Descendants of Kane (probably won't update anymore, stopped watching)

18

It was two days of the most intense fear of my life—pure pants wetting terror—I was scared the grounders were going to get me, I was scared the reapers were going to get me, I was scared one of those bobcat things were going to get me, and most of all I was scared the mountain men were going to get me.

            I was hiding in a tree of all places, anywhere to make sure the mountain men didn’t find me, and I was desperate to find anybody who wasn’t trying to kill me. God, I was so tired, and I hadn’t slept since Murphy and I had sex last, but I had to stay awake in case somebody came.

            Were there straggling grounders running through the woods? Yes, and sometimes I would shoot them just to make sure I was awake and alive. The only time I would ever go back to camp was if I ran out of bullets, and I would climb up to the second story hole and get some.

            I was determined not to die, but I had to realize that out here I would survive two weeks by myself; there was no way in hell I would go to that mountain for safety. Who even knows if the forty-eight are even alive?

Quietly, I slid down from the tree, because I was nearly out of water. The forest was silent, not even the birds were chirping, and that terrified me. I slung my black backpack over my shoulder, held my gun high, and began to walk through the underbrush.

            I started to think about the Ark; it literally fell from the sky with the landing thrusters on, so somebody had to have launched them—an entire space station just doesn’t accidentally fall from the sky! My dad could be on the ground, but I have no idea where to look.

            In the distance, near a stream, were two grounders; they looked to be unarmed, but you never know out here. The woman was filling a jug up in the stream, and the man was standing watch next to her.

            I dashed behind the nearest tree I could find, and lined up my shot at the big male grounder. Once I thought I had the perfect shot, I squeezed the trigger, but I missed. The woman began to run away from me, but the man drew his wooden bow and arrow.

            This time, I knew I had the perfect shot, and when I squeezed the trigger I heard the menacing click. “Shit,” I mumbled, “Shit, shit, shit.”

            I felt around in my pants pockets trying to find ammo, but to no avail. The grounder released the bow string, and in what felt like slow motion, I saw the arrow fly through the air; it lodged it’s self into my right thigh, and I screamed in pain.

            Then, I went down onto my knees, and the grounder released another arrow into my stomach; this one hurt much more. He ran into the woods to find the woman leaving me here to die.

            Slowly, I crawled back against the tree, and took off my back pack to use as a pillow. God, I wish Clarke was here right now.

When the night fell upon the desolate woods I was sure I was doomed, because when night falls all the scary things come out to play—hallucinatory or otherwise.

            I was pretty much forced to break the arrow shafts in half, because they were just in my way. Now, I was leaned up against my backpack with a gun that had no bullets in it aiming at unseen predators, and I felt even more scared.

            This must have been what my team of gunners felt when I abandoned them, because I got scared. I let those eleven people die all because I was scared and selfish. Who does that? Those eleven kids had families who loved and cared about them, and if I wasn’t such a wuss they would be alive; or we’d all be slaughtered together.