Chapter 55
When I open my eyes, it's the most effort I've ever put into it, like the muscles around them are too tired to work, like my splitting headache can't allow it to happen. I can't see anything, my vision is blurred, and what little I can discern is covered in remains of fires and smoke, and veiled by a moonless night. I do hear screams though, vaguely. That's good. That has to be good. A deafening silence would have been far worse.
It's hard to breathe, but I'm surprised and thankful I can at all. With each labored breath I take, my lungs seem to expand just a bit more, making just a bit more room for the next breath. It hurts a bit too, like I'm straining my ribs.
Realizing I can't hear too well either, I shift on the ground, in pain, and find that my left ear's hearing has been somewhat salvaged. Hopefully, it will all go back to normal, but I can't think about that right now. I try to force myself up. Everything hurts as I do, my head most of all, it seems, and I see blood trickling onto the ground before me. I sit up and try to feel it up. I quickly find the wound in my hairline, but it doesn't seem too perilous - probably a blunt gash from the impact and it can't be deep. Then I realize there's blood trickling down my right ear. Something's burst. Maybe I would have panicked if that was the worst.
There is a chunk of old glass in my side. In fact, my hands and arms up to where I'd rolled up my sleeves are covered in tiny scratches and cuts that never seemed to quite open flesh. As I roll up my shirt, I find my stomach in similar condition. And I know I've been lucky - there is a pool of broken glass all around me. I look to my left and see that the building is an even bigger ruin, blocks of concrete scattered around, fires still licking at wooden ingredients of the structure. I could have died crushed under the concrete that luckily seemed to fly opposite of me. I could have died impaled on glass, but instead I've made it with one injury in my side. These thoughts whistle through my brain like the wind.
I don't feel fear until I think of Octavia. For the first time since I came to, she invades my mind, and then I'm choking on it. I have to find her - her first. But I can't until I do something about the glass in my side.
I can't tell how deep it goes, but I can assume I'd feel much more pain and would probably be dying if it damaged anything on the inside. It couldn't have caught an organ at this angle, I think, and I'm not sure if I'm being level-headed or just comforting myself. If there ever was a time to be level-headed and calm and to just think, this is it.
It's not bleeding too much on the outside, which means the glass is blocking it. If I pull it out, the blood's probably gonna gush out and I'm going to have to stop it fast. Also, the glass is old and filthy and if it stays in my flesh too long, it might cause an infection that might actually kill me. I have to get it out, because I can't risk moving about with that thing in me, where it could break into pieces that would be far more difficult to get out later. But also, if I pull it out now, I have to be careful not to break it myself.
I decide to pull it out. I tear away a large portion of my shirt first, prepare to tie it around me once the glass is out. Then I take a breath, and pray I'm not making a mistake by doing this, and before I can debate it any further, I take a firm hold of the glass. I don't have time to think about how thick it is before I pull it out, screaming, my own screams muffled by my currently poorer hearing. It all happens fast now, I see the blood coming out, and I see the glass is strong and in one piece before I throw it away, and before I can waste another drop of blood, I fumble for the fabric, tying it around and pressing a palm directly against the gash. It will have to do for now. I have to try and find Octavia.
But then my eyes fall on the tent down the lane for the first time, and now I can't walk away. It's torn down by concrete, covered in a pile of blocks. I rush to it, knowing full well I can't pull out anyone who might be in there by myself. But when I get there, I find Ryder outside of it, like God himself had tipped him off and told him to step out. He's half-conscious, a huge chunk pressing against him, covering him almost entire.
''Ryder!'' I cry out, but I think he can only barely hear me. I grab the huge block and pull, but the pain shoots through me so sharp I know I won't be able to do this without at least damaging myself much worse and losing quite a bit of blood. I manage to move the block only an inch before it's pressing against Ryder again. I think I can hear him grunt, like I'm causing him more pain than he's already in. But I need to get him out, because the way the blood circulation is obviously cut off in his legs, he can't stay this way much longer. So I get ready to pull again, and the next thing I know there's people next to me, helping me haul. With a scream through my teeth, and every ounce of strength I have, we've managed to free Ryder.
