Clara shifted slightly, moving her jacket above her head to block the afternoon sun from her eyes. Despite trying her best to prevent sunburn, the skin on her arms was red and freckled, and she could feel her face tightening. Not to mention the dryness on her tongue and sweat dripping down her back. It took all her power to keep blinking against the rising sand, to keep her feet moving forward, following the small line of Gladers through the desert.

One smaller now. 

Every time she shut her eyes, there was a flash of Freddy's face. She hadn't even seen it happen, hadn't been able to help him. Had he just been dragged under? Torn apart by bloodthirsty cranks? The thought made her want to gag. 

Clara blinked once more, watching the people in front of her. Everyone was quiet, stumbling like zombies through the desert. She wasn't sure where they were headed. They had left the shopping mall far behind, heading into the endless expanse. 

In the twelve hours or so since they had left the shopping mall, one of Group A's members-- Winston-- had started to fall ill. Clara watched him now. He was just in front of her, shuffling along through the sand, leaning against Minho and Frypan for support. 

Clara sorted through her newfound stash of medicines when they had stopped to rest several hours ago. She didn't have any antivirals, and she was assuming that whatever Winston was infected by was what had caused the Cranks. Still, she had given him a dose of acetaminophen, hoping to bring down the fever he had. 

It hadn't worked.

Clara knew he was going to either die or turn into one of those...things soon. At the rate Winston was declining, it would be within a day or so. 

Fuck, she hated not being able to help. What was the point of having her title if she couldn't save people? She had kept almost an entire group of Gladers alive for years-- more of her group had survived than any other-- and in the past week, almost all of them were gone. Not only that, but people she cared about. 

Now, six remained.

"I can hear you thinking,"

Clara flinched. She hadn't heard Tris approaching. Her boxmate and sister was at the back of the group, ensuring no one was left behind. Not that it mattered when they were dropping with flies. 

"I don't want a lecture right now," Clara responded. She might just lay on the sand and never get up. Leave the medical supplies with whoever was competent enough to do it. 

Tris hummed, walking alongside her quietly for a moment. They began to head down a massive dune, towards what appeared to be a small shelter. It wasn't much, but it would at least get them out of the heat for the afternoon. In the sunlight, Clara could see the gleam reflecting off of Tris' golden necklace, bouncing rhythmically as they moved.

"I'm not going to give you a lecture. I want to see if you are okay." Tris' voice was quiet enough that nobody else could hear.

Clara took a heavy breath, her lungs burning as they slid down the large dune. Gods she wanted a moment of peace. 

"If I'm being honest, no I'm fucking not," Clara responded. She could feel her mind spiralling with every minute away from the maze, away from WICKED. "I feel like I'm going insane. Every time I close my eyes I see another Glader that got left behind or died and I couldn't do anything about it."

Tris was quiet for a moment. Clara could feel the heaviness of her presence. Another person in her group she had to look out for. Another person that she had to keep alive. Clara wasn't sure how much longer she could live with the guilt. 

Not to mention, now that Group A had joined them, it felt like another several people had become her responsibility. Each of these people, now hers to keep alive and safe. And Freddy was gone. The only person she could've trusted to take some of the burden, who could maybe help, was gone. 

"I know you want to help, and I know you feel a responsibility to everyone. It's who you are, and I know you aren't going to change," Tris started. Her breath was heavy between words. The heat had turned her dark freckled face almost golden. With each step, she slid into the sand, shuffling along like a figment. 

Clara blinked harshly to clear the sweat that was dripping into her eyes. Winston was stumbling in front of her. They needed to stop soon, or else they weren't going to make it any farther. 

"Clara, listen to me,"

Clara shook her head underneath the jacket. She could feel her heart in her throat, trying to clear her mind long enough to listen to Tris.

"You are not alone, Clara, you never have been, and you never will be," Tris murmured. 

Minho, still supporting Winston, glanced back at them, his eyes were dim in the light, and Clara could see sweat dripping down his forehead. They all needed to stop soon. Someone was going to die out here.

"I can see you spiralling, and it's frightening because I know you care," Tris continued. She shoved a hand into her hair, pushing the curls away from her face. "But I care about you, and I want you to be okay."

