A/N: Firstly, thank you for clicking on this fanfiction and giving it a chance! It will be solely focusing on what happens between Scorch Trials and Death Cure and will jump between different POV's of canon characters throughout the story.

Enjoy!

Thomas I

The coordinates. That had been his plan. Use the coordinates to pinpoint WCKD's facilities. Single one out based on location, size, importance and security. Infiltrate it. Get the information on WCKD's subjects. Find out specifically where they were being held. More specifically where Minho was being held—or soon would be.

It had been a sound start.

Until they'd actually started looking for the coordinates.

Last night had been an ambush. A massacre. The fight had been over before it could even truly begin. Taser rounds had rained down on them, explosions had blown them off their feet, WCKD had forced them to their knees. They hadn't stood a chance. It was a miracle any of them had made it out, both life and freedom still intact.

The air was thick with white smoke, making the clear blue sky look hazy. It tasted stale and smelled like death. Bodies were everywhere. Lain out and covered in blankets and sheets. Tents had collapsed or simply burned to the ground and forging through the wreckage wasn't easy.

"This one's busted too."

Thomas looked over his shoulder and watched Frypan chuck another gadget onto an ever-growing pile of unusable items.

Vince had told them, the coordinates had been saved on multiple electronic devices and drawn in on maps. The former were all either fried or defect in some way or another and there wasn't much more to the latter besides piles of ash. In other words, a great start.

Thomas stood from his crouch. "There's gotta be something here. It can't all be gone."

"This could be helpful," Newt said and held up a ratty piece of beige paper, charred black around the edges. "Or would be helpful, if we had the rest of the bloody map."

Thomas took the burned section from him, holding it delicately, afraid it might crumble in his hands. Two X's were marked down, one at the center labeled WCKD CP, the other near the edge, almost illegible, WCKD T.

Newt got to his feet. "Any idea what those letters mean?"

"Probably some WCKD facility."

"Well spotted, shank. Honestly couldn't have said it better myself."

Thomas rubbed an eye tiredly. "Sorry. We should ask Vince."

Newt nodded, frowning. "You don't think he'll actually know where this is, do you?"

Thomas shrugged. "I don't know. Without actual coordinates or an actual map to compare the landmarks and old highways…"

"Useless."

"No, it's just—"

"Not helpful."

"Not yet."

Newt sent him a wry smile. "'Ever the optimist."

"Yeah, that's me," Thomas muttered under his breath and glanced around them, taking in the remains that was the Right Arm's HQ tent. The tarps were scorched and ripped, supporting posts splintered. A flimsy metal table was lying on its side, one leg missing. Crates were dented, gadgets broken, papers burned. "Find anything, Fry?"

There was a crash as another object was thrown onto the reject pile, followed by a tired sigh. "You wish."

Thomas felt his shoulders sag.

"We'll find something," Newt said and clasped his shoulder. "Not here, but maybe in an abandoned car or a nearby town or in a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow…These weren't the last maps on planet Earth. Our luck isn't that rotten."

If only that were true.

"Sorry to interrupt your search for the map to treasure island," a new, girlish voice called to them, "but we got bodies to deal with."

"You think she rehearsed that line on the way over?" Newt wondered aloud and glanced over his shoulder.

Thomas just managed to mutter a barely audible 'shut up' before Brenda was level with them. She looked around at them. "Any luck here?"

He held out the map fragment. "We found this. That's about it."

"That is it," Newt corrected.

Brenda looked at it fleetingly, before flipping it over, seeing nothing on the backside, and flipping it back again. She handed it back and nodded. "That'll get you far."

"Yeah, we know," Thomas grumbled, before folding it carefully and sliding it into an inside pocket of his jacket.

Frypan came to stand next to them. "What d'you say about bodies?"

Brenda's eyes fell to the ground briefly and her tone changed to something more somber. "Vince wants to burn them. There's too many to bury. And, he wants to get moving before midday. It's too dangerous to stay here any longer, so pack up whatever you can salvage from here and bring it to the trucks."

"They all working?" Frypan asked, sounding surprised.

"Jorge's still working on the one he drove into that helicopter last night. 'S not looking too bad, but it could go either way."

"Does he need help?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're not getting out of stacking bodies, Fry." She took a step back and nodded towards the people gathering near the center of the demolished camp. "Come on."

