AN: So I wasn't actually done smoothing this out, but it's been like a month and the next two weeks are going to be insane sooo here we go. I hope it's worth it. This chapter is one I've been looking forward to FOREVER. Please let me know how you like it
Chapter 15
Way Down We Go - Kaleo
~~~ 63 days till the end ~~~
Following Monroe out, Clarke firmly shut the door into the tunnel behind her. Leaving Mount Weather felt freeing in a way Clarke tried not to analyze. If she did, she might have to admit, to herself at least, that Miller probably could have handled this trip while she remained instead.
The sun was bright and warming the land. The lot of them packed into tight quarters of the rover.
Since the morning yesterday, snow around the mountain had begun to melt. This left the ground a slushy mess, and the rover groaned struggling through the thickest patches. On the uneven horse beaten paths, the rover was jarring them against each other. The paths that had hardly been wide enough for the rover had been widened by the destruction, but left cluttered. Clarke cringed at the crunch of debris beneath the tires. Every bump into Sinclair on her right, and Bellamy on her left, made her miss her little mare more.
Stark, blackened trees rose high and thin towards the sky. Ashy, gray weeping drifts covered the ground. The land was altered beyond belief. Without the coordinates, not even Clarke was certain she found the way.
Last night, Caliban and Yulian had departed, tugging along her and Charlotte's horses behind theirs in order to be waiting for their arrival in the rover. Making sure Sinclair made it safely to Second Dawn was critical for the entire bunker's survival. Something she could not, would not, delegate. The speed of the rover, combined with this being a poor time for the older man to learn how to ride, and the reported unease of the territory made it worth forgoing Trikru escort. Yet sitting in the middle of the front seat, sliding and falling between the two men like a ball every few minutes wasn't an easier journey, in Clarke's opinion. In the back of the rover, Charlotte was crammed in with the still pale Monroe, Jasper clutching the bundled up book of records in his lap, and the wide-eyed Cade, and half a dozen good size bags, plus a massive box of medical supplies Jackson had sent for Second Dawn's med bay.
The sun had been bright, but as they'd driven, it had become a dim, cloudy morning. The moment Bellamy threw the rover into park, the occupants began bailing out for the first pit stop. Climbing out of the passenger side to put some space between Bellamy and herself, Clarke stretched, and yawned. There was a heavy feel to the air threatening a storm to come. She leaned back against the rover as Charlotte led Monroe off into the woods, and heard the sound of Bellamy directing the others beyond the treeline in the opposite direction. As they scattered, Clarke eyed the sky.
The black rain had begun, in their region, just 11 days before the Death Wave actually came, months earlier than first predicted. So with 63 days till, it was much too soon. Clarke knew that.
She really did.
But she watched the sky anyway. Waiting. Would the rain even sting her now? She could not quite shake the foreboding sensation of cold sweat.
The rest began tromping back towards the rover... bringing with them something else for her to focus on.
"Cade, you're up front this time!" Clarke said.
"Sure, Clarke," replied the boy.
Tanned as darkly brown now as many of the nuts they ate in camp, Cade with his big brown eyes and red tinted brown hair that stuck up in the mornings, could have been Earth-born, he'd taken to the ground so well. Clarke hardly remembered him from before. Just a face in the crowd at camp, and dead long ago. He'd be a good representative of Skaikru in Second Dawn. He perked up when she grinned at him, but wilted at a glare from Bellamy.
"Stop scaring the children," she grunted.
Polis
Ambling away from the city limits, there was a covered wagon pulled by two, thick horses, followed by a pair of riders. Frowning, Bellamy jerked the rover to a stop. When the jerky vehicle passed by, Clarke tried to get a look into the wagon, but didn't see much beyond a cluster of people. The riders, though, turned out to be an older man, and girl not much older than Charlotte, who kept their eyes upon the rover as long as they could.
Entering the capital through the overgrown borders, Clarke and Bellamy led the way. As the greenery gave way what was revealed was the city, but altered.
For Sinclair, Jasper, and Cade, it was their first view of Polis. Their eyes swept around amazed by the grim vastness. The soaring tower surrounded by concrete building by the dozens, laid out in planned blocks.
