Leo 25

We trudge through the early morning sun, ignoring all the heat. The sweating is awful, but if I take off my jacket then my skin will blister in the heat. I had to leave the sleeping bag behind when I fled, so it won't provide any coverage in the light. My cheeks are already bright red.

"How is everybody, anyway?" Sheil asks. It's getting late enough for us, so we should be camping out soon. He wants to get at least another hour in of walking though. For the most part, we've been silent this whole time, with the exception of Lott's muttering.

"Good," I tell them, remembering the group. "When I left, there were sixteen alive."

"Sixteen?" Sheil asks, from slightly in front of me. "That's so few."

I nod. Beside me, Lott pulls out a flask and drinks from it. He offers me a nasty glare, which causes me to speed up until I am next to Sheil.

"What about the boys?" I ask.

"Fifteen," he answers. "Though, that's because one of your friends converted over."

"Who's alive?" I ask, since I need to know.

"Minho," Sheil offers. "Fry, Newt-"

I can't help but exhale when I hear Newt's name. That was all I needed to know. He's made it this far. I will see him soon. Honestly, I couldn't bare showing up to Group A without him there. I don't know what I would do.

"Clint?" I ask, jumping back in.

"He's fine," Sheil tells me, though he shudders. "Bit off his rocker though. Can't think too clearly."

It's because Jeff is dead. The thought lowers my heart to my feet. The Grievers got him. I choose not to think about all of that though. Memories of Jeff burn my chest. Remembering how we got here is no easy task. Life here is no better than life in the Maze. It's just different.

"How much further up is it?" I ask.

Sheil casts a glance back to Lott. His face is hollow, and almost seems to be falling off his skull. When he sees my eyes, Lott takes another swig from his canteen, almost chipping a tooth in the process.

"Not far," Sheil bites his lip, turning his head too quickly away from me. Something is up.

I want to give them the opportunity to clarify themselves, so I continue. "What errand was Jay running?"

Lott chuckles behind me. I turn to face him. He is staring at the palms of his hands, shaking his head back and forth.

"Just grabbing supplies for the group," Sheil tells me, racing through the words. He still won't look at me. "There was a building a bit of a ways back with supplies. He figured we needed more."

That building collapsed. Michelle mentioned that she saw it. We all heard the rubble hitting the ground. For some reason, Sheil doesn't want me to know. He looks around the corners, as if he is unsure where we are going next.

They have no idea where our group is, and from what I know of Sheil, he isn't hiding that from me out of pride.

I start running, moving forward as fast as I can. My bag slows me down, but I won't leave the medical supplies behind. Of course, the sedative is on me, which I could use against them, but it's in my backpack. Besides, if I got one of them, I doubt the other one would let me. I'd be tied up before I'd get anywhere.

I duck through an alleyway, crashing into the garbage which litters the ground. I turn a corner and run forward.

At the end of the passageway, there are Cranks. Three of them mulling about, who've all spotted me. Sheil comes running around, colliding into me from the back. We both go sliding forward into the sand. He quickly scrambles off me, brushing off his chest. He pulls out a machete from his belt, circling it in his hand.

"Lott!" He calls out, turning behind him. "Lott!"

Lott slowly jogs around the corner, spotting the group. He takes a knife out of his belt, handing it to me, before he gets out his own club.

He winds up, as the first Crank runs towards us, and swings at the first man who approaches us. The bones in his jaw crack, and he falls to the ground. His head is twisted at an impossible angle.

The other two come charging forward, and Sheil shoves me to the side. He slices one through the stomach, kicking it off the blade. Lott knocks the other in the head, and it quickly falls down. He pulls out another knife from his belt and kills the thing beneath our feet. I find myself stumbling backwards, realising why Group B was so much better at surviving.

Lott spits on them, throwing the club back in his belt. He glances up at me, staring me down. "You don't particularly like killing, do ya?"

When I don't answer, he sighs. He cracks his neck, before putting his knife away. He gestures to the one in my hand. "Keep it. You'll have to get used to it."

