"Please, Tommy. Please."

"Newt!"

Thomas startled awake. Next to him Brenda put out a steadying hand, trying to calm him down in the dark.

He brushed her away with a mild annoyance, still half in a stupor, and sat up in his cot, looking out over the landscape. The sun wasn't up yet, but the sky was lightening from black to a dull grey tinged with red. He could hear the birds beginning their morning song in the trees, calling and answering one another through the canopies.

"It was just a bad dream," Brenda mumbled. "Go back to sleep."

Thomas rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms. She was wrong; it hadn't been just a dream. It had happened, and it kept happening to him every night in his mind, taunting him.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and placed his feet on the plank floor. With a sigh, he stood up and staggered out of the makeshift shelter, heading through the grassy field toward the sandy beach.

He was the only person out this early. He walked by one of the many fire pits, eyes glancing over the grey ashes sitting in the bottom and the dozens of glass jars strewn about. Remnants of the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that ... They all seemed to have a desperate need to stay up late into the night, forgoing sleep to avoid the nightmares that always inevitably came.

He went to the water's edge and let the surf come up over his toes, clearing his mind with its cold. But no distraction could ever take away the truth of how he felt inside, the dull ache he carried with him wherever he went.

He missed his friend.

But it was more than that. He felt like a part of him was missing, and no matter how hard Brenda or Minho or anyone tried, it would always be missing. There was no bringing him back. And Thomas would never be whole again.

He thought about Newt just lying there, on the cold concrete. No one to claim him. No one to say goodbye. Alone in the world. They hadn't even been able to give him a proper burial. And no matter what his note had said, no matter how much Newt had tried to absolve Thomas' guilt, he knew a part of him would always feel like he could have done more.

It was supposed to be a Safe Haven, except he felt anything but safe in his new home. He was stuck with his thoughts. Back in the Glade, he had run around the maze until his body and mind gave out, too tired to do anything but crash in his hidden spot in the Deadheads. Eat, run, sleep, repeat. Now on this tiny island, there was no need for runners. He had no place here, no purpose. And yet they treated him like a hero.

He kicked away a seashell and walked back up the beach, heading toward the shack that had been set up into a kitchen. The scent of something delicious wafted his way, and he quickened his pace. Frypan must already be up.

"Mornin'," Frypan said as he approached.

"Hey Fry," Thomas said. He inhaled and smiled a little as his stomach growled. "Whatcha cooking?"

"Eggs and grits." He poured something into a pot and whisked. "You're up early."

Thomas looked away sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah I uh, couldn't sleep."

Frypan gave an understanding nod and didn't press his friend on the subject. They all had left people behind, there was no use pretending that this new life of theirs would be easy.

"Made you something special," he said. "Maybe that will get your day going right."

He pulled a plate out from under the counter and held it out to Thomas. It had three strips of bacon on it, perfectly cooked and seasoned with pepper.

Thomas stared at it for a moment, hesitating. Certain foods - like bacon - were supposed to be rationed until they got the farm set up.

"I don't want special treatment," he said as his mouth watered.

The corners of Frypan's eyes crinkled. "Slim it shuckface. Eat."

Thomas laughed at the familiar language and took a piece of bacon off the plate, shoving it into his mouth. It was smoky and salty and delicious, and he closed his eyes as he savored it.

"Find something to do yet?" Frypan asked him, trying to keep his voice nonchalant as Thomas took a second piece.

He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm basically a Slopper. Quite the demotion. It sucks."

"Every bit helps," Frypan said as he took the last piece of bacon for himself. "You'll find your place soon."

Thomas nodded and wiped his greasy fingers off on his pants before giving a half-hearted shrug. He knew Frypan was right, but he hated waiting.

He wandered away and sat down in a folding chair at one of the tables. Up and down the beach people were waking up, rubbing their eyes and getting out of bed, putting on clean shirts for the start of the new day. There were still so many people he didn't know, but he knew that wouldn't last long. Tragedy had a way of bringing people together, for better or worse.

Before long Gally came over, followed behind by a sullen looking Aris. He felt the same as Thomas did – displaced without a defined role on the island. He had started helping Frypan out in the kitchen as something to do, and although he didn't enjoy cooking, he found he was good at it.

He gave a nod to Thomas as he went past and then grabbed an apron off a hook and tied it around his waist. He washed his hands in a metal basin and then chopped potatoes, lips pursed in concentration as Frypan cracked eggs nearby.

