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Silently, carefully, Clarke and Lexa crept through the abandoned hospital. Used syringes and dirty bandages littered the floor. Blood stains were dried in patches on the cracked tile throughout the corridor. They watched their feet, avoiding any pieces of broken glass that would crunch under their boots and alert the dead that they were there.
Clarke’s gun was out, held in front of her in case something shambled into the hall in front of them. Lexa mirrored her stance, a knife in her hands instead of a gun. They didn’t have to communicate with each other as they walked; they had been together long enough to read each other’s movements, each other’s patterns. They were a well-oiled machine, tearing through a bleak landscape of rot and ruin.
When they passed by a room, whoever was on that side of the hall would swing inside, check that the coast was clear and quietly murmur if the supplies they were looking for was in there. The answer had been no for the last few rooms; they had picked up some discarded ammo and some fresh gauze, but they hadn’t found anything else of use.
What they were looking for, they had on good authority, was supposed to be in Ark Memorial Hospital, on the second floor. Lexa had been skeptical that entering the front doors of the hospital would be like freely walking into the maw of a monolithic beast; they would never come out. But they were desperate; another person in their nomadic pod had fallen ill, and Lexa was helpless to stop Clarke from heading blind into whatever heroic quest she could. Lexa could only go along with the ride and hold on tight, having Clarke’s back like she always did.
It was penicillin, the drug they sought. Antibiotics had become scarce since the Plague had swept over the nation, and there any number of others who were scrambling to get their hands on some, ill-intentioned or not. Clarke insisted that they be the first to get the Ark’s stash. Clarke had always been sure that everything would turn out well for those who did good; that all you needed was a pure heart and a steady mind and things would go your way. Lexa had never disagreed with her, not even after the Plague; she was too afraid to crush that innocence of a princess in a fairytale or a crusader for the righteous.
Lexa could hear the far-off groans, the ones that never faded anymore. A constant, dreary soundtrack to their lives. There were thumps, too, and the sound of something heavy sliding across the floor. Every one of Lexa’s muscles were wound up, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. She kept tight to Clarke’s side, to protect her and because having her there, knowing that her body was against Lexa’s, made everything feel possible. She needed that reassurance because she wasn’t sure about this mission, whether it was a gamble or just a flat-out mistake.
Clarke swooped into a room, arms at a 90 degree angle. When she gave a cry, Lexa felt her heart drop and she rushed in. There was no dead in sight, but Clarke was pulling at the doors of a cabinet, the glass windows still intact. It rattled as she let the doors smack back into place. “I see it,” Clarke hissed to Lexa.
Lexa could tell she was right; vials of medicine were lined up like soldiers, sparkling in the light of the sun. “We have to get in there,” Clarke insisted.
“Whatever we do, it’s going to make a lot of noise,” Lexa warned her. The look Clarke gave her told her she didn’t care. This was what they had come for, and now that it was within reach, Clarke wasn’t giving up till the task was finished.
“Maybe there’s a way to break the lock off,” Clarke wondered aloud, tugging on the simple padlock. The cabinet was made of sturdy wood, the kind that didn’t splinter easily. No matter how hard she ripped, the lock wouldn’t come off.
“We have to break the glass,” Clarke decided.
“They’ll hear it,” Lexa said as Clarke reared back, an arm coming up to shield her face as the butt of her gun hit the window in the cupboard door, shattering the only thing standing between them and their goal.
Sound erupted through the room like a bomb: the initial ringing of plastic on glass, followed by the tinkling of shards hitting the ground and bottles knocking up against each other as the depository rocked. Lexa cringed with her whole body, bringing her palms up to cover her ears. Even Clarke looked shocked at how much noise it had made, but it didn’t stop her from grabbing the meds off of the shelf.
“Shouldn’t we be taking all of that medicine?” Lexa blurted, watching the precious vials sit uselessly in their cabinet.
“Shut up and run!” Clarke yanked her by the wrist and then they were running, sprinting back the way they had come, no longer wary of the debris littering their path.
Lexa could hear the moans beginning, like a chain reaction, growing in volume as it ricocheted around them. Lexa’s heart was in her throat, her blood screaming with adrenaline. She pulled her wrist from Clarke’s grasp, only to tangle their hands together.
Suddenly, decaying bodies were spilling from the rooms they passed, a mob on their scent. The dead were faster than one might expect, especially when they were in a cold, dark place like a hospital where the process of decomposition could be slowed, and as they surged forward as one, they pushed the dead at the front even faster.
Lexa could feel herself falling the second her foot hit the overturned IV stand. Her hold on Clarke’s hand was broken and her chest hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Clarke stopped short, looking back in fear. “Clarke!” Lexa screamed, reaching out for her instinctually. Clarke reached for her, too, and then a searing pain shot up Lexa’s leg, a dry mouth chewing mindlessly through skin and tendon.
Lexa whimpered in pain. She could almost feel the disease rushing through her veins. Digging her fingernails into the grout of the tile, she tried to drag herself away from the horde that was quickly falling onto her. “Please, Clarke, please,” she begged.
“I’m sorry,” said Clarke as she turned and ran in the opposite direction, disappearing into the darkness. More dead pounced onto Lexa’s writhing form; red flashed across her vision, and then it was over.
‘GAME OVER’ flashed across her screen in a dripping red font. Lexa’s grip on her controller could have snapped bones. She was momentarily shocked into silence, the sting of betrayal too great. Clarke’s player was still trucking on her screen, dashing down the hospital stairs. No zombie bites for her.
“Unbelievable,” Lexa finally hissed.
She could see Clarke wincing guiltily out of the corner of her eye. “Sorry, babe,” she said, not turning away from her game.
“Sorry? That’s it? I collected so much gear, and now it’s gone! I was almost to level 23!” Lexa dropped her controller into her lap, head falling back in despair.
“I know, but we’ve tried to complete this quest a million times and now we’ve finally done it!” Lexa didn’t turn to look at her, limp with misery. “Okay, okay, listen. After I get the medicine back to base, I’ll come find you at the spawn point and we’ll get all of your supplies back.”
Lexa lifted her head back up, nose scrunching as she saw the words still written on her screen. Clarke paused her game and climbed over to Lexa’s spot on the couch, throwing a leg over Lexa so she was straddling her girlfriend. “Are you really mad?” she asked Lexa as she peppered kisses onto her face.
“Yes,” Lexa deadpanned, dead serious.
Clarke sighed but stretched the waistband of Lexa’s sweatpants, a lecherous grin on her face. “I guess I’ll have to make it up to you, then,” she said, and Lexa had to smile back.