The 99

Chapter Five: Clarke

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Clarke didn't pause to catch her breath. She didn't stop or even spare a glance back. She pictured Soren in her mind, looming just behind her with curled fingers reaching out. She thought she felt the tips of them brush against her spine, but the corridors were quiet, save for the sound of her own footsteps echoing around her.

Clarke took sharp turns, moving through the Ark as if it were a labyrinth, hoping to lose whatever trail she may have laid. She wanted someplace safe, someplace far away from guards and cells and broken lead. But she was on a ship. The area of it was pitifully finite and she was no more a needle in the haystack than she was a black stain on a white sheet.

A noise sounded from the end of her corridor and Clarke backtracked, just enough to dip down a different one branching south. But no direction seemed welcoming to her and she was overcome by a sudden feeling of entrapment, like some terrified, helpless creature lying in wait of the hunter.

Every part of Clarke ached for her home; for her small bedroom; for her desk that held a paltry supply of pencils, hidden in the top drawer. But Clarke wasn't stupid, and she'd learned from her past recklessness. Her living quarters were marked, and she knew it would be the first place guards would show up to. Clarke had already gotten her father floated. She wasn't about to send her mother to the stars, too.

Clarke's legs burned but she kept going, passing the gate that separated this Station from the Factory Station. It was a poorer sector and a tangible heaviness clung to the air, somber if not a little oppressive. And this time, Clarke couldn't avoid the approaching people and she slowed her gait, feigning nonchalance as if she weren't a convict. As if she weren't seeking refuge in a very cage itself.

She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her back, and she could have sworn that the passerby could hear her heart, beating wildly against her chest. Almost instinctively, Clarke pulled her sleeve down over the wristband and moved a bit faster, nearly pushing passed a mousy-haired woman. Their shoulders brushed.

Only an hour ago that moment of contact with another human being had given Clarke comfort. Now it felt threatening, as if these people would see who she was, by just one touch, by just one glance into her eyes.

Clarke moved away from them and her gaze swept over the closest doors, searching for someplace vacant. There was the packaging room, stuffing protein powder into small white bags, being carried away by a conveyor belt. There was a cleaning room, and a sorting chamber, and Clarke suddenly felt disoriented, swallowing down her panic before pushing forward. She hadn't spent much time in the Factory Station. The only other Station she spent most of her time at outside her own was Government and Science that housed the medical bay.

And for good reason.

Not many people besides the Council wandered through the twelve Stations freely, and though it wasn't illegal, it drew unwanted attention, from both the Council and the probing eyes of the Ark.

Clarke wanted to stop and catch her breath, but the image of Soren flashed through her mind again and she felt desperation claw inside her. Clarke gritted her teeth, and peered into one windowed door after another.

Not empty. She caught the blurring movement of people beyond them as more people swept by beside her, their current slowing her pace and it took her every ounce of willpower not to shout at them.

A noise shattered from overhead and Clarke flinched, feeling her heart clamor into her throat as something painted her vision red, bathing the corridor is the color of blood. It screamed in her ears and her hands shook violently, clenching them until her nails broke the skin.