Author's Note: This is a crossover story between CW's The 100 and AMC's the Walking Dead. The characters portrayed are from both series and are in no way created by me. This is just an idea I had that I wanted to portray for everyone to read.
She grunted as the truck gave another lurch, causing her wrists to move and have the tightened cuffs chafe her again. She could see a line of blood droplets make themselves noticeable underneath the rusting instrument. She shook her head, turning to stare out of the barred window of the truck. The announcement for transport of delinquents being moved from Atlanta to Mableton's detention center didn't really faze her as much as it probably should have. She only had one final year before she would be removed from Juvie and sent to her community jail until she would be allowed out for her time done. Nothing of it really mattered anymore.
She had been contained for a little over three months now, trapped in Atlanta's detention center, having only her mother visit again and again since her father had been imprisoned just before Clarke was arrested. It all seemed to go by far too quickly, but her incapability to care much of it seemed to frighten all who knew her. She was arrested on a charge she never heard of and, thankfully, seeing as she was seventeen, was jailed as a minor and was sentenced to the Atlanta detention center until now.
She let out a small yelp as the driver purposely hit a bump just so the delinquents could cry out against their binds. She heard Wells let out a word of assurance to her, nudging her gently with his elbow. She ignored him. She had since he walked into the vehicle and she realized who it was. Never did she think Thelonious Jaha's son would be imprisoned. Perhaps the reason she loathed him so much was simply because he was the reason her father was imprisoned and Clarke was put away. She had yet to speak a word to him at all.
"Can you, at least, look at me?" he asked gently, but Clarke only yanked her head around again furiously, her fingers wringing together with the space they had. She couldn't even look at him, much less speak to him. "Cl-"
"Shit!" the driver called from his space, jerking the truck to a spot, causing Clarke to nearly hit her head into the seat in front of her. Each of the delinquents gave a resounding cry of anger. Clarke peeked through the barred window to see what the hold up was. She couldn't see a damned thing. Confused, she faced the front once more. The driver spoke hurriedly to the guard beside him, making wild gestures until he rolled his eyes and got to his feet, whipping around to glare at the others.
"Stay put in your seats if you know what's good for you," he sneered, hand on his belt. "There's a bit of a situation in front of us and you all have to be at that damned detention center in half an hour." Rolling his eyes, he turned to the guard. "Make sure they keep still." With that, he opened the passenger side door and slipped out, slamming the door shut behind him.
"What the hell is going on?"
"This is such bullshit!"
"He can't just leave us here!"
The delinquents were steadily already growing frustrated. The guard huffed and slightly pulled up his hat to reveal his face, tanned and quite chiseled. Clarke scoffed. "Calm down, everyone, he'll be right back, then we'll be back on the road."
"Bellamy?" a voice called gently two seats from Clarke and Wells'. Clarke struggled to see who the source of it was until her eyes flashed toward a pale, raven haired girl, her cerulean eyes pointed toward the guard, who was now shuffling uncomfortably on the spot. "The hell are you doing here? You were supposed to be-"
"Hush!" he hissed, poking a finger to his lips. "If the guy knows who I am, he can report to the big man. The judge said I wasn't supposed to interact with you anymore after your arrest, remember? But. . .I had to say goodb-" He flinched as he heard a heavy weight slam into the passenger door, a spatter of something making its way onto the window. Bellamy seemed confused, reaching for his belt, where a gun laid.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and the driver fell back in, holding his shoulder which seemed to be bleeding heavily. Each of the delinquents let out small murmurs of panic, shifting uneasily in their seats as the driver gripped at the bars surrounding his seat. "Son of a bitch got me. . .got me good."
"What the hell got you?" Bellamy asked.
"I don't know. The guy was literally peeling at the skin and his eyes looked blind, but I wasn't able to get much of a look since he bit me! It wasn't just him actin' nuts either, it was a whole group of 'em. Damn. . .it burns."
Clarke gasped, suddenly beginning to struggle frantically against her binds, yelling out as if she had been bitten herself, but she had suddenly come to a fit of realization. Wells, from beside her, tried to calm her down thinking she was having a panic attack. "Hey, it's fine! It's fine! Wh-What's wrong?"
