`Sorry this chapter took longer to update. It's Christmas week, so I thought I'd give myself a little vacation. Plus, I started reading a book series and was able to fit all 2,000 + pages worth into a week and a half, so now my distraction is gone (*insert post-series crisis here*). And honestly, I wish my chapters here were shorter. But they can't be. But I don't feel like anyone is disappointed by that XD
Clarke didn't feel like she was in her body. It was as if a piece of her had drifted upwards, watching herself from an objective viewpoint as she stepped towards the guards.
The movement caught the attention of one and they turned, eyes focusing on her. Recognition dawned on him, quickly followed by surprise. And then, action.
The guards were around them in a second. As soon as a firm grip found her hands, twisting and pinning them tightly behind her, Clarke snapped back into her body. Hot pain coursed up her back and knocked around her skull.
Like the first the rest of the guards placed her faster than they did Bellamy. But when they did, only a breadth later, three of the four guards took him down much more harshly than they had her, nearly tackling him and shoving his face into the floor. Cuffs were slapped onto his wrists and Clarke felt the metal of another pair bite into her own skin. as Bellamy was pulled up. Two guards stood at his side, the third still gripping his arms, regardless of the cuffs.
Bellamy cast her a sideways glance and Clarke saw the flicker of panic there. She felt herself, the spark threatening to grow and engulf her, but she refused to let it. Instead, she tilted her chin up, hoping she wore an expression that held some semblance of confidence.
"We have information for Jaha," she said, but it was hard to be heard over the movement of the guards and their own chattering as they informed others via comm. Her throat still ached from earlier and Clarke could still feel the ghosts of fingertips, pressing into her flesh, seeking to kill.
Despite being cuffed, she clenched her hands. "We have information for Jaha," she repeated, raising her voice. "It's about the bombing!"
That drew some of the attention from Bellamy and onto her, but it wasn't exactly welcomed. There was a different look in the guards' eyes when they looked to her. She saw the distrust, the incredulity. But it was drastic in comparison to the look they gave Bellamy, reserved for the lowliest of people.
That grated on her nerves, but Clarke didn't let it show. Instead, she met the guard's gaze unflinchingly. "Believe me," she said. "He's going to want to hear it."
The guard still holding Bellamy pulled him closer, as if planning to whisper something in his ear, but his words were directed at her. "I have no interest in the wants of fugitives, especially this one." He shoved Bellamy forward, still holding onto him as the guard herded him down the corridor. Clarke's guard was quick to follow, pulling her alongside him.
"I wasn't responsible for the bombing," Bellamy bit out, but all that earned him was another rough shove, as if the guard thought he could physically shake some kind of confession out of him.
"He had nothing to do with it!" Clarke said, dismissing the pain radiating from her temples. "He never wanted to shoot the Chancellor-his objective was getting on the dropship. One of yours helped him." She was careful not to give too much information away, just enough to snag interest. "How else do you think he got the gun to do it?"
The closest guard, her guard, glanced at her. But if he believed anything she said, his face didn't give it away. "I respect your Mother. I'm surprised she'd breed such treasonous company."
Fury flared inside her. If only this man knew. Though Clarke didn't want her mom floated, she didn't confuse that with forgiveness. Abby Griffin had done treasonous acts of her own, not against the Council, but against the people who loved her. And that was worse, because those were the things treasonous against one's heart and soul.
"We aren't the traitors here," she spoke to the guard.
The man looked unfazed, his green eyes breaking away from hers. "Escort them to the Prison Station."
They moved into the Mess Hall and Clarke's argument died in her throat. She was unprepared for the grotesque sights around her; brilliant smears of red decorated the floor, plashing against the dull metal. Moans of pain echoed around the room, accompanied by the mournful sounds of grieving people. Some of the bodies had already been moved to one side of the room, faces uncovered. Through the guards, she couldn't see them very well, but she did spot the familiar, white-blonde hair of one and despite refusing to hate Soren, a small voice still hoped it was him.
Then a different person grabbed onto Clarke's attention. First, it was her mom, standing over someone, undoubtedly tending to their wounds. She hoped her mom wouldn't see her, but that was a vain hope in itself that was dashed a moment later, when a different voice broke out.
"Stop."
