Chapter Seven: Wishing Wells
Isobel sat atop the drop ship, hands rested on her weapons – her pipe tucked into her belt, and a new make-shift knife on the other side – as she looked down over the camp below.
.: "Hey, you not going out there?" :.
It was a flurry of activity, with everyone working to build the wall as quickly as possible. While previously reluctant to do anything except play and screw around to their heart's content, all the delinquents seemed to be bonded together and motivated to work.
.: "I could always use the company. Not many people here are willing to spend five minutes with me." :.
Her fists clenched and she grit her teeth. They were scared, with good reason, and they knew the wall could help. No one argued, everyone pitched in. No one wanted to end up like…
.: "I'm Wells. Wells Jaha." :.
Grounders killed Wells.
They'd found his body just outside their perimeter at sunup, a stab wound in his neck and two of his fingers cut off. He had offered to take watch – something he had wanted set up to prevent this, to keep the newly-discovered Grounders from hurting anyone else. Isobel had wanted to sit with him, to keep him company – to protect him – but he had insisted she tend to Jasper instead.
Jasper, who had her, Finn, Octavia, Monty, and Clarke for company.
Wells, who'd had no one when he died.
The tears she had managed to keep back began leaking out of her eyes, burning as they fell, and she cursed to herself, wiping them away on the sleeve of the jacket Wells had given her, taken from the body of a dead teenager. His own corpse had been picked clean – they needed the clothes, the boots, and Wells was dead. He had no need for dignity when others were freezing.
Clarke had cried for hours, grieving her recently forgiven friend. Finn, in an attempt to either avenge Wells or comfort Clarke, had taken to scouting the woods at night, searching for anyone lingering too close to camp. No one else really knew Wells, really connected with him. He went, mostly, unmissed, no one mourning his passing as they used the firewood he'd gathered, drank the rainwater he'd collected.
She had removed herself from the camp instantly, using the exposed pipes and grooves in the sides of the drop ship as hand- and foot-holds so she could climb to the ledge just before the top level and look over the settlement. A short ladder climb had her at the top, with an all-around view. From there, she saw everyone in the camp, and everyone coming and going. No one could sneak up on them while she was up there, watching.
.: "It's…It really is amazing out there, Isobel." :.
The few times she came down she spent with Octavia, Jasper, and Monty. Both girls had helped Jasper find his feet again, and coaxed him out of the dropship and into the sun. Octavia was kind, but blunt, and the only girl Isobel ever befriended. Jasper was sweet and funny, and often dedicated hours to making her smile. Monty was ever observant, able to change the topic of conversation when he saw her start to retreat, bringing her back to them.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Murphy?" she heard someone yell from below.
"So many things," she muttered to herself as she swung her leg over the ledge, climbing down the ladder and descending the side of the ship, dropping the final short distance and landing on her feet.
"I'll kill you!" the same voice proclaimed and Isobel frowned.
"What's going on?" she demanded, marching forwards as she took in the scene.
Murphy stood, smug and victorious, a few steps from another teen – Conner, if she remembered correctly – who was being held back by two other boys. They struggled with him, so he was either very strong or very determined. Knowing Murphy, Isobel guessed the latter.
"He wanted a water break," Murphy defended with a smirk. Isobel gave him a confused frown as she looked over to Conner for further explanation. The boy was flustered, more than a little angry, with his cheeks puffed and his eyes wide.
"He pissed on me!" he roared and the redhead sneered.
"That's disgusting," she uttered, glancing over at Murphy in disgust. "You, stay the hell away from him, and play nice. Everyone else, get the hell back to work!"
"Yes, ma'am," Murphy saluted sarcastically. Conner, unsatisfied with the lack of justice, almost growled.
"You're not going to punish him?" he demanded, causing Murphy and Isobel to both stop.
"Punish him?" she spat. "Who the hell do you think I am? Some kind of guard? A watch-dog to keep an eye on this asshole?"
