Leo Short

My hands shake while they hold the cold plastic cup. I haven't felt my body shiver in who knows how long. Even though my body is dehydrated. Even though I'm probably concussed.

The rest of my friends have disappeared out of the main hold. Ella is gone, Michelle slipped away unnoticed, and Dawn is with Newt in the medical centre. Minho wasn't out long, but it's the stab wounds that concern us more.

I didn't go with them, even though I know I should. Right now, I shouldn't be in a medical unit. There, I know all the words, all the procedures, and all the faces of the wounded.

Unlike the loud and bustling medical room, the cafeteria of the ship is quiet. It's only hidden behind a door left ajar. From here, I listen to the faint hum of the lights, and the chattering of the two doctors working isde. Though I belong there, my brain needs a pause. I haven't been able to catch up on all the information I need to know moving on.

Who died?

In this most recent fight, Rose and Doug died. Two others that I didn't know, but I couldn't identify them. Still, I don't actually know Rose and Doug. They were Michelle's friends, not mine. Doug from the Maze. He was a Builder, and a backup Runner.

I once treated him from getting hit by Michelle. He didn't rat her out, even though she obviously shucked him up. If I had known him before his death, I would have thanked him.

Rose spent a lot of time with Michelle but was otherwise quiet.

The table in front of me clangs. I look up to see Fry setting his plate down in front of me. His lips moving, muttering out a quick apology, he pulls himself up to sit next to me.

He doesn't say anything else; the only sounds from his lips are the slurping of liquid from a Styrofoam cup. I can't help but find myself staring. His skin is cracking and peeling from sun damage. There is blood on his shirt, a small gash on his arm. It doesn't have a bandage on it, not that he needs one, but it should at least be washed out.

"You're analyzing me," he smiles, looking down.

I squeeze the cup tighter in my fist, before carefully dropping it on the table. "It's just a habit."

"I've noticed," he takes a bit of the food on his plate, some sort of pasta. He swallows it, but grimaces. "Habits from the Maze don't really just go away. I still check over my shoulder whenever I eat, to see if Frankie has spiked my food."

They lost Frankie very early on. Joe even before that, but at least Fry isn't waiting for Joe anymore. Only one other guy I remember working in the kitchen, although it was only part time. Dave. It's just Fry and Dawn left from the kitchen.

Even though Clint is still breathing, I feel like I'm the only Med-jack left. When I bandage people, I can still sometimes hear Jeff's voice whispering in my ear, asking me not to go so harshly.

"You'll wash your arm, right?" I ask.

Fry nods but pauses. "If you agree to make sure Dawn is okay. She's going to burst a hernia looking after Minho.

Dawn Short

Newt continues to pace the floor, walking up and down the aisles. His feet echo off the metal ground, crunching against the trails of wet sand he leaves behind. I try my best to ignore him, trying instead to focus on my shoes. They are soaked in Doug's blood, as is my shirt. My pants are still stained from the cliffside. Leo said I should see one of their doctors, but if she isn't going for her possible concussion, I'm not going in. At least, not until I know Minho is safe.

"Newt, stop," I my voice breaks in desperation. His feet still on the ground in a puddle. Despite all his walking, his clothes still drip. Mine feel soggy against my skin, but I can't ask him to go change anymore than I can move and leave, myself.

He pauses, exhaling. "Sorry. I don't know what to do."

"Just sit down," I exhale, trying to hold my voice together. "I can't stand you're bloody pacing."

Newt doesn't move for the chair, standing exactly where he stopped walking. He stares at the chair behind me, looking down on it. It's covered in water and sand, though the water is dyed red from the blood on my clothing. I guess we are both rather messy.

"Take it," I instruct, brushing past him and out the doorway. "I'm going to change."

I leave the room, hoping he is going to take the opportunity to relax. Now, I'm not going to change. Instead, I'd rather roam the hallways. Maybe I will find a doctor who can tell me that Minho is going to be all fine. I just, I can't wait in that room. Too much of my life I've spent with a breath hitched in my throat.

"Hey, I've been looking for you," Sheil bumps in to me, touching my shoulder.

I look up at his face. His normal smile, stretched from cheek to cheek, is gone. It's ghost still sinks into his skin, his lips pressed together tightly.

