Chapter 16
''Tie him up,'' she commands, already having brandished a knife. Now he will kick for sure, so the tying is necessary. I stare at the knife that could be poisoned for all I know. Murphy can't suffer because of me again.
And I can't give my people away either.
Suddenly it's all too much - the not knowing what to do, the helplessness. I feel like my chest is about to burst; I almost want her to plunge that knife in me instead. Maybe I should have died when they knocked me out. That way no information could be leaked, no one would be jeopradized because of me. Or maybe I should have just died on our way down to the ground. No one's fate would have ever depended on me then.
But I am here. Alive, kicking, when maybe more skilled kids than me have died. For the first time since we got here, I wonder if that's a blessing or a curse.
The woman in command crouches down next to Murphy, fiddling with her blade a little bit, taunting. He barely reacts to it at all, like he's just used to the torture. I, on the other hand, want that blade as far away from him as possible. I pull at my constraints harder with every inch that it moves, as though I can do anything other than tear off the skin around my wrists.
''You came as a hundred,'' the woman starts, ''There's less of you now.''
''Yes,'' I reply immediately, the blade in her hand making me more nervous than I'd like. Letting her smell my fear is not smart, but it's something I can't help no matter how hard I'm trying to stay composed.
''But more will come,'' she proceeds, ''How many?''
I can't tell her that. Yet if I keep quiet, John might die. And if she thinks I'm lying, John might die. Honestly, with the state he's in, John might die regardless. I have to be smart about this, and we need to get out of here fast. Somehow, anyhow.
''There were- uh, several hundred people... up on the Ark. But- hhm, not anymore. The population has been- it's been culled-,'' I start, realizing a moment too late she might not even understand the terms I'm using, ''A lot of people died, up there. We're not in full numbers-.'' I try to speak as composedly as I can, but I still sound hectic even to my own ears. I want to kick myself for it, but my body, my voice - they have a mind of their own. I try to look her in the eyes more and look at the knife less, but fear is a treacherous leader.
''Are you sure?'' the woman touches Murphy's neck with the tip of her blade ever so gently, the tip barely poking him.
''Absolutely,'' I swallow, make myself speak more firmly now, ''A ship dropped yesterday, you saw it yourselves. There were no survivors. We're alone now. We have no communication with our people up there, and there's no knowing they'll come. For all we know, they might all be dead as we speak.''
I'm not exactly lying, and it's better to have them underrate us. I regret my logic as soon as the woman's blade presses a bit harder against Murphy's skin in response. I try not to show the regret, try not to look deterred. But I still let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when she moves the blade away, looking just a tad disappointed.
''You invaded. You set villages on fire,'' she states, ''Why?''
''We didn't mean to-''
Wrong. The woman slashes Murphy's arm and blood pours out of a fresh cut. He barely snarls in pain. Used to it. I must have shouted ''no'', I must have pulled at my ties, done something in the rise of my panic. But nothing stops her. In her mind, it's a lie.
''I'm telling you the truth!'' I cry out, betraying myself.
''No one does what you did for nothing!'' she snarls back at me.
''When we came down to see if the Earth was survivable we never meant to invade anyone's land! We just wanted to live!'' I insist, ''You attacked first. You sent a spear right into my friend's chest.''
Wrong again. She makes another cut below the elbow this time. She's just getting started, and she would move on from the arm, and if she started cutting any deeper, he would be bleeding out soon. This is not going well at all and I have no idea how to stop it. A sudden realization of just how tied up I actually am hits me, and I fight the sudden urge to cry like a little child.
''Stop!'' I cry out instead, ''I'm not lying!''
She doesn't stop until she's finished with the cut. Murphy growls louder this time. When she's done, she looks at me again, cleaning the blade on her sleeve like it's the easiest thing in the world. Her face betrays nothing. Murphy looks at me from time to time, but mostly he doesn't have the strength to keep his eyes open.
''Why you?'' she asks now, ''All young ones. We've seen no elders.''
''We were... outlaws. Exiled. They wanted to test the ground with us,'' I explain to her as best I can, ''Expendable.''
My eyes fall on the blade again, faster than I'd like. It doesn't move. She believes that.
''Do you have trained warriors among you?'' she asks, ''On ground and sky?''
I dare not tell her we've been training, and I dare not tell her we have guards on the Ark. I don't know what Murphy's already told her. I need to make this half-lie sound like truth.
