Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter Text
Clarke’s head was pounding once again as she woke up in what had now become a living hell.
She ran her trembling fingers over her forehead, slick and sticky from the blood that was now flowing freely. Her ears were ringing so loudly that her temples throbbed, as if someone was hammering them relentlessly.
She felt a tug on her arm, someone trying to pull her up, but whoever it was clearly hadn’t considered the fact that she was on the verge of losing consciousness again.
“Clarke, can you hear me?” asked the blurry figure in front of her.
Her vision was so blurred that she couldn’t even make out who it was.
“Clarke, we have to go!” the voice insisted, trying to yank her up once more.
Another figure, taller and more robust, appeared beside the one speaking to her. They crouched down, sliding their arms under her shoulders, and finally managed to get her on her feet.
Now, both figures were holding her up as they started to move. Sometimes, Clarke stumbled over her own steps, her worn-out shoes scraping against the rough asphalt as she was half-dragged forward. But despite her weak protests and the nausea threatening to take over, the two refused to stop for anything.
“There! That’s the entrance, hurry!” the figure on her right almost shouted, and at last, Clarke managed to recognize the voice as that of a woman.
They quickened their pace even more, Clarke’s knees barely able to hold her up any longer.
“We’re almost there, just hold on a little longer…”
And just as Clarke was about to protest—because no, she couldn’t stay on her feet any longer—she collapsed onto what felt like a smooth, slippery floor.
She jolted again: this was the third time she’d hit her head on something that day. If she didn’t at least have a concussion by now, she might as well declare herself indestructible.
“What happened to her?” another voice asked as she struggled to turn onto her back.
“You need to get her out of here, her arm—” another voice cut in, overlapping with the others now crowding around her.
“No, you can’t !” someone shouted.
“It’s protocol, Abby. We have to kill her.”
“Please, let me try…” the same woman insisted. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll do it myself.”
There were a few seconds of silence, during which Clarke convinced herself that she had probably blacked out again. But when more hands lifted her, placing her onto what felt unmistakably like a stretcher, she realized she was still awake.
The wheels of the gurney rolled swiftly, and the LED lights lining what seemed to be an endless hallway burned her eyes every time she tried to open them even a little wider.
Meanwhile, the pain in her arm had become unbearable, burning fiercely where she had been wounded by one of those things —or at least, that’s what her mother had been calling them for the past few weeks.
Right after the monstrous creature, with its bloodthirsty eyes yet eerily human-like features, had sunk its teeth into her left forearm, she had felt a faint tingling sensation. It had soon spread throughout her nervous system, sending shivers down her spine—shivers she had desperately hoped were from the cool morning air and not from the infection that was now creeping through her body.
Now, the pain was excruciating, almost unbearable. She could feel the wound throbbing, her body pumping out more adrenaline than it should, so much that she wouldn’t have been surprised if her heart simply gave out.
Delicate hands began stroking her head as soon as they wheeled her into a dimly lit room, where the only source of light shone directly onto a metal table.
It reminded Clarke of a butcher’s slab, and the thought alone sent a wave of panic crashing over her.
"It’s going to be okay."
The figures around her moved frantically, so fast that by the time she realized what was happening, her wrists and ankles had already been strapped to the table. She tried lifting her head, though the pain was still overwhelming—but she couldn’t help it. The blood rushing through her veins was bringing back a sliver of clarity.
Finally, she managed to focus on her mother’s face, just for a second, before she pulled on a surgical mask, blending into the sea of unfamiliar doctors beside her.
To her left, a man was preparing several syringes, likely meant for her.
Clarke locked eyes on him, watching him the entire time, refusing to look away even as he moved dangerously close to her arm.
She began trembling even more, but she couldn’t tell if the relentless shivers were from fear of what they were about to do to her or simply the sickness that had already spread through her body.
The sting of the needle was excruciating, intensifying the burning sensation she had already been feeling. The liquid coursing through her veins felt like molten lava beneath her skin, and the straps holding her down were the only thing keeping her from clawing it off with her own nails.
She screamed so loudly that even her own eardrums ached, and she dug her nails so deep into her palms that blood began to seep from the wounds.
She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness again; it was the only way her body could endure such unbearable pain, assuming she even survived that hellish wound.
Her mother had resumed stroking her head, fingers gliding through her loose hair, the honey-colored tips now tainted with dried blood.
"Everything will be okay, you'll see." she murmured in a gentle tone, one Clarke had never heard her use, not even when she was a child.
"Everything will change from now on… You’ll be special, unique…” Her mother’s voice grew fainter and fainter.
"You will save us all…"
Those were the last words she heard before the pain stole her final breath.
