Responsible for survival

Fighting

BELLAMY'S POV:

The next scream that echoes out is the one from my nightmares. I open my mouth to scream-
A hand slams over it, and I'm yanked into the bushes. The hand pushes hard, warm and calloused. I look at whoever's got me. Familiar green eyes glow in the murk. She nods as some wave of realisation shows on my face. She presses a finger to her lips and gently takes her hand off my mouth. It hovers in the air, not falling to the ground. "They've got Clarke." I hiss. She glares.
"They SHOT Clarke." Her hand clamps over my mouth again. She slams the other arm into my back, pinning me to the dirt. Her knee jabs into my spine, and tears burn. "No. Stop heroics right now." She hisses. "Monty and Harper went tried to get everyone back and got captured. Clarke got shot. We need a plan." She whispers, loosening the pressure on my back. A shadow ducks into the hedge. Miller's eyebrows wrinkle when he sees me, and Monroe lets go. "She's alive. On a stretcher. Middle of the group. "All hunting teams beyond Finn's. Raven can't be seen and nor are half the guards." Miller whispers. Monroe nods, shaking the tree. She freezes, the branches bobbing on her head.
"Charlotte said 'cuffs were two pins-"
"Half of them don't have cuffs. Younger kids do, but the others are all cable ties." Monroe's face scrunches, and I'm the one who covers her mouth this time. She licks my palm, and I yank it away, wiping my hand on my jeans. She turns to Miller, and he walks quietly round the edge of the clearing, clinging to the bushes and waving shadows. The marching of feet slams us into the bushes, and the convoy of our friends are shoved past. I strain my eyes for Clarke, but I can't see her over the tear stained faces of my friends. My chest clenches, and burning blood pumps loudly through my head. Three guards march, guns trained on the heads of my friends. Monroe's fist clenches, and I quietly hay a hand on her shoulder. The convoy marches further away. Her eyes burn, flaming emeralds. "The dip round to Lincoln's is close." She whispers, tensing as the pain comes back to her. "We could send them there..."
"Half of those kids have never left camp." Miller hisses back. I begin to crawl after the convoy, heart thundering against my chest, breath ragged and pained. I hear Monroe's quiet groan, before the slight rustle of the bush. I shift onto my feet, and start lightly jogging.
Then something tightens against my throat. Harsh fabric rubbing my neck raw. Monroe's icy fingers release my collar. "Left." She hisses, sprinting away. I meet Miller's wide worried eyes with a shrug. Our feet softly thud on the soft ground. We begin to see the side of the convoy.

Wild hazel eyes meet mine. Then the face leers out of the bush. Someone screams. A high pitched child scream. I stop in broken horror as grounders, caked in blood with wild eyes and wild hair, charge at the convoy. My friends scream, charging towards us. A hundred terrified eyes slam into mine. A high pitched squeal slams hands over ears amongst fear. Monroe's bony elbows shove me to the ground. The high pitched sound echoes round and round and round. The wild grounders run back to their side of the trees. The sound stops. "FALL BACK INTO LINES!" A harsh voice echoes. Monroe props herself onto her elbows, peering through a gap in the bushes. Then she drops down, and pokes an arm through the bush. She faces us. "We're going to the dip." She crawls along the bottom of the hedge, faster and faster, elbow dragging feet. A way that must be causing more pain, remembering the bruises that coated her back. I hurry after, crawling like she is. A scream of "THERE!" stops me in my tracks. Miller slams into my legs. I turn back to the convoy, straining my eyes through the tree. "NO THERE!". The kids arms are flailing. "LEFT!". Feet begin to pound, and I hurry after Monroe. "NO THEY'RE THERE." The screams bleed louder. Monroe pauses at the top of the ridge. She sits up, and crouches, waiting for the first kid to go tumbling down, humpty dumpty. Wild gun shots echo round the forest. Monroe's arm slams against my chest. She jumps out on the edge of the drop, a pair of hunting knives in each hand.
Dirt avalanches over the edge of the drop. Bodies thud together. Muffled ows echo out of the group. "Follow Miller." Monroe orders, stepping down the bank, clutching a tree. They scramble round the tree, and hare after a running Miller. I glance behind them, and yank Monroe back up the bank and behind a tree. I clamp a hand over her mouth. She doesn't lick it. Kids thunder and tumble down the drop, guards skidding behind them, guns flailing wildly above their heads. They fall with kids, some standing but most on their backs and bums.
A scream sends my heart into panic, and I let Monroe go, before sprinting away.

MONROE'S POV

I skip from tree to tree, clutching the trunks like old friends. I stop three trees from the group.

