Chapter 18: Biological Warfare - Part 3
POV: Alec Morgan
Grounder territory felt different from the forest around our camp—older, wilder, marked by generations of careful cultivation that blended seamlessly with natural growth patterns. What looked like untamed wilderness to my companions was actually sophisticated ecosystem management, designed to provide food, medicine, and camouflage while maintaining the illusion of pristine nature.
My survival knowledge read the landscape like a detailed map, identifying medicinal plant cultivation, water management systems, and trail markers that guided initiated travelers toward specific destinations. The healer's camp would be positioned for optimal access to water sources, medicinal gardens, and defensive positions while remaining hidden from casual observation.
"How do you know where we're going?" Clarke whispered as I led them through terrain that should have been completely unfamiliar.
"Following smoke patterns and water flow," I replied, pointing at subtle indicators that were technically visible to anyone who knew what to look for. "Medicinal plant cultivation requires specific growing conditions. And people need water for preparing treatments."
It was true as far as it went, though it didn't explain the comprehensive understanding of Grounder settlement patterns that let me navigate their territory like I'd lived here for years. But Clarke was desperate enough to accept partial explanations, and the others were focused on movement security rather than questioning my navigation methods.
The healer's camp materialized from forest cover exactly where my knowledge had predicted—a collection of well-camouflaged structures arranged around natural clearings, with extensive gardens of medicinal plants and carefully managed water sources. Smoke rose from preparation fires where healers worked with plant materials, creating the treatments that would save my people if we could acquire them without getting killed.
"There," I pointed to a structure that my comprehensive knowledge identified as the primary medicine storage facility. "That's where they'd keep prepared treatments. Central location, easy access, protected from weather."
"How can you tell?" Finn asked, squinting at buildings that all looked identical to untrained eyes.
"Foot traffic patterns," I improvised, gesturing at paths that were indeed more worn around the structure I'd indicated. "Plus the smoke patterns suggest active preparation nearby. Makes sense to store finished medicines close to where they're being made."
We spent twenty minutes observing guard rotations and movement patterns, waiting for optimal timing to attempt theft of materials that might save our people. But as we prepared to move, voices carried across the clearing—guards discovering our presence through alertness that spoke of professional training and territorial paranoia.
"Go," I hissed, my combat prediction exploding with incoming threat patterns.
The theft attempt devolved into chaos immediately. Four Grounder warriors materialized from concealment with tactical precision that made our amateur infiltration look pathetic. But my enhanced combat awareness was painting their attack sequences across my consciousness with crystalline clarity—strike patterns, movement vectors, timing that let me coordinate our defense like I could see several seconds into the future.
"Bellamy, duck NOW!" I shouted, watching his attacker's spear thrust miss by inches as he followed my warning with split-second timing.
"Clarke, move left!" I called, directing her away from a blade that would have opened her throat if she'd hesitated even briefly.
My predictions flowed seamlessly into tactical commands that kept everyone alive through professional assault designed to kill intruders quickly and quietly. We fought our way toward the medicine storage, my knowledge of Grounder tactics allowing me to anticipate their responses and counter-movements.
"How did you know exactly when they'd strike?" Finn demanded as we reached temporary cover, his eyes bright with suspicion and growing alarm.
"Lucky timing," I said automatically, the deflection feeling weaker every time I used it.
"That wasn't luck," Finn pressed. "That was prediction. Like you could see what they were going to do before they did it."
Before I could answer, a new presence entered the combat zone—a single Grounder warrior who moved with fluid grace that marked him as something beyond ordinary fighter. Lincoln approached our position with the controlled power of someone who could kill us all if he chose, but whose body language suggested different intentions.
Our eyes met across the clearing, and my combat prediction went haywire trying to process his intentions. But instead of threat patterns, I saw something else—recognition, assessment, and most dangerously, a decision to allow our escape rather than prevent it.
Lincoln stood aside deliberately, creating a clear path toward safety while his warriors watched in confusion. He nodded fractionally at me, acknowledgment of something he'd seen or understood about my capabilities. Then he melted back into forest cover, leaving us with stolen medicines and questions I couldn't answer.
"What just happened?" Bellamy demanded as we escaped with our vital cargo.
"I think he decided we weren't worth killing over medicine for sick people," I said, which was true but inadequate as explanation for the complex communication that had passed between us.
But there was no time for interrogation. We had the cure, and people were dying while we debated the impossible timing that had kept us alive through professional assault in hostile territory.
Racing back toward camp, my combat instincts screamed warnings about pursuit, ambush, and the growing list of people who'd witnessed capabilities I couldn't explain without destroying everything I'd built here.
But as we ran through forest that blurred past in desperate urgency, I thought of Raven's fever-bright eyes and whispered promises I intended to keep regardless of the cost to my carefully constructed lies.
Some people were worth any risk, even exposure of secrets that would change everything.
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