The 99

Chapter Twenty Three: Clarke

This was the hardest chapter. Oh my gosh. It was hard because it includes a lot of the original dialogue from The Calm (episode 11) with my own twist of events. Sorry, I was busy working on my own novel and procrastinating over this one. I think it'll have about four more chapters but dang, this could actually go on for a whole other book. But I'm not doing that. I still have to edit this so please ignore the mistakes. Oh, and I screamed during all of that second episode. Bellarke is happening, Guys. It's on its way.

Her mother wasn't there.

Clarke surveyed the broken room, her heart hitching in her chest as she turned in a slow circle, eyes cast to the floor. Unconscious figures lay around her and her eyes searched their faces, wet with sweat and tracked through with grime, but none were Abby. Earth Monitoring was small and it took only a moment for Clarke to come to terms with the fact hat her mother wasn't among them.

Clarke's chest throbbed, but she swallowed the fear and turned her focus on the people that needed it.

"I can't get a pulse!" someone screamed. Clarke whipped around. It was the guy who had been speaking to Kane earlier, broad-shouldered and sandy-haired. He was stooped beside an unresponsive man, skin a deep russet color, his face covered with a mask.

Clarke's medical instincts kicked in and she dropped to her knees beside the both of them. "Move," she ordered, and the guy's brown eyes met hers. She clasped her hands together and pressed them over the man's chest, beginning compressions. Clarke counted down the seconds. She'd seen enough people die today and was ready to blow into the man's mouth when his eyes suddenly flew open.

He coughed, gripping onto the mask and swallowing lungfuls of air.

Clarke sat back, her own breath heavy. She glanced down at her hands, still stained with flecks of blood from earlier. She'd just saved a man's life with the blood of someone else on her hands. "You're okay."

She shook that thought out before it could become too deeply rooted, looking back at the guy sitting on the man's other side. He was gazing at her with a look of approval, upper lip lined in stubble. "Impressive, Griffin."

Clarke raised an eyebrow, ignoring the surge of guilt that shot through her at the praise. "You know who I am?"

He scoffed, much too lightheartedly for the lethal situation they were in. "Kind of hard to ignore the poster girl calling Doomsday. Or, Doomsday Part Two. I'm Wick."

Clarke smirked, "Remind me to shake your hand later," she said, helping the man lying on the ground into a sitting position. She looked pointedly into his face. "You're going to be all right," she told him. You're okay. "We're getting you guys out of here."

"Or, to be more accurate," Wick interjected, "We're sort of hoping your guys will help us all get out of here."

Clarke cast him a warning look, before asking the oxygen-deprived man his name. His breath fogged the mask and he pulled it off long enough to talk. "Sinclair," he wheezed, dark eyes looking back and forth between her's and Wick's. "Now hurry and tell me, how're the other Stations?"

Clarke pursed her lips, looking over at Wick, who faltered for the first time. "I'm not gonna lie," he mumbled with a shrug, "they're in bad shape. We have electrical fires and a few Stations without oxygen. Power's out in all of them, as far as I can tell. But it could be worse. We could be dead."

The man pulled off the mask again. "That's bad."

"Which is why keeping you alive is relatively important."

"And the Chancellor?"

Clarke looked over the room, eyes landing on Bellamy who was staring at someone supine on the floor. Jaha.