Hello fellow gladers! Thanks for reading the last chapter. To those of you asking if I will continue Icarus (My other TST fanfiction for those of you who don't know) I promise I will update it. I'm just having a bad case of writers block, but I will continue. I have half a chapter written on, and I'm hoping to get it out sometime before Sunday.
Enjoy this chapter.
Disclaimer: James Dashner owns 99.9% of this, if you haven't figured that out by now.
Whatever 'The Scorch' was, it didn't sound good; in the slightest.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, to ask questions, her ears popped. Noises blurred around her and her vision became hazed. She felt her knees go weak and a cloud of grey enveloped her vision. Black dots started to form, like ants attacking a picnic, and she felt a deluge of wooziness right before she toppled to the floor.
"Get her some water!" Someone yelled.
"But—"
"Just do it!" A voice, who she recognized to be Newt's, screeched.
She felt a pair of clammy hands pry her body upwards to a sitting position. Light's danced over her field of view as she tried to look around, and she felt as if she would depose to the sand again.
She moaned as she leaned forward, resting her head between her knees, attempting to stop the swaying motion that she felt. Her world seemed to gyrate around her and all she wanted to do was heave, but she had nothing to vomit out.
"Are you alright?" Newt asked her crumpling form.
She shook her head, which made her even dizzier, causing her to moan again.
"Here," Minho bumped her leg with the toe of his shoe.
She struggled to look up, but when she saw the bottle of water in his hands, she practically snatched it from his grasp.
She unscrewed the lid and threw back the cool liquid down her throat. She gulped and gulped and gulped, until the last few drops of the bottle vanished.
"Girl can drink," Minho observed as he folded his arms again.
"I've been stuck out here for hours…" She panted, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "No food, no water, and no shoes… Might I add."
They all glanced to her feet, and when they saw the effervesce scolds on her feet, they cringed.
"How'd you get here?" Thomas questioned with wide eyes.
She shrugged. "Couldn't tell ya. I was dropped here by some type of aircraft. It was large, and fast. Next thing you know I'm struggling in the sand without anything, even my memories, and the only thing I have is my name."
"Did you see anything? Anyone? Was there a man on the ship?" Thomas bombarded her, "Average height," He gesticulated with his hands, "dressed in white, kinda looks like a rat."
She groaned as she felt a migraine begin to form in the back of her head, and she tried to shake it off, "No. Nothing. I only saw the word WICKED painted on the side of the thing."
For the second time in that conversation, they froze.
"What?" She pushed, "What is it?"
"Check her neck," Minho ordered. He was clearly the leader of the group.
Newt moved around in his kneeling position to rotate towards the back of her.
"Hey!" She squealed when he grabbed the nape of her neck and lifted the collar of her shirt down. He remained like that for a little while, making everyone antsy with suspense, even her.
Her mind gyrated with theories. Was it some kind of alien invasion? Was she left with an extraterrestrial's trademark?
"Well?" Minho asked, dropping his hands, "Does it say anything shank?"
She frowned at the use of the word 'shank'. They had a lot of weird lingo like 'shank', and 'klunk', as well as 'shuck'. She made a mental not to ask them about the jargon later.
She felt his warm breath on her neck, shaky and unsteady before he opened his mouth. "Subject A11: The Constituent."
No one spoke for a while, except her. "What the hell does that mean?" and it made her enormously irate that they continued to neglect her, like she wasn't even there. "Hello?" She waved her hands frantically.
"Does that mean she's one of us?" A taller boy with long, shaggy hair asked from the outfield. They held eye contact for a moment, until she broke it, feeling awkward and belittled.
"Constituent means being a part of a whole," Newt explained, "A component, a building block." He elaborated, "Is that their way of telling us she's one of us?"
"How do we know the girl isn't a spy or somethin'?" Minho idealized.
Thomas shrugged, "We don't."
"Well," Newt scoffed, "She looks just as bloody clueless and beat up as the rest of us."
"He's right!"A boy agreed.
"What do we do then?"
"Can someone please tell me what's going on?!" She cried out.
She felt the rough knuckles of Newt's hand slowly pry themselves off of her shirt, moving back to sit down beside her. He sighed, before speaking to the small mass of boys entirely. "I think it's time for a break."
They all sat in a circle in the sand, huddled underneath thin blankets that scarcely defended them from the sun. They all ate granola bars or apples, except for her. She waited while they debated for half an hour whether or not to give her food.
