Conflate | Bellamy Blake ¹ ✓

※ | chapter twenty-five

❝can someone come up with something that doesn't involve killing everyone?❞

-scott mccall, teen wolf

♛

CLARKE'S HAND IS STEADY as she moves the orange tip of the blade toward the bullet wound in Raven's back. It's a tricky spot- just above her right leg and almost at her hip. I cringe when the blade touches the red flesh, causing Raven to scream in pain as it sizzles. Finn clenches tightly onto her hand for moral support while I hurry to place the damp rag on the spot the knife had touched.

"That should stop the external bleeding," Clarke sighs and sets the knife on the tray beside Raven's leg. A thin layer of sweat coats her forehead from the heat of the blade.

"I don't understand," Finn says, looking across Raven at Bellamy and I. "How did Murphy get a gun?"

"Long story," Bellamy replies once again. I bite my lip and nod along with his vague response; there's too much going on to go into detail right now.

"We got lucky," Raven breathes to Finn with the grimace still on her face. "If Murphy hit the fuel tank instead of me, we'd all be dead."

"Wait, there's rocket fuel down there?" Clarke questions, making me shake my head and remove the cloth from Raven's skin. It's a dropship that hurtled us through the atmosphere. Of course there's a fuel tank in the bottom. "Enough to build a bomb?"

Raven nods weakly. "Enough to build a hundred bombs..." She sighs. "If we had any gunpowder left."

"Let's get back to the Reapers," Bellamy cuts in, holding Lincoln's sketchbook in his hand. The page is flipped to a detailed drawing of a vicious-looking man's face that's covered in intricate tattoos. They swirl around his eyes and ears like shadows. His ears are covered in piercings, as well as two on his bottom lip. "Maybe they'll help us."

"Does that guy look like he wants to help?" I ask Bellamy, eyebrows raised at the picture. The expression of the so-called Reaper looks anything but friendly and inviting.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?" Bellamy questions Clarke and Finn. They share a grave look.

"Not this enemy," Clarke answers almost as if she has experienced them. It brings up questions in my mind about what on earth happened to them while they were gone. "We saw them. Trust me, it's not an option."

"There's no time for this," Finn interrupts in a hushed whisper like we're sharing some kind of secret. He glances between Clarke and I. "Can she walk or not?"

"No way," I respond instantly. "Unless you want more damage and the bullet to bury itself even deeper, I'd say no walking for a while."

Clarke nods in agreement. "We have to carry her."

"The hell you will." Raven struggles to sit up, her face twisting in even more pain as her voice cracks. "I'm good to go!"

"Hey, listen to me," Clarke commands so sternly that Raven pauses. It's such a doctor-like tone that I'm reminded of when Abby would speak to her like this. "Like Fallon said, that bullet is still inside you. If by some miracle there's no internal bleeding, it might hold until we get somewhere safe. But you are not walking there. Is that clear?"