The New Horizon ~ A Maze Runner Story

- 46 -

When Thomas finally caught some sleep, it was well into the late hours of the night, and when he awoke, having slept in more than usual, he awoke to May. She was standing in the kitchen, a glass of water in hand. Instantly, she perked up, mildly self-conscious in her pajamas. Thomas still thought she was beautiful, even with uncombed hair.

"Good morning," he said, sitting up on the sofa to meet her gaze.
May smiled in response.
"How did you sleep?"
"Really well," she replied, gesturing to the bedroom, "that bed is even better than the one at AFA. Thank you for letting me have it, by the way. We'll have to share it--you know, take turns."
Thomas shook his head. "No, you can have it. This sofa's great."
May went to protest, then stopped herself, knowing Thomas would fight her back on it. She nodded, "Thank you."

***

Thomas got ready for the day, trying his hardest not to dwell on last night's experience; May hadn't brought it up, but the awkwardness she felt around him was palpable.
He sighed, combing his hair out, staring into the bathroom mirror, wondering if he'd done something wrong. Everything just seemed foggy between them--and it was his fault. But before he could contemplate it, his appetite interrupted him. He was starving and the fridge was empty. He could suddenly hear the sound of voices coming from the television, muffled by the dividing bathroom wall.

When Thomas walked out to the living room, May looked up at him, gesturing at the television mounted on the wall, with the remote in hand. "I hope you don't mind. I haven't watched TV in way too long."
"Of course not. What's on?"
"Just some galactic space movie. Popular back in its day apparently," May said as Thomas sat next to her on the sofa, right where they had shared the long, passionate moment together that would live forever inside his mind. It was one of the best experiences he'd ever had.
Before he could speak, May shook her head, looking into his eyes as she spoke, "I'm sorry about last night, Thomas. . . I was so wrapped up in the moment. I just--I shouldn't have complicated this--"

"No," Thomas cut her off, adamant, "you didn't do anything wrong. In fact, I've actually been meaning to say something to you," he paused, taking in a breath. Thomas had already shared a passionate moment with May--telling her how he felt for her couldn't have been any more difficult than the heartfelt moments of last night. Though somehow, it was. He fumbled with words for a few seconds until something inside him suddenly snapped, as if he had suddenly conjured some temporary confidence. He sat up straighter, searching May's eyes. "May, I--I feel for you. I asked you here so you genuinely have a place to stay. But also because I . . . I wanted to get to know you better--to see if you felt the same way. . ."

May was quiet, her eyes warm and understanding. Impossibly greener than they ever had been. Like they were full of clarity, assurance. She smiled, wide and unhindered. "I wasn't sure what you felt about me, but I want to get to know you better too," her eyes flickered onto her hands, ashamed, "I'm sorry I never told you sooner."
"Don't apologize," Thomas took her hand, his mind reveling in her warmth, her very presence completely intoxicating. He wanted to kiss her, more than absolutely anything. To pick up from where they began just last night. "We're--"
An alarm penetrated straight through Thomas's voice. He felt May's hand jump in his, startled. A headline, bright red with bold, black letters, traveled across the television screen, momentarily interrupting the commercial break.

Attention: All Inhabitants of British Columbia's Inner City Be On Lookout For Riots And Violence. A Curfew Will Be Put Into Action Starting At Six PM Tonight. Please Stay Safe.

"Riots. . .," Thomas muttered, "what the. . ."
"What channel is the news on?" May asked, voice whispered. He instantly surfed the channels, finding that every one of them had that same alert, bugged with warning, until he found the B.C. News. His heart immediately clenched with anxiety. Cameras filmed different parts of the world: destroyed, disintegrated, in agony. First, they showed Canada, every other province in shambles: forests ablaze by alleged 'protestors', Cranks--which the news referred to as the Crazed--scavenging cities in Ontario, dirt and debris covering monuments in Quebec. Then America, filled with more chaos than Canada: more fires, more destroyed cities, more Cranks, people with nothing more than skin and bones walking around with crazed eyes and bloody sores. Europe, people hiding from Cranks inside ancient castles and dilapidated churches.

Children wailed in the streets, abandoned by their mothers. Camera crews sprinted from Cranks, the camera flying from side to side. Men and women, tattered and devoid of hope, held signs up in the air reading: Liars, and B.C. Has Become Our Enemy. Some were covered in swear words, cussing Canada out. Thomas swore he saw AFA written in black ink on a cardboard sign with exes drawn through it. What in the world . . .
May gasped as the camera focused on a college football field in California, piled sky-high with corpses, blistered and boiling in the sunlight. The main news anchor appeared after that, looking exhausted and somber, as if seeing all those images for the first time as well.

He sighed, shaking his head, at a complete loss of words, "What we have considered as an already horrifying world has become even more horrifying. As of seven-fifty-eight this morning, the Robotic Brain Implant--RBI's--have run out entirely at the world-renowned Anti Flare Association. What a terrible, terrible tragedy. . ."
Thomas could hardly grasp the news. The shock inside that riddled his bones was overwhelming. May was squeezing his hand, but he could hardly feel it.
The anchor continued on, "AFA was well and truly the one place we had hope for--that the entire world was rooting for, and now this crushing news has left us with no hope. . . I am Steven Rox and you are watching British Columbia News Headquarters. We will be back with more after the break."

A shampoo commercial took over the screen, and Thomas was left sickened. It felt like he had witnessed a death; the death of AFA. The only hope feeding the horrid planet was now hopeless. Gone, deceased. And the vaccine was not nearly complete. Just last night, Owens and Wells walked Thomas to his apartment, carefree, without an ounce of worry in their eyes. And before that, they were in a meeting, talking about regulations and statistics Thomas didn't understand. And now AFA was cureless. For now. But how long would that be? And the world was already protesting, burning cities, killing each other. The Flare skyrocketing more than ever in history since its first appearance around a decade ago.

"No one said a thing in that meeting yesterday--they were talking all about counts and inventory," Thomas said, growing frustrated, "and they never said a thing about the RBIs. They had to have known this would happen."
May sat there, in a grieving silence. When he turned to her, he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. "I forgot how bad it is out there . . . Now all those people, they won't stand a chance. Not until the vaccine, but how long will that take?"
Thomas shook his head. Everything was rhetorical at that point. He had no idea. Not one clue.
"I'm going over there to find out."
"To AFA?"

Thomas nodded, knowing in his gut that it was the right thing. Owens owed him some explaining. There wasn't a meeting scheduled, but he didn't care, he would go anyway. The world was beginning to turn on one another, and that association was to question.
"Thomas, I'm sure there's going to be riots in the City. We should stay here."
He thought about that, but refused to let anything scare him out of his sudden plan. "I know, but I'll be okay. I just have to talk with Owens. I have to find out."