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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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012.
SURVIVAL RATE.
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    "Told you they weren't coming back, Chuck."

   Kennedy's lips tugged into a frown, trying to ignore Newt as he patted Chuck's shoulder. Her eyes gazed over the empty cavern of the maze doors; searching each corner; analysing every nook, and every cranny, all in hopes of spotting the three boys somewhere, of them suddenly appearing as they ran through the doors.

   She hoped for something.

   Anything.

   Anything to show that they had made it.

Several of them had camped by the doors. While Kennedy had wanted to avoid hearing their screams, Chuck and Gally had not been able to leave. Though, she supposed that trying to sleep had been a relatively big waste of time. Both Kennedy and Newt had only ended up by the maze doors before the sun came up, anyway, and they hadn't gotten any less sleep outside than inside. Time was slow as it passed, and more and more gladers had joined them by the doors. No one had spoken; they had all just waited, anxiously.

But, as expected, the doors had pulled open and revealed no one. Newt's words had been blunt, but true.

Thomas, Minho and Alby were gone.

They weren't coming back.

No matter how hard they hoped, their fellow gladers were gone, and gone for good. Kennedy didn't want to think about them dead but that was the sad reality. In the maze, you were a deadman.

She hadn't ever thought that those deadmen would include their leader and keeper of the runners. They had been fighters. Minho and Alby were strong, and Kennedy had never expected to lose them to the maze. Not that she expected to lose anyone, nor did she particularly want to lose anyone, but they had definitely been at the bottom of her list.

   Newt and Frypan exchanged a glance of worry and concern, a silent agreement to keep close to Kennedy. Unknowing as to what she would do next, how she would react when reality set in, they were hesitant to leave her alone. So far, her response hadn't been of much substance — her body remained seized at the joints, still and unmoving, and her stare never once left the walls. They were unpredictable, her actions as of late; it was as if Kennedy were a maze herself, one that they now needed to solve. Since the greenie had shown up, Kennedy had been different. She conveyed all of emotions more, emotions that were unusual for her. Anger and joy had been frequent throughout her years in the glade, but she had been different. These were something they'd never seen.

   Now, the she-bean had seemed to sparkle more. She definitely had started to show hurt more, and sadness, buy she had equally shown more excitement and happiness. Thomas had been causing her to portray new feelings, ones that her friends had forgotten she would have, and Newt couldn't decide whether it had been a good thing, or a bad. It wasn't like Kennedy was a brick wall, but she'd never been a tornado of emotions, either.

Good? Bad? He didn't really know which it was.

Either way, Newt was ready to deal with whatever came. She wasn't going to deal with this, alone. Kennedy was never alone.

   A heavy sigh through her nose, furrowed brows, Kennedy tried to hide any visible dismay from her features. It was time for her to step up, to get back to who she had been.

Like Newt had said, these boys were relying on them. While it had been one way yesterday, it was different today. Things could changed with the blink of an eye, and they had done exactly that and more. Now, Kennedy didn't have the time to feel sorry for both herself and the fallen. That wasn't Kennedy, anymore.

She wasn't a crumbling tower that collapsed once the slightest inconvenience knocked her down — of course not. Kennedy was more than a sad song on the radio, stronger than the twigs that snapped beneath a boot. Emotion wasn't an awful thing, but there was no time for it. There was a time and a place, and neither was here and now. This wasn't the time for Kennedy to hide away and lose her mind, spending her days sobbing into her hands, as much as she might have wanted to. That wasn't Kennedy; Kennedy was a flare. An endless flame. She was fiery, and hot, and a beacon of hope and safety. She needed to save these kids.

   It was time for Kennedy to play leader; alpha of the pack. Newt and Alby had raised and set the bar, and now it was time for little Kennedy to stop sitting underneath it. Despite how hard it would be, she had no choice.

She had to do it. If not for herself, but for the boys that looked to her for guidance, now. For Alby.