"You all should've seen it before the fire," Monroe said.
The rest saw only the changes.
The smell reminded them of the ravished forest, but it was different too. Foul. Rotting wood, spoiled food, stinking fear.
Still wet heaps of ashes, blackened wood, and scorched remains of cloth of many kinds where market stalls had stood.
No one appeared to notice them. They'd been brushed back out of the main through-ways haphazardly- leaving piles and trails everywhere.
The square was devoid of life.
In the streets, and the alleys, and the square, there were no children running about as reckless as the feral dogs. There were few children to be seen at all. Some about Charlotte's age hurried by, eyes shifty and on their guard.
From within the buildings crying could be heard, but no laughter. No dulcet t tones of gossip filling the air. All those had vanished leaving only the sounds of work happening out of sight. The populace that had lived much of their days out in the open had retreated inside.
Beside the back wall, beyond the bunker's trapdoor, lay a pallet. Neatly folded blankets, and a tattered crimson velvet cloak laid on top of it.
Lexa's mouth pursed when Clarke's eyes fell upon it.
"Polis is unstable," she conceded, "with the fires. Azgeda... the rumors of what is to come."
The commander's voice was curt, and pitched low, even as she strode forwards and unlocked the door, opening it for Clarke, and standing aside.
"Aren't you coming?" Clarke asked.
Lexa shook her head very slightly.
"Not until the end," she replied.
Second Dawn seemed darker, and colder. Leaving Lexa topside, Clarke led the way. Sinclair followed eagerly, but Monroe, Cade, and Jasper descended the ladder with ginger steps. Charlotte and Bellamy brought up the rear, but Bellamy quickly branched off to search for Octavia. He went stomping off without a word to them. Charlotte then broke off with Monroe and Cade to show them around, and then it was just Clarke, Sinclair, and Jasper looking for Monty.
"Twelve hundred capacity, but the plan was no more than a thousand so we could bring in animals," Clarke explained.
"What kind of animals?" Sinclair's expression hinted at uncertainty.
"Chickens, and goats. Delfikru was talking about bringing in some beehives," Clarke offered, "Mount Weather is holding the larger animals- horses, cattle, sheep, pigs,"
In the argo farm, they found Monty, predictably. He was bent over a table, expression taunt, with Harper hovering around him.
His face lit up at the sight of them, and he bounced over to hug first Sinclair.
"Thank all the stars you made it," he blurted out, "this place in insane," even as he moved to hug Jasper, and finally Clarke, though he kept talking all the while.
"There's no way we can keep this place running for five years with just us. I need a dozen people in Argo, and same in mech and engineering. Arkadia has got to get in here fast,"
Clarke swallowed hard, ignoring how Sinclair ducked his head.
"About that... there is some kind of... miscommunication issue ongoing,"
Monty's face crumbled, and his shoulders fell forwards. His arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head. Harper wrapped an arm around him, leaning her head onto his shoulder.
"I can't run Argo alone," he whispered.
The cafeteria was crammed with grounders awkwardly perched at the tables. There was an electric restlessness thrumming in the air above the muted conversations, the tapping boots, and the shifting of kids sprawled across the ground beneath their parent's feet.
Bellamy stalked the perimeter, but Octavia wasn't there.
The low ceiling, dimly lit gymnasium had been rearranged since his last venture inside. The dozen clunky, odd machines had been shoved close together into one corner.
Now targets lined the wall near them. Knives were soaring towards them, and sticking every time.
In the middle of the room a large mat of skins stitched together was taking up plenty of room. Four grounders, stripped down to their pants, were sparring, with a half dozen or so circled around watching.
The trio of punching bags were another crowded spot. Each was being shared by a pair punching it back and forth between them. More grounders were on the ground, or on mats, going through conditioning routines that didn't look too different from what the guard was taught on the Ark. There were a few dark haired grounder girls, but not Octavia.
Bellamy scanned the room again, until he spotted a familiar face at the punching bags. He strode towards them.
"Where's Octavia?" Bellamy demanded.
Lincoln landed another perfect blow upon the bag, before throwing Bellamy a second of unimpressed stare, and still meeting the return swing of the bag with ease.
"The office above the meeting hall," he grunted.
