They were four days out on the desolate roads of Nevada with nothing in sight but miles of rocks and dry earth, but the dead world didn't seem to faze them. Society fell 100 years ago, when the infection spread faster than wildfire leaving mankind to burn or run in its flames. But those who burned didn't die; they walked, which is exactly why the delinquents were running into unknown territory with only their guns, their hope, and a solar powered van.
They never expected survival to come to this. They didn't know the Ark, one of the only surviving settlements left, was running low on resources until its walls fell in and the Walkers came out. To Murphy's knowledge only seven vans had escaped, and now there was only one. A lone wolf in a dark desert, hungry for life.
He pressed his forehead into the window thinking about all the people they'd lost on their way through No Man's Land. Most of them ended up dead, or even worse, bitten. Murphy could tell it hurt Bellamy by the way he kept sighing and resting his head on the steering wheel.
Their last pit stop had ended rather dramatically, with Bellamy dangling out of a window with Walkers clawing at his feet, and Murphy completely covered in undead guts. They were able to make it out with supplies, but their unexpected run in with the zombies didn't leave the group unscathed. Monty had been bitten, and Miller refused to leave him behind. They were both dead by now, Murphy thought, but he only felt blankness as he stared out at the oblivion of dirt. He felt numb.
How much more would they have to loose just to survive? How many more of them would have to die? Lincoln took a sharp turn directly into the desert, and the van followed, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. Octavia wasn't allowed to ride with Lincoln on his motorcycle, so instead she slept beside Jasper in the far back seats. Jasper was either sleeping or crying or a mixture of the two, and Murphy contemplated smothering him just to make him shut up. Luckily, Raven and Clarke were stretched out on the back seats, so Murphy couldn't even strangle Jas if he tried.
The girls were counting bullets and talking strategy, with Clarke clinking her nails on each bullet before adding another tally mark next to Carbine,or SXP, or I Am Become Death, the pistol Bellamy and Clarke always fought over. The constant sounds sent Murphy into a daze, not a normal, human daze, but a gape mouthed loss of time that Murphy couldn't even control. He would stare out the window, unaware of the hours passing until he looked back at the electric clock in the van. Murphy though his mind was playing tricks on him, since it only felt like minutes.
Bellamy, who always had his shoulder pressed into Murphy's or an arm around him while they slept, was of course the first to notice. He took his gaze off the wasteland in front of them and pressed his hand against Murphy's forehead.
"You okay, Murph?"
Clarke's hushed voice suddenly silenced and she gave Bellamy a concerned look.
"Yeah," Murphy shook his head, coming back to reality and rolling his eyes, "I just fell asleep."
"With your eyes open?" Clarke raised her eyebrows.
"He's fine Clarke," Bellamy insisted despite the uncertainty in his eyes, "Murphy get some rest."
"I'm kinda hungry," Murphy turned back to Clarke, "Is there anything left?" He tried not to sound like he was begging but his eyes glowed when he saw the cooler under Clarkes seat. Murphy's stomach had felt like a pit lately, even when he ate it still ached. It was like he was a starving child back in Ark settlement again.
"We just ate!" Raven exclaimed, kicking her legs up on the back of the seat so her feet dangled between Bellamy and Murphy.
"And the rations are for tonight," Clarke added, pulling out yet another matchbox of ammunition and adding more numbers to her list.
"I'm fucking starving," Murphy complained, suddenly aware of Raven's tan toes only a foot away from his mouth. Was he going insane?
"Give him my rations," Bellamy said without taking his eyes off the rode.
As soon as Clarke handed Murphy the dried meat he devoured it, ripping at the stale skin with his teeth, not even stopping to breathe. He wiped his lips and saw the entirety of the van staring at him, even Jasper and Octavia had woken up, and were watching him with the same hesitant expression.
"Murphy…" Clarke sighed, but her troubled look was focused on Bellamy.
"He's fine," Bellamy insisted again, finally looking back to glare at everyone.
"He came in close contact at the last outpost," Clarke explained, "He wasn't bitten, but by the time we escaped the Walkers he was covered in guts, it could've-"
"I washed it all off," Murphy insisted, although he felt dizzy remembering the rotten taste of flesh in his mouth.
"I know, but the infection could've entered your body through a cut or through your mouth," Clarke may not have particularly like Murphy, but the words were still painful to say, "You were spitting Walker blood out everywhere."
When Clarke said it, he realized he knew the entire time. From the moment he stared out the window and forget all sense of time and place. From the moment he felt the urge to devour everything in sight. He still felt sick though, because he knew what had to be done.
