❝can someone come up with something that doesn't involve killing everyone?❞

-scott mccall, teen wolf

♛

CLARKE'S HAND IS STEADY as she moves the orange tip of the blade toward the bullet wound in Raven's back. It's a tricky spot- just above her right leg and almost at her hip. I cringe when the blade touches the red flesh, causing Raven to scream in pain as it sizzles. Finn clenches tightly onto her hand for moral support while I hurry to place the damp rag on the spot the knife had touched.

"That should stop the external bleeding," Clarke sighs and sets the knife on the tray beside Raven's leg. A thin layer of sweat coats her forehead from the heat of the blade.

"I don't understand," Finn says, looking across Raven at Bellamy and I. "How did Murphy get a gun?"

"Long story," Bellamy replies once again. I bite my lip and nod along with his vague response; there's too much going on to go into detail right now.

"We got lucky," Raven breathes to Finn with the grimace still on her face. "If Murphy hit the fuel tank instead of me, we'd all be dead."

"Wait, there's rocket fuel down there?" Clarke questions, making me shake my head and remove the cloth from Raven's skin. It's a dropship that hurtled us through the atmosphere. Of course there's a fuel tank in the bottom. "Enough to build a bomb?"

Raven nods weakly. "Enough to build a hundred bombs..." She sighs. "If we had any gunpowder left."

"Let's get back to the Reapers," Bellamy cuts in, holding Lincoln's sketchbook in his hand. The page is flipped to a detailed drawing of a vicious-looking man's face that's covered in intricate tattoos. They swirl around his eyes and ears like shadows. His ears are covered in piercings, as well as two on his bottom lip. "Maybe they'll help us."

"Does that guy look like he wants to help?" I ask Bellamy, eyebrows raised at the picture. The expression of the so-called Reaper looks anything but friendly and inviting.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?" Bellamy questions Clarke and Finn. They share a grave look.

"Not this enemy," Clarke answers almost as if she has experienced them. It brings up questions in my mind about what on earth happened to them while they were gone. "We saw them. Trust me, it's not an option."

"There's no time for this," Finn interrupts in a hushed whisper like we're sharing some kind of secret. He glances between Clarke and I. "Can she walk or not?"

"No way," I respond instantly. "Unless you want more damage and the bullet to bury itself even deeper, I'd say no walking for a while."

Clarke nods in agreement. "We have to carry her."

"The hell you will." Raven struggles to sit up, her face twisting in even more pain as her voice cracks. "I'm good to go!"

"Hey, listen to me," Clarke commands so sternly that Raven pauses. It's such a doctor-like tone that I'm reminded of when Abby would speak to her like this. "Like Fallon said, that bullet is still inside you. If by some miracle there's no internal bleeding, it might hold until we get somewhere safe. But you are not walking there. Is that clear?"

Raven nods solemnly and whispers, "Yeah."

"I'll get the stretcher," Finn offers. He quickly gets up and barely gets to the door when Bellamy stops him.

"Can't run away fast enough, can you?" he inquires with a raised eyebrow. Finn turns around and gives Bellamy a harsh glare as he comes back toward us. "Real brave."

"Dying in a fight you can't win isn't brave, Bellamy. It's stupid." Finn is speaking in a low tone again, almost as if he physically can't raise his voice.

"Spoken like every coward who's ever run from a fight," Bellamy rebukes in a drawl. He stalks around Raven's temporary bed before stopping in front of Finn and narrowing his eyes into slits. There is so much pure hatred in his glare that it's alarming. A fire seems to rage behind his irises.

"Hey!" I shout in order to stop the evident fight that's brewing. I quickly stand up and give them both a fierce look. "Stop it. Now is hardly the time for arguing. If we're going to go, let's do it now."

"If they follow?" Bellamy questions in a less harsh tone. "Its a 120-mile walk to the ocean."

"Look, we're wasting time!" Finn exclaims, clearly fed up with Bellamy's refusal to leave. "If he wants to stay, he can stay."

"No, he can't!" Clarke calls out in reply, but it's too late. Finn has already turned around and pushes the cloth aside as he storms out.

I sigh and scratch at the medical tape on my skin. "I'll go make sure everyone's getting ready."

With that, I turn and head out of the dropship and into the fresh air. Everyone in camp is evenly distributing weapons and supplies between them. The damp air, heavy from the recent rain, weighs me down and seems to be doing so to the whole camp. People move more slowly, but at least they're moving at all.

