Chapter Text
72 days.
It had been 72 days since the Gladers landed on this shore, and yes, Thomas was counting.
Because if it had been 72 days since arrival, then it had been 79 since anyone at the haven last saw the mainland, and 86 since anyone last saw Wicked.
Or Teresa.
Or Newt.
But what could still be seen daily was that Thomas had never really settled from it all, not the way the others had.
He couldn’t even work out what it had taken before Brenda dubbed herself as Haven’s mechanic, before Frypan assimilated into ruthless ruler of Haven’s meals, before Minho began running again in a mapping effort. It took them a while, but a slow journey of healing was beginning.
Thomas, however, felt almost like he was still there, in the open scorch or last city, only now accompanied by a knot in his stomach that never left and the occasional ache from the scar on his chest, to remind him he was supposed to be moving on.
When he was back there, he knew what he was supposed to do; there was always something to devote his mind to. No mandatory meetings, slow days or the time to stop. To put it simply, being in Haven had stopped Thomas from being able to run away.
On this particular evening, the ache in Thomas’s chest was unusually persistent. The perfectly clear summer sky that had peacefully occupied the latter half of the day was being slowly replaced by gathering clouds, blowing lazily across the sea toward the Haven shoreline by a breeze careful not to interrupt the stillness of the gentle late-summer heat in the air. Sounds of clean-up from a dinner down on the beach that he hadn’t bothered to attend reached Thomas where he sat on a grassy outcrop not far from Jorge’s radio hut, leant back against a rock with his arms resting on his raised knees and eyes flicking across the horizon in an unfocused manner.
Inside his head, the wind was already picking up. The ceaseless mulling of thoughts that had plagued his brain while he sat was drifting further and further from the peace that surrounded him, only making him feel more out of place.
Why couldn’t he let go?
Why did it always have to be like this?
Why did Newt have to go and leave him?
…and which of his friends would leave him next?
Of course it ended up back at Newt.
Most of Thomas’s grief fell directed at Newt. Especially on days like these. Thoughts of Teresa, Alby or Chuck came in waves, whenever Thomas dove too deep into memories of Wicked, but Thomas just had to stick onto the thought of Newt every day. If it wasn’t so painful, it would have left room for confusion. Why did everything come back to here, to this, to him?
Thomas thought painstakingly over every interaction they had, every day shared together, every sign something was wrong, every thing he could’ve done, if he’d just seen sooner. But he hadn’t. And now it had almost been 2 months. Anything to distract from the way Newt looked at him, as the light left his blackened eyes, branded into Thomas’s brain ever since. Anything to keep Newt’s letter, fastened around his neck, close enough to remember that last time he’d heard the word “Tommy”.
Thomas’s grief for Newt felt deeper than for the others. He was one of this best friends after all. But then again, so was Minho. Minho seemed to have coped better.
It felt now more like wading through a lake of his own unwanted thoughts; sometimes the water reached up to his neck, almost pulling him under, and even on good days it never fully subsided. Each moment he felt close to free, a tiny gust of wind would push a wave into the surface, and he would be lucky if it didn’t knock him back and plunge his whole body under.
This wasn’t something he could create a reckless plan or lead people to fix, this was the root of his life.
The clouds were closer now, and the sounds of bustle around the haven had died down, being replaced by the rushes of stronger nighttime waves and colder wind. Thomas had naturally drawn himself inward to protect from shivering. He would have to get up at some point, but not yet; it felt as if just going about and returning to a normal evening routine would be a disrespect to himself, like he was pretending he felt normal or at home. Slumping down more onto the sparse grass beneath him, he took in the darkening sky as the warmth of the setting sun slowly creeped away. It looked like it might rain tonight.
“Thomas?” A young voice slightly nervously called out, a short distance behind where he rested.
He sat up and turned to be met with the concerned, brown-eyed gaze of one of the haven’s younger residents, a rescue from Wicked named Ayden.
