Chapter 1
It's been eight days since it all ended.
Hundreds of people had been wiped out, betrayed by the doors that kept them safe. Young or old, guilty or innocent - no one was spared. The dome that used to shelter a thriving community was soaked in the blood of its own residents. If a choice presented itself, there would not have been a need for such violence. Because, despite the inevitability of bloodshed, there was a plan. It was clear, it was specific, and it was supposed to be quick. No one had to die. But as plans change in battle, so do other things.
The guilty become innocent, and the innocent become guilty.
Clarke didn't know who she was anymore, and what she was at that point. She shouldn't feel guilty for saving her people, but then again her innocence was gone long before that. And she hated it, because the words 'innocent' and 'guilty' no longer have a proper meaning. Instead they were just words used interchangeably too much that they've now lost credibility.
For that she had to leave, and as much as she felt horrible for doing so, she felt the need to. Was she being selfish? Maybe. A little. But if she stayed any longer than she should have, it would've been more unfair to the people who loved her witness her suffering.
She would have to be away for a long time and reflect on every decision she's made since she's graced the earth with her presence. She would have to learn how to hunt, and defend herself. She would have to seek shelter and gather supplies as her journey would require her to. She would have to live, and survive – this time on her own.
For Clarke, it wasn't eight days since it all ended. It was eight days since it all began.
Her body slumped as hunger and exhaustion took over. Her attempts at foraging weren't that fruitful, and although she had been able to collect a few berries along the way, some proved to be a little poisonous, and she had to learn the hard way. The ones that were harmless helped her recover, but they weren't enough.
She tried to hunt once, but to no avail. She stalked rabbits, but they all seemed to outsmart her. She did spot a deer, but after her encounter with a two-headed beast of its kind, she went on with her life. There was this boar resting by a nearby clearing, so she took the chance to make it her meal. She moved closer to her target, carefully aiming at the animal's fatal areas. But her movements were slow and clumsy, and just as she took position; a snapping twig gave her away. She managed to shoot, but even though her bullets were fast, they couldn't stop the boar from fleeing. Then again it wasn't the bullets.
She had been able to catch fish, but only when the waters seemed safe enough to step into. She wouldn't dare dipping in the deeper parts, as it reminded her of Octavia's experience. But for someone with total lack of skill, she took it as a triumph whenever she speared just enough to get her by.
Still, her attempts at gaining food for herself were frail. It made her weak, and her journey wasn't making it easy.
She had been walking ever since she left Camp Jaha. She had no reason to stay at one place for more than a few hours, except to rest. She only stopped for a few minutes to gather supplies, or collect water from a nearby source. She would sometimes stop and marvel at the earth's beauty, but she would never stop to linger. It was always too painful.
Where she was headed exactly was not her biggest concern. All she wanted was to find a place to stay without being bothered. She preferred somewhere far, far from all the madness, somewhere… unfamiliar.
But then again she had nowhere to go. She couldn't go back to Camp Jaha, at least not yet. She didn't want to return to Mount Weather. She had already gone there to take a few supplies but she had already taken too much aside from material need. She didn't want to go back to the dropship. Too many ghosts had taken residence. The bunker was totally out of the question. Some things are better off buried.
There was nowhere else to go… or at least, that's what she wanted herself to believe. Polis. It sounded promising. But the last person she wanted to see was probably there. That person, whose name Clarke cannot bring to utter without choking, wouldn't even care. Who was she again, Leslie? Leonard? Who cares. Clarke didn't. She didn't want to. And even if she did, that person probably thinks she was already dead anyway so why bother.
Clarke took a few minutes to clean herself. Every single day, she would find a stream or river and clean herself… and let her mind forget the horrible memory of blood and death. She cleaned every inch of her body, trying her very best to scrub off every bit of dirt that settled in her skin. She would close her eyes and stay underwater for a few minutes, thinking to herself and reevaluating every decision she had made since day one. And by day one, she meant the day she had forged an alliance with…
She would change her clothes every day, switching her battle gear with the clothes she had taken and washing them, in order to keep herself neat. This habit had been all too… unhealthy for her. It showed how much her guilt had consumed her. And as days went by, she could no longer distinguish guilt from the crippling loneliness she kept pushing down her being.
Her denial was cloaked in a clean version of what once were bloodstained hands. She would stare at them hoping that they would somehow tremble and shake, if only to bite off the emptiness that she felt. Sometimes she would urge herself to cry, but no tears have fallen ever since she last spoke to her people and that formed a huge lump in her throat. She had often thought about throwing herself off a cliff, but it was only to entertain the idea of feeling intense pain because frankly, it was what she needed.
She wanted to feel guilt and pain. She wanted to feel sorrow and shame. But after all that effort of pushing down every ounce of pain, the emotions have gone. There used to be, and she hated them for haunting her. She wished hard and fought hard to destroy all the feelings that sought to break her, but now, this lack of feeling made her miserable and less… human.
The sun had set when Clarke found refuge in a large tree with a huge cavity in the middle. She let herself in and was delighted to find a space small enough for her to pass the night in comfort. Her heart felt warm and contented.
But she didn't allow that small feeling of content to lower her defenses. She took the time to dig a small pit and placed sticks to support the patch of leaves that lay atop. That would at least prevent dangerous creatures from feeding on her while she slept. She couldn't be too careless, not in this day and age.
After covering her trap, she prepared dinner. It consisted of a few berries and a tiny strip of fish. She had a batch of clean water and that was enough. Well… it was all she could manage. Nevertheless, she was full and she couldn't be happier.
She stripped her jacket and covered herself as she lay on the ground. She took in a deep breath and exhaled in pure pleasure. She enjoyed every bit of comfort she was feeling at that moment, because tomorrow would be another day. Another challenge. Another uncertain future.
Just as she was blinks away from falling asleep, quick movements rustled the leaves surrounding the tree. Clarke was forced into abandoning her sanctuary as she took out the dagger sheathed in her belt. Her gun had long ago run out of bullets so this piece of blade had become her primary weapon.
She took a step out of the tree carefully to avoid falling into her own trap. She watched the trees vigilantly, and searched the area quickly as if her eyes were trained for that purpose. She listened to the sounds of the forest, remembering how her eight days of wandering had taught her ears to distinguish the sounds of nature from that of intruders.
She could hear it, breathing. The breaths were short and fast, too fast. It was as if something or someone was struggling to catch air. Clarke gripped the dagger harder, and cautiously searched the area behind the tree she was staying in. Her heart was racing.
The breaths grew louder, but somehow slower… raspier. Clarke approached the source and was about to end its plea when all of a sudden, the sight caused her to drop her weapon and then drop on her knees. There it was right in front of her, youth and beauty bathed in blood and fear.
She carefully reached out her hand to the wounded girl. There was a clear picture of horror painted across her face.
"Don't be afraid; I'll help you."