He found the double doors opened propped open. Bellamy paused, swallowing.
All he could hear was the scratching of a pen.
Moving forward, he made the corner and in the doorway, froze.
There was his sister.
Octavia Blake, his little sister, the girl from the Ark, the girl from Factory.
Not the grounder he had to watch parading around, but the girl he'd raised. Hidden. Protected. Failed.
Her hair was loose behind her, and glossy. Wet, he realized. She was wearing a navy sweater, simple and plain enough he couldn't tell it's origins. Her face clean. Freshly scrubbed.
She titled her gaze up to pin him in place just as he'd realized his feet were moving forwards without permission. One dark brow rose.
"Bellamy?" she prompted.
He cleared his throat.
"Got Sinclair here. Monroe, Jasper, and Cade are staying too," he offered, running a hand through his hair. He discovered the layer of dust from driving with the windows down the whole way. He'd showered last night, but another one was sounding good already.
"Good," she nodded, her eyes already flicking down to the papers strewn across the desk.
Scoffing, Bellamy's eyes widened.
"That's it?" Bellamy asked.
His sister looked back up at him. Her mouth pursed, and brows both rose.
She looked so much like their mother, disapproving, impatient.
"That's all you have to say to me?" he threw at her, and she stood up, slowly unfolding, her chin edging up to glare at him. Dropped her pen to the table.
"What do you want from me?" she snapped back, fists clenching before she crossed her arms over the simple sweater.
"There was a fire, and you didn't come!" roared Bellamy.
Octavia glared, but her hard face flickered faintly beneath the dim greenish light.
"Someone had to stay. We can't lose Second Dawn,"
"Are you coming back with me now?"
"My place is here. I'm going to lead our people in here through Praimfaya,"
"And do I get a say? Do I get to decide my place is here with you?"
"Go, Bellamy. Go and do what needs to be done," Octavia said.
"So we'll talk to Raven. See if there's anyone she can send," decided Monty.
"The fire... Monty, we lost a lot... a lot of our people. I know Mary's Argo, but she needs to be in Mt. Weather with Jackson, and she's going to working there," Clarke cautioned.
Bellamy strode forwards, forcing their circle to open as Monty and Jasper jumped, not having noticed his return behind their backs.
"Radio Raven. Tell her to get a half dozen kids picked out and packed. I'm on my way. Three and a half hours, max," he ordered, already turning away from them.
"Bellamy, you don't have to rush," Clarke began.
He swiveled on his heel, sneering.
"It needs to be done," he barked, and she faltered in the face of his impatience.
"It's a three hour trip without stops each way. I can bring a half-dozen by this afternoon, head back and have another six here by noon tomorrow," Bellamy announced.
Costia watched as Charlotte smeared the slick greenish paste across Clarke's shoulder. Monty beamed as he too watched. Costia couldn't refrain from smiling at his good cheer- the first she'd seen from the Skaikru boy since they'd all taken refuge in the sanctuary.
After Clarke, Jasper, Cade, and Charlotte all followed. With a furrowed brow and hesitant fingers, Clarke returned the favor across Monty's back.
"It gets easier," he promised, wincing.
"Don't make me hold you down," threatened Harper.
"Oh, no, please!" Monty grinned.
"Sinclair, you're next!" crowed Jasper.
The older man sat, bemused, in the loose circle, trying the some of the fried breads and grilled meats from the communal platter between them. He looked around the group after Jasper's taunt.
Clarke took pity, laughter welling up unexpectedly from her. "You don't have to", she assured Sinclair.
"Yes, he does! All of us in here have it!" joked Wells.
"Wick and Raven were telling me about some concerns over the tower's stability," he changed the subject.
"True, but we've got some ideas about that," conceded Monty.
"Well, I can tell you from one look that reinforcing that is not an option," Sinclair announced gravely.
"Right, yea, so we were thinking about a 4-prong approach. Build a tunnel over the door leading out, reinforce the temple itself, reseal the bunker and seal off the entry chamber, and a controlled demolition of the tower to try to bring it down opposite the temple," Monty explained quickly.
Sinclair raised a brow, "We're going to need-"
"They left behind some plans, and supplies from the lab," added Harper.
