A/N: So the first time i posted this chapter it wa all weird and the programming stuff wa shoin up win between and inf ront of paragraphs and such so I'm reposting. Tell me if it does the same thing.

But... on a brighter note, MID-TERMS ARE OVER AND I'M STILL ALIVE. Or dead. i might be dead. I might be a ghost... ooooooooo. Anyways, I studied and all that kind of stuff and I think I did okay on the tests, but i guess i'll just have to wait and see. Thanks for kicking me off and telling me to get my butt studying.

But, I no have a four day weekend tanks to MLK Jr. Day so I will be updating and posting new chapters. Hope you enjoy!

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We'd had halved the distance to building when it started, maybe even more than that, I couldn't be sure. The bolts came from nowhere, and everywhere. The world shattering in a burst of light. Thunder sounding in the background.

They were thrown from the sky with astonishing force, great bars of jagged white light slamming into the ground and throwing up massive pile of scorched earth. The deafening sound soot much to bear as my ears sort of went numb, the noise becoming a distant hum in the background. For all I knew I was going deaf.

I kept running. I couldn't hear. I could barely see… but I kept going. People fell and got back up. I stumbled, but caught myself. Helping Newt regain his feet when the earth below us shuddered. It was only a matter of time until someone was struck by the thick lighting strikes, frying them to a char. Barbeque.

I wasn't focused on anything but running, not the darkening sky or the thickening cloud of dust. Just running. Running forward, staying on my feet and keeping Newt by my side. I could barely see anyone anymore, just Newt, and the two of three in front of me. Where was Minho? Tommy?

Lightning struck a few feet to my left. I screamed, but I could hear it. The ground shuddered as something slammed into me, some sort of burst of energy throwing me to the side. Knocking the breath out of me as dirt, rocks, and dust rained down on me. Gasping for air, I scrambled to my feet, hearing something ringing in my ears, nailing my eardrums as the wind tore at my clothes, dirt stinging my skin and eyes and rocks digging into me. And it was dark. Above all else it was dark. I couldn't see a thing beside the flashes of lightning. I could see anyone.

And when I did.

I wished I hadn't.

It was horrible. Jack… he was lying in a crater, writing and clutching at his knee, but there was nothing below that. His shin, ankle and foot had been obliterated, destroyed in a burst of pure electricity. Blood like tar poured the hideous wound, mixing with the dirt. His clothes were burned off as well, injuries spanning over his entire body. No hair. And his eyeballs…

Upon seeing him I turned to the side, emptying the contents of my stomach. Oh god it was horrible. And there was nothing to do for him. Nothing. But he was still alive! I felt I should cry. But I didn't, I think I screamed. And then someone was pushing me.

Two someones. Minho and Tommy were pushing me forward, running. And so I ran, pushing the image of Jack's mangled flesh from my mind and running for my life. Almost nothing could be seen, blurred figures the only images beside that which the short bursts of light revealed. There was only dust, debris, and the looming building we ran towards. Any hope of organization had been lost a long time ago. It was every Glader for themselves.

A boy stumbled a few feet ahead of me. Wrenching him to his feet I continued running, my eyes glued to forward. The wind beat against the side of my face and body, pulling at my clothes and stinging my skin, choking me. The light was almost blinding, screams surely erupting with every bolt. I kept my eyes glued ahead. I had to make it because they had to make it. I didn't care if I was permanently deaf. I barely registered the others around me. It was a race to finish line. Crossing meant another day to live.

Lighting flashed all around, ground spurting up around us.

Shattering my skull, rattling my brains, my bones. The white lights erupted all around. We ran past the building toward which we struggled, stumbling and tripping over our own two feet. Fires had sprung up as well, lighting hitting the upper reaches of the building, raining down shattered glass onto the street.

The darkness changed, taking on a different tone… more gray than brown as it had been before. The wind had died down slightly, but the lighting seemed as strong as ever, striking to the left, to the right, in front, behind. All around.

Gladers were to all sides, all headed in the same direction. There were fewer of us. I was sure of that. I searched the faces frantically –Frypan, Aris, Milo, Newt- ah! He was alive! What about Minho? Tommy? They looked terrified. I supposed I did too. All of us staring, eyes riveted to our goal… just a short bit away.

And then we were there. The first building in the city.

Aris was first, not bothering to open the door which had been made of glass and was almost completely gone. The structure was gray, completely so, the large massive stones standing one on top of the other. Smaller bricks lined the doorway and the half-broken windows.

I made it a second or so before Newt and Thomas, though I hesitated just long enough to look back at them. Minho was hanging off of Thomas, burnt and charred, his clothing blackened, eyes widening I took his other arm and threw it over my shoulder's helping him through the door way as Newt took hold of his other side, relieving Thomas.

We carefully pulled him through the doorway, his feet hitting the sill as he dragged him inside.

And then I fell to my feet, helping to situate Minho beside me. I looked back through the doorway just as the rain began to pour, weeping with heaving sobs for what it had wrought down upon us.

Torrents of water feel from the sky, as if the ocean had dumped itself over our heads.

I don't know how long I sat watching. Eyes glued to the falling rain. I was leaning against the wall, butt on the ground and knees pulled to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. My hearing was returning, slowly… the throb of silence decreasing in its pressure, the ringing dissipating with time. Thomas coughed beside me and I swear I could hear a trace of it. And as if was far away, or like something in a dream, just out of reach, I hear the dropping of the rain.