Newt and Thomas were on her side, Minho was apprehensive, hence the initiation to take a vote, and the others mostly voted yes for her to have food, minus three or four boys.
"Look," Minho was growing irritated, "We're already running out of food, it wouldn't hurt to give the girl an apple or two."
"But what if she's a spy?" A boy she learned whose name was Jack countered.
"I'm not a spy!" She yelled for the millionth time. "I have no idea what's going on and I'm getting freakin' hangry!"
Newt snorted.
"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't," Minho shrugged, "But I say we feed the Slinthead and get to yappin'"
"We're going to tell her everything?" A boy named Clint asked.
It was then that she noticed the lack of girls. Was the world ending? Was there no females left? Was she the last one? Was that the big news they so suspenseful elucidated up to?
"If she's a bloody spy, then it won't matter. She'll have already known everything." Newt enlightened the mass.
"He's right," Thomas concurred.
Tatum's stomach growled audibly again, earning glances from a few boys, in particular the ones on her side: which consisted of Newt and Thomas.
"I say we give her food," A boy who hadn't spoken the whole meeting enunciated. In fact, she hadn't even noticed the boy until now. He was average height; maybe a little closer to the short side, he had thick, brooding brows, a strong jaw line, vividly bright eyes, and his hair was shaggy, but not long. It was similar to Thomas' only his was thinner and lighter in color. He looked to be the same age as Thomas. "We let her eat, and then we talk."
"You're just taking her side because you were in the same place she was a few hours ago!" Someone on the opposite side of the circle hollered.
The boy's comment made her curious, and she cocked her head in response. The boy's eyes were locked with hers, and she felt some sort of unspoken connection towards him. Maybe because it seemed they had both been accused of being spies
"Slim it!" Minho hissed, and then he turned back to the boy "Then what?" Minho asked, surprising the mass of boys because it seemed he was the all-knowing leader.
He shrugged, "Then we take her with us."
Minho made a face, and he readjusted the blanket over his head to cover a larger area of his face. He looked like a nun. That thought forced Tatum to stifle a laugh. Minho sighed, and leaned over to the boy sitting next to him. The boys had their blankets wrapped around themselves unevenly, with one side hanging longer than the other so they could hold the scarce food and water they had in a make-shift bag.
He grabbed two apples and tossed them her way.
She caught them, one in each hand, and rubbed the side of the gala's with her shirt to rid the gritty taste the sand would've caused.
She bit into it, and sighed through her nostrils when she heard the satisfying crunch it made. It took her less than a minute to finish the first apple.
"Alright," She mumbled through mouthful of food, "So what's this about an experiment? And what's WICKED? Or who? And why do I have a tattoo on my back? Or at least, I'm assuming it's a tattoo. You guys didn't really clarify."
They all exchanged glances, wondering who should do all the talking.
When no one spoke up, Thomas scooted forward. "I suppose I'll start," He lifted a finger blasély in the air. She cocked her head when she saw the raw texture of it. It was burnt, and not sun-burnt, like rare, bloody skin. She wondered how he had obtained that. He let out a long-suffering sigh before his speech. "A few days ago, we escaped a giant maze."
She didn't know what to do with those words. It was a terrible way to start a story, really. So she remained deadpanned, a bite of apple sitting in her mouth as she widened her eyes.
"Uhh…" He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Maybe that's not the best place to start," Newt commented. All eyes switched to him, and he sighed after enduring in an awkwardly long silence; looks like he was going to do the explicating.
"I'm going to make this as very brief as possible," he gesticulated a cutting motion with his hands, "To start: No one remembers anything. Us more then you, though. All we know is our first names as well."
She made a face at that statement. Who would torture them like that? Who would rid their memories and then let them endure in a life-threatening mission? More importantly: Who had the power to do that?
"Just two days ago, we were all stuck inside of a giant maze, with a dell in the middle in which we called the glade. We built a sort of community inside the glade, consisting only of boys around our age. We all had jobs, like runners who would track the maze," Minho raised a hand, "Or baggers who would guard it."
"Guard it from what?"
Newts shrugged, "They made sure gladers, besides the runners, didn't get out."
A look of horror spread across her face. What was so intimidating about a maze?
"Creatures called grievers roamed the maze," a boy told her, "They were giant mechanical scientifically-engineered slug spiders who would kill or sting you in a heartbeat."
Her jaw dropped.