"That changes things," Sinclair grinned.
"See, we think the possible impact of the tower debris upon the roof weakening the seals is the primary..."
Clarke sighed. Her whole body eased as she listened to Monty and Sinclair going off too deep for her to follow. Second Dawn was in the best of hands.
"We'll wait as long as possible for the demo because the bunker is going to need to be rigged shut beforehand," Sinclair mused.
"Right, and sealing off the entry is going to be a major project. There's an airlock, right, but it's old, and if the tower does fall on top..."
"Potentially catastrophic,"
"Wait, does this mean someone has to stay-"
"No, we can set timers to blow the tower," assured Monty.
The day passed, and Clarke, like everyone else, kept busy. There was so much to be done.
Though the commander had abandoned the tower, there was still many flitting about it. Everything small enough to fit through the trapdoor, and deemed useful was being carried down to the second floor. Not until darkness fell, and quiet settled upon Polis would it would moved to the temple. In the bustle, Clarke spotted Costia with a small army of children under her command. The lot appeared to be emptying the tower, from the highest floor down, of healers supplies. Long swaths of unbleached cloth, leather bags and rolls of all shapes, woven, lid covered, tied baskets, bundles of fresh and dried plants. Clarke knew she ought to offer to her assistance, but instead she slipped into the elevator after instructing the overseer to raise her to the level of the novitiates quarters.
From the empty piles on the second floor, she'd taken two of the largest bags she'd could dig out. The novitiates quarters were eerily silent.
Aden's room was just as she remembered it. Looking around, she made a slow circle. The trunk that had set beside Aden's bed, covered in random bits, was missing. Otherwise, the messy room showed the realm of a boy who'd merely gone down for breakfast minutes and would soon return. It must have looked like this the night he laid down to sleep with the other novitiates the night before his conclave, and never woke again. The night Ontari had threatened Clarke, and Aden, dear, noble Aden had lunged to protect her. As Lexa would have wanted, because he loved Lexa, and she'd asked him to. Clarke laid the bags down on his unmade bed. Her eyes burned. Clarke had failed to protect him in turn. Blinking hastily, she turned to look at his bookshelf. This time he was safe. Already holed up in the bunker, unhappily, but safe. His room wouldn't be here when he was freed, but at least he will have the chance find another home, another room to spread out his books and clothes and trinkets.
In the soft sheets from his bed, Clarke wrapped the fragile collection of books. When she'd filled those, the thinnest of the blankets worked well. After that, she moved to the wardrobe. The doors had been left open in the rush when servants had collected clothes to bring down to the bunker. There was still plenty left. Before, it must have been full to bursting. She pulled out what seemed to be the nicest. Tunics in blues and reds, snug shirts in the unbleached natural colors, and sweaters, soft wool. These too, she cushioned his precious books with.
Below the top shelves, where the ancient literary pieces had stood, she found cruder works. Opening one with careful fingers, she grinned. She'd never really seen the grounder's language written, beyond a handful of words, and she flipped through the pages eagerly. It must be a Delfikru creation, she realized. Only once she'd emptied the shelves did she heave up one of the bags, and promptly ease it back down to the bed, squeaking at the unexpected weight.
"Genius, books are small, how heavy could they be?" she muttered to herself. Rubbed the pained deltoid muscle regretfully. Her laugh at herself was startling in the silent wing.
She blew out a quick breathe, and eased first one, then the other, to the ground. Stopped to stare down at them. She managed a few steps with the first before she had to set it down again. The door, much less the elevator, looked much too far.
"Beaten by a satchel," she groaned.
So she grabbed a hold of a strap with two hands, and heaved to pull it instead.
A soft rustling creak from within the bag froze her.
Clarke dropped the strap.
She tried to sling it onto her shoulder, and nearly went heels over head with the momentum, gasping as she fought to get her balance.
"Ugh," Clarke plopped down beside the bags. Obviously she was going to have to get someone else to carry these down. Yet Aden had said that most clans scorned English writing. Truthfully, she didn't know how much of a prejudice it was. With the ban against personal, and frivolous items, in Second Dawn, she wasn't sure if this would cause a problem. They had to be saved, though.
