Something wasn't making sense. People were talking at her and trying to tell her what had happened but it didn't connect. Dr. Levish poked and prodded her with an expression that made Grace feel like a burden. A man came in named Janson and talked to her in a hushed tone. Other doctors funneled in all day and night taking samples, asking questions, looking at her levels. It was making Grace stir-crazy. They wouldn't let her get up or go outside. As the hours ticked by she struggled more and more to put up with the needles and pills. She'd ask if she could leave and go for a walk, even if it was just around the halls, but everyone said no.

"No, you'll get lost."

"No, no one is allowed to wander."

"You can't go outside, it's not safe."

"There's nothing going on out there, stay here."

Janson just never acknowledged her requests and skipped from one topic to another, not actually listening to anything she had to say. He talked to her about her hand and how brave Grace was for living through such an ordeal. He talked about the scars on her skin and how awful it all must have been. Janson was a liar. Grace could smell it on him. Every other word Grace took with a grain of salt. Tortured by a group of boys because they figured out she had worked for WCKD, he had told her. Hardly any of it made sense, but the void in Grace's mind prevented her from figuring it out.

Dr. Levish messed up when she brought in a cart full of objects for Grace to look at. It was either really late or very early in the morning based on the bags under the Doctors eyes. She was tired, her makeup faded, hair wrapped up and out of the way. Grace decided it was most likely late in to the night.

The cart Dr. Levish pushed in front of her had a squeaky wheel. It irritated Grace beyond recognition. She hadn't slept either. The doctors wouldn't let her with how often they came in and poked her. Grace's good hand rolled in to a tight fist as she watched Dr. Levish wheel the cart all the way around before stopping next to her bedside.

She glared up at portly woman with distain before dropping her gaze to identify the objects. There were seven seemingly random tools on display. A rusted frypan used well beyond its life span. An old hammer. A foot worth of thick rope with one end cleanly cut and the other frayed. An axe with a worn handle smudged with blood and dirt. There was a large empty needle with purple residue still inside next to a small fitting backpack and a well coiled bundle of dead vine.

Dr. Levish checked Grace's vitals quickly then pulled over a chair and sat next to her and the cart. She took a deep breath and eyed a small screen ready to take notes. "Starting with the first object on the left, can you please describe what you see?"

"Trash." Grace muttered. Her eyes scanned the items again and landed on the hammer. Just hold it and keep your eyes open to watch where you're going. She shook her head lightly trying to shake the distant 'clinking' noises that vibrated out after the boy's voice.

"I'm asking you to identify the objects, what are they?" Dr. Levish pressed.

Grace scooted up in her bed. "Well what you got here is a pan, you cook things in it." With a dead expression she pointed at the frying pan and eyed Dr. Levish with the same annoyed look that she was giving Grace. "You use this hammer to build things." She opened up her eyes real wide and started to talk slow, as if to a child. "And this here is what we call RO-PE." Grace was beginning to reach her limit.

Dr. Levish's had this expression of pure hate as she realized that Grace was mocking her. She hated children. All of them. "You should know what this is since you and everyone else here enjoy stabbing me with one so often." Grace continued, "this is a backpack that probably won't fit you and that is a piece of yard trash, otherwise known as a dead plant."

Dr. Levish narrowed her eyes, "you missed one," she hissed, not breaking eye contact with Grace.

"Oh, you mean this?" Grace grabbed the handle of the axe. It felt warm in her hand. The contours of the wood fitting perfectly into her palm. "This is a weapon with a real sharp edge. It's called an axe."

In her stubbornness, Dr. Levish didn't flinch when Grace picked up the axe. As if daring her to make a move. "Do any of these objects mean anything to you?"

Dr. Levish was slow, Grace realized. She was clunky and tired and on edge. The door was unlocked too, the cart had created a barrier that was too large for Dr. Levish's lazy habits to reach over and lock it. If it was late into the evening most people would be asleep. An escape plan desperately formed inside Grace. She hadn't moved much, she could feel her fatiguing legs but also the muscles starting to twitch themselves awake. What were her chances, Grace wondered to her self. What were her chances of making it from here to the closest exit?

