six feet under

PROLOGUE

Don't kill me, just help me run away

From everyone I need a place to stay

Where I can cover up my face

Don't cry, I am just a freak

"Freaks" - Surf Curse

The end was beginning. Newt had started to come to terms with that. He wondered for a second if his friends could tell it too – but of course they could. He had just got into a fight with Minho, pulling the group apart when they needed to rely on each other the most. He regretted it the very second he had thrown his fist on his friend's face, but there was no point in making excuses, although Newt had a very good one. Yet there was no point either in pretending that the Flare had not made itself a nest in his brain.

"Just shut it," the blond said. All he wanted to do was to stay here, sitting on the ground, leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes so he would escape the way Tommy looked at him. A look that was beyond worry – it was fear. That made Newt feel absolutely miserable. The second thing he read in his friend's eyes made it even worse. Despair.

So that was it. Both of them knew what ordeal was waiting for them, and this time, they wouldn't escape it. But Newt had to make it his ordeal. His friends had suffered enough, and with WICKED on their heels, it probably wasn't over. The least he could do for them, for Tommy, was to spare them from watching him turn into a Crank. It wasn't like he wanted them to anyway.

"I know something started in my head," Newt continued. "I don't feel right. But you don't have to worry your buggin' panties off. Give me a second and I'll be fine. We'll get you guys out of here and then I can deal."

Give me a second and I'll be fine was probably the biggest lie he ever told, and he knew Thomas wouldn't be fooled by it. He just hoped he would play along. Newt didn't want to talk about it, what he wanted was for everything to be normal. He almost smiled at the thought of it: he had actually no idea what a normal life felt like, and neither did Thomas, Minho, or any of the Gladers. All thanks to WICKED.

"What do you mean, get you guys out ?"

All of a sudden, the anger came back, like if someone had started a fire inside of him. Couldn't Thomas see how low he was right now ? Of course not. He was immune. They were all immune. Except Newt. They would never understand what it felt like. Losing themselves to the bloody virus, losing control over their own thoughts and actions, craving for harming their best friends. Newt knew leaving was the right thing to do. It was what would be best for them, even though it was breaking Newt's heart. And still, Tommy wouldn't let him. Like it wasn't a hard enough decision to take for him in the first place. Clearly Tommy thought he could still do something for him. Save the day once again, give them all the happy ending they dreamed of. But Newt couldn't be saved. He would end up crazy, his brain eaten by disease, not remembering the people who meant the world for him. Hurting them. Maybe killing them. Then, and only then, he would die. If Newt could see the truth, why couldn't Thomas do the same ?

Newt's head was filled with an urge to punch Thomas just as he did with Minho a few minutes ago. He clenched his fists. But all at once, the anger left, leaving Newt shaking at the thought of what just happened. It didn't last more than a few seconds, but it left the blond feeling drained. The only feeling left in his heart was one he was quite familiar with – guilt. He tried to pull himself together as he replied, his voice a little shaky :

"Get us out, whatever. Just give me a bloody minute."

"Fine. But you know we can't waste any more time. Brenda's gathering ammo. You'll need to help her carry it to the Berg hangar."