Rebellion (The 100 #4)(61)

Behind Max, Rhodes raised his eyebrows, disbelief apparent on his face. “New…? How many?”

“Fifty-four at last count, though a few people left in search of their former homes. And I’ll vouch for our new friends myself… they’re good people.”

Max and Rhodes exchanged a look. Then Rhodes nodded.

“If you trust them, we trust them,” Rhodes said. “And we could certainly use all the help we can get in rebuilding for the winter. Bring them in. Were you followed?” he asked, glancing at the guards. “Do we need to establish a perimeter?”

“No more than you’re doing, I think,” Wells said. “Between our uprising and everything your search party managed to do, I don’t think we’ll need to worry about the Protectors again.”

“They call themselves Protectors?” Max asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Villains always think they’re the heroes,” Rhodes said with a strained, sad smile. Then he turned to Wells, brightening. “What do you need from us next?”

“The basics,” Wells said quickly. “Food, water, rest, medical help.”

Rhodes nodded and reached out to shake Wells’s hand.

“Welcome back… Councilor Jaha.”





CHAPTER 33


Clarke


“Spiraea tomentosa,” Clarke’s mother said softly, pressing a nondescript green leaf against the flat of her own hand. “That’s my closest guess. A tea made from this one helps stomach upset, according to the book.”

Mary leaned over to tap the old dusty tome that Max had given her during her recovery: a pre-Cataclysm book about local herbs. In the days that Clarke and the others had been gone, her parents had taken on a new initiative, bolstering the camp’s dwindling supply of medicine by reproducing materials from the Colony and experimenting with local plants.

Clarke peered down at the leaf, memorizing each detail, but it was her mother’s hand that held her attention… warm, soft, alive. Dr. Lahiri said that her mother had healed up in record time.

“This one is called boneset,” Clarke’s mother went on, laying a plant with delicate white petals onto the table. “They used to think it helped set fractured bones, thus the name, but it was just superstition, unfortunately. It does, however, have some use in treating fevers, so I’m going to keep playing with it and see what we can develop…”

“You’re amazing,” Clarke said, hugging her mother gently, careful not to jostle her injury.

“‘Amazing’…” Clarke’s father walked in from the field, where he’d been helping dig foundations for new cabins. He dusted his hands off on his trousers with a grin. “That’s high praise coming from a girl who just stormed a fortress.”

“Hardly,” Clarke said, flushing. “I didn’t do it alone.”

“But you did it,” her mother said, her eyes shining. “We’re proud of you.”

Clarke felt proud too, looking around at the quickly rebuilding camp. Their people may have been damaged by the attack—but they hadn’t been defeated. They’d healed up and set to work.

They’d all been so busy since returning yesterday. Clarke had immediately started helping out in the infirmary; a few of the people they’d brought with them from the Stone had needed more rigorous medical care. Glass had volunteered to oversee clearing and planting the Colonists’ very first field. Wells was reinvigorated, helping out with the Council, and Luke’s engineering mind been electrified by all the new plans.

And they weren’t going to re-create what they’d had before… they had the courage to reimagine something even better. There were plans for a waterwheel in the nearby stream that could power devices in the camp, and a schoolhouse with a playground. This place wasn’t just coming back to life; it was being reborn as something joyous, a real village that Clarke couldn’t wait to be a member of.

“Clarke.”

Bellamy’s voice rose up from the doorway. Clarke turned to greet him—and her smile fell. His brow was furrowed, his shoulders tense. Something was wrong.

“Can we talk?” he asked quickly, glancing over one shoulder, his foot digging into the dirt. “It’s important.”

“Sure,” she said, hurrying carefully past her few remaining patients. “Of course.”

Bellamy’s hand was cold against hers as he led her through the bustling camp. Octavia and Anna were leading the kids in a boisterous game of tag. In the center of camp, Glass and Luke looked over a sketch of perimeter watchtowers. Bellamy pulled Clarke past the ovens, where fresh bread was baking; past Wells, who was etching Graham’s name into a grave marker; all the way out to the site where new cabin foundations were being dug.

Clarke’s stomach clenched tighter with every step. What had Bellamy seen? Was there a new danger already? Or had he thought about it and decided that he wasn’t ready to forgive her, after all?

They eventually reached a cleared patch of charred grass in the corner of the camp. Bellamy stopped and turned silently to face Clarke, his eyebrows raised as though he was waiting for some sort of a reaction.

She shook her head, glancing around, finding nothing particularly worrying here.

“What do you think?” he said, gesturing around him.