Something thudded against his head, over and over in a slow, relentless rhythm. He tried to open his eyes, but they were as heavy as sandbags and something gnawed at the back of his mind, whispering that he didn’t want to wake up quite yet. He wasn’t ready to know.

The last he could remember, he’d been in the woods with Eric. Bellamy had gone to find Clarke, and Wells and Eric were darting in and out of the clearing, grabbing more injured and bringing them to the woods, where Clarke’s father could treat them. He and Eric had just ducked back under the cover of the trees, supporting someone between them. Then there had been a sharp sting against his shoulder blade. Wells had turned to find a strange, unsmiling man with sunken cheeks. Then… nothing.

Awareness crept in. The feel of hard, cracked wood beneath his shoulders. A swaying motion, like he’d felt on the dropship before it hit Earth’s atmosphere. A sour humid smell; a weird grinding sound. Light flickered past his eyelids.

“This one’s waking up,” said a voice beside his ear, male, unfamiliar.

Wells’s eyes flew open. He was staring at a wooden wall, badly built, with gaps between the thin, rotting boards. Through one of the gaps, he could see a green blur. His bleary mind began to put pieces together, agonizingly slowly. The forest? They were moving through it. This was some sort of vehicle.

“Watch him,” came another, deeper voice, farther away.

“Where the hell are you taking us?” a familiar voice shouted. There was a loud thump, the wall rattling. A face rose up in Wells’s mind, a smug smirk, and then a name. Graham. The screaming boy was Graham.

“He’s not ready yet. Give him another shot,” came the deep voice again.

Startled, Wells shifted, but realized his arms were bound behind him, maybe his ankles too. It was hard to tell—his spine was coiled and cramped, his legs numb. He kicked, just a little, and his legs erupted in excruciating pinpricks.

“You’re all right,” came that same, affectless voice above him. Wells managed to turn his head just far enough to see a pale boy staring down at him. “The fight’s over. You’re one of the lucky ones.”

“The lucky ones?” Wells tried to say, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

I’ve been drugged. The pain in my back… they caught me in the woods and injected me with something.

“You’re one of us now,” the pale boy said, looking away. “If you don’t scream, we’ll let you wake up.”

But Wells hardly heard the end of that sentence. He was slipping again and then gone.

It was dark the next time he opened his eyes. Someone had propped him into a sitting position, his legs stretched out in front of him, still bound by thick twine. Holding his breath, he blinked until his vision adjusted. His earlier guess had been right. He was inside a covered wagon of some sort, with tall wooden walls and high, barred windows. There was a little bench on the other side of the narrow space. Three men in white uniforms sat on it, including the pale boy and the frightening man from the woods. Wells inhaled sharply, but they weren’t looking at him. They weren’t talking to one another either, just sitting there, rocking with the movement of the cart, their eyes completely blank.

The road lurched and Wells’s shoulder bumped against someone else’s. His body still wasn’t as responsive as he wished, but he managed to turn his head enough to get a view of four people beside him. They were all bound to the wall in seated positions, all asleep, probably drugged. Wells’s heart gave a lurch as his eyes passed over their faces. Next to Graham was Eric, a deep gash on one cheek, followed by an Arcadian kid. The fourth still figure was a little older, less familiar. It was one of Sasha’s people.

Another knot formed in his already clenched stomach. No matter what he did, he continued to let her down. He didn’t know who these murderers in white were, but they hadn’t shown up on the scene until the Colonists appeared.

Wells had suspected there must be other people alive on Earth, but Sasha’s people had never encountered any others. Had they found their site because of the dropships? Had the Colonists doomed them all?

The cart jolted and his head rolled back. He drew a breath and righted it, cricking his neck straight again.

The pale soldier was staring at him across the dark wagon. Wells stared back.

“Who are you?” Wells asked, and this time sound actually came out.

“We’re the Protectors,” the boy said in a strange, almost dreamy voice.