"Right—" her voice alarmed her fellow gladers, each of them surprised that she had spoken. It was a sensitive time, but her voice was clear and unwavering. "—time to get back to work, guys."

   Many of the boys continued to stare in shock. It took a moment to process what she had said. Not because of the authority in her tone, or the lack of tears, but because they respected her. They'd always respected Kennedy, but now showed why they respected her so much. She had progressed from tears to triumph in a matter of hours, all while having lost three people that she had cared about so deeply for, and she had come out on top. All of them cared but for Kennedy, it was deep. And she was still standing,

"You heard her, let's go!"

She turned to peer up at Newt, whom was already smiling down at her. It was bittersweet. He was so proud of her, but they were both still hurting. This wasn't something you could just get up and walk away from, but they had to. Getting up was the only way for them to move forwards.

Grief could wait, until later on.

"Let's go!" He clapped his hands, "She said, back to work."

"Thanks, Newt..." she muttered, reaching out to give his hand a firm squeeze before he walked away. Newt squeezed it, right back.

Following instructions, the group of boys nodded in agreement and did as told. Morale was low, but it was the best that they could do. And, really, Kennedy didn't mind. There was bound to be a lack of enthusiasm, given the circumstances — no one was going to be jumping for joy, were they? If they were, that would be very messed up and very inappropriate. It wasn't the time.

Gally gave her a pat on the back, and was careful as to not push her forewords and into the maze. He gave her a smile, one saved especially for her, before crossing his arms over his chest and then making for the builders station. As a stickler for rules and order, a friendship with Alby that was strong, Gally's reaction had meant a lot to Kennedy. It served to provide many things for her: a sense of comfort, a silent salute to her ability to push her emotions aside, and carry on for the greater good. If Gally supported her, as well as the rest of the keepers, that was all Kennedy could have asked for. Well, asides from the obvious.

She would have asked for them, back.

Breathing heavily, Kennedy spared a moment to remember what Alby would always say to her.

"No time for feelings, she-bean.
Now, go get yourself cleaned up."

   Only now, did she truly understand what he meant. Sometimes you had to forget how you felt, to get the job done. If Kennedy was going to take the role of the leader, if she was going to keep his legacy alive, then she was going to make Alby proud of them.

With an arm around her shoulder, Frypan briefly pulled her into his side and Winston sent her a nod, before heading off with the surrounding boys. It was time for breakfast, and to set up for the day ahead, and she gave Jeff and Clint a wave as they passed her with kisses to either of her cheeks. She was going to be busy now, they knew that much.

Kennedy found herself rooted in the same position, while the others dispersed. She was staring out into the depths of the maze, empty and cold. There was an ache in her chest, something that told her she needed to wait, for just a few more minutes. It was one of those feelings that you couldn't describe, or explain, but it was present. Her eyes flickered to Chuck, the only other glader yet to leave, and then back to the maze. Just a few more minutes. That was all the girl needed — just a few minutes, so that she could be positive that they weren't coming back. A few minutes to dry the stray tears upon her rosy cheeks, before anyone even noticed.

Those minute came and went, leaving her behind in the wind, and Kennedy finally admitted defeat. She patted Chuck on the shoulder and turned on her heel.

   But then, something extraordinary happened.

"Kennedy!"

She frowned, "Chuck...?"

"Kennedy, look!" Chuck tugged the hem of sleeve, forcing her to turn back around. His other arm was outstretched, index finger pointed towards the dark, damp space between the walls. "Ken, do you see that? You gotta look! Are you looking?"

"Slow down!" Kennedy said, "I don't—"

Her words got caught in her throat, and her body froze.

   Kennedy was suddenly light-headed. Dizziness hit her with a smack! and if Chuck wasn't still holding her sleeve, she'd have likely toppled over. She couldn't believe her eyes. Kennedy was confused at what she saw — perhaps she was imagining the sight; two boys dragging a third, heading towards the doors with his arms around their necks. Sweat lined their foreheads, matching her own as she struck a mild fever, in gut-wrenching fear that it wouldn't be real, that it was her mind toying with her.

