The 100 A Fresh Start chapter 6- Unwelcomed Visitors
Bellamy settled into the small shack. It wasn't great, it was warm and dry, but the best part was that it was secluded. He was alone finally with no one to worry about; nobody trying to kill him, or nobody trying to save him. He would always love and miss Octavia, but he learned long ago that she didn't need him. He knew she still had reminders of Lincoln when she looked at him. Her words would always be in the back of his mind.
Seeing her daily in the bunker and knowing how she really felt about him was more than he could handle. Looking at Abby, and seeing Clarke in her eyes, tore him up. Watching Monty and Harper, Murphy and Emori building lives together was a constant reminder of what he lost. Nothing but bad memories was in Arkadia and he could never see himself going back.
"I resented you for leaving Clarke, but I get it now," he said to himself. "Difference is, I didn't leave you behind," he thought. Bellamy knew he would be alone, wondering if Jasper had made a smart move after all. "Nope," he said to himself. "I'm not a quitter. I may be alone, but I'm alive," he said.
The days of isolation were a comfort to Bellamy. The days grew to weeks, the weeks to months. Bellamy explored the area. What was once someone's home was now deserted and left for nature to reclaim, he found what he thought to be an old root cellar hidden behind a wall of vines. It had very little inside; pots, a rusty knife, rotted baskets and an old bucket. He decided if he cleaned it out, it would be a good place to store food for the winter, but he decided against it, it was too far away from the cabin to be of any use. He wouldn't be staying permanently; he would leave in the spring.
Bellamy spent his time hunting game, mostly rabbits. He found roots, potatoes and plenty of berries. A garden in the past had random stalks of corn growing everywhere. He gathered any he found along with wild onions. He didn't have a preference on food, it sustained him, but taste meant nothing. He did notice he was getting thinner and his hair longer. He needed to shave, but his knife was dull. He didn't care about his looks.
He had his rifle, but only had one box of bullets so he stored it away, under his bed. He would use it only in an emergency. He made a spear and carried it with him everywhere.
Bellamy built a simple smoke house. He wasn't an expert, but he knew he would need food for the winter. He kept stocking up on corn and built a shelter to keep it dry as well. A creek ran at the foot of the hill, and he was glad he had his water filter.
At night he stared at the stars. He wondered what Octavia was doing. He knew she was okay, she was tough. He still missed her. He would fall asleep to memories of their time on the Ark, he focused on the good ones of her laughing as a child, but sometimes more often than not, they would drift to his mother and the last time he saw her. The look of terror on her face that haunted him would bleed into images of Clarke and the horror of what must have been her final moments. He would jerk himself away from the thoughts.
Bellamy woke in the morning to a cold misty rain. The fog was hanging heavy and he could see his breath. He wanted to stay huddled in his bedding, but knew he needed to get a fire going. Dragging himself up, he threw some logs on the grey embers and shoved some tinder into the base. Once he finally got a fire started, he went out to grab a few ears of corn from storage, but stopped suddenly.
He saw the group as they made their way out into the clearing. He instantly glanced towards his shack, where he kept his rifle. Something in his gut told him these men were bad news. They didn't look like grounders. Did people survive primfaya outside the bunker? He wondered to himself.
They walked towards him, the leader smiling and looking around to see if Bellamy was alone. "Hello," the man said. "My names Carter he said as he smiled. He held his hand out offering to shake Bellamy's hand. Bellamy didn't say anything. He kept his mouth shut. He didn't like these men.
Bellamy just looked at the man. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" Carter asked.
"chon yu bilaik? chit do yu want?" (Who are you? What do you want?) Bellamy knew to not speak English. He needed to know who these men were. Five years in the bunker didn't leave him with a lot to do; learning trigedasling was one thing he learned in his spare time.
"What did he say?" One of the men in back asked. "He don't even know what you're saying, Carter."
Carter put his hands to his chest. "Me Carter," he said. Then he pointed at Bellamy.
"Blake Kom Trikru" Bellamy lied.
"Blakekom trikru" Carter clumsily repeated as he glanced around then back to his men.
Bellamy smiled slightly and held out the corn he had in his hand. He used his other hand and put it to him mouth. "Dina" (food) he said. "Ai don mo gon your friends," (I have more for your friends.) he said.
Carter smiled, "I think our new friend here has invited us to eat," he said to his men.
