Dawn 18

There is dust blowing between the buildings, and the town seems to be silent. In the bright sun, I can feel my cheeks heating up. It can't be any later than 9:00 AM, and already, the sun is too hot for me. I have my jean jacket around my waist. The damage the sun is doing can't be much compared to the weight it adds to me. And the heat it swallows me in.

"You're sure you don't want my jacket?" Minho asks next to me. "It's thinner."

"You'll burn up," Newt chides. "Seriously. You should've seen Wyck. He wouldn't stay under the tarp since it was too hot, and his skin peeled off in layers. It was nasty."

I roll my eyes, backing up until I'm in the shade of the building. "There," I offer, gesturing around me. "Happy?"

Newt and Minho exchange a glance, a raised eyebrow and a smirk, but say nothing to me. I guess nothing has changed in the time I've been gone. At least, not between them.

"How much longer until we reconvene?" I ask, glancing up at the sky. The sun swallows us whole.

Newt shrugs, before looking down at his watch. "Like, fifteen minutes."

We aren't going to find Thomas, at least I doubt it. Looking for him is like looking for a needle in a haystack. For all we know, he's already heading to the mountains. The leader guy, Jorge, insists that this Brenda chick wouldn't have died. She must be keeping him safe, or so he says. Honestly, I couldn't tell you what I think or believe. Nothing makes sense anymore.

"I'm sure he'll meet us up in the Safe-Haven," I tell them. "I doubt the Creators would let him die this early on."

"Why?" Minho asks, looking me over. "You think he's special?"

"Of course he bloody is," Newt jumps in. He looks around the corner outside the aisle, glancing around. Satisfied, he turns back to us. "Why else would they only be trying to kill him?"

There's a chuckle to his voice, and his eyes are soft. Minho scratches the back of his neck, before he yawns. I can't help but smile. Even here, we can find a few seconds of calm. Amidst all this chaos.

We're done checking our section, which means we've got a minute or two to kill before we are supposed to head back. This is the first time I've been with either of them without the rest of the group in hours. Well, I guess maybe months. It's not often I'm alone with anyone anymore.

"It's better he's disappeared then," I remark, casting a glance down the alley. "Those girls can track us easier than they can track one shank. With him gone he's safer."

Minho and Newt nod, distracted. Both are looking down the alley, out into the sand. I listen for a second, a hear nothing. Neither of them looks serious, but there is something in the air that I don't like. It doesn't sit well on my tongue.

"You trust the new boys?" I ask, trying to make conversation. I guess, maybe I am actually curious. They didn't say much of anything to me yesterday.

Minho cracks his neck, leaning off the wall behind him and stepping farther away from me. "Newt does, for some reason."

"They're fine," Newt rolls his eyes, before glancing back at me. He bites his lip for a second, then shrugs his shoulders. "He's just paranoid."

"I don't like that Jay guy," Minho remarks. He scrunches his nose up and wipes the sweat off his forehead. With his free hand, he plays with the "He's a pompous slinthead, who only speaks to correct me."

"Aris and the others are fine," Newt shrugs forward, his hair acting as a visor. In the harsh light, it is difficult to see. In fact, it is almost painful. I choose not to look at his hands, chapped from the wind, not the bloodstained under his fingernails.

Newt looks at me. I can feel how heavy his eyes are. His movements are more sluggish than normal, and his limp seems to be acting up while he paces. The sun is beginning to leak into the alley from above us. The shade is disappearing second by second. Newt, who is normally bright, is bleaching out. He is burning so strongly he looks like he is disappearing.

"Next time you see Leo, you've got to tell her," I look up at Newt. The words strangle out my throat, since they need to be said now. Right this second, he needs to hear them.

His smile fades away, until his lips are straight. He struggles to offer me anything resembling a grin. Even his eyes have seemed to fade away. Minho looks over at me, before glancing back at Newt.

"So, you do like her?" He asks, his voice quiet and still. Minho forces a smile from cheek to cheek, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Newt rubs his chin with his hand. His jacket is fraying at his elbow, and it is only now I realize that his face is much dirtier than I remember. There is a cut on his lip, and in his hairline.

