Word Count: 7,733
Rating: M
Warning: minor character death, implied cannibalism, blood, torture
AN: 20 pages, 20 freaking pages! I hope you lot are happy because I can barely keep my eyes open here! But yeah, I know I was gone for long (five exams down, two to go). I'd like to express my thanks to all the people that put this story on their favourite/alert list and let me know how much they want an update! Special thanks to - BrookyV, saderia, Adeana, FeatheredPhoenix, Vampir3.S3duction, Romantic Journalist, Dark-Supernatural-Angel (loved all of them), CrazyDiamondL (thank you!), PrincessDoll, angiessan (omg, can I say I love you?), Japanaimefan and Ppeppzz (I'm really flattered and I have no intention of ever stopping; just slow updates for now!). Read, review, enjoy!
Whiteness
Chapter 10: Birthday troubles
The first thing Bellamy did when he found out that Clarke, Finn and Myles were missing was to order a lockdown on the whole camp, again.
Well, no.
The first thing he really did was to freak out. Badly.
The second was to order Miller to up the defence.
The third, after he had some time to gather his thoughts and push the overwhelming panic behind stone walls, was to go and find his sister.
And for the first time in forever he found her immediately.
"Bellamy?"
Octavia peered at her brother's worried face and reached her hand to brush away the wrinkles in his forehead.
"What's wrong?"
"Clarke, Finn and Myles are still out."
Octavia's mind raced over the possibilities. Finn and Clarke both knew that staying outside after dark the walls was a suicide, especially after the whole bridge accident and the virus and then the bomb.
"You think the Grounders have them."
It wasn't a question but Bellamy nodded his affirmation anyway.
"Let me grab my things. I'm coming with you." There was no doubt that her brother would go after them.
She was just about to turn around and enter her tent when his hand on her elbow stopped her.
"No, you're not coming with us."
"What? No, I-"
But his grip only tightened and his desperate gaze didn't let her get a word out.
"No. You'll go and try to find Lincoln."
It was physically paining him to do this, to send his little sister out in the night to talk to a Grounder. It was dangerous, it was reckless, and it was insane. But it also might turn out to be their only chance to find Clarke's group.
"Find him and tell him that the Grounders have few of ours. Ask for his help. If he refuses, beg him to tell you where they might be holding them."
Octavia's heartbeat was going so fast and loud she was sure Bellamy could hear it.
Her brother actually trusted her with something important here. He trusted her to sneak out and come back unharmed, he trusted her to be in Lincoln's presence, he trusted her that she could take care of herself.
The responsibility he gave her was both freeing and burdening. But she wouldn't trade it for nothing else.
She would never let him down.
"Come with me."
Octavia knew that Lincoln was supposed to be long gone, travelling east to try and reached the other tribe, but she couldn't tell that to her brother, not when this was his silver lining, his last resort.
So instead Octavia nodded and hugged her brother and pleaded with the sky to grant her a meeting with Lincoln.
"I'll try to find him."
Bellamy hugged her back.
"You'll only go to his cave. Promise me." She wanted to complain but if she did, then she would have to give him a reason for that.
She agreed, "I promise."
He kissed the top of her head and held her closer for another minute or two and then let her go and with one last glance Bellamy turned around and left.
And Octavia got her knife and sneaked out through one of the tunnels they had built just yesterday morning.
"Charlotte."
The name slipped from her lips without Clarke's consent.
Anya narrowed her eyes but the arm holding the sword never wavered.
"Her name is Tris."
The Grounder leader moved back and Clarke's guard pushed her closer to the stone table.
Clarke's eyes greedily and desperately took in the body in front of her – the girl was taller than Charlotte and seeing her from up-front Clarke was once again painfully reminded that Charlotte was dead. The girl, Tris, reminded her of Charlotte because of the shade of her hair and her posture. But after a careful thorough inspection Clarke could see where the similarities ended and the differences between the two girls began, Tris' features the most obvious of all.
Finn shuffled his feet behind her and Clarke turned to face their captors.
Anya had sheathed her sword and the intense look in her eyes had Clarke straightening her back on focusing on the situation and not on the heavily breathing girl behind her.
"You're here to help her live." Her voice brooked no arguments, not that Clarke was in the condition to voice any.
"What's wrong with her?"
One of the guards moved closer and Finn winced when the rope around his hands tightened.
"She was on the bridge when you decided to blow it." The accusation hurt more than Clarke expected, the consequences from their actions were wrapped in the form of the little girl that was fighting for its life next to her.
But they had done what they had to survive. A necessary evil, one that would haunt her nights, but an obligation they couldn't afford to turn their backs on, after all the camp survived thanks to that same bomb.
