Chapter Two – Long Road to Ruin

The gates closed behind them and Marcus turned right to follow the worn track along the edge of the compound through a clearing they had cut in the trees. The sun was just above the horizon, casting fingers of orange light across the grey-blue sky. An orange-tinged mist rose over the rows of silhouetted conifers which cast long shadows across the path of the convoy. The smell of fresh earth after rain drifted through the barred window, a scent of renewal. Marcus never tired of that smell. It was life-giving, life-affirming, after forty years spent breathing the recycled oxygen of the Ark. "It's going to be a beautiful day," said Sinclair, echoing Marcus's thoughts. "It's just as well," said Marcus, "we've got about 100 miles to drive." It didn't sound like much but the terrain between Arkadia and the fallen station was rough and mainly through woodland and over rocky plains. The tracks were barely that; most of them were made for horses, not vehicles. They'd be lucky to cover fifteen miles an hour.

Ahead of them was a painful, bumpy journey. The vehicles they had retrieved from Mount Weather had been well maintained but they were old; the pneumatic shock absorbers were worn and there was barely any nitrogen left to work the pistons. Marcus had learned this the hard way when driving the trucks back from the military base. He had never driven a vehicle before and his foot was heavy on the accelerator. They had bounced around in the truck, all of them physically lifted off their seats as they careered over rocky, rutted ground. Marcus drove more carefully now, but it was still a bruising ride.

They drove for a couple of hours in a companionable silence. Sinclair was in the passenger seat looking out of the side window, partly to watch for potential attackers but probably partly to enjoy the view. Like with breathing the fresh air, the nature that surrounded them never got old. Nothing had prepared Marcus for his first sight of the Earth from the ground. The glittering, mirror-like lake they had landed beside, the snow-capped mountains bigger than anything he could imagine, and the trees – a green oasis that stretched beyond what the eye could see. The only tree on the Ark was the one small tree his mother had tended, that Marcus himself had tended when a small boy. It had been worshipped because it was unique. Did people here worship trees when there were so many of them or did they take them for granted? Marcus felt a pang of regret that his mother was not here to see this. Abby had said it was everything she had dreamed of, but for Marcus it was more than that. He had rarely let himself dream of the ground and when he did, it was barren, poisoned. His generation was not supposed to be on earth; they were the harbingers, the ones who were to prepare the way but never go themselves. What is the point of dreaming about something that will never happen?

"Attack!"

Sinclair's shout jolted Marcus out of his thoughts and made him jerk the wheel to one side. He struck a small boulder and the jeep skidded to a halt, its wheels kicking up dirt that sprayed the bars of the window.

"What is it?" A series of dull thuds hit the side of the truck.

"Keep moving! Keep moving! It's Grounders," Sinclair shouted. Marcus floored the accelerator but the wheels couldn't get any traction and spun in place. The two trucks that were following Marcus ground to a halt behind him because the track was too narrow for them to pass. More thuds against the side of the truck. "Crap!" shouted Marcus. He shifted gear into reverse and hit the gas again; the engine screamed and protested but the wheels continued to spin and they went nowhere.

"I can see maybe ten of them, they're moving in from the woods. They're about five hundred yards away," said Sinclair.

Marcus slammed his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. "We're stuck. The only way this jeep is moving is if we get out and push it." Another hail of thuds and this time one of them struck the hood and lodged in the metal. It was a bronze-tipped arrow.

"We're sitting ducks if we stay here." Sinclair was bent double trying to keep out of the line of sight.

"Then let's get out. We can use the jeep as cover." Marcus opened the door and jumped out. The track hugged the side of a hill which provided some protection from behind. It also provided little means of escape if the Grounders got too close. They would be hemmed in. Sinclair crawled across the driver's seat and half rolled out onto the ground next to Marcus. Marcus looked back at the other two trucks. The rest of the team had also jumped out and were crouched down behind their vehicles. Johnson, who had been sitting in the back of Marcus's jeep, passed across a couple of guns to Marcus and Sinclair.