She finally began to form correct words, "My father said this was going to happen! Those things aren't human! They're. . .stop it, Wells! They're the undead. Their bites can infect you to turn you into one of them! They're here! They're here, it broke out! Get him out, get him out!" She was definitely freaking out now, fighting more until the cuffs dug deeply into her wrists enough to puncture even more blood.
"Shut her up! Damn criminals," the driver grunted as he sat uneasily on his seat. Bellamy nodded and walked over, placing a hand on one of the seats, "Clarke Griffin, right? I'm going to need you to calm down, otherwise we can't move. Stop struggling!" Clarke wasn't listening; she was looking outside of her barred window and saw about three people limping around, their arms making grabbing motions towards nothing, snarling with their teeth bared. They weren't people. . .
"No, you don't understand! We're all in trouble if we don't move! My father. . .my father knew this was coming! Please, you have to get us out of here before they find a way on!" Before Bellamy could attempt to aid her again, the driver let out a shout and a loud cry as something crawled in through the still open passenger door and lunge towards him, seeming to be biting into his flesh. Each of the delinquents let out cries and exclamations.
"Bellamy, don't!" the female from earlier shouted as he went over and drug the creature off of the driver. He grunted and fell back as the undead lost its footing and fell from the vehicle. He turned to look at the driver, who was unmoving from his position. "Oh, God, he's dead," he whimpered, gagging into his open palm.
"You have to get him off of the bus!" Clarke demanded. "He's infected; he'll come back! Get him off!"
Bellamy looked at her, his eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. "How the hell do you know all of this?"
"Just get him off and shut the door! I'll tell you after! Hurry, before another climbs on!" Clarke pleaded. Bellamy reluctantly obeyed, grunting as he lifted the corpse from the seat and chucked it outside along with the undead creature before he slammed the door shut. The delinquents were all shouting angrily, demanding they be freed from their handcuffs.
"Be quiet!" Bellamy thundered, managing to silence everyone rather quickly. "Clarke. . .you have the floor."
Clarke swallowed as she finally looked at Wells, who was staring at her, shaking his head slowly as if silently begging her not to say anything, but Clarke went forth with it anyhow. They needed to know if they were going to have to avoid this sudden outbreak. She only prayed it was only happening in Atlanta.
"Okay, okay," she said quietly. "Jake Griffin, y'all know him? He was arrested for smuggling illegal chemicals from the CDC? Th-That was a lie. Um. . .Thelonious Jaha, the president of the CDC, he arrested him for nearly allowing information to go out on a subject for a new virus. My dad was always on top of that information, but Jaha was afraid of panic. He didn't want to think of something like that, so he shut it down, arresting Jake for nearly telling and me for knowing, but he told the police false pretenses."
"Get to the point," Bellamy demanded lowly. Everyone seemed to be silent to listen to Clarke.
"Well, the virus had to do with killing a person and bringing them back, but. . .they're not really back. Their brain can function, but only with the need to feed on flesh. A bite could infect everyone. There isn't a way to avoid it. The CDC was meant to enclose that sentence and fight to ignore it and keep it under control, especially after my father was arrested, but. . .I guess it didn't."
"How did Jaha find out about Jake knowing? Any smartass would know not to say anything," a voice chanted from behind her. There were a few murmurs of agreement. Clarke glared toward Wells, "Someone tipped him off, I guess."
"Wait a minute, so you mean to tell me," Bellamy began slowly, "those things out there are basically man eating, disease spreading, creatures? How the hell did it manage to spread?" Clarke could only shrug. She really had no idea how this managed to get out and how quickly it had managed to spread, but by the sounds and screaming from outside, it appeared they wouldn't have the time to leave and find out. They were surrounded. A sudden bump against the passenger side caught everyone's attention.
Bellamy glanced outside the window and slightly gasped.
"Seems the driver's back," he mumbled just as a hand smacked against the window and a muffled snarl was heard. The driver had turned.