Chapter 9
''It really is a pod,'' Clarke breathes.
''Come on,'' I hurry her, ''Let's see what's inside.''
''Careful. Might be something can still blow up,'' she warns me, ''Where's Finn?''
''He'll catch up with us,'' I reply, before carefully approaching our comet. The sun's already come up, and now, in the morning light, the old thing looks more like an old trash can than a falling star.
Clarke and I try and open it, but the moment I put my hands on one of the hatches it clicks open by itself. Slowly, the hatch rises, and I forget to breathe.
''Oh, my God,'' Clarke says. Every single word of the English language escapes me.
There is a girl in there. There is a human being in that pod. A living, breathing human being came down crashing through the atmosphere. A girl. By herself. A girl in a pod.
The girl wakes up. She's sporting a head injury, but I don't see anything else wrong with her. Not that I could, what with all the shock. She's beautiful, despite the blood staining her face. For some reason, I'm happy to see this stranger.
She pushes and drags herself out of the pod, albeit weakly. Suddenly I'm anxious about giving her a hand - what if she has some internal injury after all?
She takes a moment to steady herself when she steps out. She breathes and closes her eyes and centers herself. The dizziness must be gone by the time she opens them again, because once she does, it takes all she has in her not to twirl around like a child trying to take everything in. I realize I'm witnessing someone experiencing Earth for the first time. The thought makes me irrationally happy, and I can't help but laugh with this strange girl before me.
''Welcome home,'' Clarke tells her with a smile.
''Raven?!'' Finn's voice calls out in the distance, before I see him burst through the treeline.
''Finn!!!'' the girl runs into his embrace like she hasn't just head-slammed into a rock in space.
And then, out of nowhere, they're kissing.
''Woah'' is all I can say.
I glance at Clarke, and learn all I need to from her eyes alone despite her trying not to show it. The girl is nothing short of dying on the inside. I choose to pretend I don't notice, a small mercy. Finn Collins has a lot of explaining to do, probably.
''You and Finn,'' I only say, completely casually.
''Yeah.''
''Aaaand you had no idea.''
''Nope.''
When he introduces Raven to us, it's really downright painful to watch. Clarke is holding up well, though, even helping the new girl with her head injury and all.
''This was all because of your mom,'' Raven tells Clarke, then briefs us on everything that's been going on, how they are moving forward with culling the population up there, how we need to let them know we're okay down here as soon as possible. She gets on the radio immediately, only to find it gone. She thinks she's broken it and lost it on impact, but of course - we know better.
*
''Of course!'' I throw my hands up, irritated.
We split up, but catch up to Bellamy soon enough.
''Where is it?'' Clarke demands of him.
''Hey, princess,'' he taunts, ''You taking a walk in the woods?''
''They're getting ready to kill to save oxygen!'' she almost shrieks. ''And I can guarantee you it won't be council members! It'll be working people! Your people, Bellamy! Where's the radio?!''
''I have no idea what you're talking about,'' he shrug it off.
''Wait, Bellamy Blake?'' Raven asks, ''They're looking everywhere for you.''
''Looking for him why?'' asks Clarke.
''He shot Chancellor Jaha,'' Raven explains.
''That's why you took the wristbands,'' I say. I'm not even surprised or shocked for a moment.
''Needed everyone to think we're dead. And all that "whatever the hell we want"? You just care about saving your own skin,'' Finn spits.
''Hey! Shooter! Where's my radio?'' Raven shoves Bellamy, gets all up in his face.
''Get out of my way,'' Bellamy moves her, ''I should've killed you when I had the chance.''
''Really? Well, I'm right here,'' she taunts, but when Bellamy shoves her, she whips out a knife, ''Where's my radio?''
''Ok, stop it, seriously!'' Finn and I intervene at the same time. One more fight between us will make me set our camp on fire, I swear.
''Jaha deserved to die,'' Bellamy says, ''You all know that.''
''Not my favorite person, either. But he isn't dead,'' Raven argues.
''What?'' asks Bellamy.
''You're a lousy shot,'' Raven scoffs.
''Bellamy, don't you see what this means?'' Clarke begs, ''You're not a murderer. You always did what you had to do to protect your sister. That's who you are. And you can do it again, by protecting three hundred of your people!''
''Where's the radio, Bellamy?'' I ask, my heart speeding up in panic again.
''It's too late,'' he replies.
*
Bellamy is, visibly, eating himself up over it. He's gathered a few groups and sent them all on a search mission for the damn radio, yet some here would argue that it's all too little too late. And as I'm trudging through the water knees deep looking for it myself, I can't help but wonder how is it that it's always Bellamy Blake that has us shoveling metaphorical shit?
