Author's note: dark. Yes, still a dark fic. I'm going to go hide in the corner. Please don't hate me.
Chapter 29
Lexa and her companions slept for their four hours and then began searching again. The sleep seemed to have helped, Lexa able to find a hint of the trail down a tunnel close to the surface after several more hours of searching, the sun already up. They followed it to an underground building, the door to it bolted shut from the inside. With lots of effort, they were able to pry it off its hinges, opening to a set of rooms and a hallway. Farther down it, they could see a door open, covered by vines and trees, to the outside.
The place was quiet, eerily quiet, their steps, quiet as they tried to be, echoing as they walked. The whole group had come back together when it was clear it was the right path. They all spread out, weapons at the ready, and began searching the place, opening doors to long abandoned rooms.
Then, they came to the one at the end of the hall and everyone stopped breathing. There was a chain hanging from a metal beam in the ceiling, but that's not what caused them such alarm. No, it was the blood stain, the blood pool, far too large for survival, directly underneath it. It was smeared here and there, but the small, bare footprints could still be seen in the drying pool.
Lexa knelt down and put her fingers in it, trying to ascertain how long ago it had been made. It was cool to the touch and coagulating, nearly dried. She felt a rushing pick up in her ears, her vision going as red as the blood on her fingertips. Her greatest fear had come true. Even as strong as Clarke was, no one could survive with that much blood loss, not even the great Wanheda.
Clarke was dead.
*The day before*
Murphy and Emory had started carving out a life for themselves. Otan was around occasionally, but would grow a little frustrated with the love birds, giving them space and doing his own thing. They were making a life for themselves, though it wasn't exactly an honest living. That wasn't really in either of their characters.
They spent time alternating between the Dead Zone and their cave, taking advantage of whomever came along, within reason. They had a code, loose as it was. They also avoided people whenever possible, fear of them seeing Emory's disformed hand a good motivation to not make conversation. More than a few times the Flame Totem had saved their hides, but they knew that that luck could run out at any time.
Murphy considered going back to Arkadia a few times. To check in and maybe borrow a few surplus supplies, but he hadn't heard any news on what was happening there. He assumed Clarke would whip them back into order quickly, but the risk was too high if she had failed or they were still fighting a war. If Emory was captured and Pike was in charge…he could never risk that. He did wonder... and worry. He rarely admitted to the worry, though. He had told Emory all about his people, about Lexa and Clarke, and about why returning to Arkadia was too big of a risk. He had even thought he'd seen a Farm Station guy in the woods just a few days ago, which did little to quell his fear about who was running Arkadia.
He and Emory were returning to the Dead Zone when they heard what they thought was a dying animal. Seeking it out cautiously, the possibility of food encouraging them on, they quickly discovered that it wasn't an animal, but a human. A human woman. They noticed the open door in the hill, obscured by vines and trees. The vines had grown around it so much that they had warped it beyond being able to close, but they never would have seen it had they not heard the screams.
"John, let's go. This isn't our problem," Emory said, pulling on Murphy's arm.
She was right. She was, but something was making it so he couldn't move, the hoarse screams turning to whimpers.
"John, don't be a hero. You have no idea what is happening in there," Emory didn't like the look in Murphy's eyes.
"I just want to check it out," he said, cautiously going through the vines.
"John…," Emory said urgently, before following him through the door.
They pressed themselves against the walls, blending into the shadows, when a man walked out of the room at the far end, leaving the door open. He didn't even look up, going into another room and shutting the door. They breathed a sigh of relief, until they heard the screams and cries begin again, the woman's voice begging for whoever was in the room to not do whatever they were about to.
Murphy felt compelled to the room; he had to see who was in there, even as Emory again grabbed his arm and shot him a look saying that this was too dangerous.
The screams and scuffling of the woman masked their entrance into the room. Everything clicked into place very quickly for Murphy. He had seen a Farm Station guy in the woods and that guy was now advancing on a chained, naked, bleeding Clarke, who was fighting both him and losing consciousness, with little hope of winning against either of them.
Murphy didn't even think. He grabbed his club at his waist and swung, hitting the man in the side of the head, knocking him down and to the side. Emory was at his side and kicked the man hard in the face, his nose and forehead gushing blood, mingling with the blood at Clarke's feet. The man was out cold.
Murphy ran over to Clarke, trying to be as quiet as possible so the other man wouldn't hear them, "Help me get her down!" His whisper had a panic in it that Emory had never heard before.
"John, if we take her, they'll try to find us," she whispered back, even as she helped remove Clarke's hands from the chain, her limp body falling against Murphy as he hauled her up over his shoulder.
