Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 41

I refused to talk to anyone the rest of the day.

Newt tried several times. But I kept telling him I didn't feel good, that I just wanted to be alone and sleep in my spot behind the forest, maybe spend some time thinking. Try to discover a hidden secret within my mind that would help them know what to do.

But in truth, I was psyching myself up for what I had planned for that evening, convincing myself it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. Plus, I was absolutely terrified and I didn't want the others to notice.

Eventually, when my watch showed that evening had arrived, I went to the Homestead with everyone else. I barely noticed I'd been hungry until I started eating Frypan's hastily prepared meal of biscuits and tomato soup.

And then it was time for another sleepless night.

The Builders had boarded up the gaping holes left by the monsters who'd carried off Gally and Adam. The end result looked to me like an army of drunk guys had done the work, but it was solid enough. Newt and Alby, who finally felt well enough to walk around again, his head heavily bandaged, insisted on a plan for everyone to rotate where they slept each night.

I ended up in the large living room on the bottom floor of the Homestead with the same people I had slept with two nights before. Silence settled over the room quickly, though I didn't know if it was because people were actually asleep or just scared, quietly hoping against hope the Grievers didn't come again. Unlike two nights ago, Teresa was allowed to stay in the building with the rest of the Gladers.

Newt was near me , curled up in two blankets. Somehow, I could sense that he was sleeping. Actually sleeping.

I certainly couldn't sleep, even though I knew my body needed it desperately. I tried—I tried so hard to keep my eyes closed, force myself to relax. But I had no luck. The night dragged on, the heavy sense of anticipation like a weight on my chest.

Then, just as they'd all expected, came the mechanical, haunted sounds of the Grievers outside. The time had come.

Everyone crowded together against the wall farthest from the windows, doing their best to keep quiet. I huddled in a corner next to Newt, hugging my knees, staring at the window. The reality of the dreadful decision I had made earlier squeezed my heart like a crushing fist. But I knew that everything might depend on it.

The tension in the room rose at a steady pace. The Gladers were quiet, not a soul moved. A distant scraping of metal against wood echoed through the house; it sounded to me like a Griever was climbing on the back side of the Homestead, opposite where they were. More noises joined in a few seconds later, coming from all directions, the closest right outside their own window. The air in the room seemed to freeze into solid ice, and I pressed my fists against my eyes, the anticipation of the attack killing me.

A booming explosion of ripping wood and broken glass thundered from somewhere upstairs, shaking the whole house. I went numb as several screams erupted, followed by the pounding of fleeing footsteps. Loud creaks and groans announced a whole horde of Gladers running to the first floor.

"It's got Dave!" someone yelled, the voice high-pitched with terror.

No one in my room moved a muscle; I knew each of them was probably feeling guilty about their relief—that at least it wasn't them. That maybe they were safe for one more night. Two nights in a row only one boy had been taken, and people had started to believe that what Gally had said was true.

I jumped as a terrible crash sounded right outside their door, accompanied by screams and the splintering of wood, like some iron-jawed monster was eating the entire stairwell. A second later came another explosion of ripping wood: the front door. The Griever had come right through the house and was now leaving.

An explosion of fear ripped through me. It was now or never.

I jumped up and ran to the door of the room, yanking it open. I heard Newt yell, but I ignored him and ran down the hall, sidestepping and jumping over hundreds of splintered pieces of wood. I could see that where the front door had been there now stood a jagged hole leading out into the gray night. I headed straight for it and ran out into the Glade.

The Griever holding Dave—a kid I had never spoken to—was rolling along on its spikes toward the West Door, churning and whirring. The other Grievers had already gathered in the courtyard and followed their companion toward the Maze. Without hesitating, knowing the others would think I was trying to commit suicide, I sprinted in their direction until I found myself in the middle of the pack of creatures. Having been taken by surprise, the Grievers hesitated. I jumped on the one holding Dave, tried to jerk the kid free, hoping the creature would retaliate.

Three of the Grievers swarmed on me at once, their long pincers and claspers and needles flying in from all directions. I flailed my arms and legs, knocking away the horrible metallic arms as I kicked at the pulsating blubber of the Grievers' bodies—I only wanted to be stung, not taken like Dave. Their relentless attack intensified, and I felt pain erupt over every inch of my body—needle pricks that told me I'd succeeded. Screaming, I kicked and pushed and thrashed, throwing my body into a roll, trying to get away from them. Struggling, bursting with adrenaline, I finally found an open spot to get my feet under me and ran with all my power.

As soon as I escaped the immediate reach of the Grievers' instruments, they gave up and retreated, disappearing into the Maze. I collapsed to the ground, groaning from the pain.

Newt was on me in a second, followed immediately by Chuck, Thomas, several others. Newt grabbed me by the shoulders and lifted me up, supporting my legs with one arm and my back with another.

I felt the world swimming around him, felt delirious, nauseated. I was being carried across the courtyard, through the front door of the Homestead, down the shattered hall, into a room, placed on a couch. The world continued to twist and pitch.

"What were you doing!" Newt yelled in my face. "How could you be so bloody stupid!" I had to speak before I faded into blackness.

"No . . . Newt . . . you don't understand . . ."

"Shut up!" Newt shouted. "Don't waste your energy!"

I felt someone examining my arms and legs, ripping my clothes away from my body, checking for damage. I heard Chuck's voice, couldn't help feeling relief that my friend was okay. A Med-jack said something about me being stung dozens of times.

Newt yelled for the Grief Serum; a minute later I felt a pinprick on my arm. Warmth spread from that point throughout my body, calming me, lessening the pain. But the world still seemed to be collapsing in on itself, and I knew it would all be gone from me in just a few seconds.

The room spun, colors morphing into each other, churning faster and faster. It took all of my effort, but I said one last thing before the darkness took me for good.

"Don't worry," I whispered, hoping they could hear me. "I did it on purpose . . ."