Chapter 3
Chapter 3:
The Reaper charged at her, arms flailing. As he drove forwards, he threw his torch to the ground before her, allowing the both of them to see. Clarke heard screams and shuffling footsteps further behind the one charging. This one had a crude, curved sword in his right hand, and he swung it in a wide arch, aiming for her head. She stepped around him, ducking under the blade and bringing Lexa’s sword up, from left to right.
She felt the blade catch on the Reapers armour. It skidded across a metal plate on his chest, vibrating up through her arms, before biting into the softer leathers under his arm. She couldn’t tell if she’d gotten through the leathers.
Now they stood across from each other; facing cave walls rather than the cave’s running direction. She had to keep glancing to her right, to see if there were more Reapers coming, but it looked like it was just them, for now.
The Reaper shrugged off the blow, grunting and shaking his limbs out as he faced Clarke once again. He was blinded by a rage, his movements had none of the precision she’d come to expect from the Trikru warriors. He charged again.
The Reaper blade came straight down, she sidestepped, parrying left handed and shoving him back with her right. He stumbled into the wall and Clarke circled around so she was looking down the cave towards the other Reapers once again. Looking there, she could hear screams and the sound of steel striking steel, like they were fighting each other. Clarke was just glad they hadn’t swarmed her yet.
Her dancing partner had regained his feet and she felt more nervous now than before. She was not fool enough to think she’d held him off this long with any form of skill. She’d been lucky so far. Over the Reaper’s shoulder she saw two limp forms fly into view from around the corner. They hit the floor, and did not get back up.
Maybe they were killing each other. Once again, the one before her charged swinging his blade back and forth. She dodged, one, two, three strikes before she saw an opening and dived at him. She slammed her shoulder into his gut. Said shoulder connected painfully with the armour plating there and she cried out. The force of the impact drove them back and he dropped his sword.
Clarke stood up straight now, breathing heavily and clutching her left shoulder. Lexa's sword was held loosely in her left hand. She reflected darkly that it would not be much use if she couldn't raise that arm.
The Reaper ran at her once more. She groaned as she tried to lift the sword against him, but he merely slapped it aside, and it tumbled from her fingers. He hit her like a tonne of bricks. One armoured shoulder slammed her in the chest and directed her into the wall. Her head snapped back into the stone and white spots clouded her vision. She gasped for air, but two large, gloved hands came around her neck, cutting of her chances at getting any.
She was slower now, she knew that. Her movements were clumsy as the edges of her vision clouded, turning black. She clawed her hands down her attackers face, trying to catch an eye, or strike his throat and drive him off. He only stepped back, keeping her at arm's length, so she couldn't reach him.
Every moment that passed gave way to a new level of panic. She was choking, she couldn't breathe. She couldn't do anything. She wouldn't be able to save anyone. O was gone. Her vision was a mixture of black edges and white spots, and she felt like her head was about to float from her shoulders.
A small, blurred, shadowy figure ran up beside her attacker. She couldn't make out anything from them, and she was too far gone to wonder what other horrors a second Reaper could bring her.
This second figure however, reached up with one hand and grasped the hair of her attacker, yanking his head back. The other hand came around in a lightning fast motion, striking him once under his chin.
And Suddenly Clarke could breathe. She collapsed quite promptly, wheezing ragged breaths, clutching her bruised throat and wiping her watering eyes. She rolled onto her back, looking up towards the one that had saved her. All she could make out was a dark hooded form that retreated back towards where the other Reapers had been. She tried to call out but managed only a croak.
She stumbled messily to her feet, falling when she was half way up, and scrambling against the wall to aid her. She hobbled along the wall until she came across a sight that made her pause.
Spread out before her were roughly a dozen bodies, all still, and unmoving. All of them were dead.
Clarke blinked her eyes, trying to focus on the shadowy form going from one dead Reaper to the next. When she did, she discovered a small woman dressed from head to toe in midnight blue. Poking through the hooded coat, Clarke could see the woman wearing armour of a dark grey, rippling metal. She retrieved various knives and weapons from the fallen Reapers, stowing them away on her person.