My eyes scan over the camp. Miller tosses me a rifle and a pack of my own, both of which I sling across my shoulders. The bag is so stuffed that I think it might actually burst. However, I assume that it contains things that we'll end up needing and decide not to get rid of anything.

I step down from the ramp and ease into the crowd. Up ahead, I hear shouting for the Gunners to get ready. The wall slides open; the camp spills out into the woods as quickly and quietly as they can. I simply stand back and let everyone pass me, nodding to Monroe as she walks by me. She glances down at my bandaged wrists and gives me a thumbs up.

Once the entire camp has left, I meet with Clarke and Bellamy at the middle. One hand rests on the strap of my rifle as my gaze switches between the two of them. I can tell that Bellamy is still hesitant to leave. It's amazing how well we have come to know each other in such a short time.

"You did good here, Bellamy," Clarke encourages genuinely. She's trying to uplift his spirits about leaving camp, since he obviously still doesn't want to.

"Eighteen dead," he deadpans.

"Maybe so, but 82 are alive," I respond. "You saved my life probably seven times since we've landed. You did do good."

Bellamy eventually nods and picks up the large barrel of water beside him. He retreats a few steps and douses it over the last remaining fire, causing it to die instantly with a sizzle and the rising of grey smoke. He then tosses it aside and begins walking toward the gate. Clarke and I flank either side of him. Together, we exit the camp side-by-side; the leaders, just how it's always been.

The walk to the sea is undoubtedly going to be long, but in the air is a strong sense of determination, a feeling of hope and pride that is almost enough to put a smile on my face. At some point Bellamy, Clarke, and I end up in the middle of the group, but neither of us separate for one second. The gun is now resting in my arms the way I prefer it. My chin is high. I feel like nothing can touch me, that I'm invincible, almost like one of those heroes in the poems I write.

We can't be more than a mile and a half out when we come to a stop. It is my understanding that Octavia is at the very front, which means that she had been the one to call it. I wet my lips and tighten my grip on my gun; I trust her judgment.

Suddenly, a sharp sound like that of a thunk causes multiple gasps from the front of the crowd. I immediately stiffen and clench my hands even tighter around my gun. My senses have become sharper; I'm more aware of my surroundings than I have been before.

"Grounders!" Jasper wails at the top of his lungs, stretching out the two syllables for as long as he can. This triggers an immediate panic from the entire group. Soon everyone is screaming and running back for camp as fast as they can, and everything is happening so fast that I almost don't have enough time to comprehend what's going on before people are surging toward me in an effort to evade the oncoming attack. However, my time on the ground has sharpened my focus as well as my ability to react to change quickly. I sling my gun over my shoulder and break into a sprint back to camp.

My endurance manages to hold up until I get to the gate. There, I stop, huffing and puffing and my chest heaving, to let everyone else pass. Through labored breaths, I shout at them to hurry up so we can close the door as soon as possible.

Just when the last of the people run inside, I swing around and pull myself up to the nearest Gunner position. The tiny step for my feet lifts a good portion of my top half over the wall. I see nothing in the trees. Even through the scope, everything appears to be fine.

"Can you see anything?" I shout to Bellamy, who has copied my actions on the other side of the gate. He shakes his head as he continues to peer through the scope.

"No!" he calls back in reply.

Clarke heaves herself up beside him, peeking over his shoulder at the forest. Her expression is peculiar as her eyes flicker around.

"Something isn't right," I comment, relaxing my rifle and flicking the safety on. If the Grounders had been planning to attack us, more of us would be dead. But for now, it's only one person who has perished, and that was from afar.

When I was eight, I loved to read about dinosaurs; something about them absolutely fascinated me. My Dad got me a book about them, filled with diagrams and pictures and "fun facts" about each beast. I faintly remembered something about Velociraptors herding their prey before they close in on them. The Grounders are the Raptors- we are the prey.

Clarke curses beneath her breath. She turns around and stares at Finn, who is, for some reason, standing below us and not helping Raven. She reminds him, "Lincoln said the Scouts would be the first to arrive."

"If it's just Scouts, we can fight our way out," Octavia informs us while she jogs closer. She has a determined look on her face, one that's very different from the girl who swung around trees to impress boys when we first came down. "That's what Lincoln would do."

"We're done doing what that Grounder would do," Bellamy asserts gruffly. He hops down from the Gunner spot and lands just in front of his sister. "We tried it and now Drew is dead. You want to be next?"

"'That Grounder' saved our lives," Finn counters in a slightly annoyed tone. He glances up at Clarke. "I agree with Octavia. For all we know, there's one Scout out there."

