"Hello?"

Bellamy's voice echoed in the eery stillness of the black and grey world that surrounded him, a tenuous plea for hope that bounced back to him in apathy. He had trudged past fourteen graves only to find himself in a graveyard, and reality was falling in around him in thick, ashy flakes. Part of him felt like falling too, sinking to his knees and letting the deathly snow bury him with his comrades. But he couldn't fall, not just yet. Not when he still had one soldier left to lead.

"Hey, Collins, come on. Eyes open," he reminded, shifting his grip on the half-conscious brunette's waist to nudge him awake.

"They're open," Finn murmured unconvincingly, leaning heavily against his companion as he practically dragged him back to camp. They both looked like hell, but Bellamy was fairing slightly better than the concussed Space Walker. A large gash above his left eye was proof enough of the severe head wound he had suffered, and they were both tattooed with a smattering of burns. Bellamy's right hand was so severely charred that not a single piece of clean flesh could be found, and the mangled thing hung uselessly at his side.

"Nice try," Bellamy responded with half-hearted sarcasm. "Here, sit down for a minute, I'm going to check for supplies," he explained, setting Finn down as gently as he could manage with one arm. As the spent teen rested against the remains of their east wall, Bellamy took a mental inventory of their collective injuries, trying to diagnose, prioritize, and repair, but to his untrained eyes, everything just looked bad.

"Keep watch. And no sleeping on the job," he commanded his army of one, hoping nothing more than to just keep the kid alive through the night.

"Aye, aye Cap," came the cheeky reply as Finn managed to squint his one good eye open to scan to horizon for invaders. God only knew what they would do if they were attacked, but at least they wouldn't die ignorant.

"Hello?" The drop ship was as dismally empty as the rest of camp, but Bellamy repeated his call just the same. There had to be someone, anyone, still left alive in the godforsaken ship. The place was a wreck: banner ripped, rations scattered, and hammocks twisted. It looked like the place had been ransacked, and the missing guns did nothing to quell his fears: the Grounders had gotten there first. Adding the theory to his long list of priorities, Bellamy pulled aside the tattered remains of a blanket to finally find some good news.

Clarke's meager set of makeshift medical supplies were still intact, hidden behind the basin of moonshine. It was a small victory, but it would be enough. With a little luck, it might even get them through the night.


They didn't sleep that night, Captain's orders. Bellamy didn't remember enough from his Biomedical class, but instinct told him not to let Finn go to sleep, not yet at least. It was the same instinct that had told him to leave the knife in, and he could only hope he was right this time, too. With no healer to confirm his decision, doubt pecked at him through the dark hours.

The first few passed uneasily, the slightest breeze setting them on edge as they awaited the inevitable whistle of an arrow or flash of a sword. Eventually, the paranoia faded and the greatest threat became their own heavy lids. Bellamy forced his companion awake with a constant stream of questions and they passed the darkest hours speculating the fate of their friends, of the Ark, and of their own future.

Even in a world of uncertainty, however, their questions still ran out. In the glowing moments before dawn, Finn set a new task to focus his muddled mind and when dawn finally broke, the two had nearly finished the job. The ground before them was engraved in a maze of letters, blossoming out from Bellamy and surrounding them like ripples in the water. It was a mosaic of initials, scratched into the dirt with the tip of a blade. Ninety-eight names. Ninety-eight faces they may never see again. Only their own initials were missing from the pile and...

"I feel like we're still missing one."

"That's ninety-eight. I counted, twice."

"You got Fox?"

"Yup."

"And Mbege?"

"Right there."

"Oh wait, I know who it is. We forgot-"

"Bellamy!" The shout startles them both from their work and Bellamy doesn't even have a chance to feel fear before relief washes over him.

"Octavia!" He couldn't get up fast enough to greet her as she came limping through the gate, disentangling herself from Lincoln's supporting arms as she rushed to greet him. They were both in such sad shape, that the clichéd run-and-hug turned out more like a stumble-and-cling, but they were in each other's arms fast enough and that was all that mattered.

"Lincoln said you were...I thought..." Octavia trails off, breathless as she holds the mirage in her arms, still in disbelief.

"How're you alive?" she asks, managing to string enough words together for a question.

"The tunnel, Finn's idea," he responds, pulling back a moment to take a look at his sister. He's grinning ear-to-ear and so is she, both too overjoyed to bother with specifics. His explanation has told her nothing, so Finn fills in the gaps.

"We got caught outside the drop ship when the thrusters went off. The tunnel cover is made from the ship's panels, so it kept the heat out. Mostly," Finn added, giving a sheepish shrug of his shoulders as he looked himself over. The plan had been less than ideal, but it had kept them alive and only a little crispy.

"Oh Bell, your hand!" Octavia gasped, noticing the damage for the first time.

"It's fine," Bellamy brushed off, "How's the leg?"

"Oh don't even. Just let me look at it," she shot back, and at once the two were bickering just like any other morning. Finn chuckled lightly to himself, slowly stretching out his cramped legs and pulling himself into a standing position as he made his way over to the reunion.