"Got some work for you today," Gally said, clapping his hand on Thomas' shoulder.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Some of the girls have been asking for private quarters, so I'm putting up another divider. How about you come by after breakfast and help me out?"

"Sure," Thomas said. "That sounds good."

Gally gave him a curt nod and continued on, sitting down at a table with Vince. He leaned over and said something to the bearded man, who fell back into his chair laughing. Gally smirked and crossed his arms. It still surprised Thomas that out of all of them, Gally had been the one to fit into this new lifestyle the fastest.

Thomas got up and waited in line for more food, and then carried his plate over to a different table where Brenda was sitting with Minho. His friend was leaning over a pile of papers, deep in concentration, oblivious to the full plate of food next to him. Another boy sat with them, one whose name he could never remember no matter how many times he was told.

"Hey Thomas," the boy said as he approached.

"Hey! Uh …"

"Caleb."

"Caleb, right. How's it going?"

"Good." Caleb looked at the others and laughed. He was too good-natured to be offended, and scooted over to make room for Thomas.

"We were just talking about going for a walk to the other side of the island after breakfast," Brenda said. "Want to come with?"

Thomas shook his head as he swallowed the thick grits. "Can't. Gally wants my help building a wall for the girls."

Brenda nodded approvingly. "All right. That will be fun."

He shrugged in response.

"Will you be at the bonfire tonight?" Caleb asked.

"Haven't missed one yet." Thomas said. He looked up at Caleb and gave him a thumb's up, then went back to eating.

Truth be told, he rather felt like skipping the bonfire. He felt like skipping it most nights, actually, but Brenda always urged him to go, wanted him to keep around people and out of his own head. He always enjoyed himself once he was there, but it was hard to take that first step. He felt like a fraud, laughing along with them while his mind was somewhere else.

"It will be fun," Brenda said, squeezing his hand under the table. "Jorge finally found his guitar."

He gave her a reassuring smile when Gally walked up, wiping his hands off on a towel.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, one sec."

Thomas shoveled the last few potatoes into his mouth and then picked his plate up and took it over to Frypan, who nodded at him and set it down in a pile for washing.

He turned around and followed Gally down the beach, to where Sonya and Harriet and a few other girls were staying. It all made sense to Thomas now why Gally had made this project a priority for the day – he seemed to spend an awful lot of time around Harriet these days.

"Good morning Thomas," Sonya said, giving him a friendly smile before heading down to breakfast.

"Morning."

He looked over his shoulder after she walked past, watched her blonde braid swaying as she moved. She was a nice enough girl, and he liked her, but being around her made the familiar ache return in the pit of his stomach. He was glad she wouldn't be around while they were working.

"All right, here's the plan," Gally said.

He spent the next ten minutes showing Thomas what they would do; how they were going to tie branches together to create a privacy screen, how they were going to attach it to the rest of the structure using thick ropes. Thomas heard everything Gally was saying to him, but felt like the information never really settled in his mind. He wasn't a Builder, and he had no interest in becoming one. This was just another thing to do to pass the time. That was how life on the island felt, just another place where they could wait out the passing of time.

They worked together in silence, except for Gally correcting him every few minutes on the knots he was using or the way he crossed a branch wrong. However, soon they had enough pieces woven together that it was decently sturdy and impossible to see through.

"Looking good," Gally said. "Help me put it up and we can finish it."

Gally stood up, dusted sand off his pants, then took one corner of the new wall.

"On the count of three Thomas, ready? One, two, three -,"

Both boys pushed up the wall, and Thomas held it in place while Gally secured a corner with rope. He got one side done, and then moved over to the next.

"All right, let it go when -,"

"Let it go?" Thomas said. He hadn't really been paying attention, had been thinking about something else, and he backed away from the structure.

"No!" Gally said. "When I say -,"

The wall began to fall over under its own weight, loosening at the first tie; Thomas rushed forward to stop it, but not fast enough.

It fell with a loud thud, kicking up sand at them.

"Damn it!" Gally yelled, checking it over to make sure nothing had broken off. He looked up, ready to berate Thomas, when his mouth fell open in surprise.

"Hey, where are you going? Get back here!"

Thomas ignored him. He was already walking down the beach, away from Gally and the evidence of his latest failure. What was the point? He couldn't seem to do anything right these days. A part of him knew he should go back, help Gally finish, but he wasn't in the mood to hand out apologies.

