When Songbirds Fly | Bellamy Blake

Chapter Fifty-Six: The Tinder Box

TW// Injury, fire

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'Bellamy?'

I sit alone on the porch, watching people go about their lives. The wooden slats of the chair beneath me groan in complaint when I try to shift into a more comfortable position.

The radio clutched in my hand remains silent. Huffing, I try again. 'Bellamy, do you read me? It's Wren.'

Nothing.

'It's been a day since you said you'd come back, and... you're not here. Everyone else but you and Stephens is back. They don't know where you are.'

Still, nothing. Not even static.

'Please, Bellamy. I'm getting really worried. Just give me a sign, anything. I don't care. Just tell me you're alive.'

With each second of silence, I can feel my hope growing dimmer and dimmer.

'I feel so alone. Abbs and Raven are supposed to be on Becca's Island, you're not here, and I just found out yesterday that Kane isn't on Clarke's list. Did you know that? I'm hoping you didn't. Would you tell me... if you were here?'

My tone rises slightly, becoming higher, more desperate. It's the voice I use when I want him to tell me something, the sweet and innocent voice that he can rarely say no to.

But he doesn't even say no.

'Bell,' I finally sigh, 'I need to tell you something. I don't think I can wait much longer. If I do, I'm pretty sure I'll lose my mind. Please come home soon, okay? Come home and we'll find some time to talk properly about everything. Please?'

The sound of shouting suddenly grabs my attention. My head snaps up, eyes following the swift movements of a horse galloping into camp. It skids to a halt and I see a figure dismount, carrying with them a body. A body I immediately recognise.

'Hang on. I think Octavia's back.' Jumping to my feet, I snatch my crutches and begin to make my way towards the Loading Bay as quickly as I possibly can.

Clarke, Niylah, Harper, Monty and the stranger are all crowded around one of the tables when I arrive. I come to a stop, staring in shock at Octavia's bruised and bloodied form. 'Oh my God, O? O? What the hell happened to her?'

Clarke doesn't reply. Rolling back her sleeves, she begins to start on chest compressions. Between every few pushes, she glances up at the stranger. 'Who are you? How did this happen to her?'

The stranger is tall, athletically built. His strong features and muscles are still visible despite the layers of leather and fur that clothe his body. Shoulder-length locks of hickory fall across his face, barely hiding the markings on the olive skin. A line of small circles spans from the beginning of his hairline to the space between his almost pitch black eyes. I can see another tattoo on his left collarbone, only just visible under his shirt — the etched silhouette of a butterfly.

He speaks calmly and politely, not tearing his eyes from Octavia for a second. 'Ilian kom Trishanakru. I was on my way home from Polis when I found her.'

Clarke begins to blow into Octavia's mouth, in the hopes that the rescue breaths may get just a little more oxygen into her bloodstream. I edge closer and take her limp hand in mine. Fingers twitch. Octavia coughs. Her eyes flutter open.

'Get her to Medical, now.'

I step aside to allow the others to fetch a stretcher, pausing when Clarke turns to Ilian. 'Getting her here saved her life. Thank you.'

She then comes back to stand next to me. Octavia draws in a trembling gasp, her head lolling to the side and her fingers grasping weakly at the sides of the table in attempts to pull herself up. 'Hey,' I take her hand in mine and hold it tight, 'you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine, O.'