"Glad to see you made it, too," he greeted, nodding to the ever-silent Lincoln who only returned the gesture. He seemed much more preoccupied looking around the remains of the camp, searching for something.

"Where's everyone else?" Octavia asked, looking between Bellamy and Finn as if expecting to see more.

"We were hoping you would know," Bellamy replied honestly, a look of disappointment barely concealed on his face.

"Lincoln told me everyone was gone but-"

"I was right," Lincoln interrupted, stooping down to retrieve one of the discarded gas canisters that littered the ground. They waited in silence as he mulled over his thoughts, turning the curious item around in his hand. "We should keep moving."

"Hold on, we're not going anywhere yet. What do you mean gone?" The leader's voice quickly reclaimed its authority as Bellamy questioned him.

"Did the Grounders take them?" Finn chimed in.

"Not Grounders..." Lincoln responded, shaking his head as he dropped the canister back to the earth with a look of disgust.

"Mountain Men," Octavia finished, her tone becoming grim and foreboding.

"Where did they take them?" Finn asked, searching both of their expressions for an answer.

"I don't know," Lincoln dismissed, clearly anxious to leave the open-air of the camp as he looked over his shoulder for the third time.

"You could ask your people, they must know something," Finn continued, pushing for the answers he so desperately needed.

"Ask my people? Why do you think we traveled through the night? If my people find me, they will execute me for what I did to help you andyour people," Lincoln scowled, anger rising in his tone as he rounded on Finn.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't..." Finn began, startled by the sudden burst of frustration as he struggled to backtrack his hasty remark.

"We'll find them ourselves," Bellamy concluded, ignoring the brewing conflict in hopes that it would dissipate as quickly as it began. Now that they knew what had happened to the rest of their friends, they could start moving forward. Details could fall into place later, but for now, they had a purpose again. Or so he thought.

"There's no one to find," Lincoln refuted, shattering their hopes instantly. "I don't know much about the Mountain Men but I know they don't release their prisoners, only ashes over the river. I'm sorry, but your people are dead." A heavy silence followed his words as they each internalized their meaning. Finn only closed his eyes, bowing his head in a solemn moment of grief. Bellamy looked like he wanted to argue, but it was Octavia that spoke up first.

"But what if they aren't? Lincoln you told me they were all dead, but look at them!" she proclaimed, throwing her arms out to the battered boys beside her.

"They were lucky," Lincoln conceded, but he looked unconvinced. "But if we don't leave soon, that good fortune will be wasted. We need to head East."

"But what if others were lucky? We can't just leave now. We have to at least try," she continued, stubbornly standing her ground in an argument they were clearly rehashing. "The sea people can wait."

"Sea people?" Bellamy interjected. He was starting to lose track of all these new names, and he wondered just how outnumbered they were down here.

"The Marijo; they are another clan, at least a two days journey from here, but they should take us in," Lincoln explained. "You can ask them about the Mountain Men if you wish, maybe they will know more," he added, catching Finn's gaze.

"If they know about the Mountain Men, I say we try it," Finn agreed, jumping on board with the plan without hesitation. "What else are we going to do?"

"If there are other survivors they would come here, we can't abandon them," Bellamy responded, processing the new wave of information as he tried to come up with a single course of action.

"Two days might be too long! People were injured, Lincoln, we need to go after them now," Octavia added.

"I've told you, they are gone. Please, Octavia, you have to let this go," Lincoln implored, growing impatient with the circuitous conversation.

"Maybe we could track them?" Finn proposed but this only agitated the Grounder more.

"You don't chase down death," he warned, patience growing thin as he tried to reason with the children before him.

"We can't leave them!" Octavia refuted.

"All right enough!" Bellamy declared, his voice booming as it once did to capture the attention of one hundred chaotic teens. "Lincoln, you go these sea people. See if they know anything about what happened and," he paused for a moment, as if reconsidering his decision before he continued, "..and see if they will take us in. I'm not taking any chances, I don't want to walk into another war.

"We'll stay here and look for survivors, see if we can gather any more information about what happened. We would slow you down anyways. You said it was a two day trip? That gives us four days to rest and gather supplies and any survivors we can. When you come back, we'll come to a decision, okay?" He looked around at the three of them as he awaited the dissent that was sure to come.

"It's not safe for you to stay here, my people, they'll-" Lincoln began.

"Your people think we're dead. Who would they come looking for?" Bellamy cut off, already anticipating the argument. He empathized with Lincoln; he was clearly unconcerned for his own safety, only Octavia's, but he had passed that torch for long enough. From now on, he could take care of his own sister.

"Lincoln, I'll be fine. And Bellamy's right, we're not going to cover much ground with my leg. You'll be faster alone," she persuaded, gently taking hold of his forearms as she felt the tension held in his muscles. It was apparent that the plan made him uneasy, but he seemed to have run out of excuses, or at least the motivation to make them. Curling his arms around her waist, he leveled his gaze with hers.

