Run With Me ➵ Newt [2]

SEVEN | am i immune?

▬We continued walking and hiking for the next few hours, trying to find the mountains where The Right Arm supposedly was. I was sweating profusely, my breaths getting more ragged with each passing moment. My limbs were sore and my throat was parched and my skin was screaming under the hot sunlight. 

I could tell the others were suffering just as much as I was. No one talked or uttered a single word - we wanted to save our energy. We took swigs of water as little as possible just in case we couldn't find a water source nearby, but I knew that our bottles would run out soon enough and we would pass out from dehydration or heat stroke.

Thomas led us up a sandy hill, our feet slipping and sliding in the slippery surface. We had to grab hold of each other to steady ourselves, sometimes accidentally tripping the other up. It didn't help that gusts of wind kept blowing at us, making us lean heavily to one side. 

Finally, we reached the top of the sand dune and we stared out into the distance. The sight of broken-down buildings and abandoned streets unfolded before us, the desert stretching out far, far away. It was an impressive sight, reminding me of a haunting distopian scenery full of ruins and abandoned cities.

Thomas pointed out into the distance, panting in the heat. "Those mountains, they've gotta to be it. That's where we're going."

"That's a long way off," Newt observed. "We've gotta get movin'."

Before we could even take another step, Winston slumped forward and collasped onto the ground.

"Winston!"

We rushed to his side and bent over him, concern washing over us. He was making weird gasping sounds, as if every breath might be his last, his eyes shut tight. Teresa turned his head around gently and shook him - still no response from the boy.

"He's hurt pretty bad," Minho said.

"Then what do we do?" Teresa asked.

"I didn't asked you."

"Minho," I said sharply. "Now's not the time."

"We need to get to the mountains," Thomas said. "But we can't leave Winston behind."

"Nuh uh," Frypan shook his head. "That's not an option."

"Let's make him a stretcher then," Thomas suggested. "He won't need to walk and we can still head towards the mountains with him."

"Good idea," Aris muttered.

For the next half hour, we contributed whatever supplies we thought might be useful - cloths, jackets, wooden poles - and made a stretcher from them. It was agonising work, having to sit there under the harsh sunlight and weave the stretcher from scratch using everyday materials, but we finally did it. The boys carried Winston onto the stretcher carefully and dragged it across the sandy terrain.

"It works," Thomas breathed heavily. "Thank goodness."

"We need to hurry," Minho said. "Come on."

He grabbed one side of the stretcher with Frypan and together, they pulled it along the ground, kicking up plumes of dust as they walked. We walked for hours yet again, panting and breathing heavily, all the muscles in our body sore and tired and screaming for rest. Still, we continued forging on. The boys took turns dragging Winston while Teresa and I helped carry their backpacks. At one point, we were going down a particularly steep slope and the boys had to carry Winston in their arms - Teresa and I carried the stretcher between us along with the bags, trying not to topple over in the wind.

The next hour was worse; a sudden burst of wind tore through us, nearly making us fall over, and flinging sand particles into our eyes and noses and mouths. We had to shield our faces with cloths, which was annoying as it still did nothing to prevent us from inhaling the sand. The winds weren't even the coolling type - there were violent, ferocious, and just overall a bloody pain in the ass.