I fall on my knees next to him, mostly because I'm losing energy, and more blood than I planned. I shake Ryder and slap his face, to get him completely awake. ''Heda'' is the first thing he says weakly, throat croaking.
''She wasn't in camp, I don't know where she is,'' I explain quickly, ''Clarke neither. Come on, we need to help others.''
I'm sure he wants to be as quick and efficient as he can, but he gets up very slowly. It takes a moment before he can steady himself and stand upright safe and stable. He hasn't broken anything by some miracle, and there is only some blood on his shoulder from a cut that won't threaten him. He's completely battered and bruised, but he's in one piece. The warriors who helped me are already working on trying to free the others, whoever may be caught under. I recognize a face or two, but my brain is still fuzzy. Octavia. I have to find Octavia.
Ryder helps me back to my feet, giving me a hand.
''You're injured,'' he says.
''I'm fine. For now. We need to help the others. I need to find Octavia.''
''Can you stand?'' he asks, eyeing the cloth that's already dark red and completely soaked through.
''I can,'' I insist, and he doesn't argue with me further. Among the Tri Kru, if a warrior says they can fight, it would be disrespectful to stand in their way. I'm not exactly a warrior, but apparently the rule still goes. So we struggle our way through, ignoring the pain and discomfort, ignoring the guilt for prioritizing people and not helping right where I stand. But I have to find Octavia, and I know it's Lexa's and Clarke's life before Ryder's, so we push on.
As we near the center, the horror amplifies. It still doesn't sink in completely though, even as I'm looking upon all the destruction and death, even as I'm listening to all the shouts and cries. Everything's a ruin. There's not a single building left standing, and seeing the number of survivors actually on their feet makes me think about how many might be dead right this very moment, and a chill travels through my spine. ''Come on,'' I hear Ryder say, but it's hard to move my feet and look away from it all. I can hear someone's shrill scream in the background; it stands out among the other cries. I can see some people trying to help here in this God-forsaken section where every building stood too close and there's barely a foothold left to get across. It's so difficult in the dead of night too, and there's still fires and smoke making it even harder. I'm in too much of a shock to panic or cry, but I'm aware enough not to hope for all these people to be saved. It's like a voice in the very back of my mind. And I know we have to move on.
When we come to the square, we see the real horrors. I see arms and legs in the ruins. There is a woman screaming as she's holding the stump of where her hand used to be. I witness the very last moments of a young boy's life right to my left, squeezed under the rubble. I walk past a dead horse lying in a pool of blood, its mane singed and blackened. I see a man not too far away, cradling another in his arms, crying. I know I should have some sort of reaction to all of this, but I'm detached, a mere onlooker. And I know it's exactly what's saved me so far, this shock.
Then I see her - Octavia, safe and sound, running toward us from the southeast, Lincoln in tow. If this was any other situation, I'd be surprised and relieved to see Lincoln, but right now I don't give it a second thought.
''You're bleeding,'' Octavia says, one hand on my arm like it makes a difference.
''I'm fine,'' I say, ''I'll be fine. We need a plan.''
Octavia nods. ''Come,'' she says as she leads the way, ''And careful. Watch where you step.''
Everyone's already pulling out anyone they can reach. I can see Abby across, helping the injured with Nyko's assistance, and seeing her, relief shoots through me immediately. Ryder and Octavia rush to her, but Lincoln takes another direction.
''What is it?'' I ask, but he's already hopping down the rubble, and all I can do is follow.
''Lincoln, be careful. It's not stable,'' we can hear Octavia warn above the noise.
''They're down there,'' Lincoln says, before he pulls a giant block of concrete, ''Yaagh!''
I realize which building this used to be. I know there are more than a handful of people inside, unless they somehow found themselves out before it happened. I make my way down quickly to try and help him.
''Do you hear someone?'' Abby asks - shouts, really. And even though it's better than when I first opened my eyes, I can hardly rely on my sense of hearing right now. Instead, Lincoln and I make our way across, to try digging from the other side. And on the other side we find Indra, lying unconscious in the rubble. Lincoln runs to her before I can blink, gets down and checks her pulse before I can follow.
''Indra!'' he shouts, ''She's alive!!''
