BELLAMY'S POV
Dawn light streams into the tent through a hole I hadn't noticed before. It shimmers on Clarke's hair, turning it golden. A few faint freckles gleam on her nose. Her eyelashes brush her cheeks. I can't take my eyes off her. She wriggles, sliding closer to me, one leg intertwining with mine.
Blinding burning light peers into the tent. A head, older and more wizened than one I'd ever seen peers in. "Bellamy Blake?"
"Hi?" I sit up. Clarke claws at where I used to be.
"I have a message from your sister." I jump out the bed, feet crashing onto the cold mud. Monroe groans, pulling her jacket over her head.
"Is she OK?" I hurry to him, pushing him out the door and into the bright daylight. "Is she hurt?" The grounder arches an eyebrow, eyes deep brown and bloodshot.
"She's fine. She is going to Polis with Indra."
"What?" my stomach drops. "Where's that?"
"Sixteen hours from here on horseback." The grounder nods. My knees buckle, and suddenly I'm tumbling to the ground. His eyebrows knot together.
"Sixteen?" I whisper. The grounder nods.
"I must return home." The grounder draws his shoulders up. "Indra will ensure Octavia's protection." The grounder swirls out. Harper, who stands alone in the centre of the camp watches him leave. I remember she had early morning inside camp duty. The fire wood is already neatly piled. She walks over.
"Is everything alright?" she asks, helping me up.
"No... maybe... I don't know." My breath fogs in the bitter morning air. "O's gone to Polis." Harper tilts her head, guiding me to one of the stone and pushing me onto it. "Sixteen hours away on horse back." My bottom lip wobbles. She squeezes my shoulder.
"She'll be okay, this is Octavia." She pats it a couple of times. I nod, eyes scanning the organised camp. The firewood stacked in order of size, the pile of moonshine cups all glimmering clean in the dawn light, stones organised round the fire pit. "Don't ask... I've been on shift all night. There are only so many laps I could do without going mad." She laughs. Her gaze shifts suddenly towards a movement in the sunlight. Her hand tears off my shoulder, and she leaps over the rocks across the camp. I blink into the sun light. Monty. He shuffles forward, eyes bleary and sleep covered. Harper swoops her arms round his waist. "Morning sleeping beauty." She giggles, steering him towards the stones. He groans and tightens his grip on her arms.
"Was it always this bright?" he moans, head lulling onto her shoulder as she pushes him onto the stone next to him. She purses her lips, rolling her eyes.
"And you refuse to deal with me when I'm hung-over." She laughs, sweeping his head off his forehead. She frowns when she presses a hand against his forehead. "You been sick yet?" she asks, crouching in front of him.
"No." Monty groans. "I don't want to."
"You've got to." She sighs, pulling him up by his under arms. She grins at me, laughing. "Welcome to the farm station morning after party." She gently carries Monty towards the 'toilet' and rubs his back as he throws up. It's clearly not the first time, she loops his hair behind his ear. He slumps against her.
A cracking stick startles me. I whip round. Monroe drags her feet. I get up, trying to radiate the same confidence as Harper had, but I've only hung out with hungover Monroe once, when she'd drunk herself into a stupor after being kicked off the guards. "No." She groans as I walk towards her. "I am going to kill a b**** and I don't want it to be you." She shuffles past me, to the water box, and picks up a metal cup from the pile. It clangs against the side of the box and she flinches, groaning incoherently. She chugs a cup of water, then another. She turns around, and looks at me. "OK. You can talk now."
"Morning to you to." I laugh, making her sit on a rock.
"What idiot opened our tent?" she asks, blinking in the bright light.
"Grounder?"
"What?" she properly looks at me, emerald eyes bloodshot.
"Octavia's gone to Polis." I sigh, stretching. "Sixteen hours from here on horseback."
"Yikes." She pats my shoulder, and stops with her arm half in the air. She cusses and pushes herself up, hand digging into my shoulder. She murmurs something I can't hear, and she strides off towards the gate. I run after her, expecting her to trip over. She reaches the gate, and Scott looks down at her, tilting his head. He looks at me, eyes wide and squinted. 'Hungover' I mouth. He bites his lip and nods a couple of times, shoulders bouncing with him. "You alright, Monroe?"
"Greattt.." she drawls, "If I didn't feel like I've got a period cramp in every f***ing crevice of my body." She pauses, eyebrows pushing down until she remembers why she came over. She clicks her fingers, then flinches at the noise. She points at him, and Scott shuffles backwards, small feet pressed against the fence. Whatever she was going to say is cut off by loud sounds of retching echoing across the camp. I rush off towards the signs, calling Seth to keep an eye on Monroe. If there was one thing I know about my hungover bestfriend is she's tetchy very quickly. I'm probably getting flipped off right now.
Jasper and Miller appear to be taking turns to throw up directly outside their tent. Harper is now swamped by a few younger kids, who look like mini versions of death. Why did we let 11 year olds try moonshine? I pick up two cleaned cups, and gently put one into each of their hands. Miller chugs it, but Jasper holds it at finger tips. "I don't want more moonshine." He mutters.
