Taming Chaos // J.M // The 100

Chapter 22

"The best way to get revenge. . ."

Ethan sees red. Connor is coughing-gasping-crying, blood splattering like droplets onto his hand. He calls out desperately for Clarke. Following him is Derek, tears of red staining his cheeks, stumbling down the slope and crashing into his friend.

Ethan watches from the entrance of the dropship, lips parted, ". . . from your enemy. . ."

Clarke's outside, spinning in a slow circle. He sees the darkness around her eyes, the stains across her skin, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Clarke meets his terrified stare. They've already come to the same conclusion. 

". . .is through another enemy."

Clarke darts back into the dropship, breezing past Ethan and disappearing through the tent flap to check on Murphy. 

He didn't escape. He was let go.

John Murphy is the grounders revenge.

Ethan rushes towards Connor and Derek, hauling them up by their arms. "You two, with me." 

Moving away from the food, the water, the people, Ethan and the sick make it to the dropship to quarantine. He's well aware that there's no blood dripping from his nose, no violent cough forcing its way out of his mouth. Not like them.

He heaves two uncooperative bodies to the floor, slapping Derek on the cheek to keep his eyes open.

From there he catches Murphy coughing violently into his hand, Clarke beside him and Bellamy arguing above her.

"You waited for the grounder's to retaliate for the bridge?"

Bellamy nods.

"This is it." Clarke sags beside Murphy, the latter clutching at his stomach in fitful breaths. She looks across at Bellamy. "Murphy's the weapon."

Ethan closes his eyes.

"And I brought him here." He says, digging his elbows into his knees.

Bellamy pins Murphy with a glare, "He was coming here either way. The grounders knew that. Is this your revenge? Helping the enemy?"

Clarke drags a wet cloth across Murphy's face as he answers, "I didn't know about this. I swear." He grits out.

"Stop lying! When are they coming?"

Ethan sticks to the wall to avoid Bellamy. He could be carrying the same sickness as the others and he can't risk passing it on.

He collects rations, circles the pool of vomited blood and crouches next to a pale Murphy. Nudging Clarke's knee, Ethan hands over one of the small ration packs.

"Thank you." She gathers it in her hands, ducking to be seen by Murphy. "Think. What can you tell us that's useful? Did you hear anything?"

Murphy slowly shakes his head.

He looks at Ethan with his undivided attention, trying to convince him. "They are vicious." His eyes bore into him. "Cruel."

The proof is there. The proof is Murphy.

Ethan draws his lower lip between his teeth, breaking the shared gaze to open the second ration pack in his hands. He tastes something metallic, and reminds himself to use that cloth for his own benefit.

To an outsider, it'd look as though he and Murphy went a few rounds.

Their chance at an alliance is long lost. Both sides of this "war" have "bad" people. One action leads into another, one person wants revenge for what unfolded, and then it's a continuous cycle because the more it happens, the more people die. Loved ones of the dead will continue to want revenge on their behalf. It never ends.

Unfortunately, Bellamy's people have guns and lots of them. They'll cause grief with the flick of a finger without even thinking of the possible repercussions. And when the Soldiers come down from the Ark. . .

Bellamy unwisely steps closer, "You wanna see vicious?"

Clarke holds out a hand, stopping him. "Don't. Whatever this is spreads through contact."

"I feel fine," Ethan says. If we don't take into account my probable concussion. Thanks, Bellamy.

When he hands a small piece of dried meat to Murphy, he meets Bellamy's glare with one of his own, daring to be stopped. 

Murphy's shaking fingers secure the food, but he doesn't eat it.

"You found him first?" Clarke asks, eyes narrowing at the floor in thought.

Ethan nudges Murphy's hand. "Yeah."

Wisely, Murphy keeps his eyes away from a heating Bellamy and breaks the jerky into a smaller piece, eating it after a seconds search.

"Clarke!"

She turns at the call of her name to watch Finn stumble inside, stopping abruptly when he sees Clarke alive and breathing. Worries squashed, he breathes out and braces his hands on his hips.

"Finn, you shouldn't be in here. No one should."

"I heard you were sick." He shuffles back and forth on his feet, cataloguing who was in the room.

Clarke sighs, knowing she can't keep the vital information from everyone, especially from Finn. "I don't know. It's some kind of hemorrhagic fever. We just need to contain it before -"

A loud thud causes them all to tense. Ethan turns around to see Derek grunting into the floorboards, limbs jerking wildly. That was quick, Ethan watches with wide eyes, is it going to happen to everyone?

Clarke stands and bolts over to the body. She shrugs off Finn's hands and orders him to go wash up immediately, but he stands there and keeps the appendages away from his body, waiting.

Ethan stays glued to the floor, heart slamming against his ribcage.

"What the hell is happening to him?"

"I don't know."

Derek slumps, his face landing in a pool of his own blood.

Ethan looks away when he doesn't get back up.

"Is he. . ?"

Clarke's breathing is erratic when she lifts her fingers from a pale neck. Her eyebrows are drawn in tightly when she looks up. "He's dead."

Ethan stares at the wall. He can't seem to blink, eyes darting over details in the metal and engraining them in his head. Every scratch and dent. Every drop of blood.

Blood that links back to Murphy and the two others infected.

Having made contact when bringing him inside.

"Octavia." Ethan snaps his head up with the remembrance, "Octavia was with them when they found Murphy."

Bellamy is out the door in five seconds flat.