In that moment, it was as though Kennedy had seen a ghost — or three, even.

"Yeah!"

Chuck gained the attention of the other boys, and Newt was the first to dash back to the doors. After him was Fry, and then the two med-jacks, and then the rest. As as the trio grew closer, the crowd behind her multiplied, and Chuck cheered loudly. It became very apparent that Kennedy hadn't seen three ghosts.

Kennedy was witnessing the boys that she had assumed to be dead, come back to life right before her eyes. There they were.

Alive.

   Suddenly, Kennedy felt exhilarated.

————

   She blinked emptily, eyes glassy as she attempted to digest the information that had been thrust upon her. Did he expect her to seriously believe that? Maybe he'd gone mad, in that maze.

"What do you mean, he killed a griever?"

    "Since when, were you this slow?" Minho retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, the bands of his shirt tight around the muscle pushing against it. Even after a night in the maze, tired and dirty, he was still able to fight his own. Really, she had expected nothing less from the shank. This was Minho, after all. "What do you think I mean, Ken? Thomas killed—"

    "—Thomas killed a griever," she frowned, "Yeah— I heard."

Against his will, Minho's face twisted sourly. He went to spit an insult at her, like he often did, failing to realise the poor timing.

He had been in a maze all night, running around, and failed to see that she had been up for just as long, assuming the worst and thinking that he was dead. Both of them had suffered quite the painful twelve hour time-gap, and they were both too caught up in the news to fully process the situation. Kennedy had barely even acknowledged that he was alive, and he was standing right in front of her — he wasn't a ghost, he was Minho. Real, alive Minho. He was only inches away from her in the runners room. Minho made it back to the glade, with Thomas and Alby, after surviving a night in the maze. Minho was alive. Totally alive. He was there, and was being a massive slinthead, but he was breathing.

Upon their arrival, Kennedy had been whisked away and to the med-jack hut. She, alongside Jeff and Clint, had checked Alby for injuries while he was unconscious. Besides being stung, injuries were minimal. Only a blow to the head, and some scrapes. They had decided that he had gotten lucky to be alive, but not so lucky to have been stung. He wasn't dead, although Alby had always a view that getting stung by a griever was close enough to it.

She had been forced to leave the homestead when Newt and Minho had asked for her, saying that they had some serious things to talk about. Just the three of them. And so, with a kiss to Alby's forehead, Kennedy had gone with them, barely seeing Thomas.

He was with Chuck.

   Deciding to extinguish the flame before it ignited, Newt took a step between the duo in attempt to ease conversation. Truthfully, he was just as confused and concerned as they were, but the only thing that they could do was have a rational discussion and then decide their next steps. What would Alby do?

"Look— Thomas killed a griever, alright. Who knows what that's gonna mean?" his voice was at a calm pace, visibly soothing his friends, "But, right now, we've got bigger fish to fry."

He was right. Newt was always right, and sometimes it got a bit bothersome.

Both Kennedy and Minho seemed to share this thought, and their eyes flickered to meet each other, deep knowing within them as they stared. They adored Newt, but sometimes they wished that they were the ones always in the right.

   Newt continued, "Alby is out, for the time being. He can't lead us until he goes through the changing, and hopefully comes out the other side. We haven't given him the serum because we've run out of the stuff, but Gally didn't have it either — he ended up a bit of a shank, but well enough..." he nodded to himself and placed his hands on his hips, "We'll just have to see. This is Alby; I'm sure he can make it through anything, alright? We've just gotta wait, and then we'll work through that obstacle when it comes."

   Kennedy nodded in agreement. The runner mirrored it.

She spared a glance at the door of the runners room to assure herself that it was shut, and sighed in relief when it was. It was the only place that the trio could freely converse and decide what they would do about the current situation, without another glader able to listen in. No one was allowed in the runners room aside from the runners; Kennedy and Newt were the exceptions, as always.