A thick arm is wrapped around Harper. Her eyes stream with tears and her lips are rapidly turning blue. A guard is clinging to Monty, holding him back. Charlotte is sobbing, a gun pressed against Murphy's head. 14. 14 guards. 20 of my friends. I turn to look up the slope, Bellamy needs to get as close as he can. But he's not there. The top of the ditch is utterly empty. I have to do this alone.

I grasp the pebble below my feet, recoiling my arm with all the pain, and lob it into the clearing. The guard lets go of Harper, who flops to the ground. His eyes see the stone, and follow it up to the trees, a few over from me. I remain still. "GO!" he yells, pointing at two guards closest to me. I flip the knife over in my palm, and swallow.

Four dead bodies slide into the clearing. Bellamy, Miller, Sterling and Fox hold guns to the sky. The blood on my hands quickens the blood in my veins. We scream, charging into a bloodbath.

I press the blade against the whimpering man's throat. He is the last one of them standing. He claws against the tree, and I slam a knee into his gut. Hands wrap round my waist. Warm, sweaty arms. I yanked off the guard. "We want HIM." Bellamy hisses. "He's the medic. HE can help Clarke." Blood covers Bellamy's hands. He binds the guards hands with the cuffs, dragging him roughly up the ditch. Blood drips from his wrists. I look for Harper, Monty, Charlotte, Murphy, Amaya, on the hill, clambering home.
They're not there. My heart rate slams harder. I go to push the stragglers up the hill, until I see the blood dripping drops. Dip drop drip onto the orange leaves. I drop my hands, hastily rubbing them on rough barked trees. Bloody hand prints, small and delicate, follow me up the slope. The wails and screams of pain send me running, ignoring the blood on my hands. Bellamy. I roughly shove through the slowing kids, slamming my way through the crowd. I break through, into the flickering light. Bellamy is crouched on the floor. He clutches his knees, eye cast down, mountain man held by Sterling, who stares in horror. The sobs are faster. I wrap my arms over his shoulders, rock him back and forth. Tears drop onto my knees, hot and heavy. I rock him, and press my chin on his shoulder. "Sterling, take them home. Blindfold him." I order, before circling my less bloody thumb on Bellamy's back. He wheezes. Tears soak. I push Bellamy into sitting as they leave, and he buries his face in his hands, angrily swiping at his cheeks. The tears don't stop. I pull my cuffs over my hand, and gently dab them away.
"Clarke..." he judders, tears tumbling faster than I can wipe them away. "They took Clarke." He sobs again, louder. I look in fright at where the wild grounders left. They don't peer back. "She was RIGHT there." He holds up a shaking arm. "...Right there... She screamed." His bottom lip wobbles. "She screamed... and I left you." He sniffs, guiltily looking at me, brown eyes twisted in dark pain. "I killed them. The guards... Freed our friends too slow to run." he swallows. "And I tried to calm her down, because every... every time sh-she screamed... It bled." I look at where he pointed. A small red puddle, glowing angry in the soft golden sunlight. "I tried." He whispers. "I tried." He wipes his hand along his nose. "I left Scott in charge of her, kissed her..." and he breaks down again, sobs shaking his body. I hug him, squeeze the tears onto my bloody shirt. "And now she's GONE."

With shaking steps, I help him back to camp. We easily catch up to our terrified friends. Cable ties litter the floor, and I stop to scoop each one up. We don't want to leave a plastic trail. One of the nine year olds, Katy, runs up to me. "Monroe..." she whispers. "We haven't got everybody. We need to go back." I bite my lip to stop the tears sprouting on my cheeks.
"We can't Katy. They're too far away." I squeeze her little hand, and don't let go. Tears sprout on her cheeks and I use our shared hand to wipe them away. She hugs me, and we stumble to a stop. Bellamy sniffs, smiling waterly at her. I drop her hand, and pick her up, pulling her onto my hip. I let go of Bellamy's shoulder and hold her back as we walk. She's the baby now. Amaya is missing too. The kids scramble down the hill home. Sterling joins us. "Where do I put him?" he asks, roughly shoving the guard.
"Second." I eventually whisper.
"Third." Counters Bellamy. "Loose electrical wires." The guard tenses under Sterling's hands. Sterling nods. He casts a worried glance back at me. The guys on the gate slam it behind me. I gently set Katy down on a log at the unlit campfire. She wraps her arms round her knees, rocking back and forth. I need Harper. I can't take all these young kids alone. I steer Bellamy towards our tent, when he stops.
"No." He whispers. "I need to talk to the camp."