Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

28

When Newt came out of the Homestead, Thomas knew the time for rest was over.

He spotted them and ran limping towards them. Thomas noticed he'd let go of Teresa's hand without thinking about it. Newt finally stopped in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at them. "You know this is bloody nuts, right?"

Although Thomas took pride in being able to read Newt's emotions, his poker face this time was unreachable. There seemed to be a hint of victory in his eyes, though. Thomas stood up, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

"So they agreed to go?" he asked, chewing his lower lip in anticipation.

Newt nodded. "All of them. Wasn't as hard as I thought it'd be. Those shanks've seen what happens at night with those bloody Doors open. We can't get out of the stupid Maze. Gotta try something." Thomas felt like jumping all over the place. "Now we just have to convince the Gladers."

He sticked his right thumb out, pointing towards the Homestead, nearby where the Keepers had started gathering their work groups. Thomas knew it would've been even more difficult than persuading the Keepers had been.

"You think they'll go for it?" Teresa asked, finally standing to join them.

"Not all of them," Newt said. Thomas could feel his frustration. "Some'll stay and take their chances—guarantee it. But now, we gotta figure out who's going, who's staying. Get ready. Food, weapons, all that. Then we go. Thomas, I'd put you in charge since it was your idea, but it's going to be hard enough to get people on our side without making the Greenie our leader—no offence. So just stay low, okay? We'll leave the code business to you and Teresa—you can handle that from the background."

Thomas rubbed his sweaty palms against his trousers. "You make it sound easy."

Newt folded his arms again, looking at him closely. "Like you said—stay here, one shank'll die tonight. Go, one shank'll die. What's the difference?"

Thomas knew he was right when he said that. He was right about the Hole, the code, the door, the need to fight. He didn't know whether just one person would die; but if there was one thing his gut told him, it was not to admit any doubt.

Newt clapped him on the back. "Good that. Let's go to work."

"Who do you think I was named after?" Chuck asked.

Thomas had been staring at his dinner, moving it from one side of the plate to the other with the fork and thinking—when Chuck talked, he rose his gaze.

"Huh, I don't know. Maybe Darwin? The dude who figured out evolution."

Chuck laughed. It was a pleasant sound. They were eating what might be their last supper, surrounded by boys armed with wooden spears, kitchen knives and chunks of broken glass; at any moment, they would stand up and leave the Glade for good. A gloomy feeling had taken over everyone as they swallowed their carrots, and thus Thomas didn't expect hearing any laughter. It was soothing, in a way.

"I don't think anyone has ever called him 'dude'." Chuck took another big bite of meat, and seemed to think what was the best time to talk, full mouth and all. "You know, I'm not really that scared. I mean, yes, we're going out into the Maze, and Grievers could kill us, or your plan may fail, or whatever. But the last few nights, sitting in the Homestead and waiting for a Griever to come and take us... Wondering if it'd be me that time... It's one of the worst things I've ever done. At least now we're trying. And at least..."

Chuck left the sentence hanging. "At least what?" Thomas asked. He didn't believe for a second that Chuck wasn't scared; it almost hurt seeing him trying to act brave.