THE 100

The upper level is bare, devoid of the simmering chaos that was here just minutes ago. Seatbelts are strewn across torn seats, and the air is thick with exhaust and steam.

I can smell burning flesh beside my feet, the bodies of two boys just meters away.

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to vomit. My teeth are clenched as I let go of my grip on the seatbelt. My fingers thrum with a strength I can't comprehend.

The memory of the boy's jacket makes my head spin. What he'd said after was even more bizarre. 

My brain is working in overdrive, a headache still sparking along the side of my head. I clutch at my hair.

I'd watched thousands of movies, hundreds of shows in my lifetime. The 100 wasn't any different, a show id followed for years after its release, But that damn well didn't mean I wanted to be in it!

Just what the hell had happened last night?

A sharp pain pierces my skull. I groan and clutch my head.

Gritting my teeth, I stand, fumbling with the seatbelt until it clatters to the side. The latch of the bunker is already open, and below, a hundred voices are scattering, muttering.

When I climb down the ladder, the lower floors are empty. The large mechanized gate is wide open, and a burst of sunlight streams through, casting a shadow over the flickering lights overhead.

I squint, my eyes still adjusting to the brightness. I've grown used to the near darkness of both my cell and this damned dropship. The outside world is untamed, a forest overgrown with boulders and fallen tree trunks.

The cool air is soft, different from the metallic taste of the artificial air that ran just moments ago. A bright sun peeks over a large mountain in the distance.

97 years after a nuclear apocalypse, mankind had been abandoned to a singular space station called the ark. But life support was dwindling, their only solution? Sending down a bunch of criminals to see if the planet was still inhabitable. A hundred kids left to die on a radiation sokaed planet, an army of war hungry savages, and some blood thirst mountain men. 

Sounds fun right?

I gulp, my hands bracing against the banister near the entryway. I spot the blonde girl from earlier, her hair hastily braided at her shoulders.

Clarke Griffin. The main character.

She's scrawling something on a piece of paper, staring intently into the distance.

"Hey, hey, hey, hands off him!" A brown-haired, mousy boy is pushing another guy toward the edge of the dropship. "He's with us."

The boy's eyes are filled with apprehension, like he's ready to knife the other guy on the spot.

"Relax." The dark-skinned boy's hands are raised in surrender, his expression wary. "We're just trying to figure out where we are."

I can't help but notice the stark similarity between him and that guy on the screen. Like father, like son.

Clarke is beside him, still holding a map. Though she tries to hide it, there's fear in her eyes.

The crowd parts, and that's when I spot the guy in a guard's uniform strolling toward the scene. His uniform is two sizes too small, but his face is younger than the guards who'd guided us to this hellhole.

Right. Bellamy Blake.

"We're on the ground. Is that not good enough for you?" Bellamy looks out at the crowd like he owns the place. "If it wasn't more obvious, Chancellor, this isn't your territory anymore." The word Chancellor comes out in a hiss.

The delinquents cheer like he's a messiah, and he just parted a sea

I'd forgotten how much of an ass he was in this season.

"God, what a bunch of idiots," I mutter under my breath.

As if in agreement, Clarke rolls her eyes, and the humidity makes her hair frizz all over her face. "Do you think we care who's in charge?" she scoffs. "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."

Bellamy doesn't take her words lying down. He smirks. "I've got a better idea. You two go," his hand gestures toward the forest near the makeshift camp, "find it for us. Let the privileged do the hard work for a change."

Cheers erupt from beside him. 

I'm still standing on the dropship, thick soles of my boots rooted in place. I place one foot after the other, one by one until cool grass bristles my ankles. I roll my tongue in the inside of my mouth, feeling the stinging pain emerging from my cheek. This ismt a dream

I gulp back that thought in my mind. You're not dead Maddox

I don't allow myself to think about last night or the little I can remember. The thought of dying in my world is just as terrifying as dying in this one.

The circle of teenagers expands, and I get jabbed in the neck by an elbow when Wells, the boy clinging to Clarke's arm, manages to rile the guy into a fight. 

The mousy boy eggs him on: "Come on, Wells, what are you gonna do now?" His fists are drawn up, squared.

I'm about to laugh, whether from insanity or true amusement, I can't say.

Some guy jumps in between them, breaking up the fight with what's supposed to be ease.

But it's enough to snap my attention away from their confrontation and back to the actual problem.

Getting the hell away from this dropship—and as far away from any sign of life beyond this ragtag group of prisoners.

My boots crunch under soft soil. Twigs litter the ground, but so do the imprints of footsteps that definitely don't belong to an animal.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm approaching Clarke.

"Count me in." She's nursing Wells's ankle, which twisted during the fight. When they both look up at me, I can cut the tension with a knife.

Wells is perched on a rock, his foot outstretched, but his entire body tenses when I approach. He gives Clarke a look I can't decipher, but she frowns before answering.

"In what, exactly?" Her voice is sharp and urgent.

I stuff my hands into the worn pockets of my cargo pants. "You've got a plan, or was that speech just a show?" She frowns again and stands up.

"I don't think you're planning on getting to Mount Weather alone," I add. "So what's it gonna be? The guy with a limp, or me?" I don't give her a chance to respond, nodding toward Wells's broken ankle.

Wells laughs bitterly. "How are the two of you gonna carry enough food for a hundred?" He eyes me with suspicion.

"We won't have to," I answer, glancing toward a boy already approaching us.

"Uh, so Mount Weather?" The boy who'd stopped the fight is looking to Clarke for approval. "When do we leave?"

I raise an eyebrow. Clarke looks back at me, clearly deliberating.

Wells is looking at her like she's crazy. "Seriously?!" he asks. "You wanna cross an entire forest with a two people?"

Spacewalker turns behind us, grabbing two guys I easily recognize.

"Five of us. Can we go now?" The two boys glare at me. I eye the Asian boy's torn jacket.

The third voice isn't much of a surprise. Not when her face is etched in my memory.

"Sounds like a party. Make it six," Octavia says. Her face is young, free of the anger I'd once seen on my living room TV.

A sense of déjà vu hits me, like I can't believe I'm not slouched on a couch watching the scene unfold.

"Great, the more the merrier," I add. When the group turns to look at me, I set my sights on the mountain in the distance.

And I will myself not to collapse on the ground beneath my feet.