Gladiolus ~ The Maze Runner

2~4: I Don't Like Sand. It's Coarse, Rough, Irritating, and It Gets Everywhere

TW: mentions of $u!c!de

(star wars fans rise up- i couldn't do anakin's exact quote bc wattpad yelled at me and said there's a max of 80 words for the title

...also this has not been edited so there's bound to be typos)

***

I woke up this morning to Thomas yelling at birds. I'm not even kidding.

He aggressively shooed the crows away from us and then decided now was a good time for everyone to get moving. He's right; we can't stay here. But I was having very nice dreams, so I'm a little grumpy. I'm also not a morning person.

Scrubbing the sand out of my eyes, I prop myself up on my elbows. Moving feels impossible. I feel like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz when the house fell on him. In simpler terms, I feel like shit. Unfortunately, Winston is not doing much better, so I regretfully rise to go and tend to him.

His wounds have gotten worse overnight. I lift the gauze and want to gag. The claw marks cut deep into his torso, uprooting layers of muscle tissue. The bleeding has stopped, but a black ooze slowly leaks out from the cuts, blending with his dark dried blood. I force myself to clean his injuries up and give him some more antibiotics from an already dwindling supply before I rewrap the wound with clean gauze.

"It's really bad, isn't it?" Winston asks weakly.

"Nah, nothing that won't fix right up," I lie. "You just take it easy, okay, Winston?"

He nods sluggishly and Fry appears next to me. "How are you doing man?"

Winston shrugs. "Meh."

Fry smiles gently and helps the boy up. I return my med kit to my pack, and soon everyone is up and moving. Thomas takes the lead, and we all begin the long trudge to the mountains. Fifteen minutes into our walk, Minho goes, "Anybody got some snacks? I could use breakfast right now."

I fish a Twinkie out of my backpack and toss it at his head. He catches it and inspects the packaging. "Twinkies...? What the hell is that? Looks like a sponge."

"Try it," I shrug. "Those things are probably packed with so many preservatives that they'll last a lifetime or two."

"Don't you have any real food in there?"

"Yeah, but I'm saving that for later."

"Why the hell can't I eat that now?"

"Because I have a limited supply. If you didn't decide to rouse the dead last night, you probably would have had time to pack some too."

"That wasn't me! That was Thomas!"

"Man, you found a switch and said, 'Let there be light' before turning on the power. After you did that, the lady missing eyes launched herself at a fence, which, thank God, blocked her from eating our faces off," Thomas replied. "I am not the reason for rousing the dead."

"I did not say, 'Let there be light,' you're just being dramatic," Minho snorted. He took a bite of the Twinkie and made a face. "Han, what the hell is this? Not even Grievers would eat this!"

"Well, you better not let it go to waste," I sigh. "Eat up shank."

"I hate you," he mumbles behind bites of Twinkie.

"Oh please, where would you be without me?"

"In paradise."

"If by paradise, you mean heaven because you were killed, I agree."

A wad of sand smacks into my bag. "Ew, dude!" I exclaim, pulling my bag off and shaking it. "You're gonna get my bag all sandy and then all your Twinkies will be gross."