"No need for name-calling, wildcat," scoffed Murphy, folding his arms over his chest as he turned back to Conner. "She doesn't get to punish me, idiot. No one does."
"Let it go, both of you," Isobel said, sighing. "I'll bring it up with Bellamy," she added to Conner, who at least seemed a little happier with this result. He snarled once more at Murphy before walking away, the crowd dispersing after him.
"Geez, maybe we should call you 'law keeper' from now on," Murphy snorted, smirking down at her. She returned the looked with a glare.
"Shut up, Murphy," she spat at him. "You need to stop pissing people off, or they're gonna go for the…" she trailed off, feeling cold when she realised what she was about to say.
"Go for the throat?" he finished for her, frowning at the hate-filled look she gave him. "It's been a week, wildcat. You've gotta get over it."
"I am over it," she lied, to him, to herself; she wasn't sure. Murphy only shook his head at her.
"Most people would believe you," he sighed. "Hell, most people don't seem to think you gave a damn from the start, but I know you're not the type to hide away if you didn't care."
"You don't know me," Isobel snapped. "You don't know anything about me."
"Your mother died when you were a kid, and your father was a nasty piece of work," he said quickly and Isobel's eyes widened as she drew back, away from the truth he was speaking. She glanced around, but no one was paying them any mind.
"Who did you talk to?" she demanded. "Did Bellamy tell you?"
"No one had to tell me – I already knew," he scoffed. "I figured it out. You're the kid from Factory Station who was pulled out of school when you were around seven or eight. Your mom died, and then your dad kept you home."
"…how…?"
"You were in my class," he explained. "I remember my parents talking about the girl who stopped going to school because her mom died and you were the only kid not going anymore. No one really saw you after that, since you didn't even really hang out with your friends anymore, so we all kinda forgot."
"What made you remember?" she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
"You kept to yourself after Wells was killed," he shrugged. "Same as when your mom died."
"That's a big leap," she muttered, scowling at him as he half-smirked.
"I guess, but I was right, wasn't I?" he snorted. "I'm kinda surprised not more people made the connection. Then again, not everyone's too observant."
"Yeah, well, probably better they aren't," she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.
"Why?" he frowned. "Because then they'd all know what you did to get lock up?"
"What?" she breathed, head snapping back up to meet his knowing eyes. "You know?"
"Everyone knew it happened, they just didn't know who did it," he nodded. "We all assumed it was another adult, and they were floated. The name, though – that why you don't tell people your last name?"
"Drop it," she warned, though her voice was almost pleading.
"I won't tell," he assured her. "Honestly, I don't care. Just wanted to see if I was right, which I am," he grinned.
"You're an asshole," she hissed, shoving him back. Murphy shot forwards, ready for a fight, but Isobel was already moving awake from him.
"Maybe be a little nicer! Wouldn't want word spreading around!" he warned loudly, watching Isobel look over her shoulder and glare at him. He scoffed, glancing around to make sure no one had seen her push him, before he went back to supervising the wall build.
Isobel, meanwhile, was headed back for the ship.
.: "Retreating back inside?" :.
She flinched, shaking her head to rid it of his voice. She needed to be away from everyone; they had started looking to her, as Connor had, to be some kind of Justice. As one of the few who stood up to Murphy, and the only one he ever seemed to back away from when she did so, it seemed that the camp had unanimously voted her in as their 'Murphy Watch', expecting her to retaliate every time he pissed someone off.
Honestly, if she had any intention of doing so, it would be a full-time occupation.
With him knowing about her past, there wasn't much she could do anyway. All he'd need to do to get back at her was say one word – her surname. Then, they'd all know her for the monster she was. Jasper would be afraid of her, and Monty would likely never talk to her again. She didn't know how Octavia would react, but she didn't even want to think about losing the only friends she had now that Wells was gone.
"Octavia?" Jasper's voice cried from the gate. Hearing him, Isobel's eyes snapped up, spotting the boy stood twitchily by the open gate, staring out into the forest beyond. When he rushed outside, Isobel's steps turned into a sprint.
