Dawn Short

My back is stiff, and I am turned away from the group. I let my eyes linger on my shadow, cast by the light of the flames which Jorge has lit. Ignoring the cries of Thomas is harder then it seems since they are trying to clean the wound. Eventually, I close my eyes. No matter how hard I try, I can't turn off the sound. My ears split open as his gasps cut through the air. No one else is talking.

Hands are on my side, and I feel Minho next to me. He holds me firmly, only letting go to brush my hair out of my face. I took out the braids earlier today, and now my hair is blowing in the wind through the open window. Minho presses a kiss into my shoulder and turns my chin to face him.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

I nod, though I feel absent. The vomiting took a lot out of me. It doesn't help that I am still listening to Thomas crying out in pain. I can't help him, and Leo is out there stuck with those girls, and I am so very lost.

"Before we left, you said you'd tell me something when we were safe," he begins, testing the waters.

"We aren't safe," I answer, shrugging my head away. The wind is strong, and my eyes sting. I can feel tears in the corners of my eyes.

"We aren't going to be safe for a long time." Minho doesn't take no for an answer. "What was it, Dawn?"

Sure, maybe I should tell him, but I can't. Needing and wanting are different things. We need to get out of the Scorch. We need water, and we need food, but I don't need to tell him. Maybe I want him to know but wanting isn't enough.

"I love you," Minho continues, squeezing me. "I just need you to be alright."

I need that too. Unfortunately, we are stuck here, and I can hear Thomas groaning.

I turn around, to see Jorge attempting to clean the wound. With the few bandages we have left, he tries to cover up Thomas. It won't work though. Clint sits frozen on the ground, staring forward. He doesn't seem to blink, or breath, or do much of anything.

"Clint," I breathe.

Minho sighs. "He's been like that since Jeff died. I don't know how he managed to run through the storm."

My eyes scan the crowd. Faces I recognize, but names I have trouble remembering. I knew more boys than this. Once, we were in the thirties, maybe even forties. How did we let this happen? What did we do to deserve this?

"I can't watch anyone else hurt," I begin, staring out into the group. "I can't, Minho."

He wraps himself further into me, and I hold him too. Despite the difficulties, it forces me to undergo. I don't know where I would be without him. Alone in this group, staring out into the Scorch, and uncertain of my future. Not much is different now, but I feel as though with him I can conquer anything.

Michelle Short

Teresa sits across the way from me, fuming. She has said nothing to me in hours. At least, I have said nothing to her either.

"Ignore her," Harriet offers. She sits down next to me, leaning over. "Her and I discussed Leo's escape. We've decided you had nothing to do with it."

"No vote?" I raise an eyebrow.

"No time," she sighs.

Yeah, that's what I would've thought.

There are four or five flashlights bouncing light off the walls. Even though we are supposed to be sleeping, no one can manage to. The room has been abuzz since Beth and Gally's appearance. Obviously, the others are just as curious about their current whereabouts as I am.

"Michelle?" I turn and spot a girl I don't know. She is trying to talk to me, but Harriet shoos her off.

"Not now," she interjects. The other girl face freezes, inch by inch stilling. She lies back down, rolling until her back is turned to us.

She clicks out her light.

Neither Harriet nor I say anything for a few seconds. We listen to the chatter, catching whispers here and there. My name, and Beth's, and Gally's.

"Saph used to be with Beth," Harriet whispers, gesturing to the girl on the ground. "Obviously she was devastated when they showed up."

I don't bother answering since it's not my place to have an opinion about this.

"What can you tell me about Gally?" Harriet asks. "Teresa doesn't know him, and Ella is..."

"Yeah," I mutter. Gally would've disappeared closer to the time that Teresa woke up, but probably before. Not that I remember much of that. All of those days blur together. Maybe it was yesterday, but I'll be damned if it doesn't feel like it was eight years ago. Every time I've seen him since he's been strung out of his mind. Not a word out of his mouth makes sense.

Harriet waits for a response, but I am out of shucks to give. She sighs, turning her attention to the floor.

"Beth oversaw the maps," Harriet tells me. "She wasn't particularly fond of Rachel, our Thomas, but didn't hate the stick either. Kept warning us about her though, since she remembered Rachel from before. I mean, almost all of us remembered Rachel, and what she did. She spent her first week and a half in jail until she told us she could solve the Maze."

"Then Beth came back one day from the Maze, strung out, attacked Rachel, then was taken by a Griever," I finish the story. "Then she came back, and stabbed Rachel, but wasn't in control of her body."

"Pretty much," Harriet nods, waiting for me to continue.

I roll my eyes since it seems like I have to get in this. "Gally was the same. He didn't like any of us girls though. Bit of a conspiracy nut. He disappeared, got taken by a Griever, and then killed Chuck. Happy accident."

