THE 100

My father used to brag that he was always the better hunter.

In the early summer, under the relentless sun, we'd lie in the grass, camouflaged in mud and leaves. My hands clutched the cold steel of a .30-06 Springfield, fingers tightening on the trigger as I waited. 

He'd say it taught me patience, that to catch the best prey, you had to think like one.

Back then, I thought my dad was an idiot. Now, I'd give anything to be back in Arizona, lying in the forest, covered in dirt and sweat. At least one of those wishes came true.

We're barely a few feet from camp when the chatter starts. Finn—Spacewalker, soon to be infamous—casts a lazy smile at Clarke. Octavia glares daggers at the back of her head. The forest is unusually quiet, with no bird calls or rustling hares, a silence thick enough to feel.

Finn picks a purple flower and tucks it behind Octavia's ear. She blushes, cheeks blooming pink.

"Now that's what I call game," Jasper whispers to Monty.

Monty hides a smirk. "That, my friend, is poison sumac." Octavia jolts, moving it away from her skin.

"The flowers aren't poisonous. They're actually medicinal—calming." Monty adds.

"His family grew all the pharmaceuticals on the Ark," Jasper mentions. Clarke spins around, frowning. "Hey, would you guys try to keep up?"

She glances at me briefly before surging ahead, her bag bouncing as she practically sprints forward.

"I've gotta know what you guys did to get here," Finn says, steering the conversation back to our ragtag group.

I tense, hoping my silence is enough to signal I'm not interested.

Jasper and Monty start reminiscing about their "adventures" sneaking into the Ark's medicinal cabinets. The light-hearted chatter turns to Octavia.

"What did you do to get here Octavia?" Jasper asks, his words are borderline stuttering and the flush of his face makes me think that wasn't the question he wanted to ask. 

Her smile turns grim and she answers bitterly, "for being born." She jogs back up to the top, ahead of Clarke.

An awkward silence fills the forest. 

"What about you?," Finns asks after a hurtled cough, "I didn't catch your name?"

The two other boys are already shooting me apprehensional looks, the memory of me practically bombarding them is still burned in their minds. 

"Nothing important," I mutter, and I'm reminded of the gap in my memory and the fog of my headache.

Finn looks on expectedly, "it's Maddox." I answer, leaving the group to once again descend into silence.

My ears strain, listening beyond the crackle of twigs and the group's labored breaths. 

My hearts beating a thousand miles a second, as I try to recall the first time I'd sat in my living room, remote in hand as I'd watched that first episode.

I knew there was defining moment on the lake, the boy beside me being plunged by a deadly spear, but I couldn't bloody damn remember when.

We catch up with the girls, and Finn breaks the silence.

"Hey, you know what I'd like to know?" he says, his voice slicing through the quiet. "Why send us down now, after ninety-seven years? What changed?"

Octavia throws her hands in the air, spinning in delight. "Who cares? I was rotting in a cell, and now I'm spinning in a forest."

I fight back a smile, but Clarke's voice cuts through, sharp and cold. "The Ark is dying," she says. "At the current population level, there's maybe three or four months of life support left—if we're lucky."

My wrist stings as I unconsciously scratch at the silver bracelet welded to my skin.

"So, what, we've got a week before they realize they can come down?" Monty asks.

"That's if we survive that long," I interject. Clarke shoots me a dark look.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snaps, defensive. Finn reaches out, as if to calm her.

"Do you think everyone back there wants another Chancellor?" I tilt my head, toying with the bracelet. "Give it a week before it hits the fan."

"You don't think Bellamy would…" Octavia trails off, her green eyes narrowing at me, suspicious.

"All I'm saying is our best bet for survival isn't up there. It's here." My fingers loop through my belt, steadying myself.

"So you're just giving up?" Clarke's eyes blaze. "When Wells said you were crazy, I didn't—"

My jaw clenches, and I grit out, "Believe what you want, Princess. My word's as good as his."

The tension sets everyone on edge. 

"Good." Octavia kicks at a rock, looking ready to say more. "After what they did to me, I say float them all."

Finn murmurs something reassuring to Clarke, his hand on her elbow. I look away, feeling my belt loop tear under my grip.

"Oh, holy…" Monty whispers, and we all look up to see a small lake spreading out below us, a cliff overlooking the water's calm surface.

