Homecoming by Kass Morgan
She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and tried to focus. Though Bellamy had been lucky that the bullet had made a clean exit, it had entered in the worst possible place, within millimeters of a major artery. It would have been a tricky spot to stitch up if they had been back on the ship with a sterile surgical suite and bright lights. But in this dark cabin, with two guards hovering over Bellamy and bumping into Clarke every time she tried to check his wound, it was nearly impossible.
This was why doctors weren’t supposed to operate on people they cared about. She could barely keep her hands from shaking, let alone make an objective decision under pressure. She felt Bellamy’s forehead with the back of her hand. His fever had come down, which was a good sign, but he was still disoriented and in a lot of pain. It made Clarke sick to think of how much he was suffering—and how little she could do to help him.
“Clarke?” a weak voice called from across the room. “Clarke? I need you, please.” It was Marin, an older woman with a deep gash in her leg. Clarke had cleaned and stitched the wound, but they were running desperately low on painkillers, which meant they could only be used in the most dire cases.
“I’ll be right there,” Clarke said. It killed her to leave Bellamy, but there were still so many people who needed serious medical care that Clarke couldn’t spend more than a few minutes with him at a time. She squeezed his hand, and he half opened his eyes, smiled, and gave her hand a weak squeeze in return. She gently placed his arm back down on the cot and turned, bumping into one of the guards.
“Excuse me.” Clarke could barely keep the irritation out of her voice. The constant security wasn’t just excessive—it was hampering her ability to care for her patients. Where was Bellamy supposed to go while semiconscious and half-delirious with fever?
“Clarke, please? It hurts.” The voice was plaintive, desperate now.
Clarke didn’t have time to wallow. She had dressings to change and medicine to administer. Yet while she was grateful for the chance to be helpful, the exhausting, around-the-clock care she had to provide wasn’t enough to clear her mind of worry. Every time she caught a glimpse of Rhodes, her body seized with fury and disgust. Not only had he nearly killed Bellamy, but he was essentially keeping her prisoner. There was no way she could leave the camp with Bellamy in danger, and every hour that passed was one that could’ve been spent tracking down her parents. As far as they knew, she was still on the Colony, not standing on the same ground, under the same sky. It was a thought almost too frustrating to contemplate.
Clarke crossed the room and leaned over Marin. As she lifted the bandage from her leg, she pushed away thoughts of how she was letting her parents down by standing here, in this cramped cabin, instead of setting off on her own to find them.
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain,” Clarke said softly. “I know it hurts, but the good news is that this is healing beautifully.” Marin looked miserable, her face pale and clammy, but she managed a nod and a quiet thank you.
Clarke had spent so many nights on Phoenix leaning over her textbooks, marveling at the sophistication of medicine on the ship. Most major diseases had been eradicated—there was no more cancer or heart disease, not even the flu—and they had developed ways to regrow skin and rapidly fuse bones. She was awestruck to live in a time of such medical brilliance. She wanted to live up to the doctors who had come before her, so she worked hard, memorizing procedures and medications and physiological processes.
What Clarke wouldn’t give to have even a tenth of that medical equipment right then. She was essentially practicing in the dark, with fumbling hands instead of razor-edged scalpels, and flimsy assurances instead of bacteria-killing medicines. She might as well have offered her patients a wooden spoon to bite, like they did in the Middle Ages. She looked around at the faces of the bewildered adults and shell-shocked kids who groaned and wept and just stared off into the distance. There were hundreds more like them right outside. Could she care for all these people, day after day, all by herself?
And these were the lucky few who had somehow managed to secure a spot on one of the dropships. By the looks on some of their faces, the cost of saving themselves had been horrifyingly high. She could see the pain of leaving loved ones, friends, and neighbors behind—of letting others die so they could survive—written in their eyes. Clarke crouched down next to a boy, Keith, who lay quietly on a low cot at the back of the room. She smiled at him, and he gave her a little wave. Last night, she had asked Keith if his mom or dad were here with him, and he had shaken his head silently. Clarke could tell from his haunted expression that he was on Earth alone, and she stopped asking questions.
She wondered what would happen to him after he left her care. His broken ribs would heal soon, and he would leave the relative quiet of the hospital cabin. So far, Octavia had been taking care of the parentless children, but there was only so much one teenage girl could do. Who would teach him how to hunt or tell if the water was clean enough to drink? Would he be scared the first night he slept under the stars? Clarke brushed his sweaty hair back from his forehead and tapped the tip of his nose. “Get some rest, buddy,” she whispered. Keith closed his eyes, though Clarke doubted he would be able to rest.
Just seeing him so tiny and alone made Clarke grateful for the people she knew on Earth. There had been quite a few familiar faces among the latest arrivals—Dr. Lahiri, for one, and a few people from her residence corridor. Even Glass. Though they’d never really been friends, the girls had known each other their entire lives. There was something comforting about seeing a face you’ve seen all your life, about knowing that Glass had brought many of the same memories with her from the dying ship. Almost like Clarke didn’t have to remember everything herself—she had someone to share the load.
