monachopsis - maze runner

chapter 23

Chapter 23
The Empty Space

In a shelter made of rubble, the kids huddled together in a mass of sweat and dust. Once the pack of Cranks gave up working for their food and their wails faded to a haunting echo on the warm breeze, Florence got to work on Winston's wound. He bit down on the strap of his backpack while she cleaned and disinfected it, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried not to scream. The gashes were deep and still oozing blood, and Florence knew her thick layer of bandages would have to be redone fairly soon.

"Flo," he said weakly, wincing as Frypan propped him up against the wall. "How bad is it?" Florence, who had her back facing him as she repacked her bag, let her eyes fall shut. She plucked the small flashlight from her mouth, turning to face him.

"I couldn't see it all that well, but I think you're gonna be okay."

"You think?" Frypan's eyes were wide as he stared at her, one hand still gripping Winston's shoulder.

"He's gonna be okay," Florence replied, though she wasn't even able to reassure herself. "Get some rest."

Florence tried to take her own advice. She curled up against her backpack, wrapping her jacket tight around her and pulling the hood down over her eyes. Her limbs were already aching from a day spent on the run, and the cement ground under her side was making the situation even worse. But the deceitfully welcoming hands of sleep still closed around her, trapping her in skeletal fingers that dug into the corners of her mind she'd been trying to run from.

She was covered so fully in blood that for a second she wasn't sure it was not her own. She was kneeling on the ground, but the ground wasn't solid as much as it was an endless expanse of shallow black water. It sloshed about her knees as something pulled her to the left. The darkness melted around her and she saw what it was.

A calloused hand was clasped around her left forearm, its fingernails digging into her skin. She could see the outline of Alby hanging in the haze, but she couldn't see what was holding him. His lips were moving, although she couldn't make out what he was saying. Her ears were ringing. She hadn't even noticed.

Her right hand was pressed firmly against someone's skin, blood seeping through her fingers as they curled around the shaft of a weapon. A spear, protruding from a barely rising chest. Gally's. His mouth was moving too. She still couldn't understand.

Alby's arm gave her a harsh tug, and a wave of dark water splashed up her chest as she lurched in his direction. Except it wasn't water, she realized. It was blood.

Then she heard something over the ringing in her ears. Both of their voices, each in a separate ear, but repeating the same words. "Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your-"

"Florence!" Her hand flew outward as she rose from the ground, sucking air into her lungs. Her fingers clutched fabric, squeezing it as her forehead crashed into someone's shoulder. A hand found the back of her head, holding her there. "You're alright, Captain," Minho muttered. "I got you." He looked up at Newt over Florence's shoulder, clearly petrified despite his attempts to calm her down. His hand on Florence's head was shaking just slightly, like he was afraid he'd do the wrong thing and hurt her more.

"Thank you," Florence whispered through cracked lips when she was mostly able to breathe again. Her voice was scratchy, and Newt hastily dug through the girl's discarded pack for her water. She only drank a little, as she was conscious enough to realize she needed to preserve it, but it was enough. Slowly she rose, still holding tight to Minho as he rose with her. She released her iron grip on his shirt, bending to scoop her backpack from the ground as her knees creaked in protest.