Octavia smirks, stripping off her pants down to her underwear. She grins back at us and takes the plunge, crashing into the water with a wild whoop.

"Octavia, what the hell are you doing?" Clarke shouts over the rush of water. But Octavia's laughter drowns her out as she splashes in the lake.

I tense, suddenly aware of how quiet the forest has become. The others are cheering her on when I notice a dark shape moving toward her, cutting through the water.

"Oh, hell!" I shout. "Get out of there!"

Octavia frowns, confused. "What are you—" Her voice breaks as she spots the creature—a mutated, hulking fish gliding toward her.

"Octavia!" Jasper yells, throwing his goggles aside before leaping into the water after her. The monstrous fish surges forward, pulling her under as she gasps for air.

"Are you out of your mind?!" I shout, searching frantically for a rock to hurl at the beast. "We need to distract it—give her a chance to escape!"

Clarke snaps out of her daze, helping me push a loose boulder over the edge and into the water. It lands with a splash, and the creature's attention shifts.

Jasper grabs Octavia's hand, towing her to the shore. By some miracle, he manages to pull her out, both of them collapsing on the rocks, soaked and panting.

"Oh my god," Octavia gasps, clutching Jasper in a hug.

"Note to self," Monty smirks, slapping Jasper on the back, "save the girl next time."

I exhale, relief washing over me as the lake returns to its eerie calm. But my muscle still grip the fabric of my pants, anxiety returning the minute the calm turns too silent.

I step away from the group, letting my eyes drift to the forest floor beneath me. The woods surrounding the lake are thick, the trees rising like pillars that stretch toward the distant, snow-peaked mountains. I can't be sure if we're in North America or farther north, but the warm breeze hints that it's early summer.

It's quiet. I strain my ears, listening as hard as I can, but all I hear are the soft giggles and chatter from the others. The familiarity of their voices keeps me grounded, a temporary comfort in this unknown place.

But then something tugs at my memory.

When was it again?

My gaze settles on Jasper as he and Finn joke around, preparing to swing out over the cliff edge. I search his face, trying to recall the sequence of events that led here.

When was it?

Then I hear it—a faint whistle on the wind. It's so subtle, almost lost in the rustle of leaves, but I see the movement before I fully process the sound.

In the trees, camouflaged in brown and black, a figure blends with the shadows. Fear prickles up my spine as I catch sight of them—silent, their aim locked with deadly precision.

No.

"Stop!" I shout, cupping my hands to my mouth, hoping my voice cuts through the distance.

But the lone grounder doesn't look my way. Their arm swings forward, the movement fluid, practiced, and merciless.

The aim is true. The spear flies straight toward Jasper's heart.

"Jasper!" Clarke screeches. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I thought I could do it. But I couldn't even remember a stupid show.

I push past, ducking beneath large enough boulders.

"Guys", I scream over the wave of panic, "Run, NOW!" 

"Never underestimate your prey, Maddox." My father skins the deer, utility knife moving with practiced precision, "let them think they have right where they want you", the knife plunges into the flesh, and blood flies into his face, "let the prey believe they're the predator."

I move. My head burns and swings. 

The group is stumbling through the dense forest, branches tearing at us as we duck behind thick tree trunks.

I don't know if we're being pursued, but my laboured breath and thunderous heart beat is all I can afford to hear.

Monty trips, his foot snagging on something. Bones litter the ground—bleached, brittle remnants of creatures that died here long ago. "Who are they?" Finn gasps between breaths, his eyes wide.

A crow shrieks above our heads.

"What are they?" Clarke answers holding up a mutated skull.

A scream sounds in the distance. 

"Jasper," Clarke whispers, her voice catching. "He's alive." She starts to bolt back, but I grab her wrist, stopping her.

Her blue eyes lock onto mine, frantic, and she tries to wrench her hand free. "We can't just leave him!" Her voice is barely a whisper, her face pale with terror and something close to heartbreak.

"We'll come back for him," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "But right now, we've got bigger problems to deal with."

She stares at me, distrust shadowing her face, but after a moment, she glances back in the direction of Jasper's scream. With a shuddering breath, she nods, and we break into a sprint, crashing deeper into the woods, leaving the echoes of terror behind us.