Clarke knew it well. Commanding. Authoritative. It didn't matter if she'd grown up with it, the strength in that voice never failed to make her feel like a child again, running around with Wells.
Chancellor Jaha stood before the guards, jet-black eyes falling to his men before landing on her. There was a weight in that look, but Clarke didn't think it was disappointment. If anyone had a right to be disappointed in the other, it was her. She may have gone against the Council's wishes and broke a few laws, but at least she hadn't sentenced her friend to death. There were clearly worse things to be than a fugitive on the Ark.
Jaha's gaze turned from hers and landed on Bellamy, both expressions unreadable. "What is this?" he asked.
The guard next to Clarke stepped forward, still keeping a good hold on her. "We caught-"
"-We turned ourselves in," she clarified, sending the guard a stern look. "There was no catching involved."
"Clarke?" She recognized her mom's voice in an instant and a moment later, she saw her, stepping in beside Jaha. It was fitting, Clarke couldn't help think a little bitterly, that the two of them should stand next to each other.
She made no acknowledgement of her mother just as the guard spoke again. "We're taking them to the Prison Station for interrogation."
Jaha studied them again, and Clarke wondered what Bellamy was thinking. She was suddenly worried that Jaha would dismiss any interrogation and just float the both of them right then. But he simply said, "Come back for her later."
Clarke didn't realize he was speaking of her until one of the guards tried to object. "Sir, Clarke Griffin has been charged with-"
Jaha raised a hand, silencing the man. "Oh, I've been made well aware of Miss Griffin's recent...actions. But this is neither the time nor place for any trial. We have twenty-one injured civilians and Clarke has trained with licensed medical personnel. We're short on hands and we could use her assistance."
This time, Clarke couldn't quite keep the shock off her face. For one, she expected to be hauled straight to the Prison Station with the long list of her transgressions. For another, being split from Bellamy was not part of her plan. She struggled for a response. "Wait, I-"
"We don't have time for this," Jaha interrupted. "Take Mr. Blake to the Prison Station. Escort Miss Griffin after she's finished here."
Clarke shook her head, trying to think of something, but it was already too late. Bellamy cast her one final glance as his guards corralled him through the Mess Hall and out the corridor.
When he was out of sight, Clarke forced her focus on the hurt people around her. The faster this was done, the faster she could at least get down to the Prison Station. Maybe even while she was here, she could spare a word with Jaha, but the odds of any guard letting her speak to him were painfully slim.
Instead, Clarke put her efforts in bandaging cuts and staunching blood flow. Some of the people were taken to surgery, including a little girl, but that was something Clarke couldn't assist. She stayed with the simple injuries, sticking to the ugly gashes, the concussions, and the stitches. Twenty-one people didn't seem like much, but not only did Clarke have to tend the wounds, she had to deal with the discomfort and occasional barrage of questions that came from the injured persons.
Some asked the melodramatic questions, such as if they would die. Clarke was relieved when she could tell them that they would be fine, and know it wasn't a lie. Others were less-accepting of her help, especially those who had lost someone in the Culling. Clarke wasn't responsible for their death, but perhaps if it had been forced, this family's loved one wouldn't have been chosen. It was a paltry what-if that could have made all the difference.
By the time she reached her last patient, an older man with grease smeared in his dark hair, Clarke was sweating from the work. She'd gone from the worst injuries to the less-critical and all she had to do for this man was reset his arm. He let out a sound of pain as the joint popped back into place.
His brown eyes met hers but he didn't thank her.
When he was gone, Clarke was on her knees and sat back, surveying the room for anyone she might have missed. The others were already being tended to by someone else and the dead had been separated from the living. She noted the guards still around, their eyes trailed on her and she counted them.
Other guards were there, including the four that had "caught" them and Clarke felt suddenly confused why none of them seemed to have remained in the Prison Station. Someone had to have started interrogating Bellamy, but the fact that no guards from here were overseeing it made her suddenly uneasy.
She rose from her uncomfortable position and one guard instantly moved in on her. He grabbed her arm before she could get very far, and Clarke felt the need to point out the obvious of how difficult it would be to get out from here unseen. She didn't though. She just looked across at the guard, the same one who had escorted her earlier, and her unease grew.
