Chapter 7
We've decided against alarming the whole camp. We have to do this smart, because if there is a murderer among us, best not let him know that we know anything. So the next day, as we bury Wells, the official story in camp is that the Grounders have got to him. A white lie to protect everyone.
''We should tell Bellamy first,'' Octavia tells me, restless, antsy, scared. I'm not exactly at peace myself, either, especially here as we stare at the four graves. This has been our meeting place in the past couple of days, yet I cannot quite stand the sight of them - especially the name of Wells Jaha carved into the wooden plank. Staring at them is forcing me to process it, and I can't quite do that.
''I don't know,'' I tell her honestly, ''Bellamy's impulsive, who knows what he would do. Maybe Clarke?''
''Clarke's worse,'' Octavia argues, ''She'd announce some public trial or something.''
''Right.''
She has a point. Clarke holds her morals before everything. She'd be even worse than Bellamy. One thing's for sure- it would be dangerous to make a big show of it. We need to find the killer among us quietly, and extract him. I don't know how possible that is. And I'm not sure how scared we should be either. Sure, Wells wasn't a favorite in the camp, but we have to assume that none of us is safe at the moment. And it's been a couple of days now already, and all Octavia and I have done is go back and worth with what we should or should not do, failing to make a decision.
''I'll be with Jasper,'' she finally tells me before she slips away again, ''Just tell me when you figure it out.''
Right. Figure it out.
*
I watch as the whole camp is hard at work, building walls as strong as we could possibly construct with the resources that we have. I see Bellamy joke around with Charlotte as she tries to find something to do to help. It makes me smile, in spite of everything. It isn't easy finding things to smile at these days.
I can't believe what I'm doing as my feet lead me to Bellamy. Just a few days ago, I wouldn't have trusted him with a bag of berries. Now, I'm thinking he's a better choice than Clarke for dealing with a problem of this magnitude.
''Hey, Bellamy. I need to talk to you.''
He turns from the wall to face me, sweaty from hard work and the sun burning down, strands of hair sticking to his forehead.
''What's up?''
''In private.''
He nods in understanding and follows me to the edge of the camp.
''Where's your wristband?'' he asks as we walk.
''Oh,'' I look down at my naked wrist, ''Dead. Sacrificed for the greater good.''
''Monty's still at it, huh.''
I gave up the wristband yesterday and hoped my mom wouldn't have a heart-attack. If there's anything that could have made me give it up, it would be the greater good. Monty is not giving up in his attempts to use the wristbands to re-establish communication with the Ark, and right now, that's what's most important. Once he succeeds, mom and dad will know I'm okay.
After everything that's happened in this past week it's almost funny how petty and insignificant all of our troubles and the wristband drama used to be.
''Look, I need to tell you something,'' I face Bellamy the moment we're far enough. I feel a kind of nervousness in the pit of my stomach.
''What?'' he asks, fists on his hips, slightly worried by the solemn tone of my voice and look on my face.
''Wells,'' I explain, ''He wasn't killed by Grounders.''
''What do you mean?''
''I found a knife. Our knife.''
''You didn't tell anyone?''
''No. Well, Octavia knows. Figured we should keep it down until we figure out who it is. And I didn't know who to tell first.''
''It's good you came to me,'' he says.
''Clarke deserves to know,'' I tell him, ''He was her friend.''
''Yeah, but we need to be careful how we tell her and keep this thing on the low.''
''Right,'' I say, ''I'll get the knife, you get Clarke.''
''Meet us in my tent.''
I slip out, making sure no one sees me go. I find the spot quickly enough, and dig out the knife I'd buried. For the first time since the whole thing, I get to actually take a look at it.
It's dirty and muddied and some of the blood remains crusted over the blade. It looks like any other knife in camp, except that this one has initials carved in it.
J. M.
''Shit.''
Just because it's his doesn't mean he did it, I tell myself. And it's not comfort, it's the truth. Even so, I know John is the perfect one to accuse. His conflicts with Wells aside, he's made it so easy for everyone to think he'd be capable of doing this. And maybe he is, by what I've heard about him and Jasper. I don't know anymore. I don't know him anymore.
I feel like puking. He could have done it. He could have very well done it. But it also could have been anyone else. And I know, I just know that they will accuse him immediately no matter what. I feel like puking because of this discovery, and I feel like puking even more because somehow I still care about what happens to John Murphy.
