Responsible for survival

Separating

BELLAMY'S POV

"I don't know what just happened." They hold onto my quiet words. Amber dusk clings to their shoulders and tears. "All I know is they took our friends." Raven swallows, fresh tears pouring on her cheeks. "We need to free them from the maunon as soon as possible, but we can't do that without the grounders help." My voice shakes louder. "I need someone to go to TonDc to go and make them get Indra." An aggressive friend of Atom's growls from the shadows of the back of the group, long cut drawn across his cheek.
"Why not Monroe? She seems perfectly capable." I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion, breathe, and relax my facial features.
"Monroe's one of the three remaining leaders, and the only one here who knows where every single weapon in this camp is. We need her here."
"I'll go." A small, curly haired girl with sepia skin steps forward, one eye glued shut by a bright purple black eye. The other one glows rich chest nut brown, and instantly her name comes. Cressida, fourteen. I try to find a way to say no, she's too young. But most of our older kids are gone. Clarke's gone.
"Fine, but not alone... Josh? And..." my eyes meet Felix's. "Felix." I nod. Felix nods smartly. They walk away, towards tents I hope they'll get to see again. The crowd slowly disperses. Raven hurries past me. Her long arms wrap up a confused Monroe.
"You're shaking, you're covered in blood, what'd wrong?" Monroe's bottom lip wobbles, and tears threaten to spill. She blinks rapidly.
"I killed 8 people." She whispers. "With a knife." A tear drops. Raven strokes her braids. Sterling runs over from the dropship. He stumbles to the mud next to Monroe, and gently pulls her down to a hug. She doesn't pull away, tears falling faster.

CLARKE'S POV

Cold tight blankets press against my chest. I force my bleary eyes to the bright, cold lights. Through heavy eyes I blink into the blinding brightness. Snow white threatens to swallow me up. Spiralling straight walls tower as snow towers around me, ceiling cold blizzard. Harsh red burns on the white blanket holding me down. Blood.
'If they knew their blood is in your veins'
It echoes, hissing, sliding like poison through my ears. Mountain men. They'll want mine. The covers slam to the floor room, cold breeze scratching my bare lower legs. I shove myself up, pain exploding across my shoulder. I tear hands along my body, searching for any tube stealing my life for theirs.
The door crashes against the wall. A terrified young girl, curly hair and warm eyes, hurries in. Her eyes flail in fear. "STOP!" she shouts. I look at her in wide eyed horror. She gently presses me back down. "You're alright." I shake my head violently. She pulls the blanket onto me. I scream, echoing round the cold room and escaping out the closing door. She rolls her eyes, theyre shiny and clean, like a muddy puddle. She lifts it back up. "No wires." She pulls the blanket back over my shoulders, and softly tucks them back round my shoulders, warm hands lightly brushing my upper arms. "You just got shot." She murmurs, leaning for a board on the end of the bed. She passes it to me. "They brought you here to fix you."
"When can I leave?" she tilts her head at me, shrugging. She goes and closes the door properly, sending a gentle look to a corner. I squint, and a little red flashing dot glares at me. "Read it." She nods at the board clutched upside down in my hands. "You'll understand it better." I scan the sheet. They know half my name. Clarke ?. Age17. My eyes slide to the explanation.
'Shot.' My eyes scroll past the numbers and slam to a stop at 'No exit hole. Bullet remains in left shoulder.' I read on. 'Operation successful, bullet removed from gleno-humeral joint. Gleno-humeral joint ruptured and torn. Re-growth stimulant added. Should be fixed in 4-6 weeks.' I need to be out of here by 1. I scan the jargon, blood type, head scans then: 'Coma- day1. Day 2. Day 3.'
"What?" I whisper. She smiles gently at me.
"You've been unconscious for three days Clarke." She whispers.
"How do you know my name?"
"They told me it."
"They?"
"My leaders." She grimaces. "I'm Maya, by the way." I nod, smiling. "Most of my people are to scared to help you all." I look at her in confusion. Her voice sounds disappointed. "They felt you'd spent too much time with the outsiders." She straightens my pillow. "Plus you and your friends killed 14 of our guards."
WHAT.
WHEN.
My jaw drops. I shake my head rapidly. "We tried to bring you all here. Some of you, yourself included," she grins at me, laughing fakely, "Didn't seem to like that." I nod. She grins at me again. "Anyway, enough gossip time... In order to move you to the main hospital I need you to shower to clear any radiation off of your skin." I blink.
"It's been 97 years... everyone lives outside perfectly fine?" I question.
"But we don't live outside... A few of us can naturally take the radiation at low levels, like me. Other's..." she pauses, and a dark look crosses her pale brown eyes. She frowns, and side eyes the camera again. "Not so natural." She spits out the words like poison in her mouth. "I'll help you out, and then I'll leave you in privacy." She unhooks a monitor from the pulse on my neck. I shake my head when she holds out a soft looking hand. She nods ,smirking, and walks out, closing the door behind her. I gently try to push myself up. I've got to get out of here... But I've got to see if they have my friends first. I loosely move my left arm. My shoulder burns, red hot pain coursing through my body. My eyes swim with tears, and for a moment the bold white walls seem silver. I sniff and stand up. Each step sends a stab of pain into my shoulder. Modesty shorts cling to my legs, caked in dried deep red blood. A band covers my breasts. Criss-crossed bruises and fading cuts cover my stomach. I lean against the cold wall, tugging at the shorts unconfidently with my right arm. Tears spill out of my eyes and crash to the floor with every inch. They land on the lake of tears, leeching red. I don't even try the modesty bra. I walk over the icy floor, cold feet burning, to the curtained off shower. A sole small silver button sits in the middle of the gap between the head and the floor. I press it gently. It burns like molten sun. I press the button again. The shower turns off, and the water drips to the floor, sliding down a grey grate. I gently press it again. My tears converge with the cascades of water.