The 100

21 Clarke

The tension in the infirmary tent was so thick, Clarke could practically feel it pressing against her chest when she breathed.

She hovered wordlessly at Thalia’s side, trying in vain to battle the infection that had already claimed her kidneys and seemed hell-bent on taking her liver next, seething in silent fury at Octavia’s selfishness. How could she sit there, watching Thalia slip in and out of consciousness, and not return the stolen medicine?

But then she glanced over to the corner, where Octavia lay curled up. The sight of her round cheeks and thick lashes made her look painfully young, and Clarke’s anger was replaced by doubt and guilt. Maybe Octavia hadn’t done it. But if not, who had?

Her eyes lowered to the bracelet that encased her wrist. If Thalia could just hold on until the next wave of colonists arrived, she’d be okay. But there was no knowing when that would be. The Council would wait until they had conclusive data on the radiation levels, regardless of what was happening on Earth.

Thalia’s death, she knew, would matter as little to the Council as Lilly’s had. Orphans and criminals didn’t count.

As she watched Thalia’s labored breathing, Clarke felt a surge of white-hot fury. She refused to sit here and just wait for her friend to die. Hadn’t humans cured illnesses for millennia before the discovery of penicillin? There had to be something in the woods that fought infection. She tried to remember what little she’d learned about plants in Biology of Earth class. Who knew if those plants were even around anymore—everything seemed tnt siess, o have evolved strangely after the Cataclysm. But she had to at least try.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered to her sleeping friend. Without a word to the Arcadian boy standing guard outside, Clarke hurried out of the infirmary and began to walk toward the trees, not bothering to grab anything from the supply tent lest she attract any unwanted attention. But she didn’t manage to go more than ten meters without a familiar voice scratching at her eardrums.

“Where are you going?” Wells asked as he fell in step next to her.

“Looking for medicinal plants.” She was too tired to lie to Wells, and it didn’t matter anyway; he always saw through her lies. Somehow, the self-righteousness that blinded him to the most glaring truths didn’t prevent him from reading the secrets in her eyes.

“I’ll come with you.

” “I’m fine on my own, thanks,” Clarke said, increasing her pace, as if that could possibly deter the boy who’d traveled across the solar system to be with her. “You stay here in case they need someone to lead an angry mob.”

“You’re right. Things got a little out of hand last night,” he said with a frown. “I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen to Octavia. I only wanted to help. I know you need that medicine for Thalia.”

“You only wanted to help. I’ve heard that one before.” Clarke whipped around to face Wells. She didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with his need for redemption right now. “Guess what, Wells. Someone ended up Confined this time too.”

Wells stopped in his tracks, and Clarke jerked her head away, unable to look at the hurt in his eyes. But she refused to let him make her feel guilty. Nothing she could say to him could begin to approximate the pain he’d caused her.

Clarke stared straight ahead as she strode into the trees, still half expecting to hear the thud of footsteps behind her. But this time there was only silence. By the time she reached the creek, the fury Clarke had carried into the woods had been replaced by despair. The scientist in her was mortified by her own naïveté. It was foolish to think that she would somehow recognize a plant from a class she’d taken six years ago, let alone that it would even look the same after all this time. But she refused to turn back, restrained partly by her own stubborn pride and partly by a desire to avoid Wells for as long as possible.

It was too chilly to wade through the water, so she climbed up the slope and walked along the ridge to cross over to the other side. This was the farthest she’d ever been from camp, and it felt different out here; the air even tasted somehow different than it did closer to the clearing. She closed her eyes, hoping that it would help her identify the strange swirl of scents that she had no words to describe. It was like trying to recall a memory that hadn’t been hers to begin with.

The ground was flatter here than she’d seen elsewhere in the woods. Up ahead, the gap between the trees grew even wider, and the trees themselves seemed to part into straight lines on either side, as if they could sense Clarke’s presence and had stood aside to let her pass.

Clarke started to pull a star-shaped leaf from a tree, then froze as a glint of light caught her eye. Something nestled in between two enormous trees was reflecting the fading sunlight.

She sihis took another step forward, her heart racing.

It was a window.

Clarke began walking toward it slowly, feeling as though she were moving through one of her own dreams. The window was framed by two trees, which must have grown out of the ruins of the structure, whatever it had been. But the glass wasn’t clear. As she got closer, she saw that the window was actually made from different pieces of colored glass that had been arranged to create an image, although there were too many cracks to tell what it had once been.

She reached forward and gently brushed her finger against the glass, shivering as the cold seeped into her fingers. It was like touching a corpse. For a moment, she found herself wishing Wells was with her. No matter how angry she was with him, she’d never deprive him of the chance to see one of the ruins he’d spent his whole life dreaming about.

She turned and walked around one of the large trees. There was another window, but this one had been smashed, sharp fragments of glass glittering on the ground. Clarke stepped forward and crouched down to peer inside. The jagged opening was almost large enough to crawl through. The sun was only beginning to set, and the orange rays seemed to shine right into the opening, revealing what looked like a wooden floor. Every instinct in Clarke’s brain was shouting at her to keep away, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

Taking care not to let her skin touch the glass, Clarke reached her arm through the opening of the window and brushed her hand against the wood. Nothing happened. She clenched her fingers into a fist and rapped on it, coughing as a cloud of dust rose into the air. It felt solid. She paused, considering. The building had survived this long. Surely the floor would be able to hold her weight.

Carefully, she slid one leg through the opening, then the other. She held her breath, but nothing happened.

When she looked up and around her, Clarke sucked in her breath.

The walls soared on all sides, converging in a point many meters above her head, higher than even the roof above the solar fields. It wasn’t as dark as she’d expected. There were windows along the other wall that she hadn’t been able to see. These were made of clear glass, but they weren’t broken. Beams of sunlight shone through, illuminating millions of dust particles dancing through the air.

Clark rose slowly to her feet. There was a railing up ahead that ran parallel to the floor at about waist height. She took a few hesitant steps toward it and gasped, startling herself again as the sound echoed far above her head.

She was standing on a balcony overlooking an enormous open space. It was almost completely dark, probably because most of the building was now underground, but she could just make out the outline of benches. She didn’t dare venture any closer to the edge for a better look, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, more shapes sharpened into focus.

Bodies.

At first she thought she’d only imagined it, that her mind was using the shadows to play tricks on her. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to be such a fool. But when she turned back, the shapes were the same.

Two skeletons were draped over one of the benches, and another, smaller one lay at their feet. Although there was no knowing whether the bones had been disturbed, from what she could tell, these people had died huddled together. Had they been trying to keep warm as the skies darkened and nuclear winter set in? How many people had been left at that point?

Clarke took another small step forward, but this time, the wood creaked dangerously. She froze and started to inch her way back. But a loud crack sang out through the silence, and with a sudden lurch, the floor fell out from underneath her.

She waved her hands wildly, grabbing hold of the balconyedge as the railing and floor tumbled through the air. Her legs dangled over a vast, open space as the pieces landed with a thud on the stone far below.

She screamed, a loud, wordless cry that rose up toward the ceiling and then faded away, joining the ghosts of whatever other screams still lingered in the dust. Her fingers started to slide.

“Help!” Using every ounce of strength in her body, she tried to pull herself up, her arms shaking with the effort, but her grip was failing. She started to scream again, but there was no more air left in her lungs, and the word died on her lips before she realized it had been Wells’s name.