SURPRISE! I decided to write the Nowhere Found sequel first before I moved on with any other stories. Hehe I hope you guys are okay with it! So here is the first chapter to the sequel of Nowhere Found! I really hope you enjoy it :)

(Also, someone asked if Jaha planned to kill the privileged, and yes he did. His idea was to rid the population of the Ark to eliminate any and every threat of a rebellion. Hope that clears everything up! )


Nowhere Found II

i.

The wall surrounding the the Ark gleams in the warmth of the moonlight, darkness emerging from the night sky.

Her mother's hands are soft on her shoulders, pulling her closer in her embrace. She traces her fingers along Clarke's skin, golden strands of fair framing her face, so innocent and gentle.

"Mom," Clarke lifts her face towards her mother, curious eyes compelled with fascination, "what do you think is out there?"

Abby smiles, turning to the man beside her. There's been so many stories, so many tales and rumours of life past the wall, all of which have been coaxed in danger. Danger of the unknown and of the savaged, of those who are lost in the woods that entangle and darken their soul.

Jake shakes his head, looking at his wife. Clarke's too young to be exposed to those stories of terror.

"Nobody really knows," Jake answers, and her expression deems one of unsatisfactory. He leans forward, pressing his lips against his lips against his daughter's ear. "But you don't have to worry about that stuff."

Clarke shrugs her shoulders, dough-eyed and precious, so young and kind. "Why not?"

Jake sighs. Her gaze is unwavering, releasing an overwhelming amount of passion that swarms in his chest. He thinks of the rebellion, of the possibility of the future, the future for his daughter, for her to witness a beautiful change.

And he has to be there. Abby has to be there. For his little girl.

"Because we'll always be here, to protect you. You know that, right?"

Clarke smiles, an image of her mother. "I know."

Jake chuckles as he presses a kiss to her ear, tender skin under his lips. She's so small, though a fire grows inside her, a fire he will help her control and maintain, help her use against those who refuse her security and protection. His little, little girl.

Abby rubs her hands along her daughter's arms, and they sit on the porch, like they always do, like they always will do, a family. They gaze at the wall that surrounds them, the wall that neither of them, hopefully, will ever have to pass.

A wall that neither of them will have to run to, to escape to.

He'll make a change, he will. He'll make it better.

Don't worry, Clarke, you're going to make it.


ii.

The metal is crisp with blood, her fingers clinging to the bars as the darkness overwhelms her cell.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Clarke grips the bars, shaking them violently in her grasp, desperate and frantic. There's no weakness, no possibility of escape, but there has to be. There has to be because Finn is still wounded from his gunshot, and she has a responsibility to him, to get them out.

She has a responsibility to Bellamy.

Bellamy.

"Are they going to kill us?"

Clarke breathes deeply. The outline of Finn's body is apparent in the black settlement of their cells. He seems weak, slumping against the wall of his bars, hand on his stomach and hair damp with sweat.

She doesn't know if they'll die, doesn't know if they're already dead, but he can't know that, and she can't think that.

We're going to make it.

"No," Clarke whispers, and her tone is hoarse from the smoke. "We'll get out of here. Bellamy will - "

Finn scoffs. "Bellamy's dead."

Clarke clutches the bars. She swallows the building thickness in her throat, the increasing panic in her chest. The Ark was surrounded by chaos, by weapons and death and suffering. But it's Bellamy, Bellamy Blake, the man who saved them all.

She thinks of his lips, and his eyes, the blood that stained his skin.

Bellamy. Bellamy.

Her breath falters, and her heart tightens, but she refuses to give up.

"We don't know that," she murmurs.

Finn laughs without humour, and the sound sends a shiver of indifference through her core. He shakes his head, and his mouth gurgles with blood, with the injury of never recovering, the injury of defeat.

"What have we done?" he questions, and she wonders if he's speaking to her or himself, "what have we fucking done? It wasn't worth it."

Clarke bends her head. "Shut up, Finn."

"All those people, all those dead people, all because we couldn't - "

Clarke releases a vibrant hiss, her fingers tightening around the metal. She bites on her bottom lip, teeth digging her skin, and kicks at the bars that trap her, the bars that keep her away from him.

"Shut the fuck up," she growls, "we tried."

They tried, they fucking tried, and they didn't do this. This isn't her fault. God, this can't be her fault.

It'll be okay, she'll find Bellamy and they'll be okay.

But Finn won't stop speaking of the memories, of the images of lifeless bodies and innocent corpses. He won't stop fucking talking and she can't make him stop, can't make him fucking stop, and the only option she has is to listen to him.

"Tried?" His mocking chuckle fills the atmosphere. "We lost. We're not going to make it."

