After Paradise

Chapter One ~ Broken

"Thomas? Brenda?" Thomas heard Minho calling, snapping them both out of their daydreams into reality, "Food's ready." Brenda disentangled herself from Thomas' arms as they both stood and briskly ambled across to the group of people. There were over two hundred people clustered around Frypan, as he dished out small portions of greenery and chunks of rabbit flesh which had been grilling over the fire for an hour or so. Upon arrival in this so-called 'Paradise', it seemed Ava Paige (the chancellor of WICKED) had planted a bundle of supplies in order to kick start the immune's sustainability in their life here. Metal trunks printed with the label 'WICKED' all over them had been uncovered in the woods when some of the older ones had gone looking for vegetables and food resources. Once opened, they were discovered to contain bowls, pans, knives, seeds, hammocks, flasks, wound dressings and blankets amongst other things. The original Gardeners from the Glade (those that were left) set to work straight away planting the seeds in a patch of dug up earth in the field, and Frypan rubbed together slabs of flint to get a fire going, before boiling some water from a bubbling spring and popping in some wild garlic leaves and some dried, preserved carrots from the supplies.
As Thomas bit into his meal, Minho plonked himself down beside him.
"You okay, shank?" He said, pulling a morsel of meat from the greasy bone he was clutching.
"No," he murmured, "Not really, I could do with some peace and quiet. What about you?"
"I know what you mean." His eyes flicked down for a moment, revealing a swirl of sadness welling up in them, before flickering back up and being replaced with a look of determination and blankness, "But I've got to organise all these slintheads out. Let's face it, this is the last hope we've got."
"Yeah, I know. I just wish everyone else could've made it with us..." His thoughts jumped back to the people they'd lost - Chuck, Teresa, even Newt. His best friend.
"Oh, don't start getting all mushy on me, Thomas!" Minho laughed, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

~

After scraping his dish clean and dunking it briefly in the cool spring, Thomas decided to head off alone for a while. Still struggling with the events in the WICKED head quarters earlier on, he needed to clear his head. This is all WICKED's fault, he repeated in his head, All their fault. As he passed one of the empty metal supply boxes, he kicked it. Slammed a foot into it and watched as the useless thing toppled over the edge of the crumbling rock face and down onto the cove below. He followed it's path, tearing between the dense arrangement of thick bramble bushes down to the shore. It wasn't a beach he ever remembered seeing before. The sand wasn't really sand, but slushy grey material scattered with fragments of pebbles and shells. The waves weren't roaring or lashing down onto the cove, but curled over in smooth, luring movements that dragged a feeling of peace throughout Thomas. The sun had set just under half an hour ago, but twinkling orange bursts of light still shone from the horizon and lit up the sea into a dappled, refracting jewel. He had no hesitation when he suddenly began to take off his shoes, removed his shirt and started to wade into the chilling water, ridding his body of all the grime and filth that had collected there in the previous day. He hoped it would get rid of some of the feelings as well. As he plunged his head under the water's skin, tiny bubbles tickled his face, and the sense of them popping against his cheeks raised a slight smile up from the corners of his mouth. He closed his eyes, imagining staying down underwater forever. Allowing the currents to drag him off into his watery grave, the grave he deserved so much. How could he have watched Chuck die in his arms without retaliation? Lose Teresa to a storm of conflict and fire? End his own friend's life with the trigger of a gun? He deserved nothing more than to disappear now, stop himself from making any more mistakes. He wasn't going to be responsible for anyone else now. Shuck that. Anything he'd ever done had just ended in onslaught and death. With a sinking feeling in his heart, his lungs urged his legs to propel upwards and push out of the water. His body shook as he gulped in oxygen, drawing breath back down to his shuddering self. Bloody hell, he swore in his mind. He was brave enough to let Rat Man almost slice his brain out of his own head, but he couldn't find the motivations to end his own life. Minho needed him. All the immune needed him. The future of humanity needed him. But he had nothing left to give. Because Newt was gone. Newt. The boy who had welcomed him to the Glade, encouraged him to become a Runner, been his closest ally. The boy whose eyes crinkled up when he smiled, who had been brave enough to admit to Thomas the hardest of things. Gone. Because he had pulled the trigger. He had a choice, and he chose that. Tears pricked at Thomas' eyes for the second time that day, and blended into the streaks of saltwater smeared over his face.
"Thomas?" Brenda's voice cut through his negative thoughts, laden with sympathy and worry.
Thomas quickly wiped a hand over his eyes to hide the redness and stood up slowly. His heart felt like it had been replaced by a cold boulder. Emotionless. Destructive. Unwanted.
"Shh, shh." Brenda wrapped her arms around his neck, and Thomas didn't pull away. He hugged her back, burying his face into her tousled hair, the scent of soap filling his nostrils.
"I can't," he said weakly, "Brenda, I can't anymore."
"What do you mean, Thomas?" She breathed.
"Newt..." He sobbed, giving up on trying to cover up his misery. Brenda had heard a bit about Newt's disastrous discovery. That he wasn't Immune and had the Flare raging around in his bloodstream, that he'd been sent to the Crank Palace. She didn't know he was dead. Even though most people guessed he would be gone by now, although refused to talk about the subject, no one could be sure.
"I know, Thomas. But even if we could go back, we couldn't bring him here. He has the Flare now, he's not the same person he was. He's dangerous. Oh Thomas, I'm sorry." She snuffled into his neck.
"No, Brenda. He's dead. He asked me to kill him. He's dead." Thomas mumbled, his insides numbing. Even if she chose to hate him for it, nothing could be worse than losing Newt. But she said nothing. She reached up to plant a kiss on his lips, but Thomas avoided it, lowering his head.
"I'm sorry, Brenda. I can't do this. I can't let you see me like this, in this mess. I think we should leave things between us for now. I don't deserve you, Brenda, but just trust me, this is for the best."
"But Thomas, I want to help, I-"
"-Brenda, please," and before she could utter a disagreement or a word against his decision, Thomas scooped up his shirt and shoes and left.