If it's him, then he deserves punishment. But if it isn't him, and I could help him, save him by erasing these initials... No. No, I can't. Maybe it is him. Whatever happens, happens. I take a deep breath and calm down and get up and carry the knife back to camp. It weighs a ton in my hands.
*
''We have a murderer among us!'' Clarke almost shouts, and I shush her, instinctively telling her to keep it down. This camp only needs a little nudge to plunge back into chaos.
''There's more than one murderer in this camp,'' Bellamy reasons with her, ''This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet.''
''Get out of my way, Bellamy,'' Clarke tries to push him away and get out, meaning to blow the lid off this thing for everyone without a care for a consequence.
''Clarke, stop,'' I grab her arm instinctively, ''Please, listen.''
''Be smart about this,'' Bellamy begs her, ''Look at what we've achieved - the wall, the patrols. Like it or not, thinking the Grounders killed Wells is good for us.''
''Bellamy, we can't sleep with whoever did that among us, either,'' I argue, ''Something does need to be done. We need to figure out who it is and act accordingly.''
''Which I'm not saying we won't do, but right now, what they all believe,'' he insists, ''Trust me, it's good for us!''
''Good for us?!'' Clarke absolutely loses it, ''Oh, good for you, you mean! What?! Keep people afraid and they'll work for you?! Is that it?!''
''Yeah. That's it. But it's good for all of us. Fear of the Grounders is building that wall,'' Bellamy argues back, ''And besides, what are you gonna do - just walk out there and ask the killer to step forward?! You don't even know whose knife that is!''
''Oh, really? J.M. John Murphy. The people have a right to know.''
Exactly what I feared.
''Clarke, that doesn't mean any-''
But she's shoved her way out before I can even say it. ''Fuck,'' Bellamy curses, before we all run after her.
''You son of a bitch!'' she screams at Murphy, almost shoves him back once she gets to him.
''What's your problem?!'' he scowls back at her.
''Recognize this?'' she whips out the knife.
''It's my knife. Where'd you find it?'' he asks, sounding genuinely oblivious and surprised.
''Where you dropped it after you killed Wells.''
The crowd seems to collectively gasp. It starts buzzing with whispers.
''Where I what?!'' Murphy asks, ''The Grounders killed Wells, not me.''
''I know what you did, and you're gonna pay for it,'' Clarke insists.
''Clarke, stop, we don't know-,'' I try, but no one is actually interested in logic and reason. She doesn't spare me a glance.
''Really?!'' Murphy looks ready to laugh, ''Bellamy, you really believe this crap?!''
''You threatened to kill him,'' Clarke argues, ''We all heard you. You hated Wells.''
''Announcing it isn't a very smart way to go about killing someone, Clarke,'' I insist. Since no one is giving Murphy a chance at any sort of defense, someone has to bring up the damn arguments. John only looks at me, for one short moment. His eyes don't betray what he feels - they rarely do. That's why he always seems like the person that would be capable of doing anything, without any qualms.
''Plenty of people hated Wells,'' he only states, ''His father was the Chancellor that locked us up.''
''Yeah, but you're the only one who got in a knife fight with him,'' Clarke argues back.
''Yeah, I didn't kill him then, either!'' John responds.
''Tried to kill Jasper, too,'' Octavia adds. My head whips around to look at her in shock, because I am shocked. Yet despite it, I know I can't say anything to it. Murphy had no trouble telling anyone he was willing to it - none of us can get him out of the whole he dug up himself, whether he'd meant it or not.
''Come on. This is ridiculous,'' John almost laughs in desparation and disbelief, ''I don't have to answer to you. I don't have to answer to anyone.''
''Come again?'' Bellamy steps up.
''Bellamy, look, I'm telling you, man,'' he practically begs now, ''I didn't do this.''
He looks honest. He looked oblivious when Clarke approached him too, surprised even. He could have done it, yes; he could have. He's always been very good at surviving through his conniving, but it's something that I admired about him back on the Ark. It's what had kept us both alive for a very long time. But right now, right here... I don't know what to think anymore. What's certain is that we can't live like this, not anymore. I may not know the whole truth, but I know this is wrong. And it might get very dangerous very fast if we don't settle this in a more civilized way. I'm afraid what a crowd of delinquents on the loose might do.
