Error | The Maze Runner / Newt ² ✓

{1.3}

Disclaimer:

I do not own The Maze Runner. If I did, Dylan O'Brien wouldn't have gotten SERIOUSLY INJURED AFTER A STUNT ACCIDENT ON SET I HOPE HE GETS BETTER SOON!!

-✼-

Running. It was something I hated, yet I always seemed to be doing it. Running from my problems, running from disasters, running from my brother. The distance between us was increasing with every pound of my feet on the dusty cement ground. My sore limbs were begging for me to stop, but I had to keep going. Every step felt like someone was trying to gauge my heart out of my chest. Thomas. Thomas.

I didn't realize I was crying until the wind dried out my watering eyes. The tears left clean tracks on my face from how dirty it was, the dust, debris, and dirt from the collapsing building behind us causing me to choke. I kept running further away with Minho beside me, supporting me and urging me along. I could hardly hear his voice over the sound of snapping steel beams and foundation crashing onto the ground. It blocked out every sound, even my own, quiet sobs as I struggled to fight off the congestion in my chest.

I forced myself to keep going, to dismiss the fact that Thomas was dead and cling onto the distant hope that he had gotten out somehow. It was the only thing that kept me from tripping over my own feet or collapsing to the ground from exhaustion. Wiping my tears, I focused on regaining my breath.

We turned for the first time since we leaped from the window, making a rounded left away from a more crowded part of the city. Ragged people in torn clothes and dirty faces barely seemed to notice us as we ran. It made me wonder if a building falling like that was an everyday occurrence.

Jorge had us stop once we were a fair distance away, about halfway down a long alley between two run-down buildings that were once a salon and an apartment complex. Nobody spoke; the only sound was that of our labored breaths as we all hunched over to catch our breath. My eyes drifted around our group. Most of us looked fine, though some were sporting new cuts and scrapes. Both of Theo's elbows were bleeding through his musty green quarter-sleeve.

"How many do we have?" Jorge asked breathlessly. There was no response but our panting. His forehead crinkled as he raised his eyebrows to look at us from his bent-over position. "Well?"

Theo sighed and straightened up to begin counting. His finger pointed to each of us as he mouthed the numbers, finally announcing, "Trece - I mean thirteen."

Jorge sent him a slightly bemused look. "I know. I speak Spanish, kid." Then, as if he had just processed what Theo said, his face went completely serious and he seemed more alert than before. "Thirteen? No, that can't be right."

We waited as he counted again. My breath was starting to return to me, and the cramp in my stomach began to subside. I was just in desperate need of water and a longer nap.

"Where's Thomas?" Frypan asked, crouched so low he was almost sitting down. His dark skin glittered with sweat from the sun peeking above our heads, though most of us stood in a shadow. The kids who hadn't noticed his absence straightened up with startled expressions. I felt a punch to my gut.

"And Brenda." Jorge appeared dismayed, eyes casting to the ground. Brenda must have been that girl whom Thomas was talking to before.

"Maybe they fell behind," Aris suggested innocently. "Maybe they lost our trail—"

"No," Jorge almost snapped, sending the younger boy a withering glare. He then rubbed his tired face with both hands. When his arms dropped at his sides, he looked more his age than I'd seen him yet. "Brenda is too smart and too fast. We have to assume—"