Through The Gates Of Hell

Getting Hit By Lightning Is Very Festive

Lightning splits the sky,

Minho's concern, "Hair alright?"

Laughs, relief inside

Y/N's P.O.V

That night, our small group, now one person less, turned in under a collapsed building forming a cave, hopefully not inhabited by cannibals. We had managed to get a small fire started with some wood, because while hot in the day, the Scorch became as cold as the ninth circle of hell.

"Weren't we all supposed to be immune. Was that another shucking lie as well?"

"Not all of us, I guess," Teresa said, her eyes roving the group, her eyes coming to rest briefly on me, and then on Newt.   

It was the blond haired boy who spoke next, his accent thick. "If Winston got infected, we have to assume that the rest of us can, too." 

The group let out a small hum of assent. 

Glancing up from the flickering heart of the fire momentarily, I was met by a pair of earthy brown eyes. Startled, a deer in headlights, heat rushed into my cheeks and I looked away, losing thread of the conversation as it tapered off. 

Silence pressed against my ears, punctured only by the greedy crackle of the flames. Teresa drifted off, then Aris, and Frypan, until I was the only one left awake. 

Or so I thought. 

A figure I thought was slumbering lifted itself off the ground, and slowly limped out, towards the entrance of the cave.

Newt.

Where is he going? Is he making a run for it? Should I follow him? I'm following him.

Stealthily, I got up and tip-toed out of the cave, glancing behind to make sure nobody had woken up in my wake, and walked right out into a pillar of warmth. 

For the second time in as many days, strong, muscled arms braced me. Newt let out a rich, raspy chuckle of amusement as I let out a surprised peep.

"Going somewhere, Y/N?"

I nearly melted. Gods above, the way he said my name, with his accent and-- 

Woah. What was happening to me?

"I might ask you the same question." I attempted to regain my composure and say the words with a sense on nonchalance. I was 99.9% sure I failed at both.

"I wasn't going anywhere," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Just needed a breath of fresh air. It was too bloody hot in that cave. Were you, by any chance, following me, Y/N?"

"Of course I wasn't."

He smiled knowingly, and for a while, we just stood there, looking out at the stars. 

"Where d'you think you'd be if we hadn't met?"

"What?" The Brit was thrown off by my entirely random question.

I shrugged. "Just curious. I'd probably be alone out here. I was just desperate to get out of that place, you know what I mean. I'd been there three weeks. Something was off."

"I'd probably be dead. You saved us, Y/N. All seven of us. Well, six now. But..." He trailed of, letting his voice hang in the quiet, still twilight.

His words brought up a fresh wave of memories and tears. 

"How did you know you had to do it?" I whispered quietly. I'd been almost scared to bring up the topic, but what he'd done this afternoon with Winston, had been so brave. 

He cast me a sideways glance, as though taking my measure. I sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes roved my body. The feeling was new, novel and unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. A pleasantly warm tingle ran up my spine and my stomach fluttered as he bit his lip. 

He looked out at the desert again and sighed. "One thing you learn from leading an entire group of fifty boys for three years? It's that there will be sacrifices that nobody is willing to make. An' sometimes, you need to do it yourself. I've known all of those slintheads except for Tommy my entire life, including Win. I didn't want to do it, Y/N. But I had to. He was my friend, but he was in pain. I did what he wanted me too. He would have done the same for me." 

His voice was flat and distant, and I wondered what his story was. Not his group's. His. What had he felt out there? How had he coped with it? There was something dark and turbulent behind his stoic calm. There had to be. But how was I going to get to it?

"I'm gonna hit the hay now. You should, too. We've got a lot of walking to do." And without another word, he marched back into the cave, leaving me feeling a little alone.

Newt's P.O.V

The day after my midnight talk with Y/N was relatively uneventful. We trudged through the dirt, towards the mountains where, hopefully, we'd find the bloody Left Leg or whatever the shuck it was called. We took breaks every two or three hours, although we had no real way to keep track of time other than by the slant of the sun. Ironically, the more we walked, the smaller and more distant the ranges seemed to get. By the end of the day, when we settled down on the cold, hard ground, we'd run through half our supplies.  

Everybody seemed to be silent and withdrawn, lost in their own thoughts. Mourning, I supposed. I drifted off quickly that night -- unlike the previous two nights, I was drained. 

After what seemed like 3 seconds, I woke up to pitch black darkness and Tommy's panicked voice. He'd seen lights in a building a few metres away.

We'd made it. We'd found the Right Leg or whatever. 

That was when a fork of lightning split the sky, and struck a spot behind us. 

"Run!" Teresa, Ms. Obvious screamed. 

And run we did, with me dragging my bad leg behind, making sure a certain Y/H/C girl was ahead of me. We had nearly reached the compound when we heard a tremendous bang and Thomas' yell. 

The bloody lightning had hit Minho.

Without hesitating, I turned my back on the shelter and ran back to my friend of 3 years, one of the few remaining people who'd supported me for as long as I could remember. As one unit with Tommy, we hauled his smoking body off the ground and dragged him towards the shelter. Y/N, Aris and Teresa had already made it inside, and Frypan held the door open for us as and yelled encouragingly as we staggered towards him. 

As we pulled Min's sorry arse over the threshold, Fry pulled the door shut behind us, throwing us into utter blackness. 

"Flashlight."

 A shaking hand fumbled on the torch as I shook Minho, slapping him gently (gently? Who am I kidding?), trying, internally begging him to open his eyes. Anything to hear his snarky voice drop another highly unnecessary but still ridiculous comment. I couldn't lose somebody else. Not again. Not after Alby, Chuck, Gally, Ben, Timmy and Winston. Not Minho. Please, please not Minho. 

And at last, almost as if he'd heard my prayers, the Asian boy cracked open his eyes, squinting against the bright light of the flashlight. "What happened?" he croaked out, his throat parched from dehydration and the lightning that had just struck him five minutes ago.

"Lightning. The lightning hit you."

"Oh. Oh shuck. Is my hair okay? Newt, am I still looking good. Tell me!"

I laughed. Of course the only thing Minho would be worried about after being struck by lightning. Around me, my friends joined in, and we all just giggled over the ludicrousness of the situation.  

 We'd done it. We had found the Right Arm. We were going to be all right. A small, nearly insignificant spark of an emotion lit itself in my chest. 

Hope.

Of course, Teresa, had to ruin it by screeching like a bloody banshee.

AHhahaHhaahaaHhAHHAHA. 

But fr. Minho is our Queen, and he would be worried about his hair after getting struck by lightning. 

I'm hilarious, aren't I?