Hello again, I'm sorry that it is really late. I will make up for it by posting another chapter in a couple of days.
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Sam
"RUN!" Thomas screams, scrambling to his feet and dragging me after him, as he sprints away. I regain my footing and run with him, our hands intertwined. The door breaks off of its hinges and crashes to the ground, the creatures scrambling out of it, with horrific gurgles and hideous screams.
My heartbeat thumps in my ears, our loud pants and wheezes for breath the only sound my ears would pick up. Tears prick the corner of my eyes, legs and throat burning from the lack of oxygen. Me and Thomas reach the rest of the Gladers, and my heartbeat quickens as we search frantically for a hiding place.
The past couple of hours consisted of hushed whispers and tending to Winston's wounds. The creatures had not given up yet, sniffing the air and growling at eachother, like a pack of wild animals.
I had fed Alex earlier, and he now lay asleep in my arms, soft snores erupting from his partly open lips. My head rests uncomfortably on Minho's muscly shoulder, the rest of my aching body slouched on the debris we were hiding under.
Morning came quickly, the sweltering heat of the sun not yet at its peak. "We should move now, whilst it's not too bloody hot yet. We can rest at lunchtime." Newt orders, all of the remaining Gladers nodding in his direction.
I pack my belongings silently, carefully laying Alex down and wrapping a spare bed sheet loosely around his head and uncovered skin. "I can carry him." Minho offers, as I outstretched my arms to carry him.
"It's okay." I smile up at my boyfriend, but he frowns.
"Are you sure? You look like klunk."
"Yeah, and thanks for the complement Minho." I roll my eyes, adjusting my backpack on my back and walking away from him.
"Wait! Sam- I didn't mean it like that..." Minho sighs, a frown crossing his face. As he rushes to catch up with me.
"Hey Minho!" It was Frypan. "Come and help me, Winston is struggling to walk."
---
I swallow deeply, my dry throat burning from the lack of water. My feet sink in the sand dune we are currently attempting to 'climb', muscles aching from the constant movement. Thomas pulls me to my feet as I reach the top of the dune, smiling and giving me a small nod.
Frypan chuckles and smiles down at me, "well done, shankette, you have now officially crawled up a sand dune."
Laughter ripples throughout the air, after Frypan's remark. I roll my eyes and smirk up at the tall, dark skinned cook. "Ha ha, funny."
But the laughter disperses as Winston collapses, his face a deep crimson. "Winston!" Thomas cries, rushing to the boy's aid.
He groans in agony, panting and wheezing as he gulps in mouthfuls of air. "Minho, Frypan, Sam, see if you can find some debris for a stretcher." Newt orders, eyes filled with worry and pain for the suffering boy at his feet.
---
My heart aches for Winston, who lays on the makeshift stretcher, crumpled in pain. It should have been me, not him, to have been ripped apart by the beasts. The sand whips us in the face, collecting in the corner of my eyes and mouth.
Finally, our group stumbles across another chunk of building, propped up by a cracked concrete wall. I absorb my surroundings: mountains scattered across the horizon, a demolished bridge a couple of miles away, close enough to see the definition though. Material hangs on the protruding metal structure, and chunks of rock lay on the sandy road.
"I'm going to go to the toilet, don't let anyone round there." I point to a large pile of rocks, Newt nods, playing with Alex, who is now awake.
"Enjoy yourself, I guess." Newt mutters, before a small smirk creeps its way onto his face.
"Sure." I chuckle, grabbing my backpack and going out of sight behind the rocks. I scan my surroundings once again, and use the toilet. "Aw shit." I mutter under my breath.
"Is everything alright Sammy?" Newt asks, an obvious frown across his face.
"Y-yeah. I'm good." I stutter, cursing mentally at my worried tone of voice. I rummage in my bag for awhile, before my fingers brush on the desired object. Once again, it was that time of the month, a time of hideous fatigue and constant cramps.
My heart leaps in my chest as the sound of a gunshot goes off, and I quickly pull up my jeans. I gulp, my throat still dry and scratchy, as I sprint towards the source of the loud boom. "Whats going on?" I blurt, my eyes scanning the frightened faces of the gladers.
"Winston, he- he tried to shoot himself!" Frypan gasps, eyes wide and filled with tears.
I swallow, trying to gulp down the tears, as a deafening silence washes over the group. Winston rolls to his hands and knees, coughing up strings of black blood. He falls onto his back in exhaustion, panting loudly. "Its getting worse." He rasps, tugging up his shirt.
His stomach is covered in black and green veins, wrapped around his torso and climbing towards his neck. Black goo seeps from the exposed wound, as Winston lamely coughs again.