“Protectors,” Wells spat as he recalled the smoke from the explosions. The bodies on the ground. “You tried to kill us. Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

“We raided your camp,” the boy said calmly. “We took what was useful and discarded what wasn’t. You’ll learn.”

Panic rose in Wells’s chest, but he wrestled it down. “If you just needed supplies, why did you take us with you?”

The boy’s icy blue eyes fixed Wells with an appraising glare. “You may be useful. Or you may not. We’ll know soon. It doesn’t take long to weed out the weak.”

Wells refused to look away, the feat of holding in his rage made that much easier by whatever drug they’d injected him with, still wending its way out of his system.

The older man who’d seized Wells nodded. “You’re young. Strong,” he said. “If Earth wills it, you’ll do just fine.”

The other two repeated dully, “If Earth wills it.”

Wells heard a gasp down the line. He swiveled his head to see Eric starting to wake up. Eric blinked a few times; then his eyes widened. His jaw twitched like he was about to start yelling, but Wells shook his head a tiny bit, praying Eric was lucid enough to pick up the signal.

He was. Eric swallowed, blinking once in reply, and lowered his eyes to the floor. Good, Wells thought. I need time to get more answers.

“Where are you taking us?” Wells asked, trying to stay calm.

“You’ll like it there,” the third man, reedy and tall, said. Wells hadn’t heard him speak before. His voice was strangely sweet, lyrical, almost like he was reciting a nursery rhyme. “It’s the safest place.”

“The safest place where?” Wells asked, unable to hold back a note of frustration.

“The safest place on Earth,” the man said, smiling. “One day it will all be safe, if Earth wills it.”

“If Earth wills it,” they all said again, sending shivers down Wells’s back.

“And if you’re chosen, you will help us spread peace,” the pale soldier said.

“So you’re peacekeepers?” Wells said.

“We’re raiders,” said the older man. “And so will you be if you learn to keep your mouth shut.”

“I thought you called yourselves Protectors,” Wells said carefully. They all turned to stare at him for a long moment.

The sweet-voiced man smiled. “You’ll learn.”

He tried another tack. “How did you find our camp?”

“It’s not your camp anymore,” the older man said sharply. “It’s not your village either. Can’t have a village without Earth’s blessing.”

“So you destroyed it, and killed everyone in your way,” Eric said, his voice raw with pain. He was fully awake now and quivering with rage.

“We didn’t kill everyone,” the pale boy said, his eyes wide as if shocked. “We’re not monsters. We do Earth’s work, that’s all. We spared the strongest of you and kept the best of your women, didn’t we?”

Wells and Eric exchanged terrified glances. Who else had they taken? He prayed with every fiber in his body that they weren’t talking about Clarke, Octavia, or Glass. Or, his stomach churned, one of the younger girls like Molly.

“And we left the young and the weak.” The pale boy leaned forward, still protesting. “We didn’t kill them. Earth will do with them as She sees fit.”

The young. The weak. Wells’s heart raced as he thought about the infirmary, praying Clarke had been in there—one of the discarded they’d left behind when they’d raided the camp. But what about Bellamy? And Max?

“Why are you doing this?” came a husky, lilting voice at the end of the row. The Earthborn villager had woken up. He was staring at the soldiers, his eyes glittering with tears. “Why did you destroy what we worked so hard to build?”

The boy blinked, apparently confused by the question. “Because it was the right thing to do. It’s what we do everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” Wells repeated.

“Everywhere that’s left,” he said, gazing away out the dark, barred window. “Until all of Earth is safe.”

“Safe from what?” Wells snapped, unable to stop himself.

“You’ll learn,” said the older man, the one who’d taken him, as the others droned together, “You’ll learn.”

Wells clenched his fists behind him, settling in for the long ride. One way or another, these “raiders,” “Protectors,” whatever they were, were right—Wells was going to learn. He would learn as much as he possibly could.

And then he would fight back.