Rebellion (The 100 #4)(32)

Wells dropped the prop gun and turned, letting the Protector in his arms go with an apologetic pat on the back. The man gripped his throat, coughing, but knocked Wells’s shoulder in reply, mouthing, nice job.

“Come on out, everyone,” Oak called. “This training round is finished.”

The other novice Protectors picked their way out of their hiding spots in the forest and made their way over. Oak waited until they’d all gathered in a loose circle before pointing to Wells with a smirk.

“You didn’t need to mouth off at the end, there,” Oak said. “You had a gun. That talks a lot louder than you do. And a silent man is an intimidating man. If you talk, they’ll think they can talk too. Talk you out of it. Instead of warning them…” Oak stooped to pick up the rifle, spinning and cocking it with lightning speed. “Just shoot.”

He aimed the barrel at Wells’s chest and pulled the trigger. It clicked softly. No ammo. Wells exhaled.

“Other than that, not bad,” Oak grumbled. “Not bad at all. Which is more than I can say for the rest of you!” He turned to squint disgustedly at the others, stopping briefly at Kit, the Earthborn boy. “You were stealthy, lad. You and this one”—he nodded to Wells—“you’re starting to listen to Earth. And She’s talking back. Keep it up and you’ll be one of us, if Earth wills it.”

“If Earth wills it,” they all repeated.

“Now get in line and prepare to run!”

Wells started sprinting away, knowing that Oak would catch up within seconds.

Kit glanced at Wells over his shoulder as he jogged away, blinking twice, their signal that all was going as planned. Kit and Eric had talked to all the other guys from their camp that had been captured, and they were on the same page—everyone would play along and make the Protectors think they were on their side so their captors would let their guards down. Then they would find the perfect time to escape. Wells wasn’t sure what the other recruits thought—if they were true believers or equally unwilling captives—but for now he and his friends were only speaking to the people they knew.

Wells blinked back and Kit looked away, just as Oak fell in beside him.

“You’re running against Earth’s soil,” Oak snarled. This was the call and repeat they had to do every time they trained.

“I beg Earth’s forgiveness,” Wells answered.

“You eat Earth’s food.”

“I thank Earth for Her bounty.”

“Pledge yourself to Earth’s service.”

Wells’s stomach tightened. Here it came—the sucker punch—just like every time the demand was made. They kept saying the recruits weren’t ready to pledge themselves to Earth’s service, that they weren’t allowed. And there was no sense in fighting it, not if they wanted the Protectors to believe they were buying this.

Not yet.

“I pledge myself to Earth’s service,” Wells said, bracing himself.

The silence that followed felt like a free fall. Wells cocked his head, confused. He’d said it. The whole sentence. And Oak was still just running beside him, aggression firmly in check.

Wells glanced at Oak. The old man wasn’t looking at him, just staring down the forest track back to the barracks. His mouth was still set in a surly line, but there was the faintest glint of a smile in his eyes. Wells was making progress.

When they reached the outer courtyard of the Stone, Wells stopped abruptly, as he’d been trained to do, hands behind his back awaiting next orders.

“Break for lunch,” Oak barked. “Be back here in an hour.”

“Yes, sir,” Wells said. Oak stalked off toward the field and Wells watched him with wonder. For the first time since they’d arrived, he was allowed to be on his own. He wasn’t being marched to his meal or being watched by his trainer. He wasn’t being watched by anyone at all.

Was this his reward for doing well today? For pledging himself to Earth’s service?

Wells glanced around and, seeing no one looking, spat into the dirt, as close to a rebellion as he could muster right now. Something told him the planet didn’t care. Then, deciding to press his luck a little further, he went inside the Stone to do a little exploring.

The outer roads were bustling with carts today. Another raiding party must have just come in, this one from the south, wagons full of ceramic pots and bowls, woven rugs, winter vegetables, cured meats, and what looked like blocks of salt. Though he kept his expression schooled, anger burned brightly inside him. Who had the Protectors been stealing from now? Destroying his camp wasn’t enough for them?

Wells kept going, deeper into the structure, taking in as many details as he could in the limited time he was given. A plume of steam came from a wide inner room. He ducked his head inside to see a laundry facility, clothes being dropped into a vat over a fire, red-cheeked girls stirring it, sweat pooling in dark puddles on the backs of their white dresses. He scanned the room, but none of the faces were familiar.

The buzz of furtive whispers drew his attention down the road. The way was blocked by a wall of white fabric dangling from a line that stretched from building to building. He could see two figures outlined behind one sheet by the afternoon sun, their heads close together.

The two figures stepped back, and one of their heads poked out from between the pinned sheets. Wells caught a flash of black hair and red ribbon, glanced behind him for onlookers, and hurried over.