Remember for the Both of Us [COMPLETED]

5: The Tour

I opened the door, slightly unsure of what was on the other side. I saw the staircase and stepped down it, probably faster than I should've. At the bottom, I clung to the railing, dizzy.

"Slow down," drawled Newt, his hands in his pockets. 

I couldn't help staring at him for a second, wondering what was going on in his head right then. How could he forget? For that moment, it seemed incomprehensible to me.

I blinked and looked away, forcing myself to stop that train of thought that would only lead to more trouble. Thankfully my mouth saved me. "Well, you were the one who made it sound like we were in such a hurry," I said. "So what exactly are we doing?"

"I have to give you the Tour," he said, like it was a singularly unpleasant task. "Let's get this over with quickly."

I followed him outside, to the bright sunlight and dead grass. I looked around. There was almost no one around. A few kids were working in a garden, a few over by some animal pens, but the Glade was mostly deserted.

"--the Glade is surrounded by the Walls," Newt was saying. "Those openings over there, those are Doors. They open and close every morning and night."

"They move?" I asked, like I knew I was supposed to. "No way."

"No questions till the end, Greenie," he said automatically. "And yes, they do. Now, we only have three rules here. One, do your part." He looked me dead in the eyes. "Admittedly, there's not a lot to do, but when it's your turn, do it. We don't have time for slackers. Two, never harm another Glader. That's what we call ourselves. And thirdly--most importantly, don't go out there." He pointed to the Doors. "Out there is what we call the Maze. It is literally a huge bloody maze. The Walls move at night, just like the Doors open and close. There are monsters in there. We call 'em Grievers. They will kill you. So no one--let me repeat no one--goes out there. Understood?"

A little frightened, I nodded. He continued, walking me around to the landmarks.

Basically, the only part of the Glade that was still functioning were the Track-hoes in the gardens, the Builders, the Slicers who took care of the animals, and the kitchen. The Gladers went through a rotation schedule, working once every three days. There were only about 30 boys left. The only thing I could register was how dead it all looked. "What do they do on their days off?" I asked.

"No questions" was all he would say.

Finally, we sat on the edge of the Box, looking down at its empty interior. I shuddered as I looked at the dark stain my blood had left on the metal. Newt started to say "We can move--" but I immediately cut him off.

"No, I'm fine."

His mouth twitched. "It's okay to admit you're scared, Greenie. If you're really fine, then there's something wrong."

I looked down. "Does it ever get better?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head. "You learn how to deal with it, at least. But it never gets better."

I swallowed. "Anyway," he said briskly, "you're probably wondering what happened to this bloody place. It wasn't always like this, you know. In the beginning, after we had established order, we were quite the productive society. Everyone had a job. Supplies came up the Box once a week, but we were almost self-sustainable--we had productive gardens and lots of animals. And every month, a new boy came up. Always a boy; we didn't have any girls around here. We had people exploring the Maze, trying to find a way out." 

His eyes shadowed over and I knew he was thinking of his time as a Runner. I wanted to hug him, hold his hand, something to make him know I cared and that he wasn't alone, but how was I supposed to know? He thought I'd lost my memory; I couldn't help him without giving myself away.

"Then one month this shank Thomas shows up."

"Shank?" I interrupted. 

"No questions," he said again, but then relented. "It's just slang we use. You'll get used to it soon enough. Anyway, this kid Thomas shows up. Nothing abnormal about it, but then the day after, a girl comes up. Teresa, her name is. We all think she's dead, but then she jerks up, says Thomas's name, and then falls into a coma. She's got this note in her hand. It says, 'she's the last one. Ever.'"

His face was grim.

"After that, it was chaos. The Doors stopped closing every night, and the Grievers started attacking us, taking one of us every night. The sky--it's always sunny here, never rains--it went gray, shadowed by clouds. There was no night, no day. It was all just gray. Our water was cut off, and food stopped coming up. We were starved, dehydrated, and being hunted. We thought an exit would open up, but none of our Runners found out anything."

I bit my lip. You've known it all along, I thought.

"Then one night, they took our leader," he said quietly. "I was just second-in-command back then. And then the next morning, the skies were blue, water was flowing again, and the Doors had closed."

He looked up. "His name was Alby, and he was my best mate."

I hesitantly touched his arm. "I'm sorry," I said.

"That was about a year ago," he said. "Here we are now. There were about fifty to sixty boys before the catastrophe ended. Now there's about thirty. No more Greenies, either. You're the first in a year. Those who weren't taken by the Grievers starved or died of thirst. We don't have any Runners anymore. They either died or are too unwilling to go out there any more."

"But that's why I'm here, right?" I asked. He glanced at me sharply. "I'm here because something is going to happen again. Maybe... maybe they're giving you a second chance. Whoever put us here."

He shook his head, immediately dismissing the idea. "No. There's no way out. It's a prison, not a puzzle."

"Okay," I shrugged. "I just can't shake the feeling that we should be doing something."

"I'll put you on the work roster," he said. 

I searched my mind for something to say, something that would inspire him to continue finding the answers, to make me a Runner so I could show them the way out. Ugh. I couldn't think of anything. I scratched my arm, pushing the sleeve up past my shoulder.

Next to me, Newt froze and went pale. "What... what is that?"

"What is what?" I asked, honestly confused. 

He grabbed my hand, pulling it out of the way, and looked at my shoulder. "Hey!" I said, pulling free. "What was that about--"

He had stood up and was limping rapidly away from me, towards the Deadheads.

"Newt!" I yelled after him. 

I looked at my shoulder, twisting to try and get a good look at it. My stomach twisted as I saw black ink. A tattoo? Since when did I get a tattoo? I couldn't make out what it said, so heart in my throat, panicking slightly, I raced to the bathhouses. I yanked open the door and stared at my arm in the mirror.

Written in swirly script were the worst seven words I'd even seen strung together in sequence.

15 days to get out or die.