Newt wasted no time in continuing. "Sloppers would clean and do the dirty work, cooks who would prepare food. Track-hoes were responsible for gardening. Slicers took care of the animals. , and builders—well— that's pretty self-explanatory. We built a jail, a council hall, a dining area. We had survived in the maze for nearly three years as part of an experiment initiated by WICKED."
"WICKED stands for World In Catastrophe Killzone Expirement Department," Thomas added, leaning closer to her.
She went stiff, and her eyes sank to the floor
World In Catastrophe.
Was this some kind of sick joke? Was she dreaming? She pinched herself discreetly to make sure, and sure enough, it was real. She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes, and she could feel the eyes of the others on her.
"World in Catastrophe…" She mumbled to herself, drawling over the words still. Only those closest to her could hear her.
"That's right Girly." Minho confirmed with a weak smile, although she wasn't seeking conformation. It was clear the earth was reduced to rubble. Were there any parts of the world that still sustained life? I guess the boys wouldn't know.
She winced at Minho's nickname. It struck a chord in her. Was it a memory she couldn't retain? She shook off the odd feeling and turning back to Newt, nodding with teary eye's for him to continue. He, as well, gave her a feeble smile in an attempt to cheer her up.
"In the middle of the glade was what we called 'The Box' it was an elevator type-thing where every month a new greenie—"
"Greenie?" she interrupted.
"It's what we call the newbies," Thomas explained .
She nodded.
Newt continued, "So same day, every month, on schedule a new greenie would come up."
"Every month?" She asked. She admired Newt's patience at her constant question-asking.
"Every bloody month," He bobbed his head up and down. "Thomas was the latest greenie before it happened."
It happened. She shivered at those words, although she didn't know how daunting they truly were.
"—He came up on time, just like the others, but the next day, a girl came up."
"Her name was Teresa," Thomas cut in. "She had a note in her hand. It said she was the last one ever. She was the trigger towards the ending of the trial."
Again, she shivered at the word trial.
"Long story short, a lot of gladers died, but we had escaped. We found a hidden passage and basically had to invade the grievers' home." Minho bluntly spat out.
"We escaped, and when we did, we were faced with the Creators. They explained that we passed the Maze Trials. A group of rescuers attacked them and we were saved and taken to a safe haven. Or so we buggin' thought," He rolled his eyes.
It was Minho's turn to speak now. She had learnt, from the few minutes of knowing Minho, that he liked to use the cursing jargon they had from the glade. "The rescuers told us that Sun Flares ravaged the world, causing countless miles of wasteland." He gestured, with both hands, all around him. "A big shuckin' portion of the population died, and the ones that did survive became sick with the Flare. It's a virus in the brain that causes people to go crazy," he made a winding motion with his finger beside his head. "The crazies are called the cranks."
"Okay," She held out to hands for them to pause, "So let me get this straight: everything you went through was a test?"
"Yes!" The boy who had stood up for her earlier enunciated. "They studied our brains, our killzones, all in the name of science and medicine."
"Oh God…" He voice croaked.
A weak smile formed on Newt's lips. "We fell asleep in the safe haven, and when we woke up, Cranks were attacking and our saviors were nowhere in sight. Neither was Teresa."
"That's how we knew our 'safe haven'" Minho finger quoted, "Wasn't real. None of it. In Teresa's place was Aris," Minho stabbed a dry finger at Aris, the boy who had stood up for her earlier. "We think they must have switched them, put Teresa with the girls and Aris with us boys."
"The girls?" She cocked a brow.
"There was another maze, Group B. We are group A." He clarified, "We haven't met them yet."
She shrugged her shoulders forward, her eyes rolling downward. "I guess that makes sense." She couldn't tell which emotion was manifesting itself more: Fascination or fear.
Why couldn't she have been dropped with the girls? Maybe they would be more reluctant to take her in, motherly instinct and all.
Newt nodded and took over for Minho, "The man we told you about earlier, when we were talking about the aircraft you saw, Janson, he initiated the second trial. He told us we had to step through a teleporter called a flat-trans. He said we had two weeks to cross the Scorch because we've all got the Flare." Newt went silent, and everyone around him went silent. "We've all caught the Flare, and now you have too."
She couldn't respond. How could she reply to that? All she could do was all the look of horror to spread across her face. The boys' eyes were piercing against her skin, and she wouldn't to look at them, but she didn't want them to see how fearful she was. She didn't want to seem weak. It was a terrible first impression to make. But who could blame her? She was just reborn into a new, memory-less life, and now she was just told she would die.
