Homecoming

CHAPTER 3: Clarke

Clarke stared at the crash scene, eyes straining in the dark, waiting for the inevitable moment when her training would kick in, when her instincts would anesthetize her panic. But hovering at the edge of the wide expanse of debris, absorbing the destruction, all she felt was horror.

It was far worse than when the hundred had landed. From what she could see, three dropships had slammed into the ground just a few dozen meters apart. It was amazing that they hadn’t crashed on top of each other. Their jagged metal carcasses protruded from the earth around the water’s edge, looming high above the surface of the lake. Motionless bodies were scattered everywhere. The fires had mostly gone out, but the stench of burning metal lay heavy on the air.

Even worse than the sight of so many bodies was the growing number of wounded. By Clarke’s quick estimation, there were three hundred and fifty or so survivors in various states of distress.

“Holy…” Wells’s voice trailed off next to her. But within moments, his expression hardened into resolve. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Where do we start?”

Clarke’s brain kicked into gear, and a familiar calmness stole over her as she began to mentally triage the people in her sightline—sorting the ones with mangled limbs from the ones who sat up on their own, beginning with the children and moving upward in age.

They could do this. She could do this. Each of the dropships had to be stocked with medical supplies. She had a lot more to work with this time around, and she’d learned a massive amount over the past few weeks. Besides, there had to be at least one or two fully qualified doctors among the passengers. She could only hope that they were among the survivors. She winced as a pang of regret radiated through her chest. She needed her parents more than ever, but was no closer to finding them than she had been when she left the camp days ago.

“Start separating them into groups,” she said to Wells, Sasha, and the other members of the rescue party. “Leave the worst injuries where they are and lead anyone who can walk back to the clearing.”

“What about the people in between?” Eric asked. “Should we let them rest here or get them moving?”

“Everyone needs to get moving, as fast as possible,” Wells said before Clarke could answer. “The dropships could blow at any moment. We’ll break into two teams. One half starts from the left, one from the right.”

Clarke nodded, distributed the bandages and other basic medical supplies, then headed into the center of the fray. She stepped over piles of twisted metal and shards of fiberglass, and knelt down next to a little boy whose dark skin was caked with gray ash. He was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest as he stared straight ahead, wide-eyed and whimpering.

“Hey,” Clarke said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I’m Clarke. What’s your name?”

He didn’t answer. There was no sign that he’d even heard Clarke or felt the pressure of her touch.

“I know you’re scared. But everything’s going to be okay. You’re going to love it here, I promise.”

She stood up and beckoned to Eric, who ran over.

“He’s fine. Just in shock. Can you find someone to look after him?”

Eric nodded, scooped the little boy into his arms, and hurried away.

Off to the left, Clarke could see Wells reassuring a middle-aged woman. He helped her to her feet and walked her over to Sasha, who was getting ready to bring the first group of survivors back to the camp. An icy chill ran down Clarke’s spine when she saw a young man in a guard uniform standing among them. Bellamy had promised to stay out of sight for the time being, but it wouldn’t take much to draw him into a confrontation. What if something happened to him while she was gone?

“Clarke!” She turned to see Felix signaling for her. “We need your help over here.”

She hurried over and found him kneeling next to a young girl with long, tangled, strawberry-blond hair. Felix had tried to bandage her arm, but it was already soaked through with blood. “It won’t stop,” he whispered, his face pale. “You need to do something.”

“I got it,” Clarke said. “You keep moving.”

She unwrapped the bandaged and surveyed the wound. “Am I going to die?” the girl whispered hoarsely.

Clarke shook her head and smiled. “Nope. No way I’m going to let that happen. Not before you get the chance to explore Earth!” She reached into her kit and pulled out the antiseptic, praying that she’d find some more at the crash site. She was almost out. “Guess what I saw the other day?” she said, trying to distract the girl as she prepared to stitch the deep gash in her arm. “A real live rabbit.”

“Really?” The girl turned her head to the side, as if expecting to see one hop out from behind a pile of wreckage.

Ten minutes later, the girl was being led away by Wells, freeing Clarke to deal with the more seriously injured. It was distressing to see so many people in pain, but the intense focus it required provided a welcome relief from her thoughts.

Clarke had spent the past few days in a haze, each new development or revelation proving more bewildering than the last. She had gotten back together with Bellamy, who had somehow found a way to forgive her for what she had done to Lilly. Then they had rescued Octavia from Sasha’s faction of Earthborns—who in turn had rescued Octavia from the violent splinter group.

