Two Turtle Doves

Nine

AN: it's been a very long time (sorry!!). so long, actually, that a maze runner book actually came out between updates (it was great and I loved it, but I feel like a large portion of the fandom doesn't even know it exists so go read it!!!). part of the delay may or may not be because one of my keys broke off. anyways, it's Christmas break, which means free time, which means writing -- so here's to the american education system.

It had grown so hot outside that even Newt's touch was becoming too much to handle. An unquantifiable amount of sand had made its way into your mouth and shoes. The air was stale, and it reminded you of your time in the box. How long had it been since then? It felt like a lifetime.

You and Newt trailed just behind Minho as he led the group up, down, and around the mounds of sand. You hadn't failed to notice that Winston seemed to be trying extraordinarily hard to keep up with everyone. So hard, in fact, that his ragged breaths could be heard by everyone in the group. Nobody said anything, for everyone was also heaving in large gulps of air. Even the best runners seemed unprepared for this terrain.

Each step felt like a mile, but couldn't have been longer than five inches at most. Every time you told yourself you were going to move faster, you seemed to slow down. You had to look at your feet to keep from tripping over them, and the sight of the grainy floor began to hurt your head. What I'd give for water right now. You thought about the spare bottles some of the others had brought along.

No. You shook the thought from your head. We've barely walked at all. Someone will need the water later.

At some point, you found yourself outside of your thoughts. You took a second to admire the surrounding desert. If you hadn't been on the run from the world's largest corporation with practically no resources or directions, you would've considered it beautiful. It looked like a scene from a sublime painting. But a drawing couldn't have come close to depicting the malaise of the sandy skyline. No, the only thing that could be proven by a painting is that ignorance is, in fact, bliss.

There was a large dune in front of you and the rest of the Gladers. It stretched in a crescent shape, and was so wide that you weren't sure whether or not you could see the end. From the moment you laid eyes upon the mound of the material, you knew the only way around it was over it. 

Minho stopped suddenly, and looked up the steep slope. He sighed loudly, and you were surprised that he was able to get enough air to do so. Your lungs were full of a burning feeling, stinging your chest and the back of your throat. The same feeling also resided in your calves, which felt as if they were about to split open. But stopping would only be caving into failure, and you had learned one thing about the Gladers: they don't fail.

You sucked in a deep breath and began walking forward. A few lingered for two or three seconds longer, some hunching over slightly with their hands on their knees. They'll catch up.

For some unknown reason, you hadn't expected the sand to obey the laws of gravity at all. It took you by surprise when grains started rolling down the hill under your footsteps. The sand sunk under your feet and it almost sent you tumbling down. You were just barely able to catch your balance.

The others around you seemed to be having the same problem, occasionally throwing their arms out to their sides or collapsing to all fours to keep from falling. 

For some reason, a memory itched at the back of your mind -- an odd sense of déjà vu. You shivered suddenly, despite the profuse amount of heat. Have I done this before? you wondered, trying your very best to recall why this felt so familiar. But no matter how hard you tried to reach into your memories, those people -- WICKED's people -- seem to have prevented you from regaining control of your own thoughts.