The entire camp had congregated at the wreckage site of the Exodus ship, drawn by a mixture of dread and curiosity. It was a moonless night, the darkness only occasionally pierced by the feeble glow of handheld torches, lending an eerie ambiance to the scene. Just hours ago, following the disastrous meeting's unraveling, a ship had been hastily launched from the Ark. Its intended passenger was Abby, their respected healer and leader. Yet, fate had dealt them a cruel hand, as the vessel plummeted from the sky, crashing with earth-shattering force deep within the heart of the impenetrable forest.
The aftermath was a chilling sight that befitted a dystopian nightmare. The once-sleek spaceship lay in tatters, its metal skin torn asunder, and its structural integrity shattered. Shrapnel, both large and small, was strewn across the forest floor, like a metallic graveyard of dreams. Twisted and broken components, both human and mechanical, bore witness to the catastrophic collision. The camp members gathered around, their breaths visible in the frigid night air. They moved cautiously through the wreckage, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of fallen leaves. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of burnt metal and the faint echoes of sirens from the ship's failing systems that had screamed out in its final moments.
They illuminated the grim tableau with flickering torchlight, revealing twisted metal beams, sparking wires, and the occasional flicker of a malfunctioning control panel. The once-promising vessel now lay in ruins, a stark contrast to the hope and optimism it had carried from the Ark. As they surveyed the wreckage, a somber silence enveloped the group. The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air, a palpable tension that weighed on everyone's minds. They grappled with the uncertainty of Abby's fate, and the harsh reality of their precarious existence in this untamed and unforgiving wilderness. Each rustling leaf, every creaking piece of metal, was a stark reminder that their journey on this new, unforgiving Earth was far from over.
"Clarke shouldn't be out here," I sighed, my breath visible in the crisp air, my concern for her etched on my face.
"Neither should you," Finn countered, his eyes searching mine for reassurance.
"Their mom was on the ship. They're looking for answers. If you want to help them, find me the black box, hard drives—anything that will explain why the ship crashed," Raven's voice was tinged with a mix of frustration and determination as she directed her orders at Finn, her eyes locked onto his.
"She wasn't my mother. I don't know how many times I have to say it," I snapped back, my irritation seeping through, and I turned away to mask my emotions.
Clarke, meanwhile, appeared lost amid the wreckage, her normally strong demeanor wavering. I couldn't help but feel sympathy for her. I wasn't in the best emotional state either, but Abby was Clarke's mom, and the weight of her loss bore heavily on her shoulders. Abby was my mother too, biologically, but Clarke had been raised by her. Abby and I hadn't shared a close relationship, and now we'd never get the chance to mend it.
"Stay sharp!" Bellamy's commanding voice shattered the solemn silence. "Grounder retaliation is coming for what happened on the bridge. It's just a matter of when."
"Can you blame them?" Finn asked, his tone contemplative, as he gazed out into the darkness beyond.
"No. I blame Kegan," Bellamy responded, his words sharp, his gaze briefly shifting toward me.
"Maybe if you didn't bring guns—" I began, attempting to defend my actions, but my words were swiftly cut off by Raven.
"If we didn't bring guns, we would all be dead," Raven interrupted, her tone resolute and unwavering, her eyes locked on Bellamy.
"Why they're coming doesn't matter anymore!" Bellamy's voice remained stern, and he continued, "It's our job to be ready when they do. We're on our own now."
As Bellamy's words settled in, a heavy silence descended upon the group. The weight of their predicament bore down on them like a suffocating shroud. The tension in the air was almost palpable, and the realization that they were truly alone in this unforgiving wilderness became more profound. The shattered remains of the ship and the looming threat of the Grounders served as constant reminders of the formidable challenges they faced in their relentless quest for survival on the harsh and unforgiving Earth.
"Whoa!" Clarke gasped, her eyes widening as she detected the distinct and acrid scent of the fluid, which I suspected to be rocket fuel. The sharp smell filled the air, carrying with it a foreboding sense of danger.
"Clarke! Stop!" Raven's voice rang out, sharp and urgent, as she swiftly made her way to Clarke's side, her steps quick and determined, crunching on the fallen leaves and debris.
"Rocket fuel?" Clarke inquired, her curiosity mixed with a growing sense of apprehension, her eyes fixated on the mysterious substance.
