A/N: As I'm sure you all realize, today is not Wednesday… So, Sunday updates it is! It was a bit of a chaotic week, but I'm going to try to do better! And in my defense, this just felt like it needed to be a longer chapter.
Earth: Day 77
A sob echoed in the empty bunker, but it was a dry wheeze that reverberated back against the concrete walls of a homemade bunker.
Madi had to leave. Today.
She ran out of water two days ago.
Mu-ma wouldn't have drunk it all so fast, she would have waited. Madi berated herself silently, angry for her mistake, wishing she had done a better job. So her parents would have been proud.
Her head was pounding dully, and the sound of her heartbeat thudded softly at the nape of her neck like a small bird trapped in the attic and desperate to escape.
She had buried her grandfather. She had buried her mother's sister. She had buried her father. And she had buried her mother, unborn child still in her womb. She couldn't sink their bones in the lake the way Ouskejon warriors were buried, or even cover them in earth like most people, which made her heart ache.
Instead, she had laid them all side by side in the back room of the bunker, a task that had taken her an entire day, and covered each of them with a blanket. Not knowing what else to do, she had cried and closed off the room as best she could with the same goo her father had used to seal the main door. It wasn't a proper burial, but it was all she could do with as sick as she had still been.
She had buried them all so long ago, it seemed.
She paused a moment, thinking through her aching head and blurring vision.
Madi felt like she had been here forever, like she had been alone forever.
And now, the water was gone and she had to leave.
Now, she had to heed her mother's last words and go East, to Polis.
East to Polis.
Polis, where the Commander's Spirit would protect her. Where there would be people.
Where there will be water, hopefully.
There was still food here, dried fish and meat and berries meant to feed her entire family for months, but there was no more water.
If her papa was still alive, he would have known how to make water, but Madi didn't know how. She only knew that she had to leave and go east, toward the rising sun.
I wonder if I'll get sick again when I leave, my skin doesn't seem so bad now, there are only a few places that still hurt.
The radiation had been deterred by the bunker somewhat, but it had still leached in at lethal doses for the first two months, and Madi had grown accustomed to the ever-present burns, sores, swelling, and pain. She had never been directly exposed, so her symptoms were often mild, but in the beginning, the radiation had forced her into blackouts and seizures alongside her family. But she had recovered, her family hadn't.
Her left shoulder had blistered and burned so badly in the first two weeks that she would be left with a sickle-shaped scar that would follow her into adulthood. Much of her hair had fallen out, but downy, blonde tendrils had begun to replace it. She didn't mind, she always thought the warrior women looked better with short hair anyway.
And that's what she was- a warrior girl.
Madi climbed the ladder to the opening of the bunker- reach, pull, step. Repeat.
She had her mother's jacket on, the one that she'd brought to the bunker even though she couldn't wear it anymore with her rounded belly, and its pockets were stuffed with her father and grandfather's dried jerky.
When she reached the top rung of the ladder, she lifted a knife, and wobbling, picked away at the grey goop that had "sealed" the bunker.
As the last piece fell away, she shoved against the ceiling and broke out onto the Earth above.
It was night.
The moon was nearly full, and it was easy to see her surroundings since all the trees stood naked in the ground.
She hadn't really thought much about time while she had been in the bunker, but it still surprised her to see the world so dark after not seeing it for so long.
For a moment, she wondered if praimfaya had stolen away the sun, but she figured she was being silly- after all, people had survived praimfaya before.
She struggled to get her bearings and realized she didn't recognize anything.
Where is the tree papa used to hunt from when he was a boy?
Where is the bush mu-ma and I pick berries from in spring?
Where is the trail that leads home?
She fought to remain calm, just like papa always told her. She was special. She had to learn not to be angry and to think clearly, because that's what nightblidas do. Because people counted on her.
So she thought, and she remembered that when they had all come to the bunker together, mu-ma had stumbled a little because her belly was getting so big.