Although her limbs were heavy with exhaustion and anxiety, she forced herself to continue on to her next patient. It was Dr. Lahiri, whose shoulder was still causing him an unnerving amount of pain.
He lifted his head from the cot. His normally immaculately kept gray hair was greasy and tangled, which was almost more upsetting than the wound in his shoulder. “Hello, Clarke,” he said wearily.
“Hi, Dr. Lahiri. How’s your head?”
“Better. The dizziness has subsided, and I’m only seeing one of you at the moment.”
Clarke smiled. “Well that’s an improvement. Though I wish there were two of me, frankly.”
Dr. Lahiri studied her carefully for a moment. “You’re doing a great job here, Clarke. I hope you realize that. Your parents would be very proud of you.”
Clarke’s heart swelled—with sadness or gratitude, she wasn’t sure. For a few glorious days, she’d been absolutely sure she’d see her parents again and had spent long hours imagining all the things she would tell them, unloading all the thoughts and stories she’d tucked away, having no one to share them with. But now, the odds seemed slimmer and slimmer that she’d ever find the information she needed to track them down.
“I have to ask you something,” Clarke said quietly, looking around to make sure the guards were out of earshot. “I found something the other day, something that made me think my parents might be alive.” She watched Dr. Lahiri’s eyes widen, but it wasn’t with shock or even disbelief. Could he have known about this already? “And I think they’re on Earth,” she continued, taking a deep breath. “I know they are. I just need to figure out how to find them. Do you… do you know anything? Anything that could point me in the right direction?”
Dr. Lahiri sighed. “Clarke, I know you want—”
They were interrupted by a commotion by the door. Clarke spun around to see Vice Chancellor Rhodes standing at the front of the room. A murmur rippled across the cots as patients lifted their heads and saw who had entered. Clarke looked back at Dr. Lahiri desperately, wishing they could finish their conversation. He nodded at her, as if to say they would talk more later.
Clarke crossed toward the Vice Chancellor. She stopped in front of him, her hands on her
“Vice Chancellor,” Clarke said, not bothering to try to hide her disdain. “How can I help you?”
“Clarke, this doesn’t concern you. We’re here about Bellamy Blake.” He brushed against her shoulder as he stepped past her and farther into the room. Clarke clenched her hands into fists, her fingernails digging hard into her palms. The blood ran hot in her veins, and she had to take a couple of quick breaths to make sure she didn’t do something she’d regret. As corrupt and immoral as Rhodes was, he was also dangerous. Her parents had learned that the hard way.
Clarke watched as Rhodes approached Bellamy, who was, mercifully, asleep. The Vice Chancellor studied him for a moment, then turned and stepped briskly toward the door again. As he passed his guards, he spoke without looking at them. “Put the prisoner in solitary confinement until his trial.”
“Sir,” ventured one of the guards, “where will we keep him?”
Rhodes stopped and spun slowly to look at him with narrowed eyes. “Figure it out,” he snapped before disappearing through the door.
“Yes, sir,” the guard said to Rhodes’s retreating back.
Clarke’s stomach did a slow turn as she recognized the voice. It was Scott. She looked up to see him staring at Bellamy, his face unreadable. Normally the sight of his blotchy skin and watery eyes made her want to take a long, hot shower. But this time, she didn’t feel her usual revulsion. This time she felt more hope than disdain, because Scott had given her an idea. No one—especially not Vice Chancellor Rhodes—was going to hurt Bellamy. Clarke would see to that.
CHAPTER 9
Glass
Glass knew she was lucky to be on Earth, but a part of her wondered if she’d have fought quite so hard to get here if she’d known she was going to spend the rest of her life peeing in the woods. Glass stepped out of the tiny shed, which really wasn’t much more than a lean-to with a tree as the fourth wall, and headed back toward camp. At least, she thought she was heading toward camp. All the trees looked the same, and she was still getting her bearings.
The distant sound of voices reassured her she was getting closer. She stepped into the clearing, reluctantly leaving behind the comforting quiet of the woods. Glass stopped in her tracks, suddenly disoriented. She wasn’t in the right place. She was used to arriving between the infirmary and the supply cabins, but somehow she had ended up on the opposite side of the camp, near one of the new dormitory-like structures that was going up. She sighed at her own miscalculation, making a mental note to be more careful next time. Luke had already lectured her several times about staying alert and not going off into the woods alone. But he was working all the time, and Glass wasn’t comfortable enough with anyone else in camp to ask them to come with her to the bathroom.
Glass rounded the construction site and came up behind two men talking in low voices near the tree line. They were engrossed in conversation and didn’t seem to notice she was there. She stopped, unsure whether to alert them to her presence, stay still until they were done, or just keep walking past them. Before she had a chance to decide, she realized that one of the men was familiar—it was Vice Chancellor Rhodes.