It struck Thomas how he couldn’t be any older than 12. He stood, a significant level shorter than Thomas, with scruffy hair and wearing usual Haven attire. This kid probably wouldn’t have any idea what a life outside of Wicked was like. This could be the first place he’s felt could be safe, without any experience of things like nights in the Glade or the Scorch or fighting off a packed tunnel or mall of cranks. He reminded him of himself, from a long time ago, but now they couldn’t be more different.
“Frypan was worried, said to bring this to you,” Ayden held out a package of what looked like cold leftovers from dinner, shaking slightly like Thomas might suddenly lash out. He must have been staring the poor kid down since he arrived. “He wants you to eat something.”
“Yeah… right.” Thomas stood up to receive the gift, shaking his head to try and clear his mind and stumbling slightly. The package was a small tray wrapped with paper. The food didn’t look appealing: the smell of Frypan’s experimental new fish broth wafting through the silence as Thomas accepted. it was better than nothing.
“Thanks”. And with that, the boy seemed to relax slightly, taking his chance to leave and give Thomas some quiet, trying to pretend he wasn’t glancing back every few seconds to see what Thomas was doing.
—
Rains did come that night. Far sooner than Thomas expected. A few gentle warning droplets fell to remind him to stay awake through the late twilight, at least until he made back under cover, but very quickly what could have stayed as a gentle shower grew into a billowing torrent of unreasonably cold bullets of water.
Thomas was drenched by the time he hiked his way back into the Haven through the growing dark and until he made it under the cover of the central kitchen tent, deserted with the staff having gone to bed. Every step he took left wet footprints on the sheltered sandy ground beneath him.
As it battered against the canvas roofs of each of the haven’s facilities, the wind only grew stronger and stronger, mustering itself into a full-blown storm. Sheets of rain began to drive in up the beach, invading the comfort of the buildings and obscuring the difference between murky sky and deep black ocean lapping up the quickly waterlogged shoreline.
Thomas turned his attention back onto himself, clothes sticking to his skin and dripping water at what felt like the same rate as the sky. Still, he was lucky to have any reprieve at all from the downpour: some smaller tents across the beach already lay bulldozed on the ground unable to protect themselves, leaving an omen for what was likely to happen to most of Haven at this rate. Thomas could only shake his head to throw off the most of the water and resolved that it was unlikely for there to be any dry clothes waiting for him wherever he was going.
It was just as he was turning to brave the route out towards the more protected sleeping quarters - all the way over the beach - when a snap came from one of the tent’s supporting poles.
It cut through the turmoil of the air, halting its momentum and making Thomas freeze. He winced as the sound was followed by another, a deeper grinding as the pole at one of the tent’s corners began to twist against itself under the quickly-formed pressure of attacks from the wind.
Thomas snapped round and went into action. If this fell, the rest was coming with it. Practically leaping over to reach it, he forcefully pressed himself against the pole as a human support.
It worked, and not a second too late.
It hit him that there was nowhere to go from here. Call out, and it would be incredibly unlikely for anyone to hear him over the night’s growing melodrama. Let go, and the whole thing would come crashing down in just a matter of seconds, He was stuck here until the growing weight of water proved the inevitable.
But just as he was considering running, a light cut through the blur of rain, running straight for him, or more likely for the cover, and shining too bright in his eyes. When it finally dropped, letting Thomas see who was holding it, he was met with the out of breath yet deeply concerned face of Brenda.
“You’ve been going out exploring, huh,” She huffed, shaking herself off unceremoniously, “Felt like enjoying this new weather?”
A particularly strong gust came right as he went to respond, causing his stance to falter. So he chose to ignore her sarcasm. “Care to help? I’m struggling a bit here.”
“No shit”, followed by a mutter under her breath about that being an everyday occurrence which Thomas once again pretended not to hear, although he couldn’t hide the wave of sadness it brought him. There was once a time where she would’ve said that to his face.
But at least she was still here now to grab a bundle of rope to tie the pole somewhat back together with, and to drag a crate over to hold it up without his labour.
