Silver Lining (Newtmas)

39 - Blink

Tick. Tock. 

There was faint crackling; breaking concrete, wood, in the distance.

Tick. Tock.

Was that gunfire?

Tick.

Something fizzed over his head. Where the operation light shone against his eyelids, it was now dark.

Tock.

Thomas opened his eyes.

Blink.

Sawdust. Or gun smoke? Ash?

Blink.

The ceiling above came into focus. 

Another blink and he was fully awake, horror settling deep in his stomach when the white plaster was decidedly not the obnoxiously clear night sky of the Scorch (though, he supposed it did make sense that the sky above a barren wasteland would be clear, no matter the sand and dust that blows at them during the day), or the chipping grey paint of the Right Arm's bunkers.

It took him a moment to collect his whereabouts, and another to wrap his head around what had happened, and what hadn't. His last memories were fuzzy, perhaps dulled by the anaesthesia he was given. Something about a brain... His brain? He touched his head. Nope. Brain still there, intact.

Huh.

The next to be acknowledged was the chaos that hurt his ears, abruptly, as if allowing him half a second of quiet to gather his thoughts. Then it was the tick-tocking of a wall clock that seemed to rise above the din outside. He looked at the time, but he couldn't quite figure out how long he'd been gone. He hadn't noticed the clock when he entered the room, because why would he? To announce the time of his own death?

He couldn't have been out long though, because if the shots he heard were gunshots, and he was pretty sure they were, then the Right Arm had to have only entered the building a while ago. He turned to his right, saw Newt still crumpled on the ground, and swung his feet over the bed to get up before he noticed a piece of paper on the metal tray by the bed.

It's a note from Chancellor Paige, and it took another few blinks for his eyes to focus on the words enough to read them. 

It was a frenzy after that.

...

The next time Thomas had a moment to breath, he was back in the Glade - only, the circumstances were slightly different.

For one, he'd entered willingly.

And then there was the fact that there were more people that he could bother counting - but that could be the dust in his eyes and his swimming vision. 

And perhaps, the most important thing that he should take note of was the literal sky falling on him. But hey, one thing at a time, right?

After reading the note, Thomas had carried Newt and ran (as best as he could) out of the room, weaved through the corridors, into the passageway to the Glade. Thoughts were racing through his mind but he could only focus on one, and that was getting Newt to safety. Newt was still breathing, unconscious but alive, thank God for that, but he wasn't safe was Thomas. Had he ever been?

The note told him that they didn't need his brain after all, and that all the immunes would be kept in the Glade where WICKED planned to conduct more trials. There would be a Flat Trans to a 'safe place' where he should take everyone. He wondered why he would be told all these but he didn't question it. Now wasn't the time to question these things. Now was the time to run.