Chapter 2: The thing
Summary:
Hi guys! I swear, I can't wait to finish these damn exams to update more often. I wrote this chapter in one go and in a few days, I double-checked it and I hope there are no mistakes, in case I apologize in advance.
Anyway, quick poll: here on ao3, do you prefer stories with many chapters (even quite long) or stories with few chapters? Because in my opinion if a story is very good I would like it to never end haha, just my personal curiosity, that's all.
If you like, you can also support me on my TikTok profile as an author: @booksandwordssauthor and also on my Wattpad profile: @booksandwordss.
Enjoy the chapter (in the next one there will certainly be more tension and mess lol)
Chapter Text
3 year later
***
“ She calls out to the man on the street… He can see she’s been cryin’...”
“Raven…”
“ She’s got blisters on the soles of her feet… She can’t walk but she’s tryin’...”
“Raven, this is my last warning.” Wells warned her.
His attempts to silence her had the opposite effect, and the girl driving began to sing the refrain at the top of her lungs.
“ Oh, think twice! ‘cause it’s another day for you and me in paradise…”
Wells leaned towards the dashboard of the car turning off the radio completely. “Can you please just, be quiet?!” Wells said.
“I’m the driver so I make the rules.” Raven replied by turning it back on.
“And who would have established this rule?” in response, she turn up the volume of the radio even more.
“Clarke, please, say something!” his protests were mixing with the high notes of Raven, who was trying to drown out her voice even more just to annoy him.
Clarke rolled her eyes and placed the map on her legs.
“Okay, Raven stop singing like you’re in the front row of a concert. Even if we are in the middle of nowhere, it is better not to risk attracting some wandering walker,” then she turned her head to the passenger seat where Wells was sitting. “and you Wells, stop bothering every time we do an activity other than shut up and look around for danger.”
The two immediately stopped talking and turned their eyes back to the road.
Clarke tried to hide a satisfied grin behind the map she had just started studying again.
The evening was slowly starting to fall over the vast sandy stretches of the desert of Nevada. It had been more than two days since they had left Arkadia, winding their way through tortuous secondary roads, hoping not to find the path blocked by some abandoned vehicle or, worse yet, by some horde of walkers. So far, they had been lucky, and had managed to carry out the escape plan they had devised months ago. Their goal was getting closer: reaching the port of Los Angeles and tracking down the captain of cargo ship 657, who would take them to Hawaii to Clarke’s father.
Since the rapid decline of society began and Clarke had found herself forced into the government bunkers in Denver with her mother, there wasn't a day that went by without her father contacting her through the small radio station in his house in Kauai. Unfortunately, he had moved to the island just a few months before the tragedy, but despite all his efforts to try to reach her in Colorado, the airports had closed even before he could try to book a flight.
Although it was impossible for her to respond to the long messages he had left her, he knew that his daughter and ex-wife were alive. Therefore, in the hope that her mother's important government contacts as a researcher would help facilitate a safe passage to California, her father reminded her every week of the instructions on how to get there; how the island where he was stationed was a true earthly paradise; and how he couldn't wait to have her there with him to show her the untouched wonders it held.
“How much longer until we reach Las Vegas?" Wells asked, turning his head slightly towards the back seats.
"I'm not sure." Clarke confessed, turning the road map back around in her hands. It had a large coffee stain that covered almost the entire state of Texas, and by now the paper had yellowed with age, but unfortunately, it was the only one they had found, so she would have to make do with it.
"I think if we drive all day tomorrow with few stops, we can be there by evening."
"Great. Arriving at night in a huge city that's surely crawling with those things. It’ll be fantastic, maybe we’ll even take a trip to Wynn Las Vegas?" Raven joked.
"I usually don't like her tone, but I find myself forced to agree with her." Wells admitted, much to Raven's surprise. "And on top of that, the supplies are running low. Instead of reducing stops, we should increase them. We’ve passed a lot of rest areas along the way, let’s stop at the next one."
Clarke wasn't particularly happy with that decision: the idea of having to wait even more days before crossing the California border made her even more nervous. But a quick glance at the supply backpack confirmed that they were indeed running low.
"We’ll stop at the next one." she repeated Wells’s words, almost as if saying them out loud to convince herself it was a good idea.
A few miles of waiting were enough before a run-down gas station appeared on the horizon. Raven turned onto the dirt road, clouds of dust and red sand rising in large quantities as the vehicle passed, nearly obscuring the view through the windshield. As soon as they got out of the van, the scorching heat of the early afternoon quickly made them sweat. The gas station store was now a dilapidated structure, with broken windows and the entrance door hanging off its hinges. Inside, a thick layer of sand covered the entire floor, and there was a strong smell of decay, like something had gone bad. Despite the apparent disaster, however, the shelves were noticeably less empty than the minimarket they had stepped into a few days earlier. The three of them split up, and Clarke started grabbing as many cans of food as she could fit into her large backpack.
