THE 100

The forest is dense, the air around us thick with tension ad awkwardness as we trudge through the mud ridden track. Bellmay glances back at me like he wants to say something, his eyes shooting to my bag. His hands roll a pack of berries like dice, popping them into his mouth in hunger 

"Why the bunker?" Bellamy asks, breaking the silence, his eyes flicking back to me with suspicion.

They're both ahead of me, backs turned, so they can't see my expression. I cock my head. "Why not the bunker? We've got a ton of memories down there," I answer sarcastically. Last time I was there, I did a whole lot of choking and a lot less exploring.

He rolls his eyes. "I agreed to your stupid trip, now answer the question."

My eyes scan the trees, taking in the beauty of the forest around us. "To arm the masses, Blake," I sigh, shifting my weight. "We need to build an army for what's next."

Clarke raises a brow, her gaze shifting to me. "I thought you weren't going to arm a bunch of criminals," she brushes her hair back, "or was that part of your plan too?"

I let my boots squelch in the mud as I step forward. "I never said I didn't want guns." I glance at them both. "I think you're forgetting you were planning on arming them for some rendezvous killing spree."

Bellamy winces, running a hand through his hair. "It sounded like a good idea, y'know? Ambush them, not kill them."

It takes everything not to smack the guy across the head. Was Bellamy always this stupid? I'd always assumed Clarke was the brains and he was the brawn. "They would've had your head on a stick before you even stepped foot in there."

I shift my gaze to the sagging backpack weighing him down. "Your bag's awfully heavy," I remark, my tone light but pointed.

He stiffens slightly, squaring his shoulders. "I travel heavy."

Bellamy shoots me a glare over his shoulder. "You ask a lot of questions for someone who didn't want company."

"And you're defensive for someone carrying half the forest in that bag," I retort,. "if you're planning on running, i wouldn't do it."

He stiffens, and Clarke sneaks a glance between us, "I have no idea what youre talking about."

I raise a brow, "they would have floated people anyway," i look up at the sky, "it was just a question of when."

"You're planning on leaving?" Clarke asks, confused in her tone.

Bellamy spins on his heel, his expression sharp, frustrated. "Jaha isn't going to pardon me for almost killing him," he snaps. "That's the hard truth."

Her brows knit, her gaze locking on him. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," he retorts, his voice biting. "You think they're just going to let me walk scot free? I've seen what happens to people like me, and it doesn't end with forgiveness."

I narrow my eyes, suspicion curling through my tone. "How did you get on the dropship in the first place? There's no way a janitor had access to what you did."

Bellamy doesn't stop walking, but his shoulders tighten, and his jaw works like he's chewing over whether to answer. Finally, he lets out a sharp breath. "Shumway gave me a gun. Told me my sister was going to Earth. That's all I needed to hear."

Clarke's steps falter behind him, her voice cutting through the growing tension. "Wait. The head of security helped you get on the dropship? Why?"

Bellamy slows, turning just enough to meet her gaze, his face hard. "Because he wanted someone to take care of the Chancellor. Said it was the only way to keep my sister safe."

I let out a low whistle, more out of surprise than judgment. "That's one hell of a gamble. Did you even stop to think why he wanted Jaha dead?"

Bellamy's lips press into a thin line, but Clarke's voice edges in before he can respond. "It wasn't about keeping Octavia safe, was it?" she says, her tone sharper now. "Shumway wants Jaha dead for a reason."

"Yeah him and the rest of the ark," Bellamy responds, "the chancellor isn't exactly running the tightest ship."

He adjusts the weight of his bag and keeps walking, the tension crackling between us like static in the air. Clarke lingers for a moment, her eyes fixed on Bellamy's retreating form before following silently.

I can see the gears turning in her head. Clarke wasn't stupid, but when it came up to concocting plans i knew shed do whatever it takes to protect th eonly world she knew. I just wished could say the same.

"You're awfully quiet," I ask. Shaking the rian from my hair.

Her eyes narrow. "Didn't realize you missed the sound of my voice."

"I just figured you'd be taking charge by now. Isn't that your thing?"

She huffs a quiet laugh, though there's no real humor in it. "Orders? That's rich, coming from someone who decided to threaten an entire village without telling anyone."

"I stop walking for a beat, turning to her with my gaze sharp and unwavering. "Then give me a reason to trust you, Clarke."

