Not All Fun and Games

Chapter 17

I force myself with all the strength I can muster to stand back up. But I'm too late to help anyone- the spear strikes Bellamy in his right thigh, making him scream in pain.
Everything suddenly seems to speed up, as if someone were controlling the situation with a remote - and they just pressed fast-forward. People are shouting, Bellamy is screeching, gunshots are sounding.
The grounder who had speared Bellamy jumps down from the tree just in front of us. For a spilt second, we lock eyes. He's looking right at me, with his knife ready to kill. But I don't move, and my eyes don't leave his.
He's still in the air when Octavia's spear hits him in the chest, sending him flying backwards as he screams in pain. I allow myself to breathe.
Murphy stops shooting and Bellamy stops howling.
There are no more grounders.
Murphy lays Bellamy down on a patch of soft dirt. I crawl towards him and take a look at the bleeding gash surrounding the thick spear wedged into his thigh. His pants are already soaked with blood. I look up at Bellamy's face. His eyes are on me, but they're starting to go pale, like his skin. To my horror, there is foamy saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. The spear was poisoned.
I find myself beginning to lose hope when I think of something.
If the grounders were running around the woods with poisonous weapons, they must have an antidote to the poison.
"Octavia," I shout. "Is that grounder dead?" I ask, gesturing towards the large man lying before us.
She doesn't ask any questions as she bends over him, checking his pulse.
"Yeah, he is."
"Okay, good," I say. "Now search his pockets for any medicine."
She does so, and within seconds, pulls a tiny bottle from his coat.
"Great," I say, sighing with relief. "Bring it here."
Bellamy's eyes are open, but I can tell he's beginning to lose consciousness.
"No, don't leave us. Stay with us," I say to him, tapping him gently on his uninjured arm.
"Clarke, I'm sorry," he whispers, cringing with every word.
"No," I say, shaking my head. "Don't apologize."
He closes his eyes for a moment, and I fear he's passed out. But his eyes open again.
"I didn't treat you fairly," he whispers shamefully.
"Bellamy, I don't care. I'm over it," I tell him. The truth is, I hadn't been quite over it until just a few minutes ago. Until the thought of loosing him became a possibility.
He takes a deep breath. His eyes aren't focused.
"Octavia, hurry. He's loosing consciousness," I cry out. "Hurry!"
"Here," she says, handing me the small bottle. Her eyes are filled with tears and worry.
I look closely at the liquid in the glass container, hoping with all my might that it's the antidote.
"This better work," I whisper, opening it.
"What do you need it for?" asks Octavia. "Clarke, I trust you, but this is my brother," she says in a scared voice. "Please be careful."
I nod. "Octavia, this is the only thing that might work. I need to try," I say. Everything around me is blurry, and the arrow stuck in my shoulder stings like hell.
I carefully open Bellamy's mouth. He is still looking at me. His hand slides across the dirt and takes mine, squeezing it as hard as he can-which isn't hard at all.
It's his way of reassuring me, of saying he trusts me.
He speaks again. "I lied to you."
More saliva drips from his mouth. His eyes are almost white.
"I lied about the other night."
I frown, unsure of what he means.
"Clarke, I remember that night perfectly."
My eyes grow big as I realize he's talking about the night we were on the dropship together. The night he tried to kiss me-and I rejected him.
"I rememeber it all."
With these last words, foam spills down the side of his cheek.
Without any farther consideration, I pour a drop of the liquid into his mouth.
His grip on my hand loosens and his fingers drop limply into the dirt.