𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ༒ minho, tmr

thirty-four ~ the price of admission

✵

It was morning. The sun had risen and was continuing its quest to disintegrate the fugitive zombies, who hadn't stopped or sat down since the early hours of the morning. Their walk had turned into a heavy plod as if gravity had intensified its pull tenfold.

Their heads hung towards their shadows, any glance upwards near blinding them. Feet numb and blistered, legs rattling inside of their skin, they barely noticed when they arrived in a desolate city-- or what was left of one.

Ragged breaths left their lips as they hid themselves from the sun in the shadows projected by the buildings, but only managing seconds under their protection when they were forced to bee-line because of street inhabitants, debris, and cars blocking their way.

No one had said more than a few words, they couldn't find any. Not even to comment on the surroundings. They didn't need to, they could all see how bleak it was, it was no different to all of the sightseeing they had done since escaping WCKD anyway. 

They hadn't even began processing the loss of Thomas. It felt surreal, sudden-- unbelievable. Surely, that was not how Thomas would leave his friends. He was smarter than that. 

All sorts of suspicions clouded their minds, individually without the need to share. Perhaps he had continued the journey to the mountains alone, maybe he thought they slowed him down. Maybe he was lost, looking for them, injured maybe. 

But not one of them could believe he was dead. 

Whispers and chatters were exchanged by the forgotten townspeople at the arrival of these strangers, who didn't seem to be in a much better condition than themselves. However, they had not seen anyone new in years, or grasped what they possibly could have wanted with their town.

Despite the decrepitness of the buildings and roads, the city still stretched over several miles, and the blisters on their feet made them wince at each turn on the winding roads. The faint sound of music faded into their ears when they reached a place which, to their surprise, was full of life.

The street was bustling, people living out of makeshift tents and abandoned busses, exchanging banter and cooking barely edible scraps they had found for food. Londyn couldn't remember much, but she knew the world was big, and how many people around the world had to have been living like this, or born into it every day, made her feel like but a grain of sand on the planet.

Coughing and spluttering, people struggling around them, they looked up to see a huge building with a sun-bleached flag draping down from its facade.

ZONE A

It was a safe zone. Once, but not anymore. With a virus so volatile, there was no doubt that any place that was prepped to hold the vast population of survivors would falter over time.

The building was overflowing with young people, who didn't look much older than the Gladers, talking and drinking, partying with seemingly no care of what was happening around them.

The group stopped, scanning the gigantic residence with identical pensive looks on their faces, exchanging them. Jorge sighed. "Marcus..."

"Who's Marcus?" New asked, standing closest to Jorge which alerted the rest of the group. "Is he going to help us?"

"No more questions," the man scolded, his face not wearing any more will to enter the place than the rest of them. "We're going in."

"Man, are you sure this is the right place?" Frypan asked, grimacing at the obnoxiousness of the kids outside. "Doesn't look like anyone here has any plans of leaving."