After Paradise

Chapter Three ~ Running

By the time the sun had crept up from the clutches of the moon, and cast its glimmering rays over a pale-washed sky, Thomas was already awake. In fact, he was more than awake. He'd previously awoken after his detestable nightmare, and he was pretty shaken up. No matter how many times he tried to snuggle back under the fleecy blanket and fall back to sleep, he couldn't put his mind at ease in the slightest. So, he decided to have an early start. The rest of the Munies (what the Ratman had told him what the common names for the Immunes were), were still dozing, when he quietly crept down to the stream, dodging dry bracken and people's hammocks, to have a brief wash and wake up properly. He used an unraveling, woven basket to scoop up dredges of water and tip them over his head, the droplets cascading through his hair in a refreshing coldness. He removed his shirt to wade a bit deeper, and pulled his jeans up to the knee so he could squat down in the water to pull it over his back. It felt weird to put his running shoes back on, he'd carelessly slung them in one of the other's packs before they reached Paradise, and they were completely frayed and battered, and even pinched his toes slightly, but they felt good. When he returned to the meadow, he discovered that it had begun to rain. Strange, that how under the protection of a leafy roof, the weather had seemed almost completely opposite. The rain was smattering down hard, hitting the trees with satisfying downpour splatters, and filling the air with the heavy scent of moist earth. Thomas internally groaned, realising his belongings were left stranded by the fire, and so ran over hastily to lug them into the shelter of the forest. The fire had dimmed to nothing more than a few cowardly flames hiding under the pile of logs, guttering weakly in the firing range of the rain.
At this point, the camp had started to feel a bit more alive. People were beginning to wake up to the music of the rain, grimacing at the sight of it and turning back into their hammocks. A few of them risked the stinging droplets, by tugging blankets over their heads and wandering over to go to the stream, or grab some food.
Thomas waited under a large tree, waiting patiently for the sign that he needed to head off, with the other 'mappers' to start exploring the place. He guessed it would be just like mapping the Maze, drawing down landmarks, sections and routes, running at the same time. Right on cue, Minho appeared, busy running his hands through his hair, with Brenda and Aris in tow.
"You all ready, shuckface?" Minho exclaimed, starting up some jogging on the spot, "Come on then, let's go!"
As the four jogged out towards the woods, they passed Jorge, who was pulling at a shred of dry beef, in disgust.
"See you later, hermano." He directed towards Thomas as they passed him, and Thomas replied with a feeble grin. The torturous run was quickly enough to wipe the happiness off his face. Sure, he considered himself as physically fit, but he hadn't ran like this for a long time. It didn't help that the rain was still spitting down and plastering his hair to his forehead within fifteen minutes.
"Right," Minho instructed, once they had all reached a small rock face littered with pebbles and pine cones, "We're going to split up. Come on, Thomas, you come with me and we'll head eastwards. You two, to the west. Map anything of interest." Thomas took a moment to glance at Aris and Brenda. Aris seemed to be coping okay, glugging down a mouthful of water as he leant against a branch. Perhaps he was a runner back in their Maze? Thomas wondered. Brenda, however, seemed to be having a bad time of it. Her hair was straggly around her temple, and falling down her forehead in miserable drips, whilst she was clutching her side, gasping for breath like a wriggling tuna fish out of water.
"You okay, Brenda?" Thomas asked calmly, genuine worry directed at her pale, shaking face.
"Yeah, I'm just fine." She wheezed, and the tones of irony were easily detectable as Thomas shook his head, sighing silently.
"Well, we'll be going then." Thomas snapped, looking over at Minho in an urgent gaze, praying that they'd get moving straight away. He seemed to recognise the tension growing in the air, so Minho picked up his bottle and followed Thomas off into the dense knot of trees. It felt good to be running again. It was something about the rhythmic sense of feet pounding on the floor which made Thomas feel at inner peace with himself. Even though it made his bones ache, it was worth it, the pain was worth it, to feel like he had the power to be free. To run away.
They didn't speak for a while, Minho making up routes as he went along, and Thomas following, having to stop sharply whenever Minho paused to take a map of the clumps of trees. It was when they came to a fork in the path, that Thomas's mind flicked back to him viewing the valley from the treetops. The clearing. His gut instinct was telling him that they needed to go there, now.
"Right or left?" Minho questioned, leaning first one way, then the other, performing a mini jig in between both paths.
"Hm, right." Thomas said, guessing that the right path would take them deeper to the east, where he knew the clearing lay.
"Go on then, runner boy, I'll follow you for a bit." Minho laughed, sounding carefree, as if there was no weight on his shoulders.