Sitting on the floor, Clarke considered waiting till Bellamy returned and having him carry them down. Remembering the dark scowls he'd been throwing around, more and more as Praimfaya loomed, she gave that up as a bad job. Wells, though, she'd ask Wells. After she grabbed another bag or two and divided them up some more at least so she could manage to help him.
While she was sitting on the rusty red rug, thinking it over, she was facing Aden's bed. The floor beneath it was scattered with socks, balled up pieces of paper, and what looked suspiciously like bowls, but staring absently at the bed formed a burst of an idea in her head. She leapt up and headed for it. Sticking her hand beneath the mattress, she rummaged around...
"Ha!" Clarke crowed.
Dragging whatever it was tot he edge of the bed, she tugged it out. Beamed. The thin, pale leather bag was hardly bigger than one of the books. Branded into the surface was the mark of the Delphi people. Of Aden's clan. Tied shut with a raged, green dyed string, she did not open it. Instead, she squeezed it into the lighter of the two bags, and moved back tot he bed again. There was something else under there that she couldn't quite reach. Bending her knees, Clarke lifted the mattress. Pushed it back towards the wall till the mattress leaned against it completely. She grinned. Clearly, Aden had been trying to hide this. At least she could outsmart a thirteen year old, she laughed. The mattress bugled in the center. Flicking a knife from her belt, Clarke made a neat incision. Right through the messy, lopsided stitches. Out she pulled the contraband, and looked it over. Wrapped in a shawl that bleached nearly white were a bundle of letters. These too, she didn't open, but slipped into the bags, grinning. Hopefully this would be a good surprise. Letting the mattress fall back onto the frame, she began to scour the room from top to bottom, looking for any other small thing she might could sneak in to Aden.
"I don't think anyone is sleeping down there..." offered Clarke as she climbed out of the bunker, and closed it up behind her.
Her sword, and her armor laid on the pallet in wait, but Lexa sat with her back against the wall and her legs neatly folded.
Clarke offered her a smile, and took a spot on the wall not too far away.
Lexa nodded, keeping her eyes on the door on the opposite wall.
"Since the fire, they must work through the darkness to lessen our audience," she murmured.
"Where is everybody going?" Clarke asked.
The commander finally blinked, and inhaled deeply. Calming.
"My army has dispersed under the hand of the Order of the Flame. They will bring the chosen to safety at any cost. Once they return... they will restocking and moving out again. The soldiers will establish a full blockade against the ice nation."
Clarke waited.
"How long is it going to take?"
"Ten days until the bulk of the army return, I suspect. Children are not easy to move en masse,"
"But others are leaving. I've seen them. Walking, and piling into wagons,"
"The civilians... some will follow the army to the border and are preparing for this. Keep the soldiers fed, clothed, armed, healthy enough to fight. But... I have... the rest of the city is evacuating. South,"
"Many have already left," continued Lexa, her eyes downcast.
"I'm sorry. I know... I know you are losing so many," Clarke murmured.
The radio on Clarke's hip crackled to life, and she yanked it from it's holder. In the dim light, Lexa leaned closer.
"Pike's in Arkadia," whispered Clarke.
"Sixty of my men left with more than a dozen wagons this morning heading there to bring your mother's people in," breathed Lexa.
Mount Weather main command center
Wick recognized that hurried stomping, and the swishing of a ponytail against her red bomber jacket.
Looking up, he grinned, "Finally!".
That was all it took to annoy her, but the frown she gave him was far from her worst. So he shrugged it off easily.
"Something's up," she blurted out, leaning back against the door she'd just closed.
Sitting up in his chair, and letting his pencil fall onto the pile of papers, Wick offered her his full attention.
"First Abby radios looking for Clarke, then Clarke radios looking for Bellamy. Nobody wants to tell me anything." grumbled Raven, her tone seething, but her forehead creased.
"So what's Bellamy doing now?" asked Wick as he absorbed that.
Raven scoffed, and Wick's gut clenched.
"You saw him!" she reminded, standing up straight, and purposefully stomping over to another desk.
She dropped into it.
"I don't even know when the last time he actually slept was. We don't need the rover crashed just because he killed himself trying to get to Clarke."