Once the makeshift supports were in place, Thomas slumped down next to the crate exhaustedly. It must have been past midnight by that point, or at least the darkness made him assume as such. It had felt like about an hour since he left his spot above the beach but in truth it was likely far less. Brenda spent a short while poking up the roof to push water off to delay a collapse after they left. Eventually, she joined Thomas, sitting on the front of the crate.
“This storm really is something,” He turned back to her, although she was too busy staring into the almost pitch black outside the tent.
“You could say that,” She sighed, and paused for a second. “It’s something enough to have to evacuate the whole beach.”
”Ah.” It seemed things were getting more drastic. “And go where?”
“To the forest.” She turned towards Thomas, gathering herself and standing up, “It’ll be better than here, come on. No time to lose and all that.”
Thomas pulled himself off the ground uncomfortably, once again shaking himself off to little effect.
“Let’s go.”
All they could see, feel and hear was rain, weighing them down and obscuring their path, but to Thomas the run through the storm was almost relaxing. It had been a while since he’d actually had the opportunity to do something that felt ‘worth it’. The rush of adrenaline, sharing his experience with a friend, even the slight dread of endangerment to their home added to the familiarity of the running, having a motivation, that he was used to.
Where the interconnected paths around the Haven met up to travel toward the forest, the two found their first sign of fellow life. Gally and a group of younger residents were huddling together as they stumbled along the path, looking as soaked as anything else in view.
“Who’s there?” Gally spun his torch around, breathing a sigh of relief which was interrupted with raising his eyebrows at the sight of Thomas and shooting a glance at Brenda laced with emotion Thomas wasn’t sure he wanted to decipher beyond the obvious pity.
“I see everyone’s accounted for then?” He nodded towards Thomas, barely acknowledging him.
Brenda gave Thomas a pat on the back.
“No one lost yet.”
“Come on, then let’s keep going.”
After a gesture to the others to set off, Gally led the group out across the open grass above the Haven. As they persisted through the wind’s hammering, the shadow-like shape of the forest quickly came into view. Each step felt and sounded like stepping into a marsh. The group was eventually joined by a number of other smaller parties travelling along the pathway closer to the forest, their torches bouncing around as the wind buffeted them from all sides and sticking together in hopes of not getting quite literally blown away by momentous gusts trying to drag down anything that rose above the ground.
What they were met with upon finally reaching the forest was more than Thomas expected. A short distance into the very welcome tree cover they found themselves in a fully developed campsite. The builders had taken advantage of the densely-packed evergreen trees to fasten logs, canvas sheets and any form of roof they could come up with to as many trunks as possible, and their effort was not wasted. Despite the fact there was still water hissing into the ground from the gaps between trees, it was undeniably quite dry. Vince, Minho, Harriet and Frypan were all gathered in the centre of the encampment, watching everyone arrive with varying degrees of nervousness. Upon the arrival of Thomas, Gally and Brenda, they immediately went into action. They gathered around the three and rushed them in. The looks on every face made it clear nothing was going particularly well.
“How many more are still out there?” Gally joined Vince, accepting a towel and following him promptly toward a tent with a low makeshift table to get caught up on the situation. They were joined by Sam, a younger resident who had risen to the leadership role of the Haven’s farming, watching attentively at everything they said with a worried stare. He looked thoroughly out of his depth.
“You’ve been missing for hours, shank,” Minho scolded, which was rare. He didn’t use the word ‘shank’ very lightly, not anymore, but it felt appropriate for Thomas in this moment. “I almost thought the rain had got you for good.”
“So did I, for a bit,” Thomas almost smiled at the chaos of the night, but he hid it by ducking his head down to shake his hair into a towel.
“I found him trapped, holding up a collapsing tent.” Brenda had already taken to arranging her tent a few metres away, turning back every now and then to comment on Thomas’s various predicaments.
Minho chuckled, “Sounds about right,” before throwing a set of admittedly dry-ish clothes at an admittedly drenched Thomas and pointing to a lean-to near his for Thomas to claim as his own. “Go, get changed, can’t sleep looking like that.”