"You're lying." She shook her head, almost angry at them for planting such terrible thoughts into her.
"I wish," Minho grumbled.
She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, reminding her that she was still alive, despite being attacked by a lethal disease. How could this all be real? It all seemed like a bad dream.
She bit her lip to suppress any noise that threatened to escape once she finally accepted their words. "So what now?" She croaked.
"They promised us a cure if we made it to the safe haven. We were instructed to go a hundred miles directly north. We make it or we die." His brows furrowed together. And although he was looking directly at her, his mind seemed to be somewhere else.
His words were like a terrible tag line of what seemed to be a good movie, but in realism they were her fate for the next two weeks.
She lifted her hand to her face, and started nervously gnawing on the ends of her nails. They were already filed down to nubs. It must've been a nervous habit she had. "This is all so much to take in…" She breathed a long-suffering sigh through her heart shaped lips.
"We know," Minho concurred. "and as much as I would love to stay here and relax, I vote we keep moving. Our time only just started running out, but every second we waste lowers our chance of survival. So I say we pick our asses up and keep walking."
"What do we do with the girl?" Clint raised a question.
"We can't take her with us," A darker boy frowned, "She's clearly a spy. Just because she has a tattoo on her neck, doesn't mean she's one of us."
Tatum made a mental note to keep an eye on the boy who had disliked her. She leaned forward to Thomas and whispered quiet enough for only them two to hear. "What's that kid's name?"
"Mund," He whispered back to her.
She nodded, waiting for an answer from Minho, who seemed to be the leader. "Look," He sighed, "We can't just leave her here. She'll die."
"But if she works for WICKED, they won't let her die." Jack contoured.
"And if she doesn't?" Newt's thick brows rose. He straightened his posture and puffed his chest to show dominance in the situation, which Tatum found slightly comical.
The boy just shrugged, knowing Newt would win the argument.
"We've already told her too much!" Someone shrieked.
"Hey…" She frowned.
Newt snorted.
"If it's any constellation, I pinky promise I'm not a spy. If I was, I'm pretty sure they would have given me some damn shoes," She gestured to the gruesome form of the soles of her feet again.
"Let's take a vote." Minho announced again.
"What's with you guys and voting?" She shook her head. Such boys. She wasn't worried about being let behind, because it seemed for the most part that they were on her side, minus three of four boys, but she still did get a nervous flutter in her chest when Minho spoke again.
"Who votes we keep her?"
Newt's hand shot up first. Followed by Thomas'. Minho, Aris, Clint, and six other boys had raised their hands. She made a mental not of their faces, so she could thank them later. Only four boys hand's remained glued to their laps, and that made Tatum slightly depressed at the thought of being abandoned. She'd have rather died in her sleep a few minutes ago.
"It's settled," Minho grumbled as he stood up from his pile of sand, "She's coming with us whether you shanks like it or not."
She clapped internally.
She saw a hint of a smile on Thomas beside her, which made her realize that they didn't all think she was a terrible spy for WICKED.
One by one, they all stood up from the semi-circle. They all erupted into frantic chatter, and Minho had to whistle over the roaring wind to regain their attention. "Which shank wants to volunteer to share their blankey with girly over here?"
She internally moaned at Minho's grammar and repetitive cursive jargon.
"Newt, Fry, and you are the only ones without a partner Minho." Jack gestured to Minho again.
"I ain't sharing with the girly—"
"I have a name," She grumbled.
"—have you seen how tall I am? I can barely fit myself underneath this blanket."
Tatum observed that Newt and Minho were, in fact, very similar in height, only varying a few inches. While Minho appeared to be more huskier, Newt lacked a little muscle –although he still had some— which meant that Minho just didn't want to share with her. She rolled her eyes at that deduction.
"I'll volunteer." Newt tendered with a monotone voice.
She didn't know if she should thank him, so she just gave him a gentle nod of the head and a slight smirk, in which he reciprocated.
"Great!" Minho chirped. "Now are you shanks ready to pick up the pace? When dusk approaches we'll stop for another snack break and take a little nap. We've been awake for way too shucking long." He shook his head, and it was then that Tatum noticed the flawless head of hair on the boy. It was spiked so perfectly to the side, and it wasn't greasy or sweaty in the slightest, unlike the rest.
She exhaled a breathy laugh, which earned a glance from Newt.
