Gladiolus ~ The Maze Runner

2~5: Minho Gets Smoked by Thor

I walked back to my friends. They stood single file in a line, as still as statues. I feel all eyes on me as I approach, but I don't meet any of them. I keep my eyes on the ground, my vision blurry from the tears that are threatening to spill over at any moment. I walk past everyone and take my place at the front, pressing forward.

A few moments passed before I heard the shuffling of feet, and the others fell into formation behind me. I wiped away my tears and looped my finger through the straps of my backpack. We continued to walk.

No one said a word for hours.

***

Night eventually fell upon the cursed land, and we stopped under a capsized ship in the middle of the desert to rest. The ground underneath us must have been the bottom of a sea at some point, but the sun flares had dried it up. Hence the ship.

Frypan lit a small fire. We opened up some cans of preserved food. We ate. We gathered more firewood. We sat in silence.

After a few hours, Minho was the first to speak. "I thought we were supposed to be immune."

"Not all of us, I guess," Teresa replies despondently, staring into the fire. She has refused to look at me since our conversation.

"If Winston can get infected, we should assume so can the rest of us," Newt comments wisely. We all nod grimly in agreement.

"I never thought I'd say it..." Fry whispers. I glance over at him, watching the firelight flicker against his tear-streaked face. "I miss the Glade."

I do too. Still a scary time, but at least everyone was alive. We all still had each other.

***

Morning followed, and we all sluggishly got to our feet.

We continued on through the barren wasteland, far away from the deteriorating city. The wind had stopped, so a clear path was provided for us to continue our journey without sand being pelted at our faces. The downside was that the sun continued to beat down on us, more relentless than ever.

With everyone so quiet, usually Minho or I would strike up a conversation or crack some joke at the other's expense. But I didn't want to talk and clearly Minho didn't either. The most noise he made was an aggressive boing from a metal bottle being thrown in frustration; he must be out of water.

We were all running low on supplies. My med kit was basically gone because I used a lot of it on Winston. Our water was concerningly low. We were short on food, but that we could ration.

When nightfall came upon us yet again, we all stopped in the middle of our desolate track and laid there, exhausted. There was no wood, so no fire. We ate a tiny bit of food, and then tried to get some sleep, ignoring the sandpapery feeling or our tongues scraping around our teeth.

I realized that I've gone a full 24 hours without uttering a word. The others haven't spoken much either, aside from a few comments here and there. I glance over at Aris, who is lying awake next to me. Even before Winston died and our spirits dropped drastically, he didn't speak much. He had a slight southern drawl when he did decide to talk, but otherwise I knew nothing about the kid.

"Aris," I hissed, rolling over onto my side, facing him. He looks over at me, surprised that I'm speaking to him.

"Yes?" he asks nervously.

"I'm Hanna," I introduce, holding my hand out to shake his. Perplexed, he reaches over and shakes my hand.

"I know," he whispers back, confused. "Why are you telling me?"

"Because I haven't spoken to you this whole trip and that's pretty rude, considering you got us out of WICKED in the first place."

In the dark, I see his cheeks bloom red. "Well, I wouldn't say that."