Madi looked around, but the branch her mother had tripped over was gone. Several trees had been felled by the winds of praimfaya, and so much of the landscape was indistinguishable, especially without its foliage.
Mentally exhausted, Madi sat down on one of those trees to wait for daybreak. However, when she sat down and calmed her breathing, the world was so quiet that she began to listen even harder to the silence around her.
The more she listened, the more she realized it wasn't perfectly silent.
Somewhere far off to her right was the dribbling whisper of a stream.
Suddenly, she felt awake- buzzing with energy.
Water.
Her body was aching for the stuff, and she knew it. A shiver ran through her, and she stood to stagger toward the sound.
The spring wasn't too far away, but by the time she saw the reflection of moonlight in the water, she thought she would collapse.
Dropping to the ground, Madi sat with her knees in the mud and cupped the water to her mouth with shaking hands. It was clear and cold and spring-fed. She would never know how lucky she was to have found it, and if she did, she would simply assume the Commander's Spirit had led her there.
All that mattered was that she had water. The red burns reforming across the bridge of her nose, the blisters on her feet from shoes that were now too small, and the chill of the night air meant nothing to her.
She had water. It was enough.
The Go-Sci Ring: Day 77
There are a lot of things Monty Green is good at: hacking, keeping secrets, growing drugs, self-sacrificing, keeping faith, and undying loyalty.
There are a few things Monty has never been good at: accepting failure, playing backgammon, and moving on.
They'd been in space for 11 weeks today. He wasn't sure why this week hurt so much more than all the others. Maybe it was because the reality of five years in space was starting to set in. Maybe it was because his body had finally adjusted to life back aboard the Ring and things finally felt permanent. Maybe it was because 11 was Jasper's favorite number.
He knew it hadn't really been his favorite- that he'd always just said it was his favorite because it was the number of times they had held moonshine parties before he forgot to seal off the lights to the grow room. And then because 11 had been Monty's cell number when they both got locked up because of it.
Maybe it was the 7s that were bothering him.
Jasper had been born seven days after him. There had been seven people at the party the night they'd gotten arrested -the most ever- and when they had gone to Earth together, they had spent seven months on the surface together.
Maybe it's just because he's dead. He's dead because he killed himself. Because living hadn't been enough. Because he hadn't been enough. Because-
He shook himself and tried to breathe the way Harper had showed him- in slowly one, two, three, four. He tried to hold his breath to make the count. Out- six, seven, eight.
Like Bellamy, he hadn't slept well the first few weeks on the Ring, but unlike Bellamy, Harper had been lying beside him each night to coax him back from the edge of a panic attack. Jasper's death cut him to the quick, and the wound was covered, but still raw.
He just hurt, and felt empty. And missed Jasper. Every damn day.
Every hall, every turn, every room reminded him of the days he'd spent roaming the Ark before they'd been arrested.
Maybe if he hadn't forgotten to replace the seed starters, maybe if Suzanne hadn't been on duty that night to see the lights on in the grow room, maybe if they hadn't pushed their luck by inviting so many people, maybe Jasper wouldn't have been arrested. Maybe he would have come down with the others and never would have been captured by Mount Weather and never would have had his heart broken when Monty had to kill the girl he loved. Maybe then their friendship would have still been enough to make him want to live.
But maybe he would have died anyway. In the culling, in the landing, at the hands of the Grounders, by virtue of a lost seat in the bunker at Polis.
By why did John Murphy get to live?
The thought was bitter and held more anger than Monty realized he had inside him.
He wasn't angry with John, not really. He opens the door to the Earth Monitoring Station lab and walks inside. It's time to start another day slogging through the intercom system and a potential radio to listen to Earth.
John was already there, sitting at the desk, fiddling with an antenna wire and several homemade batteries, a grimace on his face from the intensity of his concentration. The look brought back some bad memories.
Even though he did try to kill Jasper when he was injured. And again, when he saw Murphy kill Myles.