The further he walked the angrier he became, and soon he was stomping through undergrowth and into the forest.

It was cooler under the trees, and quieter. Save for the buzzing of bugs and the birds, he felt like he was truly alone. He breathed a little easier and continued on.

They had been there about a week and had barely explored inland. Minho, who had somehow become the unofficial island leader, was planning to set up teams to find food, map off areas, gather any other pertinent information about the island. Thomas was looking forward to helping with that, but there were more important tasks at hand to finish first. Getting the rest of the temporary shelters set up, the kitchen stocked, stores of clean drinking water. If this was going to be their permanent residence, they needed to make it a home.

He continued on, felt his legs straining as he went up an incline. The center of the island raised into a rocky mound, and he climbed on and on, letting the sweat drip freely off his brow onto the ground. This was exactly what he needed; time to himself, time to get his legs moving and his heart pumping. A reminder that underneath his deadened feelings, he was still truly alive.

The trek took about thirty minutes, and with one final grunt Thomas reached the summit. He sat down, giving his tired legs a break, and took rapid, shallow breaths in and out. From up here he could practically see the entire island. It was a lush speck of green in a world surrounded by blue. So different from what he was used to after being in a sterile facility for most of his life. Even the Glade with its grassy field and picture-perfect sky had been manufactured. But this was all real, breathtakingly beautiful earth.

He saw people down below wandering around the beach, going off to their various tasks for the day. Some younger people were slacking off, running into the surf and then back onto the dry sand. The corner of his mouth went up as he watched them; he hoped someday he could be as carefree again.

He laid back and rested his head in the crook of his arm. Wisps of clouds passed overhead, and he rested his eyes for a moment, letting the breeze run over his face and cool his sweat. He must have dozed off, because when he came-to the morning sun was covered with grey clouds, and he heard a rumble of thunder in the distance.

He sat up, feeling a little confused after the impromptu nap, and rubbed at his face. He gazed down at the beach once more. Everyone was gone now; depending on what time it was they must have either all gone in for lunch or found shelter from the impending rain. He pulled his legs up and rested his arms on them, looking out over the ocean which was becoming choppier by the minute.

His heart stopped.

He put his hands over his eyes, shielding them from the glare, and squinted.

Far off in the distance, was a boat.

He stood up and continued to look, to make sure he was really seeing it. That it wasn't just a figment of his overtired imagination. But there it was. Heading right for them.

Without hesitation he took off, running back through the trees and down the steep hill toward camp. The thirty-minute walk up there took him half the time on the way back, and soon he was running through the last of the trees and out onto the sandy ground again.

"Hey!" He shouted to no one in particular. "Hey!"

He continued to run, down the beach toward the dining area.

"Hey!" He shouted again.

A few people looked up from their meals, but he didn't slow down. He continued to run toward the shore; Minho nodded at Gally and both stood up, following Thomas' trail.

"What's up?" Minho asked once he had caught up to his friend.

"Out there!" Thomas said, pointing at the water.

Minho and Gally both squinted, looking out where Thomas was pointing.

"Do you see it?" He asked.

Minho's mouth fell open. "It's a freaking boat," he said.

"Were we expecting anyone else?" Thomas asked, looking behind himself at his two friends. "We weren't, were we?"

They both shook their heads, not taking their eyes off the approaching vessel.

Thomas' face paled as he suddenly thought about who it could be. Who else knew they were there? Was it someone just passing by? Did someone perhaps already own the island, were they coming to claim it back for themselves? Or, he thought as a feeling of dread settled in his stomach, was it WICKED, coming to take them out once and for all?

He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued to stare, unsure whether to alert the others, or avoid the imminent chaos for a few more minutes while they figured out who it was.

It was only a hundred yards out from shore now. Thomas could hear murmurs from people back at the dining area, heard chairs scraping as people stood up. Brenda jogged over and stood next to Thomas, shielding her own eyes with a frown on her face.

"Who -,"

"Hang on," Thomas said. He peered out, trying to see if he could see anything that would give him some answers.

As it came closer, he could see someone standing on the deck of the boat, but he could barely make them out. They had something in their arms, were holding it up like a banner to the small crowd gathered on the beach.

"What is that?" He asked. "What are they -,"

Thomas' voice caught in his throat, and he let out a guttural noise as the world around him fell away.

It wasn't a banner; it was a jacket. And he knew who it belonged to.

Newt.