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━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━
THE CROWD had slowly dispersed, boys heading off in different directions, trying to wrap their heads around what just occurred, until only three boys remained standing around George's body. Alby had fallen to his knees, leaning against the spear for support and staring into the ground. Newt was sitting cross-legged on the ground with his head in his hands. The only person who seemed to be reacting differently to this loss was the person who Valerie assumed was the closest of all of them to George: Nick.
Nick had started to rummage through George's clothing, and after seeming to find the source of the wound, he showed the two boys remaining. Valerie didn't even bother to look over her shoulder any longer, letting Marty lead her away. There was no need to call off the day's tasks; it was clear that no one would settle into their regular routine for some time.
"What do we do, Val?" Marty had asked her after they retreated to the former's hammock. "What can we possibly do now?"
Valerie wasn't ready to engage in a lengthy conversation about the day's events. It had taken her weeks to open up to her closest friends about her fear of the Box, and now, she was content to sit on the ground, back against a tree, and work her way through her thoughts and feelings alone, because that was the only way she'd figure out what exactly it was she needed to do.
"We need to find a way out of here," she'd responded, voice cold and emotionless. She signified that their conversation was over by turning her back on Marty and walking further into the Deadheads, away from the center of the Glade and all their problems.
━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━
IN THE DAYS that followed, it was as if a mute had been placed on the Glade and its inhabitants. They were completely back to square one, with some working and some just milling about, dealing with things their own way. There was no leadership because none of their unofficial leaders could figure out what to do themselves.