Clara swallowed, trying to clear the dryness in her throat. Gods it was so fucking hot. "I'm trying."

Tris paused, and pulled her aside, hugging her tight. It was hot and sticky and sweaty, but Clara let it happen. 

When they finally stopped, they began to follow again, now at the back of the group. Most of the Gladers seemed too heat-affected to notice the brief overture. 

"I know you are," Tris responded, stepping in time. "I know you are. People are going to die, but we are going to keep going because I promised you that we are going to make it out of here together."

Clara swallowed again, this time to clear the growing lump in her throat. They had to make it out, together. 

"We can stop here tonight," Thomas shouted. He had ducked under an alcove created by a fallen building. Clara could make out a dark shade.

"Oh thank gods,"

~~~

Clara shifted, leaning back against the fallen wall. Night had arrived, chilling the desert. Clara was wrapped in her jacket, a dusty blanket from the abandoned mall wrapped over her legs. Beside her, Tris was snoring softly, curled onto her side. 

She had been woken up by Minho for watch an hour ago. He had quickly fallen into a heavy sleep, his arms crossed over his chest, rising and falling slowly. 

Through a gap in the makeshift roof, she could see the sky and was trying to map the constellations. They were similar to the ones in the maze, but they had shifted, laying in a different pattern than before.

"Clara,"

Clara flinched, her head snapping to Winston. He was lying close to her, blinking slowly. She had thought he had been sleeping-- she had waited until she was sure he was before sleeping and left Minho with firm instructions to wake her if anything changed. 

Gently, Clara wiggled out from under the blanket and moved over to sit next to Winston. 

He shifted his head to look at her and Clara had to repress the urge to panic. He had declined severely since she had last checked on him. His chest was moving quickly, and with each breath, she could hear the rasp of his lungs. Black veins were beginning to spread up his throat, and she could see his eyes yellowing-- he wasn't going to make it.

"What do you need?" She asked, laying a hand on his arm. She kept her voice quiet to avoid waking anyone and causing a panic. Then again, she could probably shout and nobody would wake-- they were all sore and exhausted. 

Winston coughed-- a thick rattly sound-- and twisted his head to look at her. "Do you have anything in your bag that could kill me?"

Clara paused, her heart pounding in her throat. "What do you mean?"

Winston shifted, trying to sit up. Clara placed a hand on his back, helping him sit. His shirt was damp and sweaty, and she could feel the rattle in his chest.

"I can feel it taking over my brain."

Clara settled next to him, sitting cross-legged. She kept one hand on his back to keep him upwards. She remained quiet, letting Winston murmur.

"I keep feeling impulses to attack and control. I don't want to become one of them. I don't want anyone to see me like that."

Clara paused, running her tongue over her teeth. Winston wasn't going to be able to stop the virus, not if the information she had was correct, which meant that he would eventually become one of the bloodthirsty cranks, sentenced to wander the desert forever.

"Please, Clara," He begged. "Anything that will just put me to sleep. You know I'm dying. If you don't do it, I'm going to find a way to. I don't want anyone to see me as one of those things."

Clara exhaled. She hated this. Why couldn't she stop it? Save him from the virus. With a nod, she aided him in lying back down, before standing and grabbing her bag.

Winston let out what seemed to be a sigh of relief. Clara watched him for a brief moment. There was a calmness to his features, despite the raspiness of his breath.

Clara dug out the tranquillizer that she had stolen from the doctors at WICKED. Somewhere in the bottom of the bag, she had kept a couple of needles from the Glade, and some alcohol wipes.

She sat down back next to him, and Winston sighed slowly. She could see the relief on his face, and it was enough to shove down the guilt that she was doing this. Clara wanted to wake the rest of his Glade and tell them that he was going to die, but Winston still seemed to be in his right mind, and this was his choice. 

"Thank you," He murmured, as Clara shifted him upwards, propping him against her knee. Clara could see black moving up his veins, towards his brain.

Clara hummed, rolling up his sleeve to expose his arm. It too was beginning to turn black from the virus. He would likely have turned into a crank within a day. She wiped it with the swab and then cleaned her hands. 

"Are you sure?" She asked once.

Winston nodded. "Yes, I don't want anyone to see me as a crank,"

Clara shoved down all her emotions, keeping her mind quiet as she opened the needle packaging and took a dose of the tranquillizer-- enough to put a person to sleep.

She gripped his arm with her free hand and paused, her throat clenching. She had never done this before, but she knew how. It felt like a betrayal of everyone who had died trying to get them here-- but Winston was going to die either way, so why not let him do it on his own?

Gently, she sank it into his arm and pressed down. The clear fluid vanished. 

Winston let out a sigh as she removed the needle and wrapped it back up, gently placing a bandage over the tiny pinprick of blood. She assisted him in lying back down.

"Will you stay with me?" He asked, holding his hand out to her.

"Of course," Clara responded, gently holding his hand. 

So they stayed there in the dark enclosure. Clara could hear the Gladers breathing around her, all slow and quiet. A few moments passed, sitting in a calm silence. 

Until Winston's chest just stopped moving. His hand went limp in hers and Clara's throat clenched. She gave him a moment, her thumb running over his knuckles, before reaching out with her free hand and gently pressing her fingers to his throat. 

No pulse. 

Clara raised his hand to her forehead, holding it there momentarily, before brushing a light kiss to his hand and placing it down on his stomach. Clara pulled the blanket up to his chest.

She sat there a moment longer. Clara could feel a twinge of guilt, but more because she hadn't saved him, than because she had ended it.

"Thank you for helping him."

Clara flinched. She had been so focused on keeping Winston calm that she hadn't noticed Minho sitting a few metres behind her. 

His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, his face calm. His eyes were dim as he shuffled forward to sit next to her. 

"I'm sorry that he didn't make it."

Minho was silent for a moment, and Clara could almost feel the weariness rippling off of him-- a leader in his own right. He was exhausted, his face tight. 

Without any prompting, Clara tugged him closer to her, so he could lean against her. Minho sighed and returned to favour until they were leaning against each other.

Holding a silent vigil for another member of their group.

