Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 47

The meeting erupted into a chorus of arguments. Newt very calmly stood up, walked over to me and grabbed me by the arm; he pulled me toward the door. "You're leaving. Now."

I was stunned. "Leaving? Why?"

"Think you've said enough for one meeting. We need to talk and decide what to do—without you here." They had reached the door and Newt gave me a gentle push outside. "Wait for me by the Box. When we're done, you and I'll talk."

He started to turn around, but I reached out and grabbed him. "You gotta believe me, Newt. It's the only way out of here—we can do it, I swear. We're meant to."

Newt got in my face and spoke in an angry rasp of a whisper. "Yeah, I especially loved the bit where you volunteered to get yourself killed."

"I'm perfectly willing to do it." I meant it, but only because of the guilt that racked me. Guilt that I had somehow helped design the Maze but deep down, I held on to the hope that I could fight long enough for someone to punch in the code and shut down the Grievers before they killed me. Open the door.

"Oh, really?" Newt asked, seeming irritated. "Ms. Noble herself, aren't ya?"

"I have plenty of my own reasons. In some ways it's my fault we're here in the first place." I stopped, took a breath to compose myself. "Anyway, I'm going no matter what, so you better not waste it."

Newt frowned, his eyes suddenly filled with compassion. "If you really did help design the Maze, Greenbean, it's not your fault. You're a kid—you can't help what they forced you to do."

But it didn't matter what Newt said. What anyone said. I bore the responsibility anyway—and it was growing heavier the more I thought about it. "I just . . . feel like I need to save everyone. To redeem myself."

Newt stepped back, slowly shaking my head. "You know what's funny, Greenbean?"

"What?" I replied, wary.

"I actually believe you. You just don't have an ounce of lying in those eyes of yours and I can't bloody believe I'm about to say this." He paused. "But I'm going back in there to convince those shanks we should go through the Griever Hole, just like you said. Might as well fight the Grievers rather than sit around letting them pick us off one by one." He held up a finger. "But listen to me—I don't want another buggin' word about you dying and all that heroic klunk. If we're gonna do this, we'll take our chances— all of us. You hear me?"

I held my hands up, overwhelmed with relief. "Loud and clear. I was just trying to make the point that it's worth the risk. If someone's going to die every night anyway, we might as well use it to our advantage."

Newt frowned. "Well, ain't that just cheery?"

I turned to walk away, but Newt called out to me. "Greenbean?"

"Yeah?" I stopped, but didn't look back.

"If I can convince those shanks—and that's a big if—the best time to go would be at night. We can hope that a lot of the Grievers might be out and about in the Maze—not in that Hole of theirs."

"Good that." I agreed with him—I just hoped Newt could convince the Keepers. I turned to look at Newt and nodded.

Newt smiled, a barely-there crack in his worried grimace. "We should do it tonight, before anyone else is killed." And before I could say anything, Newt disappeared back into the Gathering.

I, a little shocked at the last statement, left the Homestead and walked to an old bench near the Box and took a seat, my mind a whirlwind. I kept thinking of what Alby had said about the Flare, and what it could mean. The older boy had also mentioned burned earth and a disease. I didn't remember anything like that, but if it was all true, the world they were trying to get back to didn't sound so good. Still—what other choice did they have? Besides the fact that the Grievers were attacking every night, the Glade had basically shut down.