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hd-junglebook · 2 months

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Part 4

word count - 3,076

The following day greets you with a fragile tranquility, remnants of the prior day's chaos fading slowly into memory. As you, Bellamy, and Charlotte prepare to depart from the refuge of the cave, the crackling of the dying fire serves as a backdrop to the scene.

"Alright, let's get moving," Bellamy declares as he adjusts the straps of his pack. "We need to find Atom and figure out what the hell happened."

Bellamy, ever the impulsive one, rushes past you, his movements quick and purposeful. "Come on, let's go!" He calls over his shoulder to Charlotte, his brow is furrowed in concentration, eyes scanning the trees for any sign of Atom.

You nod in agreement, your own thoughts mirroring his as they move forward. you hang back for a moment. Your thoughts drift back to the young girl, Charlotte.

Despite her innocent appearance, there's something about her that rubs you the wrong way, a nagging feeling of unease that you can't quite shake.

The forest calls beyond the mouth of the cave, sunlight spearing the lush canopy to cast scattered gold upon the floor. You breathe deep the scent of rich earth and new growth, a balm after the underground darkness.

Your reverie shatters at a bloodcurdling scream - "Charlotte!" - your cry ricocheting off stone walls.

Wildly you scan the shadows for her and Bellamy. And then you see him - Atom, lying motionless on the ground. Dread grips you like a vice as you rush to his side.

"Atom." His name catches in your tight throat. With a racing pulse you grab for Atom's wrist, desperate for the beat of life.

Bellamy joins your bedside vigil over Atom's fog-ravaged body. Together you take stock of the horrific burns, the damage beyond healing. Atom stirs feebly at your whispers, eyes slitting open to fix on your faces.

"You think he's gonna make it?" Bellamy asks, unspoken fear dimming his usual arrogance.

You shake your head, your own voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know, Bellamy. It doesn't look good." Atom stirs at your touch, his eyes fluttering open, and he begs for mercy in a hoarse whisper.

Bellamy falters, Adam's apple bobbing. "Easy there, buddy," Bellamy says softly, hand hovering awkwardly over Atom's quaking shoulder. "We're here to help."

Atom's cracking voice interrupts, raw with agony. "Please," he gasps, fingers plucking at Bellamy's sleeve. "...make it stop."

Atom's eyes roll toward you, teeming with pain and desperate appeal, pleading for relief.

An unbearable decision hangs before you as you exchange a tense glance with Bellamy, each of you silently questioning if you're capable of making such a decision. Bellamy clutches the knife Charlotte handed him with whitened knuckles, hesitating.

The heavy quiet shatters at the crunch of leaves. Glancing up, you spot Clarke rushing toward you, Finn and Wells on her heels. Her gaze darts between you and Bellamy, questions burning behind her eyes.

"What happened?" she demands breathlessly.

You gesture helplessly to where Atom lays. "We found Atom," you explain, your voice heavy with emotion. Clarke's eyes widen, taking in his charred and weeping skin. "He's been burned by the fog. We don't know if he's gonna...”

You trail off but Clarke understands. With calm purpose, she kneels beside the boy, meeting his clouded eyes.

Some silent exchange seems to pass between them before she takes his hand. Then, gaze never leaving his, she draws her knife in one smooth motion. Atom doesn't flinch.

Humming softly, Clarke ends his suffering, the mercy killing masked behind that gentle melody. You look away, blinking through a film of tears as she continues humming him into the next life.

Finally, the song fades to silence. Hesitantly you glance back to see Clarke straightening slowly, face pale but composed. Her eyes shine with memories of other losses requiring similar strength.

You watch mutely as Clarke ends Atom's agony with that mournful melody, closing your eyes against the final act of mercy. A prickle on the back of your neck makes you glance over at Charlotte.

The girl stands frozen, transfixed by the blood blossoming across Atom's shirt. Her youthful face holds no horror or pity - only an eerie understanding that chills your bones.

Clarke's voice breaks the spell and Charlotte's faraway look vanishes, replaced by wide-eyed innocence as she meets your probing eyes.

…

Twilight bled through the trees as you trudged back to camp, haunted and exhausted. Atom lay cradled in a makeshift bed, head lolling with each footfall.