~~~

Clara remained quiet for most of the day, walking alongside Minho at the back. There was sand in every inch of her clothing, scratching her skin as she moved. All she wanted was a hot shower and a warm bed. 

The reaction to Winston's death was as she had expected-- everyone had known that he was near the end. Most had assumed that he had passed in his sleep; a small mercy compared to what would've likely happened if Clara hadn't given him the tranq. 

Minho had suggested, after a few hours of quiet the night before, that they keep the actual cause of Winston's death quiet. Let the Gladers think that it was on his own. Clara had been relieved that it wasn't her idea-- she wasn't sure that she could bear the guilt of everyone blaming her, even if she had decided since that it was justified. 

Even Minho's support was a comfort. 

Clara shuffled alongside him, staring up at the sky. They were approaching another tall city, a few decrepit skyscrapers still standing. She could see shattered windows and cracked concrete roads beyond. They were nearly there. The only issue was a looming black cloud, stretching high above. It streaked downwards, dampening the city, and Clara was fairly certain that lightning was sparking high above. 

Once again, they were in desperate need of shelter. 

Clara's feet were aching inside her new boots, the ground becoming hard and solid, but still acrid.

Clara shifted her attention to Tris, who was just in front of her, walking with Leo. Their steps were in time-- they rarely weren't, given how long they had run together. 

There was a tiny strike of jealousy in Clara. She had lost Michael and Freddy, who were the closest she had to a partner in the maze-- leader and apprentice, respectively. She clenched her jaw and shoved it down, along with the visceral guilt that was stewing. Tris still had her partner, and Clara was happy for her. 

Still, there was a gentle hint of forgiving companion in Minho, and Clara found comfort in it, as they approached the city and the mountains beyond. 

Thunder rumbled above and Clara clenched her jaw, glancing at Minho. "We need to get to shelter."

Minho nodded, and they began to move faster, feet like a rhythmic beat on the ground. The group moved as a unit.

Rain began to streak downwards like a typhoon. Clara blinked harshly, picking up into a jog. In front of her, she could see Ezra, Rosie, Tris, Leo, and Simon, running alongside the Group A Gladers.

They were approaching the city, the buildings stretching high above.