But the thing that made Clarke’s head spin most of all was the discovery that her parents were alive. And on Earth. She kept thinking she was dreaming and that the joy and relief bubbling in her chest would suddenly sharpen into aching sorrow all over again. But the parents she had mourned for a year hadn’t been executed and floated into space. They had somehow made their way to Earth and even lived with Sasha’s family before heading off on their own. Now she just had to figure out how to track them, which seemed impossible in a thousand ways. But sitting still and doing nothing wasn’t an option either. As soon as she’d done all she could for these survivors, she’d be making her plans to leave.

“This one’s not breathing,” Eric said with a grimace as Clarke approached.

She crouched down and brought her hand to the man’s neck. His skin was still warm, but there wasn’t even the faintest whisper of a pulse. Clarke pressed her lips together, then lowered her ear to the man’s chest, praying for a heartbeat. But there was nothing but silence. “There’s nothing we can do for him,” Clarke said, trying not to meet Eric’s eyes. She didn’t want to see the horror in his face. And she didn’t want him to see the helplessness in hers.

She looked down at the man again, seeing his face properly for the first time. Clarke gasped as an invisible hand punched through her sternum and wrapped its fingers around her heart. It was her old biology tutor, Mr. Peters, the one who gave Clarke access to the ship’s restricted archive center when she was only ten so she could look at photos of elephants.

“You okay?” Eric asked.

Clarke nodded, trying to blink away the tears threatening to blur her vision. Had Mr. Peters lasted long enough for a glimpse at the night sky? Had he been able to see the moon reflecting off the water, or catch the scent of trees in the wind? Or had he died without ever setting eyes on the planet he’d spent his whole life revering from afar?

“We should leave the bodies here for now,” she said, turning away. “It’s more important to deal with the injured.” Clarke left Eric and carefully stepped over a pile of twisted, red-hot metal in order to make her way toward a man lying on his side. He wore a coat that had once been white but was now covered with dust, soot… and a slowly expanding patch of blood. His eyes were shut, and his mouth twisted in defiance of his pain. Clarke let out a low gasp as she took in his tall, lanky frame and shoulder-length gray hair. It was Dr. Lahiri, her former mentor and one of her father’s oldest friends. The last time she’d seen him was when he’d come to her cell, and she’d accused him of betraying her parents. He called her a traitor in response, and before she could think better of it, she’d actually socked him in the face.

The rage that had consumed her that day felt strangely distant now. Although her parents had certainly been betrayed, they were alive. And Clarke knew there were people far more accountable than Dr. Lahiri—like Vice Chancellor Rhodes, the man who’d ordered her parents to perform the monstrous radiation trials in the first place.

Clarke crouched down and placed her hand near his elbow. “Dr. Lahiri,” she said in what she hoped was a confidence-inspiring tone. “Can you hear me? It’s Clarke.”

His eyes sputtered open, and he stared at her for a long moment, as though unable to tell if she were real or a hallucination. When he finally spoke, it was through a clenched jaw, as if any extraneous movement would push him past the limit of bearable pain. “Clarke… you’re alive.”

“Yes, despite your best efforts,” she said, smiling so he’d know she was mostly joking. “Let me see what’s going on here, okay?”

He nodded slightly, then shut his eyes and winced. Clarke gently opened his coat, palpating his abdomen, ribs, and chest. He grimaced when she reached his collarbone. She carefully opened his eyes and checked his pupils, and ran her hands over his scalp to check for any contusions she’d missed.

“I think it’s just my shoulder and clavicle,” Dr. Lahiri said through gritted teeth.

“And a concussion,” Clarke added, trying to keep her voice neutral. “I think the bones are broken. I can set them and make you a sling, but I’m afraid we don’t really have much here for the pain. Did you bring any supplies with you?”

“I don’t know what’s on the dropships,” Dr. Lahiri said, causing Clarke’s stomach to plummet with disappointment. “It all happened so quickly. There wasn’t time to prepare.”

“We’ll make do. I’m going to help you sit up. Are you ready?” She kneeled behind him and placed one hand under his good arm and the other behind his shoulder blade. “On my count. One, two, three.” She raised him to a sitting position, and he let out a pained cry as she helped him lean against a wall of debris. The color began returning to his face. “Just stay as still as possible until my friends come to get you.” She waved a hand in the air, gesturing for Wells and his team. “They’ll help you get somewhere safe.”

“Clarke,” Dr. Lahiri muttered, his voice growing hoarse. She reached for her water container and lifted it to his lips. He took a small sip and continued. “I’m sorry about what I said last time. Your parents would be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Clarke said slowly, wondering whether Dr. Lahiri really believed that her parents were dead or whether he was still too afraid to tell her the truth. “I’m sorry for… for losing my temper.”

Despite the pain, he smiled. “I just wish I could take as much credit for your left hook as I can your surgical skills.”

