Bellarke One Shots Book 1

33) The Most dangerous world

In a past life, or maybe a future one, Monty thought he must have been meant for more than this. He was good at chemistry, had a real knack for plants, and maybe in some other world this would help him, but now it proved practically useless. Sometimes, when he was meant to be getting the miniscule hours of sleep he could steal for himself, he sat and thought about what kind of future he would have had if nothing went wrong.

"Shake a leg, Monty," Jasper cooed in his ear, plopping down on top of him on the couch. Monty groaned slightly, pushing him away and chuckling slightly as he clattered loudly to the ground. These days, pretty much the only joy Monty got was from Jasper and his craziness; how Jasper managed to still be so joyful after everything they'd been through, Monty had no idea.

"Where to today?" Monty muttered, pushing himself up on the couch.

"Clarke thinks it's time for a change of scenery," Jasper stated.

"I do," Clarke added, appearing in the doorway already packed and ready to go. "Get your stuff together, we're going into the city."

"You think that's a good idea?" Monty proposed, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

"Nothing these days seems like a good idea," she returned with a scoff. "Washington DC seems better than dying out here in the burbs with no food."

"So that means we need to do a supply run?" Jasper groaned. "I was getting really used to not seeing grounders."

"Well, get your game faces on, cause we're leaving as soon as you get your lazy asses up," Clarke ordered.

As long as he would live, Monty was pretty sure he would never get used to the feeling of a gun hanging over his shoulder. It was a necessary evil, he knew that, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Clarke seemed to pick it up too easily, and Jasper grew to be comfortable with it, but Monty was sure he would always carry a bit of awkwardness around with it.

"Conserve bullets," Clarke ordered, "only shoot if we see a horde."

Jasper nodded knowingly, pulling out a long sword he had picked up in some medieval history teacher's office they had jaunted through when they stayed in a college for a night. Monty and Clarke usually exchanged an eye roll when he unsheathed the thing, but happiness was so difficult to find these days that they never told him to stop. Clarke grabbed a knife from the waistband of her pants, prepared to throw it at a moment's notice.

The trees seemed to shake around them, and the hairs on the back of Monty's neck stood straight up. It was hard to know sometimes whether he was being normally paranoid or paranoid for no reason at all. Something cracked to their right, and the three of them halted in their movement. A small groan came from the bush, and Jasper stepped forward as a grounder with no legs crawled pathetically toward them.

"I've got this," he stated. The sword went up and then back down, a sort of fury settling into the bones of Jasper as he swung downward. That was the only time (when Jasper was swinging or shooting) that Monty remembered Jasper had seen horrors, that he had watched Harper die in front of him and had been given no choice but to take her down when she turned. Monty hadn't been in the room, but he had seen him walk toward him with blood on his hands and a butcher knife dangling from his fingers.

"Come on, we can make it to the hospital before nightfall if we keep pushing," Clarke reminded them. Jasper gave a solid nod, and Monty silently agreed. They kept their steady pace, unbothered by any other grounders until they reached the borders of the city. It became more difficult then, the three of them all doing their part as they fought their way to Ark Hospital, and when Monty pushed the door closed behind him he couldn't help but release a sigh of relief.