Harriet and Frypan stayed more active in checking up on Thomas, Frypan openly eager to demonstrate his new medical knowledge he’d been taught by Harriet and Sonya. Thomas wasn’t aware he’d been picking up a hobby. The two let him be only after Frypan could be certain Thomas hadn’t scraped himself anywhere along the way out from Haven, or given himself hypothermia while doing so.
Harriet and Minho returned to the tent with Vince, Gally and Sam but after just a few words, the five got up and made their way to Brenda. Their conversation easily reached Thomas in his tent a few steps away despite its hushed tone.
“Brenda?”
“Just give me a minute here, I’m finding something.” She returned offhandedly. Thomas could hear her rustling through her belongings.
“We haven’t seen Jorge.”
The rustling stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“He hasn’t arrived, last we knew he was up at the radio hut.”
“Yeah, he said he’d sleep up there for the night… he hasn’t come back? When it’s like this?” There was once again sound of movement, this time of a scrabbling to back out of her tent and stand up. The suddenly-developed tension in every noise made Thomas scared to breathe. The gap before Brenda spoke again couldn’t have felt longer.
“You’re letting me go back out there to find him?” It was obvious she wasn’t concerned with their answer.
“Unfortunately, but at the very least we won’t send you alone.”
“Well I understand, but pick fast. I can be ready very quickly.”
“We weren’t expecting any less,” Vince sounded simultaneously quite proud at her bravery and worried for her stability. “Gally and I should stay here, there’s a lot going on right now. It’d be good to have some extra help as well.”
“In that case, Harriet and I can join you, right?” Minho stepped forward, presumably to stand with Brenda.
“I’m up for that.”
“And what about Thomas?” Sam piped up. The comfort that had returned to their conversation immediately disappeared. There was a gap before Gally spoke in almost a mumble.
“It wouldn’t be good to stress him any more, long night and all.”
“I don’t know, Gally, maybe this would the right thing for him at the moment, he thrives on adrenaline.” Minho reasoned, his support despite Thomas not being there made him smile.
However, hope was quickly shattered when Vince set his judgement.
“Three is enough, let Thomas rest.”
And like that, the group dissipated into more urgent activity, searching for things that could help their journey and bracing themselves for the things it held. The footsteps of Vince, Gally and Sam walked away, called over by yet another problem with a missing item or to give an affirmation that everything was going be alright. Thomas let out a breath he wished he hadn’t been holding.
“You heard all of that, right?”
Never mind. Just a second later, Thomas, startled, turned back to the opening into the forest to see Minho and Brenda kneeling down to look in, with Harriet standing behind. A slightly mischievous smile played over Minho’s face.
The slight grin spread to Thomas, understanding why they were here.
“What do you think?”
Harriet dropped down into a squat to be able to see Thomas. “I knew it!”
“Yep, come on then, you’ve got a new place to be.”
Piecing together some warm layers, grabbing a flashlight from the pile of his possessions that had been placed in his tent, and accepting a bag from Minho, Thomas prepared himself to venture out as fast as he could. There could be any number of reasons Jorge hadn’t made it, but they needed to be ready for all of them. Fortunately for Brenda’s visibly growing impatience and worry to go, she didn’t have to wait long before they were off running.
The second they made it past the last sheltering tree the weather once again returned to bombard the four in every way it could. There was no running they could do that would take them away from the barrage of icy bullets plummeting from the sky. Still, they pressed on. There wasn’t any room for conversation amidst the battle to actually make it anywhere. However, it was a battle they were winning nonetheless.
Over the crest of sodden grass that led back down to the Haven, most of the current destruction was shrouded by the dark, but what they could see did not make them optimistic. Planks, canvas sheets and other debris were strewn across the path Thomas had taken not too long ago, if he could be sure it was here he had been.
“He’s unlikely to have stayed up there - he’s not that stupid - so where are we actually looking?” Harriet jogged up to beside Brenda as they stopped at a crossroads on the edge of the beach.
“That’s the issue. He may be stubborn but he’ll have left his stuff behind if it came to it. I think I know.”
