Mebi Oso Na Hit Choda Op Nodotaim
They could hear the gunshot from outside the walls. At first, they wanted to believe that the rain had brought them thunder, but the single sharp blast dissuaded them of that notion.
Miller and Harper huddled together on one of the logs near the fire, the rain soaking through their clothing and drenching them. In a way, it was fitting. The world had no right to be sunny when it had all gone to hell. First Monroe, now Lincoln… but if they were honest, it was so much more. It was Atom, Wells, young Charlotte, Finn, Fox, and the list seemed to go on and on. Even the living were ghosts. It was easy to grieve Jasper's smile and Raven's wit as though they were already buried. Bellamy, after the mountain, had broken something inside himself. No one had even seen Clarke since the battle at mount weather, she simply hadn't come home.
Sitting in silence, it was all a bit much to bear. Miller wrapped his arm around Harper, pulling her close, their body heat cutting through the damp chill. A movement off to the left drew their attention.
Monty.
A ripple of rage pushed through Miller, knowing that Monty had to have been involved in the listening device placed in his jacket. Something must have shown on his face, as Monty faltered his steps. Harper sighed and pushed a hand through her grungy locks.
"What do you want Monty? Or more like, what does Pike or Mommy want?" Monty took a small step forward.
"Hey, it's just me all right? I need to talk to you guys." Met with blank stares but no resistance, he closed the distance between them and perched on a log to face them.
"Look, I know things have become a mess lately. This whole thing with Pike surveilling everyone, and my mom and Bellamy supporting him… I wanted to stick with my people and try to make things right for us, but nothing's going right. I just want you to know that I've been a real dick, but I've still got your back. I tapped into the walkies you've been using, but I lied about recognizing your voices, and I sent the guards to the gate to get Kane and Sinclair out." His pleading brown eyes flitted back and forth between his friends.
"Sure you shouldn't keep quiet? Wouldn't want to be overheard a traitor with all these bugs, huh?" Miller spit back with scorn, his fists clenching and unclenching on his knee.
"The elements and terrain are too variable to place bugs out here," Coolly dismissing their concerns, he leaned forward earnestly. Speaking in a harsh whisper, "Someone got floated today. FLOATED! This is fucking arkadia now, and Pike has the say so on which of us Skaikru die next. We've gotta stop this. It was supposed to be different on the ground, we were supposed to be pardoned and our leaders were supposed to stop killing their own people. This isn't okay! Last week it was a village of grounders, today it was one of us. Tomorrow it could be anyone. We aren't safe like this. Will you help me?"
Harper and Miller cast sidelong glances at one another, pursing their lips. Harper scooched forward, cocking her head to the side and nibbling on one of her nails.
"What did you have in mind?"
"The cloak and dagger isn't working. We've gotta go public, and it's gotta be big. Let's gather the 100."
By all counts, there were 47 delinquents left from the original 102, counting the bonus arrivals of Bellamy and Raven. With Octavia, Clarke, and Bellamy God knows where, and Jasper passed out somewhere, they were only able to wrangle about 40 of the hundred together. Though considering the small population of Arkadia, they were not an insignificant bunch. In fact, they were a rather adorable bunch. Their time surviving or in captivity had created what was not unlike a large, rambunctious, dysfunctional family.
Night had fallen, and the storm had passed, leaving the ground muddied and the air crisp. With Miller, Harper, and Monty working together, news of the meetup had passed through the crew like wildfire. They had gathered around the bonfire pit again, this time with a burning pyre four feet high.
It illuminated the forms of the hundred as they shifted about, greeting one another. Their voices and smiles were friendly but subdued, many mingling with friends from different work groups that they hadn't seen in a while. Yet, Monty could see a harsh undertone to the interactions, their smiles were a little too tight, their body postures too tense. This was a group of survivors, always waiting for the next threat.
Monty was ready to let them know what it was. He could see a group of Pike sympathizers, his mother included, eyeing them from near a tent across the yard. It was now or never, though. He stepped up onto an upturned log, continuing to observe his crew. Within moments, a gradual hush naturally fell over the group as they turned toward him to end the suspense of why they'd been gathered.
"One hundred, my fellow prisoners of the Ark, one of our own has been floated today. Lincoln kom skaikru en trikru was executed outside the gates today like a common animal. Do you know what his crime was?" Monty's gaze panned out over his people, their eyes locked on him, their postures stony with the severity of the topic at hand.
"His crime was trying to help innocent hospital patients who had been locked up return home. His crime was trying to help our former chancellor stop an attack on a nearby village of old men, women, and children. How many of us were locked up to be floated for something we did to help our families?" Murmurs of agreement rang out from the 100, and a smattering of Arkers had stopped to watch the spectacle. His mother had approached, a scowl of displeasure and alarm on her face, and at some point Pike had appeared beside her. Monty took a breath and steeled himself.
"When we came to the ground, we agreed that there would be no more floatings! Our most violent criminal was exiled, and that kept our camp safe. Execution is a left over from the Ark, but we're on the ground now! We're supposed to have the right to speak freely, and our leaders are supposed to keep us safe. Does anyone feel safe right now?"
The 100 had energized, furious tones echoing across the yard, tensed masses shifting from foot to foot with repressed rage. Pike had gathered his guards around him, as well as sending them to establish a large perimeter around the firepit. Monty had never seen anyone's face so pinched, but what could he do? Attempting to break them up for their peaceful gathering would likely incite a riot, and there were so many Arker witnesses gathered around.
"We must demand that not one more Skaikru be floated. NOT ONE MORE!" Harper, planted in the crowd, began a chant,
"Don't Float! Don't Float! Don't Float! Don't Float! Don't Float!"
Their voices clamored together, creating a rough, loud, roar of indignant youthful rage. Every guard had a hand on their gun, some unholstered. Pike looked ready to spring to action, pacing a few steps back and forth, unsure how to handle the situation without a show of force, which would surely turn disastrous.
"Beginning tomorrow, we will not work until the Chancellor has agreed to stop the barbaric Ark-age floatings. This is Skaikru, and we do not kill our own people!" Shouts and hoots of agreement filled the yard.
"Tonight, we honor our dead!" Hopping down from the log, Monty reached for a jar of dried herbs stored by his feet. They had been one of his and Jasper's early grounder inventions. Attempting to create new recreational substances, the boys had developed a mix that burned aromatically and turned the fire vivid colors. This particular mix would turn the fire blue, and smelt earthy yet sweet.
"Lincoln kom Skaikru en Trikru, mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim." Crunching a fistful of the dried herbs, the dark-haired boy threw them into the bright fire, almost immediately turning blue. He handed the jar off to Harper, who gave a bitter forlorn smile before tossing her own handful of herbs into the flames.
"Zoe Monroe kom skaikru, may we meet again." Looking around for takers, a shorter blonde boy from the engineering program stepped up. One by one, the jar was emptied of its herbs as the hundred engaged in the cathartic ritual of mourning, so long denied to them.
Stepping back to observe his people, Monty heard the thuds of regulation guard boots. Looking over his shoulder, Pike was skulking toward him with a sour-faced entourage. The taller man reached him, putting a threatening grip on his shoulder. Monty refused to flinch from the vice grip, but it was difficult to remain straight faced.
"So you're a grounder traitor now, is that it? Working against the good your own people?" Pike leaned in, his unpleasant breath warmed Monty's face. Looking up at him, Monty tried to keep a steely expression like he had seen on Clarke so many times.
"This is for the good of my people. We are skaikru, and you can't float us all."
End.