"It's Clarke! I'm not leaving her here," he said as he cautiously went to the door.
"Clarke?" Emory asked, shocked, "Like, The Clarke?"
Murphy nodded and then started quickly down the hallway, Emory not far behind.
He wished he had something to cover her with. She needed medical care; she was covered in cuts and blood. Things must have gone very wrong when she went to Arkadia. He felt a twinge of guilt as they made the journey to their cave. That guy was Farm Station. Pike must still be in control and they were rounding up any resistance.
They made it to the cave and Murphy laid Clarke down gently, checking her pulse. It was weak, but there.
"We need to stop the bleeding," Emory said as she started dressing Clarke's wounds. There were so many, so she ended up just wrapping a blanket tightly around her abdomen and shoulders. She took another couple of smaller blankets and wrapped them around her thighs.
"Grab the water. We're going to just drip a little bit of water in her mouth every minute or so. She's lost a lot of blood, but she might make it," Emory said as she continued dressing Clarke's wounds, applying pressure to the ones that were still bleeding.
Murphy did what she said, then just stared at the beautiful woman helping his friend. Once she put her mind to something, she did it. If she wanted Clarke to live, she would do everything in her power to make that happen. She didn't owe Clarke anything, yet here she was helping her because she knew Clarke was his friend.
Clarke didn't stir for many hours. They took turns dripping water into her mouth, just enough that she could unconsciously swallow, but not enough to risk her aspirating or choking. When she did stir, it took her a while to fully wake up. Then, she just cried, not truly seeing Murphy nor Emory, before falling into a deep sleep, her body trying to conserve energy to heal.
Several times, Murphy and Emory heard the men outside looking for Clarke. They stayed perfectly silent, hoping Clarke didn't wake and alert the men to their whereabouts. They were so close to the cave that they overheard one of the men yelling at the other.
"How the hell does a chained woman get the drop on you and escape?!" one of them yelled.
"I don't know! She must have roundhouse kicked me in the head and then kicked when I fell down! It hurt like hell," the other sounded panicked and out of breath.
"You stupid son of a bitch," the other's voice was low and dangerous, "if you had just kept your head out of the gutter, she wouldn't have had a chance to escape! We were supposed to be following the plan!"
"She couldn't have gotten far! We'll find her and then we kill her and leave her body where they'll find it," the other sounded pleading.
They moved on after that with no clue how close they had been to finding her. Both Emory and Murphy shared a look, relieved that they hadn't been seen and these idiots somehow believed Clarke had freed herself.
They took shifts sleeping, the other guarding the entrance and continuing to give Clarke water. They whispered about what to do, but nowhere seemed safe. Arkadia was clearly out, but they weren't sure how they would be received in Polis. The medallion might help, but bringing Clarke back in the shape she was in might make Lexa take action and ask questions later about who was at fault. It seemed the best option was to try to nurse Clarke back to health here and try to figure out the best option when she was able to tell them what the hell was happening.
Clarke didn't seem cooperative, however, and stayed asleep well through the night and into the next day. They tried to rouse her, but she just sobbed until she fell back into a deep sleep. They didn't try that again for fear that she would be heard by the men searching for her. Emory checked the bleeding, relieved that it had stopped. Then, she gasped.
"They're killmarks!" she said in horror.
Murphy came over to look and then ran his hands down his face, pushing air out. He had the sudden realization of who the other man was, though he had never seen him before. He had heard plenty about him, though. If Skaikru was working with Emerson, then Polis might not be an option. Skaikru would likely be killed long before he could hold up the medallion.
Instead, they would wait and figure out the next steps, which they had pretty much already decided. His heart ached when he looked at his friend. His friend. The one who had smiled and laughed when she teased him after leaving Polis. The one who convince him to go back and find Emory. Who seemed to be genuinely grateful for him helping with Lexa.
"John…she's covered in scars. Old ones," Emory looked up at him after whispering, her eyes glossy.
He looked again and saw them. They had been obscured by the new cuts and blood, but she truly was covered with scars from head to toe, some barely noticeable, others that were extremely obvious.
Murphy's face contorted in anger, but he schooled it quickly.
"Did she have these before?" Emory asked gently.
"No, she didn't," he said, "What the hell happened to her?"
"I don't know, but we need to make sure they don't get her," Emory paused before she spoke again, whispering, "Did you see what he was about to do?"
Murphy clenched his jaw and then nodded.
"Do you think they…," she looked at him.
"I don't know," he pushed out a breath, "What do we do?"
"We wait and hope when she wakes up she's able to tell us what happened. If they come back, we kill them."
He nodded. If they came back, they would kill them before they even realized that Clarke wasn't alone.