"You are damaged and broken and unhinged.
But so are the shooting stars and the comets."
( the 100 ) ( season 1 ) ( book 1 of the hazel hudson series )
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The Ground. Present Day.
"WE'RE ON THE GROUND. Is that not good enough for you?"
Hazel remained near the drop-ship's entrance, leaning casually against the cool metal as she surveyed the heated group of teens. They'd been on Earth for less than an hour and already there was petty fighting breaking out.
Wells stood in the midst of them, his chin held high, but his expression unnerved and exasperated.
"We need to find Mount Weather. You all heard my father's message. That has to be our first priority."
Mount Weather? Isn't that where we are?
Hazel furrowed her brow and dashed back into the drop-ship. Within seconds she arrived at the mangled control board. She pressed down on the power button, trying to wake it up. The cracked screen was frozen on a single number, the exact amount of miles they'd traveled before the system had failed when the ship had hit the atmosphere. Evidently the control system had been cut off then, causing them to land miles away from their purposed destination.
"Stupid hundred year old ship," Hazel slammed her fist down on the screen in frustration, causing it to momentarily light up, then fade away all together. The numbers dissolved into blackness as she stared, processing their dire situation.
Without a second thought Hazel made her way back towards the crowd of angry delinquents, picking up pieces of their useless banter as she got closer.
"This has nothing to do with my father," Wells' jaw tightened as he tried to get his point across, "it has everything to do with survival. Unless someone takes charge and gets us to safety, we will all die."
"So what? You think you're in charge here, you and your little Princess?" a fiery brunette challenged.
Both Clarke and Wells rolled their eyes.
"Do you think we care who's in charge?" Clarke snapped, "We need to get to Mount Weather not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we'll get and the harder this'll be. How long do you think we'll last without those supplies? We're looking at a twenty-mile trek, okay? So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave now."
Various spouts of disagreement flew towards Clarke just as Hazel reached the crowd. She climbed up onto a moss drenched rock, and let words spill out of her mouth.
"Clarke and Wells are right," confused murmurs began to follow her statement, but Hazel ignored them and continued on with her speech, "when our ship hit the atmosphere, the control board was destroyed, which threw us at least twenty miles off course. That means we're twenty miles away from tools and supplies that will keep us alive. If we die down here, that means the council succeeded in floating us all. We can't let that happen. We need to get to Mount Weather if we want to survive."