Monty tried to focus, tried to remember that John had changed, that he wasn't the same person he was when he made those decisions. That John had grown up. That they all had.
Murphy made a joke and chuckled to himself, but Monty barely heard it. It just felt so wrong that Murphy had made every wrong decision and still got to live, when Jasper had always been along for the ride and always tried to do the right thing, but he was dead.
In a strange sense that he knew was wrong, he felt like he was betraying Jasper's memory. He swallowed hard.
Raven didn't notice Monty's subdued nature this morning, but John did. Something was off- he could feel it. He takes a deep breath. Maybe Monty needed a friend right now.
Hell if he knew how to be that, but he could give it a shot. Monty had helped him through so much of this engineering crap this week, dealing with his questions and the longer amount of time it took him to process the steps. He could at least ask what was bothering him.
"Hey, you good this morning?" John paused. Okay. Easy. "I know I'm dumb, but you seem a little out of sorts." Okay, self-deprecating humor is always good, he thought to himself. It was still his shield, but he was trying.
Monty's mouth opened, then shut again, but when he looked up to face Murphy, there was a deep, rolling anger burning in his eyes.
John physically recoiled- stepping backward- at the sight. "Monty?" There was a touch of genuine concern in his voice, but also a bit of fear. John cursed himself because he recognized it as soon as he heard it in his voice. Weakness.
"Am I good? Good? We've been in space for 11 weeks. And we'll be stuck here for-" Monty sputtered, then paused to finish the math- "249 more weeks. That's a lot of weeks with you pretending to be my new best friend while my real best friend is dead."
He regretted the words as soon as they were out. He was supposed to be the optimist, the peacemaker, the one who kept the faith and kept them fed. He deflated visibly as he realized exactly what he had said, but the damage was done. He didn't know what else to say. The words still felt true, but he knew he shouldn't have said it.
At last, he murmured, "Let's just build this goddamn radio."
John looked like he'd been slapped in the face.
Even Raven had stopped working from her main desk at the sound of Monty's outburst. A trace of sympathy was in her eyes, but John mistook it for pity. Suddenly the room felt too small and Monty felt too close and he felt too trapped. His breathing came in bursts, and he stopped struggling to control it.
"Like I'd want to be friends with you. You suck at making people want to keep living. How's that optimist gig working for you?"
A crack in his voice usurped the forced snarkiness in his tone, but the damage was done. Monty sucked in a breath and a shade of plum crept up his cheeks.
In a whirl, Murphy fled the room, stalking down the corridor toward the room he shared with Emori.
Fine. He didn't need friends. He needed to survive.
And right now, as he tried to ignore the prickling sensation in his chest that told him he was lying, he needed Emori.
Monty was still crumpled on the desk when Harper entered the room.
As soon as Murphy had left (stormed out is more like it), she had gone to get Harper. She knew whatever this was, she was 100% not qualified to deal with it. This wasn't the first time Monty had broken down about Jasper, but it was the first time in a long time that he had seemed angry. So angry.
Anger was so uncharacteristic for him, Raven didn't know what to make of it, but she realized that maybe she should have mediated the lessons between John and Monty a little more, but having them work together had given her some time to work on the satellites, and it had seemed like the best use of their time.
Maybe it's not worth the time I'll save, she thought. If they end up hating each other, the few extra days is useless anyways.
It'll just be a little slower. That is, if it wasn't already too late to get them to work together again.
She wished Bellamy were here. He knew how to deal with Monty and John. He'd know what to say.
She needed to track him down. She rarely saw him anymore, even for meals. She mentally put it on her list of things to do, and when Harper rushed to Monty's side to embrace him, she left the lab.
She hadn't finished anything today, but one more day wouldn't hurt, after all, they still had 1,743 to go.
But who's counting?