Every action had a repercussion and this was theirs.
"You let your young fight?" The indictment left a bitter taste in Clarke's mouth and she fought to hide her flinch when Anya's eyes flashed with anger and the Grounders' leader entered her personal space.
Clarke held her ground against the weight of Anya's fury and simply watched Anya bare her teeth at her like a cornered animal ready to lash out.
"She was, is my second-in-command. Her place is right beside me. Here, on Earth, you learn to survive early on, or you don't live to see the sunrise."
Clarke felt nauseous because of Anya's words and she was vaguely aware of Finn voicing her disgust. Was this what Earth had turned into? A place inhabited by ruthless savages and kid soldiers? Was there truly nothing good and innocent left on this planet? Did the Cataclysm take everything from these people, even their hearts?
She had a lot to say on that matter but Anya's patience had run out.
"Help her live," the Grounder that held Finn prisoner pushed him forward, "or he dies for your mistakes."
Finn's pupils grew in fear as he swung his head back and forth from Clarke to Anya and the other way around.
"And you think I can fix her?"
"You're a healer, are you not?"
Finn's guard sliced the rope wrapped around his wrists as the other Grounder dropped a bag in Clarke's feet, the sound of metal making Clarke assume that it held some tools.
Anya didn't stick to see Clarke open the bag and cringe at the mostly useless instruments she had been given. There were two scalpels, an old big metal syringe, what looked like pliers and smaller tongs, a pair of scissors and a rusted hammer. No needles, no thread, nothing that could actually make this hopeless endeavour look less like a dead end.
Still, Clarke got in her medic mind-set and tried to calm down her fried nerves. She had to make this work.
Or Finn was going to die.
Her hand was steady when she reached for the scissors and Finn came with her to have a look at Tris, their guards not far behind, hands on their weapons in case their prisoners tried something.
Finn was quiet as he let Clarke gauge Tris' condition.
And Clarke did just that.
The girl breathed heavily and her temperature was higher than normal, her pulse was erratic and ran faster than the norm. Clarke carefully laid her head on Tris' ribs and let her ear rest over the girl's chest to check her lungs. It was hard to hear anything when her patient was breathing so desperately and noisily and when Clarke tried to let more of her weight rest on Tris' chest, the girl whimpered in pain.
Clarke drew back and let her fingers skimp over the right side of Tris' ribcage. Everything seemed normal until Clarke got to the left side and Tris' small frame was wrecked with painful tremors.
Clarke stilled and closed her eyes; Finn looked at her in concern.
"How did she get hurt?"
"The blast of the explosion threw her off her horse and her back hit a tree." One of the Grounders answered Clarke's question.
A fractured rib then, maybe two or three on the right side and at least one broken from where she had hit the tree. And Clarke had no way of making sure that her lungs weren't punctured and that Tris wasn't slowly chocking on her own blood or that her lungs weren't about to collapse any moment now, which was just as bad as the other options.
Clarke cut through Tris' shirt and pushed the cloth away, revealing dark blue and purple bruises littering most of her left side, the trail going around her side and as Clarke, with Finn's help, raised Tris' upper body from the table, she could see that her back was in the same condition if not worse.
The only thing that Clarke was grateful for was the fact that there were no bones sticking out of her skin.
What she heard when she checked Tris' breathing again made her freeze.
"Clarke?" Finn's concerned voice helped her shake off the dread and to demarcate as much as she could Tris' pain from her own fear.
"The force of the blast fractured at least one or two ribs and possibly broke one. The trauma led to liquid pressing on her lungs and she can't breathe. She's going to choke."
Finn squeezed her shoulder in silent support and Clarke hurried over to the bag with the tools to look for something that could help in this situation.
"I need seaweed water or something that has antibacterial properties."
The two guards glanced at each other in wordless communication and one of them left to fulfil Clarke's demand.
She clutched one of the scalpels in hand and dug deeper in the bag. She needed something with which she could try and relieve the pressure and drain the fluid. Clarke was about to give up when she nearly nicked her finger on something sharp.
She frowned, drew her hand out and emptied the bag on the floor. A small metal cylinder dropped next to her knee. And the size of the hole it had was just perfect for the thing she had in mind.
The guard came back with a bucket filled with seaweed water and Clarke hurried to it. Finn grabbed an empty can and poured some of the water over her arms and then helped her lean as much as it was possible the scalpel and the tube.
Clarke still wasn't satisfied with the level of hygiene and let the two metal tools go over the flame of a nearby candle. Out of other options for sanitising her chosen instruments, Clarke turned around and reached Tris.