"Yes." Grace said quietly. Freedom.

The response was clearly not what Dr. Levish wanted to hear. A flash of danger lit up behind her eyes. Dr. Levish tried to move fast to hit a button on the bottom of her hand-held screen. But Grace moved in unison, swinging her axe and knocking the machine out of the Dr.'s hands. Levish yelped and attempted to stand but the force and surprised caused her to stumble, knocking the chair and herself to the ground.

Grace threw the bed sheets off and let her feet hit the cold tile. She put all her body weight on her legs and felt them wobble for a moment but never caved. With her useless hand tucked in to her chest and the other holding the axe, Grace moved to the door. She swayed with each step like a drunkard. It was frustrating trying to move quickly. Dr. Levish screamed and reached up from the floor to grab at Grace's cloth gown. She clenched enough gown to pull Grace back for only a moment. All Dr. Levish would remember of Grace's escape is the flash of rusted metal coming from the corner of her eye and a crack as it hit the side of her head.

Dr. Levish went limp, a lump already forming on her temple. Grace refocused and grabbed on to the door. It was unlocked. Grace huffed out an excited puff of air and pushed it open. In front of her was a second room full of computers, chairs, a few mini-fridges filled with medicine and a cabinet for paper files. Grace had always known they were watching her and it was confirmed when she saw the two-way mirror looking in to her room. Gaining her strength through anger, Grace pushed forward and lunged for the next door. It opened with just as much ease and dumped in to a long hallway. The lights were dimmed, things were quiet and no one was there to meet her. Grace took a step forward, half expecting someone to pop out at her, then another. Pretty soon she was running with the occasional stumble from weak legs. Every door she passed she tried to open in hopes that it was an exit or would at least lead to one.

Grace turned corners and climbed stairs becoming frantic. Finally a loud alarm started to sound in the hallways signaling everyone else that Grace was out of bed. She had been waiting for it. Grace expected to be noticed, she was just hoping it would be after she had gotten out of the building. The need to find an exit intensified. Grace was a prisoner and she didn't want to be caged any longer. Whatever waited for her in the outside world she would take over this hospital jail.

She opened door after door. Footsteps started to clamber behind her. "Stop!" Someone yelled. Grace looked over her shoulder and saw a small army of men chasing after her. She turned another corner, then took a left and tried to open a locked door.

"Fuck."

The men let out a warning shot of rubber bullets above her head.

There didn't seem to be an end in sight until Grace took a sharp left and finally found what she was looking for. A bright red "exit" sign hung above a door to her right. With a new burst of energy Grace charged through the door and out into the night. Her feet sunk into sand. Grace climbed into the darkness and up a steep hill. Unable to see where she was going, Grace unknowingly reached the dunes peak but kept trying to run up. She lost balance and tumbled down the other side becoming completely engulfed by the night.

2 nights, 3 days. Thats how long the rest of the Glader's had already been out in the Scorch as Grace tumbled her way down the sand dune. They were huddled under an outcrop trying to catch their breath for the night and assess the damage that had been done during the day. It had been established the first night that the Scorch was not a good place to be. The infected maniacs that the Gladers encountered in the abandoned mall nearly killed all of them. Winston had gotten bitten but while the infection was spreading, he was managing to hold on. Yesterday they had sought out shelter in a run-down city, avoiding a search plane looking for them. Thomas was on a mission to keep moving so the group walked from light up until sun down. Today was hot and hard with no shade for miles. He was taking the Glader's to the mountains where he had overheard Janson saying there might be a rebel group.

Out under the stars Thomas couldn't help but feel scared. He'd managed to get most everyone out of the WCKD facility in their great escape; Newt, Minho, Frypan, Winston, Tereasa, Zart, and their newest addition, Aris. But the guilt of everyone that he had lost along the way weighed heavily on Thomas's chest. The faces of the dead or lost Glader's haunted his mind every time he closed his eyes.

Thomas took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. "You ok?" The sweet voice of Teresa came through the night.

From his sandy bed Thomas twisted to watch as she walked towards him. The small campfire Frypan had started lit up the side of her body and face. He couldn't help but give a small smile. "Can't sleep, I guess."

