CHAPTER FOUR - EARTH SKILLS (II)

Chaos riding shouldn't have included Bellamy swinging a gun all willy-nilly. Yet there he was, throwing up two arms with one holding tight to a (hopefully) safety-locked gun, and out came the words, "Hey, hold up. What's the rush? You don't survive a spear through the heart."

Wells, eyes locked on the gun with a look of apprehension, muttered, "Put the gun away, Bellamy."

I pretended to be ignorant of their conversation. It was best I didn't include myself in places where I didn't belong. Well, actually, that was a bit hypocritical. I loved being invasive. Right now, though, was a situation where Bells was being a bit of an antagonistic douche. If I dropped in and said something, I'd be included in Clarke and Wells's cause of annoyance, and I didn't care much for further provoking them. I already instigated enough of a blooming hatred from our run-ins at the Ark.

Murphy jumped forward at the comment towards his leader, and said, "Well, why don't you do something about it, huh?"

Clarke looked back from her spot in front, an annoyed arch to her eyebrows. "Jasper screamed when they moved him," she said firmly. "If the spear struck his heart, he'd have died instantly. It doesn't mean we have time to waste."

Bellamy walked forward. His eyes were intent on the bracelet adorning her wrist. Without a thought to personal space, he grabbed her arm. "As soon as you take this wristband off, we can go," he told her, a threat behind his words.

Clarke jerked from his grip. "The only way the Ark is gonna think I'm dead is if I'm dead. Got it?" she said, this time a bit angry. Still had that same determination, though.

Bellamy smirked. "Brave princess," he muttered under his breath.

A rustle came from the shrubbery, then out popped a breathless Finn. "Hey, why don't you find your own nickname?" He barely gave a glance at Bellamy before his eyes flickered towards Clarke. He skimmed right over me, Murphy, and Wells-for good reason, too, I supposed. "You call this a rescue party? Got to split up, cover more ground. Clarke, come with me."

Clarke didn't need to be told twice. As Finn edged his way to the front, Clarke easily fell in line beside him. I could only vaguely hear words being exchanged, but they became so far away that the words became muffled.

Bellamy was standing beside me one moment, then his body was keeping pace with Wells. "Guess we got more in common than meets the eye, huh?" he asked in a low voice. I normally wouldn't have been eavesdropping, especially considering this was someone I trusted, but his words pegged my curiosity.

Wells scrunched his nose and sent Bellamy a sharp glare. "We have nothing in common."

"No?" Bellamy looked caught between laughing and scoffing at the stubborn boy. "Both came down here to protect someone we love. Your secret's safe with me. 'Course, for you it's worse. With Finn around, Clarke doesn't even see you. It's like you're not even here." His words held a sense of mocking, as though he wanted to rile up Wells. It didn't work.

Wells gave Bellamy a dark glare before roughly glancing away. He wouldn't admit it, but Bellamy was right in his assumptions. And I supposed that's what caused his gaze to look so thoughtful and conflicted.

When Clarke and Finn yelled out for us to congregate again and meet at the stream, I wasn't expecting them to both be drenched like sewer rats. Especially Clarke. But I hardly questioned the weird turn of events and appearances, and just stayed quiet throughout the follow-up of events; Clarke revealing a patch of blood at the edge of the stream, and Finn volunteering himself to track. I just hovered behind Bellamy a little bit, unease chipping away at my calm demeanor. Unlike the determination my companions were feeling, or the annoyance that I knew Bellamy and Murphy felt, I was just plain suspicious. This felt like we were being led into a trap.

Finn was leaning down, scrutinizing the ground as Clarke stood beside him. Both were silent, Finn determining the route and traces of footsteps as the rest of us awkwardly stood in wait.

Murphy was a bit skeptical. "Hey," he said loudly, looking impatient, "how do we know this is the right way?"

Bellamy rolled his eyes, looking at his "friend" with a look of equal impatience. "We don't," he said, cutting his glare towards an ever-occupied Finn, "Spacewalker thinks he's a tracker."

Wells didn't like the disdain and disbelief dripping off Bellamy's words. "It's called 'cutting sign'," he snapped. "Fourth-year earth skills. He's good."