The next few hours passed in a blur. Clarke hardly noticed the dawn breaking, except for the fact that it made suturing easier. By the time the sun was high in the sky, all the uninjured Colonists had been led to camp, and a good portion of the injured had been carried away as well. Throughout the morning, a few more members of the hundred came down to the lake to help and to search for their parents among the new arrivals. But the relatively small number of happy reunions had been disheartening. Apparently, the families of the hundred hadn’t been given priority on the dropships, never mind that their kids had been sent on an impossibly dangerous mission to Earth.

Clarke finished fashioning a splint for an elderly woman’s leg and then stood up to stretch quickly before moving on to her next patient. She noticed that the guards who’d been standing in a circle around their captain a few minutes earlier had dispersed to help carry the wounded up to the camp. She could only hope they remained more focused on helping their fellow Colonists than on hunting down the boy who had gotten the Chancellor shot.

Her eyes settled on a guard who looked uncomfortably familiar. Clarke stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out why she felt suddenly queasy. He was standing at the center of a slow-moving scrum of people, directing them with one good arm and cradling an injured hand to his chest.

Clarke turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see her, stalling for time by taking inventory of her bandages while she racked her mind for the guard’s name.

Scott.

Scott had often been assigned to medical center patrol during her apprenticeship, and Clarke had come to dread their frequent encounters. Although the guards typically didn’t interact with the doctors and apprentices unless there was a security issue, Scott had been an expert at making his presence known. He wasn’t much older than she was, and there was something snide and officious about him. He never looked at the patients when he was in the room—only at the doctors or other guards, like he was too good for anyone else. But what had really bothered Clarke was the way he acted when he was alone with her, and the lengths to which he seemed willing to go to make that happen.

Clarke had to force herself not to break into a jog as she walked swiftly down the corridor toward the medical center. She was nearly twenty minutes late for her rounds shadowing Dr. Lahiri, but the punishment for “hazardous behavior” was even harsher than that for tardiness. Being late meant that she was in trouble with her supervisor. Breaking one of the ship’s rules meant facing the Council. It was rare for guards to write someone up for running, but the boy who’d been patrolling the medical center recently had quickly gained a reputation for being a power-tripping bully.

Clarke turned the corner and groaned. She’d hoped to slip into the medical center unnoticed, but Scott was standing in front of the checkpoint. His back was to her, but she recognized his broad shoulders and slightly greasy blond hair that always looked to be longer than was typically allowed by guard regulations.

Clarke could tell he was in the middle of some kind of confrontation, but only as she drew closer did she realize he was holding a woman by her wrists. He had them pinched together behind her back. She was a sanitation worker from Arcadia, and based on the loud scolding Scott was doling out for everyone to hear, she had simply forgotten her pass. Most guards would have let her off with a warning, but not Scott, who was making a big show of slapping restraints on her wrists. The poor woman had tears in her eyes and could barely raise her head when Clarke slipped past.

Indignation and disgust curdled in Clarke’s stomach, but she didn’t dare look back. She stood to gain nothing by intervening. If she tried to get in the middle, Scott would probably threaten the woman with even more severe repercussions, just to prove his power to Clarke.

By the time Clarke started seeing patients, she’d pushed the incident out of her mind. That was one of the things she loved about being a medical apprentice, the way her mind could be one hundred percent focused on the task at hand, leaving no room to worry about anything else in her life. Not about her parents, or Lilly, or the terrible secret she was keeping from Wells.

However, later that day, while she was busy cleaning a five-year-old girl’s cut knee, there was no avoiding Scott when he strode unannounced into Clarke’s exam room.

“What do you want?” Clarke asked, not bothering to hide her irritation. It was one thing for him to strut down the halls like he was Chancellor of the corridors. It was another for him to barge into her exam room when she was with a patient.

He waved a bruised and swollen finger in front of Clarke’s face and smirked. “You won’t believe it, but that bitch actually bit me when I was cuffing her.”

“Watch your language, please,” Clarke hissed, shooting a glance at the little girl staring at Scott wide-eyed from the exam table.

He laughed unpleasantly. “I’m sure she’s heard worse. She looks like a Waldenite.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you a Waldenite?” she asked, doing her best impression of Glass and her snooty friends.

He ignored the jab and took a step closer. “I’m in need of your services, Doctor,” he said in a voice that somehow managed to be both mocking and vaguely threatening.

“If you’ll just take a seat outside, I can look at that for you after I’m done with Cressida here.”

“Well I’m sure little Cressida”—he tilted his head in the girl’s direction—“would understand that a member of the guard suffered a painful injury while subduing a threat to the Gaia Doctrine this morning. And that I am in a hurry to get back to my work protecting this ship.”

Clarke fought the urge to roll her eyes. She just managed to keep her expression neutral while she sprayed a skin regenerator on Cressida’s knee, gently affixed a bandage over it, and patted the girl on the leg. “You’re all set. Just keep it clean and dry until tomorrow, okay?”