Every glimpse of his burnt and lifeless face, now at peace, cut deep. You slipped through the camp gates to find anxious faces of your fellow survivors ringing around him.

Bellamy's grim head shake was all it took to curdle the atmosphere from one of hopeful anticipation to one of somber mourning. Only Wells lingered, features carved with sorrow.

“I’ll go dig Atoms grave,” he offered quietly, nodding toward a secluded glade. Bellamy nodded before he stalked into the deepening gloom beyond the fires pits.

Too hollowed out for conversation, you drifted toward the dropship. As you made your way there, your attention was briefly drawn to a commotion nearby.

Bellamy stood locked in a heated exchange with Murphy, his voice continuing to rise in anger. You spared a glance at the confrontation, witnessing Bellamy grab Murphy's shirt and scream in his face.

“You lose anyone here?" Bellamy’s voice was laced with bitterness. "Jasper?"

Murphy's response was curt. "Still breathing. Barely. I tried to take him out, but your psycho little sister..."

In an instant, Bellamy lunged at Murphy, pulling Murphy close by the collar of his shirt. "My what? My what?" Bellamy's voice was a low growl, filled with anger and barely contained fury.

Murphy met his gaze with a steely resolve. "Your little sister."

Bellamy's grip tightened, his frustration boiling over. "Yeah, that's right. My little sister. Got anything else you want to say about her?"

Murphy's expression remained impassive as he studied Bellamy's face. "Nothing. Sorry."

With a final shove, Murphy pushed Bellamy off of him. With a shake of your head, you turned away Stepping into the dropship, you were greeted by its familiar smell - a mixture of sweat and metal. It was a scent that had become synonymous with home, despite its less-than-pleasant connotations.

Inside, Octavia, Finn, and Monty sat together, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of dim lights. They passed around a bottle, their laughter filling the air as you walked over to join.

You accepted the burning mouthful passed your way, the fiery liquid providing a temporary reprieve from the ache in your chest

Octavia took a swig from the bottle, her face contorting slightly at the taste. "Ugh, this stuff tastes like it's been sitting out in the sun for weeks."

Finn chuckled, taking the bottle from her and raising it to his lips. "Well, beggars can't be choosers, O."

You reached out for the bottle, taking a small sip before passing it along. "Yeah, it's definitely better than nothing." A moment of silence fell over the group as they each took a turn with the bottle, lost in their own thoughts.

A sudden clamor jerked you back to the present moment. With wide eyes, you spun around to see Jasper half risen from his sickbed, his laughter echoing through the air despite the split lips that marred his face.

"Can I, uh, get a hit of that?" Jasper's request, though laced with exhaustion, carried a glimmer of his usual mischievous spirit.

"Jasper!" Octavia exclaimed, relief flooding her voice as she approached his bedside.

You stood beside him, your voice a soothing murmur as you attempted to calm his delirium. "Easy there, Jasper," you said softly, your eyes filled with concern.

Jasper grinned back at you, his eyes bright with feverish excitement. " “Was that a dream or did I get speared?" he said, his words slurred with exhaustion.

Octavia shot you a grateful smile, her hands still resting on Jasper's shoulders as she guided him back down onto the bed. "He's a tough one, that's for sure," she said, her voice tinged with admiration.

"Thank you for not dying. I don’t think I could’ve taken that today."

Jasper's playful demeanor returned as he quipped, "I'll try not to die tomorrow, too, if that's cool."

A bubble of astonished laughter escaped you, the tension of the moment breaking as you allowed yourself a moment of unbridled joy at Jasper's unexpected recovery.

…

Delinquents hurried about their tasks, their movements a blend of urgency and weariness. Some tended to the camp's makeshift defenses, reinforcing barricades and sharpening weapons. the sound of hammering and the shuffle of feet as everyone worked together to fortify their makeshift home.

Worn beyond exhaustion, you retreated to your dim, motionless shelter, seeking refuge from the heat.

No sooner had your body slumped atop the threadbare blanket than a blazing sunbeam shattered the tomblike gloom. Blinking against harsh daylight now spearing through your tent flap, you made out Octavia’s wild silhouette.