She falters, the weight of my words hitting harder than I expect. "You think I don't care? That I'm not trying to keep us alive?"

And then she goes silent for a minute before her vice trails barely over whisper, "i'm sorry."

She looks up, "I shouldn't have gone along with what bellmay said, i'd thought taking you to the bunker was our best bet." she looks into the open air, "now i'm realizing i was just an idiot."

"Clarke —" I start, my tone defensive, but Bellamy stopping in front of us cuts me off mid-sentence.

We've arrived. The bunker looms before us, its rusted metal door half-hidden by the overgrowth. The sight of it brings a sense of dejavu of the last time I was here.

Bellamy drops his pack with a thud and narrows his eyes at the door. "Alright, we're here. Let's make this quick."

"I'll pass," I say, crossing my arms. "Someone has to keep watch."

Clarke turns to me, frowning. "You sure?"

"Yeah " my eyes are already scanning our surroundings. "Ill keep watch"

Bellamy smirks, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Fine by me. Stay out here and play sentry if it makes you feel better. Just don't run off."

I roll my eyes. Clarke steps forward, giving me a brief glance. "We'll be as quick as we can."

Bellamy follows her into the bunker, and the heavy door creaks shut behind them with an echo that seems to linger longer than it should.

I let my breath billow into the air, time stretching on as I listen for the sound of the outside forest. minutes stretching by until i'm sure they've both packed at least a third of the bunker inside their bags. I reach for the handle in impatience, already feeling the cold seep into my bones.

And then it comes, the reason I stood out in the damn cold and not the bunker.

The figure comes into view, moving in and out of the trees, cloaked in darkness. It's alone. I can make out the shape of a man, broad-shouldered, his movements smooth and practiced. 

I freeze, there's no way that dax, the guy who'd come here to kill Bellamy. It's a grounder.

The bag shifts as he walks, the contents sagging and swaying in a way that makes my skin crawl. It might be game, but something feels off. A Grounder wouldn't store a kill like that. They'd string it up, let it bleed out. This? This is different. Wrong.

I press myself lower to the ground, crouching beneath the undergrowth, every muscle tensed. My mind races. What's he doing here? This is the second time a Grounder's been patrolling near the bunker. That's no coincidence.

And then, out of nowhere, the bunker's hinges groan and the door swings open. The noise is deafening in the silence of the forest. My breath catches in my throat as Clarke's blonde hair appears, her head poking out from the metal entrance like she doesn't have a care in the world.

The Grounder freezes, his head snapping toward the sound.

I move without thinking, rushing to Clarke and clamping my hand over her mouth before she can say a word. Her eyes widen in surprise, and I lean in close, whispering harshly. "Quiet."

For a moment, I think she's going to listen—but then she licks my hand, giggling like a child caught sneaking candy. The sickly-sweet smell hits me next, the faint hint of berries on her breath.

My stomach drops. Of course. She ate the damn poison berries.

She tries to pull away, her laughter bubbling uncontrollably, and I tighten my grip, whispering even more urgently. "Clarke! Quiet."

Her giggles subside into soft, muffled snorts, and her wide, glassy eyes focus on me for a split second. "Dad?," she whispers, barely audible but still loud enough to make my stomach clench.

She's hallucinating about her dead dad. Great. 

The Grounder steps closer to the clearing, his gaze narrowing in our direction. I shift, positioning myself to block Clarke from view, my hand still firmly over her mouth.

"Clarke," I hiss, my voice a razor-sharp whisper, "if you don't shut up, we're both dead."

Clarke finally goes still under my grip, her wide, glassy eyes blinking up at me. I glance toward the clearing, muscles taut as the Grounder shifts his stance. Before I can process my next move, another figure steps into view.

This one is smaller. A girl with striking red hair, tied back in a messy braid, moves with the same practiced grace. My stomach tightens. I recognize her—the Grounder who attacked me at the lake. The one id tied to the abandoned car.

Why was she here?

The red-haired girl steps up to the man, her voice low but carrying through the stillness of the forest. I strain to hear, my heart pounding against my ribs.

"frag op gon fos sight," she says, her tone laced with disdain. "No sky person leaves these woods tonight."

The man doesn't respond immediately, his gaze sweeping the clearing with a hunter's precision. He tilts his head slightly, signaling her to stay quiet as his eyes lock onto the bunker's door—where we had been only seconds ago.

