Part Three
Awareness came slowly, slowly.
Everything was dark.
A cool, rough surface beneath fingertips.
The fingers moved, then the hands, the toes and feet.
Newt bent one knee until his foot was flat on the surface. Then the other.
He sat up.
Where the bloody hell...?
Memories. They flooded into his brain, and he brought his hands to his face and cried. He remembered everything, so clearly. Before the maze, and after. His parents. His sister. How he'd been studied, tortured, sent to the maze. The maze. All the years spent there trying to find a way out. And finding it, with his friends.
Minho.
Winston.
Frypan.
Thomas.
His shoulders shook with the weight of what his life had been, the people he'd lost, and with the circumstances of his death, for he understood he was dead.
What now?
He raised his head, carefully looked around until his eyes registered a dull glow. Drying his face with his hands, he resolved to remain resilient. His whole life, he had been. He rose and cautiously headed in the direction of the light...