   There was risk in the boys hearing them before they'd made a game-plan. Apparently Gally was already organising a meeting to decide what to do with Thomas — he'd broken the rules.

Going into the maze wasn't allowed, if you weren't a runner. He had thrown himself in the firing line, again.

Gally would have a fit when he heard about the griever.

Barely back five minutes, and Thomas was already causing them trouble. Even if it wasn't the best timing, Kennedy couldn't ignore the swell of her heart. He may have been trouble, but he was back and he was alive. Kennedy could have cried. Tears of joy; liquid gold. He was alive.

"Thomas ran into the maze— that's a big deal. It's against the rules, no matter how much it helped Minho and Alby, and it's not good..." Newt bit the inner of his cheek and rubbed his mouth. His eyes flickering between the two with him, and he let out a sigh as he pieced together a plan in his mind. They let him do so. Not only was Newt always right, but he was good at making plans. He had experience with this leadership malarkey, and he had gotten to be an expert. Listening to Alby must have paid off, even if it was a tad tedious at times. "We all know that people are gonna want the shank punished—"

"You mean, Gally will want him punished." Kennedy said.

The builder was a stickler for rules and order, and he would be dead before he left Thomas get away with breaking such a big one of their rules.

   Ignoring the hasty comment, Newt shifted his focus to the boy who had seen everything first-hand. He was the only one who had seen the night for what it was, "Come up with a statement, Minho. We've got to call a meeting; I'll try to got you an hour."

"Good that," Minho agreed.

"Here's what's gonna happen..." Newt was far better at the leadership role than Kennedy was sure she could ever be. "In the meeting, we'll dictate Kennedy as temporary leader while Alby's out. No shank out there is going to object— alright? Then, she'll hear what everyone has to say, and we'll decide what we're gonna do with Tommy."

   The three friends shared a mutual look of agreement, none of them needing to find words to confirm it — it was by far the best course of action, and each of them were as satisfied as they could be. Council had just grown stronger, and they would figure this all out together. No one was left behind. Not Alby, not Thomas. This was going to end up being fine. At the end of the day, Newt had always been good at forming a plan of action. He firmly believed that talking problems out would solve any issue and, so far during his time in charge, he had pretty much always been right.

Shocker.

   After a few minutes silence, Kennedy cracked a grin.

"Y'know— I'm glad you're alive, Minho."

"Yeah—" he had returned the grin instantly, unable to hide it any longer. Newts own smile followed as he watched the two of them finally reunite, "—I'm pretty glad too, she-bean."

They both stepped closer, and Kennedy threw her arms around his neck. She clung on tightly, afraid that letting go would mean losing him again, and he rubbed her back gently. Minho wasn't always one for hugs, usually that was Newt's job, but he couldn't deny it — he needed one, just as much as she did. Maybe more.

Newt then wrapped his arms around them, making it so that the trio were an entanglement of arms, giggling at their silliness.

   The friends had been reunited and that was all they had needed, there and then. Time had been reverse, and impending fear of losing Minho had ended, and they could finally breathe. If they'd have lost Minho, Kennedy and Newt weren't quite sure what they would've done. It had been so close to being real, a reality that she hoped they would never have to face again, and Kennedy counted her lucky stars — they were out there, somewhere.

   Little did they know, they'd not be smiling for long.

   Despite Alby being on his near-death bed, suffering after being stung, his reappearance had brought Kennedy a sprig of hope and some form of comfort. Being their leader was rather daunting, and she didn't know whether it was to go well or not. It was scary, petrifying taking Alby's role; he had been her leader, since the very day she had arrived. The concept of stepping into his boots left an odd taste within her mouth, tinging the surface of her cherry pink lips. It didn't feel right. There was no knowing if Alby would make it through the changing, nor whether he would be fit to return as their leader even if he did survive. But, nonetheless, Kennedy had refused to let that dampen thing. She would be leader temporarily.

   Kennedy was positive that Alby would be back and up on his feet in no time. She was going to make sure of it, even if it was the last thing that she ever did.

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