Finn held the ruined pieces of her shirt away from Clarke's wandering fingers and gaze, as Clarke counted in her head and imagined which ribs exactly were busted and where most likely the fluid could be gathered.
On the fifth rib her hand stopped and she reached for the scalpel and made a big enough opening for the cylinder. The momentary uncomfortable feel of skin giving under her medical blade was pushed aside as Clarke directed her attention to getting the tube inside Tris' body, hoping that her calculations weren't far off.
When blood started trickling from the tube Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. She glanced around the run down building and her gaze landed on a brown piece of cloth.
Clarke reached for it, found it adequate and washed it few times with the seaweed water. After that, she gently wiped the blood from the cut away and secured it around the grey cylinder.
Only then she allowed herself to relax a bit and smile crookedly at Finn.
The crisis was averted.
For now.
"Are you sure this is the right way?"
The walkie-talkie in Bellamy's hand crackled when Raven asked the same question she did two minutes ago.
He got the fact that she was feeling agitated and perturbed, just like all of them – meaning Jasper, Monty, Harper and Bellamy – but that didn't give her the excuse to drive everyone crazy with her constant chatter and obvious scepticism. "Yes, Raven, Miller said that they went this way and we found footprints half a mile back."
Maybe his response was too biting and harsh because the line felt silent and Harper made a little noise of discontent behind his back.
The groups were three in the hopes they could cover more ground but they still kept close enough for the walkie-talkies to be in range of one another. Harper was with Bellamy, Jasper and Raven were together and Monty was alone.
Bellamy didn't want to leave him alone but the boy insisted and then didn't oppose Bellamy's decision to keep him in the back in case something happened.
"I'm sorry." Raven's voice washed over the quiet clearing Bellamy and Harper found themselves in. "I'm just worried for Finn and Clarke an-"
The signal stopped and Bellamy stood still.
Harper looked at him and clenched her rifle closer.
Bellamy brought the walkie-talkie to his mouth and pushed the button to send his message across. "Raven?"
No answer.
"Jasper? Monty?"
"I'm here." Monty responded sounding more subdued than usual.
"Raven?" Bellamy tried again.
He had started turning around in Raven and Jasper's direction, Harper hot on his heels, when the walkie-talkie came to life once again.
"There's something in the bushes in front of us." Raven's voice was hushed and strained.
A lump got stuck in Bellamy's throat and he had to swallow several times until he found his voice again.
"Don't shoot unless you're one hundred percent sure it's an enemy. Jasper, do you hear me? Don't shoot. I'm coming."
His careful steps turned to a brisk walk and Bellamy had to remind himself that being quiet was of upmost importance in this case and that rushing head first in an unknown situation could make things worse. Harper's nervous breathing and the rustling of her clothes helped to ground him and stop him from breaking into a run.
At the pace they were going it took them no more than five minutes to find Jasper and Raven's trail and then another two to join them in hiding behind few closely situated trees.
"Where?"
Jasper raised his hand to point in the correct direction, his rifle not once wavering from his target.
Bellamy followed his finger and his gaze fell on a thick green bush that moved from time to time. He motioned to Raven and the two of them stood and took few steps closer, Jasper covered them from the right and Harper from the left.
Bellamy made a silent count with his fingers to three and once he hit the last digit, Raven pushed the vegetation away and Bellamy thrust the muzzle of his gun in the opening.
And his finger froze on the trigger.
Myles' frightened eyes were staring back, his arms up in a placating gesture with two arrows sticking from his body.
Bellamy sighed loudly, lowered his gun and waved off the others to do the same.
"It's Myles."
Raven peeked from next to him. Her face reflected exactly what he felt – relief from finding Myles still alive and concern and painful panic for the fact that he was alone and there was no sign of Clarke or Finn.
She asked anyway, "Finn and Clarke?"
Myles shook his head. "The Grounders took them; some blond-haired chick and two big guys."
Bellamy felt his heart give a painful thud. Then another.
Why the fuck would Anya go out all the way to capture them personally?
He turned around, Jasper was busy taking out his rope out of his bag and Harper was keeping a lookout.
"Monty, we found Myles. He's hurt and we have to take him back to camp." Bellamy couldn't hide his grimace; he would like nothing else then to keep looking for them but if the Grounders had them then they needed more manpower. Besides, the night was dark, the moon hidden behind dense clouds and unless they wanted to risk lighting torches and attracting unnecessary attention, they would have to postpone the rescue mission. Myles needed help for his wounds as well.
When he didn't get a response from the Asian boy, he tried again.
"Monty, did you hear me?"
Silence.
