Becoming Air (The 100)

Chapter Seventeen

When Bellamy woke up, his shoulder felt like it been ripped from its socket and torn to shreds. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease the pain and glanced down at his stomach. His skin splotched multicolored and his gaze fell on Arlean, her head still resting on his legs. Her face was multicolored as well, and he gazed across to her abdomen. His eyes rested on the hidious scars that ran across her sides and stomach. No wonder she'd looked so terrified when the man had come at her with the knife. Nobody had scars like those without scars on their mind as well.

He traced one across her left side, lightly and then withdrew his hand. Footsteps sounded outside the hut, suddenly, and Bellamy gently shook Arlean awake.

Her eyes fluttered open and took in the hut and Bellamy's face. She bolted upright and let out a yelp of pain as she fell back.

"Hey, easy there." Bellamy pulled her slowly down.

"What happened?" She muttered, taking in her bare stomach, she leaned her head back with a curse.

"They apparently left us alone for the night." Bellamy looked around.

Then the tent flap rustled and in stepped one of the guards from last night. Bellamy wanted so badly to knock his teeth out, but he could barely stand- let alone punch.

The guard approached them quietly and crouched down in front of them. He tossed two shirts at them and whispered, "My name's Lincoln. I'm going to get you out of here."

Bellamy did a double take. "Help us?" He said incredulously.

"Yeah, could you have decided that before you broke my ribs?" Arlean hissed.

Lincoln bowed his head. "I am truly sorry about that, but I had to make it believable."

"Is this a trick? Why would you betray your own people?" Bellamy scowled at the grounder.

"Why would your own people deliver you to your death?"

"They're not our people." Alrean spoke up, slipping the shirt over her head. "At least not anymore," she scowled.

"I see." Was all Lincoln said. "You must've made them very upset for them to deliver you to a fate like this."

Bellamy and Arlean exchanged glances. "You could say something like that."

Lincoln just nodded and stood up. "I assure you this is not a trick. I truly want to help you, I don't agree with my people's decision about your fate. They have decided you have no weapons and are no longer a source of information or leverage. So you are to be executed."

"How hospitable." Arlean said dryly , pulling herself up with Bellamy's help.

"It is our way." Lincoln shrugged and then silently cut through the back of the tent with a wicked looking knife.

Once they were a good distance away from the grounder's camp, they stopped.

"What's going to happen to the rest of the 100?" Bellay asked, as they caught their breath.

"I'm sorry," Lincoln said. "But they will be killed." He glanced at the sky. "The attack will have already commenced by now."

"What!" Bellamy yelled, "My sister's there! I have to go back and get her!" Panic was written on his face.

Lincoln studied him for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"She's my sister!"

"Follow me," Lincoln took off at a brisk walk. "But we must hurry if we are to save her life."