Conflate | Bellamy Blake ¹ ✓

※ | chapter twenty

❝i know what i'm risking. my life for theirs.❞

-derek hale, teen wolf

♛

AS TIME PASSES, I start to feel weaker and weaker. Every step drains more energy than it should, like tubes are coming out of me and sucking the life from my cells. My eyes are growing increasingly more tired until it takes most of my effort just to keep them open, and when I do, they burn. My voice comes out thin and weak every time I speak.

"You should really lie down," Bellamy advises for the seventh time in the middle of one of my examinations. He holds a cloth over his mouth to keep the virus from infecting him, which makes his voice sound muffled as if he's speaking through static. He glances wearily at a coughing girl who is being carried in by two immunes.

"I'm more worried for the others than myself," I tell him tiredly before clicking off the flashlight I had used to look at Harper's throat. I nod my head toward the ladder. "You seem alright for now. Head to the third level with the people who aren't symptomatic yet. If you start to feel sick, come down here immediately."

Harper nods and adjusts the thick black headband on her forehead. She follows my orders and quickly climbs the ladder, seemingly eager to get out of the sick people zone. The hatch slams shut behind her.

It had been Clarke's idea to make a quarantine. At first, we had started off by those who had direct contact with Murphy, then the people they had contact with, and so on. The dropship was filled with coughs and groans. The air was heavy with illness and despair. With almost the entire camp infected, the ship was completely remodeled to fit the needs of the weary. Hammocks had been made from blankets and long pieces of cloth. Several cots were moved from tents and placed neatly in rows along the floor. More people were being hauled in by the minute, thickening the atmosphere.

The familiar sensation of dizziness sweeps over me as my vision starts to swirl. It was a similar feeling to when Murphy had hit me over the head with the log and given me a concussion. I feel tired, but this time instead of it invading my every thought, it seems to drag my entire body down. My muscles feel sore and achy as if I just ran ten miles without stretching.

"Yeah, maybe lying down is a good idea," I mumble, blinking in order to clear my eyesight. I rub at my eyes and start to walk toward one of the makeshift hammocks we have. A stumble causes me to trip and basically fling myself onto the bed before I fall. It creaks at my weight and wings dangerously.

"I'll tell Clarke about your condition," Bellamy says, watching me as my head flops to the side onto my shoulder. I nod and close my eyes.

But just as I do so, a bubbling cough rises and my eyes shoot open again. I quickly sit up and lean over the edge of the hammock as thick blood pours from my mouth in a seemingly endless manner. I'm choking on it, barely able to breathe as the liquid splatters onto the floor. I cough, trying to breathe through the horror. The feeling burns my stomach and is all sorts of unpleasant. Once it stops, I blink and release a shaking breath, flopping back down into the hammock.

"Here." Bellamy tosses me a clean cloth to wipe my face, but my weak body causes my reflexes to be too slow. The fabric lands on my stomach instead. He chuckles and walks closer in order to place it in my hand, his fingers grazing my skin as he does so. A shiver goes down my spine.

"Thanks," I whisper, too worn-out to tell him not to touch me. The cloth is smeared with blood after I wipe it across my lips and rub all of it off. The simple movement to do so makes me feel even more exhausted than I already am. My stomach feels less like a shark tank, so I figure I'm done throwing up for now.