“Your Berg hangar? It’s not too far from the radio hut. It’s a far more stable shelter than anything over here.” Thomas joined Brenda on the other side, taking an inconclusive look at their current surroundings. It was virtually impossible to see anything besides a dark blur of Haven detritus and enshrouded shapes of hill and ocean. Their torches felt useless.
“Exactly. It’s the best option. If we can make it there.”
So, they set off running again, following the edge of the beach, letting the low bank behind them take the brunt of the storm’s anger and circling round to where the hill met the beach at Brenda’s hangar. If it weren’t for the concern over Jorge or the structural stability of Haven, this part of their journey would’ve been fun. However, maybe that was a sentiment only Thomas felt, as even Minho, the one who taught Thomas to be a runner in the first place, stayed focused and stone-faced as he ran. Not that Thomas could see his face very well. The rain was still relentless, each drop falling with fervent gravity onto Thomas and his companions, trying to push them down. Each billowing gust of wind pushed the never-ending flurry in a different, inconvenient direction, trying to soak its way through all their clothes from every point it could.
But once again they pushed through, pointing flashlights forward as they reached the hangar protruding from under a small overhang in the hill. Here, the wide wooden poles at the outer corners were still standing, and it remained noticeably drier under the cover.
As their movement and torch beams reached the structure, there was a unintelligible shout audible over the wind and rain. It was Jorge; they were right.
“Jorge? We hear you, we’re almost there!” Brenda shouted back, picking up the pace and rushing over to where the shout was from.
Jorge was sat leant against the driest wall, a wet stain surrounding his slumped figure. One of his legs was splayed out and he was waving them over with as much urgency as he could muster.
“We found you, phew… I thought…” Brenda stopped still in front of him, speaking between trying to catch her breath.
“I was starting to get worried I’d been forgotten.” He smiled, but it quickly turned to a wince as he attempted to pull himself more upright.
The group instantly surrounded him, Harriet unpacking a first aid kit and beginning to check over for injuries. However, Jorge held his arm out to stop her.
“It’s my ankle, these paths are not kind.”
“It seems like it’s lot more than your ankle.”
But after a short struggle to get his boots off she grimaced at the unnatural bend it took. “But you might be right that that’s the worst.”
Jorge chuckled, and paused for a second,“It was all I could do to drag myself under here.”
“No, no, you did what was smartest, we’ll try and get you back anyway.” Thomas stood behind the others, who were getting to work with bandaging and disinfecting, already planning their next move. The most obvious solution would be carry him in a makeshift stretcher, however much of a struggle it would be. This shelter would only last so long in the conditions it faced.
“If I know you Thomas, you’ll want to drag me physically all the way back, eh?” He chuckled again, yet this one held even less amusement.
“I don’t see what else we could do.”
Harriet finished wrapping the very broken ankle into place, handing the significantly thinner roll of bandage back to Brenda, who after placing it away, came to stand with Thomas, “Maybe keep thinking then, doesn’t sound like a very strong plan on its own.”
Thomas waved her away. “You can do some thinking too, that’s all we’ve got.”
Harriet turned back to Jorge. “There. That should keep it in place, and there’s a cold compress around the wound to reduce swelling. There’ll certainly be no walking for you for a long while. That being said, think you can stand?”
He attempted, and stumbled back into a supporting Minho. Any time the slightest pressure came upon his foot he cursed almost inaudibly, but he insisted, “I’ve dealt with worse.”
In the end it was decided carrying him was indeed the best option, and he agreed with little protest. The four wasted no time in fashioning a stretcher, made up of two poles from a short way outside the tent and a bed from another, long-gone tent’s roof, which Jorge uncomfortably settled onto. It was carried by Brenda and Minho, while Thomas and Harriet did their best to both shelter him from the unbridled force of the rain and navigate through the indiscernible maze of collapsed buildings and their scattered contents.
Despite or perhaps due to this more complicated situation, the way back along the beach went a lot faster than the way there. The apprehension and worry over Jorge’s condition had been replaced by pure focus on the way ahead, on making it back. Brenda had become noticeably more relaxed than when Thomas first met up with her that night, now more confident in where she was going and what she had to do. But still, a new dilemma hung over all five of them as they looked past the ongoing destruction: where could Haven go from here?