Once she was done, she approached the counter positioned in front of the wall of cigarettes and tobacco. She picked up a pack and turned it over in her hands before slipping it into the back pocket of her shorts. Then she moved towards the liquor section, grabbing an untouched and sealed bottle of tequila.
"Is that really necessary?" Wells asked as soon as she saw her slip it into the backpack.
Raven quickly approached Clarke, her eyes sparkling as soon as she noticed the bottle.
"It may not be necessary for our liver, but right now, it will certainly be good for our souls."
Wells shook his head and rolled his eyes.
Raven ducked under the counter and, like Clarke, grabbed an untouched bottle of Jack Daniel’s to take with her. As soon as Wells’s accusing gaze fell on her again, she shrugged, amused.
"What? Clarke has to bring a gift to her father."
Wells let out a resigned grunt before disappearing again into one of the aisles.
"I'll check the back. There might be medical supplies or weapons."
Clarke announced, heading towards what appeared to be a thick metal door near the entrance, which would lead her to some sort of storage room.
She was surprised to find it unlocked, and with a squeaking sound, she dragged it open, sticking her head into the dark, musty-smelling room. She looked around, and after confirming the area was calm and free of walkers, she pulled a flashlight out of the back pocket of her backpack and began to explore.
The pseudo-storage room was crammed full of junk of every kind, left to rot among the dust and mold. The only useful things she managed to grab were some tape and an unopened box of Tylenol.
Clarke was about to check the last shelf, glad to be able to return to the daylight once she had finished searching the area: this place gave her the creeps.
She reached the middle of the corridor, still having found no additional useful items to take with her, when a light, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps made her snap her head around behind her.
She quickly pointed the flashlight at the sound, hoping she had imagined it. Maybe it was just the others’ footsteps in the other room echoing in here , she thought.
With her heart in her throat, she bounced the light from one corner to the other of the space she was illuminating, letting out a sigh of relief as soon as she realized it had all been a trick of her mind.
She turned the flashlight back in front of her, but barely had time to process who was standing in front of her before she could react.
One of those things was staring her down, its chest puffed out and its broad shoulders making it seem as if it wanted to emphasize all its power.
When they had told her that a zombie apocalypse had begun, Clarke was convinced she would be faced with the classic stereotype of walkers—ragged clothes, vacant stare, and bodies slowly decomposing.
But the walkers were more like a nightmare straight out of hell: with their blood-red scleras and their murderous gaze that could leave you frozen in place.
The experimental drug that had turned them into those beasts had been specifically designed to create the perfect soldier, and in a way, it had succeeded. The things were extremely strong, fast, combative, cunning, with highly developed senses; they didn’t need to sleep, eat, or do any of the physiological actions necessary for any human being. And the most disturbing thing was precisely that: their thirst for blood wasn’t driven by uncontrolled hunger, but rather by some sort of instinct that pushed them to eliminate and tear apart any living creature that wasn’t like them.
The thing in front of her had that usual, seemingly human appearance, but somehow it was capable of making you feel immediately uncomfortable. Like when you see something human that, you can’t even explain how, makes you feel an anxiety and a grim unease.
She didn’t even have time to draw the dagger from her thigh holster before the creature lunged at her, snarling. Its mouth was already covered in dry blood, as were its hands. A chill ran down Clarke’s spine, mixing with the adrenaline from her survival instinct: what if the nauseating smell she had noticed as soon as she entered was that of one of its previous victims?
The walker pushed her to the ground, its face just inches from the creature’s, which gave off a metallic, decaying stench. Clarke let out a scream for help, which seemed to enrage the creature above her even more. She had to use all her strength to shake it off before it could bite her neck.
She quickly got back up, her survival instinct pushing her toward the exit, even though the room was now almost completely dark. She managed to reach the door and open it in a matter of milliseconds, the heavy metal slab that had previously been hard to move now giving way easily.
Just as she was about to cross the threshold and reappear in the store, something grabbed her ankle, and Clarke felt a sharp pain in her calf that began to radiate throughout her leg. Her scream of pain was followed by three gunshots, and moments later, the creature had almost completely loosened its grip.
Clarke looked up as Wells, still holding the gun pointed down, took deep, labored breaths. She lowered the weapon and immediately ran outside, light gagging sounds barely audible over Clarek’s groans as she had shaken off the walker and dragged herself toward the counter.
“Are you okay?!” Raven asked, rushing toward her and quickly inspecting her body for any wounds.
“Oh, God…” she said in an almost imperceptible breath when her gaze reached Clarke’s calf.