"Who said I was trying to get out of anything?" Frypan wondered, leading the way out of the wreckage, followed by Newt.

"So, you weren't?" Newt asked.

"No, I was. It's just rude to assume."

Newt snorted and Thomas wanted to smile, but he found himself unable to, as if his facial muscles were frozen in a frown.

Brenda fell into step beside him. "You okay?"

He looked over at her. Her pale face was streaked with dirt that extended down to her neck. She looked exhausted if the dark shadows beneath her eyes were anything to go by. But she didn't look sickly. Not like the day before when she had collapsed and nearly gotten her brains blown out by Vince. "Is that a serious question?"

She smiled. "No, I was just being polite."

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Since when are you ever polite?"

She nudged him with her elbow. "Shut up." A second of silence. "We'll get him back. Minho, I mean. I know we don't have much of a lead, but I know you'll find one, because if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you're as stubborn as they get."

He stopped in his tracks. "I'm not stubborn."

She laughed to herself. "Of course you are." She noticed he'd stopped walking and followed suit, turning to face him. "Oh, don't go denying it. Once you get something in your head, there's no changing your mind."

"I…That's not—"

"You want examples? Fine. You wanted to find the Right Arm." She made an open gesture with her arms. "Here we are. You wanted to help me after I got bit. I'm still standing. Last night, you wouldn't abandon your friends or these people, so some of them are still here—"

"That wasn't m—"

"You want to save Minho, so you'll save him…or at least die trying." She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly to the side. "Tell me, I'm wrong."

He blinked. "That's not being stubborn—"

She rolled her eyes. "Stubbornly refusing that you're not stubborn."

"—I'm just…" His eyes drifted to the horizon, squinting against the sun forcing it's way through the haze of smoke. "He's one of my best friends and I can't just stand by and let WCKD do what they do best. I have to get him back…whatever it takes."

Her expression flickered, before settling back into one of subdued amusement. "Stubbornly selfless then."

He sent her an exasperated look, but it dissipated quickly. He knew what she was doing. Trying to make light of the situation. Trying to make him feel better. Trying to reassure him that he would succeed, that it wasn't hopeless. He exhaled. "Thanks."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Didn't expect you to give in so quickly."

He was about to argue that that wasn't what the 'thanks' was for and that he wasn't agreeing with her statement whatsoever, but when he spotted the small, sincere smile pulling at her mouth a part of him suspected she already knew that, so he said nothing more and they kept walking.

—

Vince's words didn't reach Thomas' ears. The man stood before them all, the dead burning in a distracting heap behind him. Thomas thought it might have looked somewhat ceremonious under a dark sky with orange flames illuminating the night, but this…this was just disturbing. Black smoke rose into the air and the flames only added to the heat of the day. The wind blew by gently, changing it's direction every few minutes, wafting the terrible stench of burning, blistering flesh every which way. It was currently blowing in the general direction of where Thomas, Frypan and Newt stood side by side.

"We did not think this through," Frypan murmured from Thomas's left. It came out muffled, because he had a hand clamped over his nose and mouth.

"Bloody hell, how can he stand right there?" Newt grunted, shaking his head at Vince and adjusting the red bandana he'd tightened over half his face.

Vince's voice continued to drone over them, giving words of comfort and encouragement to move forward from the carnage that WCKD had inflicted upon them and to find new strength in each other.

"He can't smell," Thomas replied through his own hand.

"He bloody what?"

"Where d'you hear that?" Frypan coughed out.

"He told me. He got hit in the head a while back, lost his sense of smell."

"He told you that."

"Yeah."

"The shank can't smell."

"Yeah."

There was a beat of silence, filled by nothing but the crackling of fire and soft sobs of those mourning a few feet away.

"Lucky bastard." Newt hacked up another cough. "Okay, I'm done. I can't."

Thomas watched Newt step away from them and head off towards the vehicles parked higher up a hill near the pass leading out of the valley and well away from the burning corpses. He caught Frypan's gaze and it took them all but a second to follow Newt's lead. Two familiar figures were standing by a flatbed truck loaded with crates and iron drums. Jorge climbed back up onto the front bumper and stuck his head in the hood while Brenda leaned back against the cab, arms crossed.

"Give up so soon?" she mocked once they reached the truck.

Frypan took a place next to her. "I didn't expect it to be that bad."