"Ready?" Minho hollered over the wind that had started to pick up.
"Wait!" She squealed, her butt still planted to the floor while the others stood up.
"Agh!" He groaned, spinning around to look down at her, "What?"
She pointed, with both hands, to her blistered feet. "Do you by chance happen to carry a spare pair of shoes on you?"
"Oh yeah," Minho nodded, "I always carry shoes when I unexpectedly trek across a scorching wasteland in case I meet some dumb shank without them."
She glared at him, inaudibly telling him that he could cut the sarcasm, although she tended to be pretty sarcastic herself at times. But she was not in the mood right now.
Minho sighed, "Someone wanna give her their socks or something?" He pivoted, gesturing around. "If she can steal two pairs I'm sure she'll be able at least walk. Besides, it'll be easier on her feet instead of wearing boots."
She bit her lip, pivoting to the group of boys. Everyone remained still, unmoving and silent. No one volunteered for the first few seconds, and in that silence she felt bad. She felt like a lost puppy, a freeloader, which –despite not knowing anything about herself— she knew she was not. She knew she was a warrior, a fighter, not a coward.
"Here," Aris spoke up, raising his left hand. He leaned on Thomas with his other hand, and then shimmied his combat boots off. He pulled both socks off, and tossed them her way. She caught the insulated fuzz balls and encompassed them around her feet.
"Thanks," She gave him a grateful smile, and he gave her a half-smirk back. She was fond of hat kid, he had helped her out a lot in the past hour that she knew him.
"She can have mine too," Another boy said. This was the first time she had seen this boy. He was darker, Hispanic maybe? He had a large nose, and soft eyes. The weirdest thing about his face was the burns, though. They were like no other. It was like someone had dunked his head in hot lava, and let him rest there for a few minutes before pulling him back up. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was covered in puss and an alarming red, and his lips were split open, more so then hers and the others. His hair fell in thin clusters around his face, and the skin that did show was seeping red. What had happened to the boy? It reminded her of Thomas' hands. Besides the obvious wounds, he was actually pretty handsome; or he seemed to be, at least. Maybe that was just the penchant of chivalry talking. He handed her the socks with a wide grin, and she shot him a gummy one.
"Thanks—"
"Winston," He interrupted; his mouth quirking up. He had nice teeth, at least.
"Thanks Winston," She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She put on the second pair of socks, and then stood erect. She sighed in relief once her feet pressed into the sand. It was still uncomfortably warm, but the thick layers of the two pairs seemed to ward off any scolding heat. But that didn't take away the pain of her already-infectious soles.
"You good now?" Minho asked, his brow protruding in the air.
She nodded.
"Alright," He wiped his face with his sleeve, then spun around to everyone. "We keep walking towards the town, and when dusk approaches, we'll take a nap. Sound good shanks?"
"Ai,"
"Yeah,"
"Can we sleep now?"
"No," Minho growled, "Now let's go."
People started shuffling around her, and she looked to Newt who was readjusting the blanket around his face. She tried to prepare herself for the awkward closeness that was advancing, but there was no way she could avoid it. She had just met these kids.
She waited for Newt to say something first; and he did, eventually. "Ready greenbean?"
She made a revolted face at him, her nose scrunching up in disgust at the odd name.
His face softened and he smiled slightly. I guess she was their new 'greenie' or whatever.
She shuffled towards him, and he pulled the blanket around her shoulders, his arm lying across the nape of her neck. "You got it?" he asked, as the sheet flapped in the wind around their faces. Her right hand slid across the cape to meet his, and she grabbed it from his grasp.
"Yeah, thanks." Her shoulder pressed closely to his, and they huddled together, their faces practically touching. They had to protect their skin as much as possible, and in order to save as much surface area as possible, they needed to squeeze together.
"Good that," He bobbed his head. "Right. Let's go then." They pulled the sheet close to their faces, resembling a nun, and their hips grazed each other as they moved around underneath the blanket.
They stepped forward, in sync, and started their long trek.
Every step she took caused a fume of dust to form around them, and the fast wind seemed to swirl the tiny particles into a miny tornado around their feet.
She squinted her eyes at the vivid sun, which was a bit too brilliant for her liking, and their feet's trudged against the floor, their feet occasionally coming into contact with each other or left over rubble; such as concrete, wood, melted tires, etc., Once she swore she saw Newt trip over a small carcass.