Clarke whimpers. She wants Bellamy, she needs Bellamy. Her body weakens against the bars, and she collapses, skin sliding along the cold metal. She buries herself into the wall, her head in her hands and her tears on her cheeks.

She cries into her fingers, silent and vulnerable. There's a breaking of brightness from the opening in the ceiling, and she can see the white sign, the words of Mount Weather, the words of suspicion.

She sighs, lowering her forehead against the bars and repeating the statements in her head.

They're not going to kill them, Bellamy's not dead.

This isn't her fault.


iii.

There's so much fucking blood.

The grass beneath them is damp with crimson, melting with the wound that appears in Octavia's thigh. Her fingers clutch at Lincoln's sleeve, her eyes fading with unconsciousness, mouth parting with agony, and there's so much fucking blood.

"Holy shit," Jasper mumbles, "holy shit."

Octavia screams, a piercing shriek that echoes throughout the woods. The smoke of the Ark continues to blur the night sky, the reminder of death and suffering and her, and Bellamy leans forward, his hands pushing pressure on Octavia's leg.

He can't lose her too.

"Octavia," Bellamy hisses, voice taunt and thick, "come on. Come on."

His fingers press soothing rhythms against her skin as Raven operates on her, her slick fingers sliding between the opening in her flesh. She discards the bullet fragments buried inside, the repeating sound of metal, the repeating memory of gunshots.

Gunshots. His ears continue to ring with gunshots and screaming, of Octavia's plea to leave her, of Clarke's words to return to him.

Clarke Clarke Clarke

Octavia Octavia Octavia

There's blood everywhere.

"Okay," Raven murmurs, and she sounds fucking exhausted, "we almost got it."

Bellamy nods, rigid and tense. He looks at his sister, at the red that splatters her hair, and he didn't want this, didn't expect this. When he thought of the rebellion, of the changes it would bring, he didn't imagine this.

He didn't imagine the aching in his chest, the aching that is filled with grief instead of victory, of loss instead of triumph. He didn't imagine the broken feeling inside him, the ghost of her lips on his, so fatal and burning and present.

And it hurts. And he needs her.

Clarke.

There's a hissing of relief as Raven removes the final fragment from Octavia's thigh, and she gasps, directing the others to bandage her and stop the blood flow. Lincoln tears the hem of his shirt and wraps it around her leg, pulling her body close against him.

"I got you. I got you."

Bellamy swallows thickly at their embrace, notices the desperation in their expressions. Lincoln's arms lock around her waist as Monty continues to put pressure on her thigh, and there's so much fucking blood, endless amounts, but she'll be okay, she always is.

A silence follows her as she sleeps, and it only dawns on them then, the realization of where they are, of what they just came from. They don't know if there's any other survivors, if anyone else made it past the walls. Doesn't know where Jaha is, or what they've accomplishment. Don't know how they're going to survive.

But they know that they have to.

The smoke is merely visible in the sky, and he thinks of blonde hair and soft lips, of blue and fulfilling eyes.

Clarke Clarke Clarke.

Come home.


iv.

Her body is sore as she leans against the wall of her cell.

There's bruises on her legs and wounds on her arms, healing under the recovery provided by the people who captured them. Whoever the hell they are, whatever the hell they want.

She doesn't get it. Doesn't understand why they aren't dead yet.

They've been trapped inside these damn cells for hours, maybe more, maybe less. No food, or water, but she's healed. They haven't fed them or released them, but they healed them.

Clarke folds her arms across her chest and rests her forehead on her knees. She breathes in. They're not going to kill them, Bellamy's not dead. Breathes out. This isn't her fault.

She breathes in and out, tries to think of the good and the hope, but it doesn't matter, because all of her thoughts are filled with strong arms and passionate eyes.

They're filled with home. She wants to go home.

There's a creaking of protest, and Clarke looks up, her chest increasing in alarm. An additional brightness sheds from the opening of a door, and three men walk through it, and they look so familiar, with their suits and patterns of blood.

Words scribble their uniform. Mountain Men.

Fuck.

Clarke releases a shuddering breath, her fingers clawing at the skin of her arms. The Mountain Men guards glance at her, and glance at Finn, glance at her again. Crimson marks cover their suits, replacing their white attire with a display of red.

She swallows thickly. So much blood.

One of the guards, the tallest of them, points a finger towards Finn.

"Take the boy."

No.

Clarke scrambles to her feet, her muscles aching from the pressure. She shakes her head, clutching the bars and slamming her hands against the metal. Not him. Take her. Take her instead.

"Stop!" She cries out, rattling the bars. "What are you doing?"