I rolled my eyes. "You didn't even know him until we landed on this stupid planet!" I said angrily, pointing my finger at him. Bellamy's hand rested on my shoulder, pulling me away, and I nearly laughed. The only explanation for his actions was that Bellamy was wary and wanted to avoid any altercations I was bound to be part of. It was sweet, but a bit unnecessary; I wouldn't risk my dignity by taking on Mini-Jaha.

Finn's expression squared with sudden irritation, and he whipped his head to look back at us. "You want to keep it down or should I paint a target on your backs?"

I subtly flipped him off as he turned his back to us while Bellamy nudged Wells. "See? You're invisible," he muttered. With Clarke's admiring gaze locked on Finn, I honestly couldn't agree more.

My feet moved on their own accord when Finn froze, his eyes and hands locking onto a snapped twig, hanging forlornly off a branch. He kneeled closer to the ground, and so did Clarke and me. We all noticed the same thing, at different times: blood. Jasper's blood.

A low and pain-stricken groan came from the distance. Every body in the vicinity stiffened, eyes going in multiple directions.

Murphy was the first to voice a mutual concern: "What the hell was that?"

Clarke glanced at Bellamy. "Now would be a good time to take out that gun," she said warningly, and Bellamy calmly complied.

Another groan came from the same direction, but it was closer this time. It was more distinct. I quickly realized why the groan sounded so familiar; it was Jasper.

Clarke didn't wait to voice and compile a plan; she went hastily running towards the direction of Jasper's voice. Finn followed close behind, and it took barely a second for the rest of us to come tromping behind.

We hit the opening of the trees, falling into a clearing with a crucifix-like tree in the direct middle. It was barren of leaves, solely notable because of the figure hanging from it like a sacrificial human. It was Jasper, and he was tied to the tree, his arms hung tight against the branches.

"Oh, my God," Clarke breathed. "Jasper!" Finn reached for her, in a silent gesture of fear for her, but Clarke went running towards the tree anyway. Before any of us could yell at her to stop, to think twice about this ominous situation, the ground beneath Clarke went out, and she started to fall. Well, that was, until Bellamy darted forward and caught her wrist.

I ran forward and dropped beside the hole, peering in at the plethora of sharp, pointed sticks, ones that could have easily ended Clarke's life if Bellamy hadn't have saved her. I shivered before looking at Bells and Clarke, but Bells had his gaze flickering between Clarke's petrified gaze and her wristband. I knew what his thoughts were, the conflict within his eyes, and I had never felt so sickened in my life.

"Pull her up! Hurry! Pull her up!" everyone was shrieking, Finn's voice being the most prominent and fearful.

I stared at Bellamy, my eyes filled with unspoken words of anger and disgust. But I wouldn't voice them, not when Bellamy was just beginning to pull Clarke from her impending doom. His eyes looked distant, then, while Clarke's looked dull with terror; I didn't want to believe that Bellamy had contemplated dropping her. It might have been me imagining things. Bellamy wasn't like that-not my Bellamy. He wasn't.

Finn fell beside Clarke while Wells appeared beside her too. "You okay?"

Clarke nodded slowly, her gaze flickering away from Bellamy and to Finn. "Yeah," she said breathlessly, panting with exertion and adrenaline. "We need to get him down."

I stood from the ground and backed away from the trap-hole, not looking in Bellamy's direction. I stared up at Jasper, hanging there like fresh bait. I bit my life, eyes staying locked onto the leave covering Jasper's wound, from the spear. I hoped to God it wasn't poison, or this entire venture would have been futile, and Octavia and Monty would be devastated.

Finn looked at Clarke, then quickly looked back to Jasper. "I'll climb up there and cut the vines," he said, in a voice that left no argument.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm with you," Wells said, volunteering his hand at helping.

Finn's eyes were an instant alarm for the oncoming disagreement. "No. Stay with Clarke," he said, then subtly nodded his head towards Bellamy. "And watch him." I ignored the way he basically played ignorant to my presence. His head swerved towards Murphy and stayed locked on. "You. Let's go."

Murphy looked at Bellamy, and when he jerked his head in a nod, that's when Murphy looked more opening in offering his help. He followed Finn to the tree.

I looked at Clarke, and I knew what question I needed to ask. "What's that on his wound?" I asked, praying for it to not be poison.

Clarke's eyes examined the leaf before her eyes dawned with realization. "It's a poultice," she said, awe in her voice.

"Medicine?" Wells looked bewildered, to say the least. "Why would they save his life just to string him up as live bait?"

