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They start to run after that, and for a moment it's like survival-of-the-fittest. That is, until Jasper yelled. They go back for him, only to find the place he once layed empty. They can't do much without help and protection, so they return to the camp. But returning to the camp to find chaos isn't exactly calming. Instead of everyone sticking together to survive, they're fighting each other rather than the dangers outside of the camp.
Clarke is quick to stop the knife fight between Murphy and Wells. While Wells has a knife to the others throat, it's clear that Murphy instigated the fight. Wells wants peace, he doesn't want to fight.
Bellamy rushes to his limping sister, taking her weight off Monty. "Octavia, are you alright?" He glances at the others that went, growing confused when he sees they're empty handed. "Where's the food?"
"On Mount Weather, dumbass," Zarah sasses, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she leans against a tree with a deep breath. He simply glances at her before shifting his eyes to the rest in question.
"We didn't make it to Mount Weather," Finn adds, sitting on a fallen tree with a sigh.
Bellamy frowns. "What the hell happened out there?" "We were attacked," Clarke answers.
"Attacked?" Wells repeats, growing concerned for not only the well-being of himself, but the rest of camp. "By what?"
"Not what. Who," Finn corrects him. "It turns out when the last man from the ground died on the Ark, he wasn't the last grounder."
"It's true," Clarke backs him up. "Everything we thought we knew about the ground is wrong. There are people here, survivors. The good news is, that means we can survive. Radiation won't kill us."
"Yeah, the bad news is the grounders will," the Collins adds.
"Where's the kid with the goggles?" Wells asks, glancing around in concern.
"Like we said, we were attacked," Zarah mutters with a careless shrug. Despite how much it seemed like she doesn't care, she does. She just doesn't show it. "Not sure where, but he does have a spear in his chest."
Clarke rolls her eyes, only to get a fake grin from the girl. Her attention lands on her friend's bare wrist and she grabs it. "Where's your wristband?"
"Ask him," Wells mutters, pulling his wrist from her grip. He stares daggers into Bellamy, who doesn't say anything.
"How many?" The blonde asks, stepping towards him with anger.
"Twenty four and counting," someone else answers for him. John Murphy stands with a smug look on his bloodied face.
"You idiots," Clarke breathes out. "Life support on the Ark is failing. That's why they brought us down here. They need to know the ground is survivable again, and we need their help against whoever is out here. If you take off your wristbands, you're not just killing them. You're killing us!"
Bellamy glances at her, but takes his attention to the other surrounding people. "We're stronger than you think. Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good. How many of you can say the same? We can take care of ourselves. That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner. We are not prisoners anymore! They say they'll forgive your crimes. I say you're not criminals! You're fighters, survivors! The grounders should worry about us!"
Parts of the 100 shout in agreement and cheer him on. Zarah stays silent, too focused on the argument happening in her mind.
⃟
There is a crowd of the teens drumming on buckets with sticks. She leans against a tree as she watches, feeling a bit of comfort from the sound despite the differences of the rhythms. One of them, however, is very familiar to her.
"Alec Harding," she smiles, her arms cross as she catches his attention. She feels joy knowing her old friend is here, but she is also confused. "What the hell are you doing on the ground?"
"Same as you," he replies, the same calm expression as always on his face as he drums away. "Except, not for the same crime. Oh no, I got caught in the rations. I had some serious munchies that day."
"I'm not surprised," she shakes her head, taking a seat beside him on the fallen tree. "This whole place is bringing out the crazy in everyone, huh?"
"Not everyone," Alec shrugs, and it's obvious he is talking about himself. He always seems calm, and it's a mystery to her how. It's as if he is in a calm of his high all the time, but most of the time he's sober. "Just the privileged."
"I wouldn't say privileged. I would say passionate," she replies, turning to finally look at him. He stops stopped drumming and stares at her. "You know what I'm talking about."
"Apparently not. I thought you were on Bellamy's side," he mutters, gesturing to her bare wrist. "Kind of took me by surprise, though. I never thought you'd want your dad to think you were dead."
"I'm not on anyone's side, and I don't care what my dad thinks," Zarah corrects him. "I'm neutral. I get where they both come from. Maybe if the Arc thinks the Earth is survivable, it will save not only them, but us, too. But I get not wanting them to come down, especially with some of our crimes. Hell, if they forgive my crimes, I'd say it was the end of the world."
He nods, gently tapping the sticks against the metal softly. "Guess we'll have to wait and see what happens," he mutters and lets the volume of his drumm get louder.
"You're drumming is horrific," she criticizes, wincing. "Let me show you how it's done."
"Oh, a drum-off? It's on!" He practically shouts, gesturing to his friend's drum. He hands it to her and she holds the sticks in her hands. "May the best drummer win."
"Trust me, I will," she lamely remarks. She lets the sticks crash against the metal in a rhythm. With all that had went on throughout the day, good and bad, they all seem to get away from it. Even if it is for a few minutes.