She stepped back slightly, as if the sight of her bleeding wound was like receiving a punch to the stomach.
“Don’t worry, she will be okay.” said Wells, as soon as he went back inside, his face still slightly greenish with nausea.
“My God, shut the fuck up for once! How did you–”
“He’s right.” she reassured her without letting her finish the sentence. “Nothing will happen to me.”
“Are you sure?” asked Raven, continuing to look at her worriedly.
“Yeah. Probably the only thing that will remain will be a very unaesthetic scar but... at least I'll survive.” Raven looked at her sideways, as if trying to hide her indignation towards her friend, more concerned about a future scar than about risking turning into a bloodthirsty monster.
“I know what you want to say, I know this whole thing sounds crazy to believe, but my mother and her colleagues have been testing me and filling my body with so many substances for the last three years that I'm sure I'm immune.” She insisted on explaining, while she started rummaging through her bag to find the disinfectant and the bandages.
“And in case I show even a slight desire to bite off your skin, shoot me and then go back and shoot all the Ark researchers as well,” she said with a firm tone.
“because I expect someone to teach them a lesson if my immunity turns out to be false.”
***
They had set off again as soon as Clarke had managed to treat her wound.
Despite the protests from her two friends, who insisted she rest and not strain herself, she ignored them and got into the driver’s seat. The bite from the creature wasn’t deep, fortunately, as Wells had shot it just in time before it could sink its teeth too far into her flesh.
Raven was asleep, the soft sound of her snoring serving as the backdrop to yet another 80s playlist left on low volume.
The song ‘Is This Love?’ by Bob Marley had just started, and Wells began to tap his fingers rhythmically on his knee. He had a smile on his face, so normal and serene, that Clarke managed to forget for a few seconds that she was driving a stolen van through a ruined world, unsure whether she’d survive the next hour.
“How’s your leg? Does it hurt?” he asked for the umpteenth time.
Clarke let out an annoyed sigh. “Wells, it’s fine, really.”
His worried, distant look softened her a little.
“Relax,” she suggested. “Think about the sea, the waves, the crystal-clear beaches we’ll see as soon as we get to Hawaii.”
“God, I can’t wait…” he replied ecstatically. “You know what I’m going to do once we arrive? I’ll be lounging on some rock, soaking up the sun, and then, after lunch with some coconuts, I’ll go surfing.”
Clarke furrowed her brows and let out a light laugh after hearing her friend’s plans.
“You don’t know how to surf.” she reminded him.
“I’ll learn.”
“And you certainly don’t know how to open a coconut.” she added.
“I’ll learn that too.” he replied with a shrug.
“Just make sure you’re careful when you’re under the palms. I’d hate for you to make it to Kauai in one piece only to die from a head injury caused by a falling coconut.” Clarke teased.
“Oh, come on, that’s ridiculous!”
“Not so ridiculous. At least three people die every year because of it.” Clarke continued, trying to hold back a laugh.
“That’s a pretty negligible number, considering how absurdly low it is.” Wells pointed out seriously, but Clarke could see from the corner of her eye that he was trying not to burst out laughing.
“Yeah, but see—” Clarke’s sentence trailed off as she realized that despite pressing the accelerator, the vehicle wasn’t speeding up.
"No, no, no…" Clarke started cursing the moment she realized the van was actually coming to a stop.
"What's wrong with it?" Wells asked, panicked.
"I don’t know, I’m not a mechanic!" she snapped. "Raven?" she called out to her friend.
"What?" she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep as she slowly sat up.
"The van has a problem."
Raven leaned between the front seats, squinting at the vehicle’s controls with a progressively more confused expression.
"There aren’t any warning lights on, everything looks fine." she whispered as panic seemed to creep over her.
"Well, it’s stopping anyway." Wells retorted, fidgeting in his seat.
"Yeah, thanks, genius, I can see that too." she snapped, shooting him a murderous glare.
"Alright, listen. Let’s just get out and check what’s wrong. I’m sure it’ll be a quick fix." Clarke tried to reassure them, turning the wheel to pull over to the side of the road.
"It’s getting dark, wouldn’t it be better to wait until tomorrow?" pointed out Wells.
"No. We need to get to Los Angeles as soon as possible. We can’t stop now." Clarke concluded as the van finally came to a halt.
The three of them exchanged silent glances for a few seconds before grabbing the door handles and stepping outside, the cool evening air offering some relief to their sweaty bodies.
Raven immediately got to work, opening the dashboard and carefully inspecting it, trying to identify the problem as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, Clarke and Wells stood on either side of the vehicle, their bodies tense and eyes sharp, scanning for any imminent threats.
A few minutes passed before Raven let out a frustrated groan and slammed the hood shut with more force than necessary.