She noticed something about Newt that she hadn't noticed before. It wasn't completely obvious, but she saw that Newt had a little hop to every step he took. He limped across the sand, one foot putting more pressure onto the floor then the other. She was curious how had received that, but again, they had only merely an hour ago, and if she was stuck with them, she didn't anticipate pushing personal bubbles.
"So," She sparked conversation loudly over the wind, "How long you guys been out here?"
"Just today," He responded to her surprise, "We came up some sort of tunnel hours ago, in the morning."
She widened her eyes in shock. "Sure looks like you know what you're doing for boys who only just entered a giant wasteland.
He replied with a shrug. "We just stick together."
"Hmm," She nodded, curling her cracked lips over her teeth.
"So you really don't remember anything?" he tried to uphold the conversation as they continued to ramble the dry earth.
She shook her head, "Nothing." She scratched her face, which felt leathery and hot now. "It's quite frustrating." She sighed.
"Yeah," He scoffed, "I know what you bloody mean."
She smirked. "So how can you be so sure that this isn't a trap? What if there is no cure for whatever virus we have?"
Again, he shrugged. "We can't be sure," he told her, "But it's all we buggin' got for hope."
She agreed with that.
When she didn't say anything in reply, he turned his head to look at her. Their faces were alarmingly close, so he whipped his head away from her the second his brown eyes locked with hers.
What color eyes did she have? What did she look like?
She touched her face with the pads of her fingers, as if that would help surface her features and give her a better understanding of her facial structure.
"Newt,"
"Hmm?"
"What color are my eyes?"
His lips pressed together as his eyes moved to hers. He was silent for a moment, his eyes scrutinizing every feature of her sun-burnt face. "Green," He told her.
She wasn't annoyed with the answer, but she thought it was vague. Were they a vivid green? A pale green? Maybe light green with darker rings on the outside? The answer didn't satisfy her, but she left it alone.
As egotistic as it sounded, she would do anything for a mirror right now.
"So how long were you in the maze?" She questioned him again.
His lips quirked up to the left. "I was one of the original gladers. Minho, Fry and I."
"Fry?" She asked. That was a funny name.
He pointed to a boy beside Winston. He was short, husky, and dark skin. He had a gummy smile, which made an appearance when she looked over, and his face was round. "That's Frypan. His name was Siggy, at least, that's what he remembered, but he goes by Fry. He was the chef in the glade."
"What was your job in the glade?" Tatum looked sharply at him, awaiting a response. She was highly fascinated with the whole 'maze' ordeal.
"I went through a few jobs, actually. I was a runner. Then a Track-Hoe—"
"Track-Hoe's garden right?"
He nodded, chuckling. "And I was also second in command."
"Who was first?" She asked hastily, "Minho?"
"Ha!" He sneered, "No shuckin' way. That bloody shank?" He paused for a few seconds, his smile faltering into a slight frown. "His name was Alby."
Was.
His name was Alby.
She could tell by the broken expression on his face that she should ask no more. She was stepping across her boundaries, now. Just because Newt trusted her, unlike some of the others, doesn't mean she should obtain all the information she could out of him.
"HEY!" She heard the shouting to her left. "HEYYYY!" and it wasn't the blonde boy beside her.
It was Frypan, the boy's whose name she had just learnt. He was pointing, screaming, and it was difficult to hear his voice, him being so far away from them and the gust of wind cutting off any voice pitches.
His mouth opened to shout again, one hand cupping around his orifice, while the other pointed in front of him.
She followed his direction and went stiff when she saw what got the boy all animated.
Less than a mile away, two running figures manifested from the plume's of sand. They were sprinting away from the town it seemed, and they were advancing straight for them.
A/N: Enjoy! I think I will continue this. A certain scene later on in the story came to me in a dream, and now I'm so ecstatic to write it. R&R please :)
Potatopeelies: Thank you I'm glad you enjoy it!
ImABird27: Thank you! A very special thank you to you. You always read my stories and review. I'm always excited to hear what you say :)
Aberrance: Thanks for the review, but I'm not so much as holding this story up for ransom, but seeing if people will read it. What's the point of writing a story if no one will read it? I'm just experimenting with my writing, is all, and I want to know if people enjoy it,which I hope you do!
NEwtnTMR: Thanks!
BadDancer: Don't worry! I'll update it. Just got bad writers block!
Rue: I promise I'll update Icarus! Just a bad case of writers block!
GalaxyDefender: Thank you :) I'm glad to hear!