''If we were warriors, you think we'd both be tied down here at your mercy?'' I ask. I don't break eye contact, I need to look like I meant that. She looks back for a moment, and I hold my breath in prayer.
She squints a bit, studies me, considers what I've said. My heart beats faster in expectation. She isn't moving yet.
''Then you're incredibly stupid to take up a fight against us,'' she says.
''We never meant to,'' I reinstate.
''You meant to,'' she argues, ''You just didn't know what you were dealing with yet. Now that you do, you want out. A little too late for that.''
''We just wanted to live,'' I insist, ''In peace.''
''Is that why you shot at my people when we came in good faith?'' she asks.
''In good faith!'' I almost gasp, incredulously, ''You said no weapons, but you brought them anyway! There were archers up in the trees! There was never good faith! You wanted to kill Clarke!''
Wrong. This time she cuts across John's ribs. He cries out as blood soaks his shirt.
''No, please! Stop! Just stop!'' I'm on the verge of tears now, ''I'm telling you everything! Just ask!''
''Your weapons,'' she continues once she's done, wiping the blade clean again, ''We saw their power. We saw how they made the blood of my people soak the earth and the water. How many do you have?''
''Not many,'' I reply, maybe a little too fast. It's true, I just want her to think we have even less than the truth.
''How many?'' she asks again.
''I don't know-,'' I start.
She moves to cut.
''I really don't know, forty guns maybe!!! I don't know!!!!'' I urge her, panicking. It seems to work, because the blade stops right as it touches John's stomach. My heart steadies again. We're okay.
For some reason, I think back on the guns. We have to have at least fifty. It'll have to be enough.
I look at John, and our eyes meet again, only this time mine are full of tears that wouldn't fall and his are empty of everything.
''That's enough to kill us all,'' the Grounder replies through her teeth.
''Not when we don't have enough ammunition,'' I argue.
She watches me again and considers it, only this time it seems to last forever. I look right back at her, trying to control my breathing and composure, trying to make her believe that I'm confident and that I'm telling her the absolute truth. I hope to all the gods that I'm not failing miserably.
The woman finally stands up, gives an order to two of her men, and they carry Murphy away. My heart wants to break free and break right out of my chest.
''Where are you taking him?!'' I demand, almost screaming.
''We won't kill him if that's what you're worried about,'' the Grounder leader replies to me, to my mild surprise, ''But soon enough you might wish we had.''
The sun has come down, I realize. Night is coming. The violet sky is barely streaked with the last dark, dying orange. It looks bloody.
*
I arm myself against sleep, I won't let it sneak up on me. I need to keep my eyes open for a way to escape, and the night is my best shot. For some reason, they had the decency to put a cot in the shack so I can sleep on it, but my hands and legs are still tied tight, though this time in the front. I guess they figured it's impossible to sleep with your hands tied at the back, and they apparently still need me in good condition.
A different guard is assigned to me for the night, and he does not sleep. There is a knife at his belt that could cut my ties, but there is no way I am getting it off of him, and he sure as hell won't have the mercy.
But maybe I can try.
''Hey, you.''
At the sound of my voice, he turns around. I'm a bit surprised to notice he's strikingly handsome, though I can't see perfectly well in the dark. The only light that reaches us is from the small fires among their tents and what little light the moon offers. In the shack, it's all darkness.
''I know you need me,'' I start, ''You fed me and all. I'm alive.''
''Keep quiet if you want to stay that way,'' he says, almost indifferently.
''I believe I'm under strict orders to be kept alive,'' I insist, ''I'm not stupid.''
''What do you want, girl?'' he growls, ''You want to die? Keep talking and you might get your wish.''
''I can't sleep all tied up,'' I offer.
''No way,'' he turns his back on me again, eyes trained on the camp.
''What could I possibly do, unarmed and on your watch?'' I insist, ''I just want to sleep. I haven't slept in too long.''
He looks at me again, this time as though he's considering it. Then, after a long moment, he steps up, approaches me, crouches down to meet me face to face. I was right, he's unusually handsome. His blue eyes are almost reflecting what little light comes through, and his beard and his hair tied back seem to just somehow add to the handsomeness, framing his face. He is everything opposite of Bellamy - blonde, blue-eyed, a tattoo lining up one of his temples down to the cheek-bone.
''You're pretty,'' he only states, and the calmness of his voice is hauntingly scary, ''Don't give reasons for that pretty face to get ruined.''