"Stay out of sight. Don't give them a reason to come back here, and if they do, run," he advised, brow creased in worry even as she offered him a reassuring smile. "I will be back for you."

"And I'll be here. Promise," she replied, bestowing a brief parting kiss before Bellamy could grumble about it. Lincoln wasted no time on goodbyes, moving immediately to head off on his journey. He paused only to address Bellamy one last time.

"This is fool's hope."

"Maybe, maybe not. But if we find even one survivor, it will be worth it," Bellamy asserted, remembering the words he had once ignored. "Down here, every life matters."


After Lincoln parted, the three busied themselves repairing both their camp and themselves. Finn was finally given a chance to nap under the condition that one of the Blakes woke him up every hour. Each time they were greeted with the sarcastic and sleepy reply of 'still alive,' before the exhausted boy would drift back off. The arrow wound in Octavia's leg was burdensome, but healing well thanks to Lincoln's handiwork. Bellamy's hand, however, was in sore need of medical attention. They had doused the burned flesh in moonshine, and wrapped it in the cleanest cloth they could find, but the exposed tendons screamed in pain at even the simplest movement.

As a result, work was slow, but while Finn rested, the two managed to clean the lower level of the drop ship and salvage three usable hammocks. Now they were taking a much needed break, gathered around the remains of their fire pit, enjoying the rations that were now plentiful in the absence of others.

"So you really think others might have survived," Octavia asked between mouthfuls of orange nuts.

"I think there's a fair chance. Some of the outer guard maybe," Bellamy offered, holding onto hope for her sake as much as his own.

"Not everyone made it on the drop ship, I'm sure some of them thought to run like we did," Finn agreed, leaning back against the hollow frame of an old ship seat. The fabrics had been scorched away in the blast, but it still served its purpose.

"After this we'll start a perimeter search, see if anyone is pinned down or injured. Finn and I will go. You rest up that leg," he said, noting her look of disappointment. "That is if you're up for it Sleeping Beauty," he added, looking over to his companion with a wry smile.

"I'm the best tracker you've got," Finn shot back, grinning despite the emptiness that hung around them.

"Wait...guys I think someone's coming!" Octavia interrupted, immediately dropping the food in her hands as she reached for her sword instead.

"It might be a Grounder, keep quiet," Bellamy warned, cautiously observing the approaching figure as his hand moved to the hatchet by his side.

"Or a survivor," Octavia countered optimistically.

"He looks injured. Too small to be a Grounder," Finn added, squinting against the sun to get a better look, but it was Octavia who identified the stranger first.

"Oh you've got some nerve..." she started, her voice humming with barely contained rage as the grip on her sword tightened.

"Is that...?" Finn's voice was as incredulous as Octavia's was furious, and he blinked several times, positive that the concussion was playing tricks on his eyes.

Bellamy said nothing, only marched forward to meet the intruder with an unreadable expression. It was the last face he had expected to see back in camp, the last face he wanted to see. Not a Grounder, not a survivor, but a ghost he had hoped to bury long ago. One that wouldn't stop coming back to haunt him.

Murphy.

He was making his way slowly, but purposefully, back towards the toppled wall. It wasn't until he reached the gate that he seemed to noticed Bellamy's presence, and the sight froze him instantly.

"Look, Bellamy, I'm just here to-" The excuse was only half way out his mouth before the hatchet was out of Bellamy's hand. Murphy barely had time to duck before the it came flying towards his head, passing dangerously close to his left ear as its owner followed swiftly behind it. Bellamy's first punch caught him square in the jaw, but he managed to catch the second one, recovering with a sloppy parry that forced the taller male to stumble back. But Bellamy rushed forward again with a relentless force, throwing wild, furious blows at his old enemy, a murderous look in his eyes that seemed to frighten even the murderer.

"Woah woah, guys stop!" Finn shouted, running over to intervene in the savage brawl that had broken out between the two, and Octavia followed close behind. It took both of them to pull the two apart, Finn pulling back Murphy as Octavia placed herself in front of Bellamy as a human shield.

"Bell, wait," she pleaded, holding a hand against his heaving chest as he tried to maneuver his way past her.

"Just calm down for a second," Finn ordered, keeping hold of Murphy's arm as he prepared to push back Bellamy as well. "Can we just talk for a minute here?"

"Why?" the leader growled, his voice a low rumble as he stared down his opponent, not bothering to look at Finn. "Give me one good reason not to kill him," he challenged, and Finn faltered as he tried to produce an answer. Octavia seemed likewise dumbfounded by the question, and for a moment, they both went silent. It was Murphy that finally broke the tension.

"Because I know where they took them."


Author's Note:

So. Much. Exposition. Sorry! This was supposed to be the short intro chapter and then it turned into the longest set-up ever. The next chapter should be much more exciting, because Murphy makes everything more exciting in the best and worst way possible. Get ready for some punch-therapy and a LOT of sass. Just from everyone. Except Lincoln because he'll be MIA for a bit, saving everyone's ass and all. The usual.

Reviews and comments are always loved. All good writing is rewriting, and I'd really appreciate some feedback if you have any.