The 99

Chapter Twenty Five: Clarke

Clarke was once again holding hands with death. Or so it seemed as she watched Sinclair and Jaha discuss the details in hushed monotones. But she knew the most important pieces.

That there was no way to tell which Stations would blow up.

That there was no promise of even disconnecting the Stations from the body of the ship in the first place.

That, at any second, she could be reduced to ash.

A weird laugh bubbled up to her lips but she squashed it down. Not death by stars, or ground or gun. Not even by lack of air. She'd go in the one way she never expected.

By fire.

It would be the first cremation ever to happen on the Ark.

As if sensing her unease, Bellamy squeezed her hand and a different kind of heat leapt from his fingers into hers. "This could work, Clarke," he said quietly by her ear.

She nodded, eyes still on Jaha. She trusted that man as much as she did a murderer, because that's what he was. But now, she had to. She had to place her life in the very hands that had once held her father's. The very hands that had so easily let it go. "I hope you're right."

With his finger, Bellamy lifted her chin to him. His dark eyes were hard. Deadly. Like he could take on all of space alone. "It will work," he amended.

She smirked at him. "I thought you weren't an idealist."

The corner of his lip turned upwards. "Only when you're a pessimist, because that's when I know we're screwed."

Clarke shook her head slightly and returned her gaze to Jaha. "So what happens now?" she asked no one in particular.

Jaha cast his eyes to her, looking incredibly sure for odds so bad. "Now we tell the others. We prepare, and pray we don't die."

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The compact room was crammed with people, tied down to every part of the floor by buckles and ropes. It looked like the innards of the ship had been ripped out and Clarke was starting to feel a little suffocated, pressed up against the wall with a thick, yellow strap crossed over her. Her legs were drawn tightly into her chest and she cradled them in her arms, but already they were starting to cramp. It had taken nearly four hours to get everything ready and she'd been seated for one of them. She'd been calm. Still was, but now that they were getting close to launch, anxiety churned inside her and she was trying very hard not to think of fire or ash.

Maybe it would be easier if she didn't know how much heat hurt, because after crawling through that shaft, she knew what it was like to burn.

"You doing okay?" Bellamy asked from beside her, as tightly wedged between the rows of people as herself. Her mother was seated on her other side, next to Kane, and Clarke's elbows brushed against hers and Bellamy's. Drawing strength from the contact, she licked her very dry lips and looked over at him. "I'm fine."

His eyebrows drew together doubtfully. "You don't have to lie to me, Clarke."

She gripped her hands together, clutching onto the fabric of her pant legs. "I'm okay. Really. We're just . . . possibly dying." She tried her best at a smile. "You think I'd be used to that by now."

"Mecha Station good to go," a voice chirped from overhead, making Clarke's insides tense into knots. She shut her eyes for a second, breathing through her mouth.

His hand latched onto hers and she gripped it back gratefully. "If anyone's going to survive this, Clarke, it's us. We're too stubborn to die."

She knew it was an effort on his part to make light of the situation, but she found she couldn't join in. "Bellamy, I'm scared," she admitted, voice barely above the whisper. Clarke was never one to admit to it out loud, but she wanted to be honest now, if there was never a chance to be later.