I hop the rest of the way across, and as Lincoln removes the biggest blocks pressing against her, I hook my hands in the pits of Indra's arms and clench my teeth as I drag her out. I don't know how many more times I'll be able to do this - I could swear I can feel a trickle of warm blood sliding down below my makeshift bandage. Abby and Octavia are next to us immediately, but the moment Indra comes to, she's already getting to her feet. She coils away from Lincoln when he tries to help her up. ''Set ai daun, ripa!''
What happens next is something none of us would have expected on top of everything in our wildest dreams. The first bullet seems to whistle right past my ear as it hits Indra, and she topples over. For a short but too long moment we just stand frozen as Lincoln keeps Indra upright, but then the other bullets start buzzing, and we're now all cowering on the ground.
''Sniper!'' I growl, like everyone doesn't know already.
''Octavia, go!'' Lincoln tells her immediately as he hauls Indra away to remote safety. Octavia's already skulking away, keeping as low to the ground as she can. The sniper is still shooting. On the other side, I can see Abby running from block to block, still trying to get to the injured, but if she continues like this she'll catch a bullet before she'll dress another wound.
''Abby, don't!'' I shout, still sitting on the ground, back pressed against a chunk of a wall. Bullets are flying everywhere around me, and I've lost so much blood I'm more tired than I should be, and I'm almost tempted to just stay here and sit it out. I feel oddly sleepy, but I know I can't allow myself to sit around useless. Still, I don't see a way of getting across. Unless someone takes out that sniper, we'll all be dead meat.
Lincoln and Indra are not too far across from me, behind the rubble of concrete and metal. I can see them, Lincoln's head peeking out every now and then, but there's no getting out. When Nyko runs and makes his way to Octavia who's now crouching shielded to the left of Lincoln across the alley, he almost gets shot himself.
Someone tries to run across, but they're shot dead halfway through. I can't even tell who it was from this distance and in this darkness, but I know it's a God damn lesson. Slowly, people start getting the hang of skulking around, and a small group already forms behind Octavia. I decide it's time for me to get up too. I have to, most of the bullets are flying right around me like I'm a motherfucking practice dummy, and it's only a matter of time before one catches me. Statistically, at this point, one has to, at least by accident.
I take a good look around. What can I do? The next rubble to the west is the closest option and my best bet, so without too much thinking and debate I clench my teeth and run across while staying ducked low. Another bullet whizzes past as I do, but I've made it. Where I can try and be of help.
There is a hand reaching through two metal bars, but that's all I can see coming out of the rubble. I take the hand and see that it's still a tad bit warm, just barely, and the fingers twitch in an attempt to squeeze mine. I know the person inside is alive, but I also know they won't be for very long.
It takes a while just to be able to uncover the upper body, just down to the shoulders. And once the head moves and a face meets me from below, I freeze. It's Drea. I move the hair from his face to see, and sure enough it's him, looking as pale as the moon even with all the soot and filthy blackness covering his face. I don't even know what's wrong with him, what type of injury he's suffering, but I know he's dying.
His mouth twitches in a half-smile when he sees me. His fingers are still coiled around mine. I don't move to dig out the rest of his body. My mind knows it's too late even though it doesn't exactly come to the forefront of my consciousness.
''Thank you,'' he says, croaking barely audibly.
''For what?'' I ask him, wanting to cry for the first time.
''For coming,'' he says, that weak half-smile twitching again, ''I never wanted to die alone.''
And with another squeeze I'm sure is just a spasm, his fingers around mine relax, and so does his face, and his whole body, until he's limp and nothing more than a corpse lying in a rubble. This young boy, who was so skilled, so beautiful, so trustworthy, so capable, so willing to live his life. The Mountain has taken one more person from me. I silently promise Drea I would shed a tear for him if only I could. Tears sting at my eyes almost painfully, but they're not leaving them. I can't seem to let go of his hand - I don't know how much time has passed since he's died but I'm still holding his now very cold hand and I still feel frozen, like a breath stopped somewhere in my lungs, and nothing's working properly inside me anymore. I have to consciously, actively, make myself let go. I pull the knife out of my boot, and with great care even though it makes no difference, I cut off one of the small braids in his hair. I put it in a pocket of my jacket.
''Yu gonplei ste odon.''
