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It had happened so fast. She had shot up from her sleeping pad in the rover, awakened by a loud rumble from the direction of the camp. “Stay here,” she’d hissed at Madi as she threw on her jacket and snuck out the rear doors, rifle in hand, closing them quietly behind her. The glow of fire had lit up the forest from the clearing a quarter mile away. She had run towards it. Deer and rabbits and birds had all run past her, fleeing in the opposite direction.
She’d spotted Bellamy, blessedly whole, pulling Harper from beneath a pile of burning wood that had just been a house. She’d rushed to help. It hadn’t been a missile, he’d yelled over the sounds of people screaming nearby. Just a bomb. And there were no signs of the Eligius inmates, at least not yet. She’d nodded and checked Harper for breath and a pulse, scanning Bellamy feverishly for any sign of injury as she did so, then run around the back of the building in search of more survivors. Monty had been lying ten feet from the flaming rubble and mumbled McCreary’s name. “McCreary... bomb.... gun...”
And then she’d heard the faint echoes of high, distant screams.
She’d taken off running. She’d heard someone crashing through the underbrush just behind her, and when she’d whirled around, one hand swinging the gun down from where it was strapped across her back, Bellamy’s hand had appeared to knock the barrel aside and push her forward, wordlessly prompting her to keep running, and then following right behind her. There was molten steel in his eyes.
And now they were standing, chests heaving, before the rover. The rear doors were ajar. Madi’s blue sleeping bag was torn, half hanging from the rear fender and dangling to brush the ground. Clarke’s blood turned to ice. She stood frozen for only a moment, and then she ran around the front and sides of the truck, searching frantically for any further sign of a struggle. In the dark she couldn't see any bullet holes, but it didn’t do much to calm the swell of fear in her chest.
“Madi!” the scream escaped her ragged and broken, echoing in the surrounding forest. Her head pounded and she felt tears spilling from her eyes. The next scream came on the edge of a sob.
“MADI!”
Bellamy had his rifle raised, searching the woods, when she staggered back around to where he stood. He was scanning back and forth through the trees repeatedly. He hadn’t spotted anything. If he had he’d have called out. Clarke felt the panic gathering in her throat. It was like a balloon was inflating inside her windpipe, leaving less and less room for air to reach her lungs.
She reached out for something to steady herself. Her hand landed on a mug just within the trunk. They’d made tea before bed last night. Through a growing haze in her vision, she saw the chipped ceramic shake as she picked it up. No. No, it wasn’t the mug shaking. It was her hand.
Her whole body was vibrating with panic and rage. Her breaths came in shallow bursts before falling back out again. There was no more room inside her for air. They had taken Madi.
Eligius had planted a bomb in Wonkru camp. They had lured Clarke away from the rover and then snuck in, to where Clarke had
told her to stay
, and dragged Madi from her sleeping bag. From her cold mug of tea.
They had Madi.
Madi was gone.
The mug smashed against a tree in the same instant Clarke realized she’d thrown it. She was gasping now, and her tears fell into her mouth, drowning her. She choked on them.
“Clarke, she’s gonna be okay.”
She’d forgotten that Bellamy was here. She whipped around too quickly and the world spun off its axis beneath her. A strong hand grasped her elbow, and he spoke again from just above her. “I got you. Hey. I got you.” The ground leveled out. She felt her legs - she was still standing. She looked up at him, but she could barely see his face. Her vision was still blurry. He was dark eyes and dark hair, too close. They didn’t do close, not now.
“Hey. Clarke,” his voiced reached her as if through a long tunnel. She still couldn’t breathe.
His hand moved to the back of her head. His fingers nestled firmly in her hair, and the weight of his hand tilted her head forward to rest against his. She felt a vague secondary wave of panic, somewhere small and separate. This was too much. They’d talked about this. She sucked in a few more tears between her lips.
Bellamy’s eyes were close enough now to be clear. She clung to the sight of them, her only focal point. Her vision wobbled a little less.
“Clarke, breathe.” She could feel his words. They resounded against her skull where their foreheads met. They bounced off of her face where his breath hit her. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling.
“Breathe.”
She could feel his own breathing in the way the gentle pressure of his hand shifted against the back of her head, and the way his head moved slightly up and down against hers. The obstacle in her throat started to shrink.
Clarke opened her eyes. She was gazing at their boots on the forest floor. The tide of her rage was receding, and she realized that the tip of his pinky finger was rubbing circles into the nape of her neck. They couldn’t be this. She’d told him.
She pulled away. His hand slipped down to where her neck met her shoulder - his eyes had been closed, too, but they snapped open to meet her gaze now. Worry mixed with determination.
“You good?” he asked, searching her eyes.
She was breathing again. She nodded, and stepped back, his hand finally falling away. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“We have to get her back.”
His other hand was still holding his rifle down at his side. She wasn’t sure how much time had just passed. It couldn’t have been long. Bellamy nodded and the hand on the gun tightened, the other balling into a fist. “We will.”