Cobwebs and Flies

Ch7• Skin and Bones

The hunting party had been gone an awfully long time, people were talking, whispering various rumors of what could have happened out there. That's when Atom ran in, bursting through the gates short of breath, panting as if he'd been running for miles; perhaps he had been? Finally catching his breath, Atom began to explain why he and several other boys had run back here in panic and fear.

"We were attacked," He began, quickly interrupted by Clarke.

"Was it grounders?"

"No," he stood straight, looking Bellamy in the eyes, "something much worst. There were a dozen men in radiation suits with guns surrounding us. They threw some kind of pink gas and we began to feel dizzy but managed to get away."

Bellamy looked around, "Where's Murphy?"

"They took him." Atom sounded devasted and disappointed in himself for letting this happen to him.

Bellamy's eyes widened like a full moon and he felt his head spin for a moment, afraid he was going to faint. He managed to get himself under control long enough to sit down on the nearby log, his mind immediately thinking up a plan to get him back. His thoughts were racing, his breathing shallow at the idea of Murphy locked up alone and afraid. Clarke approached him as if she read his mind, "Bellamy, we can't just run blindly around the woods with such a threat. We need you, we can't lose you too."

Bellamy huffed, "Murphy needs me."

He jumped up to his feet and demanded answers from Atom, nearly begging him to take him back to wherever it was that they had been ambushed.

***

Murphy's head felt heavy, falling above his shoulders as he struggled to keep his eyes opened. Whatever that pink mist was, it had made him feel weak and sleepy, leaving him defenseless. He slipped in and out of consciousness while he was dragged away from his friends, the men in radioactive suits and gas masks forcing Murphy to follow them. His body couldn't protest so he let himself get taken away in hopes that this wasn't the end of him.

It felt eternal, the neverending travel to what felt like the other side of the planet when they finally reached their destination. Murphy's eyes were slightly open, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of their location: Mount Weather. Wasn't this the place they were originally intended to find in order to survive? Murphy was carried into the bunker until they sealed the door, several men already taking off their suits.

Murphy let himself go limp, allowing them to force him into a metal cage until they decontaminated him. Cold water covered him, making him shiver and woke him up until he found himself on the ground, a rough bristle brush scrubbing away at his skin. It lasted too long and Murphy was beginning to scream, his voice echoing into the void; no one was going to hear him, no one would save him.

When they finished, he was given a blue hospital gown, the same he had worn when he was sick as a child in the Ark's infirmary. He was dragged across the cold cement, his feet bleeding at the friction until they reached a white room which they unlocked with a combination before throwing him to the cold ground and shutting the door behind him.

He noticed the brightness of the room; it was a white room with a white hospital bed and a white couch for him to sit on. Of course, Murphy was definitely planning on simply sitting down and remaining calm while taking a quick nap. Obviously, the young boy screamed, jumping to his feet before pounding against the door with both fists. He didn't stop even when his hands were caked with blood and the door was smeared with his pain, he kept demanding to be free. There was no response, when he looked out the circular window of the door, he saw nothing but an empty hallway with other rooms, all pitched black and soulless. He was truly alone.

Murphy eventually gave up, lying down on the hospital bed. It was a soft mattress, he felt himself melt into it but it could never compare to sleeping on the ground next to Bellamy who held him protectively.

His mind was awake but his body weak, after hours of countless screaming, he had lost his voice, slightly irritating his throat. He remained on the bed, eyes staring up at the white ceiling and the bright lights. The more he stared at those light, the less he saw around him, bringing some peace to his mind. He thought about this morning, when he was in the cool water with Bellamy, when they wrestled and how Bellamy most likely let him win for he was very muscular, arms twice the size of his. He could remember, he could feel Bellamy's lips on his, ashamed of himself for being a coward and running away.

The last time Murphy had opened his heart, he was crushed, leaving him permanetly scarred and damaged when it came to love. Regardless of how Bellamy made him feel, Murphy just couldn't accept the fact that he deserved love. He thought of himself as a monster, someone who only cared about saving his own ass.

Just when Murphy thought he would finally get some sleep, the door opened and two guards accompanied by a man with thick and voluminous hair who was wearing what looked like an expensive baby-blue suit walked inside the room. He gave them a nod and they walked towards him, looking at him as a test subject.

"Take his blood." The man said, the taller guard with copper hair obeying and drawing out a needle.

"Get away from me!" Murphy demanded, brutally retrieving his arm from the man's grip.

"Cage, what do we do?"

Murphy looked at the leader, Cage, and he held a pleading look in his eyes but Cage dismissed him like one would discard trash. "Restrain him, Emerson."

The guard, Emerson, who was not only taller but much stronger than the second guard, took out handcuffs and fought Murphy to get them on. Murphy didn't have much fight left in him, but he was ready to risk it all if it meant he would live. The second guard pulled out a syringe and pushed it into Murphy's neck, leaving him paralyzed and unable to move. His mind was awake but his body was unresponsive. He watched them handcuff his wrists to two metal rings attached to the white wall above his head. His feet would bound to each bedpost and Emerson proceeded to draw Murphy's crimson blood.

He closed his eyes, picturing himself anywhere else but here. When they were finished, they left him there, unable to move and tied to the bed with his mind screaming for help. No one could hear him, his lips were unable to move, he could solely dart his eyes from side to side, trying to find a way out of this. There was none; the only thing there was was a painting of a dark night illuminated by stars in spirals of colors, revealing texture and talent within every stroke. He looked at it and wondered if Earth was really ever that peaceful.