Chapter Text
The Ark was falling.
They knew this would happen eventually; the Ark was dying, they didn’t have time. But it was a week before they were supposed to leave and something had gone wrong, and now the passengers seemed only able to panic.
Funny how the ground, the dream, could turn so easily into a nightmare.
Abby Griffin clutched her daughter – innocent little Clarke, barely two years old – to her chest as she fruitlessly tried to dull the chaos around them. The girl had her arms around Abby’s neck, and even though she didn’t know what was happening, she was still sobbing. It must’ve been the screaming—so much screaming, it sliced at Abby like knives. The overwhelming sensation made her feel as if she were drowning, but it was also the only thing that kept her fragile heart beating, so she used it as fuel.
“Sh, Clarke, you’re okay,” she cooed to the small blonde. It brought a moment of comfort to the child’s face, but it was fleeting. Happiness didn’t last long here.
Abby turned her attention to calming the passengers while a thought pounded in the back of her brain like a second heartbeat. Where’s Jake? She had told him to meet her in med bay, but she’d already passed it and he hadn’t been there. It’s fine, Abby, it’s fine. He’s just preparing everyone, like you are. Calm down. There’s no reason to add to the hysteria.
Thelonius’ voice came over the speaker, and when she glanced at a nearby screen she saw his face as well. It was tight and only thinly veiled by an aura of calm. “Everyone, please, remain calm. We’re having some difficulties, but they will be sorted out shortly. In the meantime, act as if this was the scheduled day for departure; get to a safe place, protect your head, and stay with family. We will—”
The transmission cut abruptly, leaving everyone in the hall with only the eerie crackling of static. Of course, the pandemonium only intensified, and Abby’s efforts only sapped her already deteriorating energy; finally, she knew there was nothing more she could do, as much as it pained her. If she didn’t get strapped down soon, she and her child wouldn’t make it to the ground. So she found a safe place, enveloped Clarke in her arms, and whispered to her quietly as their home tumbled through the atmosphere.
There was pain, and then blackness.
-
Abby woke to moaning and embers of pain all over her body. She clutched at her head, which was bleeding, and quickly checked over Clarke, who had miraculously stayed in her embrace. She appeared mostly unharmed, though certainly dazed and frightened. “Oh, thank goodness,” she murmured, and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.
Once she was certain of Clarke’s safety, Abby scanned to see how the others were doing. The light was dim, and she mostly could see from the sparks coming around her, which wasn’t comforting. Bodies lay around her; she couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead.
“Is everyone okay?” she called into the darkness, knowing there would be few replies. Some muffled replies came, saying I’m fine, or What happened, or Please help. She crawled around, careful not to step on bodies or anything sparking, and did what she could for the people alive. The dead she left; there was nothing she could do for them now.
At some point Marcus Kane came upon her, surprisingly unharmed, and she enlisted him with the other healthy people to take the injured to a safer area. The thought occurred to her that if their fleeting hope was wrong and the Earth was still toxic, they would all be dead anyway.
She shoved the thought away aggressively and did all she could do—keep moving.
Abby ducked beneath a twisted piece of metal that was once a roof and entered what once was the room for dances and festivities. Now, it was teeming elbow-to-elbow with injured patients and the people attending to them. The smell hit her hard – blood and fluid and burnt flesh all pressed together into the small area – and even with all her medical experience, Abby had to work not to gag. With one arm she propped a distressed Clarke up on her hip (she didn’t like the idea of her daughter wandering around or left with a stranger), and with the other she clutched the additional bandages and medical supplies she’d retrieved from the med bay. Mercifully, most of the provisions there had been preserved, and they were doing a heap of good.
“Jackson, can you grab these?” she asked as she came up to one of her fellow medical apprentices (the youngest one), who was examining a young woman with blood caked on her face and matted in her dark hair. He turned and nodded, gathering the supplies into his own arms.
“You know, Abby,” he said just as she turned to go again, “you and Clarke need to be examined, too.”
“I checked Clarke already,” she said wearily, though secretly she was nervous Clarke had acquired some devastating injury she couldn’t see, “and I’m perfectly fine.”
“The blood on your head seems to tell me otherwise. Come on, it’ll just take a second; plenty of people are gathering materials, and you’ve only got one hand available to help anyway.” Without allowing her to argue further, Jackson forced her into a sitting position and checked her vitals. In a bag slung around his shoulder, he had stuffed different medical supplies, and he took them out one by one as he looked Abby over, cleaned the blood from her wound – “It’s not bad, but still be careful” – and bandaged it up best he could. Then, he looked over Clarke.
“Nothing I can see,” he said, “and no signs of internal bleeding or anything from what I can tell. Clarke, honey, do you feel all right?”
Clarke mumbled, “My head....” and touched her hands to her temples.
“We’ll make it better, all right?” he said gently. Then he lifted his face to Abby. “She might have a concussion, though it’s hard to identify her symptoms with all this going on around. I’d say you should stay here with her, but I know you are needed elsewhere, so I think she should stay here with me.”