Marcus risked a peek over the hood of the truck. There were two groups of five, each group fanned out like an arrow head. The lead of each group was wielding an axe; the others were firing arrows at the convoy. They were running through the trees, covering the last few hundred yards of ground quickly. Their war cries echoed off the hill behind Marcus, filling the air. The lead Grounder in the group closest to Marcus was a giant; at least 6'5" and almost as broad. His dark, braided hair swung wildly behind him as he ran.

A volley of shots rang out to Marcus's right. He ducked back down and turned to see where the shots had come from. Bates was standing behind the hood of the last truck; he was spraying bullets from his automatic rifle at the charging Grounders. The Grounders were still within the forest trees, however, and none of the bullets were hitting their targets; some were ricocheting back off the nearby trees towards the trucks. Peters was trying to pull Bates back down to the safety of the vehicle but Bates was shrugging him off.

"Get down, man!" shouted Marcus but it was too late. A Grounder arrow found its mark in Bates's forehead. He looked shocked for a moment and then his knees buckled and his body seemed to fold in on itself as he fell to the ground.

"Shit!" Marcus looked at Sinclair, seeing his own fear and pain echoed in his friend's shocked face. There was no time to dwell, though. Marcus had another look over the hood. He didn't see the arrow that flew within an inch of his head, just heard the hum and felt a rush of air on his face as it went past. In the split second he had to survey the scene he saw that the Grounders had spread out and were moving to flank the convoy on either side. They would soon be on top of the group. Marcus rested the barrel of his gun on the window of the truck, between the bars. Looking down the sight he tried to push everything else from his mind and concentrate on the scene in front of him. He slowed his breathing, waiting for the moment a Grounder came into view. When one did, he exhaled and pulled the trigger at the same time. The shot missed. Marcus was a sharp-shooter but hitting moving targets that were zigzagging through trees whilst under a hail of arrows was not an easy task.

He sat on his haunches, his back against the vehicle and turned to Sinclair. "We need to wait until they are out of the trees and then move out as a unit, spray them with bullets. We don't have the time to pick them off individually."

"That's risky," said Sinclair. "We'll be exposing ourselves directly to them. Look what just happened to Bates."

"Bates should have waited. The trees protected the Grounders. If they're in the open there will be nothing between us and them. I can't see another way. If we don't do this they will be upon us in a moment. We won't win at hand to hand combat, if it even gets that far. We have to take the fight to them."

Sinclair grimaced, worry and indecision etched on his face. "OK," he said. Marcus could tell he wasn't happy about this but what else could they do? "Tell the men to get ready. On my shout we'll move out firing. I'll take the ones moving in to the left. Tell Peters to do the same on his right."

Sinclair moved across the line to inform the men of the plan. Out of the corner of his eye Marcus could see a couple of heads turn to look at him. He nodded his head to give a reassurance he didn't quite feel himself. He set his rifle to automatic fire and crept past the front wheels of the jeep. He looked up one last time. The Grounders had reached the tree line and were about to come out into open ground.

"Let's do this now!" Marcus stepped out from around the jeep and planted his feet firmly on the ground. His main target was a few yards ahead and to the left. He opened fire at the Grounder, trying to concentrate the bullets at his head and torso. All around him was a cacophony of automatic fire, the guttural shouts of the charging Grounders and the screams of someone from his own side who may have been hit. Marcus was not going to look round to find out. This time his bullets found their mark and the Grounder hit the earth with a thud. Marcus paid him no further attention. He turned further to the left and ducked just in time as an arrow flew by at head height. His heart was hammering in his chest. He took deep breaths to focus himself and for a few crucial moments time seemed to slow down and everything became clear. He stayed hunkered to the ground and continued firing. A second Grounder went down. He turned further down the line of trees to aim at the next man but there was no one left standing. The firing stopped but the sound of the guns still rang in Marcus's ears. He looked at his own men; Johnson was removing an arrow from his arm with a grimace but otherwise everyone appeared to be safe. All ten of the Grounders lay scattered on the rocky earth before them. It had only taken a minute to wipe them out. Marcus was thankful they had found these guns at Mount Weather. Arrows were not a match for automatic weapons in a face to face battle. Marcus didn't suppose it was a fair fight in the end, but then they hadn't asked to be in this situation.