Clarke moved up to the body closest to her. She knelt down carefully and saw a small throwing knife lodged in his throat. The blade was of the same dark, rippling metal as the armour the woman wore; its hilt was wrapped in dyed, dark blue leather. Two carved lines on the small pommel created a curved ‘v’ shape, the inside of the carving turning up a blood red. It was identical to the one she'd found lodged in the tree on her first day back. It was the same knife that made the Trikru warrior flinch away like he'd been burned.
Clarke heard footsteps approach her. She looked up into a pair of pale grey eyes poking out of her hood; eyes that flickered with the same fire reflecting from the torches that scattered the ground. Clarke could see dark war paint, on the woman’s face. It shadowed each of her eyes, making their pale grey even more striking, before curving down in two lines either side of her nose. The lines grew closer as they went down, before breaking at her lips. Below the woman’s mouth, the paint started one again, finishing the pattern, bringing it together as a curved ‘V’ upon her chin.
The woman didn’t say anything; she only held Clarke’s eyes for a moment before nodding, pulling the knife from the Reaper’s throat, and then sliding it into a sheath on her right thigh. Then she stood, picked up one torch from the ground and started walking away.
“Wait!” Clarke called after her “Who are you?!” because she didn’t know. She’d done all of this before, but never had she seen the dark blue clad weapons, or this woman with colourless eyes and war paint that accentuated the sharp edges of her face. Clarke stumbled after her, but got no reply.
“What’s going on?” this was out of her power, she had no idea what it was, her foreknowledge was useless here. Just as the words left her mouth, the woman moved. Or at least Clarke assumed that she must have moved. One second she was a half dozen paces in front of Clarke, and the next she was holding a knife to her throat. The move was so fast, and so calculated that Clarke’s addled brain couldn’t comprehend it at all.
The woman’s eyes were wide, and angry. They flickered from Clarke’s own to the stretch of cave behind them, making sure no one was watching. “You don’t get to ask that! That’s my question!”
She pushed Clarke back roughly, withdrawing the knife and vanishing it within her coat once again. “W- What’s-” Clarke was about to protest, but the glare this woman gave her was not to be defied. Clarke looked at her now, she really looked. Her saviour stood firm, and placed her feet purposefully when she stepped. Her eyes roved from one thing to the next with a calculated precision, analysing her surroundings for threats. This woman had taken out a dozen Reapers and didn’t have a scratch on her. This woman was a warrior. She was also young, maybe a few years older than Clarke, maybe early twenties.
Clarke didn’t know what to make of this woman; and she was in no condition to try and follow her to find out. The young warrior strode further into the darkness and Clarke was left to her own devices.
The acid fog would still be out there. There was still danger from the Reapers, if any had heard their scuffle. Pascal had a sprained ankle and Trina had minor burns that should be treated to prevent infection. Clarke checked herself over too. Her left shoulder hurt, but wasn’t broken, or dislocated, just bruised. The same went for her ribs mostly, though breathing too deep sent strikes of pain up her side, so it was possible one of them was cracked. Gently touching the back of her head, revealed a large lump, and a cut that was still bleeding. She ripped off a piece of cloth from one of the Reaper’s clothes and used her right hand to put pressure on it.
Her neck was very bruised. Breathing and swallowing hurt, speaking hurt more, but the fact that she could croak out legible words under strain, meant there wasn’t significant damage to her vocal chords. Overall, she had survived a Reaper encounter, and that in itself was an achievement. The fact that she would walk away without permanent damage was almost a miracle.
She felt steadier on her feet now, so she shambled, rather than stumbled back to the others. When she rounded the corner, she heard the distinctive click of a rifle being cocked and threw her hands up as Trina shouted “Who’s there?!” When Clarke croaked out a confirmation of identity, she dropped the rifle in favour for the flash light beside her. Clarke used the light to find Lexa’s sword, and returned it to her side. She grabbed the torch that had illuminated her fight with the Reaper and slumped on the ground, next to the others.