~

Back up in the meadow, people had started to make sleeping arrangements. As they had all chosen the forest as their habitat, most people headed for the shelter of the trees with hammocks and blankets slung over their shoulders. It took a lot of effort and guidance from the Gladers, especially the ones who specialised in building, to help set up all of the makeshift sleeping spaces, but it was finally done. Rows after rows of thin, fabric hammocks had been strung up between the trees, and most of the young Immune children had already clambered into them and turned in for the night. Some of the women were busy allocating people to their spots or tidying away kitchen equipment or supplies.
One of the women approached Thomas. She was around forty years old, with tanned, olive skin and auburn hair, which was greying close to her scalp. Her eyes were piercing and bright, and brought a sense of youth to her complexion.
"Are you Thomas?" She questioned, her voice containing a European twang.
"Yeah," he choked out, "Who are you?"
"The name's Bess. If you'd like to follow me, I can show you your assigned sleeping spot." There was definitely something about her voice that was familiar, but Thomas crammed it to the back of his mind as he weaved after her through a crowd of bodies and slender tree trunks. With a rush of humiliation, he realised he still hadn't put his shirt back on, and he did so as he moved along, which meant he accidentally stumbled over a tree root whilst he was pulling his head through the neck hole, and went sprawling onto the ground. Bess' eyes shone with amusement as she helped him up with her hand.
"Just here," she pointed at a brown hammock with a blanket heaped on top of it, "Be careful now!" She chuckled before heading back to the main body of the forest. He liked Bess. She seemed nice...down to earth.
He glanced down at the hammock and blanket, a sudden disgust for the enclosed, cocoon-like contraption forming. He suddenly took the blanket and ran back through to the field, choosing a spot by the glowing embers of the campfire, but still close enough to the forest to be able to hear orders from Minho. He was currently handing out flasks of boiled water. Thomas lay down in the tufty grass, curling up into a ball, and pulled the scratchy blanket up over his body. His jeans were still sodden, but he didn't care. Through the dusky air, he witnessed Minho carrying one of the flasks over to him, but instead of offering it to Thomas, he sat on one of the makeshift seats propped by the fizzled-out fire (a log), and sat awhile, content with drizzling the water over the fire and hearing the water hiss and spit as it touched the hot ground. He seemed to be deep in thought, so Thomas was surprised to hear him speak.
"What you doing over here, shuckface?" He said with a grimace.
"No reason," Thomas mumbled, although he knew very well why he was sleeping on the ground. It was because it reminded him of the Glade, when the boys would opt to sleep out in the field, under the dark canvas sky and under the sense of togetherness and belonging. And at the beginning, even a feeling of safety.
"Well, you're not very well defended incase a gang of Grievers comes for you," Minho snorted.
"Yeah, right. You know too well I'll be able to fight them off with my bare hands," Thomas smirked.
"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You and your super powers." Minho laughed, before retreating off into the shadows, "Sleep tight, slinthead."
Thomas lay awake under the star-peppered sky, watching as ruffles of clouds passed silently over the Moon. About an hour later, he thought he heard some shuffling over the grass, and began to panic that Minho had been right. Maybe there were more terrors out here, just like the Glade. But through the moonlight, he saw a slight figure trundling towards the woods. It was Brenda. She must have just emerged from the beach, and Thomas was upset to see her shaky fingers dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her jumper. Great one, Thomas, his mind spat, You've ruined things for everyone. Again. That night, sleep came in fits and starts, and by the fourth time he had woken, daylight was peeking at the horizon. Let Day Two commence.

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