Cressida nodded and hopped down from the table, running out the door to her mom, who waited just outside.

Clarke turned to Scott and held out her hand. He placed his wrist in her palm and winced as she uncurled his swollen finger. “You’re going to need to see the actual doctor for this,” she said, releasing her hold and stepping back.

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a humorless smile. “Who? The old guy you follow around all day? No thank you.”

“Dr. Lahiri is the most respected doctor on the ship.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not who I want checking out my other injury.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That piece of Arcadian trash also tried to kick me. I knocked her down, but she managed to knee me in a rather sensitive area, if you know what I mean.”

Clarke sighed. “Is there bruising?”

“I haven’t had time to look,” Scott said with a smirk. “Don’t you want to do the honors?” He reached for his belt buckle as he stepped toward Clarke.

“I should call a nurse,” Clarke said, moving toward the intercom.

“Now, just hold on a second.” Scott grabbed Clarke’s arm with his good hand and pulled her back. “I don’t need a nurse. I just need you to do your job… Doctor.”

Before he could utter another word, the door behind him banged open, and Wells strode in, looking even taller than usual in his officer’s uniform. Scott snapped to attention, his gaze locking on the floor. Clarke couldn’t help but smile at Wells over Scott’s shoulder.

“I’m sure you’re not preventing this medical apprentice from getting her work done, are you?” Wells asked, his voice stern, but his eyes playful.

“No, sir,” Scott said stiffly.

“Glad to hear it, Guard. Carry on with your rounds.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clarke stifled a grin until the door clicked shut behind Scott, then stepped over to Wells and wrapped her arms around him. He tilted her chin up and kissed her softly on the lips.

“Thank you, Officer Jaha.”

“You’re welcome, Medical Apprentice Griffin.”

Clarke was exhausted. She hadn’t eaten anything since the previous evening, and all the food they’d taken to the crash site had gone to the survivors. The team had taken turns leading the survivors back to camp, and there were only a few injured left to deal with. She had put it off as long as she possibly could, but there was no way to avoid treating Scott. He sat on a log at the edge of the clearing, looking up at her as she approached.

“I thought you’d never get to me,” he said, his lips pressed together into something resembling a grin.

“I’m sorry about the wait,” Clarke said, hoping that maybe he wouldn’t recognize her after all the months she’d spent in Confinement and her weeks down on Earth.

“It’s okay, Doc. It took me this long to come to Earth just so you could finally show me your bandaging skills. I believe we were interrupted last time.”

Clarke’s heart sank. Scott knew exactly who she was, and he hadn’t grown any more charming since she’d last seen him.

“Let’s see what’s going on here.” She gestured for him to show her his wrist. He held out his hand to her, and she took it, her stomach churning in protest as she made contact with his clammy skin. She turned his hand over, moving it gently back and forth and from side to side.

“So you’re a real doctor finally?” Scott said. “I guess that means you can’t afford to get all squeamish during examinations now.”

“Not exactly,” Clarke replied without looking up. “I never finished my training, but I’m the closest thing we’ve got down here.”

“Well, doctor or no doctor, you’d better do a good job.” He wiggled his fingers in her palm. “That’s my shooting hand after all.”

Clarke pulled a bandage from her supply bag and began winding it around his wrist and hand. “It’s not broken,” she said matter-of-factly, hoping to get out of the conversation as quickly as possible. “But you’ll need to limit your use of this hand for a few days to allow the swelling to go down.” She inhaled deeply and looked him directly in the eye. “Which shouldn’t be a problem, since we hunt with spears and arrows here, not guns.”

Scott met her gaze with a glint in his eye. The skin on Clarke’s arms rippled with goose bumps. “I wasn’t talking about shooting animals,” he pronounced coolly. Before Clarke could ask him what he meant, he cocked his head to the side and surveyed her with the same expression that used to make her want to shower as quickly as possible. “So, why didn’t you finish your training?”

“I was Confined before I completed it,” Clarke said flatly, not meeting his eyes.

“Confined? You?” He paused for a moment, then snickered. “Little Miss Perfect, Confined. You know what, though? I don’t mind being treated by a convict. I kinda like knowing that, all that time, there was a bad girl hiding under those scrubs.” He lowered his voice as a woman in an officer’s uniform strode past, talking urgently with a man Clarke vaguely recognized. “I hope you brought those scrubs to Earth. I always liked the way that they made your—”

“You’re all set,” Clarke said with exaggerated cheer as she secured the bandage and gave him an extrahard pat on the wrist, ignoring his grimace of pain. “I’ll see you around.”

Without giving Scott another look, Clarke hurried away, shuddering as if to throw off the weight of his heavy, lingering gaze.