ASUNDER (I) : tmr newt

33: I'm Shucked

33 Leo

I didn't sleep well last night. My back pressed against the cold stone wall towards the far side of the Glade. I've slept on doors that won't open no matter how hard people press against them.

I can remember Dawn shouting. I can remember her shoving her way through the crowd towards Alby, demanding why we did nothing. Why we all stood like shanks in our boots instead of climbing the Wall, or trying to bend it open. Why people could stand still as a boy was out there with the Grievers.

Alby's words still haunt me. They are like ghosts that re-appeared every time I tried to close my eyes. Words that stung like chemicals in my eyes.

"We've been trying to save them for years. We are powerless to the maze."

I didn't want to think I was at the disposal of my surroundings, but when I couldn't close my eyes I knew he was right. I wanted nothing more than to chase after Dawn. To hold her and tell her everything was alright, like she had done for me the day before. Unfortunately I am a coward. Even more unfortunately, it was Fry-pan that trailed after her as she was crying.

Minho locked himself in the Map room. He still hasn't come out, even though all the other Runners are congregating at the Box. Supplies came up a few days ago, which means they are standing there waiting for further instruction. Waiting for meaning.

The Doors are open, and none of them have moved. I was awake well before they opened, and only managed to peel myself off of the ground as my resting place was disturbed. Now I stand blocking the only way out of the Glade, staring down at the ground.

This is the first time I have seen a dead body.

His skin is pale, and seems to stick to the congealed black blood on the ground. I didn't know blood got as sticky and thick as it did from where it once pooled from beneath his head. The nights in the Glade are cold, and I imagine it is colder beyond the Walls.

In the early morning sun, I can see exactly how he died. Throat ripped out at the side by God knows what. His skin is hacked apart and sprayed about, as if he was put in a blender. I can see pieces of his flesh lumping together on the ground. Puddles of organs, heaps of blood.

When I stare at it, I forget to move. I forget to breathe. It is unusual to see a boy destroyed. Dead I can handle. Mangled bones and muscle is not a nice sight for the early morning. I would throw something up if I had anything in my stomach to release.

A hand is wrapped in mine, and I can't find the ability to move my body. It is like it was two nights ago. When there was me, and Dawn, and Michelle and Ella on Minho's bed. In space that belonged to us.

I feel someone spin around in front of me. It's Newt's face. He is still holding my hand, as he looks me in the face. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him. I can't tear my eyes away from the boy on the ground in front of me.

"Don't look at Stephen," he ducks in front of the body, so I am forced to stare into Newt's eyes. "Don't look at him, alright?"

He looks over his shoulder, at the boys by the Box, before he drags me into the Deadheads. They lie just to the south of where we stand at the East Door. It's hard to breath, but I let Newt bring me there. His hands still hold mine steady as we are swallowed whole by the trees.

I can hear him shaking. I don't know how else to explain it. Just like I can hear the trees rustling. Newt quakes in a way I didn't think I would see. It hadn't occurred to me that he wouldn't want to see Stephen's body either. All that could run through my head was my quick pumping blood.

But here in the emptiness of the woods, I can feel him breaking against me. The way he shakes should happen to boys. Not to anyone.

He's crying.