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chapter twenty-four!
DEAD MAN WALKING
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ARES ORTEGA IS a dead man. Or, at least, that's what everyone in the dropship likely believes. It's funny how the killer becomes the one killed, right?

He and Kiernan only get to rest in the ditch that had saved them from becoming barbecued for a few minutes. Afterward, the residual heat from the massive fire gets too much to bear, stifling them in their jackets and already-increased body temperatures from the strain of battle. Ares has to practically drag Kiernan out of the trench by his arms. He doesn't want to think about how much dirt he's burying into his gruesome leg wound, but there's no other option.

Ares is sure he'll never forget the sight of their beloved camp burning. Nothing is spared in the path to demolition. The flames burn high and bright, practically blinding against the pitch-black darkness of the night, searing into Ares' eyes as he watches, transfixed by the destruction. Smoke pours into the air and makes him cough. The haunting screams of the living being burned alive ring in his ears. It feels like a funeral not only for them, but also for everything they'd built with their bare hands over the past month. All of their hard work is engulfed in flames.

It hadn't been a home, but Ares had certainly felt more comfortable in that camp than he had in his own living quarters on the Ark.

"Come on," he mutters to a delirious Kiernan. He loops the boy's arm around his shoulder and carries half of his weight, every muscle screaming in protest as he stumbles over the uneven ground. The intensity of the fire illuminates the surrounding woods in a faint orange glow. It feels like, after all they've done to survive, they've been sent straight to hell.

Kiernan's added weight slows Ares down, each step a mere quarter of the distance his normal ones would be. His eyes sting from the toxic fumes smothering the air. He has to blink back tears, which only add to his discomfort. He's still fighting that stupid illness and it's making him weak. If they're attacked out here, they're goners.

The further away they hobble from the camp, the darker it gets. The close clusters of trees block out the moonlight and make it nearly impossible to see. Eventually, Ares decides it isn't worth it to keep moving when they can't see a damn thing in front of them. He settles Kiernan against a tree trunk and plops down beside him, puffing an exhausted sigh out of his dry mouth.

Ares' work isn't over. Even though he can't see the state of Kiernan's wound in the lack of lighting, he'd observed enough in the camp to know that it's a nasty one. He pulls the hem of his hoodie up and tears a long strip of his t-shirt. The blond boy cries out in agony when Ares bends his leg to tie the makeshift tourniquet around his thigh and staunch the blood flow. He has to clamp a hand over Kiernan's mouth to prevent any possible attackers from hearing them. His palm quickly gets damp from sweat and Kiernan's tears that roll over his skin.

The night is anything but peaceful. Ares rests in fitful intervals lasting a maximum of thirty minutes each, which only aggravates his sick body, but he's too afraid to fully fall asleep. Kiernan is in no shape to fight. In the event that they're discovered, Ares will have to battle them off single-handedly.

Kiernan sleeps with his head resting against Ares' shoulder. He doesn't have the heart to push him away. Instead, he reaches across him to pat the boy's uninjured leg and mumbles, "Hang in there, Adams. You have to see your dad."

If there are any survivors from the Ark's crash-landing, Ares hopes that at least one of them is Mr. Adams. His own father, however... he could go his entire life without ever seeing him again.

The sun rises and drenches the forest in golden light. The grass becomes damp with morning dew, and everything is so quiet that it feels like the universe is holding its breath for whatever will happen next. If last night had been hell, this might be heaven— a reminder that no matter how awful things get, the sun will always rise again. Humanity goes to war and yet the world still spins.

Ares' head aches like a bitch and his sinuses feel like they have razor blades stuffed inside of them. He blinks deliriously after waking from another short nap, trying to remember where he is and why he's there. Information comes flooding back to him in short bursts. Dropship. Fire. Kiernan. Injured.

The boy's head is still resting against Ares' shoulder. Part of his forehead is pressed to Ares' neck, and it's warmer than it should be. All of his senses snap to high alert once that processes. He nudges a sleeping Kiernan until he groans in protest.

"Wake up," he orders. "C'mon, man. Wake up."

Kiernan rises reluctantly, lifting his head up as if it weighs a thousand pounds. Ares re-positions himself to find his back aching from leaning against a tree trunk all night. His comrade's skin is paler than it normally is, his freckles standing out against his color-leeched face. When Ares peels back some of the stiff fabric of his jeans around the cut, revealing the festering wound that's lightly coated in disgusting yellow pus, his heart drops into his stomach.