''Tasha found the knife right in the pool of his blood,'' Bellamy growls at him in reply. Murphy looks at me again, but this time he looks at me like I'm some sort of traitor, like I'd thrust a knife in his back when he didn't deserve it, deep deep deep between his shoulderblades. But what could I do?! What could I have done?!?
''John-,'' I start, but my words are swallowed by the air itself.
''Is this the kind of society that we want?!'' Clarke speaks up louder to address the crowd, ''You say there should be no rules! Does that mean that we can kill each other without- without punishment?!''
''I already told you,'' Murphy reiterates, ''I didn't kill anyone.''
''I say we float him,'' Octavia suggests.
''Octavia!'' her name sounds shrill coming out of my mouth. I am not only shocked by her, but terrified - the crowd starts agreeing immediately. My hands start shaking.
''That's not what I'm saying,'' Clarke tries to reason.
''Why not?'' Octavia insists, ''He deserves to float. It's justice.''
''You're talking like this is definite. You haven't proved anything, none of you!'' I finally find my voice and shout, ''I say we give him a fair trial.''
Clarke doesn't believe he deserves a fair trial, but she nods anyway. ''I agree,'' she says, ''Revenge isn't justice.''
But Octavia is all up in a rage. ''It's justice! Float him!''
''This isn't the fucking Ark!'' I scream back, but it doesn't matter.
All hell breaks loose. The crowd is on Murphy, beating him, pulling him, and we try to stop it, screaming at them to stop it, Clarke trying to get to Murphy herself through the crowd that has enveloped her too, but it doesn't matter. They've managed to put a damn noose around his neck and tie it to a tree before I could realize what's happening. Whatever John is standing on right now isn't very stable and I realize my eyes are blurry with tears and I'm shaking in fear and I've never felt as helpless as I feel right now in this very moment. I couldn't save him. I never could save him. It's happening again, right before my eyes. I can't save him.
''You can stop this, they'll listen to you,'' Clarke begs Bellamy, but he just stands there and watches, and I can't believe he can do that - I can't believe all of these people can do this so easily. We're not even sure if he's done it or not, and I feel like it's completely beside the point. If he's a killer, what are we? What kind of savagery is this? Will I be able to fall asleep in this camp ever again? Knowing I'm surrounded by people capable of this? Who are we?!
''Bellamy!'' Myles calls out, ''You should do it!'' And the crowd starts cheering ''BELLAMY! BELLAMY! BELLAMY!'' I can't find my breath.
''I saw you in the woods with Atom,'' Clarke keeps trying, keeps begging, ''I know you're not a killer.''
''Bellamy, don't do this. Don't-,'' I can barely hear Murphy beg through the crowd. He looks so helpless and scared now, his eyes betraying everything. I'm looking at a kid - a terrified kid - for the first time in a while. And I can't help him. I can't save him. I'm on the verge of puking.
Bellamy steps forward, encouraged by the crowd.
''Bellamy, no! Stop! Please!!'' I scream, finding my voice. I pull on his arm, but he tears himself away.
''You can't do this, Bellamy!'' Clarke tries the same, but he's furious now, and he just steps up to Murphy and kicks that crate from under him like it's the easiest thing in the world. ''This is on you, princess! You should have kept your mouth shut!''
I may have screamed. I don't know. I don't hear myself. Or anyone, for that matter. All I know is I have my knife out and I am pushing my way through that rabid crowd thinking, no, this isn't on Clarke, this is on me, this is all on me.
At some point I see Finn, fighting through, trying to help me, and we're so close, so close to Murphy before they have their hands on us, and I kick and bite and fight with all I have but I am just one person against a crowd holding me back, and there is no time, John is hanging, wiggling, dying.
''Stop, okay?!'' Charlotte cries out through the crowd, though I hardly hear it, I don't really realize what's happening, ''Murphy didn't kill Wells! I did!''
Something must have happened because they suddenly let me go and I almost fall on my hands and knees right below where John is hanging, still struggling. Clarke has already run up and cut John down with an axe but I don't even realize that until he's down on the ground and it's just me and Finn untying him with shaky, numb fingers. John just sits there, shaking, coughing, trying to breathe. I don't realize I'm crying at all. I don't think I even realize that he's real right now.
