s voice trailed off next to her. But within moments, his expression hardened into resolve. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Where do we start?”
Clarke’s brain kicked into gear, and a familiar calmness stole over her as she began to mentally triage the people in her sightline—sorting the ones with mangled limbs from the ones who sat up on their own, beginning with the children and moving upward in age.
They could do this. She could do this. Each of the dropships had to be stocked with medical supplies. She had a lot more to work with this time around, and she’d learned a massive amount over the past few weeks. Besides, there had to be at least one or two fully qualified doctors among the passengers. She could only hope that they were among the survivors. She winced as a pang of regret radiated through her chest. She needed her parents more than ever, but was no closer to finding them than she had been when she left the camp days ago.
“Start separating them into groups,” she said to Wells, Sasha, and the other members of the rescue party. “Leave the worst injuries where they are and lead anyone who can walk back to the clearing.”
“What about the people in between?” Eric asked. “Should we let them rest here or get them moving?”
“Everyone needs to get moving, as fast as possible,” Wells said before Clarke could answer. “The dropships could blow at any moment. We’ll break into two teams. One half starts from the left, one from the right.”
Clarke nodded, distributed the bandages and other basic medical supplies, then headed into the center of the fray. She stepped over piles of twisted metal and shards of fiberglass, and knelt down next to a little boy whose dark skin was caked with gray ash. He was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest as he stared straight ahead, wide-eyed and whimpering.
“Hey,” Clarke said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I’m Clarke. What’s your name?”
He didn’t answer. There was no sign that he’d even heard Clarke or felt the pressure of her touch.
“I know you’re scared. But everything’s going to be okay. You’re going to love it here, I promise.”
She stood up and beckoned to Eric, who ran over.
“He’s fine. Just in shock. Can you find someone to look after him?”
Eric nodded, scooped the little boy into his arms, and hurried away.
Off to the left, Clarke could see Wells reassuring a middle-aged woman. He helped her to her feet and walked her over to Sasha, who was getting ready to bring the first group of survivors back to the camp. An icy chill ran down Clarke’s spine when she saw a young man in a guard uniform standing among them. Bellamy had promised to stay out of sight for the time being, but it wouldn’t take much to draw him into a confrontation. What if something happened to him while she was gone?
