SOLDIER
book one
It's been 97 years since a nuclear explosion radiated life on Earth and life support on The Ark is now failing. In a desperate attempt to grant the citizens of the SpaceCraft more time, 100 juvenile delinquents are sent down to the...
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A LIGHT rain drizzled over the camp, dampening the mud and forming tiny beads on Vivienne's wavy hair. She had been toiling away at the wall for hours, working in silence alongside Connor and Mbege. Warm sweat trickled down her back, sticking her t-shirt to her skin, while fatigue weighed down her arms and her legs pleaded for rest.
Across the camp, Murphy paced back and forth, his boots gathering thick layers of dirt with each step. He barked orders at the weary kids, pulling some up from the ground and prodding others back to work. Vivienne observed his miserable demeanor, contemplating how much he had changed since that morning.
Even if Vivienne approached him with kindness, Murphy would never admit that Bellamy's teasing had unsettled him, causing an unexpected sense of shame. He felt embarrassed by how Vivienne Kane, of all people, managed to affect him. Determined to hide these feelings, Murphy kept his head down and intensified his assertiveness more than ever. Each time he locked eyes with Vivienne, his heart tightened, prompting him to bury any hint of vulnerability deep within.
"Kane!" Bellamy's voice echoed across the camp from where he stood just outside a makeshift tent fashioned from scrap parachute material. Vivienne's head snapped in his direction, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension tightening her chest. With a single nod from Bellamy, she hurried over without hesitation, her mind racing with possibilities of what he might want.
"Yeah?" Vivienne asked as she approached, tilting her head back to meet Bellamy's steely gaze. He remained silent, his expression unreadable, but he pulled back the tent flap and gestured for her to enter first. Ducking slightly under Bellamy's broad arm, Vivienne stepped inside, aware of his presence close behind her, which only heightened her unease.
Inside the tent stood Clarke, Jasper, and Octavia, each wearing expressions that conveyed a mixture of concern and tension. Clarke paced back and forth within the confines of the small tent, her arms tightly crossed over her chest, her brow furrowed with worry.
"What's going on?" Vivienne asked aloud, her gaze darting between Clarke, and Bellamy, who stood close behind her with a stern expression fixed on Clarke. Clarke paused mid-stride, her eyes locking onto Vivienne's with a mix of relief and apprehension.
The tent fell into an eerie silence as Octavia reached towards the makeshift table between them, deftly pulling a piece of scrap material off a small pile. Vivienne leaned forward, her breath catching as the reveal came—two severed fingers and a bloodied knife. Though it wasn't the grisly sight of dismembered body parts that shook her; it was the knife she recognized all too well.
"Wells is dead," Clarke's voice broke the heavy silence, trembling with emotion. Her heart felt shattered at the news, especially since she and Wells had only reconciled the night before, rekindling their lifelong friendship.
Feeling her breath catch in her throat, Vivienne let out a trembling sigh as tears welled up in her eyes. Though she and Wells had never been particularly close, and she hadn't always been fond of him, they had grown up together. Vivienne had witnessed every awkward phase Wells went through, every stumble over his words when speaking to Clarke, and she had been there for him when his mother passed away. Vivienne couldn't fathom that the boy she had practically been raised with was now gone.
"The knife was made of metal from the dropship," Clarke eventually spoke again, subtly wiping tears that had silently trickled down her face.
Jasper looked at her with wide eyes, his fingers anxiously gripping his jacket. "What do you mean?" he queried, his voice edged with concern.
"Who else knows about this?" Bellamy asked his sister, his arms crossed over his chest as he stood uncomfortably close behind Vivienne.
Octavia, hunched over the table, shook her head. "No one," she assured him, lifting her gaze to meet her brother's. "We brought it straight here."
"Clarke?" Jasper pressed again, pulling Clarke's gaze away from the knife still resting on the table.
"It means the Grounders didn't kill Wells." Sickening bile rose up in Vivienne's throat as Clarke spoke, knowing exactly whose knife that was. "It was one of us," Clarke finished, looking around the table. Vivienne refused to look up, unwilling to face the grim reality that was becoming increasingly likely.
Jasper let out a shaky breath. "So there's a murderer in the camp?"
"There's more than one murderer in this camp," Vivienne almost snapped, her hands bracing against the table as her head began to pound.
"Kane's right," Bellamy unexpectedly backed her up. "This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet. Besides, we don't even know whose knife that is," he added, gesturing towards the knife lying ominously on the table.
Octavia stood tall, her eyes locking onto Vivienne with an intensity that made Vivienne squirm. "She does," Octavia stated firmly.
Vivienne's heart skipped a beat, her posture stiffening in response. "What?" she blurted out, her voice tinged with both surprise and apprehension.
"You've been acting strange ever since we showed you that knife. Whose is it? Is it yours?" Octavia's voice rang with accusation as she closed the distance between them, her gaze unwavering.
Vivienne scoffed and took a step back. "I grew up with Wells. Why would I want to kill him?" Her forehead tightened, eyebrows scrunching together in disbelief that anyone would suspect her of harming anyone, especially Wells.
"Viv," Clarke intervened, gently placing a hand on Octavia's shoulder and taking her place. "If you know whose knife this is, you need to tell us. People have a right to know."
An intense silence settled over the tent once more, and Vivienne felt trapped. Her eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights, her chest heaving with every breath, heart pounding in her ears. Bellamy observed silently from behind her, his eyes narrowing at the two blondes, a mix of concern and calculation in his gaze. He valued Vivienne's quiet obedience; it was why he appreciated having her around. Bellamy could issue any order, and she would follow without question, unlike some of the other boys he kept close.
"Clarke," Bellamy's voice was firm yet softer than usual. "Back off," he warned, feeling an odd sense of protectiveness towards Vivienne. Though he put it to his instinct to protect Charlotte, a sentiment he shared with Vivienne.
Jasper carefully picked up the knife, turning it over until he found an inscription carved on the handle. Tracing his fingers over it, Jasper muttered the initials he read. "J. M."
All eyes now focused on Jasper, who looked up from the knife, realization dawning on his face. Vivienne's stomach dropped as she glanced back at Clarke, seeing the truth sink in. "Clarke..." she pleaded, her hands gripping the other blonde's arms in desperation, trying to prevent her from leaving.
"John Murphy," Clarke's voice seethed through gritted teeth as she pushed past Vivienne, heading straight for the tent exit.
"Clarke!" Vivienne's voice rose sharply. She shoved past Bellamy and tightened her grip on Clarke's wrist, more forcefully than she intended, desperate to halt her friend's reckless course. "If you go out there and announce that... they'll kill him."
Clarke hesitated for a moment, contemplating Vivienne's words. Then, with a determined shake of her head, she tore her wrist away. "The people have a right to know," she repeated firmly before striding confidently outside, heading straight toward Murphy.
