“Let’s do it!” someone shouted from the small crowd. A rousing cheer went up, and Wells, for the first time since Sasha’s death, didn’t feel panic in the face of responsibility. He felt exhilaration.
“Okay. On my count. Three… two… one!”
At first the plan seemed to work: The hundred startled the Earthborns with the attack from behind, pushing them toward Rhodes’s men, who kept up their defense on the opposite flank. But Wells soon lost track of what was happening around him as he struggled to stay alive. Two Earthborns approached Wells at once, each wielding a spear. Wells feinted with the ax in his hand, pretending to swing to the right. As they both reacted in that direction, he turned in a circle and swung the ax from the left, hacking one Earthborn’s spear into two pieces. The other stepped forward, and Wells sank the ax blade deep into his spear. It splintered into shards on the ground, and the two disarmed Earthborns scurried off.
Wells allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. During officer training, he’d worked hard in his Earth-combat conditioning classes, and it was paying off now. But just as a gratified smile flickered across his face, he felt an arm wrap tightly around his neck.
Wells tried to jab his elbows into his opponent, but he couldn’t get enough leverage. The man’s arm tightened, making it impossible for Wells to breathe. He couldn’t even gasp—there was no way for air to get in or out. His lungs began to burn as his head spun.
No, Wells thought, wanting to scream but unable to make a sound. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This wasn’t how it was meant to end.
The Earthborn’s arm tightened even further. Wells saw flashes of light in front of him, then patches of black as everything grew blurry.
Suddenly, the pressure released, and Wells fell to the ground with a gasp. For a long moment, all he could do was wheeze as his lungs became reacquainted with the air, clawing at it greedily. He rose up onto his knees and looked around. An enormous Earthborn was lying on his side, his hand clutched around the shaft of an arrow embedded in his arm.
Wells turned in the direction the arrow had come from. Bellamy stood a few meters away, a twinkle in his eye. He nodded at Wells, who just grinned back.
“Thanks!” Wells shouted.
“No problem,” Bellamy called back.
Wells turned back in the direction of camp. For a moment, his whole body seized with panic: From where he stood in the woods, he couldn’t see a single other member of the hundred still fighting near him. He swore under his breath and gathered his last ounce of energy before barreling back out into the clearing, Bellamy close behind him.
What he saw stopped him in his tracks. The hundred and the Colonists who could still stand were gathered together in a group, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. The few remaining guards seemed to have captured someone of importance—a large Earthborn man with a wounded leg, who was being held at gunpoint. Several other Colonists were speaking animatedly with a small group of Earthborns, seemingly negotiating terms, as the rest of the Earthborns sullenly surrendered their weapons and slowly backed away.
Wells couldn’t believe it. It had worked! They were negotiating a surrender! Filled with new energy, he and Bellamy raced over to where the remainder of the hundred were standing. Sure, they were exhausted and injured, but they were victorious. Together, they sent up an eardrum-rattling cheer that seemed to echo up to the sky and back.
“Nice work!” Bellamy shouted over the celebratory din.
“You didn’t do too badly either… for a Waldenite,” Wells yelled back with a grin.
The assembled group danced around the clearing, hugging and cheering, until a cry rose above the noise.
“They’re back!” someone screamed.
Wells and Bellamy spun around to find a group of strangers stumbling out of the woods and into camp. They raised their weapons and stood their ground. Something about these new arrivals, though, was different. Wells quickly took in their clothes, their demeanor, their confused expressions. These weren’t Earthborns. These were… more Colonists?
The group stopped on the edge of the clearing. A woman stepped forward.
“We found you,” she said, breathing heavily, her voice weak.
She looked vaguely familiar to Wells. He struggled to place her, and then it came to him: She had worked in his father’s administration, in an office down the hall. They must have been on another dropship—one of the few that they figured must have veered off course.
“Please, do you have anything to eat?” she asked. Wells hadn’t noticed at first how gaunt she and the others looked.
“It’s okay,” Wells said to the group. “They’re from the Colony. Someone, please, get them some food and water.”
A couple of kids scurried off.
Wells stepped forward. He felt hundreds of eyes on his back. “Where are you coming from?” he asked.
“Our dropship landed miles from here, way beyond the far side of the lake. We spent some time getting our bearings and recovering from our injuries. Then it took us several days to get to you. We followed the smoke from your campfires.”
“How many of you are there?”
“We lost a few. But we started out as one hundred and fifteen.”
Wells cast his gaze over the large group assembled behind her. Still more people emerged from the woods.
“Were you the last ship to launch from the Colony?”
The woman nodded.
Wells felt a question forming on his lips, but he wasn’t sure he had the courage to ask it. He wasn’t sure he really wanted the answer.