The guards enter Finn's cell, responding in action as they grip Finn's arms and pull him to his feet. He hisses, touching his side, and torment portrays his expression. A guard grabs his hands and pull them behind his back, dragging him out of the cell.

"Stop! He's hurt! He's fucking hurt!"

Clarke sobs, her muscles responding in contrast as she pushes herself against the bars. She curses, her eyes willing with tears as the three guards walk towards the door they entered from, only this time with Finn in their grasp, his head hanging forward.

He looks so weak. Looks like giving up.

"Please." She tries once more, though there's fear in her voice. "Please don't do this."

The door opens, and the four men exit, disappearing into a hallway. She hears the echo of yelling before the door can close, and she clings to the the bars, her tears dripping along the metal.

What has she led them to?


v.

Bellamy can't fucking sleep.

The smoke that has erupted from the burning of the camp has ceased, littering the night sky with only memories of corpses and crisped remains. There's a smell, a smell of death that reaches the forest, and he closes his eyes.

And all he sees is red.

Red and blonde hair. Red and blue eyes. Red and Clarke, and Octavia, and everyone else he's tried to protect.

All the people he's failed to protect.

There's a rustle of footsteps behind him, and Bellamy turns towards the sound, his eyes landing on Lincoln in the darkness. He looks tired, Octavia's blood staining his skin, and he see's the reflection of worry in his gaze.

Bellamy clears his throat, redirecting his body in the direction of the camp. He feels the grass beneath him, and it's soft, and he's never really felt grass before. But he would give anything to never feel this grass. Give anything to see her.

Lincoln sits beside him on the hill, the muttering of their people sleeping behind them.

"Can't sleep?"

Bellamy shrugs. "Somebody has to stay up anyways."

Lincoln nods. He looks at the remaining members of the rebellion, their expressions frozen in grief and terror as they lie amongst the grass. Octavia wraps her arms around the jacket covering her body, her leg tightly wounded with bandages.

Bellamy exhales deeply. "How is she?"

"She'll live," Lincoln tells him, but his answer doesn't satisfy him. "And you?"

Bellamy doesn't respond. He rips at the grass that caresses his fingertips, uprooting them from the earth, stealing them from their home, from where they belong. He doesn't know where he belongs, where he should be, but he does know who should be with him.

There's a blur of red when he thinks of her again, but he doesn't care.

"We should keep heading South. I know we lost a lot of people, but - "

Bellamy shakes his head. "Maybe not all of them."

Maybe not her.

Lincoln swallows thickly. He nods, his knuckles clenching in the darkness, blood visible on his skin. He looks up at the remaining cabins in the distance of the camp, the cabins that didn't burn down with the families inside them.

He glances at Bellamy, eyes fierce in alarm. "When Octavia gets better, we'll search the camp."

Bellamy nods.

Maybe not her.

Clarke Clarke Clarke.


vi.

Octavia mutters a sequence of words as she rolls her head on the grass, eyes closed in sleep. She looks so discomforting, masking the expression she would wear when she had a nightmare, when she would wake up screaming and run into her brother's arms.

Bellamy leans forward and brushes a strand of damp hair from her face. "O," he whispers, voice matching the huskiness, "wake up."

There's a rustle and a soft whimper as Octavia opens her eyes, her breathing laboured in her chest. She sits up quickly and grabs Bellamy's collar, her gaze wild as panic fills her vision. She tightens her fingers around the material, and the pain hasn't left her features.

"Hey," he coos, "it's just a nightmare. You're okay."

Octavia swallows thickly, realization dawning on her as she glances at her grip around his shirt. She blinks, her tongue lining her lips as she sighs, releasing her hold on him.

She shakes her head. "It wasn't a nightmare."

Bellamy understands. Reality is their nightmare. Realities and nightmares are the same fucking thing.

Octavia coughs, and he grasps her shoulders to steady her. She's weak against him, and he lowers her onto the grass, placing the jacket over her body. She looks uneasy, permanently distraught, and he glances at the bandage around her leg.

"Does it hurt?"

She hums. "Like a bitch. But it'll heal. Clarke told me that - " She stops, looking away from him. "It'll heal."

Bellamy nods, and he thinks that's the first time he's heard her name aloud, not in his thoughts, or in his dreams, but the soft whisper of her name that he would call every day. He didn't know something so gentle could hurt so fucking much.

He exhales deeply. "That's good."

Octavia turns to him, her gaze landing on his through the darkness. There's an impending amount of determination in her eyes, filled with ice and frustration, and he wants to join her, wants to match her retaliation, but he doesn't feel anything. He feels so God damn empty.

Clarke. Don't fucking leave yet.