Raven looked up from where she was crouched down to Myles and she tried to listen for any alien noise coming from the forest.
Another missing person was not what they needed and Bellamy's painstakingly constructed and kept brave facade slowly started to crumble. His voice cracked, "Monty?"
Jasper stopped his attempt to try and wove the rope around two thick fallen branches in the hope to create a crude stretcher and focused his attention on Bellamy and the walkie-talkie in his hand.
It took forever until the walkie-talkie crackled again and Monty's shaken voice greeted their ears.
"Bellamy, you might want to hear this."
Anya was back in the room and it grated on Clarke's nerves.
The female Grounder had the ability to scrutinise every twitch of her fingers and find her incompetent, lacking, not worth her attention.
The whole breathing down her neck thing only served to irk Clarke and it reminded her what was at stake; in this particular situation that was Finn's life.
She went to check on Tris. The girl was breathing visibly easier but Clarke was still worried – the tube still leaked blood and Clarke was afraid that at some point the blood loss would be too great. But if she was to take the cylinder out she had no way of knowing if that was all the liquid that had pressured Tris' lungs, if there was an internal bleeding or if her lung had been punctured by a broken rib.
From her observations, it wasn't the latter, thank god for small miracles. However, Tris' temperature had dropped drastically and she looked paler than before – the blood loss was getting to her.
Clarke weighted her options and called Finn closer.
"What's wrong?"
"She's losing too much blood. We're taking out the cylinder."
Finn looked conflicted for a moment and glanced back at Anya, then at Tris.
"You think that's a good idea?"
Clarke bit her lip. Frankly, no, it was a terrible idea. The whole thing was doomed from the beginning to fail. She lacked the proper medical equipment to deal with something as severe as this but she didn't tell him that, she couldn't. She had to be a miracle worker; she had to make this work. Finn's death was not an option here. There was no way she was going to face Bellamy, to face Raven and the rest and tell them that Finn was dead because of her inability to save one little girl.
So she gritted her teeth and nodded 'yes'.
"Okay. Good. Okay." Finn went to wash his hands and Clarke did the same.
Then she gave him one of the scalpels and told him to heat it over one of the candles until the metal was white and red. Clarke couldn't stitch the wound so she was going to cauterise it and pray that it would stop the bleeding and that it would be enough.
"Ready?" Clarke's hand hovered over the tube uncertainly.
Finn let the flame lick the scalpel few more times and winced at the uncomfortable feeling of holding hot metal in his bare hands. "Yeah."
"On three then." She undid the wet, bloodied cloth and moved it out of the way. "One, two, three-"
She pulled the grey cylinder with and a sickening amount of blood gushed out of the small cut. Clarke was fast to pour some seaweed water over the wound the clear the blood away and it was then when Finn reached across and pasted the hot scalpel flush against Tris' skin. The girl moaned in pain but Clarke held her steady and Finn pushed the metal even more, the smell of burned flesh and blood made their eyes water.
Finn held the scalpel in place for the total of thirty seconds and then pulled it away, leaving irritated black and red flesh behind. Clarke didn't seem all that bothered by that as she delicately poked around the wound to make sure the bleeding had stopped. Satisfied with the job she grabbed some of the seaweeds submerged in the water in the bucket, shook the excess water away, put it over the burned flesh and secured the whole thing with another piece of cloth that went over Tris' torso and back.
Clarke was busy washing the blood from her hands when Finn's alarmed cry made her look at him.
He had his hands on the sides of Tris' head, trying to stop her shaking.
Clarke was next to them in an instant, taking in the even paler complexity of Tris, her sweat covered skin, the tremor in her muscles. Her pulse was getting weaker with every beat of her heart and Clarke was getting hysteric.
This was not supposed to happen.
Nothing of this was supposed to happen.
Clarke glanced at the pool of blood in her feet, Tris' blood; the girl had lost too much.
Her mind was pushing the limits of her limited knowledge to come up with a solution to their suddenly disastrous situation. She had done everything possible to try and save Tris, couldn't Anya see that? There was no way the shaking girl in her arms could survive the night, her body was put under too much stress and pain to deal with her blood loss. If she could get blood transfusion then maybe she had a chance bu-
Clarke pulled away from the table and sought out the syringe she had seen earlier. It was their only chance.
She found it next to the hammer, under the bag, and wasted no time in washing it with the antibacterial water.
Then she turned to Finn.
"What's your blood type?"
"AB positive."
Fuck.
Clarke was O negative.
They needed a person with O positive to be sure that Tris' body wouldn't reject the blood.
She contemplated to ask Anya because she was of the same tribe but then decided against it. If they didn't know what electricity was there was no way they knew about blood types or how to find out in which blood group they belonged to.