"Nothing else special about him?" Harriet asks. "Why did he show up to talk to you?"

I hate these questions, and I hate Teresa's staring. I'm not putting up with another night of these questions.

"I barely knew the shank," I bite through my teeth. "Nothing special about him. We never got along anyway."

Ella short

I sit down, twirling her long blonde hair in my fingers. It's difficult to ignore the dark roots, soiled. In this dark lighting, lit up by only a few flashlights, I choose to concentrate on the things about her I can't see. The smell of her skin, sunburnt and dirty. The soft feeling of it, despite it's sweat and its callouses. The sound of her breath, as her chest rises and falls.

Rises and falls. Rises and hiccups. Hiccups. Falls.

I feel as if we are on a boat, at the mercy of the ocean. Swaying, rocking, and gentle. Then, a wave. Hiccup. Capsized. Rinse, recycle, repeat. Day in and day out.

"I remember you," I whisper into her hair, leaning forward. Her skin is sickly pale. She isn't okay. She is sick. She is unconscious and swaying and sick.

"I remember how cold your hands were," I begin, moving mine down to hers. They are burning up. Skyrocketing above us, closer and closer to the sun. "I remember how soft your voice was, and how scared you were. I'm sorry I didn't follow you."

If I had the opportunity to redo everything, I would. Even in this state, I would've sent myself up into the Maze off girls, and chased after the Violet girl, or Sonya, or whatever damn name they are going to call her next.

"I still love you," I manage, even though the words hurt my throat.

Maybe I don't know her. It's been so long since we last saw each other, and we were going by names different from our own. Mine different from the one which wears me now. Everything was different. There wasn't a ghost of Eli, and there wasn't a plot, and there wasn't, perhaps, the manipulation of that plot. No group of four. Nothing complicated or ridiculous, and nothing separating us.

"I am your Emily." I mean it. I truly do, even if she doesn't remember me. Even though I can accept that she never will.

Leo short

I get up to a crashing. Whipping out my knife, I look around the room. I can feel the sweat pooling on my forehead, and my heart racing out of my chest. Where did it come from? Are there Cranks around?

I hear feet slipping on the concrete and turn to see I am alone. Lott's feet dart away from me, and I roll up onto my feet, following after him.

He moves over next to Sheil, who lies on the ground. Lott's hands are shaking, as he dumps out the pouch along his belt. His fingers search the ground, running along with various needles. He grabs a bottle, and a needle, glancing back at me.

I kneel down next to him, placing my hands on his. He continues to shake, though his dark eyes look up at me. I offer him a faint smile, taking the bottle from his hands. I open it, holding out my other hand for the needle.

He hands it to me, hand on the tip. It's dirty now, infected. I get up, holding the needle and making my way back to the bag. I carefully dip the tip into the container of alcohol I have. Lott doesn't ask me what I'm doing.

I get back, finally placing the needle in the liquid.

"Draw to the green line," he tells me.

I follow his instructions, filling the needle. As soon as I'm done, I close the lid of the container.

"In his leg," he grunts, gesturing to the boy on the ground.

Lott pulls down Sheil's pants slightly, just so that the top of his thigh is exposed beneath his underwear. I inject the boy, who is muttering words I don't understand.

Lott takes the used needle from me, putting it in another pouch he carries. I get up, walking back over and bringing the alcohol with me. Though I don't know if this will work, I carefully dip the tips into the bottle. Lott helps me, though his hands shake as he does.

"We should leave them in here for a couple of hours, so they sterilize properly," I tell him, my voice a light whisper. "I didn't have the luxury with the other needle. Let's just hope he doesn't get sick."

Lott stiffens as he places the needle in the bottle, staring down at the liquid.

"Alcohol," I tell him, before clarifying. "Rubbing."

He nods, distracted. His eyes spin as they follow the swirling liquid. His spine is completely rigid, and his arms shake from the firmness of his muscles flexing. His dark eyes dart away, and he leans back. Attempting to relax doesn't help him at all. I can tell from the way his eyes flicker across the room. From how his dark face, obscured by shadows, hits mine.

"Don't tell him," Lott begins, closing his eyes for half a second. "He doesn't need to worry about me."

I nod my head, although I'm not entirely sure what exactly he is asking of me. He gets up, walking back to the place we were sleeping earlier. He lies down, turning his back away from me.

I turn back to Sheil, who has quieted down. His breathing is soft, yet still enough. My fingers dart to his pants, which are still down. I struggle to pull them up, buttoning them carefully, before lying down on the ground.

~~~

Ooh, I am so excited about this! We are getting close to about halfway through this book, and I couldn't be more prepared!

I'll see you soon.