We All Have Scars

2

What was taking so long? What was Jorge doing? I knew it had only been a minute or two, but I couldn't help but start fidgeting, changing my position ever so slightly, hopping from one foot to another. 

"Need a klunk?" Minho asked. 

"No!" I snapped, then after a while "What the hell's a klunk?"

All the intruders scoffed at me, as if it was some inside joke or something. 

"What?" I asked, getting frustrated. 

"Nothing." The British one said. "It's just a word we made up."

"Oh." I muttered, a slight blush creeping up my face. 

"Name's Newt, and you are?" He questioned. I looked at Brenda to see if it was okay to tell him, she nodded slightly. 

"Isobel."

"Pretty name."

"Thanks, what about Newt, that's...interesting, what's the story behind that?"

"Newton."

"Sorry, what?"

"Isaac Newton, it's who I'm named after." He muttered. 

"Oh, it suits you."

"Really? I'm just named after some dead guy."

"Scientist, actually, and I think it's an honour. To be named after someone means you're worthy of that name, and Newton was pretty important."

"What ya trying to say?"

"You work it out." I smirked with a newfound confidence, then spun on my foot to turn around. "Bren, I'm just going for a couple of minutes. Be right back."

"Kay."

I left and went down the corridor to Jorge's room. I know it's bad to eavesdrop, but I want to know what their story is. 

I crouched down by the door and listened. 

"We used to be a group of about fifty guys. And... A girl." Who's this girl, and where was she now? "Now we're down to eleven. I don't know all the details, but WICKED is some kind of organisation that's doing a whole load of nasty things to us for some reason. We started in a place called the Glade, inside a stone maze, surrounded by these creatures called Grievers."

What's a griever?

And so he told Jorge everything. What it had been like inside this maze, how they'd escaped, how they'd thought they were safe, how it ended up being just another layer of the WICKED plan. He told him about a man in a white suit, and the mission he'd sent them on: to survive long enough to make it one hundred miles north, tho a place he referred to as a safe haven. He related how they'd gone down a long tunnel, been attack by flying silver goop, made the trek across the initial miles of their journey. 

He told Jorge the whole story. He kept on rambling on and on, as if he couldn't think of what else to do. 

"So there must be something special about us," he said, trying to finally wrap things up. "They can't be doing this just to be nasty. What'd be the point?"

"Speaking of points," Jorge responded, the first he'd spoken in at least ten minutes, the allotted time already gone. "What's yours?"

The boy waited. This was it. This was his chance to say the right thing and not get him and his friends killed. 

"Well?" Jorge pushed. 

He went for it. "If you... help us... I mean, if you, or maybe just a few of you, go with us and help us make it to the safe haven..."