Admit Defeat (TMR fic 2)

Chapter 23

(yet another song that fits Ash eerily well~)

Time loses all meaning as we sprint through the darkness. We run, and run, and run. The corridor stretches onwards. Another boy dies, but this time we don't stop for the screaming.

We just run faster, Thomas pulling me forward by my hand until he feels that I'm going fast enough to stay as safe as I can.

Even I'm starting to gasp for air, but there's no chance of stopping. Not when any of us could die at any moment. We need to get out of here.

We run.

Then Minho frantically shouts for us to stop. It scares me all over again – what might have happened this time? We all tumble into a stop, questions filling the air.

"What's wrong?" Newt says.

"Nothing," Minho answers, "except that I about broke my shucking shins on some stairs. Up it is, Gladers! Let's go!"

We follow, our feet pounding on the stairs. If there are stairs... there might be an exit... we might get out of this miserable space.

Then Minho yelps, a thud sounding from above us. "There's a ceiling."

"Which you found with your head, no doubt," Newt snickers.

"Shut up and help me open this door," Minho orders.

"Fine, fine," Newt says, and he tromps up the stairs to Minho's side.

Pain explodes inside my skull. I don't even realize what's causing it at first, but when sense slowly ebbs back into my head I notice how I'm pressing my hands to my eyes, and then I understand.

They had started to open the door, and the light was nearly blinding.

"Ow," Minho says. They clearly let the door close again instantly, but my vision is flashing between false brightness and the darkness around me.

"Congratulations," I say. "I now can see even less than before, which is saying a lot."

Newt chuckles. "Here, let's open it just a crack and slip this spare shirt into it. Get used to the light. Cover your eyes, everyone."

This time I'm ready, the heels of my palms set against my eyes. I can hardly tell the difference between them opening the door slightly and the darkness that preceded it, but when I try to remove my hands from my eyes I immediately clamp them down again. It's very bright. Very, very bright.

After a minute, though, my eyes start to adjust. I can even open them, and I quickly pick up my dropped bag of water. Newt is one of the other ones adjusted to the light, and he gives me a tired smile from the stairs above me. Such an exhausted expression shouldn't be so beautiful.

"Man. That was an experience," Minho says, opening his eyes fully and blinking into the light.

"Okay, let's open this sucker up a bit more." Newt and Minho push the door further open. It's tilted towards us, turning into the roof Minho had collided with, and it takes both of them to work against the odd angle and weight.

Newt whistles. I jog up a few more steps so I can see out the door as well. The only thing visible is a flat, sandy world. The Scorch.

"Man, it's hot," Minho says. "Are you sure we aren't on the surface of the sun by mistake?"

"Nah," Newt answers. "Pretty sure this is hell. It's funny, I always thought you'd end up here, Min, but not me."

Minho sticks his tongue out at Newt, and I laugh.

"What is that?"

"Winston, watch out!"

I turn at the voices and look behind me. In the lighter tunnel, I can see something collecting on the ceiling above Winston. It's a thick, silvery liquid mixture of some sort. As it gathers, it detaches from the ceiling and floats above the boy's head.

Winston takes a nervous step backwards, down a step of the stairs, and the floating glob drops down onto him, honing in on him like a missile.

He screams as it touches his head, falling down the lower fifteen or so steps.

It's dripping down his face, and he's pushing at it, trying to get it off, and screaming again and again.

Thomas drops everything to go help him.

I stand still, and simply watch.

I will not show my weakness by trying to save the boy. I will not let WICKED see that I care.

Thomas wraps his hands in his sheet and starts pulling at the silvery substance enveloping the top of Winston's head. It's burning the boy, and probably Thomas's covered hands as well.

I glance away. Wouldn't it be easier to just kill him? The goop doesn't seem to pull off easily, so how can Winston be saved, even if he survives the burns?

Kill him and get it over with. He's flailing on the floor as Thomas shouts for him to work against it with him.

I walk up the stairs.

Clearly there's something wrong with me. I don't have enough heart to try and be the hero. Not for Winston.

Everyone is frozen, staring at the battle for Winston's life down below. I can tell that Thomas has succeeded in pulling it off of the boy by the look of relief that hits Newt's eyes.

I stick my hand out of the open door, more curious about the world outside than what's happening in the dark tunnels. I hate the tunnels. I hate that we're having to live through this, and that-

I quickly pull my hand back into the shaded darkness of the staircase. Even in just a couple seconds my skin was painfully hot and burning.

It's clear that we're going to roast to death if we don't cover up. The last thing I want is a sunburn, and I frown at the desert outside.

"Winston's alive," Newt says from beside me, his eyes still trained down the staircase. "If you care."

I ignore the barb in his words and focus on how we're going to survive wandering under that hot of a sun. We have some extra clothes, but not gloves and hats...

We brought the sheets from the room, though. Enough to make everyone a pack, and some extra as well. The nice thing about being low on supplies was that we took almost everything we could.

I let my pack slide to the floor and pull out the extra sheet I had tucked inside of it. It won't be great, but it will work as a cover to break the sunlight.

"Smart," Minho says. "Hey, everyone, find a partner. Combine your packs if you don't have an extra sheet and use the sheet as a cover for both of you. It's nice and toasty out there, and I'd prefer it if you all didn't fry. Well, except for Frypan, of course, I've missed his awful cooking."

Thomas jogs up the stairs to us. I glance down and see Winston being supported by a few others. The boy's head is blistered and burnt. I'm not sure how he survived, honestly.

One of the boys he's with is figuring out how they can redistribute the packs and sheets so that Winston can be supported by someone. I try not to think about the fact that they're willing to take him as a burden even though I would have let him die. I am not a hero.

"Should we go look around?" Thomas asks, pulling out a sheet of his own.

"Yeah, sure," Newt says. Minho combines his pack with one of the past Runners and wraps himself in the sheet.

"Stay safe," he calls down to the Gladers. "We're going to check this place out while you get the sheets organized. Then we're out of this tunnel."

I turn and step out into the sand.