Wick expelled a harsh breathe. Looking down at the hard copy final check lists, he picked up his pencil again. Just to tap it against the desk. Raven yanked her own copies from a folder to review. The papers rustled noisily as she roughly flipped through the lot.
He cleared his throat.
"Ok, so you think something's wrong, but you didn't pass the message on to Bellamy," he summarized.
"There was no message!" corrected Raven, sharp. "Clarke just wanted to talk to Bellamy."
"And you said...?"
"The truth. That he was dead on his feet and already passed out."
Dropping his pencil again, he didn't notice when the tip broke. Instead he rubbed his hands over his face, and left them there, leaning forwards on his elbows.
When he spoke again, his voice was muffled. It didn't disguise the weariness. "Miller is gonna be here in 40 minutes expecting us to be ready to lock-down the main seals. Let's go over this again," he conceded.
"If it was critical, she'd have told me." continued Raven. Her fingers clenched on the stack of checklists.
"Would she?" wondered Wick out loud, but he stood up anyway, grabbing his own lists, and stretching out his shoulders.
When he'd engineered the massacre of this bunker, for Raven's sake, in Clarke's name, in memory of a good man, Wick had no clue he'd end up living there ensconced in all those memories. Blistering faces, screaming women bleeding in hallways, kids chained to walls, and blood slicking the floor. If he failed, radiation would flood through Mount Weather again but this time it'd be his own people dying on the floor. The irony of it made him chuckle.
Raven shivered at the bitter sound.
The Temple of the Order of the Flame
"The rover's not an option. Bellamy's in no shape to drive, Miller is overseeing the lock-down, Raven doesn't know the way, and no one else can drive the rover, much less in the dark," explained Clarke flatly.
Lexa meet her words stoically. "It will be war if Pike interferes."
"If I leave now, could I outpace them?"
Lexa uncurled from her mediation pose, and rose to her feet swiftly.
"If you ride without stopping, and take my fastest horses, yes," she swore, heading for the door and opened it to snap out commands to the waiting sentries, she returned to Clarke, "None of them have traveled the path before. A wagon doubles a journey's time, and they'll have stopped by sunset,"
"If Octavia goes-"
The commander's frown deepened, and she sighed.
"You have to convince her not- Clarke pleaded.
"Take Caliban, and go, Now!" Lexa ordered.
"Don't let the doors close with you on the wrong side," Clarke's final words came with only the briefest look back.
The commander stood, feet shoulder-width apart, beside the bunker's only door. A guardian who couldn't, wouldn't, leave her post.
Yulian had all four horses saddled by the time Clarke and Charlotte left the safety of the temple. Even this late, the city was uncomfortably awake. It took less than twenty minutes for them to regroup in the stables behind the tower. They were getting quicker about preparing to leave on a moment's notice.
Clarke swung onto her little mare, smiling at Caliban once he'd mounted, stiffer but still swiftly, onto his own.
"The honor of riding with you only grows, Prisa,"
She snorted at his words, which though as gruff as always, she was fairly certain were meant teasingly.
"I'm grateful to have you beside me,"
Second Dawn bunker
Soon they would need to rise. Join the nightly crews to carry supplies down, and guarding the entire block around the temple to keep the work from being seen.
Together they quietly ignored it a bit longer.
The bunk room emptied, and finally they had it to themselves.
They laid together in in the bunk Lincoln had claimed. She'd thrown her pack up on the upper bunk above his, but draped herself over her love languidly to sleep intertwined.
Whether the fancy, curling iron frame bed of hers in the tower, or the pallet in the barracks that had been his, or here, now, sharing a narrow mattress meant for one, she was home in his arms.
Octavia rested her head on his shoulder, and he held her securely.
"If you asked me to marry you, I would say yes. Not because of the alliance. Or Indra, or Trikru, or the commander, or the damn princess wanna-be," she murmured, sleepy, and honest, and home, with him.
"Then why?" rumbled Lincoln, far too quiet for neighbors to overhear. Their lovemaking was probably overheard, but this was far more private.
"Because I love you, even if you don't love me now," her words were soft, slow, and she breathed out a yawn at the end.