Lightning struck nearby, and Clara could feel the hairs rising on her arms. A small fire sparked up, only to be immediately darkened by the rain. The Gladers were nothing but streaks in the dark.

Blood was rushing in Clara's head as she kept pace with Minho, puddles forming on the hard dry ground. Each step sent dusty raindrops upwards. The buildings loomed beyond like fingers, beckoning them to their shelter. 

Lightning struck again, and Clara jumped. The thunder rumbled in her bones. The electricity was palpable. It felt like it was sticking to her tongue as she panted, running alongside Minho towards the shelter. 

She could see the Gladers ducking into a building ahead, vanishing through the rain. They were almost there. Almost safe.

Lightning struck again, and this time Clara was thrown from the ground, her vision momentarily blinded. She hit the ground hard, rolling a few times before her backpack slid into the mud and she came to a stop. Blinking harshly, she cleared the spots from her eyes, staring up at the pitch-black clouds. Rain pummeled her face, though she couldn't hear a thing, her ears ringing. 

Clara pushed herself up, scanning the area. Where had Minho gone?

Finally, she found him, flat on the ground. 

He wasn't moving. 

Clara's eyes widened and she scrambled in the mud, sprinting across the short distance. She slid to a stop, falling to her knees and swinging her backpack next to her. 

She had to shut down the panic. If she wanted Minho to live, she had to focus. She had to think. She had to stay calm. 

Lightning was still screaming around her, though Clara couldn't hear it. She pressed her fingers to his throat, taking care to avoid the burns streaking up the left side of his body. He had been struck.

"Shit," Clara hissed. "Shit, shit, shit."

Clara wiped her wet hands on her pants-- not that it did much-- and promptly began CPR. 

She counted under her breath. The motion was familiar, his chest slamming downwards under her weight. 

28. 29. 30.

Clara tilted his chin up and gave him two quick breathes, before starting compressions again. 

Each push felt like the weight of a thousand worlds as if she were Atlas, sentenced to a life of holding the Earth. 

28. 29. 30

Lightning struck again as Clara administered another two breaths. She felt the thunder underneath her, blinking harshly to 

Why wasn't he breathing? He couldn't leave. She had to stop it. They all needed to get to safety.

No Glader left behind. Not anymore.

15. 16. 17. 

Minho let out a gasp-- though she didn't hear it over the loud ringing-- and began to cough. 

Quickly, Clara pushed him up into a seating position, before he could choke and start all over again. Her heart was pounding in her chest, blood rushing in her ears.

She had saved him. He was alive. 

Clara could feel herself shaking, her eyes tearing up. He was burning up the side of his neck and lower jaw, and she could see patches where clothing had melted to his skin. He would need severe burn treatment, but he was alive. 

Minho leaned his head against hers, blinking harshly against the pouring rain. Clara was aware of Tris and Thomas, running at them. A good choice. She couldn't move Minho safely on her own.

He mouthed something at her. 

Clara narrowed her eyes. Her ears were still ringing. "What?"

Minho laughed, though it was quickly followed by a wince. Clara needed to do something about the burns soon, or they would only get worse.

Thomas and Tris appeared through the pouring rain. Thomas scooped his hands under Minho's shoulders, tugging him upwards. 

Clara shouted at him, telling him to be gentle. Minho was limping heavily and leaned on Thomas as he jogged towards the tall building and the shelter.

Tris pulled her up, shouldering the bag of medical supplies. She said something to Clara, and Clara stared at her blankly. 

Tris rolled her eyes, before linking their arms and pulling her into a run. Clara ran alongside her-- if only so she could treat Minho's burns.

They finally entered the building through a gaping hole, and Clara frowned as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. 

"Where did everyone go?" 

Tris glared at her, before miming that she was shouting. 

Clara frowned and placed her hands on her hips. At a lower volume, she repeated. "Where did everyone go?"

Tris didn't get the chance to answer, as a bag was placed over her head and she was knocked out. 

There was one second where Clara stared at the spot where Tris had just been, before there was a bag on her head, and everything went dark.

~~~

Hello lovelies!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please feel free to vote and comment, I love hearing from you all!

Until next time,

Indigo