Newt: A Broken Boy ↠ The Maze Runner

19

It could've been the definition of a 'bad situation'. We were going straight back to WICKED, the place we had just escaped from. We had blown up the control room, and killed the head of the organisation. Something told me that we wouldn't be welcomed back with open arms.

We walked in silence for a few miles, at quite a slow pace. Louis knew we were at his mercy; he had no rush to get anywhere quickly. I took advantage of the silence and decided to study the guy a little, maybe find his weaknesses.

His hair was dark, long, messy. It was knotty and tangled, and looked like it hadn't been brushed in days. He was clearly in need of a new shirt - it was in tatters, torn in places and caked in mud. I could see that he was definitely in need of some extra money. I just wished that he wasn't using us as a way to get some.

Chuck seemed distressed to be going back to WICKED, but he also seemed a little hopeful. I wondered what gave him that little spark of hope, wishing that I could have some too.

I, for one, was feeling pessimistic. I couldn't fathom how we could ever get out of Louis' clutches, especially if he was as good with the knife as he had said.

We walked. We walked until we were approaching a rusty truck. It was a rust covered mess. The paint was peeling, and one of the windows was smashed. Louis pulled the door open, showing us a view of the inside.The seats seemed to have been once covered in leather, but were now just pieces of fabric on a wooden frame. The scorching sun was pouring through a gaping hole in the roof, also illuminating the dark corners of the truck.

Louis gestured for us to get in. We did so, clambering in one after the other. He then climbed in himself, into the drivers seat. Throwing a key into the ignition, Louis pressed down on the accelerator and the truck started moving with a small jump.

It was surprisingly fast for such a rusty, beaten down vehicle, though very bumpy. The truck jerked from side to side, making me feel as if someone was going to be sick. My theory was confirmed when I heard Chuck retching. I gave him a pat on the back, as well as I could with my hands tied together. Luckily he didn't have much to vomit, more just the acids of his stomach.

Suddenly Louis hit the break pedal, stopping the truck with a screech.

"Why have we-" Minho began.

"Shut up," Louis cut him off. He jumped out, giving no indication as to why, but came in again barely thirty seconds later. This time he was holding a dog, probably a stray. You saw them all the time, dogs who's owners had caught the flare and become full fledged cranks. They wandered out of the cities in search for food, and ended up in the dry grassland beyond.

This dog looked a little worse for wear. It had long, matted fur that must've once been a golden colour but was now so covered in dirt and grime that you could barely see the original. One of its legs seemed to have been hastily bandaged up with a piece of cloth, but blood had run through long since. I wondered what had happened to the leg; whatever it was, it didn't look good.

But the worst part of the poor creature was its eyes. Dark. Wide, filled with terror and with pain. I looked at Louis, then at the dog, then back again. Louis' own eyes were affectionate, the normally electrifying colour softened to a mellow blue. The slightly evil glint was gone. The way he held the dog was like the way a mother would hold her newly born baby.

Suddenly, my fear of Louis, and of WICKED, was replaced with a rush of anger. Not towards our so called 'captor', not even towards WICKED. No, I was angry, furious even, with the universe. The way the sun scorched the earth almost eight years before. The horrible virus that had mutated from an attempt at 'controlled killing'. The government, not being able to keep the world under control in a crisis. It was unfair, but it was all of these things, with many others added, that had forced people such as Louis to become who they were: run down, downtrodden, scavengers, looking for any way to get money.

I felt a pang of sorrow for the guy, thinking that he didn't deserve the hard things I'd thought about of him earlier. Only someone with a lot of love in their soul could hold an animal in that way.

"I'm going to help this dog." Louis' voice was firm. It seemed as if he had forgotten about us at the sight of the dog.

I bit my lip. I didn't want to do anything without conferring with Minho and Chuck first, but I didn't have a choice. I had to make my move.

"Take us back to WICKED. Get your money." I heard Minho breathe in sharply, and it was clear that he wasn't having the same thoughts as me. "I promise on all of our behalf that we'll come without a fight."

Louis' eyes widened in what looked like shock. "On one condition." Louis nodded, gesturing me to continue. "Most of the bloody that money you get, it goes towards the dog." I could've sworn I saw a tear, of happiness, glistening in his eye, but he blinked it away and hugged the dog tightly.

The moment we were back in the car, Minho was at me. "What on earth did you think you were doing, idiot?" He hissed the words in my ear, not loud enough for Louis to hear.

The truck jerked suddenly, and the dog whimpered. Louis' hand shot down to pet it, and it seemed to relax it. The dog seemed to trust the guy.

"Look," I whispered back. "Louis is a good guy. Watch the way he treats that dog."

Minho wasn't giving up so easily. "WICKED aren't gonna be nice when we get back, you know."

I sighed. "Minho. This world has been destroyed by the Flare. We, especially you and Chuck, are the only ones that can really do anything about it. I know that these Trials aren't going to be fun, but it's the right thing to do."

"Fine. Whatever."

Minho turned away from me. I just sat there, staring at him, wondering whether the decision I had made was a good one, or whether it was a terrible mistake.

~

A/N: WE HIT 900 READS!!! It might not sound like much, but my aim is 1k, and this is getting pretty close. So thank you. Also, I never thanked you for 100 votes, so I'm thanking you for 150. Baii.