After Paradise

Chapter Ten ~ Over The Mountains

Chapter Ten

Once dusk had crept its grey fingers over the sky, the group found themselves at the base of the sprawling mountains. After a few hours of running in the early morning coolness, they resigned to a lazy amble. It was clear that from the well, you could easily pass through the mountains and reach the other side all within a day, if you were at a decently fast pace. The other side could be reached through a meandering passageway which was peppered mainly on flat ground between the two mountains, but strung itself up the side of one of the hills. It would only take three or four more hours to travel through it, but darkness was coming and no one knew what sort of horrors lay ahead - Minho and Thomas both decided to rest and replenish before an extremely early start so they could explore the land before any other habitation out there had woken up. They informed everyone else before splitting up to scour the area for somewhere to sleep, large enough so most of them could clump together when resting. Thomas paused by the entrance to the passageway, desperately wanting to get onto higher ground so he could get a closer inspection of the lights he had seen twinkling in the distance not so long ago. His muscles burned with lactic acid, making the idea of scaling up the side of the mountain look almost impossible. He therefore gave up on the idea of trying to get a head-start on trying to spot signs of life, and retreated to searching the grounds for any possible sleeping spots. Many of the other Immunes had already reclined under the scattering of dead, yet still bristly and firm, conifer trees lining the rolling ground, with several of the flimsy hammocks already hanging from their ropes. The portion of people who hadn't been supplied with hammocks had blankets, or just slept amongst the tufty grass or curled up next to each other. It was all very cosy and homely looking, but that was something Thomas couldn't stand - the fake, plastic sense that everything was okay and they all had normal lives; as if they were sugar-coating reality. Sure, he wanted to quit thinking about the past and to move on, but this growing sense that things could possibly be safe and the happiness blooming in his chest just made him feel guilty.
Thinking of Chuck and Newt and Teresa. And how he was stood here, in Paradise, clutching a can of noodles and a hammock and blanket, surrounded by children and adults: all merrily playing, chatting or singing by a premature campfire, passing around handfuls of food and splashing in the jagged slit of water running through the crevice between the hills. It made him feel guilty - guilty that he was almost beginning to feel a true belonging with these people.
He had his tin of food, he had his sleeping equipment, and he had the knowledge that the sound of the rustling awakening of the camp in the morning would surely bring him to consciousness too, so he slipped off to find somewhere private to sleep.

Once past the line of trees, he crept over to where the mountain soared upwards and searched for a spot to wedge his hammock into, or better still a sturdy tree. He was wandering along with his hand running against the rock when it looked like the hill was about to cut short in front of him. That's weird, he thought, I'm sure the mountain's wider than that.
Alas, when he rounded the corner he was faced instead with a small cave - no bigger than three hammocks if they were laying in a row. The walls were dank grey rock, and shadows hung about the edges, but it seemed habitable. The small slab of stone which floored the cave was deliciously cold and felt wonderful under his touch, especially in contrast with the warm air.
He plopped down onto his spread-out cover, wheezing the air from his lungs in a contented breath. His own little cave. No distractions. No guilt. No thoughts.
It was beginning to get darker outside, so whilst there was still light to see by, Thomas gathered some dry bracken and dug around in his backpack for the small box of matches he had tucked away somewhere. Soon a flickering ball of flames was guttering to the side of the entrance to the hideaway: and held the metal container of food over the fire until the edges were blackened, yet before the scolding heat had reached his fingers. He wrenched open the lid and began shovelling thin strips of noodles drenched in the tasty sauce into his mouth, and he even found himself groaning to himself at the sheer pleasure of eating something half-edible again.