Bellamy barely spared Wells a glance as he roughly said, "Maybe what they're trying to catch likes its dinner to be breathing." He looked irritated, and maybe even a little bit scared.

I stared at the ground, knowing this was bad. Unease was eating at me, and usually, that was a sign that a tragedy dawned on the horizon.

"Maybe what they're trying to catch is us." Finn's voice echoed from his spot on the tree, like a hollow message from a radio. And though beside myself with irritation at Bellamy, I found myself shuffling closer to him. He was the only one in the vicinity with a ranged weapon on hand, after all.

"Just cut Jasper loose, so we can get the hell out of here," I muttered nervously, cutting my gaze around the valley. Who knew what was out there, hidden by the green undergrowth and just waiting for the opportunity to pounce… Before we knew it, we could be dead—and it would all be due to Thelonious Jaha, who ignorantly dropped us somewhere where there were living, breathing humans who could throw manmade weapons with pinpoint accuracy, would easily kill us, regardless of being provoked.

The cowardly part of me was frightened, but the brave part was resilient and determined to survive despite the odds. And regardless of the nervous energy driving my blood with icy dread, I'd do whatever it took to come out alive in the end.

I was sitting in the weeds, pulling at grass bundles and condensing the strands into green confetti with my fingers, while Wells stood on guard, Bellamy eyed the place warily, and Clarke stood close to the tree. Finn and Murphy were still hanging from the limbs, both boys preoccupied with staying steady against the bark and getting to Jasper's aid, and the rest of us were alert. Again—who knew what the hell awaited us when we released Jasper from his bonds? For all we knew, the Grounders could have been watching us from afar, readying to strike the moment we assumed we were out of harm's way.

Finn had already arrived at his destination, but Murphy was struggling to get up the tree's expanse. "Hurry up, Murphy," Spacewalker snapped, barely sparing the stamina-drained boy any sympathy as he sagged with exhaustion. He merely waited—impatiently, might I add—for Murphy to finally get in position, and then the boys set to work in loosening the vines holding Jasper captive.

I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings, but I was absentmindedly entuned to all the conversations and various actions occurring around me. It was mostly just a focused effort, all my attention simmering in a bowl that belonged to making grass into confetti, but there was another part that wasn't so ingenuous. Clarke was the only one who even seemed remotely one-hundred-percent aware, but I'd say that was mostly because of Finn's current predicament. She wasn't exactly inconspicuous about her intrigue towards Spacewalker.

The girl of the hour itinerated, "Be careful," to the two, and a small smirk appeared on my lips. Suppose that proves my theory correct, I internally gloated, fighting the urge to smile a grin bigger than that of Cheshire Cat at the ironic revelation.

Then, something alarming occurred. As I pulled another handful of green pasture and made to rub it into valley residue, I heard a growl. It was distant yet was close enough that a feeling of dread settled in my abdomen; the grass fell from my right hand, my left quickly reaching behind me for the knife I'd brought along with me, and I got to my knees. The others were finally realizing the evidential threat, and they all looked each and every way, eying up the trees with blatant guardedness. I noticed that Bellamy's fingers flexed as though aching to reach for the handle of his gun.

"What the hell was that?" asked Murphy, peering down from his spot against the branches with a look of wary interest.

"Grounders?" said Bellamy in reply, but his tone was questioning. Like the rest of us, he was just as ignorant… and just as afraid.

None of us had the right answer, and none of us could have anticipated the kind of threat we were about to be faced with. And when something snarled, and eyes appeared from within the leaves of a nearby bush, I quickly scrambled to my feet and jumped several yards back. My heart was beating fast and hard against its chamber of ribs, a cold sweat drenching my forehead. Even with the knife in my hand, I felt myself under-matched and I was selfishly desperate to have the apparent animal choose a different target for its teeth. I was small and, quite frankly, a bit of a weakling. Sure, I helped save Octavia from that scary snake-like creature yesterday, but did that say anything other than that I got lucky?

I came from space, not a damn martial arts training center.

Bellamy reached across the gap separating us, and he quickly pulled me to his side. I stumbled and nearly fell, but his body saved me from my fate—and I was grateful, but certainly wouldn't admit that. I was still angry at him for his earlier inconsideration, and I doubted I'd let that anger go anytime soon—but who knows? Maybe if he continued to be my valiant knight in shining armor, I'd consider forgiveness.