The others profusely apologised for not helping. When she was being choked, Pascal was going to fire, until Trina reminded him that he was just as likely to hit Clarke as the grounder hurting her. She flinched at their use of the word ‘Grounder.’ It was a term that they’d used for the members of the twelve clans, but these were Reapers. They weren’t the same. The other two recounted that they saw the other grounder kill the one that was choking her, but didn’t know why.
Clarke tried to convince them that maybe the one that had saved them had been a good guy. Maybe things weren’t as simple or black and white as they seemed. Maybe people were just as inclined to being people down here as they were up on the Ark. Her words fell on confused ears.
They weren’t deaf to what she was saying exactly, but brought up on a number of occasions that one had almost killed her not moments ago; and that she shouldn’t try and stick up for anyone that tries to kill you. The conversation went in circles, so Clarke changed the subject for a time, before bidding them be quiet again, in case more trouble arose.
***
After a couple of hours waiting, with no more Reaper attention, Clarke Griffin bravely wandered down the tunnels towards the way they’d entered. When no acid burns were forthcoming, she went back to collect a weary Trina and Pascal. They were good kids, Clarke figured that they had a fair bit of growing up to do, but the ground would force that out of them soon enough. She doubted that they’d run off into the woods quite so readily next time.
Upon entry to the outside world, Clarke discovered darkness. She tried to find their tracks entering the cave, but was unsuccessful with the limited light of their torches. She found no body, but she would not be able to find Octavia’s tracks to confirm until morning came; and quite honestly, her battered body could use some rest. She prayed that Bellamy would already be asleep, and she could perhaps hold off his fury until she could find some closure for him.
The trip back to camp had Clarke’s thoughts alternating between worry for Octavia and curiosity regarding the Warrior Woman from the tunnels. Something about the way she moved just struck Clarke as... not familiar exactly, but as, recognisable, perhaps. The midnight attire too, sparked something in the back of her mind, but she could address neither with any deduction.
***
Coming back to camp she found a few tired guards standing watch, one stood to collect Bellamy and tell him they’d returned, but Clarke protested, telling them to let him sleep. The weary guard, Eddie LaFont didn’t seem to notice Octavia’s absence at all.
Clarke led her two tired companions to an empty tent, and they said nothing more than thanks. Clarke herself found her own tent, inspected her battered body once more and then found the least painful position to sleep in.
***
She dreamed horrible dreams. After a few hours she woke up shaking with adrenaline and sweating with fear.
She got up, strapped on her weapons and walked the woods. She found a spot, away from the lights of the camp and sat, looking out at the trees towards where Octavia was lost. She felt so beaten. Her body was battered and hurting. Her bare few hours of sleep, had her wake up stiffer and in more pain than when she had first gone to bed.
She tried to think, but only became disturbed by the direction her thoughts would carry her. She got to her feet and slowly stretched out sore and tired limbs. Clarke gently tried to move her left shoulder when her eyes were drawn to the starry sky above. It looked like a shooting star.
She waited with baited breath. The last time she’d seen a ‘shooting star’ it had turned out to be an escape pod holding a stubborn mechanic. But the star merely streaked across the sky without falling to the waiting earth. Clarke watched it pass and wished that it was something else.
She spent the rest of the darker hours trying so gently loosen the stiff joints of her battered body, and running through fighting forms with care. Before the sun could kiss the horizon, she turned back to camp to collect some gear for the day. A water skin, a few rations, flint, extra mags for her rifle and pistol, rope, her makeshift first aid kit and a small makeshift tent. She walked back to the gates but stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of rising voices.
“You fell asleep at your post! You could’ve gotten us killed!”
Shit. That was Bellamy yelling. He was probably yelling at Eddie, he had looked like he was at the end of his rope. Maybe she could slip around them while they were arguing. Clarke had the impulse to run in and defend the guard that was sleeping at their post. She needed to let Bellamy be respected, but she couldn’t let him have free reign. Pick your battles Clarke. She clenched her jaw, but didn’t move.
She could support what Bellamy was saying. Honestly, she wanted to. If the grounders were attacking like they were last time, she would have been with him completely. But there was peace so far, apart from the acid fog attacks from the Mountain. This was a different time. Did they need different consequences? These kids were going to have to grow up eventually, but should she let them have their peace while the world permitted it?
