Responsible for survival

Preparing

BELLAMY'S POV:

I slam into Maya in the early morning empty corridors. She squints at me, and then hurries me to a column, tall and broad with faded instructions of no touching. She glances sideways at a camera. "We need the acid fog down and we need to gather as many of your friends as possible and get them to the chamber." She pauses, "You have shut them in right?" She questions. I nod, passing her the key.
"I'll do the acid fog. You'll be able to guess where they are better than me." Maya nods, pocketing the key.
"My house is number 84. It's on this floor. Control room in exactly two floors below my house. Turn left when you get out of the lift." She walks away. I hurry towards the lift, but pause when I see guns in a cage next to it. How predictable would a mountain be? I hear footsteps behind me and drop to fiddle with the laces. "5220." Maya whispers. I wait until she's gone and press it in. I grab the hand gun and a couple of rounds. I step into the lift and tuck the gun into my trousers. The drop of the lift sends my gut flying to my feet.

I step onto the empty corridor. Dust swirls under the light. I turn left. A door opens and I keep walking, heart hammering in my Addams apple. "BELLAMY!" A voice hisses. I jump, and turn around. Monty peers out of a doorway. I hurry over to him. He yanks me inside. He then hugs me tightly. His arms squeeze my ribs, and I hug his shoulders. "You OK?" I ask him as he lets go.
"Yeah." He's pale, and I press my hand against his forehead. He's slightly cold. He shakes his head and I let my hand drop. "When did you get here?"
"Yesterday. Where's everyone else?" I ask, realising he's alone in the stairwell.
"Hidden. Where were you going?"
"Control room." He raises his eyebrows and pushes me back towards the door.
"Go now, there's only two people in it." I nod, and walk back into the corridor. It's still empty. I hurry to a tall door, key pad glowing green. I gently press the handle down.

Two men jump out of their seats, hands flying to guns. I twist the handle and the door clicks back, tied with the click of a live weapon. I turn around, pulling mine out. "Don't make me kill you." I whisper. One steps forward, gun pointed at my chest.
"Alex-" The other one calls, gun held out.
"I'm finding Sally." Alex spits, glaring at me. "He's not from here. He's an outsider." His finger tightens on the trigger.
"Then let me do what I came here to do." I hiss.
"You came here to save those kids."
"I came here to stop worthless murder." I correct, stepping closer.
"Worthless?" He barks with laughter. His friend's shoulders sag. "Worthless? We need to get on the surface."
"Need?" I ask, tilting my chin. "Need to kill eight year olds?"
"I need to find Sally." His friend rolls his eyes. "I need to apologise. And no one is stopping me."
"Then you're as bad as the people who kicked her out."
"Then kill me." Alex's eyes burn with tears. "I'd rather be dead than without her." His friend's hand moves slightly, and I swing the gun at him, and prowl forwards. He goes cross eyed as he stares down my gun barrel. I pick up the radio, then throw it on the floor. It cracks down the middle. I step on it. Plastic explodes across the room. Cool metal brushes my hair. I laugh. "You gonna kill me or not?" I snicker. I breathe in, remembering Clarke's done this twice. Her face the first time burns in my memory. Steely glare and calm hands, marching. The gun clutched by a bald man. His finger shakes on the trigger. "Do it." I hiss. If I die, I die. The gun shakes on my head, unsettling if I'm honest. "You know you want to."
The gun clatters to the floor. His friend puts his gun next to it. I point mine at the pair of them. They back up against the wall, eyes wide in fear and arms high in the air. I roughly shove one of them down, and the other follows suit. I pull off their ties, and knot their hands together, taking the other radio. I smash it next to the other one. I stare at them.
What do I do?
Can I really kill them?
I look around the room. Where can I put their bodies? I can't pull the trigger. If I do, everyone in the area will swarm. And then I'm dead. Everyone's dead. Clarke's dead. My gaze lands on a large navy trunk, the seal shining silver. Keeping the gun on them, I unlock the trunk. Boxes of paper fill it. I open one. Maps. Maybe I should be careful with how I store these. I walk around the room, putting boxes into small cupboards and on pipes. The trunk should fit them both. Both of them look at me in terror, breathing rapid and eyes wide. I pull out two of the knock out syringes I'd seen in the hospital. I stab Alex with it first. He slumps against his friend. His friend swallows. "Sorry." I whisper, before stabbing him with it. I lug them into the trunk and lock it. I hurry to the computer. Red blips of small groups float around. I scroll through the settings.