Rogue | Group B → The Maze Runner¹

i.two

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● [ ii . five hours later ]

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THAT EVENING, Rosalind sat by the fire, too overwhelmed to move. For hours, she had slumped behind the rough face of a nearby trunk, watching the flames move in dances behind a closed eye. They had all joined to make it, a small fire just metres from the shack in the corner of the Glen, where Beth was talking to Ximena in a low murmur. 

The taste of Lise's canned soup lingered in her mouth, claggy and thick. They had eaten together, huddled as the sun began to set and the cold enveloped them. And amidst their gathering, they talked. Some even found moments to laugh. The first five, in particular, were so unnervingly comfortable. Rosalind deemed it agitating. 

Florence had occasionally come by, offering to inspect the gash on her arm. Rosalind refused each time, though Florence remained close. She sat with Ada behind the flames, their presence potent as they spoke quietly. She could feel their eyes on her. 

She raised her head slightly, looking upon the Glen. In the mist of the evening, she couldn't even see where the courtyard ended. Everything was mellow. A light breeze whispered through the trees, rustling, and the sway of the long grass followed. Miyoko sat a few metres from camp, tearing up grass and watching the blades fall through her fingers. Though small, the light of the fire captured the sharp lines of her arms. Physically, she was fit, with a sharp definition to her jaw and muscles. She hadn't spoken much since they'd arrived. Rosalind hadn't either.

She tilted her head towards the maze, curious. Stirring in her mind were a million possibilities of what it withheld, how far it went, why it was built. And her name... Rosalind. It didn't feel like hers. It felt invasive, a reminder that she hadn't existed six hours ago. But her body had creases and dents and marks and scars, all real. She had lived. She had existed. She remembered lots of little things about life, like eating, clothes, and playing. But any detail that would create a complete memory had been erased. She was completely lost.

"Rosalind, right?" The voice startled her. It was Ada, stood with a jar and a first-aid kit. "Hi," she said, stepping closer.

"Oh, hey," Rosalind responded. Ada began to sit, cross-legged on the grass beside her.

"I was just wondering," she paused, looking down at the jar in her hand. Inside it was a yellow-ish liquid, bubbling from the bottom. "I thought you might want some of this."

"What is it?" Rosalind asked.
"Malt and yeast, basically. It's disgusting, but everyone's having some."

Rosalind took the jar and drank anyway, swallowing it immediately as to not let the taste linger. It almost came back up, but she held it down. "God," she said through a cough.