She walked towards the angry pair. Eddie was staring angrily at his feet while Bellamy Blake continued to abuse him for his misstep. She didn’t know quite what she was going to do until she came level with them. “What’s going on here?”
“He put us all at risk! He fell asleep at his post!” Bellamy was unusually angry. He opened his mouth to continue but Clarke interrupted.
“How long was your shift Eddie?” her tone was cold and methodical. The boy knew he wasn’t off the hook, but he grasped at the little ray of hope that she was offering him.
He straightened his posture as he addressed her. “I’ve been here since midnight-” he stumbled on his words as if her were about to call her Ma’am. They both frowned at the pause, but he continued, “Before that I was on dinner duty, preparing the meat and distributing it in rations.”
She glanced at Bellamy and he looked frustrated. He shifted from foot to foot, but said nothing.
“Sounds like a long day.” Eddie let out a long sigh, relaxing in his place. He was halfway to saying thank you before Clarke cut him off. “Next time you’ve got a double shift that you don’t think you can finish; you find someone to cover it. You’ll go to sleep now, but you’ll be on latrine duty for the rest of the week. Do you understand?”
He stiffened again. He opened his mouth and closed it a number of times, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He looked warily at Bellamy, but the older boy just glared at him. He nodded solemnly and headed off towards his tent.
Clarke tried to take advantage of the open window, gaping in front of her. She wanted to run, and avoid all Bellamy’s questions.
But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t flat out lie to him, and she couldn’t go behind his back. “You were hash to him.” She said it softly, as though it was almost a question. He looked her square in the eye, and his eyes were filled with fury.
“Last time people didn’t follow my orders, Trina and Pascal ran off and got my sister killed!” he shoved her in the chest. “You said you’d look after her Clarke!” his eyes were glossed over with tears, but they were still angry. “You brought those two back, and you left her behind!” He was screaming now. Clarke saw several others in her peripheral pop up and look at what was happening.
She was breathing heavily through her nose, clenching her jaw and resisting the urge to bite back at him. He stumbled back towards her and clutched at her jacket front. “Why? You said you wanted to keep us alive.” He’d deflated now, desperate for an answer; desperate to know what Octavia had done to earn her betrayal.
Clarke was at her breaking point already. She’d been sick with worry about Octavia, and sore and beaten down and sleep deprived. Her mask cracked for a moment, tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t know. I-I thought I could- I thought-” she held back a sob and looked up to Bellamy again. He was crying now too. “I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out. She hitched her rifle and pack further up her back. “I’ll go find her Bell. I’ll bring her back for you.”
His eyes widened at her use of the nickname. He reached a shaky hand out to her shoulder, and gripped it tightly. He sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his eyes, then turned and called out, “Miller, can you do me a favour and grab my pack? We’ll be just out the gate.” the young militia guardsman nodded to him and ran off. Then Bellamy led Clarke outward.
“Pascal said some Grounders attacked you. Tell me what really happened.”
Clarke chose her words carefully. When she recounted the tale, she made sure to express that the grounder had saved them, and the Reapers had been the ones to attack. She lied a little, told him that the strange midnight woman had whispered the word under her breath. She made sure to imply that the grounder spoke another language and fit in as much as she could about the Trikru people.
He listened intently. She could tell he wanted to ask more about Octavia, but he refrained for now. Miller ran up to them, just as Clarke finished talking. Bellamy gave a few sharp words of instruction for the day to his friend, and the two leaders headed out.
***
They walked for a long time in silence. It was a heavy silence, filled with words unspoken. He eventually prodded the whole story out of her. He asked as many questions as possible about how his sister had split from the group and how much time passed before the acid fog consumed everything.
His face turned paler by the minute. Once the story was told, their heavy silence turned towards grief, but they kept walking.
Eventually they reached the mouth of the Reapers tunnels. Clarke could see her tracks from the previous day and retraced their steps. She found the place where Octavia had split off from the group, but her tracks led them into the underbrush, where Clarke lost her trail. She should have brought Finn, he’d be able to follow her tracks more easily.