“Get up!” she ordered, panting as if she’d dashed straight here. “Jasper and I were exploring, we...look, you just gotta come see this.” A thread of real fear undercut her usual bravado.

“What’s going on?” Your chest constricted even as your legs obeyed, carrying you out beneath the unrelenting.

Octavia guided your steps, clutching one of your wrists and half-dragging you through the bustling camp to another tent where Clarke, Bellamy, and Jasper were already gathered.

Bursting inside, you blink at the grim tableau of Clarke, Bellamy and an alarmingly pale Jasper staring at a table. Octavia steers you to peer over Clarke's shoulder at a knife – and two severed fingers. Shock chokes the questions rising in your throat.

Clarke meets your horrified gaze grimly. “We found these just inside the gates.” She turns the knife around illuminating an embossed mark.

“The metal matches a broken panel on the dropship door.” Clarke took a deep breath, her resolve firm. "It means the Grounders didn't kill Wells. It was one of us," she stated, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air.

“Wait...” Jasper’s voice shakes. "So, there's a murderer in the camp?" His wide eyes dart frantically, as if a culprit might emerge from the shadows. Everyone exchanges ominous looks in the fraught silence. Jasper's expression grew more troubled by the moment. "Clarke?" he pressed.

“One of over fifty suspects.” Bellamy folds his arms, radiating tension. “We need to keep this quiet until we figure out who’s walking around down here mutilating people.”

His stern glare settles on each member in turn, even young Octavia who juts her chin defiantly. “No one discusses this outside this tent. As far as the rest know, this never happened. Understood?”

Clarke's eyes flash, jaw set like stone. "Get out of my way, Bellamy," she warns, hand straying to the knife. "Whoever did this needs to answer for it." Jasper shifts anxiously from foot to foot in the wake of the standoff.

Bellamy stands firm, looming larger. "And what exactly is your plan, Clarke? Just gonna wave that knife around 'till the guilty party breaks down confessing?" Derision laces his scoff.

Clarke bristles, getting in his face now. "Yeah, maybe I'll start with you. What are you gonna do... keep people afraid and they'll work for you? Is that it?" she retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Bellamy barks out a harsh laugh. "Yeah. That's it."

As Clarke and Bellamy trade barbs, their words fade against the roaring in your ears. Surely concealing such darkness cannot end well...yet revealing it prematurely may unleash chaos. You clear your throat, drawing sharp eyes.

"Maybe - maybe Bellamy has a point," you venture, pulse thudding. "Panic helps no one." Clarke regards you almost betrayed, but you stand firm. “There’s more than one murderer in this camp... whoever they are, they're already outnumbered.”

Bellamy gives you an appraising look, a new glint of respect behind his brooding eyes as you continue, “It’s better to keep this between us. We don’t even know whose knife that is.”

"Oh, really?" she grinds out. " J.M. John Murphy. The people have a right to know.”

…

Clarke stormed out of the tent, her anger radiated. You exchanged a tense glance with Bellamy before your eyes wandered around the camp, searching for any signs of trouble.

In the distance, you spotted Charlotte standing alone, her expression troubled as she watched the unfolding confrontation. With a sinking feeling in your chest, you made your way toward her, your footsteps echoing off the dirt of the camp.

"Charlotte, are you okay?" you asked gently, your voice soft with concern as you approached her. She turned to you, her eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.

"I... I don't know," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

You crouched down beside her, your gaze searching hers for any hint of what was wrong. That's when you noticed the blood on her hand, stark against her pale skin.

Your heart skipped a beat as you reached out to gently take her hand in yours, your fingers brushing against the sticky warmth of the blood.

"What happened?" you asked

Charlotte swallowed hard, her eyes brimming with tears. "I... I don't remember," she admitted, her voice trembling with fear. The voices of the crowd rang out in agreement with Bellamy and Clarke, their cries echoing through the air.

You turned just in time, watching in horror as the crowd grew increasingly antsy, their fury unleashed upon Murphy.

