Clarke blinked, dizzy, and let the front line start to pass her. “Octavia?”
And there she was, eyes bright as ever. A grateful sob rose in Clarke’s throat. She opened her arms wide and Octavia bounded into them, wrapping her in a frantic hug. These girls hadn’t needed saving—they’d already been saving themselves.
“Was that you guys?” Octavia asked, cocking her head east. She moved to give Wells a quick hug.
Clarke nodded.
A curly-haired girl standing beside Octavia glanced upward in awe, grinning. “Badass.”
“Clarke, Anna, Anna, Clarke…” Octavia waved her hand in the air. “How about we skip the rest of the introductions until after we escape?”
“Good plan,” Clarke said, starting to run beside them. “Where’s Glass?”
“I don’t know,” Octavia said, her breath growing ragged as they ran. “But she knows the plan. We’ll find her.”
Wells led them all back toward the exit, but before they could get there, Clarke felt herself yanked violently backward. Her pulse spiked straight into sharp terror.
She was yanked down to the ground. A blond woman in a gray dress stood above her, her eyes full of inhuman rage. The woman was holding a dagger high… and aiming it straight for Clarke’s neck.
A fist connected with the attacker’s face. The woman let go with a gasp, her head knocking against the rocky wall, the rest of her slumping to the ground with it. Clarke looked up to see Octavia wincing, cradling her own bloodied hand.
Anna beamed. “She’s been waiting to do that forever.”
“Is that woman one of their leaders?” Clarke asked, staggering upright. “Maybe we should take her—use her to negotiate—”
“A truce?” Wells supplied darkly.
“Why not?” Clarke swiped dirt off her cheek. “They have no weapons left. We hold all the leverage,” Clarke said, her eyes still locked on Wells.
“Fine,” Wells said. “Let’s take her.”
They’d made it ten more steps toward the exit when a sound made them stop in their tracks… a guttural, animalistic cry made by way too many voices.
Two stunned seconds later, a group of familiar figures—Bellamy, Luke, Felix, Jessa, and Vale—erupted around the corner. Their friends raced toward them, arms and legs pumping wildly. Bellamy’s eyes widened at the sight of Clarke, and then flooded with relief when they landed on Octavia, but then they narrowed as he screamed a single word.
“Run!”
Clarke turned and fled with the crowd. Outside, the sun was rising, fiery, on the horizon. And behind them, the building mirrored the colors, engulfed in actual flames. Their crowd of escapees kept sprinting until they spotted a rippling movement in the near distance. Water. They’d reached the river.
Backing up until she stood shoulder to shoulder with Bellamy, Clarke turned and recocked her gun, preparing for a last stand. A crowd of raiders came roaring out of the building. This was it.
There was no mistaking it this time—these people were their enemies. Clarke stood on the front line as a crowd of men in white, some armed with guns, others with sticks and rocks, charged forward at full speed. They were led by a trio of women in gray dresses. Which reminded Clarke…
She grabbed the gray woman who had attacked her in the hall and stepped forward, pressing her gun to the woman’s head.
“Stop,” Clarke shouted at the approaching raiders. “Or I shoot her.”
The raiders halted, the women in front looking wild-eyed.
“We have your weapons,” continued Clarke. “We have your captives. Our people. Your building is destroyed. You are outnumbered and you cannot win. But this doesn’t need to end in violence. Leave. Leave this area and leave us be, and never, ever come back.”
All the people behind her watched silently as their pursuers lowered their weapons and dropped their rocks, their faces falling slack. They looked… defeated.
But then one of the women in gray stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “No. Soren declared this our home. She said that Earth willed it. We won’t leave unless Soren says so.”
Before Clarke could reply, Anna said, “Oh god,” and pointed past her shoulder.
A lone figure in white was crawling through a blown-out window behind them, flames licking at her back.
“Is that Glass?” Clarke asked, squinting.
Everyone—raiders and rescuers and captives alike—turned to watch her approach. Glass stumbled closer, dirty and defiant.
“Soren… is dead,” Glass shouted.
CHAPTER 30
Glass
Still reeling from Soren’s last haunting scream, Glass shivered as she walked toward her friends.
All along the edge of the crumbling building, the Protectors were backing up, laying down their rocks and sticks, even their guns, with a confused glaze to their eyes. The warriors looked suddenly completely lost, helpless to do anything.
Without Soren, they were nothing.