"Why do you think we're standing back here? A couple dozen bodies isn't a funeral, it's a godawful spectacle."

Thomas shared a look with Frypan. He noticed a reserved and somewhat uncomfortable smile on the other boy's face, like he wasn't sure he should be finding any kind of amusement in the situation. Brenda was blunt and could be insensitive, but Thomas realized that sometimes that was the only way to cope. Sometimes you just had to go about things with indifference if you wanted to keep your sanity intact.

"How's it look, Jorge?" Thomas climbed up onto the wide fender and crouched down, peering into the hood. Cylinders and valves were bubbling with dirty orange rust and the tubes and connecting cables appeared worn and in need of replacement. On second thought, all of it looked like it was in need of replacement, but Jorge kept tinkering with something deep in the hood that Thomas couldn't see.

Jorge grunted something Thomas didn't understand—he guessed it was intended to be more a sound than a word anyway—, then the man straightened himself up and wiped his hands off on an already filthy rag. "Looks like we're up shit creek without a paddle."

"That's great," he replied dryly.

Jorge shook his head. "We can't lose this baby. Not enough room for supplies and people if we do."

"What's wrong with it?" Newt's voice sounded closer.

"Some of the couplings between the engine and the solar panels are busted. Without enough power the engine won't start. Lucky for us, I'm me. Brenda! Fire it up!"

The heavy door creaked as she swung it open and climbed into the cab. "Say when."

"When!"

The engine began to whine, then roared to life with an ear-splitting bang. Thomas jumped back from the hood with a startled yelp and landed on his ass in the dirt. The engine continued to rattle, sounding as if it were just about ready to explode, and hands grabbed at his arms helping him to his feet as he scrambled away quickly. There was a sudden hiss and then steam began to pour out the hood.

Jorge jumped off the bumper, back onto the ground. "Mierda! Cut the engine!"

The truck quieted down to a wheeze and then there was just the hiss of steam.

The hands fell away. "You alright?"

Thomas looked over at Newt. The bastard was grinning.

"Fine," Thomas replied, trying not to wince at the jolts near his tailbone.

Newt looked back towards the steaming truck and scratched at the back of his neck. "Looks like we're up shit river without a shucking boat."

"Yeah, what else is new?"

Newt hummed a sound of agreement. "On the other hand, we're lucky he crashed into that helicopter 'else we'd all be…" His voice seemed to catch momentarily. "…in bits…" Gravel crunched underfoot as he shifted his weight. "…all over the place."

Thomas cringed slightly as the memory resurfaced of him holding a rigged explosive in his hand ready to blow and Newt, Frypan and Minho urging him to set it off. "I still can't believe it came to that." Jorge was back on the bumper, his head in the hood, Frypan at his side, holding up a couple tools in his hands. "How could she do this to us?"

Silence fell between them, filled only by the soft clink and creak of metal and Jorge's faint mutterings to Frypan.

Thomas swallowed the lump in his throat. "I trusted her."

"We all did."

Thomas clenched his hands into tight fists when he felt a painful swell in his chest. "But I should have seen it coming."

Newt sighed softly. "Tommy—"

"She wanted to go back." His voice suddenly felt hoarse. "Back in the Scorch she told me she wanted to go back to WCKD. They did something to her at the facility and she got some of her memories back. She told me that she remembered why we worked for them, said it wasn't as simple as we thought it was…" Thomas looked towards Newt, his eyebrows pulled together. "That was the first sign and I ignored it."

"You couldn't have known."

"But I should have, Newt. I should have known what was going on with her. I could have tried to change her mind, then all this—" He swung his arm back down the hill towards the camp and the burning bodies. "—wouldn't have happened."

"You can't blame yourself for everything, Thomas. She made her choice. This—" Newt mimicked Thomas' movement. "—is on her, not you."

Thomas rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. A part of him knew that Newt was right, but a part of him still felt that dead weight of guilt that he'd been so goddamn stupid. Teresa and him had been best friends when they'd worked at WCKD, maybe even a bit more than just friends, they'd been close—that much he'd been able to pick out from the flashes of memories he'd gotten back—so how hadn't he seen it? How hadn't he realized she'd switched sides? Or had he simply been in denial? Had he chosen not to see it? Had he chosen to believe that her comment about going back was just a one time thing influenced by the lack of certainty in their own survival?

"Thomas?"

