Back at Camp
Murphy threw up his hands in frustration as Jasper's agonized screams echoed through the camp once again. The sound carried over the crackling fire, setting everyone on edge.
"For God's sake, can someone shut him up already?" Murphy snapped, pacing. "It's like nails on a chalkboard. We can't get a moment's peace with him screaming all night."
Bellamy, leaning against a log with his arms crossed, barely glanced up. "Relax, Murphy. The kid's not gonna last much longer. He'll stop soon enough."
Murphy scoffed. "That's your solution? Wait till he dies? Real inspiring leadership, Bellamy."
Bellamy gave him a sharp look. "What do you want me to do? We don't exactly have a medical team down here."
Before Murphy could fire back, Atom approached another boy in tow, both looking grim. "Bellamy—we still can't find Pascal and Trina. They were supposed to be back hours ago."
The camp went quiet for a moment, tension rippling through the group.
Murphy let out a low whistle. "Great. Probably the Grounders. Snatched 'em up while they were out there."
Atom shot him an irritated glare. "You don't know that."
"Please," Murphy sneered. "You've seen what's out there. What else could it be?"
"Enough," Bellamy cut in, his voice firm. "We don't know anything yet. Panicking doesn't help."
Jasper's tortured moans rang out again, cutting through the camp like a knife. Everyone flinched, the sound a reminder of how fragile their situation really was.
Murphy muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "And yet we're just sitting here, listening to him die. Yeah, the real great system we've got going."
Bellamy ignored the jab, turning to Atom instead. "Keep looking, but don't go too far. The last thing I need is more people going missing."
Atom nodded reluctantly and moved off, still looking troubled.
Not long after, Octavia stormed up to her brother, her eyes blazing with anger. "What did you do to him?" she demanded.
Bellamy looked at her, unfazed. "What are you talking about now?"
"Atom!" she snapped, pointing toward the edge of camp where Atom lingered, refusing to meet her gaze. "He won't even look at me, Bellamy. He won't talk to me. What did you say to him?"
Bellamy's expression hardened, but he didn't answer right away. Octavia's voice dropped, her fury edged with hurt. "You don't get to control everything I do. He's not just some pawn in your game."
Bellamy set his jaw, silent but defiant, while Octavia glared at him, her frustration simmering between them.
Branches snapped under our boots as we tore through the underbrush, the boar thrashing ahead of us. My heart pounded, not just from the chase but from the thought of food—real meat—so close at hand.
Luckily, this one wasn't mutated. Just a normal, stubborn boar, the kind I'd read about on the Ark. Still dangerous if cornered, but nothing compared to the nightmares radiation had spawned.
Myles and Paul had a chance earlier to bring it down, but their throws had gone wide. Now we were forced to chase it, every second of wasted energy gnawing at our stomachs.
The boar darted left, trying to cut through a thicket, but I spotted the opening before it could slip away. Instinct took over. In one smooth motion, I planted my feet, raised the spear, and let it fly.
The weapon whistled through the air, striking true. The sharpened point buried itself deep into the back of the boar's head. It let out a strangled grunt, stumbled, then collapsed heavily to the forest floor.
For a moment, silence hung in the air—then cheers erupted.
"Woahhh! Thanks, boss!" Myles shouted, wide-eyed with relief.
Connor and the others rushed forward, already working together to haul the animal back toward camp. The thought of fresh meat lit up their faces like kids at a festival.
Sterling clapped me on the shoulder with a grin. "Your skill's no joke, man. That was clean."
Monroe laughed, shaking his head. "Forget the leader—you could be a damn javelin master if you wanted."
I chuckled, brushing it off with a wave of my hand. "Yeah, yeah. I'll leave the titles for later. For now, let's just get this food home."
Still, I couldn't help the small swell of pride inside me. Not because of the kill—but because I saw it in their eyes. They trusted me.
Just then, a horn sounded in the distance. My blood ran cold.
Shit—the fog is coming.
"Everyone, follow me!" I barked, grabbing my spear. Their faces were confused, hesitant, but the urgency in my voice left no room for questions. "We can't stay here. The bunker—move!"
The horn echoed again, long and hollow, before cutting off completely. That silence was worse than the sound itself. It meant the fog was close.
"It's coming!" I shouted.
That finally broke through their confusion. Panic rippled through the group, but they followed as I took off through the trees. We ran hard, the boar slung across shoulders, every second dragging out like an eternity. The forest behind us grew hazy as the fog crept closer, swallowing the trees in its suffocating embrace.
By the time the bunker came into view, we were practically sprinting. Hearts pounding, lungs burning, we stumbled inside just as the first tendrils of fog reached the clearing. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing us in.
We made it. Barely.
Training and Bonds
Later, when the fog passed and the air cleared, we returned to camp. The boar we'd brought back became the center of everything. Knives flashed as the group skinned and cut the meat, working quickly. The metallic scent of blood clung to the air, but no one cared.
Some of the meat we grilled right away, fat dripping into the flames, hissing and popping as smoke curled into the evening sky. The rest we dried carefully, storing it away for future meals. Compared to the Ark's rations, it was rough—but here, it was survival. Here, it was victory.
Once fed, we went back to training. The clearing rang with the sounds of sparring: the clash of wood against wood, heavy breathing, the occasional grunt of pain.
I stood with Charlotte, correcting her stance for what felt like the tenth time. "Elbows tighter," I told her, moving her arms into place. "You're still leaving your chest wide open."
She wiped sweat from her brow, trying again. "Like this?"
"Better," I nodded. "But you've been at it all day. Take a break before you drop."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to argue, but finally gave in with a sigh, slumping down by the fire. "Fine… but only because you said so."
I smirked at her stubbornness before turning to another spar.
Troy and Connor were going at each other with staffs, movements fast and sharp. Troy fought with speed and confidence, every strike snapping like a whip. Connor, though—he had grit. Even when Troy pressed him hard, he refused to yield, his determination forcing him forward again and again.
Potential. That's what I saw in both of them.
As I watched, the thought struck me: these two could be my right and left hand. Troy, with his instinct and precision. Connor, with his resilience and strength. Together, they could anchor this entire group.
Around them, the others fought too, each day a little stronger, a little sharper. Blows landed cleaner. Guards held longer. Movements grew steadier.
No one complained, no one slacked. They all remembered the Grounder we had glimpsed yesterday. That single sight had burned into their minds—proof that out here, we weren't the top of the food chain.
Fear had turned into fuel. Fear had hardened into determination.
And it was exactly what we needed.
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