Antidote | A3

c h a p t e r . e i g h t

"We need to go!" Minho yelled, barely audible against the howling. My hair stung my face as the wind whipped it about violently.

Stuffing my sheet away quickly, I clambered to my feet - a far more difficult task than I expected with the wind trying to knock me over.

Newt's hand was on my arm in a flash to steady me, and with his help I finally planted my feet in the ground.

"Thanks," I said, a little bashful. My words were swept up in the gale long before they'd have ever reached his ears, but he smiled down at me anyway. My heart hammered harder in my chest, and I had to tear my gaze away, lest I do something stupid.

Someone lost their sheet; it was snatched out of their hands and whisked off, hundred of metres away before the boy even had a chance to react. I gripped my bag tighter, grateful I'd managed to pack mine away in time.

He hadn't been the only one. Food skittered about in all directions, as more sheets fell victim to the wind, flapping into the air like an army of ghosts.

Minho shouted something again, but this time I couldn't catch a word; his voice was swallowed by the roaring, screaming air. He was waving his arms frantically, trying to get everyone's attention.

He'd garnered most already - a sea of confused, concerned faces watching him point to the closest building, looming tall ahead of us. The way I was fighting just to stay steady on my feet now, reaching that building seemed like the only sane choice.

Minho started running. Others fell into place after him, and Newt grabbed my arm again, willing me into motion.

We ran like drunks, stumbling to the right as the wind slammed at us, and having to fight to course correct. Grit and sand slapped at my face, swirling like fog in the air around us. Flecks of dirt caught in the corner of my eyes, crusting into goop I had to keep swiping away. It caught thick in my throat too, and it took all I had not to keel over in a coughing fit.

The wind was bitingly cold, which should have been a welcome relief from the relentless heat of the last day or so, but instead settled as a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It was just a storm. It wasn't the Griever hunting me down in the Maze that night. Not the gravity-defying globs of silver death. It was just a storm.

The looming building was only about half an hour away, now, if we kept this pace. Soon, we'd have shelter, and maybe even food and water. I'd have given almost anything for some sustenance at this point, my bag rattling empty against my shoulder.

Nearly there, Leo said in my head. His reassuring tone soothed me, and I found myself craning my neck from side to side, trying to spot his face in the crowd.

I'm rounding up the back, he said, clearly able to see me, at least. Keep going. You're alright.

We'd about halved the distance left to the building. Fifteen minutes, maybe less.

Then the lightning came.

The world around me suddenly erupted in light and thunder, bolts falling from the sky in jagged streaks. They slammed violently into the ground, throwing up massive plumes of scorched earth. The sound was overwhelming, crushing and horrific. My hands flew up to my ears, wincing as I propelled my legs to go faster.

The building was hardly visible anymore, through the dust, the thick fog of the clouds, and the blinding white light bursting around me.

People fell and got back up. Merely shadows, it was hard to make out anyone but Newt, legging it alongside me. He stumbled and this time I caught him, dragging him back to his feet.