That dilemma, nevertheless, was a problem for the morning, or at least when the storm had calmed itself more. Thomas led the group of the beach as they reached that same intersection of paths and began the constant struggle not to sink into the growing mud underneath the grass. As they trudged along, there were a few moments where the stretcher almost tipped or fell, but they never gave, all the way across the plain in what would hopefully be the final journey of the night back to the forest.
The dim yellow lights of lanterns and torches within the camp were a much needed change from the deep blue-grey of the night. Thomas hadn’t thought it possible to be even wetter than when he arrived for the first time, although evidently he had been mistaken. But this wasn’t the time to stop and dry. Upon arrival they were instantly greeted by Sonya, instructing the stretcher over to a temporary medical centre where she and the other medics of Haven could monitor Jorge more closely.
“Well I see you made it.” Vince strolled over from the central tent, his look of pride faltering slightly to confusion at the sight of Thomas, but after a second, he accepted and his pride returned in full force. “Quicker than expected as well.”
“He hadn’t gone far.” Minho sighed, a clear relief to be done with the mission emanating through the space.
“Still, our simple life at Haven hasn’t dampened you at all. That was no easy rescue task.” he almost looked satisfied, but then his smile faded, “there is a lot we need to talk about tomorrow, how’s it doing out there?”
“Not good, in any way.” Thomas recalled each and every area rendered unusable by a short few hours of wind and rain. It was almost all of them.
“The hangar was pretty much the only place left upright. We’ll have lost a lot of resources.” Minho added.
“About what I guessed, unfortunately. Let’s wait until sunrise then it should be easier to assess. So be ready. Thanks, you two.” Dismissing them, Vince turned his attention over to Jorge, checking out how he was doing. Thomas and Minho stood there for a second, exhausted and still dripping. Thomas shot Minho a look filled with pure fatigue, and the two returned back to their tents in the last hunt for dry clothes and any form of bed to sleep on.
—
The early morning activity forced Thomas awake. A short night of restless turning on hard ground had made sure this was not due to being well-rested.
Turning over lazily, the world slowly faded into view. There were low grey shafts of light filtering through the trees and into his tent, and more prominently, there was no more storm. But this didn’t mean it was likely to be a calmer day ahead, in fact there were many signs pointing to the opposite.
He sat up, eyes reluctant to stay open, and truly took in the new day. The absence of an endless rush of rain and the wind gentle, as if nothing had ever happened, made the low level talking across the camp and far off noise of the ocean seem all the more peaceful. It reminded him of the first day he woke up in Haven. The way the light fell on his surroundings and earth was settled beneath him held that same empty feeling, like the rain that fell washed away all the colour and texture throughout the night. And like that day, Thomas just had to get up and move on.
So eventually he did. At least this morning every step wasn’t a splash and every piece of clothing wasn’t sticking to him. Well, not as much.
Dragging himself out of his tent, the first view of the camp in daylight did not make him look forward to seeing the place this was seen as the escape from. It was no more of a sprawling mess than it had been last night, but the scattering of various logs, sheets and supplies only stood out more when the gloom couldn’t hide it.
Making his way along the short walk between all the tents to the shelter at the centre, Thomas saw he still managed to be the last one up, besides Minho. Brenda, Vince, Gally, Harriet, Sonya, Aris and Frypan all stood around the main table, waiting to begin what Thomas assumed was a mandatory meeting.
There had been many of these meetings throughout their life so far in Haven, discussing farming, management of areas, new buildings and projects, yet Thomas found the arrangement very different to what planning meetings had been in the scorch. He now often found himself contributing the least, unable to focus, or finding an excuse to leave early.
But the look on everyone’s faces in this meeting reminded him of those meetings before. The air had shifted since he was last awake.
At the sight of Thomas, Vince waved him over and gestured them all to sit down on the bulky logs used as benches around the table, placing himself stood at the end.
