The First Gladers; Into the Scorch

Chapter 11: Fumbling in the Dark

    You figured that your eyes would adjust to the darkness over time. You assumed that there would be an end to the hallway. You guessed wrong. The longer walk the darker it gets, at least so it seems. The darkness swallows you whole, surrounding you, filling you up even on the inside. You know for sure you've been walking for hours, yet other than that you've completely lost track of time. It could be morning, or it could be night and you wouldn't be the wiser.    
    Sometime in the midst of your walking you shifted positions to the middle of the group, allowing Minho to take the lead. At least that's the reason you gave the boys, in reality you wanted to walk with Newt. Even if you're not talking to him, his closeness is comforting in an odd sort of way. You frequently 'accidentally' brush against Newt's arm. Sometimes you'll shift your hand just to feel the warmth of his own hands. You're not really sure what Newt thinks of this, or if he notices it at all. He stay mostly quiet, much like the others, except for the occasional apology for stepping on the back of your shoe.
    Even without your discrete efforts to be close to Newt, you can sense his closeness behind you. You like to imagine that he's doing it on purpose as well, that for some reason he too has the desire to be close to you.
    These are the thoughts that fill your mind as you continue down the mind-numbingly dull hallway. On, and on, and on, you go. At some point Fry complains about being hungry, resulting in everyone stoping for a moment to fumble around in the dark to hand out the food.
    After eating your small portion of the rationed out food, you and the others start walking yet again. Yet this time it's different, there's a nervous buzz in the air. After everyone moved around to hand out food, you're no longer certain the Newt is anywhere near you, you're embarrassed to admit how much more anxious that makes you.
    Suddenly there's a scream from behind you. It's drawn out, yet muffled as if the boy is being drowned. You shove past the other boys as the muffled screams continue. Then you feel it. In front of you you can sense the boy writhing around on the floor, his cry of pain hushed by something around his head. You reach out and feel a scalding hot gel as it engulfs the boy's head. Then, the screams stop.
    A metallic clank echos through the hallway, followed by the sound much like a marble rolling across a tile floor. The boys body now lay motionless on front of you. Fumbling in the dark you find his wrist, searching for a pulse. After a moment your suspicions are confirmed, the boy is dead.
    "What happened?" You hear Minho shout from the front of the group.
"He's dead." You call out, your voice cracking with grief. "I... I can't tell who it is."

    "It was Adam." Fry announces woefully. "He... He was walking right in front of me."
You let out a sigh, your whole body trembling. It's one thing to be afraid of something you can see. Whatever killed Adam, there was no warning. It could happen again at any moment, anyone could become prey to this molten evil.
    Suddenly you're very aware of the heat surrounding you. You wipe your hand across your forehead to find that you are dripping in sweat. You feel as if your melting from the inside as your stomach churns uncomfortably.
    "Is it getting hot in here?" You ask, hoping that you're not going crazy.
The boys are silent for a second, as if having a moment of realization much like your own.
    "Wow!" Minho coughs, "It's scorching hot in here." He agrees.
Somewhere deep inside your stolen memories, you think you remember some sort of fable about a frog being placed in a pot of water, the heat slowly being turned up until the frog dies. The moral had to do something about not letting yourself get desensitized, but it holds a new meaning to you now. You're the frog, and Wicked is turning up the heat.
    "We need to keep moving." Thomas says gently, attempting to be sensitive to the loss of Adam.
    You and the others mumble your agreements, remorsefully moving on past Adam, knowing that the longer you wait, that more will die.
    You shake your head angrily. How has death become something you accept so quickly? You're numb to the pain of death, and frankly relieved it wasn't someone you knew better like Minho, or Newt, or even Thomas. Rage begins to boil inside you, hotter than the air around you. It take all of your mental strength to to burst out screaming in rage over what Wicked has done to you.
    You take a deep breath of sticky hot air. Then another, trying to calm yourself down. Getting angry won't solve anything. You have to survive so you can make a change.
    After what seems like another three hours of walking, you hear Minho cry out in shock from the front of the group. Immediately fearing the worst, you call out his name, silently begging that he hasn't become the next victim of the strange molten gel.
    "I'm alright," He calls back to you, "I just tripped... There's stairs here!" He exclaims.
"Where do they lead to?" Thomas asks daftly.
    "Dunno," Minho remarks, "I've never gone up them!"
"Just go up the stairs and stop bickering." Newt retorts from somewhere in front of you, sounding grumpier than usual.
    You can just imagine the look on Minho's face as he leads the way up the stairs. You and the rest of the boys follow his lead, in the hopes that this terrible nightmare of a hallway is at an end.

He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. 2 Corinthians 1:4a