"Fuck, now this is a real problem." she muttered, running a hand over her flushed face.
The other two stared at her, concern evident on their faces, silently asking for an explanation without uttering a single word.
"The engine is fine. There’s no mechanical issue." Raven slumped to the ground, her head resting between her bent knees.
"I really don’t know what—" she suddenly seemed to lose her breath, but before Clarke could kneel down to comfort her and ask what was wrong, the brunette let out a sigh of relief.
"God, I’m such an idiot!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and bending over toward one of the rear tires.
Tilting her head slightly toward the other two, she flashed an amused grin.
"I was so worried there was some problem I couldn’t fix that I didn’t even think about the simplest explanation—we just have a flat tire."
At that, both Clarke and Wells let out a relieved breath they hadn’t even realized they were holding.
Raven headed towards the back of the van to search for a spare tire, while Clarke and Wells, more relieved than anything, resumed their watch.
The brunette got to work, while the darkness had descended so heavily on the desert that, if it hadn’t been for the sky full of stars partially illuminating the surroundings, it would have been the end for them.
The problem with walkers was that they could be particularly silent, especially at night, like tigers lurking and waiting for the right moment to pounce on their prey.
“Done.” announced Raven once the job was finished.
The three of them made their way toward the van’s doors to climb back in and get back on the road when a strange shape caught Clarke’s attention, causing her to stop before grabbing the handle.
It wasn’t a walker, that much was certain. It looked like a very large vehicle, probably an SUV, parked a few meters away from them.
“Was that there before we stopped?” Clarke asked, looking for confirmation from her two friends, who immediately turned their gaze toward the direction she was pointing at.
“I have no idea.” Wells replied, narrowing his eyes to try and get a better look at it.
“Probably just one of those old, rusted, abandoned cars.” Raven shrugged, not at all concerned.
Just as she was about to open the door, the sound of a safety catch being released made Clarke’s blood run cold before she could even turn toward Raven.
If there was one thing that terrified her as much as the walkers, it was other human beings. Especially those armed with guns. Clarke turned her face slightly toward her friend, in a slow movement that felt like moving in slow motion.
The figure pointing a gun to Raven's temple was dressed from head to toe, and a black, expressionless mask hid their entire face except for the eye slits.
He was tall, too tall, and although Clarke couldn't make out the expression on his face, it didn't take long for her to realize that he wouldn't hesitate to shoot at the first wrong move.
In a swift motion, the man pressed a cloth between her mouth and nose. Raven tried to break free from his iron grip, but her strength seemed to be waning more and more.
Clarke, after a brief moment of shock, watching her usually combative friend slowly collapsing in the arms of the man holding her hostage, charged toward him like a fury.
She barely had time to draw her knife and raise it toward the imposing figure when an arm wrapped around her neck, pressing something to her face, just as it had happened to Raven a few seconds earlier.
She tried to sink her nails into the thick layer of fabric covering the arm of the figure behind her, but in vain. Her vitality was draining, and her thoughts were sinking into a disconnected swirl of meaningless memories, which only stopped when she finally reached the darkness.
Chapter 3: The Ground
Notes:
Hiii! Yeah, I know what you're thinking, I update the story very little, but I swear it's only because I'm always very busy! But I can say you guys, I'm full of ideas for every chapter of this ff so you have to prepare yourself!
Anyway, enjoy this chapter and if you want I really appreciate your support on my other platforms (:
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Chapter Text
The room emanated a stale, suffocating smell, so oppressive that it made it hard for her to breathe. That feeling of claustrophobia only grew stronger when Clarke finally managed to open her eyes, finding herself in a dark and unfamiliar place. The absence of windows made her breathe in short gasps, and the ropes she assumed were binding her tightly to a creaky metal chair only increased her anxiety.
Among the shadows and the farthest corners of those four walls, any creature or threat could be lurking, ready to attack her, gut her, or maybe, she thought, do something even worse.
She blinked several times, waiting with bated breath, her stomach churning as bile quickly rose in her throat, for her sight to adjust to the darkness.
When her eyes finally began to distinguish the shapes of the first objects in the room, it was suddenly flooded with a white, almost blinding light coming from the heavy metal door that had just been forcefully opened.
The light grew even brighter when a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling was switched on. As soon as the door closed behind the three masked figures that had just appeared in her line of sight, Clarke’s eyes finally found some relief; the dim light of the bulb allowed her to carefully scrutinize who was sitting next to her.
Like Clarke, Raven and Wells had suffered the same fate: their wrists and ankles bound with thick ropes to rusty chairs. They looked as dazed as she did, probably still trying to figure out what they were doing there.
Meanwhile, the hooded figures, dressed head to toe in what appeared to be combat uniforms, had dragged stools directly in front of them.