They scoured the area. Eventually they stumbled across a hatch. There were no tracks per se, but the forest detritus had been recently disturbed, like someone had actively tried to hide their tracks.
Uncovering the hatch door, they found it to be a rough makeshift lid. Pulling it up revealed a hole big enough for a dozen people to stand abreast, but with roughly carved walls and no furnishing. It must be a safe house, made only to hide from the acid fog. There were no supplies, that they could see, and it was well hidden. The dirt floor had been beaten flat long ago, so they couldn’t tell if Octavia had found safe haven here or not.
They clambered out of the hole and left it just as they found it. They both looked to each other and found only defeat in the other’s eyes. They hadn’t found a body, they hadn’t found a sign of a struggle they had found tracks that led away, further than they could track. Clarke reoriented herself and found that she’d gotten a little bit turned around. The safe hole was closer to where they’d been running yesterday. It was closer than she thought.
She started feeling a small spike of hope. She made Bellamy stand where she estimated Octavia running off, and then she clambered back to the hole. He yelled confirmation. There was a line of sight when he ran back and forth along their tracks. It lined up pretty well with when Octavia vanished. It was highly likely that she’d found refuge in that hole.
From there, they kept looking for places the young Blake could have gone after the acid fog cleared. They found very little. There were animal tracks heading out in several directions, but if human tracks ran alongside them, neither of them could tell. They didn’t know anything.
Finding no other options, Bellamy and Clarke continued to search the area in case Octavia hadn’t made it to the refuge hole. Some time near midday, they gave up. They resigned themselves with the knowledge that Octavia must have made it through the acid fog alive. Maybe, Clarke thought to herself, maybe she got turned around and is headed back into camp right now. Bellamy couldn’t come up with a better explanation. The two of them were still obviously sick with worry. They talked very little and walked back towards camp at a brisk pace, both hoping to get back and find Octavia waiting for them. It was entirely possible that she’d waited until dawn to head back, so she could find her way more easily.
As they walked, Clarke was running through possible scenarios in her mind. She came to two different conclusions. Either Octavia was back at camp now, or she’d run into resistance on her way back. The Reapers hadn’t followed Clarke out of the mines, but it was possible that Trikru had stopped playing nice. The cease fire that Clarke thought had been implied, appeared to be broken. She didn’t want to have to fight them. She didn’t want to have to burn three hundred of them in order to save her people. She would do it again though. She didn’t want to, but much like the Mountain, she would do it again if they forced her hand.
A tense return to camp found a change of guards at the gate. Sterling and Monroe were at the gate and filled them in. There was no sign or sound of Octavia Blake. Miller had done a decent job organising the hunting parties, but when Wells had started delegating people to places, Murphy had caused problems. Bellamy ran off to deal with things, without a word to Clarke. The distance seemed to gape between them, and she suddenly missed the man who had grown to be her friend, in her other life. That seemed so far away now, she wasn’t even sure it was possible.
The eyes of the others settled on her, and when she looked, they turned away in shame. They knew Octavia was gone, and that she’d vanished with Clarke present. Did they blame her? Did they think she’d failed? She knew she’d failed, but to have their eyes weigh on her, stacked atop the burdens she already bore.
She walked through the camp, trying to asses things. They were building a wall now. It was without the spikes that had been present last time, but the wall itself had been lower on their priority list. First had been tents, rain collectors and places to smoke and store meat and other food. They were building the wall just as high as last time. When they’d started plans for it, they only wanted to make it chest height. It would be enough to keep animals out of their tents and food stores unless the critters could climb trees. But Clarke had argued hard and loudly that animals were all that needed kept out for now, but the future could change. She managed to debate with Bellamy, Monty, Wells and Ellie Sheppard. The four others had eventually agreed to heed Clarke’s words and the wall now had sturdy foundations, with sections reaching high above their heads. It was coming along nicely, and looked to be built better, with less pressure to get it done.
