When Songbirds Fly | Bellamy Blake

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Molotov

TW// Alcohol, mention of addiction, fire

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The Strategy Room is already occupied when I arrive early the next morning. I stand in the doorway, unsure of whether or not to leave. The meeting is important enough to include King Roan, as well as Kane, Bellamy and Monty.

I soon become aware of them watching me. 'Sorry,' I murmur awkwardly, 'I just wanted to see how things were coming. I've done what I can for the water tanks but there's nothing more I can do. Sh-Should I go?'

'No, it's all right, Wren. Come in.'

I nod slowly at Kane's response. Taking the spot next to Bellamy, I offer him a weak smile which he instantly returns.

Monty continues, leant over the central desk which is strewn with blueprints of Arkadia, maps of the surrounding areas and  — most importantly — a route to the port for Becca's Island; today's mission. 'Sectors Three, Four and Five sustained the worst damage. We lost the Server Room, all of our processors, and life support systems, and half of our living quarters. Now, backup power will keep the lights on at night in the rooms that survived, but we'll have no heat or running water, and no way to restore it or reseal the ship before the radiation gets here.'

The others are silent. Slowly and very awkwardly, I raise my hand. I'm not completely sure why. I'm assuming it's something to do with the unexpected presence of royalty in the room.

Kane seems to realise this. His lips twitch slightly upwards in amusement but he can't sustain it for any longer, not with all of the stress he's under. 'Yes, Wren?'

'I might be able to get us some taps, maybe even some low-pressure, low-temp showers. We can do it like we did back at the camp: plastic bottles with a few holes. Don't even need a tap, the cap does the job. It works great, although I'm not sure what would happen if we drank from the same plastic containers for that long, what with all the little... things.'

He and Roan exchange glances, unsure. But then I feel the familiar touch of an arm brushing against mine. Glancing up, I find Bellamy watching me with a look that I'm still not completely sure I recognise. Maybe it's pride, or simply just agreement. He clears his throat and says, 'That's a good idea. And she's more than capable of doing this with limited equipment. If she can keep a hundred teenagers clean and hydrated for a month with no actual tools, she can do this.'

Hurriedly pulling my loose curls down to conceal the slight flushing of my cheeks, I shrug and force a smile. 'Okay, running water! Good news! There's gotta be more good news... right?'

'Well, no one died.'

'See? That's always a good thing.'

'Forget the Ark. It was never gonna save us all anyway.' We all look to the doorway, finding Clarke's forlorn gaze on us. I hope that she hasn't given up. She has always been the one most determined to ensure our survival. But instead, her face begins to bear a new kind of hope. 'We need to focus our resources on the Nightblood solution. Is the hydrazine loaded?'

This time when I look around, it's like the room has been sucked of any energy. We know that she's right, but the knowledge that all of that work was a waste feels like a punch to the gut.

Bellamy's shoulders sink. This is when I realise just how much the days have taken a toll on him. His whole face is pale and sunken. His cheekbones stick out, his eyes rimmed with dark circles like bruises. Even his crow black hair, which usually has a slight bounce to it, hangs in matted tangles, greasy and unkempt.

'It's in process,' he replies warily, 'but, Clarke, it isn't gonna be an easy ride.'

'What don't I know about?'