A Different Path

Chapter Six - A Light in the dark

Thomas was lying on the floor next to the fountain, wrapped in a few scarves and an oversized sweatshirt. The group had taken every clothing item that could function as a blanket from the clothing shop and used them to create beds surrounding their newly found base. They had made sure there was enough wood in the fountain to keep the fire going for the night, as it was rather cold in the underground terminal without the sun shining through the glass ceiling.

Thomas focused on the stars in the cloudless night sky above, trying to fight his thoughts from taking over. Yet the stars didn't quite do the job, their motionlessness wasn't distracting enough for him. Thomas turned to the red flames in the fountain instead, hoping for a better effect. They carelessly danced around on the remnants of the dining chairs, licking away at other parts when their spots had turned to char. Mesmerizing as the flames were, all they left behind was a smouldering pile of ash. Their radiating heat could only warm the group at the cost of something else. Now, the wooden chairs were being turned into dust, their former shapes wiped from existence. Nothing Thomas could do would give them back their former build, and he hated it. He hated it more than anything in this world. His powerlessness was tearing him apart, for all he wanted was to help. But he couldn't.

"Newt..." he whispered whilst turning away from the fire. He softly shuffled out of his makeshift blanket and got up. Running was the only thing he figured could get his mind off of things, just like it had done in the Maze. Thomas quietly jogged over to the stairs leading out of the station. He climbed up the first set; he started full of power, running up the stairs as nimbly as he could. Slowly, running turned into walking, and walking turned into trudging. The last few steps, Thomas had to pull himself up by the railing, standing on a single step with both feet before being able to slowly move on to the next. As he stepped onto the bridging platform, he dropped to his knees. Thomas crawled to the middle of the platform, where he stopped. Neither his arms nor his legs were willing to bring him any further, and the amount of willpower left in Thomas was too small to force them. He let himself fall on his chest, hitting the ground with a soft thump. He rolled onto his side, pulled his knees up, and wrapped his arms around them. He rocked back and forth, sniffling. Those sniffles turned into sobs. A deep, painful cry that made Thomas' chest hurt. He suddenly let out an anguished groan, then whispered into the air. "Why you? Why does it have to be you?"

"Stop it, Thomas." Minho's voice, it had a hint of annoyance in it. "It's only going to make things worse, and you know it. Slim it and get back down to the fountain before you wake everybody else up. Come on." Thomas sat up and turned to Minho, who seemed rather frustrated. Thomas took a deep breath and looked Minho straight in his eyes.

"Do you even care about him?" he asked sharply. The question startled Minho for a brief moment, but fire soon filled his eyes.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" Minho replied, clenching his jaw.

"Do you care about Newt?" Saying the boy's name made Thomas' voice shake. "Because from the moment you stepped back into that van, you haven't said one word to him."

Minho walked closer to Thomas, now towering above him. "You listen to me right now. That is not true." Minho spat out his words. "I did talk to him. You were there when I did. We had a discussion on why I didn't go scavenging." Thomas got to his feet and moved closer to Minho, their noses almost touching.

"That doesn't seem like the best way to greet a friend who you haven't properly spoken to in weeks, or does it?" he whispered defiantly. In the blink of an eye, Minho's fist forcefully came down on Thomas' cheekbone. The impact of the blow knocked Thomas down to the ground. He landed hard on the floor, head first, for there wasn't enough time for Thomas to properly break his fall.