Clarke heated the needle over the flickering flame of the candle and waited until the metal was back to its natural colour and no longer hot.
The needle broke her skin fairly easily and Finn helped her pull the piston back at a slow pace, drawing her blood in the process. The feeling was unpleasant and her left hand, from which Finn was getting her blood, prickled with pins and needles, leaving her fingers feeling cold and numb.
The syringe was barely half full when Tris started shaking uncontrollably. Clarke yanked the needle out of her arm and out of Finn's hand and turned to face Tris.
The needle was just about to enter one of Tris' veins when the shaking stopped as abruptly as it had started.
Clarke's lungs stopped working as dread made her hand shake when she checked Tris' pulse.
Or more like the lack of it.
Because Tris was no longer among the living.
Bellamy listened carefully to Monty's shaking voice as he related his story for the five minutes he had gone silent.
Looking around, the older Blake saw flabbergasted faces and mouths open in shock; even Myles had stopped complaining about his pain.
The information Monty gave them was frankly unbelievable.
"What do you want me to do?"
Bellamy shook off his amazement.
"Go, see if it's true. Keep your walkie-talkie on. I expect an update every half an hour until you reach your destination and then I want a report on state of things. We'll take Myles back to the camp and continue our search in the morning. Hopefully Octavia had more luck than we did."
"Copy that. I'll let you know how things are going in half an hour." Bellamy's walkie-talkie fell silent after that.
He looked at the small rescue group.
"What you heard right now never happened. Until we're sure about this, the info Monty provided doesn't exist, they don't exist. We can't afford to pummel the camp in chaos over something that can turn out to be a useless venture."
Jasper and Raven wanted to object but knew better than to try and Bellamy cowered in submission Harper and Myles.
Monty could be their trick card.
Or their doom.
It was too soon to decide which was more likely.
"Good." The tension in his shoulders had led to cramps in his back muscles and Bellamy hid a wince when he accidentally pulled one of them. "Back to camp then." He shouldered his rifle and went to help Jasper with the stretcher.
Few minutes later and they moved Myles on it and each healthy person grabbed one end of branches and lifted him off the ground.
Bellamy looked around the woods for the last time that night and left.
Clarke was alive.
He knew that.
And he was going to get her.
No matter what.
They didn't get any warning.
One moment Finn and Clarke were looming over Tris' white unmoving body, and in the next second they were grabbed by their respective guards and Anya's curved wicked sword was out.
Unlike Clarke's speculation she didn't gut them with it.
No, Anya moved closer to Tris, caressed her face and fixed her hair; she used her sword to cut off one of Tris' many braids and tucked it inside her vest. Then she put her sword away and lifted Tris in her arms, carrying her bridal style.
She passed by Finn and Clarke and barely paid them any attention; all that mattered to Anya was the dead girl in her arms.
However, she did stop before she exited the room and turned to look at Clarke.
"That girl, Charlotte, we found her."
Shock and denial hit Clarke's system but she didn't have time to process Anya's words because of her next command.
"Kill him." Clarke felt the blood drain from her face.
"No, no, no! Pease don't, I did everything I could. Don't kill him." Her struggles against the hold of her guard were useless, Anya refused to hear her words and Finn stood frozen in place.
Then the other Grounder started dragging him out of the tent and Clarke renewed her grapple but her guard's hold never wavered.
"Clarke, don't. It's okay, you did perfectly. Don't fight, they'll hurt you. Don-" Finn's last words got lost as his guard pulled him out of the room and yanked him to his death.
"FINN!"
Clarke's voice was hoarse from screaming, her left arm throbbed with pain both from her arrow injury and from the iron-clad grip the Grounder had on her elbow.
But it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered.
Finn was gone.
The Grounder released her when he felt the fight leave her body.
Was this the end?
Would Anya come back and announce her death sentence as well?
What was Clarke supposed to do?
"My brave princess."
Clarke fought back a sob. Bellamy. Of course. He always knew when she needed him even when she didn't know it herself.
The guard watched her and followed her movements as Clarke sorted out her messy hair.
"You should join us." She turned to look at him and her puzzlement must have been pretty obvious because he elaborated. "Our healer is gone and we could use one. Just listen to Anya and-" he hesitated, "forget about the rest. Come tomorrow night and they will be gone."
Forget about Bellamy? About Raven and Octavia? About Jasper, Monty and Miller? About Finn? About all the other scared teenagers that looked up to her? Like hell she was going to do that.
She was getting out of here, one way or another. She was nobody's property.
The metal surface of the scalpel glinted under the faint glow of the candle.
