The Original 100

4

Clarke's map proved to be useless as the Reapers had long since moved on from the tunnel she led them to. Bellamy had, grudgingly, handed the reigns over to Finn, hoping he could track them down.

It's been a week. Nothing.

"Maybe we should just go back," Miller groans for the millionth time.

"What so we can sit by and wait for them to kill more of us?" Bellamy shoots back. He's frustrated. Finn hasn't found one damned clue or track or whatever it is he's looking for.

As night begins to force its way onto them, they hear movement in the surrounding trees. The group takes in a collective breath, holding it. There is a long, nerve wracking moment of utter silence. Even the bugs have stopped chirping. Just as Bellamy is sure that his head will explode from the tension of the silence, somewhere out in the dark someone begins yelling. A long, drawn out war cry.

It is the only warning they get before they are faced with fifteen, maybe more, Reapers running toward the glow of their firelight. Bellamy makes a quick assessment of his team, forming a circle with their backs together, before clanging makeshift weapons with a Reaper double his size.

That one goes quickly; Bellamy barely has to swing before his opponent falls to the ground, dead. Quickly, he looks around the camp. Finn is shoving back on a Reaper, going for his throat. Everyone else is either removing their weapons from a body or making headway against their own foe. His attention only lapses for a second, but that is all the screeching lady with wild eyes needs. She slams the butt of her spear into Bellamy's temple, and he hits the ground. The world spins around him and the edges of his vision goes black. A wave of nausea grips him but he forces himself to sit up. Before his vision can even clear all the way, the woman is straddling him, her knees locked tight at his ribcage, forcing him back to a laying position. Instinctively he throws his hands up just as she is plunging her spear towards his heart. He manages to knock the spear away ever so slightly but that doesn't seem to faze her. She reels back once more and slams a fist into his face connecting hard with his jaw. He hears the crunch of bone, probably his nose, and pain explodes across his face. Once, twice, three times she hits him.

This time, when she raises her spear high above her head, he doesn't have the ability to stop her. He calls an image of Clarke to mind, thankful he got to know her, the real her, in this world. In their world.

"It's been nearly two weeks, Raven. Where are they?" Clarke demands, pacing back and forth at the entrance to their camp. Raven just shakes her head. It's been like this for three days now and she's run out of comforting words for Clarke. Honestly? She doesn't even believe them anymore. So she just stands by her friend, watching as she paces back and forth, back and forth.

It was taking forever for Bellamy to die. He emerges periodically into consciousness only to will himself back to the darkness. The pain, oh god, the pain. His whole body feels like it's' been set on fire, his abdomen housing the inferno.

His whole world lurches during one of his bouts of cnsciousness and he falls, hitting his head hard. Before he passes out again, he hears a muffled voice speak, though he can't make out the words, or recognize the voice.

"Come on guys! Pick him back up!" Finn is yelling. Somewhere, deep down, he knows his group is exhausted. He's exhausted. But they're so close he can see the camp. "We're almost there," he adds more gently this time. Bellamy groans as they lift him back onto the piece of wood they've fashioned into a stretcher. Finn reaches forward to place a hand on his head. Bellamy is a furnace, and his ribs where the Reaper had driven her sword are still bleeding. Finn isn't a doctor or trained in any way in the medical field, but he lifts up Bellamy's shirt for another look. There are red streaks forming around the wound. It looks like a spider web erupting from the puncture. They desperately need to get back to camp.