"Jasper!" she yelled, trying to catch him. The last thing she needed was to lose him, too.
"Octavia, are you okay?" he yelped. Isobel watched as Octavia emerged from behind a log, fighting off a laughing teenage boy, who had his hand over her mouth.
"Hey, jerk!" she snapped at him, shoving him away as he continued to laugh.
Jasper shied away, embarrassed and afraid. He had been frightened to leave the dropship at first, Octavia and Isobel slowly coaxing him out. While the redhead was happy to leave it when he had poked his head out into the sunlight, Octavia wanted to take it further, trying to get him to leave camp. Isobel hadn't helped, hoping deep down that Jasper would stay in the walls, where she could keep him safe.
Clearly, this was another attempt – successful, in a manner of speaking – to get Jasper out of the camp. Isobel guessed at the rest – Octavia had left, this boy had grabbed her to scare Jasper, and it had worked.
Octavia was angry, yelling at the boy. Jasper was humiliated, trying to retreat.
Isobel was murderous.
"Issy?" gasped Jasper when she charged past him, clearly only just realising she had witnessed the tasteless prank.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" she snarled, shoving the boy back. He sobered instantly, but didn't back down.
"It was a joke!" he defended, throwing his hands up. Isobel only growled, throwing a fist straight into his face. He went down, his arms thrown up around his face, but Isobel turned to kicking his abdomen instead.
"Never again," she hissed at him, kicking his ribs. He shifted, trying to stop her, so she pulled back and delivered a hard kick to his face.
His head snapped back, nose bloody, eyes closed in unconsciousness. Isobel looked down at him, breathing heavily, mind screaming at her to make him suffer.
He had scared Jasper, ruined a careful week of mental recovery. He had angered Octavia, the only girl who had ever offered her unconditional friendship. He thought it was funny; he laughed; he didn't save Wells.
Wells was dead. Wells was dead because this guy didn't take guard duty. Wells was dead when he could have been saved. He was alone. She had left him alone.
She drew her foot back to deliver another kick to his face.
"Isobel, you're gonna kill him!" shrieked Octavia.
"Issy!"
It was Jasper's voice that snapped her out of it.
She looked down at her boots, covered in blood and dirt. She looked at the boy, his eyes closed and his face bloody, and she staggered back, tripping on the uneven ground and falling on her back.
.: "Thanks for jumping in. You're kinda badass, you know that?" :.
Another sharp shake of her head – a useless effort to dislodge the memory of him.
"Hey, are you okay?" asked Octavia as she rushed to help her. Jasper lingered by the gate, afraid, and Isobel felt sick when those fear-filled eyes locked on hers.
Isobel shoved the hands away, standing on her own.
"I'm fine," she snapped, stepping away from Octavia. The darker-haired girl seemed hurt, and Isobel sighed. "I'm fine," she added, softer, as she glanced back at the boy she had beaten. "We need to get him to Clarke."
"We'll help you," Octavia agreed, turning to Jasper, who was already retreating back into the camp. "Jasper, come on," she pleaded, walked after him. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
Jasper tripped over a branch and landed on his face, both girls hurrying to check on him. Octavia reached him first, both she and the boy freezing as they spotted something on the ground. Isobel knelt beside Jasper, going to help him up, when she followed his gaze and saw it, too.
A knife fashioned of metal from the ship, striped with yellow paint. A very familiar knife.
Not too far away, two dark-skinned fingers.
Octavia and Jasper stared in silence, while Isobel snarled.
"It wasn't a Grounder."
After this revelation, Jasper picked himself up and shakily moved towards the objects on the ground. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and hesitantly picked up the fingers and the knife, wrapping it all up and out of sight. The girls watched him do this and, when he was done, they turned back to gather up the boy unfortunate enough to incur Isobel's wrath.
