𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒, thomas ✓

seventeen.

17

THE STORM

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Rosa couldn't do it, there was no way that she could pull the trigger or even hand him the gun. Newt knew that it was one of her flaws, she cared too much about others. He didn't think of it as a flaw, it's what made her perfect. So he grabbed the gun from her grasp cautiously and approached his pleading friend.

"Wait- Newt-" she gasped, only stopping when Minho put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her back lightly, his eyes staring into her teary ones. Newt placed the gun on Winston's chest and covered his hand with it.

"Thank you," he smiled, his mouth still covered in his own blood, "Now, get outta here."

Newt struggled to say it, but he did, "Good-bye, Winston."

One by one they crouched down beside him and muttered farewells, Rosa went before Minho and quickly pressed her lips to Winston's cheek, "Thank you," she smiled, "I promise that we will get out of here and find somewhere better, for all of us. We won't forget you, Chuck and everyone else that we have lost on the way. Thank you so much, Winston."

She stood up and walked away, pulling her bag on her back and walking to catch up with the others. Newt turned to her just in time to see her wipe her tears away and not let a sob rip through her chapped lips. He wanted to comfort her, but she kept walking away from him and towards the mountains.

She was joined by the other Gladers, all of them walking in silence across the sand until a single gunshot echoed through the air. They all stopped, hearts breaking and tears falling before they continued on their journey.

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The group huddled around a fire, the flames growing in size when Aris added more dead wood to the pile. They had set up camp at the wreckage of a ship, the metal structure lying on its side and untouched for a while. They had made sure that there were no Cranks around and had thought that it was best to sleep outside, just in case.

"I thought we were supposed to be immune," Minho pondered, his eyes never once leaving the burning embers of the flames. Rosa kept her head on Thomas' lap as he played with her hair, she tried her hardest to sleep but thoughts of Winston wouldn't leave her mind. And that only made her think of Chuck and Alby.

"Not all of us, I guess," Teresa added, lying on her back as she too watched the flames dance around in the pit.

There was a small silence before Newt joined in, "If Winston can get infected, we should assume so can the rest of us."

Rosa turned to lay on her back due to the bruises on her shoulder blade aching, she was thankful that they had faded into a lighter purple and red instead of it's old black and blue. Her eyes drifted from the embers and too Thomas' deep, hazel eyes. He hadn't noticed her movement and she took advantage of it; his tanned skin illuminated from the fire, his messy, brown locks that hung over his eyes slightly and even his lips that seemed to pout whenever he was deep in thought.

An honest smile appeared on her face as he looked down at her and smirked, she only turned to face Frypan as he talked. It was now his turn to admire her face as she concentrated on his words. "I never thought I'd say it, I miss the Glade," a tear slipped down his cheek, not even bothering to wipe it.

She sat up, groaning as she did, and put her hand on his knee. "I do too sometimes, I think about the community, the Gladers, Chuck, George, Alby, Jeff," she smiled, her eyes glancing around all of the Glader's faces to see their expressions, "But out here we have freedom, sort of. In the Maze, they lied to us, stole our memories, we were nothing but pawns in their game. We have a chance out here and I am not wasting it, I think that they'd want us to find somewhere and settle down. Make a new Glade if we want, on our own terms. It's what we deserve."