Finn throws the rope as far away as he can. John isn't really calming from his fit. The crowd hasn't really settled either, but I've shut it all out. There is just me and John now, and my hand trying to touch his neck like I can help him, and my whispers screaming ''I'm sorry, I'm so sorry'' but none of it matters. He flinches away from my touch when my fingers ghost over his skin and I remember saying ''This is all my fault, this is all on me'' and he doesn't say anything, he just sits there, and I try to touch him again but before I can place my fingers anywhere, he's already taken my hand and clutched it to his chest. It lasts a moment, one eternity long moment that seems to bring us back to the Ark before either of us were locked up and we were carefree and happy and safe and loved. But his hands are cold. And his voice is cold when he speaks for the first time.
''I'm fixing this,'' he croaks with a voice I've never heard before in my life.
He's back up on his feet so fast, I have an even harder time keeping up with what's going on now. He's back to his good ol' self - vicious, bloodthirsty, demanding justice, demanding Charlotte, his buddies backing him up once more. And I can't do it. Not anymore.
Clarke and Bellamy must have already hidden Charlotte away, but I can't see a way out of this. I don't want a child to die either - nor can all of this just be forgotten. They were willing to kill Murphy for something he didn't even do, so what now?! What do we do with Charlotte?! I don't yet truly understand that it's Charlotte, either. How could it possibly be her? Am I dreaming? Is today just a very vivid nightmare that I'm about to wake up from?
I don't think Murphy would kill Charlotte. But he'd sure as hell do something awful. He's not angry at her, he's angry at all of us. And I don't know anything that could ever stop his anger.
I realize I haven't been able to move. ''Come on,'' Finn takes my hand, tearing me away from it. His fingers interlacing with mine give me some sort of strength I didn't even know I have somewhere in my reserves. As he leads me away from it all, all I can think about is - there's no going back from this. Not for any of us. And especially not for Murphy. Murphy's gone for good now.
I don't realize where we're going until we're there, with Bellamy and Clarke and Charlotte in the big tent, trying to figure out this whole thing. They're arguing. I sit on the ground. I'm out. Out of strength, out of possibilities. Out of all of this. I don't have it in me to see this thing through.
''Bring the girl out, Bellamy!'' I can hear Murphy demand, his voice booming from the outside now.
''Please don't let them hurt me,'' Charlotte cries.
''If you guys have any bright ideas, speak up,'' Bellamy argues, ''Now you stay quiet!''
''Those are your boys out there!'' Finn argues.
''This is not my fault,'' replies Bellamy, ''If she had listened to me, those idiots would still be building the wall.''
Arguing isn't going to stop Murphy. His voice is booming through the air again, taunting. We don't have much time now.
''No! Please, Bellamy,'' Charlotte begs, tears streaming down her face.
''Charlotte, hey, it's gonna be okay,'' Bellamy assures her. Then he gets up to leave. ''Just stay with them,'' he tells her. She nods. She trusts him. I wish I could, too.
*
While Bellamy is trying to deal with Murphy outside, Finn and Clarke are trying to figure out how to slip away with Charlotte. I can hardly bear to listen to them, let alone partake in it. I'm out. They'll have to do this without me.
''T, you're bleeding,'' Finn says.
''Huh?''
I haven't noticed the blood trickling from my palm, but at least it's from my left palm. I must have cut myself on my own knife in all of that commotion.
''I'm fine," I say, wiping the blood away against my pants.
''No, no, no,'' he stops me, ''Here.'' Finn rips the lower edge of his shirt and winds the strip around my hand. He covers the small wound and tightens it enough to stop the bleeding for a while. I can't even manage a thank you.
''I'm sorry,'' Charlotte cries again.
''It's okay, Charlotte,'' I say, but my voice is flat and empty, not sounding like I mean it, because I don't mean it, ''It's okay.''
''Finn, they're fighting,'' Clarke urges after taking a peek outside, ''We have to do this now.''
''Be careful,'' I tell them, and in another moment, they're gone.
I sit there, looking at my hand, at the blue of Finn's shirt getting darker with some of my blood soaking in. The way Wells's blood had soaked the earth. Four graves. How many more of us? Who's next?
The Earth was never a problem. It's us. Humans.
We're not survivable.