Only once seated did they remove their heavy balaclavas, finally revealing their identities.
In front of Clarke stood three men with scowling faces, far from friendly. Even the way they sat instilled a certain fear, with their legs spread apart, shoulders back, and hands resting on their knees.
The man in the center seemed to study them for a long time, one by one, as if he were trying to read their thoughts. When he once again set his eyes on Clarke, he held his gaze on her for a long time, and she almost felt as though his expression softened slightly.
“I imagine you’re wondering why you’re here.” The man spoke with a confident voice, showing not even the slightest hint of nervousness.
The chair to Clarke’s right creaked, producing an annoying sound.
“Oh, I’d say that’s just one of the thousand questions I’d like to ask you if I didn’t think about how much I’d love to smash this damned chair over your head.” Raven’s voice was loud and piercing, the words slightly slurred due to the effects of the drug she had sniffed a few hours earlier.
Her complexion was starting to return to normal, and she seemed to finally realize what was around her.
Raven glanced at Clarke and Wells, letting out a barely noticeable sigh of relief when she saw that they were both okay. She quickly looked back at the man in front of Clarke, but as soon as her gaze landed on the man to her right, she opened her mouth in an expression of pure surprise and confusion.
“Bellamy Blake,” she exclaimed, her voice puzzled. “We haven’t seen each other in at least...”
"Shut up." he ordered in a harsh tone before she could finish her sentence.
There was a brief moment of silence before Clarke couldn’t hold back from whispering to her friend, “Do you know him?”
“What I said wasn’t directed at just her,” the guy named Bellamy spoke again, nodding his head to indicate Raven. “You should keep quiet too.” he said, addressing Clarke while looking her up and down, as if trying to instill even more fear in her.
“Blake, calm down.” the man with long hair and a sharp gaze chided him playfully. “You’ll have to excuse him, he’s in a bad mood today.”
In response, Bellamy let out a grunt of disapproval, but he did what the man—who was presumably his superior—told him to do and fell silent.
“Well, since we’ve already started with the introductions, then…” the man began speaking again. “I’m Roan, he’s Lincoln,” he said, pointing to himself and then to the rather silent man on his left; finally, he turned his gaze back to the man on his right. “As for him, I don’t think any explanation is needed.”
Clarke found herself studying Bellamy for a few seconds, initially trying to figure out if she had ever seen him before to understand how he might be connected to Raven. But when she realized she had never crossed paths with this man in her life, she began to examine his features: dark hair as black as night, tanned skin, and a face slightly disfigured by some wounds that were still trying to heal.
Despite his particularly sour demeanor, she couldn’t deny he was attractive; but that constant scowl and his eyes filled with resentment only made her want to punch him straight in the face.
"Can we only know where we are and, above all, what do you want from us?" Wells asked in a voice that was almost desperate, as if he were on the verge of breaking down any moment if he didn't get immediate answers.
"You’re at The Ground," Roan replied. Seeing the confusion of the three prisoners before him, he continued his explanation. "We renamed it this way, but originally it was one of the many prisons near Las Vegas."
"So let me get this straight, you guys are guards from this prison who stayed here because..." began Wells.
"Oh no," Roan immediately interrupted. "We were the criminals. We’re the ones who now govern this place. But we don’t define ourselves as such. Honestly, since this sort of apocalypse began, almost everyone has committed monstrous and inhuman actions, probably even worse than the crimes we were once condemned for."
"And what happened to the guards?"
"What do you think?" Bellamy asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow.
Wells tried to untangle the knot in his throat by swallowing loudly.
"And how do you manage to support yourselves? I mean, you’ll need food, water..." Clarke started.
"There's an oasis nearby," explained the man named Lilcoln, who until that moment had remained silent and still. Despite his threatening appearance, his voice had a calm and comforting tone. "We’ve made it a safe zone, accessible only to the exploration teams. Sometimes we hunt animals that are around there, but often we go on reconnaissance for a few days to farther areas, and sometimes even to cities, to gather supplies like gas, canned food, and, if we’re lucky, medicine."
"And how many of you are there?" Clarke found herself asking, pushed by the man's mellifluous tone.
"At the moment? 100," he replied.
"A bit few for a prison," Raven pointed out.
It was strange , Clarke thought, even the smallest prisons usually had at least 200 prisoners.
"Well, originally there were about 400 of us. But between this and that, you know... failed missions, people losing their minds and running away, public executions—"
"What?!" Wells exclaimed before Roan could finish the sentence.
"How do you think we can enforce the law here if not with an iron fist?" Bellamy interjected with an amused look, as though Wells’s reaction had been terribly exaggerated.
"Okay, enough talking about us. Now it's your turn to answer. Let's start with you." said Roan, pointing a finger at Raven.
