Chapter 7: Silent Screams
"Bellamy! No! Don't!" Ila shouted as she stood defensively over Murphy in the dropship. Bellamy pointed his gun at Murphy through Ila, finger flirting with the trigger.
"I told you I'd kill you if you came back to camp," Bellamy growled at Murphy.
"I didn't come back, I was chased," Murphy spoke up, mouth dry and voice cracking.
"Bellamy, he's in bad shape already. Hasn't he suffered enough? Look at his fingers! He's been tortured!" Ila bent down beside Murphy, taking his hands up in hers gently.
"What did you tell them?" Bellamy was unrelenting.
"…Everything…" Murphy stated guiltily.
Bellamy's grip on his gun tightened, ready to shoot, but Clarke stopped him, putting a hand on top of his gun to lower it.
"Bellamy, stop. Murphy can tell us more information about the grounders, stuff Ila may not know," Clarke suggested. Her voice lowered as she leaned in next to his ear, "As soon as he's better, we'll question him…and then he's out of here."
Bellamy nodded in agreement and the two, along with Connor and Miller, left the dropship, leaving Ila and Murphy alone. Ila grabbed a cloth, dipping it into the water bin and wrung it out. She began to wipe Murphy's face clean of his blood until he flinched in pain.
"You need to clean up your act and prove yourself useful, Murphy, or they're going to kick your ass out of here again – and I won't be able to help you," Ila admitted.
"Why do you keep helping me? I never asked you to," Murphy said with almost bitterness.
"There were times in my life when I needed help and didn't ask for it," Ila spoke with a soft, sad tone, "and I wish I had…not that anyone would have come running to help…"
"Ila, you're bleeding," Murphy pointed as her face. She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve and smeared blood everywhere. Murphy suddenly lurched forward, coughing and vomiting up blood that splattered across the floor.
"Clarke!" Ila shouted.
Almost instantaneously, Clarke had entered the dropship, eyes dripping with blood.
"It's a virus. He wasn't chased here. He was led," Clarke stumbled closer to Ila, "It's an attack from the grounders – biological warfare."
"And Murphy's the weapon?" Ila turned to her, continuing to wipe the blood from her nose.
Clarke rushed to Murphy, pushing him to his side.
"What did they do to you?" Clarke began to interrogate him frantically.
"I don't know-"
"Clarke – stop," Ila snapped at her, "Maybe we can find a cure…Octavia…she has that grounder friend…have her ask him."
Ila's voice trailed off as she began to spout blood from her mouth, falling hard against the metal floor. She watched through blurry vision as three more victims came stumbling into the dropship. One of them seized, blood spewing from his mouth, nose and eyes. He lashed about until…dead. Ila was immobilized, weak and frail but on the inside her heart was pounding, screaming – as though she was trapped within herself. Someone covered her with a blanket but she could not tell who. She blacked out.
Sounds buzzed in and out of Ila's ears. She would occasionally open her eyes to count the bodies and would sometimes catch Murphy aiding them. He turned people on their sides when they coughed up blood, made them more comfortable, fetched them water. She would smile before dazing back off to sleep.
"Clarke," Ila heard Murphy's voice out of the darkness, "She's had this for a while now. I thought you said it passes quickly."
He was kneeling beside Ila, a gentle hand on her forehead.
"It does – it should have," Clarke said, kneeling on Ila's other side.
"Then why is she still sick?"
"I-" Clarke paused, "I don't know. It's like her immune system can't fight back."
"Is she – is she going to die?" Ila could hear the panic in Murphy's voice.
"Ila's strong, Murphy. I wouldn't worry," Clarke reassured him.
"Worried I won't be around to save your sorry ass, again?" Ila choked out a laugh, her eyes blinking open. Both Clarke and Murphy laughed at this, Clarke getting up quickly to fetch her some water. Clarke handed the cup to Murphy, who then held it to Ila's lips, carefully tipping it to pour water into her parched mouth. It soothed Ila's dry throat as she swallowed – a painful feat.
"Come on – let her rest," Clarke suggested with a small smile, patting Murphy's back. Ila watched Clarke leave the room, escaping to the upper level. Ila seemed as though she drifted back to sleep, her eyes closed heavily. She listened to Murphy pace around the room, checking on all the other kids. Everyone was asleep. Murphy grabbed a cloth from across the room and soaked it into the water bin. After wringing it out, he brought it over to Connor, who sat propped up in a corner of the dropship. Murphy covered Connor's nose and mouth and, with a forceful grasp, smothered him. Connor – too weak to fight back or even struggle for that matter, floundered under Murphy's weight until he stopped moving altogether – dead. Murphy stood up, walked across the room and laid the bloodied cloth over a ladder rung. He sat down on the opposite side of the dropship where he fell asleep.
Ila's eyes were wide awake, staring at Connor the whole time. She had managed to go unnoticed by Murphy. Her head screamed for help but her voice had betrayed her.
