Responsible for survival

Screaming pt1

BELLAMY'S POV:

The cups are full when we open the door the next morning. The ground squelches under everyone's feet, and people walk in shaky steps into the light. A tree has slammed across the camp, taking half the fence down with it. Clarke grabs my hand, pulling it to point further beyond the tree line. Tents in trees, fabric torn by thorns and speared on leafless branches. As everyone shuffles down the ramp, mouths open, eyes lingering on broken branches and tents, I stand tall until all the kids face me. "GUYS!" I call. There's no need to be loud, the clearings practically silent beyond our ragged breathing. Clarke flinches at the volume in my voice. "We need to sort this out, but we also need to hunt." I look from one to the other of the leaders, my friends, lingering on Clarke's wide blue eyes, crisp in the early morning light. "We need a couple of hunting parties, and people to fix the walls and salvage the tents." My eyes scan from one person to the next. The eight year old clutches Monroe's hand. Her eyes don't light up. "Older kids, you can choose. Hunt or build? Younger kids, under 14's really... You need to stay here." Charlotte shakes her head, glaring at me. "We've got loads for you to do." I force a smile. "Water to collect, trees to climb to rescue tents. I'd like some of the guards to stay with them." People nod, and the group quickly divides between those who'll stay, and those who'll hunt. Charlotte sticks like glue to Murphy's side. None of us argue about her being there. Monroe crawls into the dark crevasses of the dropship, throwing the weapons with more care than she normally would. She climbs up the ladder, and brings back down the guns. Five. "One goes out. Four guard the camp." She passes it to me, lugging the rest outside to the guards outside. She crosses her arms and glares at them, some six inches shorter than them, even though they're much younger. "You have one clip each. Only use them if you're under attack, and under no other circumstance. Do you understand?" She makes direct eye contact with each of them. She breathes out, and pauses on the last one. A willowy 15 year old with a leg brace. To loud for hunting. Josh. "You take the side where the tree came in." He nods, hand raising to salute her before she arches an eyebrow and coughs to cover her laugh. "You're not a solider kid, you don't need to salute." She tries to keep her tone steady, but it lilts with giggles. Josh nods, bright red and hurries to stand next to the tree. She watches him leave before returning to the stony faced facade. "You, dropship foxhole. You, gates. You, South West Foxhole." She nods once, and they hurry off. She grins back at me, military facade fading with every bouncy step she takes towards us. Clarke smiles softly, then looks at me.
"Get into 3's." I call. The groups don't work. Friends buddy up, and Monroe, Murphy and Charlotte, Clarke and Myself are left. Sterling grins a lopsided smile at Monroe. Her eyes bug, and she glares at me. "Go with Miller, Monty and Harper." Relief rolls off Monroe's shoulders. I look at Murphy, the way Charlotte clutches his hand. If I separate them I'll die a painful death... "You two come with us." Murphy strides over gratefully, and Clarke grins down at Charlotte. My heart skips a beat, cheeks turning red at the sudden dream that sparks in my head. I stamp it out. "Find what you can, and be back two hours before night fall. DO NOT leave people alone, DO NOT go off alone." Their eyes bore into me, and I resist the urge to look at Clarke, to have her take control for these kids, but I can't. "Let's go." We march in a variety of directions. Some of the younger, reckless parties charge to the tree, clambering over it and running wildly into the woods. The older groups march through to the gate. Scott, Fox and Sandi bring up the rear, unsure. People split, some west, some east, some back up round the camp.

We keep going forward until we reach a luminous clearing. Clarke's hand slams around my arm, clamping it like a cold human handcuff. "Bell, stop." She whispers. I turn and look at her. Murphy and Charlotte look at her in confusion from behind. "Butterfly field..." I nod. She lets go, but I grab her hand before it drops. I squeeze her cold fingers in mine. "Jesus, how does Monroe deal with the pair of you?" Murphy snorts. Clarke laughs, tinkling round the forest. It cuts out suddenly. Her eyes stare straight to the right. I look to. A rabbit. In micro-movements, she slides a knife into my palm. I practically hear her close her eyes. The knife slams into the rabbit, and it falls to the ground. Limp. Unmoving. The nose twitches. Blood pours onto the forest floor. I turn to look at the others. Murphy's muddy hands cover Charlotte's eyes. "Pick it up." He growls.
"Let me see!" Charlotte yells, clawing at Murphy's hands.
"You don't want to Lottie." He whispers, mouth turning a thin grimace as she pulls at his skin. I stand up, but Clarke roughly pushes me back down. She pulls a cloth out of her bag, and swaddles the rabbit in it. She pushes it softly into her bag. Tear prick her eyes, but they don't fall. She blinks. "You can let her see now." Murphy gingerly takes his hands off Charlotte's eyes. Her eyes zoom onto the patch of blood. Her nose wrinkles, and twitches, like the rabbit's did. "It was a good death." She nods. Clarke's eyes snap to mine, wide. I nod slightly, and a watery smile forms on her lips. I pick up her pack for her. The smile is replaced with a tilted head and irritated eyes. I pass it to her, cheeks burning. Murphy snickers, then yelps. Charlotte grins, elbow straightening.

