Leo 21

"I remember you," it's all Ella offers.

She's stumbling and swaying on her feet. I didn't believe Sonya, when she came running over, and said that Ella was on the surface. I didn't believe she had it in her to break her way up top, nor did I think she had the ability to stand, albeit barely, and accuse Teresa of God knows what.

Ella falls to the ground. Her body writhes, and spit flies out her mouth.

Another seizure.

Girls are moving in all around her, yelling and panicking. Marie was the closest, though she failed to catch Ella as she fell to the ground. I try to break through and get to Ella, though Michelle grabs me. She pulls me away from the crowd, turning to face me.

"Run!" She tells me. I try to shrug off my backpack, but she pulls the straps back on my shoulder.

"I need to help Ella." I try to push my way past her, but she is and has always been, too strong for me.

"You can't," Michelle's voice is firm. Her eyes are steady, her mouth pressed into a tight line. "You won't be able to slip away again. She's fine. You need to go."

She shoves me backwards firmly. My feet slip beneath me, but I catch myself on the wall. I turn around to face Michelle, but she shoos me off once more.

Ella has epilepsy. The way to get her through a seizure is to wait for it to end, then help her afterwards. Ensure she isn't concussed and bandage any place she is cut open. You have to remain calm, and kind, and helpful.

Anyone can do that. They don't need me for her.

I run away. Barrelling down the corridor before anyone can see me. I round down the side, stopping to pant for a just a second before I continue sprinting. No idea where I'm going, or where Dawn is, or Newt, or anyone else.

Next time I see Michelle, I need to thank her. She's putting herself at risk, letting me go. This is her way of apologizing, and I forgive her. Honestly, I doubt I could've stayed mad for longer than five minutes.

I duck out into the sun. It's still early in the morning, so the sun is rising. I don't see any Cranks hanging around, not that it matters. I don't have a weapon.

As I sprint, I knock over a garbage can. I pause, moving back to it. There is only rotting food inside. I need a weapon, which I never thought I'd hear myself say, and yet here we are.

I continue moving until I am in the centre of the road. Down either side are buildings. Beneath the sand, which shuffles in the light wind, there is a harsh concrete road hiding. I'm already sweating, and dawn has barely broken. I shudder as I look at the abandoned buildings as if I expect any of them to collapse at any moment, or for a hoard of Cranks to come running out of them.

Funny how the Grievers have easily replaced the Cranks as a threat. Like, I'm so used to running that it is a natural instinct. By funny, I mean anything but funny. If anything, I mean how cruel.

I hear a sound, and my hand flies to my waist. The only thing I have is a pair of scissors, which make me nervous to hold. Not that I don't like blood, but it's unsettling that these scissors help me heal people and are also a weapon. Honestly, I much preferred the bat I had in the Maze. The bat felt less dangerous, which was part of its appeal.

Here, it doesn't really matter which appeals to my sensibilities. I take the scissors out of my belt, holding them in my hand.

The last I heard of Dawn, Michelle had seen her in a building that had collapsed. That's further back then where I am now, but that was also days ago. Every second out here feels like a decade, which I guess is no different than the Maze. We've only been gone nine days, and this is what we've come to. Already, I've succumbed to the violence.

When I'm satisfied the sound was just that, a sound, I step forward. My feet crunch against the sand. Every step of the way is going to be painful, isn't it? That's how this seems to be going anyway.

I move aside, to the buildings. Walking alongside them provides me with some peace of mind, if not a lot. They may not be able to watch my back, but they don't leave me as vulnerable. In the early morning sun, it's easy enough to blend in with them anyway.

I step closer to an alleyway, before stopping. I hear something coming. A blur runs past. I hold out my scissors, watching a man streak across the road. He is laughing, a crazy roar that echoes across the buildings and fills the air. It only serves to illustrate how silent it is here.

I bend down, kneeling over and looking down through the alley. No one else is down there. Quickly, I stand up and skid past it, to the safety of the next building.

