Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 3

Thomas and I kept walking for several moments, trying to find Chuck. As we were walking, I looked over at the haggard building. A group of boys had milled around outside, glancing anxiously at the upper windows as if they expected a hideous beast to leap out in an explosion of glass and wood.

A metallic clicking sound from the branches above grabbed my attention, along with Thomas', making us look up; a flash of silver and red light caught my eyes just before disappearing around the trunk to the other side of the tree.

I got distracted and walked around the tree, craning my neck for a sign of whatever I heard, but I saw only bare branches, gray and brown, forking out like skeleton fingers—and looking just as alive.

"That was one of them beetle blades," someone said.

I turned to my right to see a kid standing nearby, short and pudgy, staring at him. He was young—probably the youngest of any in the group I'd seen so far, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. His brown hair hung down over his ears and neck, scraping the tops of his shoulders. Blue eyes shone through an otherwise pitiful face, flabby and flushed.

Thomas nodded at him. "A beetle what?"

"Beetle blade," the boy said, pointing to the top of the tree. "Won't hurt ya unless you're stupid enough to touch one of them." He paused. "Shank." He didn't sound comfortable saying the last word, as if he hadn't quite grasped the slang of the Glade.

Another scream, this one long and nerve-grinding, tore through the air and my heart lurched. The fear was like icy dew on my skin. "What's going on over there?" I asked, pointing at the building.

"Don't know," the chubby boy replied; his voice still carried the high pitch of childhood. "Ben's in there, sicker than a dog. They got him."

"They?" I didn't like the malicious way the boy had said the word.

"Yeah."

"Who are they?" Thomas asked.

"Better hope you never find out," the kid answered, looking far too comfortable for the situation. He held out his hand. "My name's Chuck. I was the Greenbean until you two showed up."

This is my guide for the night?

Nothing made sense; my head hurt.

"Why is everyone calling us Greenbean?" Thomas asked, shaking Chuck's hand quickly, then letting go.

I didn't shake his hand, I didn't want to.

"Cuz you two are the newest Newbies." Chuck pointed at me and Thomas and laughed. Another scream came from the house, a sound like a starving animal being tortured.

"How can you be laughing?" Thomas asked, horrified by the noise. "It sounds like someone's dying in there."

"He'll be okay. No one dies if they make it back in time to get the Serum. It's all or nothing. Dead or not dead. Just hurts a lot."

"What hurts a lot?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

Chuck's eyes wandered as if he wasn't sure what to say. "Um, gettin' stung by the Grievers."

"Grievers?" I was only getting more and more confused.

Stung.

Grievers.

The words had a heavy weight of dread to them, and suddenly I wasn't so sure I wanted to know what Chuck was talking about.

Chuck shrugged, then looked away, eyes rolling.

I sighed in frustration as Thomas leaned back against a tree. "Looks like you barely know more than I do," I spat, but I knew it wasn't true. My memory loss was strange. I mostly remembered the workings of the world—but emptied of specifics, faces, names. Like a book completely intact but missing one word in every dozen, making it a miserable and confusing read. I didn't even know my age. "Chuck, how . . . old do you think I am?"