What If | tmr, newt ✓

Chapter 32

Frypan wasn't exactly cheerful when I was sent to raid his stores for wax paper. But then again, it was safe to say nobody was in a good mood after last night's events.

We had sat in silence for a few hours, me curled up next to Newt in one of the upstairs rooms in the Homestead. Despite my best efforts not to be scared by the situation, my hands were shaking. Newt definitely noticed.

And after that - well, it couldn't have gotten any better, could it? Grievers arrived. The Homestead was wrecked. Gally turned up as a psycho. Newt was knocked unconscious. Gally was taken by Grievers. Minho ran out into the Maze. The Map Room was set on fire. Alby was knocked unconscious. Chaos consumed everything.

Need I say more?

Now, panic starting to settle down in the Glade, I'm working alongside Teresa and Newt in the weapons room. Out of some miracle, Thomas had convinced Newt to let her out, and now we were wasting no effort to try and decipher this code. The idea was brilliant - and so blatantly obvious, it was surprising nobody had thought of it before.

George looks up from where he's working, exhaustion clouding his features. "Woah."

"What is it?" I snap to attention.

"No, nothing, just..." He pauses, unsure how to phrase it. "You two look, ya know, identical."

My hands pause their work, my eyes stop scanning the paper in front of me. Neither Teresa or I say a word, and I pray he hasn't worked it out.

"Do ya think you could be related or something?" Crap. "I dunno. Who cares. I'll have a hard time telling you apart though," he chuckles, getting back to work. Phew.

I can sense Newt gazing across at us both. "Nah," he says, laughing softly. "Addie's taller. More tanned from being here longer." He flicks my nose. "Hair's longer but messier," he tousles my hair playfully. "Eyes aren't as bright." He wraps his arms around my waist. "I'd never get the two of them confused." He leans his forehead against mine and I smile up at him, forgetting for a moment about all the other Gladers in the room.

"Uh, Newt?" A voice says behind him. He immediately draws away from me and I miss his warmth the second he does.

One of the Gladers hovers at the door. "Minho and Thomas are back."

Now, that was a relief. They had been out in the Maze for twenty-four hours, searching for anything different, and had subsequently missed the next boy being taken. Adam, I believe it was. I grimace, letting Newt go as I head back to working on the code.

Teresa smirks across at me, deciding not to mention anything. "Okay, I'm pretty sure that's it. It just repeats itself: Float, Catch, Bleed, Death, Stiff, Push. Nothing else."

"Charming," I mutter, picturing the words in my head. It's not exactly the most pleasant choice of verbs. It didn't give us a clear idea, either; instead of a rescue code, we had been given a bunch of useless words. Just brilliant.

Newt returns, trailed by Thomas. This instantly sparks my attention. "Where's Minho?"

"Gone off in a bloody sulk. Who knows. Leave him be."

That wouldn't do. I push past Newt, who attempts to stop me, but I shove his arm out of the way.

It takes a while to find him, and by the time I do I realise he must have moved. He's pacing outside the Homestead as I emerge from around the ruins of the Map Room, gagging against the putrid burning smell.

He sees me and immediately takes a few steps back. "No, Falcon, don't even talk to me."

"But I-"

"I said don't!" He shouts, storming away.

Sheesh, teenage boys.

***

That night was just a replay of the previous two. Boys huddled in groups in the Homestead, shivering against nerves and the cold and lying down in a hopeless attempt to get to sleep. Everyone is exhausted.

I feel my eyes starting to droop just as the Maze starts to come alive. Like the walking dead arising from their graves to face their targets.

Shut up, Adalyn.

I mentally hit myself, punishment for making the situation worse. It was bad enough without my input; boys turning to snivelling wrecks at even the thought of those creatures. Most of them weren't revisiting old nightmares - for them, this was the first time experiencing the full wrath of WCKD.

Wicked. Exactly what they were.

The sound of the wooden walls splintering and snapping resonates from next door. There is a moment of pure terror, Gladers screaming in horror and footsteps rushing away from the affected area.

"It's got Dave!" A boy screams, as the footsteps become more frantic and people even burst into our room to escape the commotion. I visibly sigh in relief, earning myself a few pointed stares. Hate me, whatever, I wasn't being selfish - I was just glad it wasn't any of my friends.

The Griever bursts out of the door downstairs with a particularly loud screech, gripping onto Dave with its' dangerously sharp claws. I grimace, hating how I didn't know the poor boy and yet he had been snatched from all our lives by a gruesome fate.

A flash of movement catches my attention out the window, and I watch dumbfounded as Thomas tears after the monster, a look of fear and determination on his face. Just today, after being rejected by a miserable Minho, I had taken it upon myself to attempt to cheer up the Greenie as well. He refused to speak to anyone, however, and I felt as if I just made it worse - whenever he looked at my face, his expression dropped into one particularly grim and pitiful.

Now I realise what he's doing - what he must have been planning all day. From the way he's attacking the Griever, he's not trying to help Dave or injure himself; instead, his focus is one of those menacing needles.

I swear, pushing through shocked hordes of Gladers to get down the stairs, taking them three at a time and skipping the last ones altogether. Newt and Minho burst out of a room just in front me in the downstairs corridor, but my reactions are faster and I glide past them with ease. We all knew we needed to get to Thomas, but they didn't understand what his intent was.

I did, though. Oh yes. The idiot was trying to get himself stung.