“What? No, I need to keep her with me,” Abby said stubbornly.
“Abby,” Jackson sighed, “I know you want to keep her safe, but people could die if they’re not treated, and you’re one of the best we’ve got. She’ll be okay in my care anyway; I’m just watching over the minor injuries.”
Slowly, Abby nodded, though she hated the idea of not watching over her daughter. What if something happened? But Jackson was right; though they had already done what they could for those with serious injuries, there was always more to do. So she hugged Clarke briefly, told her, “I’ll be back in a bit,” and stepped over weak, moaning bodies to find the next person to aid.
There were more survivors than she expected, but still a miniscule percentage of the original population, and a chunk of those people were small children, some no older than Clarke. They would need lots of care to survive, and there were now far too few adults to offer that protection.
How many orphans have been made today?
This made her think again of Jake, whom she still had not seen. She tried to ignore it, telling herself he was just helping others like she was and their paths simply had not crossed yet, but it was a weak hope and she knew it. Still, how could she simply accept her husband was dead, especially with a child they were going to raise, people they needed to help?
“Abigail,” a voice called from behind her, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
She wiped her brow with her elbow – her gloved hands were filthy – and turned her head. It was Kane, who was standing with his hands behind his back. He looked unusually regal, she thought, almost like a chancellor. “Yes, yes, sure,” she said distractedly, and stood to face him, pulling off the gloves. “What is it?”
He swallowed slowly. “I found Jake.”
This should’ve perked up Abby immediately, but there was something about his voice that held back any inkling of hope. “Where—where is he?”
Kane wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I’ll take you to him.”
They walked through the ruined Ark side by side. Abby could feel something gnawing viciously at her chest, and her stomach had twisted into an uncomfortable knot she doubted she’d be able to untie. Even if she had managed the courage to ask Kane what was going on, her throat was too closed off for a noise to come out.
Finally, they ended up into a darker area Abby had passed by early on in her efforts to gather survivors. “Over there,” Kane said, pointing and handing her a flashlight. His voice was too soft, too gentle. Nothing good could come out of it.
Abby clicked on the flashlight and aimed it in the direction Kane had showed her. There were several unrecognizable bodies, and then—she saw it. Him. Mussed straight hair, thickset shoulders, square jaw. And the blood. So much blood, like blossoms of red across his body, mingled with burnt flesh that obscured his features and made his lifeless eyes stand out eerily.
There was a moment where she could do nothing but stare; then her throat opened up, and what came out was a scream. It ripped through her throat and the air like a deranged sob, and she collapsed to her knees helplessly, half folding her body over Jake’s without touching him. The heartbreak was like a physical thing, and it was tearing her apart. If I had found him before the fall....
She bowed low over Jake’s face, shaking, and began to murmur the ceremonial words of the parted. In her mind she saw the way Jake looked at Earth, like it was a treasure, an overwhelming thing of beauty he could only slightly understand—the way he looked at her. She saw him rocking Clarke to sleep with his voice, all softness and love; looking at Abby with fear swept in the sea of determination, promising he would fix the Ark or die trying.
Her breath barely came, just a whisper. “May we meet again.”
A hand went to her back, and instinctively she flinched away from it. Unwavering, the hand patted her shoulder blades. “Abigail,” a voice murmured. Kane. “I’m sorry.”
Abby didn’t respond. She was numb everywhere, nothing but hollow bones and an ache somewhere in her chest.
“We have to go now, Abigail,” he said. She only mumbled incoherently, shaking her head. Had Jake died instantly, or had he struggled on before his injuries overtook him? It was the sort of the thing he would do. “Abby. People need our help. They need your help. There is nothing you can do for Jake now except take care of those you can.”
He was right, and Abby hated it. Slowly, hesitantly, she moved away from her dead husband, sobs still racking her body noiselessly. Her throat had become clogged again, this time with tears, so she simply nodded. Kane helped her to her feet – she felt unsteady, dizzy, like the world was tilted – and started to guide her back to the main area. He was careful to give her space and say nothing—until his eye caught something behind her shoulder and he stopped in his tracks, grabbing at her arm to stop her, too.
“What?” Abby said, fearing the worst—though what could be worse than what had already happened? Kane only flicked his head to where he was looking, openmouthed, and she spun around, wondering what on earth he was looking at.
It was a light. This wouldn’t be unusual, under other circumstances, but it was a strange light, unlike any that would come from a flashlight or even a bulb. “What—” she muttered, furrowing her eyebrows as she moved down the corridor towards the distant light. Kane followed, urging her faster, so close that when she halted in front of the source of the light he ran right into her. “Kane,” she said, urgently. “Kane, do you see it?”
“How are we alive?” he said in way of reply, and Abby shook her head because she didn’t know. She had no logical explanation as to how they were alive when right there in front of them was a gaping hole in the ship; one that poked right through to the open Earth air.
“We need to tell the others,” Abby said, coming to her senses after a moment.
“Tell them what?"
She turned to Kane, a fire lighting behind her eyes. “That we’ve made it. Earth is survivable, and we’ve finally made it home.”