"Shit," he curses. He uses the back of his hand to feel Kiernan's forehead. Sure enough, it's warm.

Kiernan's wound is infected.

Now more than ever, Ares wishes Clarke were here with them. She'd know exactly what to do and how to treat the infection before it can get any worse. But Ares can work with machines better than other people, and he has no idea what the hell he's supposed to do now. Especially since it had been so dark last night and he's so sleep-deprived and sick that he has no idea how to get back to camp.

"I feel like shit," Kiernan says in a hoarse voice. He tilts his head back against the trunk of the tree, the sweat dotting his skin causing some of the hair near his face to turn brown. He's coated in a thin layer of dirt and there's a bruise forming on his left cheekbone.

"You look like shit," Ares tells him, never one to sugarcoat situations. Kiernan nods as if understanding this and closes his eyes. In response, Ares smacks him in the ribs. Kiernan's eyes fly open and he glares at him in offense. "Keep your eyes open. Your wound's infected— I don't need you passing out on me. You'll make it a lot harder for us to get back to camp."

The two boys stumble along, ever-so-slowly making their way who-knows-where. Kiernan talks almost the whole time. Normally, Ares would tell him to shut up, but his weak voice is quiet enough for others not to hear, and Kiernan talking is better than Kiernan unconscious. Or Kiernan dead.

"I wanted to start a counseling program for the Sky Box," he informs Ares. "Most kids act out because their families are hungry or due to some unresolved issues, and if they're released at eighteen when their case is reviewed, they're still gonna be dealing with those things, ya know? I wanted to create a better life for the kids in lockup. Then I became one of those kids."

Ares recalls the story of how Kiernan had gotten arrested. He'd told off a guard who had assaulted his female friend, and if that's enough for the Council to have thrown him in prison, there's no doubt that the system had been corrupt. It's understandable why the Ark wanted order — they had such little resources and couldn't afford to make many exceptions — but things had hardly been fair. Ares had known that well before he'd been framed for murder.

"I really want to see Val again," Kiernan continues. "She was my best friend— the girl who I fought that guard for. I would do it all over again. She's like a sister to me, and I miss her so much."

Ares' brows furrow. "You'll see her again. The Ark came down last night."

The boy stays quiet, and it takes Ares' foggy brain a few delayed seconds to realize what the weight of his silence means. He stops and takes hold of Kiernan's shoulder, looking him in the eye. "Hey, dude. You're gonna see her again— Val and your dad. You're gonna make it. I'm not gonna let you die."

"Ares." Kiernan's quiet voice is uncharacteristically somber. "Where the hell are we?"

"Well, according to the trajectory of the moon and the sun, we are definitely lost."

The blond boy groans and rolls his head back. "I knew it. I swear we've been goin' in circles."

"Hey, I was too busy trying to save your ass last night to take account of where we were going."

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks for that, by the way." A few moments of silence pass again. They continue walking, taking only a few steps before he asks, "Can you talk instead? M'tired."

Rambling is about the last thing Ares likes to do. He isn't fond of over-sharing, preferring to hang back and listen or tell people only what they need to know about him. In the year and a half that he and Nate had been cellmates, Nate had hardly learned anything about his personal life. He certainly isn't about to start unloading his parental issues onto Kiernan.

"Do you know what my name means?" he finally decides to say. "Ares is the Greek god of war. My mom" — the mention of her makes him swallow so thickly it feels like nails are sliding down his throat — "she wanted to name me something Latin. But I guess my dad had been a history nerd back when he had a personality, so he'd insisted on naming me this. The god of war."

He scoffs. Kiernan stays quiet, letting him talk, and maybe that's why Ares finds himself saying more than he thought he would.

"I've started to wonder if the damn man set my destiny in stone when he picked that name for me. It sounds stupid, but I've been going from battle to battle all my life."

"I like your name," Kiernan tells him. "It's cool."

Ares shakes his head, a smirk tugging at his lips in spite of the anger curdling inside of him like sour milk at the mention of his father. "You're not half-bad, Adams."

After about thirty minutes of aimless wandering, the slightest sound makes Ares freeze in place. He turns his ear in the direction of the potential noise; maybe he'd been imagining things in his hyper-vigilant state. But no, it sounds like a voice— deep, raspy, and unfamiliar.