"Hydrazine, highly unstable in its liquid form. If this stuff meets fire, we're all pink mist," Raven explained, her voice filled with the weight of knowledge and caution, her eyes scanning the surroundings for potential threats. With cautious curiosity, Raven dipped a small rock into some of the hydrazine, her gloved fingers trembling slightly as she conducted a dangerous experiment to confirm the substance's identity. "Fire in the hole!" Raven screamed, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and anxiety, as she hurled the small rock at a nearby, insignificant fire.
The resulting explosion was deafening, and a plume of fire and smoke engulfed the area, the shockwave rattling the onlookers and leaving them in awe of the destructive power of hydrazine.
"We need to clear the area!" Raven yelled at Bellamy, her voice filled with a sense of urgency that propelled everyone into action. She instinctively covered her nose and mouth with her scarf to protect herself from the noxious fumes.
"Okay then. We move in formation, no stragglers, weapons hot. We have to make it back to camp before dark!" Bellamy's voice cut through the chaos, his orders steady and resolute, as he organized the group with a military precision born out of necessity.
Upon their return to camp, Octavia took charge, her urgency clear as she ushered everyone into the safety of the dropship, a makeshift haven from the uncertainty that loomed outside. It was within the confined space of the dropship that they were greeted by an unexpected and unwelcome visitor – Murphy, the very man they had once tried to execute. He had miraculously survived, despite their previous attempts to rid themselves of him.
"We caught him trying to sneak back into camp," Conner reported, his voice tinged with disbelief, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls of the dropship.
"I was running from the Grounders," Murphy wheezed, attempting to explain his presence amidst a group of people who had once condemned him to death.
"Did anyone see any Grounders?" Bellamy's skepticism was evident in his questioning, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Nope," Conner replied with a shake of his head, conveying that they had yet to encounter any Grounders during their expedition into the dark and treacherous woods.
"Well, in that case," Bellamy's voice took on a bitter edge as he raised his gun to point it menacingly at Murphy, the dim lighting accentuating the dangerous glint in his eyes.
Unable to bear witness to an act of violence, I instinctively grabbed the gun's muzzle and pulled it down, challenging Bellamy's aggression, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anger.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" I yelled at him, my anger and frustration palpable, my grip on the gun unwavering as I stared him down.
"We were clear about what would happen if he came back," Bellamy retorted, his finger poised dangerously close to the trigger, his expression defiant and unyielding.
With determination, I stepped in front of Bellamy, my arms outstretched in a bid to prevent a rash and potentially lethal decision. My body language and gaze conveyed a fierce determination to protect Murphy from harm, regardless of his past actions.
"No, if he was with the Grounders, then he knows things that could help us!" I argued passionately, my eyes locked onto Murphy as I spoke, my voice resolute and unwavering.
"Help us! We hung him! We banished him! Now we're going to kill him!" Bellamy's voice quivered with emotion as he vented his anger and frustration, his clenched jaw and furrowed brow revealing the intensity of his turmoil.
"No! Kegan is right," Clarke intervened, her voice firm as she sought to defuse the volatile situation that threatened to spiral out of control. She placed a calming hand on my shoulder, acknowledging the validity of my argument.
"Like hell he is! Clarke, think about Charlotte!" Bellamy's voice cracked as he brought up the painful memory of their lost friend, his voice filled with anguish and regret.
"I am thinking about Charlotte. But what happened to Charlotte was just as much our fault as it was his," Clarke retorted, her eyes hardening as she knelt down to check on Murphy's condition, her fingers gently brushing against his bruised and battered skin.
"He's not lying. His fingernails were torn off, they tortured him," she revealed, her voice laced with empathy for the wounded man, her gaze shifting between Murphy and Bellamy, her expression seeking understanding.
"You and the Grounders should compare notes," I couldn't resist a snarky comment aimed at Bellamy, my frustration with his impulsiveness simmering just beneath the surface, my tone tinged with sarcasm.
"The Grounders know we're at war. What did you tell them about us?" Bellamy demanded, his anger still smoldering, his posture tense and confrontational.
"Everything," Murphy rasped, his voice weakened by the physical and emotional toll of his ordeal, his eyes reflecting a mix of fear and resignation, as he confessed to divulging information about their group to the Grounders.
"Once he's better, we'll find out what he knows, and then he leaves. Okay?" Clarke made a decision, her tone firm as she walked away, her steps echoing in the tense atmosphere, her determination evident in every stride.