"You need to though," Teresa sat down next to him. "I think you've only gotten maybe an hour of sleep over the last few nights. If something happens you'll need your energy." She brought her knees up close to her chest, the desert was colder than they anticipated once the sun went down.

"I know, but my head won't shut off. I keep thinking about things, you know? I want everyone to be safe – not out here." Thomas clasped his hands over his chest and took a deep breath. "Hopefully we get there soon or else we'll have to start worrying about food and water."

"It looks close," Teresa tried to encourage him. "Maybe another day or two?"

"I'm planning for three, just in case." The pair fel quiet, enjoying a brief moment of solitude. The rest of the Glader's snored softly behind them next to the fire seeking comfort in the familiar warmth. The night sky above them twinkled and shined down a little light on to the empty desert floor. "Are you sure you don't know where Allen was in there?" The question was innocent. It was hard for Thomas to move on from having to leave Grace at the facility.

Teresa didn't bother correcting him on the name, she knew who he was talking about. "There wasn't another girl in there with me Thomas, I swear. I can hardly remember Allen from the Glade, I don't even think I could recognize him out of a group." Teresa found it easier to stick as close to the truth as possible when lying.

Thomas heaved another sigh, reluctantly crossing out Allen's name on mental list.

Next to the fire Minho laid on his side with his head uncomfortably positioned on a sand pillow. He couldn't sleep either, and judging by how much Newt was tossing and turning, neither was he. They didn't talk to eachother but they were awake for the same reasons. They had left a man behind and it was eating away at the both of them. Minho wanted to ask Thomas to turn back for Allen shortly before the first infected person lunged out at them in the mall. He wanted to bring it up again but they had come so far to turn back now. He was filled with guilt. Not noticing what Allen was before, ignoring her, and mostly being unable to fulfill his promise to Greg. While everyone in the Glade was family, each Glader had a person that they were closer to than any other and Greg was that person for Minho. The idea of letting him down, even this long after his death, devesatated him. Minho was having a hard time keeping his hopes up, but held on to the small chance that if there was a rebel army in the mountains that they would help them go back for Grace.

B.T.

You could hear Newt scream throughout the entire Maze when they reset his bone. Gally nearly threw up when the bone slid back under the skin and scraped against the other half of itself. Alby and Frypan paled watching it. Minho seemed to be the only one that could handle the scene. Once the group was done holding Newt down and shoving his leg back in to place, the blonde haired boy passed out and laid sprawled out on the bed.

"Should we sew it up or something?" Alby managed to choke out, trying to keep the contents in his stomach down.

"I don't know how, do you?" Minho looked around the room.

Everyone shook their heads.

"Should I get Al'?"

Alby shook his head again after a moment. "No, Newt will be ok, it's not bleeding that much it looks like." He reached down and shook Newt by the shoulder. "Let's wrap it up though while he's still out. Clean it and klunk, good that?"

Everyone in the room nodded. There was a scent of iron hanging in the air from the fresh injury and Greg's drying blood on their clothes. It was extremely lucky that Newt would manage to keep his leg. Since the bone snapped completely in half and penetrated the skin the chances of it getting infected were high. Add in the inexperienced boys, dirty environment, and lack of antibiotics and chances sat perfectly at 99.99% chance of getting infected. It would be a long recovery, the boys cleaning Newt's leg couldn't even begin to fathom just how long, but Newt would recover.

It took another hour for them to clean and wrap Newt's leg. Gally had gone through Allen's stores of pills and liquids that he had started to hoard in the Homestead and managed to find a few painkillers. He crushed them up and put them into water, asking Frypan to help him get Newt to choke down the medicine. By the time they were done Newt was sweating but put back together. He hadn't woken up once and the remaining Glader's were thankful for it. Alby stepped back and took what felt like his first full breath since he had seen Newt standing on the edge of the Maze Wall earlier that day. "He'll be ok." Alby said more for himself than anyone else.