His heart climbs into his throat. He pushes Kiernan down behind the base of a tree, ducking down after him so he's half-lying on the ground. The slight decline of the earth gives them a better cover than the flat path they'd been walking on before.

"Wha—?" Kiernan begins to ask, but Ares reaches over and swats him in warning before he can finish the word. His voice cuts off instantly.

As the muffled voice grows louder, Ares shifts onto his stomach and peeks his eyes over the top of the shallow ditch. He can't see anything yet, but the sound of hooves and footsteps are drawing nearer. A Grounder— possibly more than one. He tenses.

It becomes easier to pick out words as the seconds pass. "—I can't... I can't go anymore."

There's a yelp and the sound of a person falling. The unfamiliar man's voice commands, "On your feet."

"I can't."

"He can't keep up!" Now that voice he does recognize, though he wishes he didn't. It belongs to Finn Collins.

"Come on, man, you have to get up," someone else urges. Both Kiernan and Ares' ears perk up upon hearing it.

Ares switches positions so he's leaning across Kiernan, putting most of his weight on his forearms so he doesn't crush the boy but can see on the other side of the tree. There's a Grounder riding a large, black horse with two mutilated faces merged together. He holds a rope with three figures connected to it: Collins, a boy that's face-down in the dirt, and the last person who had spoken— Oliver Walsh.

"Ollie?" Kiernan whispers in questioning. Ares nudges him again with his elbow as a signal for him to shut up.

None of them look very good. Collins' shoulder-length hair is matted with grease and dirt, his round face covered in blood. Oliver has a slash on his forehead that has left dried streaks of red down his bronze skin. He sports a large bruise around one eye, his hands so filthy that they're almost completely black. And the last kid... well, he can hardly seem to move.

"I said, get on your feet!" the Grounder hisses as he dismounts the horse. Collins and Oliver keep trying to heave the other boy up, but his dead weight is difficult for them to carry with their hands bound.

The Grounder yanks the boy to his knees and draws a sword out from a sheath behind his back. The blade creates a sickening shing sound as he arms himself. The unknown boy begins sputtering, begging for his life.

"No!" Collins protests, followed closely by Oliver shouting, "Wait!"

Their cries fall on deaf ears. The man's face is utterly blank, showing no signs of remorse as he slices his blade across the boy's throat. Blood spurts out of the wound in a crimson wave before he drops the boy to the ground like a rag doll.

Now, Ares can see the sickening burns covering half of the Grounder's dark face, his bald head gleaming where the wounds aren't festering. "That's one. I lost three hundred."

What about the kids you killed during the battle? Ares wonders to himself, setting his jaw at the unfairness of that statement. What about John Mbege? Diggs? Roma? Drew?

The man starts toward Collins and Oliver with his face set in a deep snarl. Collins had sunk to his knees upon witnessing the boy's death, while Oliver has a hand placed on the tracker's shoulder in comfort. His head jerks up when he notices the Grounder stalking closer. Collins realizes it as well, both boys tripping over each other to back away.

Ares grabs a knife and situates the handle in his grip. The Grounder is facing the side. If he stands up a little, got some good aim, he may be able to prevent two deaths. Let it be known that Oliver is the only reason he's helping. If he hadn't been there, Ares would have let Collins die.

He rises as much as he dares and places his feet. His arm draws back, the other slightly outstretched to aim, his teeth gritting in concentration. A beat. Two. The Grounder is moving ever closer toward those boys, and soon, he'll be within throat-slashing distance. Before that can happen, Ares lets the blade fly.

The uneven ground and tangle of roots at his feet cause him to slightly lose his balance. Instead of hitting its mark in the temple of the Grounder, it embeds itself in his shoulder. The man slightly stumbles in surprise. Before he can snap his head in Ares' direction, he quickly ducks down and nestles himself beside Kiernan.

His footsteps seem to be coming closer to their hiding spot. Fucking Christ on a cracker.

"What's going—?" Kiernan starts to ask, but Ares slaps his hand over the boy's mouth and widens his eyes as a signal that they're in deep shit.

His heart hammers against his chest so hard that his blood roars in his ears. He quickly reaches into his boot for another knife, knowing he only has one shot to kill that Grounder or they're both dead— and probably Collins and Oliver, too.

"Hey!" a new voice shouts. The sound of footsteps crunching on the dirt stops. Ares momentarily closes his eyes, thankful for another second to live.