Perhaps I wouldn't go deaf after all.

The dull grayed light seeping through the shattered window did little to fight off the cold darkness we'd come into contact with. The others sat in the darkness as well, hunched up into balls our lying on their sides. Minho sat beside me, curled in on himself, barely moving. It was like every movement set burning waves of pain through him. I could do a thing, but sit beside him. Not a bloody thing.

Newt was there as well, on the other side of Thomas, leaning heavily against the wall, his eyes cast downward. Frypan was close too, but no one tried to talk or organize anything. No one counted us off or tried to figure out who was missing. We simply sat or lay, looking lifeless with blank faces and empty eyes all wondering something along the lines of –what messed up world could conjure up a storm like that one.

The soft thrumming of the rain in my ear grew louder until there was no doubt that I was hearing it. It was calming, despite all that had happened, and eventually… I fell asleep.

When I woke, my body was stiff as a board, like cement had been poured into my veins. My hearing was back, and fully functional and I was now able to hear the heavy breathing of the sleeping boys around me, and Minho… oh, poor Minho, whimpering and moaning beside me as the pounding deluge slammed into the pavement outside.

Shifting my body a bit, I realized I had shifted in my sleep, my left leg outstretched and my right bent at the knee. Thomas had fallen asleep as well, lying so his head rested just above my knee.

It was dark though. At some point during my sleep night had fallen. I pushed away my minor discomfort and let exhaustion take over, once again drifting into unconsciousness.

Newt was the first to wake. He hadn't done anything really. He'd simply readjusted himself into a more comfortable position before looking around. Thomas was sleeping next to him. The boy slept on his side, his head pillowed by MaC's leg as she slept sitting up, her head lolling to the side, leaning close to Minho who looked worse off than anyone. His clothes were burned, blacked and charred. In some places where his skin was exposed red blisters still raw poke out angrily. But he looked like he'd survive and his face had been spared as well as his hair, dirty as it was.

Slowly, MaC slid down the wall, stopping when she hit Minho's shoulder, which being covered by his shirt, hadn't been burned as the rest of him.

And then he started counting. One… two… three… four… Frypan was alive... five… six… Milo was still among the living… seven, eight… Aris was still with them… and that… that was everyone.

Twelve.

Twelve of them.

That was it.

Thomas woke next. His eyes immediately taking in the soft glow of the sunrise and the sudden silence. I wasn't raining any longer. And though the registered the soreness of his muscles, he felt something else much more overpowering.

Hunger.

Ignoring it, he looked around at the shattered glass windows and the dappled floor on which they sat. Massive holes were ripped in the floor above them, all the way to the top, stories above them. It looked as if the steel infrastructure was the only thing keeping the whole thing coming down on top of them.

He looked around at the others, noticing Newt, too was awake, staring sadly into the middle of the room.

"You okay there?"

Newt turned to Thomas, slowly, his eyes distant until he snapped out of his thoughts, focusing on Tommy. "Okay? Yeah, I guess I'm okay. We're alive –guess that's all that bloody matters anymore." His voice bitter, his lips were thinned into an angry frown.

"Sometimes I wonder," Thomas said softly, lowering his gaze.

"Wonder what?"

"If being alive matters. If being dead might be a lot easier."

"Please," Newt scoffed. "I don't believe for a second you really think that."

Thomas looked up sharply at Newt's retort. And then he smiled, as strange as it was. "You're right. Just trying to sound as miserable as you." And he almost convinced himself that was true.

Gesturing wearily toward Minho, Newt said, "What bloody happened to him?"

"Lightning strike somehow caught his clothes on fire," Tommy told him. "How it did that without frying his brain I have no idea. But we were able to beat it out before it did too much damage, I think."

"Before it did too much damage? I'd hate to see what you think real damage looks like."

"Hey, like you said –he's alive right? And he still has clothes on, which means it couldn't have burned his skin in too many places. He'll be fine."

"Yeah, good that." Newt said chuckling sarcastically. "Remind me not to hire you as my buggin' doctor anytime soon."

"Ohhhhhhhh." That came from Minho, a long drawn out groan. His eyes fluttered open, before squinting. Then he caught Thomas's gaze. "Oh, man I'm shucked. I'm shucked for good."

It seemed he just then notices the weight of MaC's head on his shoulder, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling with each quiet breath.

"How bad is it?" Newt asked.

Minho didn't answer, instead slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, grunting and wincing with every small movement. He did it though, crossing his legs beneath him. He jostled MaC'S head a bit as he moved, causing her head to slip off his shoulder and fall into his lap. She let out a quiet yelp, her eyes flying open at the sudden falling sensation.

Minho snickered as she pushed herself off of him, a slight reddish hue to her cheeks.

"Can't be too bad if you can do that," Thomas said with a sly smile.

"Shuck it," Minho responded. "I'm tougher than nails. I could still kick your pony-lovin' butt with twice this pain."

"I do love ponies," Thomas said with a shrug. "Wish I could eat one right now." His stomach growled as if on cue.

"Was that a joke?" Minho responded. "Did Thomas the boring slinthead actually make a joke?"

"I think he did," Newt said with a slight upturn to his lips.

"I'm a funny guy," Thomas shrugged.

"Yeah, you are." Minho had obviously grown tired of the small talk, twisting his head around to talk in the rest of the Gladers. Most were still sleeping or lying still, staring blankly at nothing. "How many?"