For three years Thomas and the other survivors had been thriving in Safe Haven. Despite their success; Thomas found it difficult to adapt to their new way of life. The loss and tragedy that led them to their new home weighed heavily on him. He struggled to be around other people. Even the ones he was once closest to seemed to agitate him.
When he wasn't doing his duties; he kept to himself. He found refuge deep in the woods where they left the land mostly untouched. It reminded him of the Deadheads back in the Glade. He sighed wistfully. Every day it became like a fading memory of another life. Yet he missed it more than anything. Even though they were the lab rats of WICKED; they were all together, like family. The ones left were like shards of glass that was hastily glued together but didn't quite fit. Pieces were missing and the jagged edges cut into their skin if touched wrong.
Thomas basked in the cool breeze that hit him in the shadows of the trees as he sat in the tall grass. There was peace in nature that he took advantage of while in the Glade. Footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
"I thought I'd find you here. What are you doing out here?" Brenda furrowed her brows at him but there was worry in her dark-eyed gaze.
Thomas shrugged his shoulders dismissively. He didn't like to talk anymore.
"Thomas. Please talk to me." She pleaded.
Thomas kept a steady gaze on her, taking note that her once long brown hair war was chopped short, but said nothing.
"Why are you cutting me of all people out? I thought we—-" Thomas promptly cut her off.
"Thought we were what? Going to build a life together?" He scuffed. "I thought it was possible-but…" He let out a grunt of frustration and shook his head.
"What? But what? We've had this conversation before! We are over eighteen now. We have to help repopulate the world.I don't get you. You saved us from WICKED and led us to this place, yet you barely contribute!" Her scratchy, husky sounding voice more prominent when she yelled.
Thomas remained silent as he ran a hand through his short, sandy brown hair. Brenda waited just as she always did but eventually let out a noise of agitation and stomped off. He knew she was right, but he couldn't bring himself to move forward from the past. He couldn't go beyond those he lost; especially Newt, Chuck and Theresa.
The day he shot Newt in the head replayed repeatedly in his mind. He closed his eyes to keep the tears from coming once again. He has shot his best friend in the head. How does one move past that?
Teresa almost made it but because she stepped in to save him, much like Chuck did so long ago; she was dead.
'I killed them all.' He thought darkly, allowing the tears silently fall this time.
Occasionally he dreamed of them being here with him. He'd wake up and for a moment swear he heard Newt's voice next to him again. It was more painful than the actual memories. Newt's voice was carried away into the wind as soon as he became fully awake.
His thoughts were interrupted by various shouts. He got up and made his way out of the forest and onto the dirt road that led to their small community.
Upon first glance they were nothing but a campsite that strolled in during the months that didn't flood. One had to look slightly upward to see the community they had become. Houses were embedded into the trees and wooden bridges between connected them together. They winded through the forests all around them, especially during the months where the rains were long and created a large pond below them. They almost built lifted houses like they once did in the south but too many opposed to the disruption of nature. They wanted to avoid another disaster like the sun flares. The latter ultimately won the argument.
Thomas approached a small group. The road had a few puddles left over from the receding wet season.
"What do you mean we're low on supplies? Didn't WICKED set us up completely?" A shrill female voice demanded loudly. She had her hands firmly on her slender waist, her long straw blond hair moving with the wind like a wave.
"Exactly that. Now slim it and listen to me." Minho snapped, crossing his muscular arms across his chest.
'Some things never change.' Thomas mused to himself.
"WICKED didn't provide an endless supply. We don't need those slintheads anyhow! We can figure this klunk out on our own." He stopped when he spotted Thomas out of the corner of his eye just standing here.
His eyes widened and his olive skin turned pale and clammy just as it did whenever he saw Thomas. After a few moments those around him followed Minho's gaze as it landed on Thomas. He froze like a deer caught in the headlights, aching to flee into the sanctity of the forest again.
"Hey, shank." Minho tried to sound casual, but it was strained.
Thomas nodded back to the slightly older man in greeting. Darkness washed over Minho as he narrowed his dark brown, almond-shaped eyes at Thomas.
Then just as quickly it faded again and he turned back to the others, clearing his throat to get their attention as he ran a hand through his short black hair.
Thomas realized he was sweating profusely and his hands were balled into tight fists. Seeing his old friends brought back too many ghosts.
"Do you think WICKED is still around? Maybe they have more supplies-or a cure." A tall, muscular man with dark skin and long greyed hair asked.
Minho let out a derisive snort in reply, "I shucking doubt better not be around." He stated. "And there aint no cure." He added sharply.
"But maybe now—-" The blond woman started.
"There is no shucking cure! I know I was out there and in their complex." He turned to Thomas, "Would you say something for once, you useless klunk?" He barked.
Thomas winced at the tone but said nothing as he turned and ran as fast as he could, retreating back into the woods. He heard arguing and yells behind him but in his mind, he was in the maze again, running freely for hours, ears perked to watch out for grievers. It was the only time he managed a smile.
The expanse of their area was twice the size of the Glade but it was more circular. He looped around amidst the trees, heading back to the hill that he and Brenda stood on that first day. He trudged to the top of the hill and stared out into the valley turned farmland in the dry months and then the beach beyond it. Paradise, he had called it then. Three years had passed and never felt so trapped. He didn't acknowledge the people working on tending to their gardens or those out on the beach fishing with makeshift Spears. His contemplated the lies he told himself that day and the people he left behind in the ruined world. He understood Newt's suicide attempt in the maze now.
"Hey." A voice came up beside Thomas and he snapped back to reality.
Thomas turned his head and greeted Jake with a nod. He was among the Munies who escaped the collapsing maze into the Safe Haven. Striking blue eyes met Thomas' caramel colored gaze. It was as though he could see through him. His muscled arms crossed his chest as he stood with his legs apart. He had a carefree way about him. He was pale in complexion with ginger hair that was tied into a long ponytail. He had a stocky build and stood a bit shorter than Thomas.
"Ran from the angry villagers again, huh?" Jake mused with a relaxed smile.
Thomas grunted in reply. He didn't understand how he could be so nonchalant.
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better, remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better…" He sang softly as he dropped his arms and leaned toward Thomas' ear.
A smile twitched on Thomas' lips. He didn't know why the song soothed him so much. He liked to think it had something to do with his parents somehow. He never got his memories back, so he never knew for sure. He turned his head towards Jake, his face inches from his as he gazed into the other man's eyes a long moment. Finally, Jake pulled back and stared out toward the ocean.
Thomas didn't look away. There was something about him that reminded him of Newt. It drew him to him like a moth to a flame. He was the only person he could stand to be around. He clung to the essence of his best
friend with a death grip. Much like with him and Newt; they seemed to share a deep understanding of one another.
"We are running out of supplies. Some are wondering if WICKED is still around and trying to find a cure." Thomas spoke quietly.
"Fuck." Jake furrowed his brows, smile faltering quickly.
"Yeah." He said simply, though his mind was racing.
'What if they come for us?' The thought made Thomas' blood run cold.
Jake went quiet and Thomas couldn't help but wonder if he questioned the same thing. They remained on the hill, side by side, silent but not alone