"Bellamy, get out of here!" Collins hollers. Ares and Kiernan share a surprised glance. So Bellamy had survived that massive ring of fire; it makes him wonder who else had been so lucky.

There's a slap as the Grounder strikes the rear of his horse. The animal whinnies as it supposedly charges at Bellamy, and while the distraction takes place in the opposite direction, Ares grabs Kiernan and darts across the path as quickly as he can force him to move, sliding down behind a bush for coverage.

Ares peers through the foliage to see Bellamy on the ground, also covered in dirt and now with blood bursting from his mouth. The Grounder sends a swift kick to his gut. It sends him sprawling, rolling to a stop only for the man to grab him by the front of his shirt and slam his fist into his face a few times. Each brutal sound of bone smashing makes Kiernan wince.

Bellamy collapses into a heap on the ground. The Grounder straightens, seemingly satisfied with the damage he'd inflicted, and glances at a petrified Collins and Oliver. The two boys had been yanked off their feet by the force of the horse's movements, but they'd quickly gotten up, not wanting to have their throats slashed like that other kid.

"Another one for the Commander," the Grounder sneers. He then yanks Ares' knife from his shoulder and stares in the direction of their former hiding spot. Unable to find a trace of who had thrown it, he pockets the weapon, making Ares mentally curse. Another knife lost.

The man grabs the set of ropes that had been attached to the third boy and forces a half-conscious Bellamy to his feet. The sight of his face alone almost makes Ares cringe. One of his eyes is nearly swollen shut, crimson rivers covering almost every inch of his face, leaving only minuscule traces of brown skin beneath. His hands are quickly bound.

"You have to stay on your feet," Collins informs him quietly as the Grounder retreats back to his horse. "He'll kill you if you don't."

"Under any other circumstances, I'd say it's good to see you," Oliver half-jokes.

Bellamy is in too much pain to utter a response or change his facial expression, but his eyes do flicker toward the space Ares and Kiernan had been hiding mere moments ago. It's clear that he'd seen the knife and known exactly who had thrown it. His distraction, no matter how stupid, had saved their lives.

Crap. Now Ares owes him one.

He begins to realize that he can't keep watching while the three boys suffer, especially if they're being led to the so-called Commander, and he could use some extra hands in carrying Kiernan. The Grounder faces the opposite way from where they're placed. He has a shot.

Ares motions for Kiernan to stay put. He clenches his knife tighter in his fist, slowly and nimbly picking his way over the uneven dirt until he's standing on the side of the path. His right arm goes out to aim. His left one bends backward. A slow breath puffs out of his lips, clearing his irritated lungs and sharpening his focus.

Several things happen at once.

Battle cries ring out from somewhere else in the forest. Monroe and Sterling appear, weapons held high in their hands as they sprint around the bend of the trail, screaming at the top of their lungs. The Grounder bends his knees in preparation for another fight. While he's distracted, Ares seizes the opportunity to let the knife go.

A bullet smashes through the back of the Grounder's skull half a second before Ares' blade does.

The sound of the gunshot makes Monroe and Sterling come screeching to a halt in shock as the man drops dead. Collins and Bellamy turn around, the former's eyes widening at the sight of Ares standing on the side of the path. But then the tracker's gaze shifts to something past him, causing Ares to turn as well.

Marcus Kane emerges from a group of evergreen trees with an automatic rifle in his hands. Several other members of the Ark Guard follow closely behind him in a cautious formation, also holding tightly onto their pistols. Ares finds himself too shocked to move.

Kane's gaze sweeps across Ares and then settles on the three boys still tied together. He lowers his weapon, a self-righteous tone in his voice as he tells them, "We're here now. Everything's gonna be okay."

He gives a quick signal to the trees. Another small group of people trickles out into the open— adults from the Ark. Whoever is with them seems to be a part of Alpha Station. Ares recognizes the brunette woman who had looked at him with stone-cold eyes as she'd voted him guilty for the murder of Merritt Santiago: Abigail Griffin, Clarke's mother. Jacapo Sinclair is there as well.

And then, for the first time in almost two years, Ares locks eyes with his father. 

_________

a/n: 

ANDSFNLSERIG IN MY EXCITEMENT TO GET THIS UP, I FORGOT TO PUT AN AUTHOR'S NOTE !!! SO HERE IT IS HI HELLO ARES IS BACK N BETTA THAN EVA (KIERNAN IS GOING THRU IT THO)

OK BYE

–kristyn

( word count: 3.6k )