"No one has talked about it yet, you know," Octavia hisses, and there's that anger again, there's that fire. "No one has talked about what happened."

Bellamy wraps his arms around his knees. "There's nothing to say."

Octavia huffs a noise of disbelief. She props herself onto her elbows, staring at him with her wild gaze, the gaze that has heightened and calmed him for so many damn years. Brown eyes, blue eyes, Octavia, Clarke. There's a rhythm in his chest now.

"All of those people - " She shakes her head, fingers clutching the grass. "You heard Jaha before . . . we weren't the only camp with a rebellion. We can find others."

Bellamy doesn't respond. He's thought about it, of course he has. He's thought about the idea of a rebellion outside their camp since the Mountain Men first arrived at the Ark. There is a chance, he knows that, but he can't -

"Clarke is still out there you know."

Bellamy tightens his jaw. "Octavia - "

"It's Clarke," she presses, and there's that name again, there's that pain in his heart again. "She made it. We'll find her."

There's a humming in the woods that thickens the silence amongst them, tense and building and uncontrollable. He glances at Lincoln, his back facing them as he watches the camp on the hillside, and he begins to feel that Blake fire, begins to remember that Blake passion.

He looks at his sister. "And if we don't?"

Octavia shrugs, biting on her bruised lip.

"Then she'll find us."

Bellamy nods, and he lowers himself onto the ground, his arm wrapping around Octavia's shoulders as she nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck. There's that rhythm in his chest again, the two names of his heart, and it heightens with the fire and the passion, it heightens with love.

He closes his eyes, and the image of blonde hair and fare skin is the last thing he sees before he succumbs to his exhaustion.


vii.

She hates this cell. She fucking hates this cell.

Clarke curses as she slams her hand against the bars that surround her, the impact of metal echoing throughout the chambers. Her skin trembles, body shaking of rage, and she grips the material of her shirt, squeezes it until her fingers cramp.

She wants to go home. She needs to go home.

Clarke closes her eyes, muscles aching under the pressure of her grasp.

They're not going to kill them, Bellamy's not dead.

This isn't her fault.

But, oh God, she's so fucking scared.

There's a creaking of cement as the door from the hallway opens in protest. Clarke lifts herself from the ground, her eyes straining to see in the darkness, eyes straining to find the outline of Finn, to see if he's unharmed.

There's a shadow that casts among the men walking in, and Clarke cups her mouth with her hands.

"What the fuck did you do?"

The Mountain Men guards turn away from her as they lead Finn to his cell, an overwhelming amount of additional blood staining his clothes. His hair is damp and long around his face, and his eyes are lost, blank depths of holes.

They're not going to kill them, Bellamy's not dead.

This isn't her fault.

Clarke rattles the metal bars. "Fuck you. Fuck you."

The guards push Finn into his cell, and his legs collapse, his body stumbling to the ground in defeat. There's a noise of impact when his head hits the ground, and Clarke screams, her voice thickening with fury as the Mountain Men exit through the doorway.

"Finn," she cries, "Finn, please talk to me. Are you okay?"

He doesn't speak, and the silence builds in desperation. His hands crawl along the floor to cover his ears.

"Finn. What did they do?"

It's quiet, the echo of the chambers lonely except for the drops of blood that splatter from Finn's wound on his shoulder. There's a pool of blood surrounding him, blood and bandages. They tortured him, only to heal him again.

What the fuck.

Clarke exhales a shuddering breath, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Her body feels weak, weightless, and she lowers herself against the concrete wall. The wall is cold, everything in this room is cold, and she misses the warmth.

"Finn," she tries again, and his fingers clutch tightly at his ears. "Please."

There's a choked whimper as Finn sobs, his fragile frame shaking with the release of his despair. His cries are loud, terrifying, and Clarke buries her head in her hands, the beats of her chest obtaining a new rhythm.

They're going to kill them, Bellamy's dead.

This is her fault.


Whoa! Intense chapter, huh? Haha. I hope you guys enjoyed it. It kind of hurt my heart a bit writing it but I'm having a lot of fun developing the characters of Clarke and Bellamy with their own story arc. But don't you worry, they will reunite soon in this instalment! It won't be too long! :)

I really want to thank all of you for your kind reviews and viewership of this story. It's truly heartwarming. You may not know this but the comments you guys make about this story make me truly happy and excited to keep writing for you all. All of you are awesome!

I'm still in the middle of finals so I think the next chapter should be up within a week. I'll probably update this story once a week, maybe sooner if my days are slow, but I'll definitely try to release new chapters as soon as I can!

Have a great week you guys! And Happy Bellarking! xoxo.