Clarke, Finn and Monty are missing, presumed dead.
I had never really thought about it before, but in the situation I would have expected myself to cry, lash out maybe. But I haven't, and I don't think I will. Finn was always there for me up until the day I got locked up. For thirteen years of my life, Finn and Raven were always the two people I thought would always be by my side.
I was the reason that changed.
I screwed up our friendship and I've never truly gained it back. At least we managed to sort through some of our problems before he left, but I think Raven and I will always have a rift between us.
I didn't know Clarke and Monty that well. Monty I saw a few times in lockup, Clarke I got closer to here on the ground. It's safe to say this camp wouldn't be what it is today without any of those three. They were all smart in their own way, all had skills necessary to our survival.
We owe them our lives.
We owe them vengeance.
BANG
I don't even flinch when a gunshot sounds from somewhere behind me and echoes through the woods, but the entire camp is suddenly put on high alert.
"HEY!"
I watch as Bellamy trudges through the darkness of camp towards a kid on watch, a few people stepping forward to see what happened, and if we're under attack.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" Bellamy marches up to the boy who I recognise as Sterling, who looks completely terrified.
"I'm sorry man, I-I fell asleep. I've been on watch all day."
Bellamy grabs Sterling by the front of his jacket and pushes him against the tree behind forcefully, yelling at him, "We've all been on watch ALL DAY! That bullet was ones less dead Grounder."
"Bell," Octavia interrupts, "you're scaring people."
"They should be scared!" Bellamy pushes away from Sterling and turns to face the rest of us. "The bomb on the bridge bought us some time to prepare, but that time is up! The Grounders are out there right now, waiting for us to leave and picking us off one by one when we do. Clarke, Finn and Monty are gone—probably dead...and if you wanna be next, I can't stop you. But no guns are leaving this camp! This camp—is the only thing keeping us alive!" Bellamy throws his hand up in frustration and sighs before walks away. "Get back to work!"
It doesn't take me long to realise that Bellamy Blake is scared—terrified even, of what might happen to us all. He's built this camp from the ground up, we all have. This is our home.
I ignore my better judgement and follow after Bellamy, pushing aside the drop ship tent to see him standing by the makeshift model of the camp, showing the drop ship, the wall and gate and where our fox holes and mines are. We're preparing for a war, and Bellamy is trying his best to lead us.
He stands above the model with his shoulders hunched and an intense look on his face. I watch him for a moment—admiring him, in a way—but as if sensing me, he turns his head.
He looks at me for a moment before looking away, acting as if I'm not even here. With a scowl I walk over and stand beside him with my arms folded across my chest. I can assume I look like a small, annoyed child who just got her toy broken, but I don't really care.
We stand in silence for a minute or two, Bellamy studies the model in front of him, though I'm almost certain he isn't paying attention properly as I glare daggers at the side of his head.
"You're gonna burn a hole through my head," Bellamy says eventually as a quiet sigh, still not looking directly at me.
"Good." I say firmly. "At least then I'll be able to see if there's anything actually in there."
Giving in, Bellamy turns his head to look at me, his face stripped of any emotion. That, or it's gotten to the point where I can no longer decipher what he's feeling, and after our argument this morning, that seems to be the case.
"I don't wanna argue with you again."
"Well I'm glad someone's finally gotten tired of it," I sigh, thinking of Raven.
Bellamy looks away from me, but doesn't look back at the model either. "I'm sorry about Finn. If I could—"
"You wouldn't," I interrupt him. "But I get it. I don't really think Clarke, Finn and Monty are going to be in the same holding situation as Octavia. They'll probably be getting the same treatment Murphy did...thought I'm not sure they'll be given a chance to come back." I clench my jaw firmly as the thought of any one of them being tortured and/or killed comes into my mind.
Bellamy's jaw clenches also, but for some reason I don't think it's because of the same thing. After a moment of rather tense silence, he speaks again.
"Chris..." He pauses and clears his throat, and even after our argument this morning, hearing Bellamy say my name just seems natural—like he's too important to call me 'Carter' like everyone else. "Chris I...I need to tell you something."
Nerves start to course through me at the seriousness of his tone, and I frown, but whatever he wants to say is interrupted by Jasper coming into the drop ship. He stops short when he see us—or rather Bellamy—and shakes his head in disapproval.
"Don't you think I want to go after them, too?" Bellamy stands up straight to face him and I take a step back, our moment suddenly forgotten.
"If it was you out there, you think Monty, Clarke or Finn would hide behind these walls?" Jasper asks, and it suddenly hits me that I'm not the only person who's lost someone today. Jasper lost his best friend too.
Bellamy sighs and walks towards him, "no, they'd go after me, then they'd be dead too." Jasper scoffs and Bellamy's voice rises. I take this as my queue to leave silently, and hear Bellamy say from behind me, "I am doing what I think is best for the group."
I don't hear Jasper's reply as I walk down the ramp, congregating next to Miller by the fire.
"Hey," he nods at me and I return it, warming up my hands. "I'm uh...I'm sorry about Finn." I look up at Miller to see he has a genuinely concerned look on his face. "I know you guys were close." I nod in thanks, looking away from him as it continues to sink in.
Life without Finn. I wasn't sure I'd have to relive this feeling again, but now that I am, I'm regretting every single life choice I've made—staring with the death of my father.