The girl narrows her eyes, her lips curling into a sneer as she whispers something else, too low for me to catch. She knows where we are.

I gulp down the salty saliva in my throat. Fumbling with the rifle in my hands. Coupled with Bellamy's own, it was two of us against them. I let my gaze liner out of the bunker, the berries must've gotten to him too. Which left me and two trained grounders.

Clarke starts to fumble under my hold, and the sound of her rustling feet gains their attention.

The red-haired girl doesn't move, her sharp gaze fixed on the bushes where we're hiding. She raises a hand, signaling the man to act first. He doesn't hesitate. With practiced ease, he shrugs off the heavy sack from his shoulder, letting it thud onto the ground. The sound reverberates through the clearing, unnervingly final.

He crouches low, his body tensing like a predator ready to pounce, his eyes scanning the shadows with lethal intent.

Clarke shifts again, her giggling barely muffled behind my hand. My pulse spikes, panic seizes my chest.

The red-haired girl narrows her eyes, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade. She mutters something under her breath in Trigedasleng, too quiet to make out entirely, but I catch one word: "ste bilaik?"—Who's there?

The man inches closer, his footsteps unnervingly quiet. My mind races. Two Grounders, one rifle, and one Clarke who's high on berries. Great.

And then i move.

My voice rumbles, steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "Drop the knife."

The first Grounder freezes, his dark eyes snapping up in surprise before narrowing at the sight of the gun aimed squarely at him. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his blade, muscles coiling like he's about to pounce.

And then her voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding. "Rik!" The girl steps forward, placing a hand on his arm. Her tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. "Step down."

He hesitates, glaring at her before shifting his weight back, his stance slightly loosening. The girl doesn't move her hand from his arm as her eyes lock onto me.

Recognition flickers in her gaze, a flicker of disbelief that quickly hardens into something sharper. Her face, smeared with mud and streaked with black coal, is almost unrecognizable—but her eyes give her away. Deep brown, intense.

"You," she says, her voice laced with a mix of surprise and anger. Her grip tightens on Rik's arm as if keeping him from springing forward. "The sky boy"

Her lips curl into a humorless smile, her expression a mix of amusement and calculation.

"You've got some nerve showing up here," she mutters, her tone carrying a dangerous edge.

I keep the rifle trained on Rik, my voice steady. "Yeah, well, it's a small forest. Now back off."

Her gaze flits between me and the bunker behind me, her sharp eyes narrowing as if piecing something together. "Sky People," she spits, her voice tinged with disdain. "Always wanting what they can not have."

Her eyes flick to the sack they left behind, then narrow to the pack strapped across my chest. "You have something I want," she says, her voice low and venomous. The sharp edge of her tone makes my grip tighten instinctively on the straps of the pack.

I smirk faintly, though my heart pounds like a drum. "Spoils of war," I reply, my voice laced with mock bravado. "I won fair and square."

Her jaw tightens, her teeth gritting in barely concealed frustration. Her eyes lock onto mine, calculating and fierce. "You have no idea what's in there," she says quietly, the words carrying a warning.

"Don't need to," I shoot back, holding my ground. "It's mine now."

She turns slightly, murmuring something in her native tongue to Rik. The tension between them is palpable, a silent exchange of frustration and strategy. Rik's lip curls as he glances back at me, his disdain radiating off him like heat. His fingers flex around the hilt of his knife, but he doesn't move yet.

The girl steps closer, her movements deliberate and slow, as though testing how far she can push me before I react. "That pack belongs to my people," she says coldly. "Hand it over, and we'll walk away."

I scoff, shifting the rifle slightly to remind them of its presence. "Right. Because I trust that."

Her eyes flash with irritation, her control slipping for just a moment. "You don't want to make an enemy of us," she says, voice sharp. "Not more than you already have."

"Oh," I say, my smirk returning, though my grip tightens on the rifle. "Pretty sure we passed that line a while ago."

She snaps her fingers, and the grounder like a doll fetches the sack from behind them.

She smiles, though it terrifies me the way her blood lips curl around her teeth, "a present." she kicks the bag, "for you."

I glance at the sack, its strange, uneven shape making my heart pound harder. It's too large to be supplies, and something about the way it slumps unsettles me. "What's in it?" I ask, my voice steady despite the dread creeping up my spine.