"Not moonshine, it's water." I tell him, holding the base of the cup to stop it falling. Jasper swigs it in one gulp, and then chokes. I pat his back, sweat leaching through his shirt. Today's going to be a long day.
Clarke walks out of our tent ten minutes later, actually looking alive. Ish. She shuffles a little, and her eyes are bloodshot. She hurries over to us, swamped by hungover kids. "You want a hand?" She grins, walking over and picking up a cup of water.
The day begins to fully form and us few, unharmed by the alchohol or just didn't take it, send them to bed. The younger children want to run around, and have fun. We need to send hunting parties out, build fox holes... with 16 people. Nine are under 10. One is eight. Harper rubs her temples and sits next to Monty, who refused to go to bed. "The hell do we do this?" She asks after silence swallows us up. Murphy shrugs, holding Charlotte in his lap. She braids long blades of grasses together, eyes focused on them but she tilts her head. The eight year old crawls through the mud and puts her head on Monroe's lap. Monroe strokes her hair absentmindedly, eyes closing and opening. "Sixteen... four fox holes to triangulate..." Raven begins to verbalise today's jobs, counting them on her fingers. "Food to be hunted, hung-over people to look after, food to be prepared to last, a meeting with specific friends on the Ark for details... We're f***ed." She laughs, holding up five fingers. "Eight people for triangulation, leaving us with eight for four jobs, all of whom are kids." She sighs, disappointed. Charlotte shuffles on Murphy's lap, pulling her shoulders up.
"I'm not little." she calls.
"Exactly, you're going to work with Johnnie, because he needs someone to keep him in control." Raven winks. Everyone laughs as Murphy burns red. "If you want you can take a triangulation. Pick up a ton of stone and sticks and stuff." Murphy nods, releasing Charlotte, and standing up. Charlotte stands on tiptoe and whispers in his ear.
"Right, we're taking east side." The side with the graveyard. Sometimes Charlotte really gives me the heebie-jeebies, and judging by the shudder up Clarke's arm, she does to. As we watch them leave Raven turns to us.
"We'll do triangulation, monty and Harper can do triangulation, Scott and Miller can do triangulation... Monroe, can you go hunting?" I ask.
"In this state?" Monroe laughs, pointing at herself, with bloodshot eyes and heavy limbs.
"True... Erm.." no one else here is really good at hunting. I look from face to face. "Right, no hunting. Just... Stick with the littley's... In camp." Monroe glares at me, biting her lip. I shudder involuntarily. The eight year old tugs her hand, and the look slides off her face. She smiles faintly, and with a thrown back glare, is dragged towards the small area the kids play in. I take Clarke's hand, interlacing my fingers with hers, pricks of fireworks stabbing my hand. She grins at me.
"Babe, I lost your booty!" I call, laughing, as Clarke once again disappears out of view. She laughs, and steps back into view. Afternoon light streams around her, golden halo. She steps back, and her eyes glow silver. I smile and almost forget what we're meant to be doing. Then she slides away, into the dusky shadows. I squint, and I can just about see her, then she shuffles a few steps further and disappears entirely. "Help I lost my Princess!" I laugh. A snort echoes out of the forest.
The warm afternoon light is flecked with tree shadows as we walk back into camp. A few sorry kids walk around, dazedly starting the fire and helping Monroe with the kids. There's little food left over from last night, a couple of preserved rabbits, crates of nuts and vegetation. But not enough. Stomachs rumble as the heavy dusk brings rain and thunder far to the east. Terrified, half asleep children are herded into the dropship. As the night begins to brighten, rain falling harder and heavier on us, Monroe places cups around the camp, desperate to capture a few extra drops of rain water. "HURRY UP AND GET IN!" Raven yells from inside the dropship, warm electronic lighting glowing behind her. A loud, echoing clap of thunder startles Monroe, and she hurries inside, squeezing water from her braids.
The radio crackles with disjointed messages as the raging storm scrambles the channel. A high pitched popping drives everyone slowly crazy. Breathe, a pop, someone coughs, a pop. Eventually someone slams the radio off. The sudden quiet brings awareness to the proximity of the storm, screaming over head like vultures on their prey. The thunder rumbles, following flashes of lightning that peer in through the blackened windows. Clarke clutches my wrist as a long crack of thunder makes everyone jump. I prise her fingers off my wrist, flexing my hands to allow circulation back into them. I pull her close, her head on my shoulder, my arm round her waist. Harper clutches her hands over her ears as Monty kneels next to her, rubbing her back as she shakes. No one gets close. The tears from her usually strong eyes give everyone enough warning. This is not the storm alone. Miller sits on their other side, glaring at everyone who looks at her.
My gut twists as I think of Octavia in Polis, waiting this storm out. Alone. Without me. Clarke turns her chin on my shoulder, and looks me deeply in the eyes. "Stop." She whispers. "O's going to be fine." She kisses my cheek softly. "I doubt Lincoln would let anything happen to her." She squeezes my arm, more gently this time, as another crack of thunder resonates through the ship.