I wish Michelle had come with me. At least then I'd feel a bit safer than I do now. In the building, she helped me take down those Cranks. Raw strength, that's what she's got. Can't call it anything else after all.

I don't know how much longer I can do this on my own.

I take a second to breathe, resting my head against the building. I'm exhausted. Last night, I couldn't fall asleep, and I was woken up so abruptly this morning that I still feel like I'm sleeping. Maybe this is all a dream, and I will wake up in the Maze. I hate that it's a safe alternative to being here. It doesn't feel all that safe.

There's a hand on my shoulder, and I spin around. A man, with no teeth and sagging skin, leans over top of me. He attempts to smile, even though his grey tongue dangles lifelessly on his chin. My breath hitches in my throat as I stumble back. He falls forward with me, landing just below my feet. I scramble backwards, my hands scrapping against the ground. The scissors flew back, several feet away. With my feet, I attempt to kick him away, but he follows me. His face is bleeding, and his eyes are bloodshot.

"What are you doin' pretty lady?" I turn around to see an older woman stumbling forward. "Is he bothering you?" I scramble to my feet, backing away from the both. The woman kicks her foot forward, knocking the man in the jaw. His face cracks and he hits the ground.

The lady turns to me, her head twitching to the side. "Sometimes Hershel can be so mean."

She's a Crank. I can tell from her torn clothes and her slipping gait. It comes down to how far past the gone she is. I've seen some crazy Cranks, but some who aren't so far.

"You should thank me," she smiles. "He's so past the gone he'd eat you." She laughs softly and then freezes. Her fists clench at her side, and her jaw hardens. She drops her head, so it is practically leaning against her shoulder. "Why, pray tell aren't you thanking me?"

I can't say anything. I still can't remember how to breathe. "Sorry?"

"Thank me!" She snarls, charging forward. She tackles me, and I scream. Her hands claw at my face, gouging into my skin. I knock her off with my feet, spinning to look for the scissors.

I turn forward to grab them, and she shoves my face into the concrete. She lifts my head up, about to slam it down, and I roll over. She tumbles to the ground. I grab the scissors, turn around. She's on top of me again and I stab her.

She freezes for a beat, then moves again. Once more, I stab her. The scissors cut through her decaying muscles, requiring all more force. I can't do this. I can't.

Finally, her body slumps against mine, blood flowing out. I can't breathe. Using all the force in my upper body, I shrug her off. Her body continues to bleed on the ground, her blood impossibly dark. I scramble backwards until I bump into the building behind me. My chest is heaving. She's dead. Her lips are frozen, her jaw is wide open, and I killed her. Just myself.

My hands and knees are shaking. I can't move. I can't breathe. I can feel this panic coming on again. I hate it. This feeling causes the blood to rise in my chest. It makes me more than uncomfortable.

I lie against the building, letting my chest rise and fall, and concentrating on the feeling of the sand between my hands. It is harsh and full of small bits of stone. I can feel it though, almost caressing my skin. The building is harsh against my back. Its bricks scratch me, though I don't mind. I close my eyes, breathing in and out again and again.

I feel something cold against my neck, and my eyes fly open. There is an Asian boy, kneeling in front of me. He has jet black hair, scruff to match, and dirty skin. His face is still and stiff. He squints at me, through his dark brown eyes.

"Stand up," his voice is low and gruff, and he enunciates every syllable carefully.

He hoists me in the air, shoving me forward. The knife remains against my neck. I lift my hands into the air defensively. He knocks me forward with his shoulder, pushing me in front of his body. His heavy tingles my ear. I wish I could see his face. I wish I could know what he is thinking.

"Would you knock it off?" A boy asks, gesturing forward. He has warm brown skin, and eyes to match. The warmth doesn't meet his face though, as he questions the boy behind me. "Leave her be."

"She just stabbed someone." I can feel his heavy words echo through my chest. My heart is pounding. "She's covered in blood."

I look down, noticing that he is right. My hands begin to shake.