"I’ll tell you," Bellamy began. "Graduated from a public school in Denver. While she was studying, she helped her parents in their family mechanic shop and continued doing so even after graduating."
Clarke was surprised to learn that Bellamy knew such private details about Raven's life, and it only increased her curiosity about how they had met.
"Great. An experienced mechanic is definitely useful. The group of idiots wandering around here who pretend to be mechanics can barely change a tire," pointed out Roan.
"Can you shoot? Use firearms or knives?" Bellamy asked her.
Raven shrugged, as if that information was nothing more than nonsense that was simply boring her. "I can hold a gun and I know how to shoot. But don't ask me to actually do it."
Bellamy rolled his eyes, then looked in Wells's direction.
"You," he pointed at him. "Let's hear what you can do," he ordered, settling back into his chair with his arms crossed.
Wells seemed to have calmed down, and the tone that came out of him was composed and free of the nervousness from just a few minutes ago.
"I graduated in biochemistry and I managed to attend only one year of medical school in Denver before all the... mess." Wells's tone became melancholic, as if remembering a life he could no longer live made him sink into sadness.
"And you, sweetheart?" Roan addressed her with an amused grin. "High school, college, any special skills I should know about?"
Clarke tried to swallow the lump in her throat as all the eyes in the room started to turn toward her.
"Well, I attended a private school in Denver," Clarke began to explain. "And then I went to art academy and got a degree in... art."
"Cool, so just to recap, we have a half-doctor, a mechanic, and a painter who could repaint the walls of my room." Bellamy listed off dismissively.
Clarke flinched at the mocking tone he had used, aimed at undermining her self-esteem.
"Can you at least hold a gun?" Bellamy asked as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs, his face coming closer to hers with a threatening look.
Clarke held his gaze. She certainly didn’t want to provoke him, but she also didn’t want to be ridiculed like that.
"No." she answered, her voice firmer than she expected.
Bellamy flashed a satisfied grin, as if he had already known the answer Clarke was going to give and had prepared himself to attack her again.
But before he could even speak, Roan interrupted him.
"Come on, Blake, let her breathe!" he said, his sentence followed by a deep laugh as he gave him a friendly pat on the back.
"I say we keep these two," he continued, giving a slight nod toward Raven and Wells. "And throw the princess back out."
Roan stared at him darkly, this time no amused look creasing his face.
"Oh come on, that’s what you think too deep down! What good is she?"
"None of you will lay a finger on her." Roan snapped, his words sharp, making the room fall silent. His clenched teeth had made even Bellamy fall into line. "You know, I’ve seen your scar. And the wound that’s already healing on your leg," he said, focusing all his attention on her. "You’re the first person I’ve met since this hell started who’s immune to those beasts."
"Just because most of us have never been bitten—"
"I've been in contact for over two years with other prisons all over the United States Blake." Roan interrupted, irritated. "I can assure you that everyone who was bitten turned into bloodthirsty killing monsters. From the first to the last."
"Now tell me, Griffin, do you know what causes your immunity?"
"So, it's just that I was bitten a week after the infection started spreading. I got sick, I passed out, and then I woke up with just a bad wound on my arm." she lied.
"No rage, increased energy, extreme hunger, fever, nausea, hallucinations...?" Roan began listing all the known symptoms of the disease.
Clarke shook her head.
"The fact remains that you were bitten." Bellamy insisted, glaring at her again, as if she could turn into one of those monstrous creatures at any moment. "The 48-hour quarantine hasn’t passed yet. Even if you haven’t shown any of the symptoms, you can forget about wandering around freely like nothing happened."
"So what do you propose?" asked Lincoln.
"Isolation. Until tomorrow evening." Bellamy’s statement sounded more like an order than a suggestion.
"Oh, but this is ridiculous! She’s immune, there’s no need to make such a fuss." Raven intervened, defending her friend.
"I don’t think you’re in a position to make decisions." Bellamy reminded her in a mocking tone.
"Does your sister know you’ve become a real son of—"
"Okay, stop!" Roan cut off the avalanche of insults that Raven was about to throw at Bellamy.
"But let’s get to the most important question," Roan began, this time addressing all three of them. "How did you survive the last three years?"
The three friends didn’t know how to answer, or rather, they didn’t know who should speak to give the best version-lie of their past years in the Ark. If they let slip the fact that there was an experimental serum capable of making some lucky subjects immune to the walkers’ bites, they would start asking too many questions for which they didn’t have answers.
If they had told them that Clarke’s blood was so precious that it could be used as an antidote to prevent the transformation into a zombie, they surely would never have let her go.
And especially if they had found out that Clarke’s mother and Wells’s father were some of the main creators of the drug that led to all this huge mess, they would certainly have killed them, if not worse.
