World Gone Mad (TMR fic 3)

Chapter 35

Newt and I run – well, I run and he stumbles – towards the sound of boots tramping up the gangplank. They must have forced it open. It's clearly not our friends. We're in danger. Has WICKED found us again?

Newt grabs his trusty broom handle and hands it to me. We glance at each other before stepping up to the doorway of the hold, knowing we might have to fight.

Three men with makeshift gas masks look up at me. Two of them have guns. Not Launchers, but actual weapons. Sawed-off shotguns. They're only a few feet away from us at the base of the stairs, and my hands grow cold.

"What do you want?" I ask, trying to sound like I have every right to be here. I do, but when those shotguns are lazily pointed at the floor, ready to be swung up into firing position, I'm having trouble believing that they'll let us off easily.

"Looking for 'Munies," the unarmed one in the back answers. "You, I guess."

I glance up at Newt for a heartbeat. Going against three of them... the broom isn't going to be enough.

He's staring into my eyes with an eerie calmness. It's as if he knows what is about to happen, as if he's accepted it a long time ago.

Then he turns to the invaders. "I'm not immune, and I'm sick."

The two armed ones pull back slightly, but the leader doesn't move. "Alright. We'll take care of you, too." He nods his head at the others. "Grab the girl."

I hold still as if in surrender as they begin to climb, but I have no intention of behaving. I don't want to know what them "taking care" of Newt will involve. As the first one comes close and reaches towards me, I lash out with the broom handle.

I manage to land a hard blow to his face. Clearly he wasn't expecting a girl my age to be so ruthless. I scramble to grab his gun, letting the broom drop as he tries to recover his defense.

Newt punches the man from beside me, and I wrench the shotgun out of his hands. His companion pushes up beside him on the stairs.

I have the gun set against my shoulder, but before I can fire or even lift the barrel the man has his shotgun aimed at the side of Newt's head.

It's too far from him for Newt to push the barrel aside, and the shot from this distance will be horrifically lethal.

"One wrong move, girlie, and your Crank here dies."

I'm frozen in place. I can kill them. I have a gun, and I have the strength to do it. I proved that in WICKED. If I lift my gun and fire, I can stop them. They'll shoot Newt before I can prevent it, but if I let him die I can save myself.

As for Newt... our time is up. We both know that. Our time is up, and his death could protect me from these men. Without him I could head into Denver, go and find the others... That's all he wants for me. Safety.

I stare at him, at the Glader I have come to love, and he nods. Just a little, barely noticeable, but he nods.

He's ready.

It's up to me, now.