The success of the wall was largely due to Ellie Sheppard. Ellie had come from Mecha station and had studied architecture and engineering. Clarke hardly knew her last time. She’s Glen Dickson’s girlfriend. Last time Glen was one of the two that un-strapped their belts in the drop ship and died in the landing. Ellie had cut herself off from everyone when he’d died, and she’d joined him when Murphy was sent back as a bio-weapon. This time, she was flourishing. They had plans for actual buildings. They were going to make a community hall that could be lined with beds in the event of bad weather. It would double as a mess hall and base of operations. There were plans for notice boards and work details, all coming from this one structure that was yet to be built.
Ellie was good people. Glen was a little bit wild, and she was oft times a little bit stiff backed and proper, but they tended to even each other out, not to mention that Sheppard was kind of a genius.
Even Monty said that. He’d complain about talking to a brick wall, but at the end of the day, the two of them could think up things that would never even occur to the general populous.
The wall was looking fine. The space for the community hall had been cleared and the smoke house was up and running, allowing them to start storing things for the winter to come. Ellie was talking to Wells, and the two of them seemed to be displeased with each other. Sheppard, like the great majority of the hundred, was displeased at Wells as a proxy for his father. However, this bickering seemed to be more personal than that.
As Clarke walked closer to find out what was going on, she found herself dragged into the middle of things. She seemed to do that a lot. “Griffin, tell your puppy that if we stop every hour for these prissy punks, that this fancy wall you requested, will never get done.”
Clarke held back a sigh. Wells merely looked affronted that he’d been referred to as a puppy. “The people have to eat, and the people have to drink. It’s the fundamentals. The wall doesn’t need to be done in a day.” Clarke instantly regretted opening her mouth.
A pair of knowing brown eyes settled on her, as Ellie’s attention shifted. “If those stories about you and the little Blake are true, we might need your wall done sooner, rather than later. Are you ready for that Griffin?” Somehow, Ellie knew where to aim to hit home.
Clarke gritted her teeth and stood by her argument. “If you work them to the bone today, then they’ll be useless tomorrow.” The younger girl towered over Clarke. She was thin and willowy and not blinded by Clarkes dodge at all.
“That’s not what I asked Griffin.”
The tension in the air was stifling. The two women locked eyes and neither was willing to
give way. Clarke took a sharp breath and responded, “Just build the wall Sheppard. If I do my job right, we won’t need it.”
The young engineer raised an eye brow at that, Your job? It seemed to ask, what exactly is your job? And how was leaving Octavia part of it? Clarke clenched her right hand on the sword hilt at her waist. Ellie’s gaze flickered there for a second, before she looked down and away. She turned to Wells. “They get ten minutes, every two hours, and a lunch hour in the middle of the day; anything other than that, they run to fit in between shifting logs.”
Wells nodded and started calling out orders to people. Most of them listened. Maybe they were beginning to see that he was actually a decent person. Finn caught sight of her and started towards her, but before he got within ten paces a thought hitched itself into her mind. When Finn cam level with her, her found her frozen, thinking rapidly and mostly unresponsive to his presence.
“You alright there princess?”
She took a breath before looking up at him. “I think I know where O is.”
He looked at her sceptically for no more than a second, but the intensity of her eyes told him that she was being serious. “I’ll go get Bellamy.” He turned to get the older Blake, but Clarke shot a hand out, to stop him.
“That’s a bad idea. If I’m right, we need to look and act non-threatening.”
“Nonthreatening? You think Octavia’s been captured by Grounders?”
“Not taken, just-“
“And you think they’ll just give her back?”
“Finn, you don’t understand.”
“No, no one understands Clarke. What are you gonna do, go up and ask if we ‘can pretty please have our friend back, if she’s still alive?’ That’s not a good plan Princess. And Bellamy has a right to come along. I’ll go find him. Wait at the gate.” Finn started walking away, but he called over his shoulder before he got too far. “You look like shit, by the way.”
She sighed tiredly and bit back any ill-conceived reply that tried to fight its way to her tongue.
“He’s right.” Wells, had obviously finished ordering people around, and was now rearranging the items in a pack.
“Yeah, I feel like shit too, thanks for that.” Clarke gently ran a hand over her aching ribs, up to her throbbing shoulder and then to her burning neck.
“No Clarke, He’s right that no one understands, and that Bellamy has a right to come along. Something’s up with you.” Clarke opened her mouth. “-Don’t even try to deny it, I know you better than that. You said we’d talk, Clarke.”