We walk in silence, Clarke squeezing my hand whenever she sees something. A deer flits through the bushes in front of us. Murphy notches an arrow into his bow. A loud stick snaps, and we fall prostate to the ground, blades of grass like knives to our throats. The deer bolts out of the bushes, and straight past us.
Two heads. Two heads. It had two heads. One eye meets mine.
"It was nothing Alex." A deep voice laughs. "Just a deer... We've got to join the others." The voice laughs, and gets fainter. Charlotte opens her mouth to speak, and Clarke shakes her head. Shuffling on her stomach, she turns and crawls through the long grasses around us. I slide next to her. Her eyes are wide, fear shining. "There." She whispers, pointing at a funny shaped mound. She begins to crawl towards it, sliding through the grass. I look behind me, to Murphy, who shrugs. 'Your girlfriend' his eyes yell. We crawl after her, but stop when we reach the edge of the grass. Clarke has run across it, and crouches next to the mound. "What?" Charlotte mutters, looking us in confusion. Clarke scrabbles through the dirt, unearthing flowers and sending beetles scuttling. Then she grins widely, and shuffles into kneeling. She wraps her muddy fingers round something, and tugs. It flies up. A glass wall. But, metal edged. She looks back at us. She beckons us frantically, before sliding in. My heart stops, and suddenly I'm running to where she is. A faint patter of feet on squelching mud is enough to tell me Murphy and Charlotte are following. I stop at the mound. It's a car. A car from before the cataclysm. Clarke looks out of it, arm on the door. She tilts her head. 'Get in.' I make Charlotte and Murphy get in first, casting a long look over my shoulder, I crawl in after them. Clarke gently pulls the door down. We all breath out at once.

Charlotte is first to verbalise what just happened. "The hell are the mountain men doing out of their mountain?" she whispers.
"I don't know." I murmur, and Clarke grasps my shaking hand.
"They know about the storm." Her normal voice fills the car. "They can probably guess half our camps down. And they'll think we won't be expecting them."
"Keep your voice down." Murphy hisses, eyes darting around the car, as if the worms wiggling in the mud on the windows are listening.
"It's a car?" Clarke sneers. "They're quite good noise cancellers." She says it like he's an idiot.
"How did you even know it was here?" Murphy asks.
"Finn tripped over it when we were running back from the river." She says matter-of-factly. Her cheeks burn pink though, and her hand burns hot around mine. I put a lot of force in trying not to laugh. She was saving the car, as a secret. A secret she didn't tell even me about... I look at her questioningly, my gut twisting. She sighs, turning a brilliant shade of red. "I was saving it... You know..." she looks at me, trying to communicate the rest of her sentence. It hits me like a brick .
"Oh." Falls out my mouth before I can stop it. Clarke buries her face in my shoulder. Murphy's eyebrows knot together, and he squints at us 'till his eyes go wide. He bites down a strained laugh. Charlotte deadpans him. He just tries to hold the laugh in harder.

Midday light streams through the car door. "Wouldn't they be on their way back from camp by now?"
"No." Clarke counts on her fingers. "It took us an hour and a half hours to get here walking, and an hour running. Factor in the hour or so to claim the camp... I'd say they're about an hour away..."
"Can I go to the toilet then?" asks Charlotte. She looks at Clarke, who nods, and lift the door open. The blast of cold air chills us to the core. Charlotte crawls out, gasping the fresher air. Murphy follows her. Clarke shares a look with me, and nods me to go up. I stand up, and pull myself out of the car. Clarke passes me my gun before climbing out herself. She smiles, and gently closes the door. The sunlight is cool, a pale yellow that shimmers on Clarke's hair. It bounces behind her as she walks across to where we left the food bag. A small, rodent looking thing is sniffing it, pink nose glistening in the pale light. I swap the gun to Clarke for the knife.

It slams into the creature's chest with a scream.