Clarke stirs behind me, mumbling something incoherent. I risk a glance back, her expression turning into something of awareness. It's just me, and whatever fresh hell is waiting in that sack.

I crouch slowly, keeping the rifle aimed at Rik. "If this is some kind of trap—"

"Open it," the girl interrupts, her voice lilting, almost playful. "We wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

My hands tremble slightly as I grip the sack's drawstring. I pull it loose with one sharp tug and peel back the fabric. The smell hits me first—sweat, dirt, and something metallic, like blood. My stomach churns as the sack falls open, revealing a pale, bruised face.

Murphy.

His eyes are closed, his face swollen, cuts decorating his cheeks and lips. His hands are bound in front of him, his wrists rubbed raw from the restraints. For a horrifying second, I think he's dead, but then his chest rises, the faintest of breaths escaping his cracked lips.

"What the hell?" I breathe, my shock giving way to anger as I whip my gaze back to the girl. "Why?"

Her smile doesn't falter, but her tone hardens, cutting through the tension like a blade. "He crossed a line. Your people seem to make a habit of that." She gestures to Murphy with a careless wave. "Consider this... a warning."

I feel my blood boiling, my grip on the rifle tightening. "What did he do?"

"He pays the price for your mistakes" she says simply, her voice void of emotion. "You've trespassed on land that doesn't belong to you, invaders"

Rik shifts slightly, his disdain clear, but he says nothing. The girl takes a step forward, her smile dropping into something colder. "We could have killed him outright. Be grateful we showed restraint."

"Maddox," Clarke whispers, her voice trembling as reality cuts through the haze. She takes in the unfamiliar faces, the dangerous tension, and the way the grounders' hands hover near their weapons. Her grip tightens on my arm. "We shouldn't be here."

"No kidding," I mutter, taking a half-step back, my rifle still trained on Rik. "Stay behind me."

But before I can act, the girl snaps her fingers. Rik moves with alarming speed, lunging at me with his blade drawn. I barely have time to dodge, the knife slicing through the air where my side had been. I stumble back, raising the rifle, but the girl is already moving.

Clarke lets out a startled cry as she's yanked from my side, the girl's grip ironclad around her arm. "Let me go!" Clarke struggles, but the grounder easily overpowers her, twisting her arm behind her back. Clarke winces in pain, her movements stilled by the sudden leverage.

"Drop the gun," the girl orders, her voice calm but deadly. "Or she bleeds."

I hesitate, the weight of the rifle suddenly unbearable. My mind races, weighing options, but Rik is already advancing on me again, his blade gleaming in the dim light. I shift my aim to him, finger hovering over the trigger.

"You think you'll make it out alive if you fire that?" the girl taunts, jerking Clarke's arm for emphasis. Clarke lets out a small gasp, her eyes locking with mine, desperate and terrified. "This isn't your fight to win."

"Maybe not," I snap, narrowing my eyes. "But it's yours to lose."

My finger tightens on the trigger, my stance unwavering. Rik pauses, his expression hardening as he sizes me up. The girl shifts her grip on Clarke, keeping her as a shield.

"You're reckless," the girl murmurs, almost amused. "But not stupid. If I die, so does she."

The girl's smirk grows wider, her dark eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. She tightens her grip on Clarke, twisting her arm further behind her back. Clarke lets out a cry of pain, her knees buckling slightly.

"Last chance," the girl says, her voice calm and taunting. "Drop the gun. You're not going to risk her life. You're all talk."

The rifle feels heavy in my hands, but I don't lower it. My mind races, the stakes crystal clear. Clarke's wide, terrified eyes lock onto mine, silently pleading for me to do something.

Rik takes a step closer, and I shift my aim to him, keeping him in check. "Back off," I snap, my voice sharper than the knife he's holding. He hesitates, but the girl just laughs.

"You're out of options," she says. "Give up. Or watch her die."

Something inside me snaps. The taunting, the threats, the cold confidence in her voice—it all pushes me past a breaking point.

I wanted to go home, back to my bed in arizona, to see the posters staring back at me when i woke up. They'd taken that from me. My freedom. 

 In one fluid motion, I shift my aim, no longer pointing the rifle at Rik but directly at her. Her eyes widen, just for a second, and then I pull the trigger.

The gunshot shatters the air.