"How's Minho?" He asks.

I shrug my shoulders, avoiding eye contact with him. "Fine."

Last time I talked to the boys (it feels like decades ago, doesn't it?) was when Sheil was pestering me about our subject numbers. I've never had an odd feeling about Sheil, but Michelle said he wasn't to be trusted. Really though, when has she ever had a right opinion?

"Sorry," he asks. "Did I upset you guys? Leo was really weird with me this morning."

I shrug since I don't know how to answer. "Lott was weird, I guess. Michelle was kind of put off."

"That's a load," Sheil sighs, looking over his shoulder. I wonder if he expects to just see Lott pop out of somewhere. "I was hoping we could co-operate. I think we should find out which of us is which before we land with WICKED. I don't really know what to expect next."

I don't answer, keeping my lips pursed together. "I should get back to Minho." I'd rather be in the room with him as the life is sucked out of him than trapped with Sheil.

"Wait," Sheil grabs my arm. "I can tell you mine if you're nervous. It's-"

He cuts himself off, his throat tightening. His fingers squeeze around my wrist until I feel the prickle of my circulation being cut off. I try to pry his fingers off me, but he falls to the ground, wheezing. He looks up at me, panic in his eyes, as he struggles to breathe.

"B-," he cuts himself off again, shaking his head. "It's B-"

B what?

Sheil's grip loosens as he collapses on the floor.

Michelle Short

While the water is running, I use a thread which I took from their med tent to stitch together my leg. Like I've seen Leo do maybe two times, only much sloppier than her movements. WICKED might have offered to do it for me, but I can't manage to go into their medical area. Instead, I use their showers and my sloppy hands.

I try to keep my shivering shoulders still. I refuse to turn on the hot water, even though this ship is practically refrigerated. Every cool drop that blasts against my skin burns. It removes not just a thick layer of grime, but my peeling skin. The only place it doesn't burn, is against my healing cheek. I bet Gally scraped off the nerve ending in my skin when he hit me.

A lot of the time, I wish he had hit me in the head hard enough to do the same.

I turn off the water, but don't move. Droplets remain on my skin, refusing to let gravity take them down. Many of them are still brown, or red in colour. I could stand in here for the next week, water beating against my skin, and I would still have more sand to scrub off.

Towel in hand, I quickly wipe myself off. I even run it through my red hair, which is still knotted against my head. It's not quite matted yet, but it is getting dangerously close. The water has helped pull it apart, though I would barely call it brushed. If I get around to actually detangling it, I could be combing my hair for hours.

I wrap the towel around me, stepping out of the shower. I left new clothes out for me, picked out of the pile that WICKED had for us. Black pants, black shirt. I pull on the pants, tight against my skin. The shirt is a men's large, so it hangs off me like a dress. I grab the bottom, trying my best to tie it in a knot.

"Here," I look up. Hilde holds out her hand, a hair tie between her fingers. I take it carefully, using it to fit the shirt against my body better. It doesn't look nice, but it isn't hanging.

Hilde hasn't gotten dressed yet. She holds on to her towel carefully, tight in her fingers. They begin to turn white. Why is she still standing here?

"Did you see her?" Hilde asks, looking to me. "Rose?"

I nod.

Hilde copies my gesture, looking back down at the ground. She sniffles, probably from the cold of this room.

"She was the last one," Hilde notes. "Flore was killed by Cranks, Joan fell off the cliff, Beth is crazy now. Rose understood, and now she is gone."

Why is she so upset? They weren't even friends. "You slept with Jay."

Hilde's lips tighten. She starts crying, her knees breaking beneath her. She sinks on to them, her black hair cascading down into her face.

"Not to take a piss!" Hilde sobs. "He was... Jay was just for fun. I thought she felt the same... I didn't think he mattered to her... I thought we were friendly rivals! I thought we were friends, and now... and now she is dead, and her body is in the sand, and she is gone forever!"

I kneel down next to Hilde. She looks up at me, and pulls me in for a tight hug, still clinging on to her towel.

Ella

I am alone in the hallway, winding down these metal lines. The betrayer is amongst us, hiding in the bones of someone. Which one is it? Who let them know I live?