The Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials ~ Newt

8: Fatigue

"Not one for parties, are you, Girl," a voice said, like it wasn't a question.

Anna turned and looked up. A blonde boy was blocking out the light from the celebratory bonfire with his tall frame, and she tried not to flinch as he sat down next to her. He held out a flask for her, full of amber liquid.

"Um, no, thank you," she said.

He shrugged as if he didn't exactly care one way or the other and took a swig himself. "So how was the first day, Girl?"

Anna frowned a little. "Can you not call me "Girl"?" she asked.

"Is there somethin' you'd like me to call you?" he answered her question with a question, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile.

Anna's mouth dropped a little as her mind raced to say something; anything. He just kept staring at her, his dark eyes reflecting the fire light. "It's Anna," she eventually went with.

The English guy nodded. "I'm Newt," he said, and held his right hand over his body for her to shake.

"Like the animal?"

"Yep." He offered no explanation.

"Oh. Um, okay," Anna said.

"Here," Newt said, and placed the flask in her hands. He leaned over a little. "You need it," he whispered.

"Hey, hey! Get out of here!"

Anna's eyelids snapped open. They were crusty and watery, and her head was pounding. She saw Thomas waving away a crow from their backpacks, foraging for something edible, and sat up gingerly, wiping her eyes, agitated. Her movement triggered Newt, and he sat up just as slowly. His leg was better now, but his back hurt like a piece of klunk.

"They're gone," he said groggily. At least they had that on their side.

"Yeah," Thomas nodded. "I think we're safe for now."

Anna's eyes squinted, trying to see what the world looked like in the daytime.

"We should get moving," Thomas said, trying to retain everyone's mentality on their goal. "Let's pack up."

The eight headed up the steep incline of the destroyed shopping mall, Newt holding his hand out for Anna to help her up.

The "Scorch" was an accurate word for the new level of Hell that Anna was experiencing. The heat, the humidity, the sand that now coated her throat, all of it made Anna nauseous. She wasn't sure her mouth would taste clean ever again. Their water was rationed, and no one knew how long they would need to walk. With no water to replenish the fluids lost due to the buckets of sweat that had poured down her back, gathered on her upper lip, and gathered where her boots met her ankles, a steady headache was beginning to form, a dull pounding that was already unbearable.

It had been only a few hours, not even midday, and the group had dodged helicopters, decaying rubble, and drowning in the sand dunes. On top of everything, Winston was getting worse. His abdomen was a mess of bandages, already soaked through with unnatural black blood. He had collapsed a few hours ago, having been pulling the same weight as everyone else, relentless. The boys tied a sheet tight around some planks and laid Winston upon it to allow him rest. While Winton was off his feet, albeit in the direct sun and now sun sick, that meant a new schedule was put together for duos to pull him along.

"Those mountains, that's gotta be where we're going," Thomas said, sounding somewhat relieved that there was a visible goal now.

No one else sounded thrilled, however. "That's a long way off," Newt muttered.