Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

21

When he opened his eyes, Newt immediately knew that something was wrong. His neck hurt from sleeping in a bad position, and he carefully tilted his head from side to side to stretch it. Standing up, he wrapped the blanket around Thomas, and looked at him tenderly before getting out of the forest and confirming his first impression: the sun was nowhere to be found. The sky was dull gray, and there was no sign of the king of it. He had only waken up because he was used to the Glade timetables.

He let Thomas sleep, which was harder than he would ever admit to anyone, and headed to the Homestead, where Minho was also staring at the sky, his arms crossed. "Big shiny guy's not there," he said.

"Good mornin' too," Newt answered, already missing Thomas. At least he would've greeted him. "Have you noticed it yourself? Such an amazing discovery, Minho."

The Keeper snorted. "Quit the irony—something's terribly whacked here. I don't think it'll come out today, nor any other day."

Frowning, Newt gazed at the cloudy sky. "What do you think is happenin'?" he asked. Minho shook his head.

"Creators, maybe. This is klunky enough to be their stuff. But I don't know—whatever it is, it's no good. The rest will freak out, Newt. We have to find some excuse."

"And what do you suggest to explain why the sun has disappeared?" The boy threw up his arms. "'Hey, folks, the sun's tired of bein' up there all day, so it went on vacation. Now move your asses and start pulling those weeds'?"

"Whatever you want, but we have to tell them something!" Minho said, his voice tainted with urgence. "If we don't give them a good reason, we might get back to the Dark Days. Everyone going nuts, lads killing each other—complete chaos."

Newt caressed his chin, thinking. "If this is something from the creators," he slowly said, "which it probably is, then there must be a reason why they'd do this. Maybe to make us hurry up with the search..."

"What?" Minho asked. "Are you alright, dude? You're paler than chalk." He put a hand on Newt's shoulder, which was just as rigid as the rest of him.

"The crops," he muttered. "If there's no sun, the plants will die. No plants, no animals. No plants and no animals, no food. We'll starve to death, Minho. This has just turned into a race against the clock."

Slowly, Minho digested that information. After two years of finding nothing, the deadline was set. The Gladers now have a very limited amount of time to do or die. He pressed his lips together, crackling his knuckles.

They both looked up at the sky again, silent. "I need Thomas," Minho stated. "That guy may be our only way out of here."

"What? How?" Newt asked. He felt a ridiculous pain in his stomach, one which made him want to punch Minho. Wait, why? He had never had any kind of problem with the Keeper, and Thomas wasn't his nor anyone's. He could go wherever, and be with whoever, he wanted.

"Think about it—he scaped from a Griever, tricked him into dying, kept up with me all along. He has the wits and the legs. Who apart from him can help us with this? If there's a way out, then Thomas will find it. Trust me, I've seen him in action—he's our only hope."

Newt blinked. He felt uncomfortable with the idea of Thomas constantly getting into the Maze. What if they didn't return in time? What if he had to face another night in there? What if he crossed paths with a Griever? What if he was Stung? What if, what if, what if? Minho was right, though—Thomas was the only one who seemed capable of getting them out of there. And, even if he completely hated the idea of him running down the Maze all day, he didn't have the right to ban him from doing so. Not when their salvation might depend on Thomas.