The truck ploughed through the sands like it was nothing, as they sped across the barren waste, back to where their home was.
The trip was quiet on the way back. But it wasn't a content-type of quiet; rather, it was slightly more solemn. No places were pointed out—not even Tondc, which Madi had so wanted to see, and there wasn't so much of a glance at the Mountain Men's base when they drove past. No words were exchanged—save for those that were necessary. No stories were said—and when they were, it was formal ones, not those that were funny or made Madi giddy anymore.
No songs were hummed.
...
Clarke had managed to salvage a few radios from Becca's Laboratory—and unfortunately, after turning them on, none of them had worked, which left her a bit miffed and annoyed.
Perhaps considerably miffed would be the better word. It had made her especially annoyed during the midst of a desert, seeing that one of the sole reasons she came here was for the radio parts which would, hopefully, let her reconnect with Bellamy and the rest in space.
Poking the parts didn't work. Neither did deliberately ignoring them and hoping that they'd magically mend themselves, for the matter. But Clarke learned a lesson on unscrewing damaged radios and taking them apart—which was to never do it again because fuck if those parts just had to conveniently get lost in the mass pile of springs and pieces that were stacked in the back of the truck.
However, something caught her eye at the back of the truck. Narrowing her eyes, she neared towards the box—and opening it, she was met with a dazzle of blinkers and springs and knobs and bolts and gears, all mostly-new and whole, as she blinked, trying to comprehend it all.
But then, she felt a smirk worm itself into her features. Of course. Madi.
Biting back a slight sigh in part-exasperation, part-happiness, she rummaged through the parts in the box with her hands, and gathering them up, tried to take in it all—
''I think I might be able to reconnect these...'' Clarke murmured to nobody in particular, as she glanced at the radios that she'd ditched to the side in annoyance to the parts that were in her hands. ''Won't hurt if I try...''
...
Notebook.
(Translated from Trigedasleng.)
Lexa talked to me about it. After I found out everything she did to Carl to save Clarke. I said a load of things and everything's really just a jumble because I don't even know what to feel . She says it's what's necessary if we want to survive but then she also said something about a world that could be better. Where we won't have to care about being Maunon or Grounder or whatever anymore because we're all united. As one. She said it could be true and—and I want it to be true. Because I don't want anyone more to die anymore just cause they're not us like how Carl did.
Journey's really quiet. I got lots of time to think. Sometimes Clarke tries to talk to me and every time I just feel really bad and there's this sinking feeling in my gut so usually I just write back here in this notebook 'cause it's easier avoiding eye contact and being busy writing this than talking to her.
Lexa doesn't try to talk to me. And though I feel kind of mean for saying it, I think I'm okay with it. Cause I need some time especially after what she's said. After learning what she's done .
Put the parts I've found in the truck, in a box to the side. Cause even if they won't work with each other it doesn't mean that they're useless. And I can break them up into smaller pieces and make it work somehow if I get bored of them. Or get angry.
Got dreams with sister in it. It was like she was alive. We were spear-fishing again but this time Nomon and Nontu and Bro were there too. We were in a competition and they were cheering me on. Ai sis was teasing me but after it was all over and I—get this—speared more fish than her!— she had looked at me really proudly and ruffled my hair but weirdly I'd smiled but not scowled like I woulda done usually.
And thinking about it makes me miss her more than ever. Especially now.
Don't really know why I'm writing this stuff because it's just stuff. Feel a bit better dumping it all down though.
...
''Lexa...?''
''What is it, Clarke?''
Clarke's voice dropped low into a whisper, as her eyes glimmered with excitement. ''Don't tell Madi yet—but I think I've found a way to make the radios work.''
Is that so, Clarke? was what Lexa wanted to say, but instead, she raised an eyebrow at Clarke's remark about Madi. ''And why not?''
Clarke grinned. ''Want it to be a surprise. But here—'' and she pressed the radio in Lexa's hands, closed her fingers around it.
Lexa studied the device, almost awkwardly feeling it over, as Clarke grinned like she'd saved a dozen lives and rambled on. ''It's not working now because it's missing an antenna, but after I find one and reattach it—I'm quite sure it'll work.''
''Then we will be able to talk with those in space?''
Clarke's smile was rueful as it was infectious. ''Hopefully. But by the looks of it—we'll be able to connect with them by the end of the week.''
...
The truck screeched to a stop in the front door of the abode.
Clarke let out a loud breath and rested her hands on the truck wheel. They were finally here. It had been a long journey; and one especially lengthened, with the quiet that plagued the truck the past few days. Clarke didn't realise how much of a difference silence made, until after a few days the journey had felt so impossibly long, despite how quickly it had seemed to go by during their arrival.
Breathed in again; exhaled. That didn't matter now. They were here, and that was all that she was going to think about now. So she took a breath, and removing her hands from the wheel, opened the truck door.
And her heart was filled with dread.
The abode door swung wide open.
I must've forgotten to close it, was the thought that repeated in her mind, but even then she knew it wasn't true. She was careful, and when they had six pairs of eyes to watch over everything, she knew that they wouldn't forget.
She tried to keep it off her mind, as Madi slipped out of the truck and she took Lexa's wheelchair from the back of the truck and set it out. And once Lexa had transferred, Clarke had looked, disturbed, at the abode's wide open door.
Her heart felt like ice.
Madi didn't seem notice her expression, however, because she had bounded towards the abode without a look tossed backwards. She had made it halfway to the door as ice jabbed her heart until Clarke couldn't take the cold anymore, and from her mouth slipped out an involuntary: ''No!''
And when Madi paused, blinking and confused, Clarke had edged towards the abode, her hand on her knife's hilt, as she—slowly but steadily—entered through the door.
And the cold in her heart froze over; felt as ornate and solid as her metal blade. She blinked; almost rubbed her eyes, for she couldn't be seeing right.
For nothing stared back at her.
Everything, from the drawers to the windows, yearned wide-open. Everything, from the counters to the tables, was scrubbed clean, from their bags to their rations to their resources. There was nothing because everything was gone.
''Shit!'' Clarke cursed as she rummaged through the drawers. Nothing. Not even the candles or their notepads or—
There was nothing but the bare quiet. Clarke gazed around the room, despairingly, as if to find some presence of something, but there was only Madi's agitation that met her back—and Lexa's face, streaked emotionless, as her gaze flittered around the room.
When Clarke spoke again, her voice was barely audible. ''It's all gone. There's nothing left. Something—someone took it all.''
...
Twenty packets. Five worn bottles. Four blunted swords. Three toned daggers. Two jagged spears. Two loaded guns. One backpack.
Her gaze flittered away from the haul of resource, turned outside to the vista that met her eyes a dozen miles below, and on her lips played a smile, as she slid her legs to dangle at the cliff's edge. Enough. It would be enough.
Twenty days to starve them. Divide the rations by two and it would be forty. Weapons gone, gear lost, mechanisms buried— there was a whimsical chance for their survival, and even if they didn't, they'd be withered enough for a quick finish with ease.
Forty more days. Forty more days—so she lives, so they die. Perhaps it was not for the best, but it would be enough.
Luna smiled, looking over her empire. An expanse of lush green trees, surrounded by a cliff's edge, and a shodden village to match. Her vision travelled, from the spots of green among a blanket of orange-red to meet the dusking skyline, and she felt a smile warm her face as she pulled out a bottle, and drank.
All of it was hers.
END YEAR THREE / PART I.