What emerged from the shrubbery was something I'd never seen in all the books that the Ark carried in its amass of reading material—something black, dangerous, and frighteningly-big. Its hindquarters allowed it to jump right into the valley with us, and it snarled again. Its razor-sharp canines caused me to grip Bellamy's jacket tighter, dragging him back with me as I tried to get the furthest I could from obvious danger. The man hardly registered my attempts as he continued to stare at the beast, hand frozen on my arm.

The creature looked vicious—and it eyed its selection of prey with a look of predatory hunger, fangs elongating to create one of the most frightening scowls in the history of scowls.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," I muttered under my breath, nearly hyperventilating—and if it weren't for Bellamy's presence, I was sure that I would have collapsed. I'd never been as afraid as I was right then. And when the creature suddenly roared and began to charge around the valley, teasing us with its fast strides and scarily-long talons, I could feel the blood paling from my face.

"Bellamy, gun!" Clarke shrieked suddenly.

Bellamy quickly snapped from his daze, and he lifted his shirt to reach for his gun—but his hand didn't lift from his shirt, and he stayed in that position longer than you'd anticipate from a man on a mission. I watched with confusion and fear as Bellamy snapped his head every which way. Only when gunshots went off with spit-fire intensity from mere yards away from us did I realize why he appeared so frantic.

Someone had stolen his gun. And that someone was Wells.

Wells let off shot after shot, merely grazing the animal. Wells wasn't that good of a shot—that much was obvious—and his hands appeared to be shaking as he took aim and continued to let off shells. My breath stiffened. What would happen when the gun ran out of bullets? How many times would the beast be able to tear into us before our hearts collapsed and we were left to rot into the Earth?

The beast suddenly appeared at the front of the shrubbery again. It was right in front of Bellamy and I. We watched, with bated breath and tremoring fingers, as the creature locked its gaze on us. We were its next targets.

"Get back, get back," Bellamy suddenly murmured, his hand reaching back to push me away—to get me from his position.

"No, Bellamy—" I cried back, and a shriek of fear left my mouth when the beast charged—

It never got a chance to taste its next meal. Wells had finally gotten a good shot at the beast, and now it lay dead in front of Bellamy's feet, looking much less frightening with a dead glaze to its half-slit eyes.

Bellamy stared at Wells, just as we all were—but his gaze was different. His gaze was strong and steely. He looked grateful, yet also bitter. Very bitter. "Now she sees you," he said, and it took one glance at Clarke to see that he was correct.

Considering how famished most of the delinquents were, it was a wise idea to carry the creature—which Clarke assessed to be a jaguar—back to camp with us. Although, I knew that Bellamy would use it as leverage for people to take their wristbands off. It was an obvious way of asserting his presence as the leader of the prisoners.

But there was something else about it, a hidden reason behind his desire to have the Ark think the Earth is uninhabitable. I didn't know it yet, but I eventually would. Secrets didn't have a habit of staying secrets long.

"They're back!" called a delinquent when we entered camp. I didn't know who it was, or why his sudden voice irked me, but it did, and I couldn't put even a fingertip on why.

Monty appeared next to Clarke, who was monitoring Jasper's frail and aching body. The look on his face made me pity him, more than I had for anyone in my entire life. "Is he…" the boy trailed, unable to even finish the notion. Who would want to contemplate their best friend's resting fate when the odds seemed so slim? I wanted to reach over and grip Monty's hand, reassure him that his friend would live through this obstacle and power through to experience Earth's wonders with the rest of us. But I didn't know him, and he didn't know me. So I didn't.

"He's alive," Clarke said, brushing a hand through Jasper's sweaty fringe. She met Monty's eyes with a steady, reassuring gaze. "I need boiled water and strips of cloth for bandage."

I turned my own gaze to look at Bellamy as Monty went in pursuit of the needed materials and Clarke brought Jasper to the dropship. I still felt a smidgen of resentment towards him for his cruelty and his selfishness, but another part felt the need to understand his thought process… and that same part was desperate to see Bellamy in the same light as always, as the gorgeous, brave, rebellious hero from a storybook.

Maybe he had a reason to think about dropping Clarke. To think about bargaining and blackmailing her.

"Who's hungry?!" yelled Bellamy, and the crowd burst into cheers. They called his name, reached out hands as though to prod and touch him, screamed with glee at the thought of food.