"Octavia kom Skaikru, I love you. When it started, I do not know. But here you are, and I would stay as long as you allow." he rumbled.
"Stay with me, Lincoln," she agreed, nuzzling even closer, and he tightened his hold.
Waking up more, Octavia moved over him, so that she could lean down into a cascade of kisses, each deeper and longer than the last.
Until she broke apart, moving to whisper into his ear. "Let's get married. It's a good deal after all. I get you,"
Pulling her back down to lavish her neck, moving his lips against her soft, so warm skin. "You have me already."
She whined low in her throat, throwing her head back, as his mouth found a sensitive place just behind her ear.
"Anything you want, I will fight for," Lincoln swore, looking up at her, steady and brave, at the girl that he was sure was half-heaven, half-terror. "If you wish to, we will marry,"
He wasn't at all prepared for, when she descended upon him again, kissing him with the deepest desperation, for tears to wet her own cheeks, and his when they brushed together.
62 days till the end.
Nearly dawn
Moonlight lit the forest, and the torch Yulian still carried, tended to carefully through the night, helped. Arkadia wasn't in sight yet. Here the trees were too thick, Clarke wasn't even sure what side of the camp they were coming up on.
At her side, the gruff man tensed up. The back of her neck prickled, and Clarke repressed the urge to spin in place, searching for the eyes she felt upon her. The urge swelled higher when a whisper echoed through her mind- "Everything about this screams recipe for disaster." muttered John bitterly.
In the heartbeat it took her to remember when Murphy had said that, she saw Caliban's gaze rest upon her meaningfully.
"Don't look for them. If they are mere scouts, then they will act only if spotted." murmured the man barely above a whisper.
"And if they aren't scouts?" whispered Clarke in return.
His mouth tightened unpleasantly.
"Then you move swiftly, without looking back."
Clarke opened her mouth to argue, but suddenly he'd tensed again, before smirking at her smugly.
"Trikru will welcome you with honor, prisa." he assured her firmly, and Clarke blinked only once before she realized that he was, instead of letting his eyes rove lingeringly over her as it appeared, discretely checking out the surrounding area.
"I am considering your words, I promise." returned Clarke gently, trying for sweet, but feeling like she fell far short. It had been so long since she'd felt... sweet. Softness had been sentenced, and beaten, and burned, out of her until nothing seemed to be left of it. Caliban's eyes locked on hers for only a slight pause, but his wide grin in answer was a little more honest than the smirk he'd been presenting.
The first arrow came out of nowhere, striking Yulian, just below his neck, toppling him from his mount, a glazed look of confusion as he wavered backwards, and Caliban roared in fury.
It was coming from the left, Caliban between her and the attackers, but Charlotte was just behind him.
Still holding the horse's reins loosely, Clarke swung her rifle around to her front and looked through the sight, but despite the volley of arrows, the archers must have retreated because she couldn't spot them.
The mare reared beneath her, Clarke dropping the rifle, feeling the weight of it thud against the strap as she desperately gripping at the saddle. A war cry rose from out of sight, and the horse's feet hit the ground.
"Go!" he roared.
Clarke looked over her shoulder to Charlotte, and urged her to follow. She rammed her boots into the horse's soft belly, and the panicking mare shot forwards. With a sharp lean and pull of the reins, Clarke steered off the pale trail and deeper into the trees at their side, A straighter shot towards Arkadia's gate if she was guessing right. Crunching leaves in the evergreens above made both girls' heads swivel to search for the disturbance, but Clarke screamed, terrified and caught, something, someone, heavy landed half on her horse's back behind her, and dragged her down to the branch strewn ground with him. The horse cried out, and hooves flew, catching Clarke's knee as she went down.
They grappled, Clarke screaming without cease, fighting, trying to catch hold of her rifle, of her handgun, her sword, anything, but he got her on her back and held her hard down. But she bit his dirty fingers, and jerked her head away, avoiding the gag he'd tried to force into her mouth. She looked into the crystal blue, hateful eyes, his beard brushing her face, as the gag turned into a noose, tightening around her throat where it'd slipped.
Charlotte's high piercing shrieks were all she could hear. Stars burst before her eyes. The foulness the half-dried mud that covered the man pressing her down all she could smell. As her airway failed, her stings eyes poured.