"Goddamn it!" Bellamy shouted, slamming his hands into the steering wheel.
"What's your name," Clarke asked, leaning towards Murphy and pressing her hand against his forehead. She looked at Raven and shook her head. He had a fever.
"Jonathan Murphy."
"Where are you from?"
"Ark, California."
"And what's the date?"
"Jonathan Murphy," he said flatly, still staring at the road ahead of them.
"No," Bellamy pleaded, "Murphy, what's the date!"
"Ark, California," he said again. Murphy didn't realize where his mind had gone until he looked
over at Bellamy. His hands weren't even on the wheel anymore, they were pressed into his own forehead, a look of panic on his face.
"I can't loose him," Bellamy shook his head, finally taking his eyes off Murphy to glare at Clarke, "There has to be something we can do."
"Bellamy," Clarke turned his name into a plea. There was nothing they could do, and the mist in her eyes assured Bellamy of that.
"Maybe if we drove faster we could make it to Polis in time-" Bellamy suggested, biting the last hope on his lips.
"That's four days away," Clarke sighed, "He'll be gone in two."
Murphy didn't seem to understand the extremity of his situation, instead he just leaned against the window and let his mind wander away.
"My dad started walking and I shot him down. Bang."
"Bellamy, pull over the van," Clarke said with false calm.
"My Mom got mad and shot herself down. Bang."
"Bellamy, now." Clarke hissed.
"Now I'm walking, and you're gonna shot me down. Bang, bang!"
The car screeched to a halt and Bellamy rubbed his face before exiting the car, his pistol tucked in
the front of his jeans.
"Murphy, get out."
Bellamy opened the door and threw Murphy down onto the sand, suddenly bringing him to his senses.
"No," Murphy groaned, "No!"
"Clarke, go catch up to Lincoln!"
The van pulled away with all the hope Murphy ever had, with everything he wanted to be.
"I'm supposed to make it to the fucking Promised Land, Bell!" Murphy cried from his place on the dirt, "I'm supposed to be with you!"
"You should've thought about that before you ate Walker guts," Bellamy attempted to joke as he knelt down in front of him, taking Murphy's face in his hands.
"I had to save you Bellamy," Murphy explained, "You would've died."
"I know," he sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead into Murphy's. For a moment they were fine, just two people who cared more about each other than the fire burning around them. Unfortunately for Murphy, time didn't slow, and the moment ended as Bellamy pulled away towards reality. "But, now I have to go."
He stood up, desperately trying not shake as he cocked the gun. I am Become Death. The pistol seemed fitting for the task at hand, but the sight of it made Murphy shatter, the cracks of his fading life finally apparent to him.
"No!" Murphy cried, "It can't end this way!"
"Pleading won't make this any easier." The pistol rattled in Bellamy's hands, sweat dripped down his forehead.
"No," Murphy repeated again, but it was barely a whimper.
"May we meet again" Bellamy's voice shook as he held up the gun because his reality was cracking too; because the only person he ever loved knelt pleading in front of him, begging for a life that was already gone.
Destroyer of worlds. Though he never thought he would be destroying his own.
The gun went off and the fire turned white. Murphy collapsed, his tears mixing with the rough sand. But he felt nothing. He could still feel his heart beating in his ears and his ragged breath escaping his lips.
He must've been dead as the arms of a long forgotten god wrapped around him, though the warmth felt familiar to Murphy's wavering conscious. He always thought death would be cold.
"Pretend to be dead," the presence whispered, "They're a day drive behind us, just wait, and pretend."
For a moment Murphy thought he truly was dead, and he had been given a second chance. But he could barely breath as he watched Bellamy's figure walked towards the horizon, leaving Murphy hysterical and alone in the valley behind him.
"Bellamy!" He screamed, "Don't leave me!"
"Please don't leave me," he muttered, but only the wind answered.
Murphy waited, the infection eating him slow enough for him not to realize that it was taking over his mind. There was only white light and distant memories. Dry sand and Bellamy Blake's lips.
He was thinking about blood when the man appeared, Murphy vaguely recognized his dark skin and righteous voice.
"What are you doing out here all alone?"
"Having the time of my life," he groaned, spitting black fluid out of his mouth.
"It looks like you've been infected," the figure stepped closer, but Murphy was too tired to look into the sun.
"More like I'm dying."
"Oh John," said the familiar smile, "Have a little faith."