"Aren't you supposed to be interrogating Bellamy Blake?" she asked. She knew it was usually Council members that led interrogations, but these were rare circumstances.
The guard didn't even glance at her. "That's not my job."
Her heart rate increased, and that foreboding escalated. "Is it Marcus Kane, then?"
This time, he did look at her, and there was a warning burning in his gaze. "Marcus Kane is preoccupied questioning someone else. A Mr. Ridley. You wouldn't happen to know him, would you?"
"Is Bellamy even being interrogated?" she asked, dismissing the implication.
The guard must have heard something in her voice because though he seemed annoyed at her pestering, he didn't ignore her. "Commander Shumway is currently dealing with the criminal as we speak."
Dealing with. The way he said it made her suddenly feel cold. And just like that, what little pieces of her plan that had still been in place crumbled into dust.
Five minutes later, things got worse.
Clarke's mind was already churning with ideas, while the rest of her churned with guilt. Bellamy was stuck in a room with Shumway and she knew that he wouldn't let Bellamy leave that cell alive. It was a miracle in itself, Clarke decided, when the guard started escorting her down to the Prison Station with a nod of approval from Jaha.
They left the Mess Hall behind and Clarke tried not to walk quickly, as if she were eager to be locked up. They were halfway there when the guard suddenly came to a halt, nearly yanking Clarke backwards. He raised a device to his ears, probably hoping he could keep the message from reaching Clarke, but she heard it.
"Prison Station is down," a voice chimed from the device's speaker.
What? Clarke looked at the guard, trying and failing to keep out thoughts of Shumway and Bellamy in the same room. The guard next to her seemed to forget about her existence. "What do you mean, 'down?'"
The response was imminent. "The power's been cut. Dismantled from the inside."
Clarke stopped breathing, and her mind flashed back to the words spoken to her only a few minutes earlier. Commander Shumway is currently dealing with the criminal as we speak.
The guard paused, evidently not knowing what to do about her now.
But Clarke made the decision for him.
She stepped away from the guard, just enough to bring up her elbow. It smashed into his face and he let out a sound of pain. He barely had time to react or pull something on her when Clarke reached up and pinched a part of his neck. Pressure point. The guard's eyes went wide before he fell to the floor.
Clarke didn't spare him another glance before she was moving away. Not long ago, she would've given anything to be free of the Prison Station. Now, she was running towards it. When the echo of pounding feet sounded, Clarke pressed herself against the wall as they passed, and kept going. She knew when she was getting closer; degrees were dropping and it grew darker until Clarke came to the Prison Station entrance. Beyond it, she couldn't make out a thing. The corridor was swallowed by blackness and she stood there, heart crashing against her ribs.
She didn't give herself any time. Fortunately with the power off, it made it easier to heft open the door wide enough for her to squeeze through and when she did, it was like being doused in ice water.
The Prison Station had frozen, the temperature so low, it felt to be in the negatives. Clarke's breath climbed the air and the biting chill dug into her skin, so deep until it caressed the bones. There was no extra fabric she had on to conserve warmth; she'd discarded her jacket in the airlock, which had long since left her forearms exposed, now to the relentless cold.
Clarke gazed down the long stretch of corridor, nearly black without the familiar glow of circadian lights. Without them, this part of the ship turned ghostly and silent. Dead and terribly empty, something stripped of its soul.
Clarke thrust that thought far from her and started walking, her footsteps deafening in the stillness. She stopped in front of the first door. The first cell door.
Number 232.
Clarke was intimate with the labeling. Once, she'd been prisoner 399, and she always found it cruel that not only were the people here divested of their family and their dignity, but their very names as well.
Clarke made a fist and his the door, loud enough for any occupant inside to hear. "Bellamy?" she asked, hitting it harder. "Bellamy?!" Nothing.
Clarke moved on to the next one, repeating the action. Again, her only response was silence. She drew farther down the corridor, pausing at each door. 233. 238.
"Bellamy?!"
A muffled noise echoed farther down the corridor and Clarke didn't hesitate. She chased the sound, pausing intermittently to wait for it again.
It brought her to 261. Her entire body was shaking now, the cold wrapping around her like a vice, squeezing out all the warmth. But it would be worse in these cells, she knew.