"And what if he refuses to leave? What do we do with him?" Bellamy persisted, unwilling to let the matter rest, his voice still filled with doubt and suspicion, his grip on the gun unwavering.
"Then we kill him," Clarke's response was cold and unwavering as she departed, her footsteps receding into the distance, leaving behind a trail of unresolved tensions that hung heavy in the air.
Determined to seek answers and clarity amid the chaos, I followed Clarke out of the dropship, my heart heavy with the weight of the decisions that now rested upon the group. As I entered the radio station, I sought out Raven, hoping to find some semblance of guidance and understanding in this tumultuous and uncertain time. The dimly lit station, with its array of communication equipment, felt like a refuge amidst the brewing storm of conflict and uncertainty that surrounded them.
Raven's voice cut through the tension as she asked, "You okay?"
I grumbled my response, my frustration and worry evident in my tone. The uncertainty of their situation weighed heavily on everyone's minds.
"Still nothing from the Ark. It's like they shut it down from their side. I mean it could be solar flares blocking the signals—" Raven began, attempting to rationalize the lack of communication with the Ark.
"But you don't think so," I finished her thought, sharing her skepticism as I stared at the radio equipment that had remained disappointingly silent.
"I got a bad feeling," she sighed, her voice tinged with apprehension.
"There's a lot of that going around," I replied with a heavy sigh, acknowledging the pervasive unease that had settled over the group.
"Kegan, wait. I'm sorry about your mother," Raven spoke, her gaze fixed on me, her expression filled with genuine sympathy.
"She wasn't my mother," I growled, the pain of my mother's absence still a raw and festering wound, and I could feel the tears threatening to well up in my eyes.
"Oh, my god. Kegan, your eyes!" Raven suddenly exclaimed in panic, her eyes widening as she noticed something amiss. My hands instinctively shot up to my face, and I was horrified to find blood on my fingers. Panic surged through me.
"Clarke!" I urgently called out. "Clarke!"
I rushed to find her, my heart racing with fear and confusion. When I finally spotted her, she was coughing up blood, her face contorted in shock and pain.
"It won't stop," I shivered, my voice trembling as I observed the alarming symptoms manifesting in both Clarke and myself.
"Clarke, what's going on?" Raven asked, her voice filled with worry and concern as she joined us, her medical expertise kicking in as she assessed the situation.
"Raven, get away from us," Clarke commanded, her voice filled with urgency and caution, clearly aware of the potential danger.
Clarke led me to the dropship, where we found Murphy once again, hunched over and in distress, his condition rapidly deteriorating as he vomited up blood.
"Murphy, hey. I need you to look at me. I need you to tell me exactly how you escaped from the Grounders. What happened?" Clarke stressed, her tone urgent and demanding, her focus on gathering information amidst the chaos.
"I don't know, when I woke up my cage was unlocked and no one was there. So I took off," Murphy rasped, his voice weak and strained, offering the only explanation he could muster.
"They let him go," I interjected, my voice filled with a mixture of revelation and dread, piecing together the puzzle of Murphy's escape.
Bellamy entered the dropship, his gun drawn, his presence adding to the tension that hung heavily in the confined space.
"Bellamy, stay back," Clarke warned, her voice laced with caution as she assessed the situation, her medical instincts kicking in as she examined Murphy's worsening condition.
"Did he do something to you?" Bellamy asked, his concern for Clarke evident in his questioning, his grip on his weapon a testament to the unease in the room.
"What the hell is this?" Bellamy demanded, his eyes darting between us, searching for answers amid the chaos and uncertainty.
"Biological warfare," Clarke sighed, her voice heavy with the gravity of her diagnosis, her attention divided between me, Murphy, and Bellamy.
"You were waiting for the Grounders to retaliate for the bridge? Well, this is it, Murphy is the weapon," I groaned, my frustration and anger mounting as I wiped more blood away from my eyes, the situation becoming increasingly dire.
"Is this your revenge? Helping the Grounders kill us?" Bellamy accused, his voice tinged with anger and betrayal, struggling to come to terms with the unexpected turn of events.
"I swear to you, I didn't know," Murphy rasped, his voice desperate as he protested his innocence, his condition deteriorating by the minute.
"Stop lying! When are they coming!" Bellamy demanded, his patience wearing thin as he sought answers and a way to protect his people.
"Murphy, think. What can you tell us that's useful? Did you hear anything?" I asked him, bending down to his level, my voice filled with a desperate urgency as we faced an unknown and deadly threat.