It was a girl's voice. One he only vaguely recognized. He turned towards it, eyes falling on a tall girl with caramel skin and dark dreadlocks. She had a belt of bullets slung across her chest and a rifle over one shoulder. The first time he'd met her, he'd been staring down the barrel of said rifle. "Yeah. Harriet, right?"

She nodded, smiling tentatively. "Vince's called a council meeting. He wants you there."

Thomas tried not to show his surprise. "Okay."

"Spill the beans when you're done, yeah?" Newt said and clapped him on the back, before heading back to the others by the truck.

Harriet jerked her head towards the valley and Thomas fell into step beside her as they made their way down the slight hill.

"Did he say what it's about?" he asked.

"No, but I can imagine they'll be setting a heading, going over safety precautions, making a head count of survivors, discussing food and water rations, et cetera."

Thomas simply nodded.

"I'm glad you stepped up," she said suddenly, her tone and choice of words completely deviating from the subject of the council meeting.

He glanced at her, a bit confused as to what she was referring to.

"You convinced Vince to go after WCKD," she went on, "to get our friends back. You convinced me and…I'm just really grateful, because they don't deserve any less. We need to fight for them."

She caught his gaze, a meaningful smile at her lips, and Thomas felt his own mouth pull up at the corners. "Yeah, we do."

The council was gathered in the trunk of a pickup truck, all sitting on the edge, shoulders hunched wearily, except for Vince, who was standing, leaning back against the back window. Their tones were low and serious. Thomas only caught on to the conversation when he was standing directly in front of the open tailgate.

"—go down to the stream, fill up the drums before we move out." Vince's eyes landed on Thomas. "You find anything on WCKD?"

Six heads turned. They all had a wary almost haunted look in their eyes.

"We found this." He pulled the map out of his inside pocket and unfolded it. "Two places are marked, but without coordinates."

Vince walked over to the edge of the trunk and held out his hand. Thomas gave him the map, which Vince simply handed to the man at his right, then held out his hand again. It took Thomas a moment to understand, but then he grasped onto Vince's forearm and clambered onto the truck.

"It's a compound and…probably a trial installation," the man with the map said. His hair was shoulder-length and lanky, his beard patchy, skin weathered.

"Do you know where it is?" Thomas asked. "Do you recognize any of the area? Have you been there before?"

Vince placed a hand on his shoulder. "Slow down, kid. John?"

The man shook his head and passed the map down. "I don't know it, boss."

And around the map went, everyone eventually shaking their heads and Thomas' heart sinking lower and lower each time until he felt it hard and heavy in the pit of his stomach.

Vince looked at it lastly and the lines on his face only deepened. "We'll find more maps, compare landmarks and find out where this is. For now, put it away, wrap it in some cloth so it doesn't get destroyed." He handed the map back.

"Where are we going to find more maps?"

"It'll take time. We'll have to scavenge in passing towns and cities. I can't guarantee any one place, Thomas."

"So, what now?"

"Now, we send out a team to fill up on water, we pack up the rest of our gear and we head north."

"What's north?"

"You ask a lot of questions, kid," Patchy Beard said.

"Weather's cooler up north," Vince replied. "Places up there are more inhabitable, it'll be a better place to set up base. On the down side, I'm pretty sure those WCKD installations are down south. WCKD tends to set up their inhuman activity in places where no one is around to bother them. Their installations are oases in the Scorch. Makes it harder to attack, 'cause there's nowhere for us to hide or set up camp for long periods of time. We did manage to overthrow some of them, but it came at a high price."

Thomas stared down at the map in his hands. Down south. That was his lead. The question was, where down south? The answer was in the north. Of course it was. Did he really expect this to be easy?

Sudden loud whoops and cheers came from far away and Thomas turned towards the sound. Up on the hill, near the pass leading out of the valley, a truck had roared to life and was humming with energy.

"Well, I'll be damned," Patchy Beard murmured, a hint of awe and hope in his voice. "The son of a bitch did it."

"Alright then!" Vince's voice commanded everyone's attention back. "Let's get a move on."

A/N: Love it? Hate it? Leave a review! Feedback is super helpful, because it a) tells me what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong, and b) it motivates me to keep writing. So even if you're a guest reader, leave me a few lines, make predictions, ask me questions and you'll always get a personal reply at the end of the next chapter :)