"C'mon," Octavia said as they began hauling him. "We'll get him inside, then we'll get Clarke and my brother. They'll know what to do."
"Sure," Isobel agreed half-heartedly.
The pair carried the boy into the dropship, basically dropping him once they were inside, Jasper wandering off to find Bellamy and Clarke. Though unwilling to let him die, neither were feeling particularly gentle towards the boy who had frightened Jasper.
"Whoa," Monty gaped, walking over to them. "What happened to him?"
"He fell," Isobel replied automatically. Octavia gave her a strange look and she sighed, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to."
"You did that?" the boy yelped, getting a better look at her handiwork, taking in the swelling bruising and oozing wounds. "Someone should tell Murphy to stop getting on your bad side."
"Murphy can take it," the redhead said, the closest thing to a compliment she could achieve when discussing everyone's least-favourite campmate. "Jasper went to get Clarke. He'll be fine."
"What did he do?" was Monty's next question. Before they could reply, Jasper walked in, followed by Clarke and, surprisingly, Finn and Bellamy. Isobel mentally groaned, not prepared for the questions that were going to be thrown her way.
"What did you do to him?" murmured Clarke as she approached, crouching down by the boy.
"She hit him," Jasper replied helpfully. Isobel had to smile at his almost sarcastic response, but Clarke's unimpressed face made her stop.
"He…provoked me," she excused, seeing the look of surprise on Bellamy's face when he scanned the boy's injuries.
"Must've been bad," he said with a whistle.
"Nothing's that bad," countered Finn, his patronising expression almost more than Isobel could take. Since Wells' death, her fuse had shortened to nearly non-existent.
"It was," defended Octavia. "He was picking on Jasper."
"Being a bully doesn't excuse this," Clarke stated, assessing the extent of the damage. "He'll be hurting, a lot and for a long time."
"Good," Octavia sneered. "Let him suffer."
"Octavia!" scolded Bellamy.
"He'll live, though," the blonde assured them. "Nothing's broken, luckily, but he'll have some nasty bruises.
"I…" Isobel's voice caught as her nerves calmed and she sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt him that bad. I meant to punch him, sure, but…I just lost it. He didn't deserve it. Not that, anyway."
"It doesn't matter," Octavia decided with a frown. "We have more important things to worry about."
"Like what?" Clarke asked, unable to think of anything more important than trying to discern whether or not Isobel would try to kill someone else in a blind rage.
"This," Jasper answered, pulling out the handkerchief and showing Clarke the knife and fingers. She leapt to her feet, taking the cloth from him and folding it back up.
"Let's go to my tent," suggested Bellamy, sensing the need for privacy.
"Stay with him," said the blonde, directing her words to Finn as she gestured to the beaten boy. Monty looked as though he wanted to follow, too, but he stayed to work on the wristbands.
Bellamy led the procession out and towards his set-up, heading in with Clarke close behind him. She laid the item out on the table in the centre of the room as she and Bellamy leaned in the get a better look, Octavia, Jasper and Isobel looking around their expressions. The blonde looked closely at the knife, avoiding looking at the fingers.
With a sigh, she picked up the knife, looking at it closely. A frown covered her face; she was clearly coming to the same conclusion Isobel already had.
"This knife was made of metal from the dropship," she announced. Jasper stilled instantly, fear flashing in his eyes. Isobel was quiet, knowing who the knife belonged to, but unable to throw the accusation.
"What do you mean?" he asked, the words barely tumbling out of his mouth.
"Who else knows about this?" Bellamy asked them, eyes still locked on the fingers.
"No one," Octavia replied. "We brought it straight here."
"Clarke?" prompted Jasper, sounding more timid than before. He knew the answer, he just needed it voiced. Isobel carefully wrapped her hand around his and squeezed, trying to comfort him. He held back tightly.
"It means the grounders didn't kill Wells," Clarke confirmed and Isobel grit her teeth at hearing the name. "It was one of us."
