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OCT 9, 2149 DAY TWENTY SEVEN ON THE GROUND
WITH A LARGE, WOVEN BASKET PILED HIGH WITH DIRTY LAUNDRY AT HER HIP, DAKOTA STROLLED through the woods and back towards camp. No one else had wanted the rather boring chore, so she had taken it upon herself to do it for them; having been dragging gigantic hampers of clothes back and forth from the nearby stream all morning.
Most of the garments had to be scrubbed endlessly in order to even partially rid themselves of the copious blood stains; having been almost three days since the deadly virus plagued the hundred. Ironically, the joke Dakota had made to Sterling during one of the days stuck in the drop ship's quarantine about how she was doing 'exposure therapy at its finest' had been proven true. Just like actually experiencing a hurricane had mostly quelled Fox's fear of storms, playing doctor alongside Clarke during the disease's violent outbreak had greatly diminished Dakota's fear of blood; so washing the clothes hadn't been an issue for her at all.
She hummed quietly to herself, not far off from re-entering the gate now; able to hear the casual chatter coming from inside their large walls. The speaking abruptly changed to panicked yells, however, when Miller- who was at one of the posts with a long rifle pointed into the trees- suddenly shouted.
"GROUNDER!"
Dakota froze; her head beginning to whip rapidly around to spot the person he was referring to, eyes widening. She didn't see anyone, but it didn't stop fear from striking her heart; she was standing outside the walls with nothing but a tiny knife on her, among the so called grounder she couldn't see.
"There! There!"
It wasn't until a loud gunshot rang out and a bullet soared right over her shoulder, barely missing her head that she realized why she couldn't spot anyone else in the woods with her; they thought she was the grounder.
With a shriek, she dropped the basket at once and took off to shield herself with a wide tree; hands over her head as she darted behind the mammoth structure of nature. Shots hit the ground behind her, following her desperate sprint in a line as dirt blasted from the ground with every bullet that hit it.
"IT'S DAKOTA! IT'S DAKOTA, DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT!" she screamed uproariously once hidden behind the tree, her chest heaving up and down and screeching again when another bullet hit the side of the tree; the girl jerking her body to the left as bark went flying off of it.
"HOLD YOUR FIRE! HOLD YOUR FIRE!" a booming voice commanded, the girl sighing in utter relief; Bellamy.
"Identify yourself! Now!" he shouted harshly, making it obvious no one had heard her screaming her name over the sound of gunfire; the girl still with her back pinned against the tree, meaning she couldn't see them and they couldn't see her.
