A/N: So, I'm writing this and watching Stand By Me because that movie is boss, when I really should be studying for my mid-terms but I really don't wanna... so, Here is a chapter. Enjoy.

Newt awoke later on that night to the wind beating at his face, hair and clothing, the sheet supposed to be covering him, sort of stuck under his elbow. If he let it go it'd be gone in seconds with this wind.

He wasn't one for looking at the sky. MaC enjoyed it, but mostly he saw it as an excuse to look at her without her noticing. He glanced down at the people beside him. Minho was sleeping on his side, head cushioned by his hands, his hair greasy and sticking to his forehead. MaC lay on his other side, her hair whipping wildly in the wind, knees curled to her chest, one hand under her head and the other gripping the sheet tightly. She… was something else, he knew that. She was different. If you asked him to explain it he wouldn't have been able to tell you, but he knew she was. In his mind, she was his sole purpose for living. He looked over her once more. She was shivering slightly, her shirt pulled up a bit over her hip exposing some smooth lightly tanned flesh. That bothered him slightly for some reason. Gently, he pulled her shirt back over her hip. She was fully covered now. The guys wouldn't be ogling her… not that they did under normal circumstances. He was fairly certain she could show up half naked and the guys wouldn't give her a second glance. She was one of them, even if sometimes, she wasn't. He slipped a hand under her head, putting the other on her back and sliding her a bit closer to him, so that she might gain some heat from him and stop shivering.

He lay back down with a yawn only to have a sleeping MaC snuggle closer to his arm, resting her head on his arm and pressed herself against his side. He found he was all too aware of her breasts crushing against his ribcage. He glanced down at her sleeping face, finding she looked too beautiful to wake and so resigned himself to pillow duty. He didn't mind.

I awoke to the shuffling of sheets and the howling of winds. Though, it'd probably be more accurate to say that Newt woke me up after shifting his arm in an attempt to get up without waking me. Which had failed, but it's not like I wouldn't have had to get up anyway.

It was strange. A thick layer of dull gray clouds covered the sky. Somehow it managed to take this place look even drearier. It was thoroughly depressing. The city-town (hadn't decided which to call it) was only a few hours away. So close! And they were really tall, one of them even disappearing into the low fog.

The gusting winds tore at me, a thick layer of dust seemingly baked onto my face. I rubbed my eyes and face. In running my fingers through my hair I was mildly disgusted to feel the brown-blonde strands stiff with grease and wind-dried grime.

Many of the others were up as well, talking about the sudden weather shift. I shook some dirt out of my ear, the roar of the wind echoing through my eardrums.

"What the klunk is all this?" Newt questioned.

"Well, I suppose it has to rain in this hell-hole sometime ."

He nodded, his lips pressed into a straight line as he got to his feet and offered me a hand. "Come on, we need to get some food-"

"Bout time you got up, was gonna wake you myself in a minute," Minho said, approaching with his usual swagger. "Get up, get the other moving. Maybe we can get there and find a place to hide before we're soaked by the storm."

Newt and I nodded, me taking a moment to look at the rolling mass of dark gray clouds.

Maybe ten minutes later we were once again headed for the city, the sky above looking like it might just open up and pour down on us at any minute. Nobody seemed all too happy with that prospect. But we were gaining ground. We were a only a few miles away from the closest building when we came across this old man lying in the sand. Jack had spotted him first. Soon enough a whole lot of us were packed around the blanket-wrapped man.

The guy had to be a hundred years old the way he looked, though, I supposed the wear and tear of the blazing sun beating on him may have made him look that way. Dark skin, very dark. And leathery skin, heavily wrinkled in the face. Angry looking scabs and open sores stood in place of where hair should have grown. He was alive at least, breathing deeply as he stared up at the sky with hollow eyes. Like he was just waiting for death to take him away from his miserable existence. He showed no sign that he notice our approach.

"Hey! Old man!" Minho shouted to him. Tactful wasn't he? I rolled my eyes. "What're you doing out here?"

It was difficult for me to hear the words over the whipping winds and I stood only a few feet away. I doubted the ancient looking man had heard a thing.

Tommy pushed past Minho, kneeling down beside the man head. He held his hand out, waving it in front of the man's eyes.

Nothing. Not even a blink. It was only after Tommy dropped his hand that the man's eyes closed slowly, and then opened. One time.

"Sir?" Tomas asked, eyebrows raised slightly, "Mister? Can you hear me? Can you talk?"

He blinked slowly once more, but said not a word.

Newt moved past me, kneeling beside Tommy, speaking loudly, but it was still a strain to hear his words. "This guy's a bloody gold mine if we can get him to tell us stuff about the city. Looks harmless, probably knows what to expect when we got there."

Thomas sighed before responding, "Yeah, but he doesn't even seem to be able to hear us, much less have a long talk."

"Keep trying," Minho said from beside me. "You're officially our foreign ambassador, Thomas. Get the dude to open up and tell us about the good ol' days."

"Okay," Thomas said simply after a moment's pause. He moved a bit closer to the man, leaning over him. "Sir? We really need your help!" He was shouting to be heard over the winds. "We need you to tell us if it's safe to go inside the city! We can carry you there if you need help yourself. Sir? Sir?"

The man let out a small cough, his dull eyes seeming to focus on Thomas.

"My name is Thomas. These are my friends. We've been walking through the desert for a couple of days, and we need more water and food. What do you…" He trailed off, quickly starting up again. "It's okay, we won't hurt you. We're… we're the good guys. But we'd really appreciate it if-"

The man's left hand shot up from the wrap of blankets, clamping down on Tommy's wrist. Thomas yelped in surprise, instinctually trying to pull free, but he couldn't. Old guy had to have some strength in those bones.

"Hey! Let go of me!"

The man shook his head, dark eyes fearful. His lips parted like he was speaking, but no words could be heard over the roar of the wind.

"What'd you say?" Tommy questioned, quitting his struggle and instead leaning forward. "One more time!"

I took a step back in surprise as the man shot up into a sitting position, his eyes wide. "Storm! Storm! Storm!" and he kept on going, repeating the word over and over. He dropped his grip on Tommy, who scooted back a bit. As he did so the wind intensified from heavy gusts of wind to hurricane strength gales. The sheets were lost, or at least most of them, flailing over the ground and into the air, food skittering in all directions.

Thomas and Newt struggled to get to their feet, the wind knocking them down. Thomas stumbled forward for a moment before leaning back into the wind as I helped Newt to his feet, my hair blowing across my face making it impossible to see.

Newt pulled me over to Minho who was waving his arms around to gain the others attention. We packed together as Minho pointed towards the city, his message clear: we were getting to the city as fast as possible. The clouds above churned angrily, a deep sort of purple, almost black… and with the way the dust and other debris soared through the air, that building was the only sane choice.

Minho took off running, the rest of us falling in line behind him. Newt and I fell in behind him, the other behind us and Tommy taking up the rear.

As we got closer it became harder to actually see, as the dust had been whipped up with the strong winds thickening into a sort of brown fog. Breathing it in, it was all I could do not to cough. It crusted in my eyes as well, asking them water and burn, turning into something weird that I had to continually wipe away. The building we were headed for was no more than a looming shadow.

The wind was almost a weapon, peltin up with sand, grit, and small rocks to the point it hurt. Every now and then, something larger would fly by, scaring the klunk outta me. Usually a branch, an animal. Roofing tile. Paper. Random object swirling through the air.

And then, then came the lightning.