SOJOURNER (III): tmr gally

26: I shouldn't be corralled

Dawn 26

I move over to the wall closest to us, analyzing it. We had come to this place last night for shelter when it was too dark to see the walls. Now the sun is going to set, and the bright light peaks in through the windows. Everyone else is packing around us, but I'm distracted. We didn't sleep at all, but if we don't get moving now, we will be forced to travel through the sun today. Exhaustion over burning skin, I guess.

This wall in front of me is stained with blood, not dissimilar in pattern and structure from the one in the Slammer. The one which has blood coming from beneath my skin. The desert is suddenly freezing.

"You ready to go?" Fry asks, leaning over to me.

I shake my head back and forth, staring at the wall. My feet move backwards, ignoring the rest of the group until I get downstairs. There are several doors, and I crack into each of them, shoving my weight forward. They each bust open upon contact, one after the other, after the other. They are all empty and abandoned. The final one is locked though. I kick at it with my foot, and it doesn't budge open.

"What are you doing?" Minho has chased down the stairs after me. He holds my shoulders, pulling me in closer to him. "You're going to wake up every Crank on the shucking block!"

"There's a passage again," I tell him, pulling back and gesturing to the door. If it is the only one that is locked, then we can get underground. This is always a habit I do before we leave, even if I usually do it more quietly.

Minho sighs, looking over at the door. He scratches the back of his neck, before pulling me in closer to his chest. Shaking his head, he calls upstairs. "Hey, Clint? You still got that spraying paint?"

"Yeah?" Clint calls back down.

Holding on to me, Minho walks up the stairs. We turn towards Clint, who holds the can of spray paint in his hand. I take it from him, turning to the wall covered in blood. I shake the can and open the lid.

"What day is it?" I ask over my shoulder.

"Seven," Doug calls out.

I begin to spray, in messy black letters.

Lion. Desert today. 7. Morning Sun.

"Keep writing that much, and you'll run out of spray paint before tomorrow," Doug takes the can back from me, throwing it into his bag.

I shrug. Everywhere we've slept, I've left a similar message, always the same. For Leo, where we are headed, what day it is, from me. A simple and easy format that she will understand for sure, but perhaps no one else will.

Newt is uneasy. His shoulders are hunched up, curled in on themselves. I can't say her name around him. He always becomes like this. A shadow of a boy I used to know.

Minho is distracted, moving away from me. We've got to keep running, so he and Doug haul Thomas off the ground. The boy screams out in pain, but they have no choice except to leave him to die. His head dips up and down as they walk, much like I imagine his subconscious does. I move with the flow of the boys, my head dizzy and murky, and not what it once was. Is this what insanity feels like? Existing separate from everyone else?

We make it outside, crawling about under the night. Jorge tries to help the boys carry Thomas without him falling over, and Brenda is a little less distant now, but she still isn't talking to me, Minho is too busy with the group to actually be here, and I miss my friends. I miss Leo, and I never thought I'd say this, but I miss Michelle. I miss the Glade. This isn't fun. I always wanted to explore the Earth, but everything is sand, and the closest star burnt us, and I feel like my life is eclipsing.