The idea of three hundred people dying chills me to the bone, even though I try not to think about it. Yet still, somehow, I'm not quite worried about my parents. We're not privileged by any means, but we've always had enough connections to get by. They'll be fine. I'm almost certain of it.
''Here it is!'' Jones pulls the radio out of the water, waving it in the air.
''Great,'' I grumble on my way out - it's getting too late in the year for me to be going around soaked in cold water.
''Can you fix it?'' someone asks.
''Maybe. But it'll take half a day just to dry out the components to see what's broken,'' replies Raven.
''Like I said, it's too late,'' Bellamy confirms.
''Do you have any idea what you did? Do you even care?'' Clarke just about shrieks at him.
''You asked me to help,'' he only says, not betraying anything, ''I helped.''
''Three hundred people will die today because of you!''
''They were getting ready to kill three hundred people regardless of Bellamy,'' I argue, ''Give it a break, Clarke. He didn't know this would happen. And the blame game is sure as hell not helping us now. We need to think of another way to contact the Ark.'' I say.
''Hold up,'' Raven says, eyes glistening with a fresh, new idea, ''We don't have to talk to The Ark! We just have to let them know we're down here, right?''
''Yeah, but how?'' asks Clarke.
''I have an idea,'' Raven says.
*
Raven is working on the rockets, and we're working on their support. The rocket support has to be pretty damn legendary if we want the rockets to actually reach that far, so the pressure is high. This has to work.
Bellamy hasn't said a word since we got back to camp. Knowing three hundred people might die on your account had to be a lot to deal with.
''You couldn't have known,'' I tell him, though why I feel the need to set him at ease is beyond me. Maybe it's because I really do believe it. And maybe it's because I know what it's like to carry guilt on your shoulders.
We work side by side, using wire and metal from the Drop-Ship and steel and wood and rocks and other utter junk. And we have to make this not crappy. Monty is anxiously bossing us around - he is the closest thing to an engineer we have around here.
''That's only three hundred,'' Bellamy says to me, never looking up, ''I was apparently ready to let them all die.''
''You were short-sighted. No, blinded,'' I say, ''One thing fear does is it makes us completely irrational.''
''That makes no difference,'' he says.
''Trust me, it makes all the difference now,'' I argue, ''You've learned from this. But you'll also have to carry it.''
''If we're late, it makes no difference for them,'' he says, his voice falling another octave.
''It might be for the three hundred,'' I don't lie to him, ''But not for the Ark.''
He doesn't say anything to that.
*
A few hours later, the flares are ready for launch. We all stand there, eyes on the sky, and once the flares fly up, it's magic. The hope of each and every one of us has come together and multiplied, and I don't think any of us believe in this moment - as we stare in awe - that we're too late.
Except Bellamy.
The lump he swallows as he watches the flares burn through the atmosphere, and the way his fingers are restless, and the way his lips purse, and the way he blinks - he is being torn apart on the inside. He has been a major asshole, and one would argue that he deserves the pain, but the fact that he's done it all for Octavia, everything since the day he got that gun and slipped into the Drop-Ship, makes me think that no, he doesn't deserve it. He can't possibly. Would I have done it all the same for my family? I kind of already have. Our love for our families and friends will make us do irrational things, but the truth of the matter is, if anything is going to save us on this god-forsaken rock in space, it's love. And right now we need more of it.
''Hey,'' I call to him. He looks down at me, and gulps again, swallowing it all back. And for the first time since I've met him, since I've tried so hard to understand him - I see myself in his eyes. I understand him perfectly, so suddenly. How is his story different than mine? How can I judge him worse than I judge myself?
I haven't noticed before just how beautiful he is. The way the features of his handsome face literally glimmer underneath the light of the fires, and the way his dark eyes burn with so much, reflecting the fire of the flares in the sky, and the way strands of his curls flutter in the gentle breeze. He looks so strong, but he also looks ready to break.
''It'll be okay,'' I say. He nods, as though believing, eyes trained on mine.
And I don't even realize I'm doing it until it's done; it's so instinctive and impulsive that I don't control it - the way you don't control your breathing but it works on its own, or your heart beating, or your eyes blinking. I just do it. I take his hand.
And it seems like we've both needed it. He doesn't even so much as flinch. It's Bellamy that interlaces his fingers with mine and tightens the hold, before looking back up at the sky.
It may have given him some feeble strength. It may have made me feel just one bit less alone.