Sam

A gunshot tears apart the deafening silence, like a pack of hungry dogs finally pouncing on a meal. Time freezes and loud sobs fill my ears, I sink to my knees in the sand and let the tears fall, my heart shattering at the loss of a fellow glader. A boy from the very beginning, unable to remember his parents, siblings, lover. A friend, my friend.

WICKED would pay for the losses.

------

After hours of hiking through the vast desert, we take refuge underneath an upturned ship.

Frypan and Aris had lit a fire earlier, and we had spent hours scavenging for wooden beams and pallets. The smoke billows into the air, creating a mist around the sky above our campfire.

The gladers and I sit in a blanket of deafening silence, the presence of death still lingering in the air.

"I miss the glade." Frypan manages to croak out, fresh tears pouring from his puffy red eyes. I turn to him and lay my hand on his, a gesture of comfort.

Fry looks down at me and forces a smile through the tears, his lip quivering slightly as he does so. My heart breaks for the dark skinned chef, and I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

He chuckles quietly at the sudden contact and returns the warm embrace as he cries into my shoulder.

The minutes drag by before more arms wrap around mine and Frypan's bodies. "Group hug!" Newt cheers, his face drenched with tears, that cease to flow, and wraps his arms tightly around us all.

"Don't cry babe." Minho whispers into my ear, his arms around my shoulders, sending shivers down my spine. He lightly kisses my cheek and sends me one of his dazzling smiles my way.

"Ew!" Thomas cries, making fake gagging noises and slapping his hands over his eyes. The gladers laugh at his reaction. A smile makes it's way onto my face, the sound of the laughter rippling through the once depressed atmosphere.

------

I was 12 years old when the world was thrown into caos, Thomas a couple of years older, atleast 14.

The radio crackles, the frantic voices of the people who speak through the stations blasting through the speakers. I frown at their tone of voice, turning up the volume to understand what all of the racket was about.

"We believe that today in Lab W.C.K.D. that they have found a cure for cancer by injecting the patients with a disease to fight off the cancerous cells." A woman drones on, her monotonous voice filling the silence in my childhood home's kitchen.

I continue to scrub the plates and dishes from the lunch with my mother, who now rests on the couch in another room. "So, Chancellor Anderson, how many people have you injected with this disease, that we still do not know the name of?"

"Well we started with 1 person, willing to give up their life to save others, and then gradually upped the numbers. Around 300,000 patients have been cured." Mr Anderson explains, his deep gravelly voice penetrating the silence once again.

The woman continues to quiz the poor doctor about his cure, whilst I dry and tidy away the now clean glasses and dishes. Even though Tom was here, it was still my turn to clean up after dinner.

But the next couple of sentences that fall from the news reporters mouth send me into absolute curiosity and shock: "The world has been sent into shock after three Russian and two American nuclear power stations have exploded, killing millions of citizens and damaging the earths ozone layer protecting us from deadly Sun Flares that could react with several diseases on our planet. Scientists are advising everyone around the world to stay indoors, but if the need arises to go outside, keep skin covered with clothing and a thick coating of sun cream, until they can find a way to fix this worldwide problem."

I gasp in shock, my hands cupping my mouth, spinning around to come face to face with my brother, Thomas. "Everything will be okay, Sammy. I promise."

My eyes flutter open, the hot sun already beating down on us at this early hour. I yawn and stretch out my sore limbs, gulping down a mouthful of water to start the day with.

From all around me the gladers begin to awaken, taking out their water bottles for a sip of the transparent liquid. I sit on the droughted ground, my mind wandering back to the strange dream: the crackling of the radio, the feeling of freedom and sudden curiosity. But the dream seemed too real, was it a memory?