"That one Scout managed to throw an axe into Drew's face from fifty yards away," I chime in, turning around as slowly as I can with how little space my feet have. Despite the fact that I'm worried I'm going to fall, I keep my chin straight and my stance firm.

"Clarke, Fallon, we can still do this," Octavia tries to convince us, her eyes pleading. Clarke is the only one who hasn't given her input about the situation. She appears ragged and out of breath, like the last thing she wants to do is be the one to make such an important decision like this.

"Looking to you, Princesses," Bellamy says. "What's it gonna be? Run and get picked off out in the open, or stand and fight back?"

Clarke and I share a look. I had thought my side was pretty obvious from what I had said earlier, but apparently it had come off as a simple side comment. I think we need more strategy than running out and hoping it's only one Scout out there. I work best with plans and backup plans and ammo. Lots of ammo.

When Clarke still stays silent, I sigh and jump down from my position on the wall. My feet land in the damp soil just two feet away from Bellamy. I raise an eyebrow at him and hold up my gun. "I didn't take this just to run."

Bellamy bites his lip to keep the smirk off his face.

Clarke eventually copies my actions by leaping off of the post and heading toward the dropship. Finn grabs onto her arm to stop her, which causes a hushed argument between them. She yanks her arm away and turns toward Bellamy. "Looks like you've got your fight."

"Okay, then," Bellamy calls out to the camp, much to Finn's dismay. "This is what we've been preparing for. Kill them before they kill us. Gunners, to your posts. Use the tunnels to get in and out. From now on, the gate stays closed."

I start to head toward the nearest tunnel, but stop when I feel a hand clasp onto mine. Of course, it's Bellamy. "Where are you going?" he asks in a low tone.

"I'm technically a Gunner," I respond coolly. When he doesn't look convinced, I sigh and try to convince him further. "Look, I'm a good shot, and you know that. I'm not asking for your permission to go. I'm going even if you don't want me to because I want to save our camp."

Bellamy pulls his lips into a line and nods, giving my hand a small but sufficient squeeze. "Stay safe."

I manage a slight grin. I'm proud of myself for not being the same pushover I was when we first landed. "Will do, King of the Jungle."

I release his hand and turn to sprint into the tunnel of leaves, dirt, and plants. It's an almost perfect curve from how we constructed them, so I have to duck down low in order to fit. I find myself tagging along behind Jasper— I can tell by the sound of his occasional swears while he steps on twigs.

"Alright, let's get to those foxholes!" Miller shouts as soon as he breaks out into the open. I burst out of the tunnel a few seconds afterwords. The lighting has dimmed drastically because of how many trees there are, causing the sunlight to be blocked out. It makes it a fraction of a bit harder to see.

My legs seem to be taking me where I need to go without me even thinking about it. I follow closely behind Miller with my rifle battering against my hip as I run, hopping around bushes and evading tree stumps. It only takes us a few minutes to reach the camouflaged hideouts and duck beneath them, guns raised to the small openings on each side of the triangular fort.

I'm vaguely surprised to see Octavia slide in next to me. She locks eyes with me, wearing a similar expression on her face. We obviously haven't been expecting for Bellamy to let both of us go. Then again, neither of us really let Bellamy control us, either.

"Both of us better not die," she breathes.

Bellamy's voice sounds from the walkie in my pocket a few seconds later. "All foxholes, listen up. Keep your eyes and ears open. Inflict casualties, as many as possible. You can hold them off long enough to make them turn back. That's the plan."

"I'm not too sure about that plan," Miller admits weakly from the other side of the foxhole. I secretly agree with him.

"Yeah?" Monroe mumbles with a raised eyebrow. She shifts her weight as she aims her gun out into the forest. "It's also the only plan we have. I say we stick to it."

I sigh and rest the barrel of my rifle against the open log. Minutes pass with no sight of Grounders anywhere. I don't see even the slightest rustle of the leaves, or a simple branch cracking. Not even the wind seems to blow. It's still. Too still.

I swallow, my senses still on high alert. A crease forms between my brow; my eyes constantly search for a possible target. I'm slightly restless during these agonizing moments of waiting. The sky gets darker and darker as they tick by. Soon it'll be impossible to see right in front of us.

And then I hear the drums. They start of as a faint pulse, so quiet I almost think I'm imagining them. But then my fellow Gunners start sharing confused looks and I know they're hearing them as well. I've heard those before- war drums.

The Grounders are here.

-------

why do i suck so much at chapter endings???

also thanks to jurassic world for helping me with that velociraptor part

wow pretty much only one more chapter and it's the end of part one!! crazy.

-kristyn