"Is everyone okay?" The men nodded, looking around at each other and at the Grounders they had killed. "Yes sir."

"Check the bodies; see if there are any survivors." Marcus went over to where the two men he had killed were lying close to each other on the blood-soaked ground. Now that the ringing in his ears had subsided it seemed eerily quiet. A lone bird, a robin, was perched in a tree at the edge of the forest, its plaintive love song the only sound in the still air. Marcus checked the two men over, felt for a pulse on each, even though they were clearly dead. Both bodies were bullet-ridden and the face of the first man Marcus had hit was obliterated on one side, shattered bone and torn muscle all that remained. He remained kneeling by the side of the body for a moment, his hand resting on the man's bloody chest and closed his eyes. Too much death, he thought. The robin continued to sing and for a moment Marcus wanted to shoot it off its damned branch. This was a place of death, not love and life.

But that wasn't quite true. Only one of his men had been lost. It could have been so much worse. They had survived.

Marcus sensed movement behind him and stood up. Sinclair was there, a bloody gash on his cheek but otherwise okay. "What happened there?" asked Marcus indicating the cut.

"Near miss with an arrow." Sinclair gave a rueful smile. "I'm okay." Sinclair took Marcus's hand and shook it, patting him on the shoulder at the same time. "It was a brave decision, to face them openly. The right decision."

Marcus did not think there was much of a decision to be made if you had no choices, but he accepted the comment with a nod and a half smile and a squeeze of Sinclair's arm in return.

"Let's bury Bates and get on our way. There may be other Grounders between here and the ark station. I don't want to waste time."

The men dug a grave in the soft earth at the edge of the forest and they laid Bates to rest. Marcus recited the traveller's blessing and bowed his head in respect. He no longer felt the words or the meaning behind them, though. The blessing was written when the ground was the Holy Grail, an earthly heaven for those trapped in the starry one. They hadn't found much love or peace since arriving on the ground; it didn't feel like heaven to Marcus either, despite its physical beauty.

He stood back and looked at his men. "Be vigilant for the rest of the journey. No more surprises."

The next few hours of the journey were thankfully uneventful. Marcus concentrated on driving. Sinclair continued to look out of the window, searching for enemies. They did not speak to each other. Each man was lost in his own thoughts.

Marcus contemplated the robin in the wood, singing its love song to attract a mate, oblivious to the man-made chaos around it. The beauty of the song had jarred with the sights and smells of death. Could there be hope in love, even amongst such horrors as they faced here on Earth? Abby had it with Clarke; a mother's love that was complex and layered but had survived the worst of what both of them had done. Marcus had always held himself at a distance from others, even his own mother, even Abby. Especially Abby. There was a price to pay for love - the pain and fear of losing that person. Marcus used to believe such feelings clouded one's judgement. Recently, though, he found himself wanting to feel something more than friendship. He wanted a connection. Abby's love for Clarke also brought her great joy; of loving someone, and being loved in return. He felt that he and Abby had forged a new relationship on Earth, one of mutual respect and affection, however infuriating she could be at times. She was resourceful, loyal and determined; qualities he admired greatly in her. There could be more to it than that though, he thought. Perhaps love…

Marcus's thoughts were interrupted as a loud rumbling sound filled the air, getting louder until it became thunderous. The ground started shaking violently and Sinclair gripped Marcus's shoulder painfully. Boulders fell from the cliff onto the path in front of the jeep sending up huge clouds of white dust that obscured his vision. "What now?" thought Marcus, slamming on the brakes. He watched helplessly as a large boulder rolled down the hill towards the jeep. He had no time to react before it rammed against the side of the vehicle, flipping it over. Metal crunched and squealed as it concertinaed and the space inside the jeep suddenly got smaller. The air became acrid with the smell of gas and other leaking fluids making it hard to breathe. Marcus felt a sharp pain in his side and his leg and then everything went black.