At the silence of the others, Raven gathered his strength and decided to answer for everyone.
"We lived in a military base where we took refuge shortly after the first walkers invaded the city. Clarke’s mother and Wells’s father are doctors, so they were welcomed right away."
"And your parents?" Bellamy asked, this time with a new tone, almost concerned.
Raven shrugged, a gesture she often made when something was mentioned that still hurt her but she wanted to appear strong. "Dead."
"I'm sorry." Bellamy simply said, lowering his head in a sign of respect.
Raven looked away from the man who, until a few seconds ago, Clarke believed was incapable of even the slightest tact or empathy.
"If you were in a safe base, why did you decide to wander aimlessly across the United States?" Roan asked after the situation had become a bit less tense.
This time, it was Clarke who decided to speak. "My father had moved a few months ago near Los Angeles. He sent me signals via radio from a safe zone where he had found refuge. For about three months now, the communications have stopped, and I haven’t heard from him. So, I wanted to check for myself if he was okay."
She invented this, hoping her lie wouldn’t fall apart. After all, she hadn’t lied completely: the messages from her father really had stopped about some months ago; but her suspicions were more directed toward a possible communication blackout from the secret base in Denver where she was stationed rather than the possible death of her father.
"And these two followed you without hesitation, leaving friends and family and risking their own safety?" Roan asked suspiciously.
“We’ve known each other for years. I know Clarke would do the same for me.” Wells gave a somewhat sappy answer, but Clarke was aware that it came from the deep affection her friend had for her.
“This is all very touching, but I find it hard to believe a single word of what you’ve said.” Bellamy immediately called them out.
Fortunately, though, Roan and Lincoln had had enough of questioning them, so they stood up to leave.
“Lincoln, we’ll take care of Wells and Raven. For now, we can’t trust you, so you won’t be assigned a room yet, but you’ll temporarily be placed in the cells.” Roan began with his directives.
As soon as Raven’s ropes were untied, he had to rush toward her to prevent her from running away, given her agitation when she realized she would be thrown into a cage for who knows how long.
“Blake, since it was your idea, you’ll take Clarke to isolation.” Roan concluded.
Bellamy flashed her a grin that was anything but friendly as he quickly moved behind his chair to untie the ropes.
She barely had time to stretch her sore neck and rotate her wrists, which had been tied for too long, before Bellamy drew the gun from his holster and pointed it at her.
With a quick motion of the barrel, he signaled for her to move toward the exit, then guided her down the opposite corridor from where her two friends had gone.
A shiver ran down Clarke’s spine as the gun continued to press against her back.
"Is this really necessary?" she asked with a sigh, trying not to let all her concern show.
"Try to see it in a positive way. If you transform I will kill you quickly and painlessly."
"Reassuring." Clarke whispered, rolling her eyes.
She took advantage of the moment of silence and the long walk down the corridor to look around. They were on the second floor, and beyond the railing, she could make out floors with identical corridors and equally lined doors, one next to the other.
A lot of noise came from the ground floor: it was probably a cafeteria or a large common room open to everyone.
"How long will you keep us in cells before you make us live as normal people and not prisoners?" Clarke asked to break the ice and hope to get at least a polite answer from the man next to her.
No response was received.
Clarke therefore decided to change her question.
"How do you know Raven?"
Silence again.
"Is being an asshole so good a natural gift or have you learned it over time?" asked Clarke impatiently.
"I've learned it over time, but with those like you I do it well without my effort." he countered in a harsh tone.
"And what would that mean?"
"It means that without even asking you, I'm sure you're the classic spoiled girl from a good family to whom your parents never said no. Unable to see beyond her own nose and unaware of endangering others with her selfish decisions." he began as soon as they arrived in front of an armored metal door. "I bet even at that base in Denver they treated you with velvet gloves, but you've still managed to get enough of your privileges and involve what you call your best friends in a deadly mission."
"I didn't involve anyone, you idiot. It was their choice." the blonde immediately clarified while Bellamy ordered her to go through the door once it was opened.
"She said the only one of the group who was immune and had a better chance of surviving." His comment was accompanied by an annoying giggle.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Are you sure? Because it already seems like I know everything.” he concluded, slamming the door of the cell behind him, without even looking at her before leaving the room.
Clarke was left alone, tormented by her thoughts and the guilt that, in some way, Bellamy had made her feel.
What if he was right? What if she really was selfish?
Author_In_Silver_Ink on Chapter 2 Sat 08 Mar 2025 09:36PM UTC
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Author_In_Silver_Ink on Chapter 3 Tue 11 Mar 2025 12:05PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 11 Mar 2025 12:06PM UTC
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