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.

Then, the stars above us disappear. There is a loud roaring, filling the air. It gets closer and closer. I grab on to Fry next to me, grabbing at his shoulder. He turns his attention towards me, before staring up at the sky.

"What the shuck?" He asks, staring up at the sky. His voice is obscured by the sound.

I grab his torch out of his hands, flashing the light up at the sky. Above us is a metal ceiling, hanging down over us.

"What is that?" I demand, staring up into the sky. "Does anyone see that?"

Everyone's torches fly up towards the massive structure above us. My clothes are whipping around, my hair swallowing me whole. I put my torch between my knees, beginning to tie up my hair.

"Berg!" Jorge screams, running away.

Minho drops Thomas, running back from the thing. Sand is beginning to pick up around us, blurring into the crowd. I push forward to him, watching as Brenda runs to Thomas over his shoulder. The sand beats into my face, and I am forced to close my eyes. I continue searching, my hands thrown out in front of me, as I try to navigate.

"Minho?" I screech, though I can barely hear myself above this impending drum. "Minho!"

The whirring is overwhelming. I slip on the sand beneath me, falling to the ground. There is an arm on my elbow, lifting me up. Newt is behind me, hoisting me to my feet.

"Where's Thomas?" He demands, looking around.

"You left him?" I ask, gripping on to Newt's shoulder.

The sand is throwing around us, beating against my face. He stands there, holding on to my arm. Eventually, I lose sight of him, but can still feel him holding me. The sand is a wall around me.

Then, the sand seems to settle down. It falls to the ground slowly. I shake my head, letting it fall out of hair. Cascading like a waterfall to the ground. Newt is clear, but his body is covered in sand. His hair a more golden blonde than before. It strikes me, suddenly, how similar to Sonya he looks. How similar they sound when they speak. My accent is different, but theirs are identical.

Newt lets go of me, turning around the group. He spins around, looking for others. Darting over, he starts to dig out Clint, whose body is half covered in the sand. Though his eyes are blank, I can see Clint's chest rising and falling, over and over. He's alive. I doubt he's injured. Did he just lie there during the entire storm?

I spin on my feet, looking around. We are out in the open, with no one else around. I spot Brenda and run over to her.

"What happened?" I ask the brunette, eyes raking her up and down. "Where did everyone go?"

"They took Thomas," she tells me, finally speaking. She cocks her head to the side, letting sand shake off her clothes. "They got him."

"Who?" I ask.

"Who do you think?" Her tongue is venomous, her eyes sharp. "WICKED took him."

I turn around, staring across the desert sand. It's only the four of us in the streets. Newt, Clint, Brenda, and me. They took Tommy? Who else did they take?

Minho is gone. I stick my hands in my hair, running them through, ignoring the knots I rip out of my head.

"Minho!" I scream, looking around the area. "Minho!"

He's gone, again. Already. Half of our group is gone. Screw Group B, WICKED was our bigger threat. None of my friends are here.

"Dawn?" Doug pops out of the door of a building. Behind him is Fry. They jog across the sand, staring around.

"Where did you go?" I ask, staring at the pair of them.

"We ran inside when the sand hit," Doug tells me, his voice low and serious. He crosses his arms over his chest, glancing around the sand. He squints, as though the stars aren't providing enough light.

"Were you out here?" Fry asks. "Jorge said being out here was suicide, with the Berg coming in. Said they were probably collecting more Cranks to experiment on."

They wouldn't need to collect us; this is already an experiment. Why did they take Thomas then?

"Did Minho come with you?" I ask.

Fry's face falls, and Doug shakes his head.

Shucking damn it. I turn around, staring at the group. Two of the boys I didn't know come out of the building, trailing after Jorge, but no Minho. They took him since he's the leader. Despite what the signs are saying about Thomas. I'm the Roots, and he is the Leader, and he is gone again. What are they doing to them?

"Who are we missing?" Newt calls out, gesturing for us to come over. We look around the group, scanning faces.

"Wyck," Dmitri calls out. He's the only one of the boys I don't know who is gone. Aidan and Hank are clinging on to each other beside Jorge.

"Minho," I say as well.

"Jay," Aris says, scanning the circle.

"Thomas," Brenda says. She is late, huffing as she arrives. "WICKED took him."

"You think they took Wyck?" Aidan asks.

"I hope they did," Hank answers.

It's only a few of us. Me, Newt, Fry, Doug, Jorge, Brenda, Clint, Dmitri, Hank, Aris, and Aidan. We lost almost half of us in three days. Is this what is going to keep happening?

"Help!" I hear a voice scream.

"Jay," Aris's eyes light up. He pulls out a knife from his pocket, following the voice. The rest of us run after him, brandishing our own weapons as we chase him down.

He rounds a corridor but backs away immediately. I hit his back, and we crash down.

I pull myself off the ground, following the boys who have pushed me back around the corner. There are Cranks, maybe half a dozen, charging at us.

I pull out my knife, stabbing the first one that approaches me. It shoves me against the wall. I doubt it can even feel the wound. A hand on my neck, strangling me against the wall. My throat feels like it is closing in on itself. I take my knife, stabbing its stomach over and over again. It drips darker black blood on to my clothes, slumping against me. I throw it to the ground, looking around.

Doug stabs the last one, pulling out his knife from within the creature's gullet. He looks up, wiping the blood off his face.

There are corpses all over the ground. Dead Cranks, paving the sand. Dmitri is on the floor, leaning over a body and shaking it. Wyck. Dmitri sobs, as he holds the dead boy in his arms.

I glance around the otherwise empty, noticing everyone else is doing the same. We are all breathing together, all drenched in blood, and all confused.

"What was that?" Minho's voice rises the closer to the end of the sentence he gets. He spins to stare at Jay. The boy holds up his blood-streaked hands in defence.

"I didn't know they'd be back here," he stutters, looking around the circle. "I swear."

There is sweat pooling on his forehead, his voice is low, and his eyes are wild. Minho grabs the boy by the collar of his shirt, slamming him into the wall behind him. Fry runs over, as do many more in the group to pull Minho away. I don't know what to think anymore.

"Wyck's dead now!" Minho shouts.

"I was just trying to get away from the Berg!" Jay says, his voice cracking at the end of the sentence. "I didn't think-"

"You didn't think!" Minho shouts.

"Would you both slim it?" I shout, jumping into their conversation. "Thomas is gone. WICKED got him."

Minho's body tenses. He glares at Jay but ultimately rips himself out of Newt's grip. Jay's shoulders are huffing as he breathes. Neither boy makes a move for the other, trying to come down. Minho's eyes are bloodshot, and I could describe how exhausted he looks again, but it isn't going to change anything. We're all tired. I don't trust Jay, but I get the feeling he is being genuine, for once.

"What do we do?" Doug asks since he is the only one who is willing to ignore emotions in any situation. "We're going to keep moving, right?"

"Seriously shank?" Minho looks over at Doug, gesturing around. "Thomas is gone, Wyck is dead, and you want to know if we are going to keep moving."

"He's right," Jorge answers, stepping forward. "You hombres are running short on time."

Minho shoves his way through the circle, heading out of the alleyway. Newt follows after him, but I stand on my feet, unable to move. It's no better in this group than it was in the last. If anything, we are all being ripped apart. My body is shredded.

Fry puts an arm around me, corralling me out of the alley with the rest of the Gladers. A mindless army, intent on pushing forward.