"So, there's a murderer in the camp?" Jasper asked weakly after a moment of pause, his eyes flickering around as though said murderer would pop out and get him next.
"There's more than one murderer in this camp," Bellamy said as though it were a reassurance. "This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet," he decided, fully prepared for the discussion to end there.
"We should at least find out who did it," Isobel suggested, glancing at the dark-haired man as she let go of Jasper's hand. "Keep a closer eye on them, or lock them up, or something."
"Why?" asked Bellamy, raising his eyebrows. "Everyone's pulling together against a more dangerous enemy because they think grounders killed Wells. We tell them it was one of our own and everyone's out for blood. We lose trust, we lose progress, and we will die."
"Maybe we deserve to die, then," the redhead hissed, ignoring the looks of shock on Octavia and Jasper's faces. "If we're the kind of people who can overlook murder, the kind who willingly, knowingly, harbour someone who killed one of our own, then maybe we don't deserve to live."
"Like you tried to prove on Mbege?" he snapped back and Isobel tensed, pulling back instantly. He seemed to falter for a moment when she flinched back from him, but continued to prove his point. "You beat the hell outta him – for what? A bad prank? You want some kind of law and order down here, maybe you shouldn't be so keen on dolling out unjust punishments whenever you see fit."
"I didn't kill him," she defended herself weakly. Clarke made up her own mind and gripped the knife tightly, moving towards the tent entrance, but Bellamy stepped into her path, holding up his hands to stop her.
"Get out of my way, Bellamy," she warned lowly.
"Be smart about this," Bellamy implored, looking between the stubborn blonde and the aggressive redhead, and knowing full well that they could possibly destroy the unstable peace in the camp. "Look at what we've achieved; the wall, the patrols. Like it or not, thinking the grounders killed Wells is good for us."
"Oh, good for you, you mean," scoffed Clarke, even as Isobel's mind began to wrap around Bellamy's words. "What? Keep people afraid and they'll work for you? Is that it?"
"Yeah, that's it," he agreed, glancing at Isobel as he saw her offensive stance draw back. "But it's good for all of us. Fear of the grounders is building that wall."
"Let it go, Clarke," Isobel muttered, her eyes tired and her voice hollow. The blonde turned with wide, stunned eyes.
"You were just as adamant about this two seconds ago!" she insisted, but Isobel only sighed.
.: "Seriously? That's it? No grand stand-off, no stubborn refusal?" :.
"I hate this, I really, really do," she said through gritted teeth, "but Bellamy's right. If we expose a killer, in our own ranks, no one will take the grounder threat seriously anymore. We need to finish our work here, to establish a strong settlement for ourselves, before we can introduce justice and punishment."
"Oh, please," Clarke snarled. "You're only agreeing with him because you're basically in love with him! You know this is wrong!"
Everyone in the tent froze at her statement and Isobel's blue eyes widened as they latched onto Clarke, mind racing, wondering how she could have possibly known. She thought about Octavia – the only other person who knew, the only other person alive – but didn't want to believe that her friend had betrayed her trust. Bellamy, meanwhile, had looked to Isobel, waiting for the denial, for the scathing remark, but it never came.
"Hey!" yelled Octavia, stepping up to defend the redhead. "What happened to Wells is horrible, but they're right. You can't take it out on Isobel, just because you're not getting your own way!"
"Besides," Bellamy cut in again, looking away from the redhead as she directed her gaze to the ground, "what're you gonna do? Just walk out there and ask the killer to step forward? You don't even know whose knife that is."
"Oh, really?" Clarke asked smugly. "J.M. – John Murphy," she declared, presenting the engraving on the inside of the knife. "The people have a right to know."
"You're wrong," Isobel said suddenly, glancing at the knife. "He's an asshole, but he's not –"
"A murderer?" interrupted Clarke. "You and I both know he's more than capable."