Whatever nerve I thought I had jumps right back into my thoat. Suddenly, I am mute. I am not getting untied, that's for sure, but it all of a sudden hits me just how much that's the least of my concerns. They could be torturing me right now, or worse. And this time, I don't have a pen on me. For some reason, I hear Bellamy's voice in my head fondly calling me ''sharpie''. I don't know why I remember it, but I can genuinely hear it, like it's coming from outside and not my own desperation. Warmth spreads and pools in my chest, then turns into fear and heavy sadness. I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here.
For the rest of the night, my Grounder guardian doesn't sleep. I try not to sleep myself, but I must have dozed off into shorter bouts throughout the hours before dawn.
The other guard is back during the day, and he is far less pleasant. My instincts tell me my hopes of getting untied lie with my night guard, and not just because this one even watches me pee.
This is particularly traumatizing, so much so that I hardly drink any water just so I don't have to go pee. I realize how dangerous this is, and understand how much I need to keep my strength if I want to bolt out of here. But it's almost beyond me. It's hard enough for me to do the deed withing earshot of enyone as it is, but the first time I had to go, I thought they'd at least untie my hands for this occasion and give me some semblance of privacy. I don't know why I thought that. My hands remained in my constraints, and the guard on duty resorted to taking my pants down himself. My first instinct was to kick him and run, but I wouldn't go very far with the ties around my ankles only a little bit loosened and my pants pulled down. Then my brain prepared for the worst, cooking up the most plausible scenario and line of defense. I was surprised to find that the Grounder showed not only disinterest, but complete annoyance, as though this duty is beneath him. Apprently, he is a killer, but he is not a rapist. And he sure as hell is not a babysitter. Still, I don't dare risk it, so I keep my water intake to a minimum.
A young girl brings me my meals two times a day, with a bit of water. She can't be older than thirteen, maybe fourteen. She seems sweet and innocent enough, pretty and maybe a bit skinny. She already has some braids in her hair, the kind of braids I only ever see on warriors. That would explain why she's even in this camp in the first place. Although she looks like she's scared to talk to me - maybe it's forbidden - I won't underestimate her. She is being trained to kill here. That thought would have made me want to heave once. Now I understand. Which is another fact that should make me want to heave.
We don't exactly have a feast every day back at camp, but the portions the Grounders give me are far smaller - they pretty much just give me enough to keep hunger at bay and keep me alive. I've grown used to the hunger and don't suffer from the aches anymore, but if their intentions are to starve me to death, they are on the right path.
At moments I wonder what's happening back at camp, and if they even tried looking for me. The thought of them not even trying anything makes something sink to the bottom of my belly, but I shake it off immediately. I can't think like this. I can't think about them right now. Or John. If I defeat myself, I'm done for. No need to make their job easier for them. I'm getting out of here. Focus!
I'm not questioned again the next day, now that they've taken Murphy away. I've been expecting it all day, mentally preparing myself to be dragged out there and tortured. But when night comes and it's pretty clear that no one is coming for me, that's when I get really terrified. It's the kind of terror that can only come from not knowing. What the hell is going on and what do they want with me? What do they want from me?
For the next two days, nothing much changes, except that my fear only grows stronger. With every minute they hold me in this shack without even asking anything of me, the panic in my throat rises. This isn't right. Something just doesn't feel right. But what is it? What's really going on?
My attempts at talking to my handsome captor fail incessantly, but I don't give up. On the third night, I try a different approach.
''Hey, what's your name?'' I ask, doing my best to sound at ease. I can't shake off the instincts that tell me that, if I'm ever getting out of here, it will be through this guy. Maybe because he's the only person in this camp that hasn't explicitly expressed a wish to murder me yet.
''None of your business,'' he replies, never looking back at me, almost in annoyance.
''Don't you think the night will pass a hell of a lot faster with a little conversation?'' I ask tentatively. There has to be a way to crack through.
''We're not supposed to talk,'' he says, still looking ahead into the night, seated at the entrance, ''And there's no reason why we should.''
''Well, I'm not gonna try and get intel from you and you sure as hell got all of mine,'' I argue, ''I just wanna know your name, that's all.''
He pauses. For a long moment, he considers it, and I'm pretty sure he'll clam back up. Then he surprises me.
''Rand,'' he says.
''Well, Rand,'' I make sure to repeat his name, ''My name's Natasha.''
''I didn't ask for it,'' he says.