I stare at the bodies on the floor, then up at the boys. All of us have blood on our clothes, which will quickly dry in the sun. Still, they protected me, after essentially kidnapping me. I don't know what their game plan is.

"What do you want?" I demand. My hands shake as a put the knife in my backpack.

Sheil sighs, scratching the back of his head. He is still holding a machete. "We didn't want this to happen. We were hoping you could lead us back to Group B, but things got out of hand. I'm sorry for lying to you, but I felt like there was nothing else I could do. I miss my friends."

He looks up at me, his eyes creasing yet still soft. I find myself melting. I get it, like he does. I just want to be with my friends too. Not just because I can help them, but because I need them. I need Newt. The longer we are apart, the more I forget who I am. He needs to know I love him. I've got to tell him.

I'm sure Sheil has the same regrets I do.

"I don't know where they are," I tell them. "They are travelling both above and below ground. They could be in the Mountains already, for all I know."

"That's the problem," Sheil admits. "We waited to long. Who knows where Group A is either."

Klunk. I guess that means we are stuck together. I like Sheil, and it seems that even Lott is growing on me. He offers me a quick flick of his frown, into a straight face, which I imagine is the Lott version of smiling.

"So, do you agree to travel with us?" Sheil asks. "Even if we've gotten off on the wrong foot?"

I nod. I can't get to the Safe-Haven alone. We will probably run into the boys eventually.

Sheil offers me a faint smile, and then continues walking. He gestures for me to follow him. I linger back, letting my eyes land on Lott. He is frozen for a second, before he moves on, essentially crawling forward. His gate is slow, and I wonder for a second if he has broken every single one of his toes.

I move forward, walking with Sheil. The sun is once again hot above us. We continue as if I didn't just try to flee. Every so often, Sheil turns back around and offers me a faint smile. He is much less scary than I had expected. Lott on the other hand, follows us in the rear.

After an hour, Sheil stops and scopes out a building. Though he is tall, and probably heavy, he moves nimbly through the sand. Once he has glanced around the building he turns to the door. He opens it staring inside for a few seconds. I take the flashlight out of my backpack passing it to him. He mutters a quick thank you, before entering.

We walk around the darkness, expecting there to be any sound, but there is none. The light of the morning barely fills the room, with it's dark and thick brick walls. The little light comes in through the door.

It slams shut behind us. I turn on my feet, Sheil pulling me back and shining the light forward. It's Lott, smirking. He begins to whistle as he steps forward, looking around the building.

"I hate when he does that," Sheil sighs, stalking forward. He can't help the smile on his cheeks. "Every single stucking time."

"Brings them out, doesn't it?" Lott turns around, tossing a grin behind his shoulder.

I listen in the building for any creaking sounds, but none come. When Sheil's steps get softer and softer, I run forward, moving after him.

Lott continues to whistle, his feet tapping on the floor. Sheil is rolling his eyes. "It's like you want to be attacked."

"You caught me," Lott chuckles. His laugh is clipped.

"You're quiet," Sheil remarks, looking down at me. "Never been in a building before?"

"It's not that," I yawn. My eyes are getting heavy, but I will be damned if I'm the first to fall asleep. We are at a set of stairs, which we climb. "You're just nice for kidnappers, is all."

"You're lucky we aren't Jay," Lott responds. "That guy is crazy."

"Jay's not so bad," Sheil rolls his eyes. "You just don't like him because he's sleeping with Rose and Hilde."

"You just don't like him because he's sleeping with Rose and Hilde," Lott repeats, his voice going up in pitch to mock Sheil. Instead of getting angry, like I expect, Sheil rolls his eyes and smiles. He leans over, and playfully shoves Lott, who laughs at the gesture. It's as if Lott has been switched off, and there is a different boy hiding underneath, who I can only glimpse at for a second.

"Don't air me out like that," Lott rolls his eyes. It seems Sheil has a way of picking people apart and calling them out on their klunk. I sort of like it. He really knows the others.

It doesn't seem like any of them have a leader. Instead, they sort of coexist, accepting their differences and their fates.