A bullet lands too close to my foot this time, and that's what wakes me up - I realize I've almost shut it all out completely. The Mountain Man's still firing, and I have to move. But I'm even weaker now, and I just wanna find a place to lie down and curl up. Still, slowly and carefully, I crawl on all fours, making my way around the rubble. The south-west edge will offer me most protection. I don't even have to ignore the pain anymore, it's like my brain's programmed my body to worry about that later. Every time that gun goes off though, and just doesn't stop - it makes me realize just how trapped we are. Taking out the sniper should be first priority. I'd go after it myself if I wasn't in this God damn condition.
Once I reach more safety, I crumple to the floor again. I realize I'm too weak to be of help to anybody anymore. I hate myself for being useless, for sitting and waiting while there's people dying, but I can't force my body for much longer. I lean back against the cold concrete and look down on my wound. The bandage looks almost black with blood, and there's definitely blood dripping below it. If only someone would take out that sniper so we could get to helping people and once the worst injuries are taken care of someone would help me. I just have to make it through the night.
The noise of the ruined camp slowly becomes fainter, and even the sounds of the bullets are dulled, as some oddly comforting heat spreads in my head, right between my temples. I know I should be fighting it, that it's bad for me and it's seducing me, but all my mind wants is to go to sleep. It's not long before my eyes start feeling heavy too, but I try to keep myself awake, hand against side. And just as I'm about to doze off, the comfortable blackness coming to me in waves I have to fight off, something pulls me out of it. A cry. A moan of pain, really, coming from behind me.
I get back into a crouch, find the strength in me. Weakly, I move the bits of concrete out of my way. Rather than picking them up, I roll them off, and even that is harder than I would have imagined. It's going too slowly too, but I keep on, stone by stone, rock by rock, brick by brick. And the sound becomes clearer.
Frank Nichols is the last person I'd rush to save, but there he is, barely alive, and right at my mercy. The sight of him wakes me up, injects me with another dose of adrenaline. He's conscious, he can see who it is that's come to his rescue, even though one of his eyes is closed up and bloody. His fingers twitch against the ground in a futile attempt to drag himself out. But he can't do that without me. I can tell the exact moment that realization hits him, because I can see the very real fear in his eyes.
''Please,'' he almost cries, ''Please. Help me out of here-''
I don't move. I don't tell him anything either, I just watch him, dead in the eyes. And I'm actually contemplating. Should I bother? Does he deserve to be saved? I don't want to help him. Especially since I can't be of help to those who deserve it more. Especially since I couldn't help Drea. And with every bit of effort I make to get him out of there, I'm losing some of my own blood, some of my own strength. And he doesn't deserve it. That day on the plateau, I was ready to kill him with my own bare hands. Why should I save him now when the Mountain Men seem to have taken care of the dirty work?
''Please,'' he cries again, his fingers twitching one more time. More than half his body is under the rubble. By the way he sounds, he's having trouble breathing, and by the look of things he's probably bleeding too. I find that I don't really care. And maybe if there wasn't a sniper shooting around, and I was in full health, I would have just walked away. But I can't walk away and leave him, because there's nowhere to go, and I don't have the strength. So I just sit down next to him.
And I want to ignore him. Good God, do I want to ignore him and let him just die, but he's right there, in my ear, and he's begging, and his cries become more quiet with time, and it's easier to let someone die when you don't have to listen to them. In my mind's eye he's always been a monster, but with every fragile word that escapes his dying mouth I wonder - what am I? With everything I've done, what am I? Letting him die like this, deserved or not, listening to him beg - what does that make me? My father's smiling face flashes before my eyes. Maybe he would have killed Nichols in a bout of rage himself, but he would have never wanted me to be this person. I know it. He never raised me to be cold and unforgiving. As much as he hates this man, seeing me watch him die would have broken at least a piece of his heart. The daughter he raised would be officially dead, and I'm not ready to completely let go of that person. The girl I was, I'm not ready to take her away from my dad. And that's what makes me move. That's what gets me on my knees, and my hands on the cold concrete.
And as I start rolling the rocks off of Frank Nichols, I think of Drea whom I couldn't save, who deserved to live more than this man ever would, and tears in my eyes finally give me relief as they slide down my face. The saltiness gives me a hint of where each cut and gash on my face is.