An image popped up in her mind and a plan started formulating in her head.
"Tris had these… circularly-shaped scars. How did she get them?"
"Those are badges of honour, one per every kill she had made on the battlefield."
How barbaric.
Clarke closed her eyes and tried to steady her heart. She couldn't afford mistakes with this. The scalpel in her hand weighted heavily on her mind, especially when she knew what she was going to use it for.
She was a medic, a healer; she knew how to fix people, how to get them back on their feet. But because of that she also knew where to hit to do the most damage possible.
Her gaze met that of the Grounder.
"What's your name?"
"Gard."
"How many do you have?"
He was confident when he took off his breastplate made of bones and pulled down his shirt to show her the left side of his upper chest. It was littered with numerous scars.
"Even with my knee giving me troubles I'm still one of the best."
That was her opening. Clarke had no time to stop and think which knee was the unhealthy one, she acted on instinct.
She kicked his right kneecap with all her might and rejoiced in the sound of broken bones and the cry that left Gard's mouth. He slouched down, the perfect height, really, and Clarke swung her arm, scalpel out and the sharp blade ran a red line across his throat.
She clamped his mouth shut with her hand and bushed him back until he hit the wall, rattling the little trinkets and making some of them fall-over.
Clarke felt empty, dazed as she watched the life leave his eyes.
Only when she was sure that he was truly dead did she pull her arm back and moved away.
She stood like that for a while until a howl somewhere in the darkness broke the spell and Clarke was out of the building and running.
She did spare few precious seconds to look for Finn but there was no signs of him or the Grounder. Anya had disappeared as well.
Her arm under the bandage burned, her legs burned, her lungs burned, the scalpel in her arm burned, everything burned, yet Clarke didn't stop running.
She had to go back.
She had to warn them, to save them.
She had to.
Her mind was hopelessly trying to draw a map of the path they had taken so that she could trace the way back but in the middle of the night everything looked the same, smelled the same, sounded the same.
When the muscles in her legs started shaking Clarke stopped her mad sprint.
It was then when the tears came as she accepted what she had done.
She had killed.
But it wasn't Atom that begged her to put him out of his misery and it wasn't Dax who was going to kill Bellamy if she hadn't pulled the trigger.
No, it was a person that had shown her his throat and she had gone for the kill.
No second thoughts, no regrets.
And she knew that if given the chance she would do it again.
She mourned his death as much as she mourned Finn.
As much as she mourned the loss of her innocence.
Had Earth really changed her that much?
But her inner monologue was cut short when she heard something distinctly familiar, something she had heard only once before – the clutter of horse hooves.
And then running was all that mattered.
This was not how she had imagined she would spend her birthday.
Bellamy had just finished talking for the second time with Monty when Octavia entered his tent and went to hug him.
He clasped his hands behind her back and embraced her tighter.
"Lincoln?"
Octavia bit her tongue. She had found him alright; except not in his cave but her brother didn't need to know that. All that mattered was that her boyfriend turned not-boyfriend turned tentative friend had still been lurking around and had agreed to help them. After he had berated Octavia for being so foolhardy and after, of course, he had kissed her silly.
"He'll try to get them out but he didn't promise anything."
Bellamy pulled back and looked her over – she was whole and not a scratch marred her face.
"That was all I asked for."
"I heard you found Myles."
"Yeah, he took two arrows but I think he can make it. As long as we get Clarke back to patch him up."
Her gaze roamed over his face and she noticed the bags under his eyes and the exhaustion, worry and fear etched in his features.
"How are you, Bell? Really?"
His shoulder sagged under the burden he was carrying and it pained Octavia to see him this way.
"I'll be better when we find them." When we find her. He ruffled her hair for old times' sake and tried to smile. "Go to sleep, O. the search party will leave early in the morning."
She wanted to stay with him, she really did. But Octavia didn't think that this was something she could help him with and Bellamy would just force himself to appear better just not to worry her. She was pretty sure that the reason this had affected him so bad was because of Clarke.
He was dead on his feet so Octavia decided that her interrogation could wait a bit.
"Okay." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Try to get some sleep."
Bellamy watched her leave and then flopped on his bed, clothes, shoes, gun and all. He didn't have the energy to undress and it didn't really matter.
His bed smelled like Clarke and the scent opened another big hole in his heart.
This small reminder of her tortured him most of the night until he fell asleep with Clarke's name on his lips.
Apparently, the Grounders had a thing for seeing her arms bound. And this time it wasn't a rope but a bloody heavy chain that scratched the previously irritated skin of her wrists.
But nobody gave a fuck about that.
