The Inventor

Chapter Sixty One; "How could peace happen to quickly?"

Two hours of silence, chasing raindrops with your eyes and finding yourself free space on the bus. You were hoping to spend this time debating whether or not you trusted these people. They had rescued you but what for? Then you would be forced to circle around to what the women had said. You had forgotten her name already.

But, you didn't think of this. You sat in mental torture, replaying over and over the countless ways that Chuck could have been spared. And there were many different outcomes you could come up with. The lady in the chamber, you should have killed her instantly. Knocked Gally out cold when he mentioned being controlled. Should have kept Chuck behind you, prevented him from jumping in front of the blade.

As cruel as it was, you would much rather have Chuck sitting here instead of Thomas, it would be less grief to bear. The mourning wouldn't claw at you as much.

You kept your head in your hands, looking down so nobody near could catch a glimpse at your agony. Your jaw was clenched, pressing cloth to your cheeks so it would catch any drops of shame that fell from your eyes. Every few blinks one would fall on the floor like rain.

Suddenly, the bus came to a halt, you could hear people rise from their seats while you rubbed your eyes to clear your head. You cleared your throat multiple times, staring only at the floor and not the people walking passed.

Only when a pair of working boots stopped in your vision did you glance up. Newt stood there, hair damp but clothes dry because he had been the only one sensible enough to bring a coat around. It was swamp green with a soft collar, he came up in the box with it.

He held out his hand, two men stopping in the aisle next to him, waiting to usher us out.

Without a second thought you took his hand and let him pull you up, walking in front of him down the aisle and out into a muddy parking lot. In the middle was a building, hard to make out how tall in the heavy rain but there were rows of windows. Not that much light would be getting through in this weather.

A group made up of your "rescuers" escorted nineteen gladers into the building and up a flight of stairs. The sloshing and squeaking of wet shoes against smooth flooring made you cringe.

You were shuffled into a large dormitory, bunk beds lining the walls and on the other side of them were tables and dressers. The windows were covered by curtains, no light even peeking through a slide as you had guessed.

Strangely, the room puts you on edge, it was too bright and colorful, unlike the dull colored glade. It was too good to be your new reality, the cozy looking beds with their nice dressers.

"Have I been shucked and sent to heaven?" Minho asked in awe.

Your eyes bugged when nine people, who must be staff, entered the room. Dressed in the same color coordination as the women in the chamber. You walked forward threateningly but one man held up his hand to you.

"We are not of Wicked," He said, as if reading your mind, "This is what we wear here, you will get a clean pair of clothes tomorrow with the same attire."

"Somethings off," You announced, "Where are we? And what exactly do you want from us?"

A few boys groaned and you threw your hands up in the air, ready to argue with each of them but the worker stopped you.

"Questions will be answered after you have showered, changed, eaten and got a good night's rest, I assure you," He promised.

"I don't-" Newt gripped your arm, giving you a stern look.

"Why would they be helping us if they were with Wicked?" He asked.

"I don't know but something isn't right-"