chapter eight

                                    

                                          
"Winston, no!"
The boy face-planted into the sand as Bea rushed to his side and flipped him over, immediately regretting letting go of his hand. The rest of the group instantly rushed to his side, shaking him to get a response out of him.
"Winston! Hey, Winston," Thomas called out worriedly, shaking his side. The poor boy was to ill to even let out a single word, all that came from his mouth was heavy breaths as he was now incredibly struggling to breath. Bea cupped his cheek, rotating his head upwards so his windpipe had more access to air.
"He's hurt pretty bad," Thomas concluded, running a hand through his hair.
"What do we do?" Teresa asked, directing her question to Thomas. Bea stood up, shielding the sun from her eyes as she looked for something around them that could help Winston. Her eyes fell onto a pile of junk, however to them, the items on this pile were very useful. She locked eyes with Thomas and they nodded at each other making a bolt for the pile as the rest of the group tried to get a response out of Winston
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Out of the pile of junk, Beatrice and Thomas had built a temporary stretcher from sticks, rope, a blanket, and an old sleeping bag. It was surprisingly sturdy and carried Winston's weight well. The group took it in turns holding the stick at the front, two people at a time, to carry him across the scorch. 
At the moment, Frypan and Minho were taking their shift pulling Winston and Bea was at the front walking next to Thomas. It was considerably quiet apart from the odd person asking how far away from the mountains they were or checking in on Winston.
"Do you think he's gonna be okay?" Bea asked softly to Thomas, referring to Winston. The brunette boy turned to look at her and sighed but he had a hopeful look in his eyes.
"He has to," he replied, "We've already lost so many people, we can't lose any more."
The response shut Bea up. She wondered what it must have been like living in a Maze with no memories of your life prior to it. And in addition to all of that, watching your friends die all the time - she knew she wouldn't have been able to cope.
They walked for miles and miles and as they reached a steeper downwards sleep, it became more difficult to carry Winston.
"Hey Thomas, can you grab his legs?" Minho asked the boy who was carrying Winston's upper half with Newt to which the brunette boy nodded and grabbed his legs. Using her initiative, Bea grabbed the stretcher, and held it on her shoulder just incase they reached flatter ground and were able to carry him again. 
Bea was terribly wrong.
Walking on flat ground was so much harder than the slopes they were on before. Although it was less bumpy, the wind hand picked up a lot making it impossible to see. Sand was flying into there faces, eyes, nose, mouth, into any hole from any direction.
A hand appeared in Bea's view and she saw Teresa handing a bandana to her. Bea smiled at her and gratefully took it, wrapping it around her nose and mouth but still used her hand to shield her eyes. She walked like this for another mile until it became unbearable.
"We gotta find shelter," Thomas yelled so everybody could hear him over the wind
"No shit Thomas," Bea shouted back, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
---
The wind had finally calmed.
After a few minutes of looking, they had found a fallen, stone pillar which they used as a shelter. It shielded the sand from hitting them and having direct contact with the scorching sun - although it was still boiling hot due to the humidity.