''It's common courtesy where I come from,'' I say, and regret the flare in it immediately.
''And where I come from we don't just burn people's villages to the ground,'' he grumbles back.
''Somehow I doubt that,'' I say.
Bingo. He turns around to face me. It may not have been the smartest thing to say, but it was effective.
''I just meant... you people seem like you've known war,'' I say apologetically.
''Burning villages isn't war. It's slaughter of innocents,'' he spits back, ''Farmers are no warriors.''
There is something in the way he says it that suddenly makes me realize that this is truth. Their truth. They truly believe it. We came down here to take their land and wipe them out. It's not just a story they tell themselves to justify the slaughter; it can't be. This is them, living their truth. They're angry and hurt and terrified. Just the way we are.
A sudden pang of guilt hits. Have we truly killed innocent people? Burned villages? How?
The flares.
''We never meant to hurt anyone,'' I say, knowing it's to no avail and that it doesn't matter, ''Those flares were fired into the sky. They were not supposed to crash back down.''
''That hardly matters now,'' Rand says, ''Whatever your intentions, blood must have blood.''
''That doesn't solve anything!'' I argue.
''It solves anger,'' he breathes, ''And it solves grief.''
''It doesn't-''
''You don't get to have an opinion on our ways,'' he interrupts me, more passionately now, more personally, ''We've been here forever. My ancestors survived the worst. They nurtured earth as it nurtured them. You were not here. And you come now and claim it as home. You kill those that have survived things worse than you could ever imagine. You take land, but you've never given anything to it.''
''This is our home,'' I say, ''It's our home too. The Earth is big enough for all of us.''
''Indeed,'' he says, ''Yet you chose to come at what's ours.''
This isn't working so well, I realize. This is the most progress I've made so far, and I can't afford to lose him now. I need another tactic.
''Did you lose anyone in those villages?'' I ask, carefully, timidly.
''No,'' he replies quietly, ''And they will not be the next.''
That's good. I almost release a sigh of relief.
''I don't blame you, really. I understand why you're angry,'' I say, ''I'm just sorry it's come to this out of a pure misunderstanding. Many people will die now, which we never wanted. I wish we could have made peace.''
''We all wish for peace,'' Rand says, ''We haven't known it yet.''
''Why are you holding me here? You will attack us anyway, you will kill us all,'' I say, ''There is no way we can win this war. I'm hardly a factor in all of this.''
Rand pauses for a moment, as though pondering on whether to give me an answer. He takes a long, deep breath before he speaks.
''Softening the battlefield,'' he only says, so simply that it's haunting.
''I don't understand,'' I say.
''It doesn't matter,'' he tries to shrug it off.
''We're no warriors,'' I insist, ''I don't know what that means.''
''You can guess it,'' Rand says, ''Can't you?''
I can.
''How exactly are you weakening us?'' I say, feeling my heartbeat steadily speeding up. I can hear it in my throat.
Rand doesn't answer. But he doesn't need to; suddenly I know. Have I known it all along?
''You think people will come for me? You want to scatter them?'' I scoff, ''You're dead wrong. No one's coming for me, Rand. My people are smart. They know they can't afford to lose many to save one. They know they need to be united and prepared to face what's coming.''
''Your people were stupid enough to come before,'' he argues.
''That was before,'' I say, as confidently as I can make myself sound, ''We know how to survive now.''
''You say no one is coming for you,'' he says, as though he's taunting me, ''How does that make you feel?''
''Proud,'' I reply instantly. It's mostly true. I am proud of how strong and how much smarter we've become. But I am also scared, and alone. I won't let them know that.
''Proud or not, it doesn't matter,'' Rand says, ''We attack any moment now.''
''Then let me go die with them,'' I say.
His head snaps back toward me. He scowls, and looks me right in the eye, almost curiously. Like I'm the oddest creature he's ever met.
''Your plan's not working anyway. No one's coming,'' I push on, like God himself is nudging me onward, like the universe itself is telling me what to do, ''And I'm gonna die anyway, here or there. At least let me die with my people.''
I had to try. I had to try. As crazy as it is, as implausible as it is, I had to try. I've never before felt so certain that what I'm doing and saying is right. If there is something greater than us, this was a divine intervention if there ever was one.
The moment lasts forever. The pause Rand makes - the little frown on his handsome face that makes me think that maybe he's actually considering it - makes my heart jump.
Steady.