Bellamy half smiled at them and pretended he didn't understand a thing they were saying. He motioned for them to come and get ears of corn. Somehow Bellamy needed to get inside his cabin and to his rifle.
The men walked around his camp looking at what little he had. Bellamy kept watching. He had a bad feeling.
A Red haired man stepped up from behind Carter. "You don't know what we're saying, do you? You're just an ignorant son of a bitch." Lang said.
"Blake kon trikru" Bellamy said holding his hand to his chest.
Carter smiled and popped Lang on the chest. "Lang," he said to Bellamy
"Lang," Bellamy repeated. Then he pointed at Carter and said "Carber," he mispronounced on purpose.
"Car-ter," corrected Carter. "Car-ter" he repeated.
"Car-ter," Bellamy repeated.
"Are we going to off this guy? Or what's the plan Carter?" Lang asked. His tone was the same as someone would have if they were asking for the time.
Bellamy knew his instincts were right. These men were bad news, and he didn't stand a chance one against ten. They didn't have rifles, and his was out of reach, but luckily it was hidden.
"I don't know if he's alone yet, Lang. Don't want to do something stupid, and find out he has friends," Carter smiled as he spoke." Let's see what he can give us, were not in a hurry," said Carter.
Bellamy took Carter to the smokehouse and got the men some meat. It killed him to be giving away his winter supply, but he needed to keep them happy, at least until he could think of a plan. He kept a knife inside the smokehouse for cutting meat, and pushed it back behind the doorframe out of sight when he went inside. He didn't want them to get it.
The men were cold, and crammed into Bellamy's shack. He thought it was a good time to get away from them, when suddenly he was stopped.
"You're not going someplace, are you, Blake komtrikru?" Lang asked.
Bellamy turned and was immediately hit across the side of his face. The stinging blow knocked him to the ground.
Lang jumped on him and hit Bellamy again. Bellamy pushed him back and rolled over on top of Lang. He hit back one, two three times. Lang was bloody and winded. The commotion brought several others from the warmth of the cabin. They were cheering on the fight, and laughing.
Bellamy knew he wasn't going to win. Lang's friends wouldn't let him win, but if he was going to die, he would go out fighting. Finally two men pulled Bellamy off Lang and held him. Lang got to his feet, and punched Bellamy hard in the gut. It took his wind. Lang hit him over and over. Bellamy doubled over. He was a bloody mess, and the sight excited Lang even more. Lang lifted Bellamy's head up by his hair, looked him in the face and spat. "Look at my face grounder. It'll be the last thing you ever see," he sneered and then he hit him in the face over and over. Bellamy blacked out. Lang's fists were bloodied. He was spent. The men holding Bellamy let go, and he fell like a rag doll.
"I think you killed him," Lang's friend said, "good thing we came out and stopped him from killing you first," they laughed.
Carter kicked him, but he didn't respond.
The others laughed and made their way to the shack to get warm and fill their bellies with more dried meat and corn, leaving Carter and Lang standing there.
Carter glanced down at Bellamy's body and then towards the shack that was calling him. The falling mist began to grow to a light rain that made the air even colder. He hit Lang against his chest with the back of his hand. "Come on, let's get inside," he said nodding towards the shack.
"What about him?" Lang said motioning at Bellamy.
"He's not going anywhere anymore," Carter laughed.
The men went inside as the rain grew heavier.
He heard laughter coming from the cabin. His head was foggy and he hurt everywhere. It was raining and cold. Night had come, and Bellamy didn't know how much time had passed. It took a few minutes to remember what happened. He opened one eye and tried to get his baring's. He needed to see if they were still near, but one eye wouldn't open. He was afraid. He didn't want to die, not here, not like this. He heard laughter and talking coming from inside the cabin. They left him for dead outside in the mud. He needed to get away and tried to stand, but he was too weak. He struggled to move, forcing himself to his feet.
He stumbled into the forest, going deeper into a thicket, looking for somewhere that he couldn't be seen. He remembered the old root cellar. If he could find it in the dark, but his head was swimming and he couldn't see very well. He fell in the slick mud, his side was hurting and he wondered if he had broken anything. He was cold, and wet. Finally he found it. He carefully pushed away some vines, trying to keep the door covered and crawled inside. He couldn't see but felt around for the old pot. He cracked open the door and sat the pot outside, closed the door and curled up into a ball, shivering in the dark.