I love these characters. Does this sound like how they'd interact? I can't lie; I'm enjoying rude Bellamy. It leaves space for character development. My favorite kind! It's also fun because this story makes me research weird things...Please review!
Maybe the man had been right; maybe she was insane.
Clarke took a steady breath, trying to listen for the sound of feet as the stranger slowly eased the locker door open and the box was flooded with a spectral light, momentarily blinding her. She blinked and looked at the man, whose brown eyes were narrowed at her in contempt.
He couldn't have been much older than her-a few years at most. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his hair. Clarke's gaze fell to his wounded shoulder. The sleeve of his uniform was stained red, some parts darker, some lighter, with varying degrees of dried and wet blood.
She leaned forward, wanting to get a better look at it. Her fingers skimmed the material.
The man jolted back. "What are you doing?"
Clarke suppressed the urge to snap at him. "I'm trying to get a clear view of your injury so I can figure out what I'll need for it. Assuming it's a bullet wound..." She peered at the soaked material again, inspecting the small hole torn through it that confirmed her suspicions. "You should be grateful the guy who shot you had such poor aim," she said.
He glared at her. "Grateful? You think I should be grateful for this?"
"You could've been shot in the arm," she said, "which could have severed your brachial artery, which would have killed you in minutes."
He just moved farther away from her, a nearly impossible feat to do in the cramped spacing. "Lucky me," he said, before he pulled himself out of the storage locker, and Clarke didn't miss his grimace of pain as he moved his shoulder.
She followed suit, her senses electrifying again, too aware of everything around her, of the bleeding man swaying by her side. She was relieved that the common room was was still empty, but she knew it wouldn't stay that way for long.
"Come on," Clarke said, walking across the room and to the door on the opposite side of it.
He came up behind her and his hand snaked out, snatching her wrist again. At his touch, she stiffened.
"What's your plan for getting in there?" he asked, apprehension sounding in his voice.
Clarke tore out of his grip. "I'm going through the ventilation system," she said, checking the corridor before she started down it. "While you are going wait here and be as discreet as humanly possible."
"I don't take orders from you," he snarled.
Clarke drew up short, ignoring the sudden burst of annoyance she felt flare inside her. She raised her eyes to his. "Look, the only way this is going to work is if we cooperate with each other. And that entails you keeping an eye out as I steal supplies, which, need I remind you, is the only thing that is going to save your life."
Clarke saw the muscle in his jaw flex and she expected some retort; a sharp remark this man seemed so partial to, but he didn't. He just said, in bitten words, "Is there anything else that you've forgotten to mention?"
"Yeah, one other thing," she told him, giving him a final pointed look as she started back down the corridor again. "Try to stay on your feet. It wouldn't be good for either of us if you collapsed in the middle of this."
Even though she wasn't looking at him, Clarke could hear the derision in his voice, mocking, tantalizing.
"I'll do my best."
Clarke had never felt more in need of a screwdriver in her life. For the technological advancements of the Ark, the ventilation system was, in comparison, archaic, its cover still held with bolts and screws instead of magnetic locks. It took time she didn't have to pry them up with her nails. She felt them break and blood bubbled around her fingers, making her grip slick but Clarke didn't stop until the frame of the vent was off.
She peered down into the cramped tunnel, feeling her insides contract.
"Do you even know where this thing leads?" the man asked her, bending over himself until he was closer than Clarke expected. She flinched. "You just worry about the guards," she told him. "They're on their fifteen minute rotations, right? That gives me ten minutes to find my way there and five to get the supplies and make it back inside. If time runs out and I'm not back..." Clarke faltered.
"I can see you've put a lot of thought into this," he said next to her, his tone mirroring her growing doubt.
She clenched her hands. "Do you want to live or not?"
He pursed his lips into a terse line but made no further objections. "I hope for your sake that you aren't planning on stabbing me in the back," he said, as she crouched down on her knees. The small tunnel seemed to stretch longer, an endless channel with no end in sight. "You could just as easily do the same," she murmured. "Especially since you're the one with the better view of it."
