The Deadliest Generation: The Desert of Death

Chapter One: Something's Wrong

Teresa's voice spoke softly into his mind, much gentler than it had any other time that night. 

Hey, are you still asleep?

Thomas shifted in his bed, trying not to sit up so he didn't disturb the others with too much movement.

The darkness around him felt like an overwhelming, thick, dense smoke that was pressing harshly into him, covering his skin in a dark, fearful web. At first he almost panicked, feeling as if he were trapped in the Box again, like he was about to be transported back into that Maze. But here there was no movement, and simply a faint light that could shine a glow on the boys all huddled in their beds, thankfully silent or breathing or expectantly snoring. 

Relief filled Thomas, especially as he saw Chuck on the bottom bunk opposite, asleep and safe.

Thomas's mind clung to those words as he watched the boy who was like a little brother to him, remembering that he'd been rescued. Maybe yes, the world was destroyed, burnt by the sun, but there were no more Grievers, no more death and hopefully no more worrying to do.

Hey, Tom?

The girls voice again. His sister. 

Thomas relaxed into it, into the comfort of her voice. 

It wasn't audible, it wasn't visible, but Thomas could hear it all the same, although he could never explain to anyone how it worked. 

Exhaling a deep breath, he settled back down into his pillow, his nerves collapsing after that razor-edged moment of fleeting terror from before. 

He kept his gaze on Chuck as he spoke back, forming the words with his thoughts. Teresa? What time is it?

No idea, to be honest. I kinda can't sleep though. But I can't sleep, I'm just dozing so it made me groggier more than anything. I was just hoping you'd be awake to keep me company. Sorry, did I wake you?

Thomas smiled. Even though he wouldn't be able to see it, hopefully she could sense that he could, just like he could sense when she was laughing while talking to him, or being sarcastic. 

Well, you didn't give me much of a choice in the matter, did you? Kind of hard to sleep when someone is talking into your head.

Ha ha ha. Go back to bed then if it's that hard.

Shut up, you know I'm not mad, and I'm good. I'd rather talk to you.

Why, do you not want to sleep? Teresa's voice suddenly seemed to be full of concern. Are you okay?

Thomas nodded, then sighed because he forgot she couldn't actually see him like an idiot. I'm fine. I just feel like every time I close my eyes that I see freakish images. Dreams would be way way worse, you know?

Yeah, we know images don't fade. Heck, look at River. He dreams about stuff from four years ago.

Thomas had already figured out that half of them had or would develop major psychological problems, probably even going completely nuts or developing post-traumatic stress disorder. 

He had lots of images in his head, many that he knew that he would never shake. 

Teresa finally spoke into the silence, saying, I hate it that they separated me from you guys. I'm alone and there's no noise apart from really distant snoring. 

Thomas muffled his laughter by shoving his his head into the blanket, causing him to have to wait a few seconds before replying.

That's clearly us, I'll tell you that. At least it tells you you're not fully alone. I wish you were here though, but you know, it makes sense why you're not with us.