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— IN THE DIM LIGHT OF THE UPPER DECK, CLEO'S HEAD GLISTENED WITH SWEAT. Dry tears covered her cheeks, her body crying for some much-needed rest. She pressed a cool cloth to Jasper's forehead, trying to lower his insanely high body temperature. Her hands shook, but she didn't know from what. Exhaustion? Emotions? The numbness gnawing at her inside didn't help her at all.
"Go," Clarke instructed, noticing the shaking hands. "They cooked some meat outside, go eat and take a nap. I'll wake you up in a few hours."
"I shouldn't," Cleo protested, shaking her head.
Her hair was out of its ponytail by that time, having come loose with all the lifting and holding down she'd had to do. Her hair tie had been thrown somewhere regrettably – she'd find it some other time.
"Really, go," she insisted. "We can take shifts."
Cleo looked at her friend before nodding, handing the towel over to her. She shakily made her way to the ladder, climbing down the rungs with trembling legs. Immediately, she was hit with the smell of cooking meat. Her stomach growled loudly in response, her feet taking her to the fire before her mind could catch up.
Outside at the fire, the two men in charge were handing out food for the delinquents – with a catch. One slab of meat for one wristband. If one didn't want to give up their wristband, they didn't get to eat.
Cleo's eyes squinted with tiredness, her body suddenly feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. She didn't have a wristband, she wouldn't be getting food.
From the sidelines, she watched sadly as her peers walked by with slabs of meat. A few offered her some, but she couldn't take that food away from kids who needed it. Murphy was right – she had never gone to bed hungry. She never worried about getting enough rations or making sure she'd be alive.
