A sedative, Wells realized, his rifle dipping useless in his hands. Just like when they got us in the first place.
“Get him in the wagon,” the blue-eyed Protector called out to the other one, his voice as hollowed of emotion as ever. Then he turned his gun on Wells. “Drop your guns, all of you.”
Wells let go of his rifle, watched it plummet into the dirt and staggered backward, hands up high. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other two prisoners follow suit.
“Good,” said the Protector, his eyes drifting past them. “Now finish up and let’s get going.”
Wells glanced behind him, surprised, then blinked hard and hurried back to the cellar as ordered. They acted so nonchalant, like this happened all the time. Maybe it did. Maybe they’d known one of them would crack.
Wells gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached as he loaded the vehicle with food. When it was done, he and the others ducked back into the wagon, where the Protectors had left them room on the bench.
Graham was sprawled unconscious on the floor beneath them. One of the Protectors casually used his lifeless shoulder as a footrest the entire way back to the Stone.
When they stopped in the courtyard, the blue-eyed Protector put his hand up, stopping Wells. “Drag your friend to the kennels.”
“He’s not my friend,” Wells said. “And I’d be happy to.”
The words tasted like poison in his mouth, but the Protector smiled, appeased. Wells drew a breath and reached into the wagon to hoist Graham into his arms.
“Did I tell you to carry him?” the Protector asked coolly. “Huh. I could have sworn I said to drag him.” He walked slowly behind Wells, raised his gun, and dug its barrel between Wells’s shoulder blades.
Wells felt wrath pulse through his veins, a volcano due to explode at any moment, but his fear was even stronger. One squeeze of that trigger and he wouldn’t be able to help Graham or Octavia or Glass or anyone ever again.
“Yes, sir,” he said. Carefully, he laid Graham onto the ground and started to pull, while the Protector’s gun dug into his back, prodding him step by step, straight into the belly of the Stone.
Soon, he thought. There was no more waiting for the perfect time, for the ideal intel, to bring these people to their knees. They were going to have to get out of there. The next chance we get.
If there was a next chance.
Wells dared one last longing glance back at the open sky, tugging Graham behind him, before the mammoth walls swallowed them both up again.
CHAPTER 21
Clarke
There wasn’t much she could do to prepare. She wasn’t bringing any weapons, of course. And she wasn’t bringing anything to trade. Unless there was some kind of gift she could offer as a sign of goodwill? Images of white-clad men flashed through her mind—their blank, expressionless faces as they methodically scoured the camp, ignoring the cries and screams of those who’d been injured in the explosion.
No, these weren’t the type of people who could be swayed with gifts. They would respond to strength. And bravery.
As Clarke paced back and forth, nervously running her hands along the rough bark of the trees, she tried to picture herself approaching the giant concrete wall, her head held high. She had to look like an equal, not a victim. She’d imagine Wells was watching her from inside, and that she had to make him proud.
And maybe, just maybe, they’d listen to her and release the prisoners. She could already see the look on Bellamy’s face when he saw Clarke with Octavia. His stony expression would collapse, replaced by joy and relief. And after hugging his sister, he’d turn to Clarke with gratitude in his eyes.
A branch snapped, and Clarke whirled around to see Paul coming toward her. “I’m ready,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I think I should head out now.”
“There’s been a change of plans,” he said cheerfully, as if they were discussing a trip to swim in the creek instead of a potentially fatal rescue mission. “Cooper is going to go instead, and Vale is going to go watch to make sure it goes okay. She’ll return when he’s safely inside. It makes more sense for an Earthborn to act as the negotiator. Cooper will have more in common with them, and then we don’t have to worry about all the hostility toward the people who dropped out of the sky.”
“What? A change of plans? When did you discuss this?” Clarke craned her head, looking for signs that a meeting had just broken up.
“It was my decision,” Paul said. He placed his hand on Clarke’s shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. “I don’t want you to think I don’t have faith in you, because I do. I hope you know how much we all appreciate you.”