Rebellion (The 100 #4)(56)

“Explain outside,” Clarke shouted over the din. “We need to get out of here before the whole thing collapses.”

They raced outside through the hole their grenades had made. As they put distance between themselves and the crumbling walls, Wells filled Clarke in on how he’d rallied the other recruits—they’d been prepared to riot at some sort of mass gathering this morning, but then the first grenade went off and all hell broke loose.

“What was the plan?” he asked her as they turned and watched the entrance to the Stone collapse. “You guys were going to blow down the structure with us inside?”

Clarke winced. “No, it was just supposed to knock down the outer walls. We just wanted to get in so we could rescue you all. But we didn’t anticipate how much damage there had already been to the foundations.”

Wells stared back at the building, his face grim. “We knocked out the people guarding us and managed to escape, but the girls are still in there. I think the rest of the Protectors headed to their armory. They’re not going to give this place up easily, Clarke. We need to be prepared for a fight.”

Clarke grinned. “Oh, we are. If they’re headed to the armory, they’re in for a nasty surprise.”

She jogged to the perimeter of the forest, Wells following behind her. There, hidden under the brush, were all the weapons they’d stolen.

Wells’s eyes widened; then he shouted for all the other guys to come over. One by one, they each grabbed a gun and armed themselves. If the Protectors wanted a fight, they’d be ready for them.

Wells looked back at the fortress, his eyes determined. “We need to help the girls get out of there. Let’s go around to the west side of the building—there’s an entrance there. If it’s still guarded, we can fight our way in.”

Clarke bit back a smile. The Wells she knew—the confident leader—was finally back. “Lead the way.”



They approached the building from the western side, and all was eerily quiet. The guards had abandoned this entrance. Wells shot Clarke a warning look and darted ahead to make sure the coast was clear. Then he waved her and the other men into the building.

“Which way?” she asked him, peering around the dark halls. There hadn’t been any damage to this side of the building yet, but in the distance, Clarke heard the walls continuing to fall. They wouldn’t have long.

“The girls were probably in the Heart of the Stone, so…” Wells glanced around, then nodded to their left. “This way.”

But before they could get much deeper into the building, they heard the rumbling of a crowd of people headed toward them. Clarke and the guys steadied their weapons, waiting for the raiders.

To her surprise, the approaching mob was made up of girls, all of them dressed in white dresses down to their ankles, their hair flying loose around their shoulders.

“Clarke!” one of them screamed.

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.