Admit Defeat (TMR fic 2)

Chapter 31

I wake up with a gasp of fear. That wasn't a memory. I was able to make choices, so it couldn't have been. But... was I really willing to kill Chuck? Was it really fine if he died, so long as I lived outside of people's control?

I sit up in the early dawn light, leaning my head on my knees. How long did we sleep? The Gladers are still unconscious around me.

"Hey."

I glance up to see Minho leaning against the wall near the door, looking bored. I quietly pick my way over to him and sit beside him.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Busted up."

"I bet."

We sit in silence for a while, and then he sighs.

"Ash? Why aren't you talking to Newt?"

I clench my jaw slightly. I don't want to talk to anyone about it, but he's Newt's best friend. I promised him I wouldn't hurt Newt.

"Because I can't."

"But why?"

A line from one of Newt's songs drifts into my mind, and I cling to it.

So this is where we are, it's not where we had wanted to be...

"It's better," I say.

Minho doesn't sound convinced when he replies. "He's really torn up about it. He doesn't know what he did wrong. He's been trying to find a way to apologize, but you keep pushing him away."

And there's nothing you can do about it, no there's nothing you can do about it...

"I can't," I say. "I can't change it. I'm sorry. I don't like hurting him. But it's better."

I assume he's mad at me, but for once Minho seems to think about his words before he says them, and they come out kinder than I expect.

"I hope that you make the right choice, Ash, when it's time to choose."

I don't know what he means, but I don't bother asking. It will just make things hurt worse.

When it feels like the world's gone mad, and there's nothing you can do about it...

The others start to wake up, and we gather ourselves into a group. The morning light illuminates the large warehouse we slept in, and it appears to be empty, although there are still many dark corners.

"Okay, listen," Minho says, still sitting down but back to being the leader. "We don't know anything about this place. We need supplies, but we need to watch each other's backs."

I hear something from the darkness of the rafters and look upwards.

A figure jumps from above us, front flipping before landing expertly right in front of our group. His hair is dark and his face is grim.

We bunch together, uncertain about the newcomer.

"Who are you?" Minho growls, standing up and stalking towards him.

"My name's Jorge," the man says with a grim smile. "And I'm gonna be the one asking the questions here, hermano."

Other figures start prowling towards us, surrounding us. We could run out the entrance, but without our sheets we'd fry in the desert in a few minutes, and they'd no doubt keep us from finding another way into the city.

They're all ragged and fierce, like wild animals on the hunt. Their clothes are torn, and eyes are burning with hatred. Cranks. 

"Now," Jorge says, "who are you?"