A shot roared, and then another, and brilliant red splattered, the man's full weight collapsed onto Clarke, bending one arm, and one leg back into impossible stretch, but the noose around her neck went slack.
"Clarke?" cried Charlotte.
Beneath the dead man, Clarke lay there, staring into the bloodshot blue eyes, his bearded face fallen onto hers.
When she cringed away, his head fell onto her shoulder, one of his arms still wrapped under her. Wiping blood, black and red mixing, from her face weakly with the one hand she could free, she panted. Trying to appease her starved, burning lungs. Clarke shoved at the body, blinking away the tears and the sweat, and the blood in her eyes. Charlotte took hold of the dead man by one ankle, and heaved. As she tried to drag him off, Clarke's vision began to clear. Sounds trickled back into her ears- heavy footsteps, yelling, Caliban, Yulian... must still be fighting.
"We've got to get to Arkadia," croaked Clarke, pushing again at the dead man.
She rocked her body, crying from the pain of it, dumping him from her, and crawled backwards away. Charlotte's hands appeared, grasping at Clarke's forearms, and helping her stand. That first step towards the settlement made her bit down into her lip, tasting blood, falling, Charlotte barely holding her up. Screeching pain rocketed up her leg, Charlotte cried out in fear, but gasped, looking back. Her sleek, chestnut gelding, stood, frozen, his reins on the ground, and at her whistle, he crept forwards, ears slicked back to his head. He sidled up to them warily.
"C'mon, Clarke, c'mon," she begged.
Clarke leaned on her heavy to force her left foot into the stirrup, and grabbed a hold of the saddle to hoist herself up. Crashing through the trees. Her right side couldn't push her up, but Charlotte shoved, Clarke rose, preparing to sling her ignored leg over-
More warriors swarmed from the forest, and Clarke saw the ax rising just barely, jerking away from the horse, falling back, clinging to Charlotte...
"Prisa!" bellowed Caliban. An unhuman scream rose.
They rolled barely rolled away in time. The sleek gelding fell, groaning, then silent.
Sunrise trembled near the treetops to the east.
Clarke finally got a hold of the handgun on her shaking thigh, and missed with the first shot. But the second... the second struck the closest Azgeda in the shoulder, the third lodging in his skull, but the third went wild as the gun was knocked from her hand from behind, and hard arms caught her again.
Two already had Charlotte in their arms, her thin arms being bound behind her back, a gag forced into her mouth as she screamed, as she cursed, kicked, her back arching as she struggled, a thick, bag, her head crammed inside, a second gag tied over it, and she was going to suffocate, Charlotte couldn't breathe, no, they were going to kill her, and Clarke fought to get to her, but then Caliban fell, too,
The Azgeda brought down a blade into his chest, a sickening sucking, evoking a choked scream from Caliban kom Trikru...
And Clarke shrieked, "No! No! Caliban!"
The flat of another sword struck the back of her head dead center. Her cry pierced the air. The dizzy wave of darkness overcame her, and the force threw her forwards onto the ground. Swaying over to lean towards the ground, gagging, Clarke spewed onto the ground, onto her hands, and before it was hardly over, she was falling onto her back, her hair landing half into the vomit. She coughed, again. Tried to clear her throat. Swallow. Gagged, curling upwards, trying to sit up, too weak to do it, just enough to spit out another mouthful before she dropped back, landing on her side at least, cringing as her stomach heaved.
She fell so close to him. Just out of her reach, and far away. The rushing crimson blood pooling onto the old, grayed snow... growing closer to her, creeping into the vomit.
As the blackness overtook Clarke, the last thing she saw was her guard, her ally, her friend, bleeding out, just out of her reach.
Bound tightly with ropes, wrapped in blankets, and those tied too, thrown across the rumps of horses like saddlebags, neither of the girls even felt it. Not even when a third set of ropes was added, securing them to the horses.
Before he swung himself up onto his own mount, dragging the one that held Wanheda, one of the Azgeda noticed a little black piece of tech on the ground.
With a sneer, and only half a thought, he ground the heel of his boots into it, relishing the snapping shatter.