You pushed through the swarm, fighting to reach Clarkes side. The chants for Bellamy to finish the job filled the air, the sound sending a chill down your spine. You raised your voice above the clamor hoping to sway the crowd with reason.

"This isn't justice, it's vengeance!" you shouted, your words echoing through the tumultuous air. But despite your efforts, the mob seemed deaf to reason, their anger consuming them.

Bellamy and Clarke were at the center of it all. You pushed your way through the crowd, determined to reach him and divert his attention from Clarke as they exchanged heated remarks.

“This is on you, princess. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.” You heard

You pushed Bellamy’s chest, "Bellamy, stop them!" you called out, your words barely audible over the roar of the crowd grasping Bellamy's arm. "Murphy wouldn't kill Wells. It was someone else.” The chants grew louder, each of the delinquents shouting Bellamy’s name in unison.

For an instant Bellamy meets your eyes, something wavering behind his mask of cold command. But then his chin lifts with familiar obstinance. Bellamy wrenches his wrist away, striding toward the rigged noose where Murphy spits curses.

Your lungs burn, the frenzied crowd pressing oppressively as Bellamy kicks the crate from under Murphy's feet. the crowd erupting into cheers of approval

The cheers and jeers clash violently with the roaring panic in your head. You glimpse Finn shoving through the human wall, only to disappear under grasping arms. “What the hell are you doing? Cut him down! Charlotte what are you doing?”

Then a small voice shrieks out, "Stop!" The crowd parts for Charlotte's quaking form. "Murphy didn't kill anyone," she gasps. "I stabbed Wells!"

Stunned silence drops like a smothering veil. Bellamy's smugness cracks, eyes darting wildly. Charlotte's confession rings in your pounding head as she repeats, "I killed him.

It took a moment for you to understand, but you knew what needed to be done.

With a swift movement, you reached for the axe at Bellamy's waist, your fingers closing around the handle with a steely determination. With one swing you cut the rope holding Murphy captive, freeing him from his bonds as Finn hurried to untie him.

"Get Charlotte away from here," Clarke hisses at your ear. Her fingers dig into your bicep, face set with determination to quell the riot brewing again in Bellamy's wake.

Clarke gives you a small shove and you run, the girl's clammy hand clenched in yours away from the mob. Away from her unthinkable confession.

…

As you usher Charlotte back into the tent, anger burns hot within your body, thoughts swirling with the realization of her responsibility for Wells' death.

Clarke, Bellamy, and Finn enter the tent, their voices blending into a cacophony of resolution. Clarke's urgent call of your name pulls you out of your trance.

"Y/n? Hey, are you okay?" Clarke's voice cuts through the haze of your anger, her concern evident in her eyes.

Bellamy's voice breaks through, scanning your conflicted faces. “If you guys have any bright ideas, speak up. Now you stay quiet.” He groaned. Your response is immediate, the words dripping with bitterness. "We should hand her over," you declare.

Clarke, Bellamy, and Finn are stunned by your nonchalance, before they can respond, "She's just a kid!" Clarke argues as Bellamy scoffs, "Try again." Only Finn nods reluctantly, avoiding your gaze.

Murphy's tirade slices through the tent walls. With a frustrated huff, Bellamy pushes outside the tent to quell murphy’s incessant whining, Clarke and Finn on his heels.

Alone with Charlotte, you crouch down, taking her thin shoulders. "You need to run," you urge quietly. "Find Clarke and Finn." Wide-eyed, she manages a small nod. With one last glance, she disappears into the forest.

You release a long breath, hoping you didn't just condemn or save her. ‘the girl may be young, but justice down here allows no exceptions.’

You thought to yourself, if anyone balks, you know Bellamy will back you. His dark eyes told you he reached the same conclusion long before tonight.

…

Bellamy approached the tent, you watched from your spot in the tent. Within a few steps inside, Murphy struck with a sudden, vicious blow, knocking Bellamy to the ground with a sickening thud.

Your breath caught in your throat as Murphy's rage turned toward Jasper, his fists flying in a brutal onslaught. With horror, you watched as Jasper crumpled under the force of the blows, his cries of pain echoing through the air.

Before Murphy could inflict any more damage, he stormed into the tent, only to find it empty.

…

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