The other boy doesn't seem to like this, but he sighs. He rubs a hand across his face, covering his smile lines. He shakes his head back and forth but does nothing. This boy looks soft, even behind his harsh windbreaker. The boy beside him doesn't.

The third boy stares forward at me, with hollow eyes. He has brown hair too, like the boy beside him, but instead of the clean-shaven face that the other boy has, his hair is wild. It sticks up in every direction, blowing in the wind. I doubt he notices though. He stares at me beyond the layer of dirt that coats him.

They're Cranks. Seemingly new, although I can't be sure how new they are.

"She's frightened," the second boy offers. He steps forward, gently grabbing my arm. His eyes meet the boy behind me, waiting for the okay. When he nods, the boy behind me lets go. I stumble forwards, almost slumping into the arms of the boy who holds on to me.

"Hey," he offers a kind smile, wiping the blood off my chin. "You're alright."

"She could be well past the gone," the boy behind me warns. I still haven't turned to look at him, focusing on the boy in front of me instead.

"Nah, she isn't." The boy in front of me remarks. "Look at her eyes. They're too bright."

The remark causes my cheeks to warm. The boy in front of me offers a soft chuckle, before straightening his back. He's really tall, in fact, they all are. Over six feet for sure. I wonder what is in the water out here.

"Sheil," the first boy warns.

I freeze, staring at the boys. They are from Group B. Sheil, I've heard them say his name maybe a thousand times. Emil is dead. Sheil is alive (apparently). The other two's names slipped my mind.

"You're Sheil," I turn to the kind one.

The rest freeze, turning to stare at me.

"Marie, she's mentioned you," I turn, looking at the boys. "You're diabetic, right? We thought you'd be dead."

Sheil looks up at the other boy. The one with hollow eyes finally glances up, turning to stare at me. He places a hand on his chin, crossing the other arm across his chest. Like he is dissecting me.

"You're with Group A?" The first guy asks.

I nod my head up and down, glancing across the group.

"Which one is she?" He asks, turning to the rest of the group. "Can't be their Emil."

"She might be there me," Sheil offers. "Kind enough anyway."

"Dumb enough anyway," the first one counters.

"You think she's the violent one?" The third boy finally offers, as if his brain is tuning in and out of this conversation.

"Doubt it," Sheil offers. "Probably their Meddy."

"Not their Dawn, that's for sure," the first offers. "Think Dawn's their me."

"You're just saying that because she's pretty," Sheil rolls his eyes.

The first boy smirks, shrugging.

"I'm the Meddy," I have to cut in to get a word edge wise. These three seem to be the melody to one song, filling in the holes where everyone else is missing. As if they've been together much longer than I know they have. I wish Michelle, Dawn, and I could focus like that. Maybe, I wish things worked out better for us. Of course, they didn't.

"Which one's that?" The first boy asks. "Lucy? Lemon?"

"Leo," I correct, brushing off the fact my name could've been Lucy, or anything else. Leo is just what they call me.

"Leo," Sheil smiles. He reaches over and takes my hand. His handshake is firm but kind. His eyes light up, and his smile lines grow across his face. "Obviously you know me. I'm Sheil."

"Jay," the first guy offers. He doesn't try to shake my hand and offers me more contempt than anything else. "That guy over there is Lott."

Lott only glances at me, before turning his focus back to the ground. He actually seems a bit crazy.

"Where are the others?" I ask.

Sheil gestures behind me. "Just a ways back, you know. We can take you there."

Jay tenses at the mention of the group. He cracks his neck, before finally putting his knife in his pocket. "You guys take her. I've got some business to attend to."

With that, he stalks off. There's no way he has business in the middle of the Scorch, but I don't question it. In fact, I remain silent to the matter. Sheil's smile fades for half a second, but it returns when he sees me.

"Well, we better get going." He looks over his shoulder, back at Lott.

Lott nods slowly, absentmindedly. Sheil ignores his friend's emptiness, grabbing me by the shoulder and steering me back to the rest of the group.

~~~~

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