"He's not an idiot," Isobel corrected. "There's only two ways Murphy would kill someone – publicly, or without leaving clues. He's not sloppy enough to leave his own knife right next to…" she trailed off, closing her eyes. "Be smart, Clarke – Murphy isn't our guy, and you have no idea who is."
"I have a pretty good idea," Clarke corrected with a scowl, shoving her way out of the tent.
"Clarke!" shouted Isobel, darting after her with Bellamy, Octavia and Jasper close behind.
"You son of a bitch!" yelled Clarke, pushing past another boy to shove Murphy in the chest, startling him. John Mbege stood slightly behind him, face bruised, but awake and alive and Isobel felt a little relieved.
"What's your problem?" asked Murphy, straightening himself with a slightly chuckle. Clarke wasn't a threat to him and, judging by how Isobel was watching the blonde, he guessed she wouldn't be against him.
"Recognise this?" Clarke snapped at him, holding the knife up.
"That's my knife. Where'd you find it?" he questioned, reaching to take it back, but Clarke moved it away quickly.
"Where you dropped it after you killed Wells," she stated and everything went quiet all at once. The delinquents who, until this point, had one ear trained on the altercation, were now unmoving, their undivided attention directed towards Clarke and Murphy.
"Where I what?" he retorted after a moment of silence, his voice hard and defensive but not that of a liar. Nervously, he glanced around and took a step towards Clarke. "The grounders killed Wells, not me."
"I know what you did," Clarke continued, clearly distressed and ignoring his contradiction. "And you're gonna pay for it."
"Really?" he drawled mockingly. Murphy looked up, easily finding his leader stood in the crowd behind the blonde, beside Isobel. "Bellamy, you really believe this crap?"
Bellamy, arms folded, merely shifted his footing and stared Murphy down, letting him know he would find no help there. Isobel turned and stared at him with wide eyes before taking a few, subtle steps towards Murphy, sensing the growing tension in the crowd. Despite what he had said in the tent, he was clearly going to let Clarke have the lead on this one.
"You threatened to kill him," Clarke said, her grief spilling into her tone, "We all heard you! You hated Wells."
"Plenty of people hated Wells," Murphy said truthfully, his voice rising as he tried to stop the mob from forming against him. "His father was the chancellor that locked us up."
"Yeah, you you're the only one who got in a knife fight with him," the blonde interrupted heatedly.
"Yeah, I didn't kill him then, either," he reminded them.
"Tried to kill Jasper, too," Octavia cut in.
"What?" muttered the boy in question. The tension was palpable, and Isobel knew Murphy couldn't recover from this on his own.
"Oh, come on, this is ridiculous," Murphy scoffed, moving around Clarke and aiming to walk away from the dangerous situation. "I don't have to answer to you," he shot at her. "I don't have to answer to anyone!"
"Come again?" Bellamy said, raising an eyebrow. Murphy turned, pinning his leader with an almost pleading look.
"Bellamy," he began, quieter, as he walked towards the older man, stopping just in front of him, Isobel now at his side. "Look, I'm telling you, man," he implored honestly. "I didn't do this."
"They found his fingers on the ground with your knife," replied the ex-guard, just as quietly, but with no sign of mercy.
"That doesn't prove anything," Isobel frowned and Murphy shot her a suspicious, but grateful, look.
"Is this the kind of society that we want?" Clarke questioned loudly, looking around at the quickly angering mob. "You say there should be no rules," she addressed Bellamy. "Does that mean that we can kill each other without…without punishment?"
"I already told you," yelled Murphy, slightly panicked now as he approached her again. "I didn't kill anyone!"
"I say we float him," decided Conner, clearly still angry about earlier. Clarke looked back at him while Murphy froze, fear in his eyes but self-righteous anger on his face. The mob was agreeing, bloodlust shooting through the gathered crowd, and Isobel became a coil, ready to spring.
"That's not what I'm saying," rejected Clarke in an attempt to defuse the situation she started.
"Why not?" Conner demanded. "He deserves to float. It's justice."