She held her breath. "Bellamy?"
"Clarke?" His voice was muted, as if speaking from a far distance but Clarke recognized it. She couldn't manage a moment of relief, though. The magnetic locks securing the closed door was off, and though that made it unlocked, it also sealed Bellamy inside.
"It's me," Clarke said, wishing there were a window of sorts to view him clearly through. But it was a solid metal frame. His response, at least, came less muddled. "The power's out," he said.
Clarke sighed. "Yeah. I kind of already figured that. Are you-?"
"-Freezing?" he interjected. "Yeah. Dead? Check back in an hour."
Clarke looked at the lock's panel, decorated in yet more numbers, and had the sudden desire to hit it. That was about as futile as her next course of action; she gripped the sides of the door and tried to open it by force but it was tantamount to moving a wall. It wasn't like the entrance door; this one was a slate of steel, unlocked, but immobile.
Clarke slammed a hand against its surface, this time out of frustration and the necessity to keep her blood circulating. "Door's too heavy," she reported, already scouring for other options. "I can't open it."
Bellamy offered the only idea he had physical access to help with. "I'll pull from this side. You pull from there."
She nodded, as if he could see it. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the smooth door and the steel chipped her nails as she strained to pull it back. Her head still pounded from its earlier hit, but she pushed through it. Yet, even with their combined efforts, the door didn't budge, save for an inch-wide crack that closed once their weight was off it.
Clarke took a deep breath, clipping away her rising unease and turning her attention on reason. On focus. She could figure something out. There was always a way. What she really needed, she decided, was something to pry the door open with. Or at least keep that inch of space clear.
"Remind me again whose plan this was?" Bellamy jeered, though there was an irate edge to his voice.
Clarke, for one, found the reminder unnecessary. But she couldn't have predicted something like this, not after every insane thing that's crossed their paths this far. It was her fault that he was here, but it wasn't her fault that she was the lure for the dark.
"I need something to hold the door in place." She looked around her, gaze dropping down the way she'd come. Even in the lack of light, she couldn't see the guards' bodies anymore. But she knew they were there, crumpled and folded over like paper.
"Hold on," she breathed, wisps of cloud appearing from her mouth. "I have an idea."
"One that involves me ever feeling my feet again?"
Clarke ignored the barb, moving away from the door and out the corridor, down, down, to where the broken men lay. Clad in black gear, she almost tripped over the first one, but her eyes had adjusted and she was now able to make out the unclothed features like faces and hands. Something twisted in her chest and Sympathy sprang inside her. She'd seen corpses before-cadavers, as rare as they were. But it was nothing like this. Nothing like glimpsing the people alive only to suddenly find them dead a moment later. Shot down in cold-blood, no less.
Clarke felt sorry for these men, but her pity wasn't enough to slow her down. Guards had weapons, and the dead no longer had use for them.
Clarke stooped beside one and, ignoring those sightless eyes shadowed in the dark, she unhooked his baton. It was heavier than she expected, but it would suffice.
She returned with it to the cell door, clutching tightly onto the weapon. "Okay, Bellamy, I need you to pull open the door as much as you can." Enough to where, hopefully, there would be a good amount of room to slide the baton through and pry the rest of the door open. At best, it would work. At worst, the metal rod would break and he would be left alone to eventually succumb to the effects of hypothermia.
Clarke pushed away the mental image of his body, lying lifeless and chalk-white beside the others.
A shout of anger coming from inside the cell snapped her attention back to Bellamy. "Fingers are numb," he informed her.
Clarke's patience was beginning to fade, chased away by her mounting desperation. Once again, the both of them found themselves under the growing shadow of death, and Clarke wondered how many times they could avoid it before it, too, lost its patience.
"Then do it quickly." she snapped. "Come on."
She heard his shuffling around followed by his groan of exertion. The results weren't instantaneous and Clarke tried to help as best she could. Again, that sliver of an opening appeared and before it could blink out, Clarke shoved the baton in place, praying the door wouldn't snap it in half.
But the door was shut down and she let out a small sound of relief when the baton remained in one piece.
