The New Horizon ~ A Maze Runner Story

- 49 -

Thomas never thought he'd be horrified of silence after such madness, but he was. The outbursts had diminished completely. Only the fire truck sirens roared, resonating from every direction, putting out the flames caused by violence and out-right hatred.
Owens exhaled, and that was the loudest sound Thomas had heard since he finished the broadcast. She turned a knob, sharp to the left, and a pop pierced the quiet.
"It's off," she said, gesturing at the broadcasting system, her face a medley of distress and angst-- and maybe a little optimism.

The people in the room were puzzled, murmuring between one and the other. A few blurted out their concerns to Owens. She only shrugged. "It was all we could do. We had to tell them our plans--they were endangering us."
"But what about the--"
Doctor Owens cut a man off, shaking her head. "Enough. Just be ready for the calls. The news has already latched on . . . Our phone lines are going to be off the charts."
Thomas looked to the mounted television screens; every one of them littered with reporters and live footage of AFA. Before he could even begin to imagine his voice strewn across every news channel in the world, ringing phones sliced through the unbelievable reality of it all. All around the room, people scrambled to pick up the phones like it was some new kind of sport.

Owens rested a hand on Thomas's shoulder, meeting his eyes. She offered him a kind but tight smile. "Thank you, Thomas. I know that was hard, but you made a wonderful sacrifice."
He nodded, unable to think of something valid enough to say. Everything seemed like an understatement.
"The press should be busting through these doors any second. Be prepared," she said.
That statement made Thomas's chest clench up with anxiety. He got off his chair and made straight to the window, peaking through the shutters. Down below, throngs of paparazzi and reporters were squeezing their way through the lobby doors, like hundreds of ants trying to fit into a needle all at once. It would be a long day.

***

Thomas and Doctor Owens had been herded into the confined room, forced against their wills, to answer a never-ending series of questions. He felt like he was some kind of alien held captive in a laboratory with mad scientists, all poking and prodding at him. That was until one of the most glorious person pushed her way into the room. Impossibly, May was there, at his side, pulling him away from the paparazzi, pulling him away from that madhouse.
Somehow, they let him go, though they continued to tirelessly snap blinding photos and shove microphones into their faces. It was a battle. But some how, at the end of it, they had gotten away, taken a taxi, and rushed inside Thomas's apartment, followed by reporters who eventually gathered around the apartment door, knocking at a constant pace.

It was around nightfall when the last stragglers of paparazzi and press left Thomas's apartment alone. Through the blinds, he witnessed one last flash of light as the last paparazzi strode away from their place. Again, silence overtook the single studio apartment, but this time, it was blissful. A few minutes without persistent knocking and coaxing was heavenly. Everyone had left them alone, hopefully forever; Thomas never wanted to leave his place again.
He and May sat in the bedroom, both holding hands, both an anxiety-ridden mess. The bedroom was the only place where the noise from the reporters was suppressed to a low muffle.
"I don't even know what to say," May said, exhaling a sigh of relief. "I don't know if they're really gone, or if I'm just imagining."

Thomas laughed, but it was hollow. His mind was slicked over with exhaustion. "I think they're actually gone, gone."
The bedroom phone rang so suddenly that Thomas jumped, startling May. They sat in silence while it rang, Thomas already knowing who it was. The voicemail played, answering his assumption,"I'm just going to assume you're ignoring me. Whatever, I get it. Just call me in the morning or I swear I'm telling the shucking reporters the code to get into your apartment. I swear I'll do it. I'm worried for you, man. Actually worried . . . Don't be a slinthead, call me back."
It was Minho. Thomas grabbed the television remote, ignoring his friend, surfing the channels until he found the news station. Internally sickened at his face plastered on every TV screen in his and everyone else's apartment. He shut the television off, ignoring another call that happened to be Owens, listening as it went to voicemail.

"We should eat something," May said, speaking up past the ignored voicemail. "I can make dinner."
"I don't have any food."
She shook her head, a small grin suddenly appeared on her face. "While you were gone, I went to the store."
If Thomas hadn't been so debilitated, he swore he would've kissed her.

***

May was amazing. There was no more denying that fact. Dinner was delicious; a blend of peppery sautéd vegetables and olive oil, piled over spaghetti, sprinkled with parmesan. He couldn't remember when he'd last had such a fancy, home-cooked meal.
At the end of the hearty meal, he sighed, napkin on his empty plate, stomach satisfied, mind rejuvenated.
They watched TV--laughing together at the humorous sitcoms, debating which team would win on the sports channel, theorizing about the galaxy on the science channels. It went on and on until the good stuff was gone and their eyes were tired.

"I think I'm going to head off. I'm pretty tired," May said, gesturing at the bedroom.
Thomas nodded. He wanted more than anything for her to stay. It was almost like she had read his mind.
"Are you sure you don't want the bed?"
"Well, we could take turns."
"No," May's eyes lowered. She laughed, which came out more like a cough. "I meant . . . We could both share it--the bed."
Thomas could feel the tension; her awkward, yearning stare. He was too worn out to fight over the bed again. He nodded, watching May's eyes spark.
"Yeah, sure."