Glass froze as her brain unleashed a storm of conflicting emotions. Something about him had always made Glass’s skin prickle, and watching him order his guards to shoot Bellamy certainly hadn’t helped matters. Yet at the same time, he was the reason Glass was alive. When he’d spotted Glass and her mother in the crush of people trying in vain to make their way to the dropships, he’d swept them along with his entourage and secured them the final two seats.
Glass hadn’t been near enough to Rhodes to speak to him since that moment, but now a thousand unspoken questions bubbled up in her throat. Why had he helped them? What was his relationship with her mother? Had she spoken of how much Glass had disappointed her, back on the Colony?
The Vice Chancellor’s voice snapped Glass out of her thoughts. “We’ll hold the trial in the center of camp. Make sure everyone knows attendance is mandatory. I want them to see up close that treason or self-serving treachery of any kind will not be tolerated.”
Glass stifled a gasp. He was talking about Bellamy.
“Yes, sir,” said the other man, who wore a ripped and dirt-dusted officer’s uniform. Glass recognized him as the Vice Chancellor’s second-in-command, Burnett—the man who had grabbed her arm and pulled Glass and her mother to safety on the launch deck. “And have you thought about where we will house him long-term if his sentence is Confinement?”
Rhodes let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Confinement? There’s only one outcome to this trial, and I assure you, it is not Confinement.”
Burnett nodded. “I see.”
“You and I will sit on the Council, as will a couple of the elder Phoenicians who came down with us,” Rhodes continued. “I’ve already spoken to them. They understand what they need to do. We will execute the prisoner, which should serve as a clear reminder to all that maintaining order here on Earth is just as important—indeed, more so—than it was on the Colony.”
“I understand, sir. But as to the logistics. We can’t exactly float the prisoner down here. How would you like to handle the execution? We have firearms, but…” Burnett hesitated for only the briefest of moments. “Will you pull the trigger yourself?”
Glass shut her eyes as a wave of nausea crashed over her. She couldn’t believe her ears. They were talking about executing Bellamy in the same off-hand manner they might have used to discuss electricity rations or an upcoming Remembrance Day celebration.
“I’ve been giving that some thought, and I believe I have just the person for the job. He’s a rule abider, and he’s an excellent guard. A member of the engineering corps in fact. But he’s displayed some rebellious tendencies lately, harboring a fugitive, among other things, and I think this task will do nicely to remind him where his loyalties lie.”
Glass’s head started to spin, as if someone had cut off the oxygen supply to her brain, and she reached out a hand to steady herself on the nearest tree trunk. Luke. The Vice Chancellor was going to force Luke to execute Bellamy to prove his loyalty. But Luke would never kill someone—she knew he couldn’t possibly pull the trigger. What would Rhodes do to him then? Would he question more than just Luke’s allegiance? Would he wonder if Luke could be trusted at all? Because it had become crystal clear what Rhodes did to people he couldn’t trust.
Rhodes and Burnett began walking toward a small cluster of guards she didn’t recognize. As soon as they were out of earshot, Glass let out a long breath that ended in a choked sob. She had to find Luke. She scanned the campsite but didn’t see him anywhere. Panic began to rise in her chest. Stay calm, she told herself. Freaking out will solve nothing. You kept it together during a spacewalk—you can certainly keep it together long enough to find Luke.
Glass forced herself to walk calmly across the center of camp, headed for the infirmary cabin. Maybe Clarke had seen Luke. She stepped inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim, windowless cabin, and she felt momentarily blinded. When her vision returned, she saw Luke standing across from her, his back to her. He was on duty, guarding Bellamy. The relief she felt upon seeing him nearly brought tears to her eyes. But then an image of Luke raising a gun and pointing it at Bellamy, pulling the trigger, the loud pop as he fired it, flooded her mind. She couldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t let them force Luke to make that decision—and she wasn’t
Glass crossed the room in three big steps and grabbed Luke’s arm. He spun around, his fists up in a defensive gesture, then laughed when he saw her.
“Hi,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides. “You trying to get me in trouble?” His smile fell when he saw the expression on Glass’s face. “Are you okay?” Luke said in a low voice, leaning toward her so no one else could hear their conversation.
“Can we talk?” She nodded toward the door. “Outside?”
“Sure.” Luke turned to the other guard. “Hey, man, I need to step out for a second. You okay?” The guard shrugged, looked at Bellamy, who lay sound asleep and strapped down to the cot, and turned back to Luke and nodded. Luke followed Glass out into the sunlight.
They stepped behind the cabin, and after checking to make sure no one was listening, Glass told Luke everything she had heard Rhodes say. She hated seeing the pained look on his face as he absorbed the full weight of her words. He looked away from her, casting his gaze far out over the treetops. He was silent for a long moment, and Glass held her breath. Birds chirped, the sound of an ax splicing wood echoed across the camp.
Finally Luke turned back to her, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with resolve. “I won’t do it,” he said firmly.
Glass’s heart fluttered with love and pride at Luke’s clear sense of right and wrong. She admired his integrity and honor—it was one of the first things she had been drawn to. But she would never—could never—let him jeopardize himself to save someone else.