And I just stood there, watching as Octavia stood by her brother with her own look of hero-worship, an expression of admiration.

I wanted to be a part of this. I wanted to break off my wristband and join in the festivities—wanted to dance with Bellamy to the sound of imaginary music and tease him for pretending to be the one who slayed the dragon, maybe fake a fall so that I could be caught in his arms. But there was a certain sickness that gripped my heart, and all I wanted to do was lay down and sleep. Maybe stare at the stars for a while, or just fall into unconsciousness to the sound of excited delinquents eating and cheering.

I thought about my father—my stern, cold-hearted father, who was probably sleeping soundly without the constant burden of my negligence and thievery on his back. I doubted he even watched the monitors to see if my heart went dead and picture went dark or bated an eyelash when he first heard that I'd be taken from my cell and sent to Earth.

Yet, even with the memories of his hatred and anger bearing down on my conscience, I still loved him. I still craved for him to suddenly care about me again, to worry about what happened to me. I craved for his love, his attention, his affection—and maybe the reason I was truly so nasty to Clarke and Wells was because I knew that regardless of reputation and regardless of their actions taken against others, the chancellor loved his son and Abby Griffin loved her daughter.

I wasn't so lucky.

I must've stood there for far longer than I anticipated, maybe having stood in the same spot for over half an hour, because Bellamy was suddenly at my side, nudging me, and I was blinking, surprised by the line of meat aligning the nearby fire and the line of delinquents stepping up to a boulder-like rock to have their wristbands broken apart. "Ready to take that wristband off, Short-Stack?" he asked with a grin.

I pulled away from Bellamy, overtaken by a plethora of images of my father. When I was small, he used to care, showering me in gifts and love. If he came down, I had the chance to experience that again. I had the chance to fix our relationship. "I can't," I breathed, tears appearing at the edges of my eyes.

Bellamy had a look on his face. I couldn't tell what it was. Hurt? Regret? Anger? Determination? "Why the hell not?" Bells asked, and I could tell he was fighting back an explosion of words.

"My father…" I looked away. Guilt was eating away at me, and my mind was racing. The Ark would still come down if you took it off, E, came a thought, slithering into my conscience with a tone of persuasion. And your father hardly cares. The Ark is dying; they'll have to come either way. Let fate do its work. Don't lose your best friend to a father who was never there.

The voice was right. I knew it was. But I was scared that I'd lose my father and would never be able to repair our fragile stance as father and daughter. I didn't want to live with that guilt—that regret.

You'd lose Bellamy, though, and isn't that one of your worst fears?

I was pissed at him, for putting me in this situation, for making me choose, for doing such selfish things that bordered on near-coldhearted. But truthfully, I couldn't lose him. I needed him. I wanted him. I'd lose my sanity if he died.

After a heavy silence, Bellamy finally found the words to speak. "Eowyn… please don't do this. Don't choose your father over me."

"B-But he's my father—"

"But I'm your family."

I clenched my eyes shut, inhaling a breath that shook my throat and opened my mucus chambers. "I can't live a life of regrets, Bellamy. If he dies… I'll never get the chance to have someone love me again."

"He will kill me if he comes down," Bellamy whispered. "They all will. The entire Council… they will hunt me down, and they will kill me."

"I'm sure we could make my father and Chancellor Jaha understand, Hells-Bells—"

"We can't," said Bellamy forcefully, and his eyes were watery. "Okay? We fucking can't."

Your father is a monster, Eowyn… He'd kill Bellamy if it meant putting himself in a better position… He doesn't care if his death would break you apart. He doesn't care.

I breathed out a sigh and pulled out my knife. "Okay… okay, okay." I stuck the blunt end—the makeshift handle—underneath my wristband and pushed as hard as possible. The needles hurt as they pulled from my skin, but I ignored the pain in favor of increasing the pressure. And with a grunt, the wristband snapped off and fell to the ground with a resounding thud.

Bellamy was staring at me, eyes still teary and mouth open. He hadn't expected this, I was sure. Always getting surprised…

"You can keep your stupid food," I told him, sniffling back the snot that began to trickle down my nose. "I'm not hungry."

Without a glance back, I left to the dropship. Memories of my father's face plagued me, but I soon realized it was better to avoid his hate than to meet his face and slowly understand he could never love me.