Rebellion (The 100 #4)(8)

The thunder of gunfire paused, leaving Bellamy’s ears ringing. Their attackers were reloading.

“Everyone, stay down!” Max’s voice bellowed from somewhere nearby. But it was too late. As the smoke began to dissipate, Bellamy saw an Arcadian woman he recognized crawl out from under a table and sprint toward the cabins. There was another spray of gunfire, and she fell backward, blood spurting from her neck.

A moment later, Clarke’s mother jumped up and was at the woman’s side, pressing her hand against the woman’s neck. A new round of bullets tore through the air and she flattened herself against the ground.

“Mary!” Bellamy shouted. “Come back!” But he knew he was wasting his breath. Whatever gene kept most people from risking their lives to save others, the Griffin women didn’t have it. His heart lurched. Clarke. He needed to find her before she did something well-meaning and reckless.

Bellamy gritted his teeth and began crawling forward on his stomach. He glanced up and saw Wells and Eric sprint out of the forest. They grabbed an injured Earthborn from the ground and dragged him toward the edge of the clearing to take shelter in the trees. Bellamy sprang to his feet and ran over to them, crouching next to Eric and Wells behind a large tree.

“Have you seen Clarke or Octavia?” Bellamy asked hoarsely.

Wells shook his head.

“Has anyone seen Felix?” Eric asked, leaning forward to peer into the clearing.

“He’s hiding under a table,” Bellamy said. “I was with him a moment ago. He was okay.”

Eric let out a long breath. “Thank god.”

“What the hell is going on?” Bellamy asked, the words spilling out though he knew he wouldn’t get a real answer. He could see his own confusion and terror mirrored in Eric’s and Wells’s faces.

“I don’t know,” Wells said, a note of anguish in his voice. “Wait… look there…”

On the opposite side of the clearing, people emerged from the shadows of the forest. There were at least two dozen of them, all male. They had shaved heads and wore all white. And they were marching.

Bellamy’s blood turned to ice as the figures moved closer, their expressionless, masklike faces coming into chilling focus. But nothing was as terrifying as the guns glinting in the late-afternoon sun.

As they moved toward the center of the clearing, a few of the men broke from formation to yank Colonists and Earthborns out from under the tables. They dragged the people away by their arms and legs, and headed back toward the woods with their captives.

“What are they doing? We can’t let them take anyone,” Wells said. He stood up and lunged forward, but not before Bellamy and Eric each took hold of a shoulder.

“Are you crazy?” Bellamy hissed. “They’ll kill you.”

“We can’t just hide. Look what they’re doing!” Wells wrenched away from Bellamy and Eric, and pointed with a shaking hand. Another group of the white-clad men marched out of the supply cabin, carrying large canvas sacks. The bastards were taking all their supplies, their food, their wood stores. Even the weapons they were using looked familiar, and for good reason. The intruders had stolen the Colonists’ rifles to use against them.

A hand on Bellamy’s shoulder made him jump. It was Clarke’s father, ashen and trembling. But it wasn’t his pale face that made Bellamy’s pulse stutter. He had one arm wrapped around his wife, who was clutching her side, her hands drenched in slick red.

“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked as Wells hurried to take her arm.

“I’m fine,” Mary said, though her face was contorted in pain. “But I’m worried about Clarke. She was on her way to the infirmary when the explosions started. I don’t know…” She trailed off with a grimace.

“I’ll find her.” Bellamy reached out to squeeze her uninjured arm. “I promise.”

“I’ll come with you,” Wells said.

“No, you stay with them.” Bellamy nodded toward Clarke’s parents. “Then you’ll be closer to the injured people.” He prayed that there’d still be people left to help when this thing was over.

The expressionless, white-clad men had spread out through the clearing. Some kicked the bodies on the ground, searching for signs of life. It was unclear to Bellamy who they were looking for, what determined who they left and who they dragged away. Every few moments, another ear-ringing shot ran out, followed by screams, or worse, silence.

Bellamy turned and ran through the woods toward the infirmary cabin at the other end of the clearing. Months of hunting had taught him to move quickly and silently, though this time, he wasn’t the hunter—he was the prey. He passed a number of people huddled behind the trees, watching him wide-eyed as he sprinted by. A few called to him, but he didn’t break stride. First he had to make sure Clarke and his sister were safe. Then he’d do whatever he could to help the others.

“Bel?” came a loud whisper. A flash of black hair tied in that ragged red ribbon. Octavia.

He skidded to a stop. His sister was crouched behind a bush near the edge of the clearing, her arms curved out to pen in as many of the children as she could, keeping them from wiggling into view of the invaders. “What do we do?” she asked quietly, her voice full of more fierceness than fear.

“Stay there,” Bellamy said quietly. “I’ll come back for you.”