When Songbirds Fly | Bellamy Blake

Chapter Eighty-One: Shifting Sands

TW// Brief detail of injury

—

'Do you regret it?'

Pulling another piece of rubble loose from the pile and tossing it aside, Bellamy frowns. 'Regret what?'

I manage to break away a large piece that is followed by a cascade of dust and rock fragments. My attempt to lift it fails. He rushes over just in time to catch the other end, helping me to lug it over to the pile of discarded stones. 'This,' I reply quietly. 'Coming back.' My gaze wanders over to the girl helping some of the younger kids stay amused on the other side of the square.

The concrete slab hits the ground with a loud thud. I wince but quickly ease at the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. The pale sun casts a glint in his umber eyes. He sighs, 'Is this about Kane? I don't think he meant for this to seem like—'

'It's everything. Everything about this feels wrong. I just— I don't think this is home anymore.'

His gaze softens and he opens his mouth in to respond, stopping at the sight of something behind me. Miller and another man approach, their heads covered by thin hoods. There is a determination in his eyes that I have never really seen before.

Quickly stepping out in front of them, Bellamy raises his hands as if to warn them back. 'Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Where are you going?'

'Wish I could tell you, Bellamy.'

'Octavia told you not to?'

Scoffing, I take a step forward. The hand still on my shoulder is enough to silence what I really want to say to Miller. I am quickly made aware of Clarke's approach. She stops beside me and glances to the forces lining up near the gates to Polis. 'They're going to Shallow Valley,' she realises with a gasp, immediately turning on her heel and storming towards them.

'Clarke?' She ignores Miller's panicked shout. 'Clarke!' he shouts it this time and harshly pulls on her wrist to turn her back around. 'You can't just do whatever the hell you want here.'

'I'm guessing you're moving ahead of the army to scout forward terrain.' Her eyebrow quirks, challenging him to dare question her. 'Which route are you taking? It's Sandstorm Season. The wind moves in a predictable path. I've made the trip dozens of times. Trust me, you need my help.'

At first I'm certain that he'll refuse. But then, glancing to the endless stretch of desert that can be seen just over the lowest points of the ruined city, he nods.

—

The door to an old house creaks open to reveal Octavia, Indra and a woman I take a moment to recognise as Kara Cooper — a former resident of Farm Station. The clothing and tattoos, especially the thick chevrons marking the centre of her forehead, render her almost unrecognisable.

'Why? What are you thinking?' Indra asks, still unaware of our presence. Bellamy and I remain on the steps outside. I squeeze his hand but he pulls away. Nothing can tear his focus away from his sister.

'My question exactly,' Clarke says.

Cooper immediately scowls. 'Miller, your orders were to go to—'

'I know my orders. I think we should listen to what Clarke has to say.'

The velvety, crimson fabric of Octavia's low-hanging hood casts a shadow across her brow. A faint stain now lingers where the "paint" had previously been smeared. She warily looks to Miller before inclining her head, a sign for Clarke to continue. The blonde stands a little taller. 'You can't take the sea route.'