"Good," she rasped, though she wasn't sure who she was talking to; either herself or Bellamy. Leaning over the protruding weapon, Clarke tried to get a clearer view of the room through the small splinter of a window. Slowly, she could make out the familiar, unkind walls of the cell that mirrored her own one, devoid of the drawings and depictions of Earth which made it even less appealing.
A heartbeat later, the view was swallowed by Bellamy. Clarke could only make out a fraction of his profile, one brown eye boring into hers. More white vapor bloomed from his mouth, the corners of his lips tinged an ugly, bruised blue.
"I don't think anything should be considered good until we aren't in a death and death situation."
Clarke didn't grace that with a response and instead, started pulling on the door again. She used the baton as leverage, but she didn't apply too much force on the handle, not wanting to break it. She was grateful for the small purchase that allowed her a more substantial grip and though her back ached and her skull pounded with a second heartbeat, she didn't stop.
But baton or not, it made her no stronger and Clarke barely succeeded in widening the door another inch. She paused long enough to drag in a painful breath, accompanied by dizziness. This would take time. And time was something that never seemed to play in their favor.
They tried again and Bellamy hissed out a breath as a wider gap appeared. Another inch. Maybe less. Strength wasn't on his side either, Clarke saw. He was weary and tired and growing colder by the minute. Even his usual tanned skin was taking on a sickly pallor.
Three inches.
"Clarke, this isn't going to work. Just go."
It took a second for the full meaning of his words to register but Clarke discarded them just as quickly. She tightened her hold on the door. "You're not dying here, Bellamy."
She'd already watched enough people die, her father included. And she couldn't let that happen to another person she cared about.
Bellamy stopped pulling, leaning forward enough for her to again make out hat single brown eye. "Don't be stupid about this, Clarke. Just get out of here."
Clarke looked at him, and she could clearly hear the earnest in his voice, caught in one of those rare moments when it was unguarded. But she'd already made up her mind. "You saved my life twice already," she said. "It's only fair I do the same."
He shook his head and his hand collided with the door, startling her. "And getting yourself killed is the way to repay me? Clarke, you don't-"
-"I can't lose you, too."
It was out before she could stop it but Clarke realized that it was true. Somewhere along the way, she'd started trusting him. Clarke knew what he was capable of; had seen him go from a threat to a person a part of her relied on. Bellamy had become a consistency throughout this whole mess and as brash as he was, he didn't try to be something he wasn't. Plus, he had a sister to get back to, and if there was one death Clarke refused to be responsible for, it was his.
Bellamy's expression-largely obscured by the door-went slack, brows furrowing in something she couldn't place. Maybe he didn't think the same of her, but then Clarke was reminded that just a moment ago, he had been telling her to leave him behind. And that spoke volumes on its own.
She stared at him. If he planned to make further objections, he didn't voice them. Rather, Bellamy seemed to draw his own resolve and gave her a curt nod. They tried again. And again. And again. Each time earned them another inch of space, and the sliver grew wider, until Clarke could see half of Bellamy's face. If it wasn't freezing, she was sure she'd see beads of sweat on his forehead, but whatever warmth was gleaned from the movement was quickly devoured by the cold.
Clarke didn't know how long it took, but eventually, they pulled the door open enough for Bellamy to wriggle through. Like her, he was shaking, and he stumbled out the door. Clarke didnt allow him to even pause for breath, she was already shoving him down the corridor. Again, she passed the dead guards and Bellamy saw them too but they kept going until they'd reached the Prison Station door.
Clarke make him go first, only letting the both of them catch their breath when they were no longer in a zero-degree zone.
She looked over at Bellamy, ensuring he wasn't suffering from anything else but the cold. She was somewhat surprised to find Shumway hadn't tried to shoot him, but the Commander must have thought the cell would've been effective enough in finishing him off once and for all.
Bellamy, still breathing roughly, met her gaze. "Thanks," he said lamely.
"Don't mention it." Clarke looked back towards the corridor, welcoming the visibility the circadian lights provided. She didn't know where they should go next, but she resumed walking, at a slower pace for Bellamy.
They were nearing Alpha again when more approaching feet resounded from farther down and Clarke ducked inside another corridor. Bellamy followed suit, and they pressed their backs into the walls. The footsteps came closer and Clarke could tell they were guards from the heavy thud of military-issued boots.