Not Anya, nor her friends.
Clarke glared at them from her spot far away from the merrily cracking fire.
It was either anger or fear and Clarke refused to beg for her life.
They were waiting for something.
When Anya had caught up with her, all glorious and leader-like on her big horse Clarke wanted to stab her, she imagined the way the scalpel would sink in her flesh and the pretty red would sully her dark clothes.
But that didn't happen. Clarke had been alone against three riders and her small pathetic scalpel wouldn't stand a chance.
And now they were sitting down and waiting.
The heat of the fire mocked her but Clarke preferred the cold to sitting next to Finn's killer.
It was then when another rider approached their make-shift camp.
Clarke observed the newcomer closely and noticed the way Anya seemed to listen to him, the way he shot down her every word, the way she kept her mouth shut and didn't refute him. It was as if he was higher up the food-chain than Anya.
Clarke narrowed her eyes as her mind once again kicked gear and started working. If Anya answered to the newly arrived Grounder then that meant that there were people with more power and sway than her. That made Clarke's head ache; it was frustrating how little they knew about the Grounders and their leaders because apparently Anya wasn't one of them.
"Tristan." Anya called warningly at the newcomer's back when he started making his way to Clarke.
The way he walked – like a predator closing in on his prey – brought new waves of fear in Clarke's being. She had thought that Anya was dangerous but the female Grounder couldn't hold a candle to the savage cruel aura that Tristan radiated.
He reached down and yanked at her chain and Clarke slid along the ground until he had pulled her almost to him.
Her arms ached from the strain and her knees were bruised but that pain faded when he lifted her by her hair and Clarke scrambled to her feet in a desperate attempt to stop the agony from having her hair hold all of her weight.
Tristan didn't even bat an eye to her lack of comfort as he tiled her head right and left and made a small humming noise.
"So you're the girl that has been giving Anya problems. I expected more." He let go of her hair and pushed her back.
Clarke stumbled but managed to stay on her feet.
"Then again you did kill one of our own; I guess looks can be deceiving."
Clarke just threw a poisonous glare his way. Everything hurt but she wasn't about to give him the pleasure of seeing her spirit broken; she was stronger than that.
"Was he your first kill?" she didn't answer.
And that was a mistake on her part because he pulled the chain and wrapped his big muscled arm around her throat.
"I said was he your first kill?"
Atom, Dax, Gard.
"Third." She refused to speak more than what was required of her to answer his question and she had the sick pleasure of seeing his eyes widen with shock.
But then he got over his surprise and his mouth stretched in a chilling smile.
"You know, my people have a ritual of sorts, a rite of passage. When you kill for the first time in combat you get marked so that everybody else would know of your courage and strength. And considering the fact that you've been such a little annoying nuisance I think we ought to initiate you."
She had seen the marks on Tris, the scars on Gard, and Clarke knew with certainty that it wasn't something she ever wanted to mar her skin.
But she was a rag-doll for Tristan and he easily maneuvered her closer to the fire where he pinned her body against the ground and nearly squished her with his weight.
Breathing was hard but it became even harder when she saw Tristan reach forward and heat the blade of his dagger. Clarke tried to struggle, to fight, she really did, but it was a useless waste of energy.
He pulled the collar of her shirt down and exposed her left collarbone. There was some sadistic pleasure in his eyes when he lowered the hot blade and touched her skin; that pleasure grew to ecstasy when he repeated the action two more times and Clarke screamed in pain.
Hot white needles raced up her neck, down her spine, they engulfed her left side and then her right. Everything was one big circle of agony and nothing made sense anymore.
She was distantly aware that Tristan had moved away from her and that Anya told somebody to kill her.
The buzzing in her ears overrode the rest.
She opened her eyes – and she wasn't aware she had closed them – to see the mask of a Grounder and then everything went black.
Waking up from a hit to the head for the third time in so little time proved to be as irritating and painful as the previous times.
The added up and down motion only served to make her head spin.
Only after she was sure she wasn't going to throw up her stomach contents, Clarke dared to open her eyes and look around.
A hand around her waist prevented her fall when she flinched from the realisation she was riding a horse. With another person behind her. A Grounder.
She turned around – the mask was gone – and Lincoln gave her a small nod in acknowledgement.
"What? How?" This was too confusing for Clarke's overworked brain.
"Octavia found me and told me you've been taken. I was lucky and managed to act as one of Anya's guards."
Clarke blinked. Octavia.
Fuck, Bellamy was probably going nuts over their kidnapping.
She didn't have time to dwell on that because Lincoln pulled to a stop next to a big fire and helped her get down from the horse.