"Tell us about your group of girls," Sheil offers, trying to get me to join the conversation. "I've had my suspicions on them, but I can't figure it out."

"Sorry?" I ask.

"Here he goes again," Lott rolls his eyes.

Sheil sits down, pulling me to the ground with him. His eyes open up, and he gestures wildly. "So, as soon as we were put in the second group, I've been trying to match us up. I can't figure out who goes with who, anyway."

"Sorry?" I ask.

"Well, this is all connected," he begins, looking up in the air, as if the strings hang above him. "Emil noticed it first. He was convinced there was someone missing, a girl. He called her Emily. Now, I suspect it's a girl from your group, but I don't know who. Have any of you died?"

I shake my head back and forth.

"And there is no Emily?" He clarifies.

I shake my head again, and he leans backwards, snapping his fingers.

"He's talking about Ella," I tell Sheil. His eyes peer into mine, and he gestures for me to keep talking. "Well, she remembered a whole ton of stuff. The process didn't work properly on her. She has epilepsy."

"See, we think Emil had schizophrenia," Sheil says. "He saw things, and heard things, that are only starting to make sense now."

"Ella's the same," I continue. "There is something wrong with her brain. She can't focus or form new memories."

"We suspect," Sheil looks over to Lott, who is paying no attention to our conversation. He's playing with broken glass on the floor, brushing it around. "Well, I suspect, that something is wrong with the area of the brain that controls the memory. I don't know what, but I think they are living the past, in the present. Just my theory."

"Sounds solid," I tell Sheil.

"Well, so here's the thing," he continues. "What is Ella's Subject name?"

I shake my head back and forth. I honestly never checked. I never thought it was important. "Honestly, I don't know."

Sheil rolls his head back, closing his eyes. "That's a load."

He snaps for a minute, racking his brain for anything. I like the way he thinks. At first, he just seemed like a nice guy, but he's put more thought into our history than I have. Not because he thinks it's more important, I don't think, but because it's a mystery to solve.

"So, I've been trying to figure out our counterparts," Sheil says. "I can't make sense of it in my head. It's definitely Emil and Ella, right? That makes the most sense. Dawn hasn't really talked to me, but I suspect that's because Jay is a jerk and always stares at her like he's going to eat her alive. For a while, I thought Michelle and I weren't counterparts, because our names are so similar. What are your subject names?"

It takes me a second to realise he is waiting for me to talk. "I'm the Anchor. Dawn is the Roots, and Michelle is the Hermit."

"Tell me more about Michelle," he prompts. "What's she like?"

I blow a strand of hair out of my face. "Well, she's pretty quiet, and rather full of herself. She sleeps around, which is fine, and is pretty violent."

"See, that reads like Jay," Sheil explains. "Other than the quiet part. The Rat, his subject name, is nothing like hers. And Michelle and Sheil sound the most similar. I'm the Wires though, which sounds like Dawn, the Roots. Leo and Lott sound pretty similar, and his subject name is the Elastic. Personality wise, nothing really seems to be matching up, except I think you and I are similar enough. It's really frustrating, don't you think?"

"Why does it matter so much to you?" I ask, leaning forward.

He sighs, looking over at Lott. Lott simply shrugs, causing Sheil to exhale harshly. "I think it's important. I think there is more to our story than WICKED lets on. We know that Aris is the trigger, and your Teresa. Rachel and Thomas were in on it too, since they helped design the Glade, but what did they do. We are named after four famous authors, I've gathered. Mary Shelley, Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen, and Emily Dickinson. It's been planned from the beginning. I just want to know why."

Can't blame him for that. None of it makes sense. I hadn't thought about it much before, but I still can't manage to focus on it with Newt out there, without me.

"Stop boring her and let the stick sleep," Lott yawns. "I'll take first watch."

Sheil sighs, lying down on the ground. It is harsh beneath him, just as it is beneath me. I copy his gesture.

"We will talk more in the morning," Sheil offers. "With our combined knowledge, I'm sure we can solve this."

I believe him.