He made a sound of exasperation but she ignored it, fingering the entrance to the tunnel.
"Hang on," the man suddenly said, blocking her path with his leg.
Clarke's annoyance surged, mingling with desperation and undeniable fear. They were loitering now. In the back of a corridor. If guards came around the bend, they'd be trapped.
"What?"
"If you're caught, wouldn't they put two and two together?" he asked. "What reason do you have to sneak in to the med bay? They could question you while I'm standing right outside like some painted target."
Clarke ground her teeth so hard her jaw ached. She had to agree that his logic was sound, but that didn't mean they had time for this. Already Clarke could feel her determination receding, her doubt rising above it like quicksand.
Do you want to die in the dark?
Clarke stood. She snatched up one of the bolts she'd used and, with only a second of hesitation, dug it into her arm. She bit back her sound of pain as the sharp end punctured the first layers of skin. She pushed it in deeper and pulled it down, until it created a decent sized cut.
Her arm throbbing, she dropped the bolt and looked back at him expectantly. "Satisfied?"
For once, he seemed to have nothing to say.
She squared her shoulders and dropped back to the air duct, ignoring the bursts of pain that shot up her arm.
Clarke took a deep breath, and started crawling down it, the blood trickling from her arm now meeting the sheet of metal under her hands. It smeared, but Clarke kept going, breathing past the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. She glanced back, at the small window of light, of escape, before she kept going.
The duct took a sharp left and Clarke followed it like a current, trying to imagine the route that would lead to the med bay. She pictured it in her head, crawling as quickly as she could while praying the sound didn't travel to the people beneath.
Clarke paused when the duct suddenly dropped, meters below her. She craned her neck up, berating herself for the injured arm. She swallowed, but pulled herself up, biting her lip at the pain that rippled down her arm. She used her feet for leverage, and hefted herself up with her hands.
The blood wasn't helping and Clarke felt herself slip. Her back slammed against the wall and she froze, waiting for alarms, for the shouts. They didn't come, and a second passed before Clarke moved on, worming her way up, up. She could have sworn the walls were closing in, bearing down on her from all sides until she was sure she'd be crushed.
Keep going, she directed herself. She ignored the walls, pushing away the feeling of being suffocated.
When Clarke made it to the top, she spared herself a moment of relief and started shuffling down the remaining neck of air duct. Dust and grime came away on her hands, caking the farther she went.
Clarke was starting to doubt herself, wondering if maybe she'd made a mistake, cringing at the very idea of having to double back to find the right route to the med bay. There wasn't time for that, though, so Clarke forced herself farther down it, the minutes ticking away like a bomb.
A weight lifted from her chest when she caught the traces of antiseptic in the air, slowly growing stronger until it was almost pungent. It was a smell that Clarke had once been comforted by, but now it brought with it a surge of anxiety.
It wasn't until she rounded the next bend in the duct that Clarke knew she'd reached the end. Light filtered through the grated cover, the frame nailed to the surface like the other. She shuffled towards it much more quietly, hyper-aware of every creak the air duct made beneath her.
It was nearly impossible to see through the slats in the frame so Clarke was forced to go by sound, listening for voices or footsteps. None sounded, but she hesitated. There's only one way to get in, Clarke thought and she almost resented offering her proposition in the first place.
Almost.
She checked for noise again. When she was sure it was still silent, Clarke raised the heel of her elbow and smashed it into the frame. It took two tries, but finally it broke off and the frame clattered to the floor. The crash of it made her flinch, but she pulled herself to the edge and peered down.
Clarke instantly regretted cutting herself. Unlike the side of the air duct she'd entered from that was ground level, this one wasn't. She could make it back up, but that didn't mean it would be an easy task. As if any of this was.
Four minutes left.