"Yeah, shank," he looks down at the ground, before looking up at Minho. "I really do."

"How long?" Minho asks, before stepping forward. His fingers slowly trail off of mine. I want us holding each other again, but the moment is gone as quickly as it arrived.

Newt shrugs, stepping back. Almost stumbling at the weight of the idea. "At least a month now, I reckon. Maybe longer."

Minho only can nod, before he places a hand on Newt's shoulder.

"You're going to see her again," I tell Newt. That's what's happening, right? They think she's as good as gone. I can't help the heavy swallow I gulp down. Leo shouldn't be talked about in the past tense. I mean, they haven't seen her in a while, but for me, it's been practically nothing.

Minho and Newt only offer me a glance. "We should head back."

I move forward, into the sun. Minho puts a hand towards me, in a comforting gesture, but I knock his arm away. His face is still, jaw agape, but Newt's is softer.

I take a step back from the pair. "You guys think she is as good as dead?"

Minho sighs, stepping closer. "We're lucky to have found you, Dawn."

"She's not going to die," I tell them, so certain the words make my legs stronger. Leo couldn't just evaporate off the Earth.

Newt's face turns sour. He gives us a friendly wave, walking off and leaving me and Minho in the dust. I expect him to wait for us, but he doesn't. My feet shuffle forward, but Minho stops me. His callused hand delicately lands on my shoulder. He sighs, before rubbing the other hand on the base of his neck. He is dirty too, filthy even. Bags weigh his eyes down.

"Newt's lost a lot," Minho says, his voice lower than before. He carefully glances over his shoulder to ensure Newt is far away. "He's more sensitive than the rest of us. Losing Alby took a real toll on him. While you were gone, he had finally accepted that he'd probably never see you again. I can't blame him for not wanting to keep his hopes up."

He says it with such finality, like we are all going to die, but we can't. Really, we must be immortal. All of us. It's still doesn't make sense in my head that Frankie and Dave and the lot are dead. Whenever I think about it, I imagine them laughing in the Glade. They can't be dead. Leo wouldn't die on me.

"Did you give up hope on me?" I ask.

Minho pulls me into his chest, practically before I can finish the sentence. "Wish I could've. You smell like klunk."

I laugh, shoving him backwards playfully. He smirks, kissing me on the forehead, before grabbing my hand and leading me back towards our hideout.

Newt is not too far off in front of us, moving towards our meetup. He moves slowly, almost dragging his feet in the sand, which already is moving in the wind. My smile drops when I see Newt lower his head.

Fry rounds the corner, with Doug and Wyck behind him. They are sprinting forward. Wyck is one of the boys I don't know all too well; I don't even know his job. Doug was a Builder, and I only know that because I'm used to listening to Michelle complain about him.

Wyck has to catch his breath for a second, while the other two continue running. Doug is much faster, since he was an alternate, than Fry. He passes by Newt, moving straight for Minho.

"We found Thomas." Doug manages, his voice still and steady. Fry is about to catch up to him, and I can hear his heavy breath from here. "He's just over there." He points way far off.

Minho moves away from me, pushing through Fry and Doug, past Newt. He heads over in the direction the group came from.

"Klunk," Doug mutters, turning around and chasing after Minho.

I follow them, pushing through the sand on my feet. It's quite difficult to run in this heat, with the ground slipping beneath us. As far as I know, this is the only day where the boys have been travelling during the day.

Minho spins around the corner, heading into the alleyway. It diverges in two different spots. Minho turns, unsure which direction Thomas is. I still haven't even caught up to him, but Doug is thundering past me. There is an urgency in his steps.

Minho arrives at a corner. He looks to the right, and then to the left, and he scrambles backwards. He knocks me over as he moves away from the corridor, and I hit the ground.

Newt is beside me, gently helping me up off the ground. I rub my hand along my spine, which aches but seems to be fine. Survival. Minho is far back, with Doug holding on to his shoulder. I look back at him, about to shout that he should be more carefully, but I can see the panic on his face. They are whispering rapidly.