“I was just thinking I’d have to send someone to wake you Thomas.” Vince said with a slight smile.
“Hey, what about Minho? He’s not even here yet,” Thomas retorted.
“Already out on a run, what do you think? He was up even before me.”
“Don’t know why I even questioned it.” Thomas sighed, but he was still undeniably impressed at Minho’s resilience.
Vince quickly moved on with a haste atypical even for him.
“Now I know it’s been only a few short hours since I last spoke to any of you, but I think you all understand we’re under pressure here. An unprecedented storm appears, breaks down and washes away all our stuff, injures multiple people, we need to take our opportunities where we can get them.
The first priority is to assess the damage we’ve faced. Once Minho returns from his run, he’ll give us an overview and then we can take a look for ourselves, but for now this camp needs some organising. Anything we don’t keep track of will be wasted.”
“That’s great, but like, what’s the point? This is all just damage control.” Frypan reasoned, cutting in before Vince continued.
“Fry, I think that’s all we can do right now, it’s hard to know until we see what’s happened.” Vince’s voice lost its brash speech-like tone for a second, but his energy stayed the same.
“We already know there’s not much left.” Brenda also cut in from the other side of the table.
“We saw it before that wind had had its chance to finish the job, and even then would’ve left us rationing and stranded.” Harriet seconded her.
“Yeah it’s starting to seem more like ‘rationing and stranded’ is exactly what we are.” Leaning down, elbows onto the table and resting his chin on his hand, Vince became more deep in thought. After a second of silence among the group, he came to mental resolution. “We need to go and look for ourselves now. Minho can meet us along the way.”
There were a number of tense but accepting nods from around the table.
Leaving the tent in an apprehensive silence, the group passed by a few of the other residents on their way out the forest. Gally passed on instructions, to keep the camp running while they left, in a quiet manner, and it wasn’t long before they emerged once again from the trees and out onto the open marshland that was once a plain of hard sandy dirt. Without the overbearing darkness and barrage of rain, the open space felt vast and quiet in a way it never would on any other identical morning.
Coming over the crest down to the beach, they finally could see, amidst gasping at the sight, Haven as it stood.
Or more aptly, as it sank.
Almost nothing had stayed upright. The tents were now nothing more than overlapping mounds on the sand, with what were likely the only kept resources trapped under their torn canvas fabrics. Everything still looked as wet as if the sun had never come out, and the ocean was merciless in keeping it that way. Many objects from across the Haven had made their way down to the waterline, there were poles and benches visible drifting on the surface of the ocean itself, and the tide hadn’t even finished coming in.
It felt like an age that they all stood there, mouths agape and a pit in Thomas’s stomach that only kept dropping lower and lower each second. He spotted where his hammock was just yesterday, now indiscernible among the rags spread along and caked in the damp sand. Even Brenda’s hangar, sheltered by the hill, had given way, slumping against its back wall in defeat.
“One night…” The words escaped Sonya’s mouth, and they seemed to ring in everyone’s ears. Everything they worked for gone in one night. It only made Thomas feel more empty, numb to the overbearing tired anger sweeping the group, at least until Gally opened his mouth.
“It’s taken the monument.”
Thomas’s breath cut short in his throat. He was right. Where the monument once stood, centrepiece to the beach, was a slight indent where the wind had knocked the stone out of the sand, carrying the names of everyone lost with it. It was nowhere to be seen.
Of all the things to be destroyed, they would rather the night had take anything else.
“How can we tell this to the others?” Vince could barely get the words out.
“We’ll need everyone out here just to salvage anything.” A collective disbelief lay on everyone.
“We’ll need everyone out here to find the stone.” Brenda had at some point moved to sit down on the ground, ignoring the mud and dirt. “It has to still be close by under the water.”
“How are we going to last here?” Moving from speechlessness to worry, Harriet was the first to say what they’d all begun to think.
“I don’t know.” Vince said solemnly.
There was a long pause, as the group stayed frozen from moving from their spot, still captivated in soul-crushing horror.
“We’re need to return to the mainland.”