Surviving The Scorch

Chapter 1

NEWT-

The hot water poured over his back and shoulders and he laughed, relieved to finally get clean. He knew he smelled and was glad Cleo didn't seem to notice - or she didn't say anything if she did. He wiped the wet hair from his eyes, thinking of how Cleo had been telling him he needed to cut his hair. He grinned, scrubbing away dirt and grime, washing his hair out and running his fingers through it, thinking of how he would cut it for her...never mind, he thought. That seems like a bad idea to him. He should ask Cleo to do it herself.

After what feels like an hour, he steps out of the shower and pulls on clean clothes he finds where his were folded, on the bench just outside the shower area. He shrugs and pulls on the pale blue T-shirt and clean pants, new shoes, somehow his size. Then he heads out to where about half of the now-clean boys gather and Cleo wraps her thin fingers around his hand and he can feel heat rush to his cheeks. He can't get over the feeling she gives him every time they touch or lock eyes. She reaches up and touches his hair and smiles.

"You smell good," she says, making Newt smirk. "And you smell..." He doesn't finish and Cleo punches him jokingly in the shoulder, rolling her eyes. She pulls the towel from around his shoulders and swishes it at him before heading to the shower. He glances around the room, seeing all twenty of the boys and Teresa in the corner. He sighs, relieved that none of the boys are still in the shower. He sits beside the door to keep anyone from going in while she's in there. Minho plops down beside him and they look over the group for a long moment, neither saying anything until Minho breaks the silence.

"I'm proud of her," he says. Newt furrows a brow, confused. "Cleo," he clarifies, "I had my doubts at first, but she sure has proven herself to the group since. Let's not pretend nothing happened when we came in."

Newt nods slowly, frowning at the thought. "They tried to separate her. But why?"

"I don't really care why, just that these shuck faces can't be trusted quite yet and we can't let her alone. Although, I'm sure you'll have no problem with that."

Newt laughs, then hears a light echo from the metal slots in the bottom of the door to the shower room. He stops to listen. Minho stiffens beside him, hearing it too. He can't pick out the words, but it's a voice singing. Newt grins, blushing. Minho elbows him playfully.

"Your girlfriend is singing," he says. Newt chuckles, listening again to her voice and thinking of how she sounds like an angel. He wishes that she would sing to him, so he could hear the words.

After a few minutes, the singing stops and he hears the water shut off. He stands up just as the door swings open, revealing Cleo, hair wet, wrapped in a towel. He glances around at the twenty boys staring at her and feels a spark of anger in his chest. He stands in front of her, blocking their view and glares daggers in the general direction of one boy who cat-calls her.

"Give the girl some bloody privacy," he says, walking sideways as she makes her way to the next room, where the bunks are. She flips her damp locks of hair over her shoulder and they whip Newt on the arm, wafting the sweet scent of the shampoo at him and he blushes, looking at the floor. She shuffles around him for a few minutes before tapping him on the shoulder.

"Can you help me with this," she asks and he flashes back to when she needed help dressing back in the Glade, his face burns, but he turns around. She's clothed in the same gray-blue outfit that he and the others wear, holding her wrist out to him, struggling to fasten the watchband. He breathes out in relief and fastens the clip for her, then watches her pull on the leather, black-laced boots, wondering why they're different from the footwear the rest of the group was supplied with. They walk out and join the rest of the group in the open area, just as the door opens and a man with rodent-like features steps through, holding a clipboard and a pen.

"Will you all please come with me; you lack sustenance."

No one argues, all feeling like they haven't eaten since . . . well, Newt can't remember, it was in the Maze sometime. Cleo walks beside him, watching her feet, laces brushing the floor lightly with every step. He itches to wrap his hand around hers, but she seems off in another world.  

The remaining Gladers file into the next room, nearly silent from the shock of what they've just been through, especially Thomas, Chuck's death clearly weighing heavily on him. Newt's stomach itched with anticipation of food, and then with shock. The next room is a cafeteria, filled with other kids around their age, all chattering and eating, laughing. The man is talking and Newt tunes in, blinking at the room.

" . . . not the only Maze. Take some time to get acquainted, eat and relax."

Cleo brushes past him to a shortening line of kids who're filling up plastic trays with food. He follows her and picks up a tray, noticing that Cleo is still limping a bit. He wraps his arm around her middle, pulling her close and helping her walk.

"You're limping again," he observes.

"I'm fine," she says, not looking at him. Her voice is suddenly cold and Newt feels unwelcome, like a door was just slammed in his face. He looks her up and down, confused, but lets his arm fall back to his side and grabs his food in silence. Two grilled cheese sandwiches, an apple, a bottle of water and a small carton of chocolate milk. When he gets to the end of the line, Minho meets him with a small plate, which he practically shoves onto his tray.

"Newt, they have cake," he explains, mouth full, crumbs sticking to his chin as he chews. "It's the best shucking thing I've ever tasted, you have to try it!"

"Alright, I will, just slim it already." He wasn't in the mood to talk about cake and Cleo had slipped off to the farthest corner of the room, sitting at an empty table and picking at her food. He went to sit with her, but Thomas appeared at his side and he took him by the arm to guide him to a meeting at a table filled with the Gladers.

"Shouldn't Cleo -" but he had already been dragged to the table and into the conversation. Halfway through Minho's speech about not trusting these people, "cake or no cake," Newt caught a glimpse of another guy in a hooded sweatshirt, dark circles under his eyes, sit next to Cleo at the table in the back of the room.