Gally fell against the wall and slid down to the floor completely exhausted and Frypan took a seat on the bed that Newt was laying on. Minho and Alby wanted to do the same but couldn't, if they sat down they would never get back up and they had one more issue to deal with. "You two stay here." He spoke to Gally, giving him the responsibility. "Clean yourselves up and keep an eye on Newt. Come get us if he does anything funny, we'll be out in the Glade dealing with Greg."

"What about Allen?" Gally asked, now wishing he hadn't sat on the floor and shown that he was tired.

"And Allen," Alby added. He slapped Minho on the shoulder to get going and the two left the Homestead.

The level of urgency had died out completely now that Newt had been handled. There was no rush to get to Greg. They approached the Maze entry as the doors were beginning to shut. With their eyes on the ground and the silence of the Glade being overtaken by the grinding of the Maze doors shutting, Alby and Minho didn't realize that Greg wasn't there until they nearly hit the rock wall.

It wasn't hard to put the pieces together on where Greg had gone once they looked up. There was a patch of grass that had been smoothed over from his body laying there and a decent sized puddle of blood. Evidence of the body being moved was obvious. There was a thin line of blood flecked over the grass with the occasional spots of grass still trying to right themselves after being put under weight. Silently Minho and Alby followed the trail into the trees.

Alby had so little left to give by the time they reached the end of the trail. Emotionally, mentally, and physically he was tired. He heaved a deep sigh when he and Minho reached Greg's body in the woods. It was face up, or would have been if Greg had any face left.

Behind a tree was the familiar sounds of a shovel digging as Allen worked feverishly to create a respectable hole to bury his brother in. Neither Minho or Alby could bring themselves to say anything, but couldn't let the glader continue either. He was covered in blood and dirt and would injure himself if he kept going at this pace.

Before Alby could take charge Minho stepped forward and stood at the edge of the grave that Allen had started to form. "Al'-," the name came out barely above a whisper. The boy didn't slow. "Allen," Minho said again hoping this time it would get his attention.

It was like waking up from a dream. Minho's voice was the soft alarm calling her back to reality. Her arms hurt and her chest hurt and she couldn't feel her fingers. She stopped, wide eyed and trying to catch her breath. The grave was more than deep enough, far deeper than the one they had dug for George. Allen turned in the hole and realized that in the few short hours since her friends had left her she had managed to create a hip deep grave. Allen tried to recall how she got here and obscure flashes terror flashed out of her memory. She could remember watching Greg fall and seeing his body splattered on the ground but the rest of her memory woud come back later in the form of nightmares. Allen looked up at Minho expectantly, hoping he would know how she got here.

Allen's hair was still short and untangled, allowing his face to be seen completely. Large desperate eyes looked up at Minho and it broke his heart. He jumped down into Greg's grave and grabbed hold of Allen, clutching him in a tight hug. It took a moment to register but Allen dropped the shovel and returned the embrace. Together the two boys began to cry over a shared loss.

Allen and Minho cried with eachother until no tears were physically left and even then continued to hold onto eachother as comfort. When they finally parted, instead of continuing on with the burial, they sat side by side in the dirt with their backs up again sthe side of the hole and slept. Alby had sat at the bottom of a tree and fallen asleep while giving his friends a moment to grieve. In the Homestead both the newbie and Gally were sprawled out on the floor sleeping while Newt floated in and out of consciousness. The Glade was quiet again.

Hours would pass and night would come before anyone touched Greg's body.

Allen woke first in the darkness, Minho's body heat keeping the chills away. Every bone ached and her body urged her to stand and stretch. As she was trying to gather herself Allen realized that Minho was holding her hand, their fingers tightly woven together. She didn't want to move anymore, she just wanted to cry again and have Minho hold her.

Allen's small movements were enough to shake Minho out of his light sleep though. When he realized they were holding hands he quickly let Allen's go. Minho stood to shake off the sleep and slowly crawled out of the grave, unsure of where he would go or do but knowing that he couldn't stay so close to death any longer.

In the darkness Allen choked down tears and desperate gulps of air that would signal she still needed him, or Greg, or anyone. She brought her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her hands. Allen began to cry again but not for Greg, this time she was crying for herself and the inevitable truth that she would be alone for a very long time.

Happy Thursday!

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know what you think :)

Alison