She was just about to ask him 'what now' when Finn arose from nowhere.
And then she was hugging him and he was hugging her and nothing else mattered.
Finn was alive and suddenly Clarke felt tiny bit better.
"I'm fine, Clarke, I'm fine."
"We have to move." Lincoln slapped the backside of the horse and the animal ran ahead.
The Grounder led them in the opposite direction.
Finn was clenching Clarke's right arm and his warmth almost made her forget about the pain spiking along her left collarbone and the burning strain in her limbs.
"Where are we going?"
Lincoln stopped for a moment and looked around; Clarke did the same – the forest looked all the same to her. But apparently he found what he was looking for and pushed them into what Clarke suspected was an old mining tunnel.
"Move fast and try not to make too much noise."
Finn hummed in agreement and Lincoln lit a torch.
The Grounder knew these tunnels but just to be on the safe side he pulled out his notebook that Octavia had given him back and traced his thumb along the drawn map.
They walked for more than an hour in complete silence when Lincoln came to an abrupt stop and halted their walk. The next few minutes were tense as Clarke and Finn waited for Lincoln to decide if what he was listening to was dangerous or not.
"What lives in here?" It was an appropriate question but judging by the look Lincoln gave her she didn't really want to know.
"Pray you never find out."
Finn shrugged.
Famous last words if you ask Clarke because not even half an hour later Lincoln shushed them and put out their torch.
He motioned for them to follow him and they did, as quietly as they could. Few feet after that the tunnel curved and the noise of people suddenly became all that more noticeable.
At first Clarke didn't pay them attention because she was too busy staring at the old mining carts from which naked human limbs hanged limply. Finn tugged at her arm and she turned around to be faced with an even crueler view – seemingly human beings covered in tattered clothes, with tattoos and metal piercings all over their deformed faces were tossing a rock around and periodically hitting another dead person in the middle of their semi-circle.
If Clarke whimpered nobody said anything.
"What are those?"
"Reapers." Lincoln's voice was grave and extremely displeased.
That didn't bode well for them.
"Is there another way?"
"No, this is the fastest route. If we go back we'll lose too much time."
He looked conflicted for a moment and then took off his sword from his back and gave it to Clarke.
"Give it to Octavia."
Clarke pushed the sword back. "Are you insane? Octavia will skin me alive if something happens to you. For fuck's sake you saved our lives, you're not allowed to be a martyr."
Lincoln frowned and motioned to the Reapers. "Do you have a better idea? Because we need to get pass them and we can't kill them all. I know these tunnels, I'll be fine."
Clarke was indecisive for a moment but that was enough for Lincoln who took out his dagger.
"Wait. They haven't noticed us yet." And Finn was right. The Reapers were still busy with their sickening… game.
Lincoln observed them for a while and nodded in agreement. He passed his notebook to Clarke and gave her a signal when the coast was clear and she got safely to the other side of the tunnel, across the railroad tracks and hid in the shadows of the branch tunnel that was supposed to help them get around the Reapers, at least according to Lincoln's map.
Her heart was in her throat and her good hand clenched reflexively around Lincoln's sword every time one of the Reapers let out a cackle.
Those people, things, were insane.
And Clarke really didn't want to meet them face-to-face.
Everything seemed fine until Finn tried to cross the tracks and kicked a bone.
The silence that followed was deafening and all the blood drained from Clarke's face.
She had just enough time to see Lincoln mouth 'go' at her and then he was dragging Finn after him and back in the tunnel from which they got here. Not a moment later seven-eight Reapers followed them and Clarke pushed closer to the cold stone behind her, making sure that the shadows covered every inch of her.
And then… then she was running.
Bellamy sleep that night was very troubled, often interrupted by nightmares of Clarke screaming for help.
In the end he just laid in his bed and let his body rest because apparently his mind wasn't able to.
When his internal clock clicked seven he got up, fixed his askew clothes, checked his gun and went to find food and water.
He wasn't surprised to see that Raven was up as well; hell, most of the camp was busy with something.
"Have you seen Jasper?" Bellamy shook his head.
"No, but if you find him tell him that the search party will leave soon."
"How soon?"
"An hour at most."
She went to sidestep him when he caught her arm.
"Hey, Raven," she looked at him, "we'll find them."
She smiled in gratitude and was about to add something when the sound of a gun going off had them running towards the shuttle.
And just in time to see the hatch closing.
"What the fuck is going on?" Bellamy's roar was met with silence until Harper braved her way to meet his gaze.
"Jasper went to check the gunpowder. And um, I think I saw another person entering after him."
"Who?" Raven looked as murderous as he felt.
"Murphy."
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