𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 - 𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘛𝘏 𝘊𝘜𝘙𝘌

7 ~ barney and clark

Newt

There was a dust cloud on the horizon.

I had been traveling for days. I was hungry. I was thirsty. I was tired. I was in the desert again.

But there was a dust cloud on the horizon. And making the dust cloud was a truck. A singular truck, racing straight towards me. I knew I had to run, but my brain was struggling with which way to go. If I ran toward the truck, it could help me. The driver could possibly be kind enough to give me a ride. But if I ran away, it would be less of a risk.

In the end, I just stood still. The truck eventually screeched to a stop in front of me, causing sand to fly into my mouth, making me cough. The window rolled down to reveal a driver, who was staring straight ahead with his face completely covered by a ski mask, and a man in the passenger's seat. He had a long, scraggly beard, a baseball cap, and a thick flannel on. He was also holding a gun. It was pointed at my forehead.

I flinched. I should have run the other way. Instinctively, I put my hands in the air.

"Who are you?" The man demanded.

"Newt." I never knew how quickly you could answer a question with a gun in your face.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I ran away," I sputtered, not realizing in the moment that the sentence made me sound like a toddler. "I'm tired of hurting people." Apparently having a gun pointed at you makes you extremely honest as well.

The man with the gun looked confused but shook it off immediately. "Have you been tested?"

"T-tested?" I asked.

"For the Flare," the man snapped impatiently. I hesitated. No, technically I hadn't been tested. But I knew I had it, and I think he knew too. I was aware of how ill I must have looked. I swallowed.

"What do you do to people who have it?"

The man was getting impatient now, and so was the truck driver. He kept drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Well, obviously, since we work at the Crank Palace, we take them there," said the man, rolling his eyes. He pointed at the outside of his door, where there was a chipped logo that was barely legible. I could assume what it read, though.

I froze. "The Crank Palace?"

"Uh huh. Now are you tested or not?"

I just stared openmouthed. "Can you take me there?"

"What?"

"To the Crank Palace. I'm not Immune, and I know I have the Flare. Please, just take me there. I want to go, that's where I'm headed anyway." I spat out my story, pleading with the men to do what I asked.

"You want to go?" The driver spoke for the first time. I could tell that beneath the mask he had his eyebrows raised at me.

"Yes, please. I can't-" my voice broke, and I tried again. "I can't hurt anyone again."

The men's eyes filled with pity. "Uh... yeah, I suppose we could take you," said the man in the passenger's seat. "You'll have to sit in the back, though." He jerked a thumb behind him, where the back of the truck was closed off from the rest with plexiglass. Supposedly to keep Infected people from attacking the drivers by accident.

I sighed in relief. "That's fine. Thank you." The back door clicked, meaning it was unlocked. I climbed in, groaning at how nice it felt to sit down. It had been a long few days.

"Are you sure about this?" The driver asked.

"More than sure. Besides, I have the Flare. You'd have to take me there anyway."