With the crowd closing in, yelling their agreement and showing their anger, Murphy began to shift, looking around for an exit route. Isobel stepped up beside him, glancing around for any sympathetic or reluctant faces that might help, but came up empty.
"Revenge isn't justice," Clarke attempted again.
"It's justice." Conner began chanting, incensing the crowd. "Float him! Float him!"
"Float him! Float him! Float him!"
The crowd had irreparably turned and Murphy did the first thing to come to mind. He lunged at Conner, but before he could make a step, someone had tripped him. The mob descended on his prone form, dragging him up, and Isobel leapt forwards, pulling them off him. She managed one or two before their sheer numbers overwhelmed her.
"Leave him alone!" she cried, throwing punches now. "He didn't do anything!"
The delinquents beat Murphy to the ground, gagging him with red fabric and tying his hands behind his back. Isobel surged through them, managing to make it to the accused and shove them all away from him. The crowd stilled around her, all rage-filled eyes and tensed muscles, and for a moment Isobel was afraid that they would turn on her next.
"Back off!" she warned. "He says he didn't do it. You have no proof!"
"Never needed proof on The Ark!" someone yelled from the crowd.
"This isn't The Ark, this is Earth!" Isobel shouted back. "There's enough trying to kill us down here without us killing each other. Murphy said he didn't do it, and we can't prove he did. He's an asshole, but he said he didn't kill anyone. You can't float him for being unlikeable."
Thinking, mistakenly, that no one would oppose her, Isobel turned and leaned down to untie Murphy, only to have a boot shoved into her back. She was kicked away and landed beside Murphy. Their eyes met, his full of fear and her own an almost match, before she was kicked again and he was hoisted up and carried off, the crowd roaring in victory.
"Isobel!" yelled Octavia as she came skidding to a stop beside the redhead, helping her up. "Are you okay?"
"Hey, you alright?" asked Bellamy, eyes roaming her for any sign of serious injury as Octavia helped her up. Isobel winced and clutched at her side, where the second boot had landed, before ignoring the siblings and limping after the murderous mob.
"You can't do this!" cried Clarke, trying to help even as they threw a rope over a tall branch and prepared a noose. "Get off me," she grunted as Conner shoved her back.
"No!" screamed Isobel as they strung him up. Someone grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms and lifting her flailing feet off the ground, and she was in too much pain to do more than weakly struggle. He was put on a large box, body twisted in pain as he stretched to stop the rope from cutting off his air.
"You can stop this!" Clarke yelled at Bellamy, shoving him to break him out of the shocked trance seeing Murphy's twitching form had prompted. "They'll listen to you!"
"Get him down!" Isobel shouted at them. "Bellamy, stop them!"
"Bellamy!" Conner turned, pointing at the oldest of them. "You should do it!"
"Bellamy! Bellamy! Bellamy!"
"I saw you in the woods with Atom," Clarke insisted. "I know you're not a killer!"
Clarke begged, Murphy pleaded through his gag, and Bellamy ignored them.
They chanted his name as he strode towards the boy he had called his friend, looking up into plea-filled eyes, and kicked the box out from under him.
Murphy's hanging was met with cheering and celebration, and Isobel was dropped in favour of applauding. She rushed forwards to cut Murphy down, only for Bellamy to grab her around the chest and hold her fast. His face was solemn, his eyes angry, and his words directed at Clarke even as he held Isobel in a way that was becoming less restrictive and more comforting, but she was still tense in his arms.
"This is on you, princess," he hissed at the blonde. "You should've kept your mouth shut."
"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Finn as he shoved his way through the teens. "Cut him down! Charlotte, get out of here, now," he yelled at a young child who was standing in the crowd. Octavia rushed forwards to get her out of there, but she struggled. "Cut him down!" he got closer and Conner pulled out a sharpened screw. "Get out of my way!"
"Stop! Okay!" screeched Charlotte, breaking out of Octavia's grip. "Murphy didn't kill Wells! I did!"