Ignoring the boys, gathering far behind me, I stick my head around the corner. Peaking forward, I spot Thomas. He is with a group of Cranks, Brenda amongst them. They disappear as soon as I see them, shoved down a set of stairs. One of the Cranks turns around, and I spin around, behind the wall. In his pale and sickly hands is a gun.

My heart is racing. How the shuck do they get a gun out here? We can fight people with weapons, easily, because that is what we are good at. Skill on skill, strength on strength. If there is one thing I trust less than a Crank, it's a Crank with a gun.

Fry grabs hold of my hands, standing in front of me. He nods once, looking into my eyes. His irises are so dark they almost seem the same colour as his pupils. For a second, the never-ending black distracts me, as does the crease in his eyes. He nods again, and I nod back, my chest ceasing to heave.

A group of the boys gather further up in the alleyway, paying me no mind. Fry grabs my shoulder, before gently pulling me over to the group. Once we are there, we are only missing the boys I don't know. The ones from Group B.

I guess, there are a ton here I don't know as well. All of my friends have died. Sure, I know Fry, Newt, Minho, and Clint, but that's about it. Since I switched, the girls are practically equal to the boys in number.

"What the shuck is going on?" Newt asks, staring at Fry. "Where's Thomas."

Fry sighs, letting go of me to turn his attention to Newt. "Captured by some Cranks. They've got weapons. A knife."

"A gun," I finish. Everyone seems silent at that, the syllable echoing through the corridors.

"What do you mean a gun?" Dmitri asks. He is the youngest of the boys here, probably fourteen. He was a Runner, and despite his skills, seems perpetually confused.

"What do you think shuckface?" Hank demands. He is much louder than Dmitri, and much more serious. Hank would probably have taken over as head of the Runners if anything happened to Minho. Either him or Aidan, who worked his section as well.

"How did they get their hands on a gun?" Dmitri asks.

"You think I know?" Hank's voice is almost a shout. "I didn't even see it."

"I did, if both you shanks would slim it," Doug cuts in, looking around the group. I really like Doug. He seems to actually get how things work around here, and he is a good person. In this mess, he is one of the only people to seem calm.

"Now," he cuts in. "These Cranks aren't completely past the gone. They're a decent way in, sure, and they want to eat Thomas, but we might be able to reason with them.

"No, we won't," when Minho cuts in, the attention turns to him. There has been a weird dynamic shift here, one which confuses me. It wasn't like this too long ago. Newt was in charge, with Minho and Thomas close seconds behind him. Now though, people barely give Newt a second glance. I can't figure out what happened.

"We fight our way in there," Minho says, with all the power in his throat. "We get Thomas back."

"You're crazy," Hank argues. "They have a gun!"

"We don't even know if it has bullets," Aidan offers. I expect Hank to offer some clever, pointed retort, but he doesn't. Instead, he just looks down at the ground.

No one has suggested we leave Thomas behind. With that knowledge, I know I have definitely picked the right group to go with.

Jorge rounds the corner, with the boys behind him I don't know. My eyes scan them, before Jorge's land on Newt.

"What's happen here?" He scans the crowd.

Minho crosses his arms over his chest, obviously still upset by Jorge's threat. It is on Newt to answer.

"A group of Cranks got Thomas and Brenda," Newt answers. "They've got a gun.

Jorge rubs his beard. The man is fairly old, with grey hair. His skin isn't as pale as it ought to be for a Crank. The longer I've been here, the more I've realized that being a Crank is a wide-ranging scale, much like being a good person. Sure, Hank is a bit of a shuck-face, but he has saved more than one life in the past. Same goes for Dmitri. There are dozens of people in this world that I won't ever get to know.

"Before we go in guns ablazin'," Jorge lowers his eyes to the ground, as he racks his brain for any single thought. "We're gonna need a better plan. We'll go tomorrow. Deal?"

Everyone looks to Minho, waiting for him to answer. When Minho nods, we are in.