Clarke gritted her teeth and turned herself around. She lowered herself over the ledge feet-first, until she was dangling by her hands. The pain in her arm didn't allow her to get much farther and she lost her grip.
The ground rushed up and she landed hard. Fire burst up her legs and her arms, but she didn't give herself time to recover. Clarke stood up, taking in the sterile, washed out surroundings; bleak grey walls, the tables lined in a small row, the door that led to corridor that separated it from the medical lab. A guard could have already been coming. Any second, Soren could appear down the hall and see her, his gaze so hard and cold that Clarke herself would freeze over.
Trepidation gripped around her torso, making it difficult to breathe.
Three minutes.
Clarke took a step forward, moving quietly but quickly. She walked to the door and slipped through it. Clarke crossed the hall and entered the medical lab, keeping her eyes peeled for doctors or guards.
Her time dwindling, Clarke moved to the cabinets. There was a security lock that required a password and Clarke held her breath as she punched it in, praying it hand't been changed.
She heard a click, and exhaled in relief. In the cabinet, Clarke skimmed her fingers over labels, feeling sweat collect on her neck.
Two minutes.
She snatched up the Amoxicillin and a dose of an alternative drug, just in case. Another cabinet held an anti-inflammatory and Clarke grabbed that as well along with some bandages and disinfectant salve. She was wary not to take more than she needed. If only he'd allowed her a closer look at the wound. Now all Clarke had to go on was her intuition.
Heart pounding, Clarke shut it, ignoring the smear of her blood on the handle, and tried to fit the medical supplies in her pockets, even stuffing one of the doses of Amoxicillin in her shoe. Her eyes landed on a coagulant and she grabbed a packet as well. Then she crossed back to the clinic, feeling as the sweat started down her spine, beading on the backs of her legs.
One minute.
Clarke returned to the air duct, nearly a foot above her head. She reached up, feeling each second fall away with an almost audible thud. Her breathing quickened as she bounced on her feet and grasped the ledge, her injured arm screaming at the strain. Her severed skin stretched, pulling apart like torn fabric.
Come on, Clarke ordered, her determination giving way to panic. Please.
Against her volition, her hold slipped through her fingers and she fell back, onto the cold floor. Bloody fingerprints glinted above her, illuminated by the dull, circadian lights.
Her gaze fell back towards the door. Seconds. She had seconds.
Clarke pulled herself to her feet again and groped for the ledge once more, ignoring the stinging pain as the metal bit into her fingers. She kicked her legs, trying to use the force for leverage, but her time was up. Already she could make out the faint echo of footsteps approaching.
Desperation flooded her and Clarke clawed for the opening, no longer caring about the noise she made. She needed to get out. Out.
Her hands slipped again and Clarke couldn't help but picture the floating chamber in her mind. She saw her father's eyes looking out at her from inside the transparent doors. She imagined her own doing the same, waiting for the vacuum of space, following after a ghost.
A shudder sounded from above and Clarke watched, almost dumbfounded, as a hand sprang out from the duct and latched onto hers. Clammy, hot.
The man suddenly materialized before her, his hair, damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. His eyes bored into her and they flashed with something-hesitancy? It was just for a second, but Clarke saw it clearly, that momentary war inside him, entertaining the idea of just taking the supplies and leaving her behind.
But the medicine was in her shoe and pockets and he'd need all of her to get to it.
Clarke made no protest as he pulled her up, but at the last second, she felt something fall out, and heard it land on the floor. Clarke glanced down and swallowed. She'd dropped the coagulant.
"Move," the man suddenly snapped at her, just as a guard rounded the corner and Clarke recoiled away to avoid being seen.
It didn't matter though. Even as she followed the stranger back down the air duct, it only took another minute for the alarms to sound, shattering the stillness behind them. That crimson hue returned, instantly dousing the world in red again, and it pooled around Clarke's hands, luminescent, as if the very ship itself were bleeding.