The Bunker: Day 77
Eric Jackson was kneeling next to a cot, examining a badly sprained ankle on a Sankru man. The man had entered the clinic cursing, claiming he had tripped down a flight of steps coming home from the night detail at the oxygenator, but Jackson wasn't sure he believed him. The man was young, though hints of grey were already beginning to wind their way through his dark hair. But it wasn't his youth that made Jackson doubt his story, or even the dappling of bruises that were beginning to purple his legs and arms and the stiffness in his walk when he entered the clinic.
The other injuries might have aroused some doubt, but Jackson's suspicion was rooted in the way the Sankru man kept eying the door, in the way he visibly forced himself to control his breathing, and simply in the fact that he was Sankru.
As much as everyone hated to admit it, a caste system had followed them all into the bunker, but old rivalries and standings had been magnified as a result of the shared space. Azgeda, Trikru, and Skai kru all knocked elbows for the top slot in the bunker, while Podakru trailed just behind. Sankru and Ingranroan were both squarely at the bottom of the hierarchy.
Jackson was fairly certain the Sankru man had been attacked on his way home simply because he was Sankru, but he didn't know how to prove it.
The man wouldn't admit to an altercation- the Council could find him guilty of provocation even if there had been none.
This man needed to be treated, and protected, but beyond that, Jackson was only certain of his ability to help with the former.
Just then, Emelie kom Yujleda walked through the clinic door, and Jackson was afraid the Sankru man would bolt. It wasn't that the slight woman was particularly intimidating, in fact, her long silver hair hung loosely around a face etched with smile lines, it was more that the young man seemed ready to run at the sound of his own heartbeat.
Much to Jackson's relief, the sight of the older woman seemed to put the Sankru man at ease, and he settled back onto the cot, letting Jackson continue wrapping his foot.
She greeted the man, and the man touched the center of his forehead in an obvious sign of respect. Emelie smiled softly and returned the gesture. She stood quietly in the door as Jackson continued to splint the ankle. Jackson smiled to himself- Emelie had been coming around the clinic more lately; always quietly, and always at night when Abby was off duty, but she almost always came.
As soon as the ankle was set, the man scuttled away, glancing around distrustfully as he fled to the barracks.
Jackson put away the bandages and leaned back against the cupboard.
"So. Do you think he really fell?"
He tried to keep the doubt out of his voice, but he thought he knew what her answer would be.
"Maybe he did, but how he fell matters." Emelie's answer was cryptic, as usual.
Emelie was a healer by trade, and though Abby seemed to dislike her, Jackson had taken to her immediately, and trusted her insight. While Abby ran the Medical Clinic during the day, Jackson usually took the night shift, and Emelie routinely came to keep him company. He made her tea and she brought news from the clans, and taught him Grounder medicine.
Usually, she was fairly vague about who the Guard needed to watch, but tonight, there was a sense of urgency in her voice.
"We're going to have more trouble soon. The Podakru delegate has political ambition… Jordyn wants power for her people when we return to the surface, but she might not be willing to wait that long. You might want to let the Guard know to watch the hydro plant the next few days."
A twinkle in Emelie's eyes teased over the word "Guard," and Jackson fought back a smile.
I've gotta let Nate know.
A warmth settled in his stomach as he set a pot to boil for tea.
Nate always came by on his breaks, which usually fell just before dawn, right before Jackson got off. When Jackson finally got off, they usually had an hour or two together before it Nate had to go back on shift. Though he knew Nate loved working Octavia's security detail, he knew it was exhausting for him. Six hours on, three hours off made for a shitty sleep schedule, even without spending half of that time with him. It was all Jackson could do to make sure that time was well spent.
Dawn would come soon, and Jackson couldn't wait for Nate to walk through the door and press himself against him. His heart jumped at the thought.
He would warn Nate, and then, after he went to report to Octavia, they could escape for a while- just sit behind the barracks and lean against one another. They would try to talk about their nights, the way they always did, but like always, they would just resign themselves to a few sleepy kisses before drifting off side by side.
Jackson was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't notice Emelie slip out, a light smile on her face, but brow furrowed in worry.
Things were much worse than they seemed on the surface, and she feared they were soon about to get much worse.