And she had, on their first day on the ground before she’d gone gallivanting about, off to that clearing. The clearing kept drawing her, where ever she was, she knew which way to walk, to get there. It was a haunting compass, and she didn’t know whether she should follow it, or vehemently avoid it.
“We will, but Octavia’s still out there, and we have to get her back.”
“And then what happens? Something else will always come up Clarke, you’ll find another way to avoid talking.”
He was right, of course. Dam him. He just wanted to know what was going on with his friend. It wasn’t his fault that he wouldn’t believe her. How could he? She wouldn’t believe him if their roles were reversed.
She gripped Lexa’s sword tighter, trying to steel herself. Right at that moment, Bellamy stormed around the corner. “Let’s move.” He demanded, and Clarke gave Wells a half apologetic grimace. The young Jaha had his pack at his side though, and started after them.
***
They settled into a rhythm quickly. Clarke led them through the trees and under brush with confident strides. Before they neared their location, she gestured for them to walk silently. She hesitated for a moment, as she looked to Bellamy. He’d brought his rifle up to scope and was creeping forwards with the gun at the ready. She looked down at the sword at her hip, but thought it would be less useful. She hitched her own rifle up from her back, and advanced alongside Bellamy.
She scanned the trees; never forget to look up, she thought to herself. It had been their downfall more than once. The cave mouth loomed before them, and they crept up slowly. It was too quiet. Clarke’s heart began to pound in her chest and she had a horrible thought that she was wrong. All she had to go on was how things were repeating, finding their own patters, resisting change. If she was wrong, she could be starting a war.
They checked every corner and became more tense with each wary step. They approached the last corner, and Clarke hesitated once again. She was annoyed at herself now. What happens happens, she thought, and there wasn’t shit she could do about it. She gripped the rifle tighter in her sweating hands and swept around the corner in one smooth motion.
Octavia lay in chains at the far end of Lincoln’s cave. She was sporting bandages on her right foot, and a score of bumps and scrapes, but all in all, she looked better off than Clarke did.
Both women stood open mouthed and wide eyed, surprised to find each other there.
“O!” Bellamy shoved past Clarke and ran to his sister, rifle forgotten. He gathered her up in a hug and proceeded to fire questions at her, so fast that answers became impossible. She protested to Bellamy’s attention, but eventually she mumbled about a Grounder and how he’d saved her, but she’d fallen into the little bunker and busted her ankle. She must have gotten a gulp of the fog, or something else, because she’d passed out and found herself here.
When Clarke came back to her senses, she scoured the room for a key, or something else to break her chains. She found a familiar key nestled amongst Lincoln’s things.
When they got her free they helped her to her feet, and turned towards the exit. Then they heard the scuffling of footsteps followed by a movement in the shadows of the hall way.
Bellamy raised his gun, but Clarke gestured frantically for him to stand down. She waited at the corner, while the others watched and waited with baited breath. The moment Lincoln came into view, Clarke lashed out with the butt of her own rifle. Lincoln was quick to react, raising his arms to defend himself, but Clarke still had the jump on him. He didn’t get his hands up in time, and Clarke’s blow sent him sprawling to the floor.
Lincoln lay unmoving and Clarke’s eyes carried nervously to the others. “We need to go. Now. Quick, before he wakes up.” Bellamy looked towards his sister and then to the chains that held her captive. He pointed his gun at Lincolns head, looking very much prepared to pull the trigger.
Wells jumped in front of him, “What the hell are you doing? Do you want to start a war?!”
Finn jumped in too, before Clarke could even think. “Hold on Bellamy. He’s right, this would start something, and we don’t have lives to spare on stupid skirmishes.” He leant down and checked Lincoln’s pulse.
Clarke’s heart jumped into her throat, and her vision seemed to slow. She saw Lincoln start to draw his dagger. He moved faster than anyone could see and drove it into Finn’s chest. Wells was standing right behind the Trikru warrior and rammed a fist into his temple in retaliation. Lincoln dropped like a sack of bones and Clarke just watched in horror.