It took them too long to get back to the others.

Clarke was counting the seconds that passed too quickly, as they stumbled and dragged themselves up the stairs to the airlock room—alarms blaring and red lights flashing madly. Jasper was out in front, with the baton, and he just kept swinging it around like a lunatic – whether they encountered guards or not.

They could heard the sounds of pure chaos echoing behind them, wild screams and cries that just spurred them on faster.

Several Mount Weather guards appeared in their path, but the two just barrelled straight through them, either knocking them to the ground with the baton or simply hitting and punching until the people would slump down. They left a trail of semi-conscious bodies behind them, but the guards still didn't stop coming.

Clarke was pretty sure her fists were angry and swollen, covered in blood as they throbbed.

She didn't relax her tightly clenched fists at all though, not even for a second, and Jasper's grip was white around the baton handle. This was a fight for their survival, a desperate dash back to their people, and it didn't bear thinking about what would happen if they didn't make it in time.

Her breath was coming out in gasps, as she struggled past another group of three guards blocking their way, and Clarke released her frustration and worry in an anguished scream as she beat her way through them. Jasper wheezed beside her, baton catching a guard on the side of the temple—just as the stranger made a grab for Clarke's ripped shirt.

They were nearing the airlock room now, and Clarke couldn't see anyone inside from her position.

"Miller!" She screamed, forcing her legs to keep her upright for just a few minutes more, "Miller!"

Her greatest fear and most morbid hope was that no one would answer her, that they would be long gone by that stage, free and safe on the Ground. Clarke didn't want to be left behind, but if that was the cost of her people's freedom, then she would gladly pay it.

A familiar head popped out from behind the door though, and Clarke wanted to collapse right then.

Miller's cool, calm expression didn't even change as he let out a whistle, and charged out with several other members of the 100—all older and with some serious muscle gained from their time on the Ground. They met the small crew in the middle, with more guards still thundering behind them, and were engulfed by their friends.

Clarke could feel two strong pairs of hands grabbing her by the biceps, belonging to who she couldn't say, and let herself be ushered quickly towards the room with their exit. A glance to her right showed Jasper being dragged by another boy, his feet tripping over imaginary obstacles with exhaustion.

Miller took the rear, nimbly running backwards as he swung out at the remaining guards with a piece of broken pipe that looked lethal in his grasp.

When they made it inside, only one or two others were still inside—the rest presumably on the outside. Monty surged past them, and began disabling the mechanisms of the door, making it almost impossible to open from the outside.

Jasper wilted against one of the 100 as he clutched the baton to his chest, and was shoved inside the airlock chamber with the remainder of the younger kids in the room, held upright by the tightly packed bodies. They were the second last group to be released into the outside, and Clarke could only watch silently as she leaned against a cabinet wearily.

"Will it hold?" She gasped out eventually, nodding towards the destroyed door hinges and electronic locks.

Monty turned to face her, and she could practically see the adrenaline coursing through his system, "It won't take much for them to get through, just some brute force—but they won't be going anywhere without their suits," and he pointed proudly towards a huge pile of protective hazmat clothing that had been methodically ripped up with what looked like extreme enthusiasm.

She grinned back at him; despite the exhaustion and pain that was dulling her senses.

Then they all squeezed into the airlock chamber, the last group to go, and Miller intentionally placed himself between the tinted glass of the airlock chamber looking back into the room and the rest of them. Clarke didn't have the energy to stand directly beside him, and there was barely enough space to move as it was, so she settled for just leaning against his side, and staring out into the room that they were about to leave behind.

Just as the metal doors of the airlock closed around the glass ones, she saw the door being broken down completely, ripped through—and dozens of Grounders spilling into the room.

The doors shut then, and they all braced themselves for what awaited them on the other side.

.

The most noticeable difference about the tunnel that they emerged into was the lack of sound.

There was complete silence, and Clarke was momentarily disorientated by the comparison between the quiet and the wailing alarms of Mount Weather's facility. The rest of the 100 were crouched a small distance away, pressed against the right wall of the tunnel in anticipation.

They rose to their feet the second she stepped out of the chamber, and their flushed, sweaty faces looked so determined and harsh. Clarke wanted to spare a moment to be quietly proud, but there was no time.

"Move out."

It was in the direction of light that they headed, down one of the tunnel forks, and Clarke's body trembled but she pushed through it.

Some of them held hands as they raced around the corner and began on the upwards ramp that led to the outside and their freedom. They seemed to run in perfect synchrony, feet hitting the ground in rhythmic, almost melodic thuds—and Clarke was sure that she wasn't the only one holding her breath in excitement.

Then they were out.

They burst into the sunshine and undergrowth with wide eyes and bright smiles on their exhausted faces. A few kids even fell to the ground, hands pressed desperately into the smooth grass, but they were quickly urged to their feet once again.

"Nobody stop!" Miller yelled out, his deep voice carrying easily across the group of 48, "Back to the Dropship!"

And so back to their camp was where they headed. The feeling was euphoric, Clarke felt, ecstatic, and it seemed as though their feet were only skimming over the twigs and branches. They were going home, back to the one place that they'd ever claimed as their own—home.

She breathed in a deep breath of sweet, sweet fresh air, and felt her energy stores replenish themselves almost instantly. She was running on empty though and eventually it would catch up to her, but for the moment Clarke let out a cry of happiness, and heard several of the others echo her, though she couldn't tell who had responded – caught up in the blur of sprinting.

There was a thought in her mind to turn and see if the Grounders had followed them out, see if they too had survived—but everything was moving too fast, and Clarke could only focus on the sensation of real earth beneath her feet and her people moving as one around her.

This was freedom.

.

Eventually they had to slow, and the group came to a weary stop beside one of the streams.

Kids all but collapsed into the small river, dropping to their knees and almost submerging their faces fully in the refreshing water. Clarke crouched down on the stream's stony bank with Miller standing beside her, and bent forward so that her head was between her knees, hands braced against the ground for a few moments.

Her head was still spinning when she moved it back up, but she seemed better than Jasper at least—who was throwing up in a nearby bush, while his friend hovered anxiously a few feet away.

"You okay?"

Clarke nodded slowly; do as not to exacerbate the nausea, and met Miller's eyes, "Yeah, I will be. Just need to get everyone back to camp safely first." He grunted in response, and then whistled shrilly to call the others to attention.

They all gathered around, faces streaked with water from the stream and some kids with damp hair—and even Jasper weakly stopped retching to stare blankly at her.

She rose to her feet, every inch of her body throbbing with aches and pain, but still managing to stand tall, "We have to get back to the Dropship by nightfall, otherwise we don't stand much of a chance. There, we have shelter over our heads, and whatever remnants of supplies that we can salvage. I know everyone is tired," and didn't that just sound like the understatement of the year, "but we can get there if we work together. We just have to push a little bit harder, for a little bit longer, before we can rest and start rebuilding ourselves."

Miller shifted his stance beside her, and added onto her speech, "I need navigators and trackers at the front, whoever worked on hunts with me—we can't afford to waste any time veering off in the wrong direction." He gestured out to their right, the east, and said stoically, "Our camp is that way. We have our freedom, now all we need to do it secure it."

A cry of agreement went up amongst the 48 ragged members that remained, and Clarke nodded in agreement.

"We are the 100," She yelled, and several fists were pumped into the air in enthusiasm, "We are the 100!"

.