They were speaking to each other in rushed tones that instantly put both of them on edge. "...Exodus ship has been compromised," one said, and Clarke instantly looked at Bellamy whose eyes had gone wide.
"Lock it down! Lock it down!" The guards fled down the corridor, and soon the sounds of feet disappeared, leaving Clarke there, frozen as if she were back in the Prison Station.
"Compromised?" Bellamy repeated.
Clarke didn't say anything. But at least now she knew where they were going next.
She didn't know what she expected to find. But it wasn't this. Not a hoard of people, clawing and shoving their way towards the Exodus ship's gates, pushing others out of the way and scrambling over one another.
Shouts tore through the air, but they were low enough to make one distinguished voice from the rest. "I will if you let the doors close!" Someone shouted and Clarke vaguely recognized it. "Is that...?" She tried to cut through the throng, Bellamy at her heels. "Diana Sydney?"
No answer was really necessary and Clarke forced herself deeper, ignoring the jabs of elbows into her sides.
"They haven't decoupled!" A different person shouted and Clarke was close enough now to make out a man standing beside Jaha. She did not see her mother.
The Chancellor turned to him. "What does that mean?"
"It means the dropship's still tied into all the major systems: power, air, water..." His voice turned panicked. "If it launches, the Ark will be crippled. And everyone left aboard will die."
At that, Clarke stopped so suddenly that Bellamy nearly rammed into her. Everyone left aboard...
She started moving again, wrestling her way between the people until she could finally make out the scene before her. The doors separating the Exodus ship from the Ark were almost fully sealed, if not for the metal clamp that kept it from shutting completely. Diana was on the other side, blonde hair fanned around her as she shouted at Jaha.
"You promised the people truth!" She screamed. "And all you have them were lies!"
"You had me shot!" Jaha spat. And, in a second's time, Clarke understood. Shumway hadn't been working alone. He had been under the orders of Diana. A respectable woman. A member of the Council.
"You detonated a bomb in a public meeting that killed six innocent people!" Continued Jaha. "And now you want to kill everyone on this Space Station just to satisfy your ego?"
Diana gazed around at the people, almost benevolently. "He is still lying to your face! There aren't enough dropships to get everyone down to the ground!"
The chaos ceased. The shouts died off, washed away by her words and Clarke could have heard a pin drop in the silence.
"What is she talking about?" Someone finally asked, but Jaha ignored it. "Trust me, we will figure this out! We will survive! We always do!" He turned to another person. "Go! Come on!"
But Diana had the upper hand now. "You can't trust him!" She yelled and, looking around, Clarke saw that a few people appeared to agree. "More than one thousand people, most of them workers like you, are gonna be left behind to die! You can save yourself!" She gestured to the opening.
Clarke was shaking again, but this time, it wasn't from the cold. She looked back at a Bellamy who met her eyes in the same instant.
"We've lost the main power generator," someone informed Jaha and Clarke looked back, just in time to hear another person in the front shout, "I'm going to the ground!" And the man suddenly threw himself at the door and clamored through the small spacing. The shouts resumed and more people pressed toward the doors, sweeping Clarke and Bellamy along with it. But before anyone else could follow after, the steel clamp was dislodged, and the doors sealed shut.
"Launch!" Diana screamed.
An expression of resignation fell over Jaha and he quickly turned to the rest of the crowd. "Everybody out!" He bellowed."Get back behind the containment doors!"
Alarms sounded, cutting off the shouts and cries of protest. The swell of people moved back and Clarke barely noticed the set of fingers that wove through her's, pulling her away.
"Clarke, come on!"
She cast one final look at the Exodus ship before turning and running with the crowd. The alarms were like nails against her eardrums. Her vision tunneled and she didn't let go of his hand, clutching it more tightly as the floor suddenly rocked, throwing her off-balance. Once again, the circadian lights flickered and more screams erupted. Even when they were past the containment doors, they didn't stop. Even as the metal walls around them came undone, Clarke kept going.
She knew when the dropship was gone. The Ark swayed again, as if some great force had collided with it, twisting everything out of control. The circadian lights blinked out once more, but this time, they did not come back on.
The Ark wasn't a cage anymore. The launching of the Exodus Ship had made it a tomb.