Why Can't I Hate You?

~22~

The sun blared heat down on us. I could feel it on my skin. I woke up in a sweat, brushing my hair out of my face.

"Come on guys, it's time to get moving." Thomas woke people up.

Somehow, we had survived our first night but there were still many more to go. I wriggled uncomfortably in my jacket. The heat was intense, but I'd rather wear it than risk getting sunburned. I pulled my trouser leg up to check on my wound, and to my surprise, it looked much better.

"How is it?" Minho stood over me, holding his hand out to help me up.

"Good." I put my weight on it and walked around in a circle."Healed right up."

I couldn't say the same for Winston. If anything his seemed to have gotten worse. Still, he was walking alright, so maybe he just needed more time.

We had only a vague idea of where we were going. In the direction of the mountains, that was a faint outline in the distance. To get some shade, we walked through what once was a town or city. Now, it was just the crumbling residue of a former home.

"What do you think this place used to be?" Minho asked.

"I don't know." Newt looked around, "but I don't think anyone's been here for a long time."

Thomas thought it would be quicker if we climbed up rather than walk around the remnants. So we slowly and carefully clambered up. He would check on us occasionally by shouting something like, "Everyone good?"

My foot slipped on a bit of rusted metal, which broke under my weight and a pair of hands caught me, either side my waist. "Careful. Are you ok?" Newt asked.

I removed myself from his hold. "Fine." The blood rushed to my cheeks, so I carried on, acting like nothing happened.

"Maybe I should've just let you fall." He scoffed.

"Maybe I should push you off." I snapped back, turning to face him as I said it.

"Maybe you should both stop flirting and get climbing." Minho added.

"We're not flirting!" We yelled in unison.

I squinted in agrivation at Newt, which he returned to me. Exasperation fueled my every step as I continued up the wreckage.

After what seemed like hours, we made it out and struggled our way up a sand dune. It was like trying to walk on water. You put your foot down, and it sunk. When we made it to the top, we stopped to rest.

"There." Thomas pointed to the mountains in the horizon."That's where we're headed."

"That's a long way off." Newt didn't seem too convinced.

"We can make it. Come on, let's go."

Winston collapsed into the sand, sliding down the dune. I rushed forward with the others to see if he was ok. He was still too weak from his injury, and no doubt the humidity hasn't helped.

"What do we do?" Teresa asked.

He was unable to walk, so we formed a stretcher with the materials we could find. Taking turns to pull it.

As if things couldn't get any worse, a sandstorm arrived. Blowing sand in our faces, obscuring our vision. Janson wasn't kidding about the extremities of the climate. We pushed through it, determined.

When it was finally over, we stopped to rest. A proper rest. I gulped down some of my water. It was hard not to finish the whole bottle. My throat was sore from the dryness, but I refrained from myself. I needed to keep this water for as long as possible.

"Can someone turn the sun off, please?" Minho was lying on his back groaning.

"If only it were that easy Min," I observed his perfectly styled hair. Even through a sand storm, it didn't get messed up. "How the hell does your hair stay like that?"

"Magic Minho hair." He winked.

Thomas and Teresa were ahead, having a conversation. He shouted over to us in an intended reassuring tone, "Just a little further!"

"That's not very convincing." Newt sat down.

"No shit."

"Could you at least try to be nice? Or is that to out of your nature."

"You're still breathing. That's me being fucking nice arsehole." I rolled my eyes.

"Bullshit."

"For christ sakes." I pinched the bridge of my nose "your existence gives me a headache, go stand over there" I pointed in the furthest possible direction from where I was.

He laughed through his nose, getting up and moving away. Sitting back down with his legs up, leaning his arms over them in a sort of attractive way, that would be attractive if it were someone else doing it.

A gunshot went off. Fry was prying a gun out of Winston's hand.

"What happened?" Thomas ran over, Teresa trailing not far behind.

"I don't know, he just grabbed the gun and-" Fry stuttered.

Winston doubled over, puking up blood. It was black and thick, almost rotten looking. I noticed just how sick he looked, with dark circles under his eyes, and pale almost green skin. He fell onto his back, heaving heavily, as if there were no oxygen left in the air. "It's growing." He lifted the hem of his shirt. The wound on his stomach was blackening, it looked even worse than before.

None of us spoke. What were we supposed to do? We had no medicine. A thought crossed my mind which I was sure everyone else was thinking. Maybe this was the flare Ava Paige was talking about.

"Please." His hand outstretched towards the gun "don't let me turn into one of those things."

I felt hopeless. Useless. There was nothing we could do to help him, to save him. Newt moved forward, with the gun in hand.

"Newt-" Thomas hesitated.

He crouched down next to Winston, and placed the gun in his hand.

"Thank you." He swallowed "Now go."

"Goodbye Winston." Newt said his final farewell, then slung his backpack over his shoulder, walking away.