When Songbirds Fly | Bellamy Blake

Chapter Sixteen: We Are Grounders

A gunshot splits through the quiet of dusk.

Snatching my knife from my belt, I approach the group that have been laying landmines.

'Hey, what the hell is the matter with you?' Bellamy yells furiously.

'I-I'm sorry, man, I fell asleep. I've been on watch all day.'

Grabbing onto the boy's collar, Bellamy pins him against a tree. 'We've all been on watch all day! That bullet was one less dead Grounder.'

Octavia sighs as she glances down at the group gathered at the bottom of the hill. 'Bell, you're scaring people.'

'They should be scared! The bomb on the bridge bought us some time to prepare, but that time is up. The Grounders are out there right now, waiting for us to leave and picking us off one by one when we do. Clarke, Finn and Monty are gone, probably dead... and if you want to be next, I can't stop you, but no guns are leaving this camp! This camp is the only thing keeping us alive!'

Nobody speaks. All eyes are fixed on him.

We know he's right, we know that we're in danger. Being a leader is an impossible position in which you have to do all you can to keep your people alive. Sometimes that requires shouting, sometimes that requires fear.

I approach with a slight grimace painted across my face. Gesturing for him to take some time to cool off, I turn to face the others.

'We know you're tired. We know you're scared. So are we. But until we can be certain that we're safe, everyone needs to be extra careful. You've been amazing so far. It's not been easy. We're proud of how well you've all managed this. Now, please, get back to work. Finish these foxholes and we can all go. And I promise you, we will bring our friends back home.'

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The Drop Ship is quiet. Aside from Myles' pained moans, there isn't a sound.

I support Sterling's back with one hand, the other holding the bowl of Echinacea tincture to his mouth. He is given a dose every few hours. Thankfully, the alcohol is enough to knock him out instead of leaving us with a constantly drunk teenager to look after.

'There you go, kid,' I sigh. Placing the empty bowl on the table at the side, I help him to lie back down against a pile of my jackets, keeping his head slightly elevated.

Bellamy, who has been busy working on our defence plans, glances over his shoulder at us. I send a weak smile to him in return.

Our brief interaction is interrupted by a quiet groan from Sterling. 'Man, that stuff has got a kick.'

'Sure does.' Chuckling softly, I begin to grind down some more Echinacea roots for the next dose. 'The swelling seems to be going down already. How you feeling?'

'I feel greeeat,' he grins giddily.

Meeting Bellamy's gaze again, I shrug. 'Moonshine's probably working quite well as a painkiller. Don't you worry, kid, you'll be up and about in no time. Ready to fight the Grounders?'

'Hell yeah.' He drifts back into unconsciousness.

Joining Bellamy at his table, I look down at the map he has created. Upturned cups and metal scraps have been used to display the camp, towering over several figurines. Traps created from string and charcoal scratches mark the metal counter.

Absentmindedly rocking from heel to toe, I lean against the table. I hear his fingers begin to drum against the surface as his keen eyes remain fixed on the scene before us.

I sigh. In an effort to ease the tension, I clear my throat and gesture towards the figurines. 'Which one's you?' I ask. He doesn't reply. 'I mean, this one's got a tiny little gun. He's gotta be a mini Bellamy. Aw, does that one have little jackets? Did you make a Wren?'