What If | tmr, newt ✓

Chapter 33

"What were you doing? How could you be so bloody stupid?" Newt shouts at Thomas. The latter had collapsed on the ground after narrowly escaping the Grievers' reach, but from the state of his body it was clear his intention was reached.

"No...Newt..." Thomas mutters a few inaudible words as we carry him back towards the Homestead, but it's clear he's fading.

"Shut up! Don't waste your energy!"

We reach the Homestead and carry him to the closest room, me shouting at all the remaining Gladers to move. They oblige, scurrying like rats from water to the door.

Newt shoots me a glare as I tear off Thomas' shirt. I return it coldly: no time for him to get jealous now. I'm just doing my job.

"He's been stung, all right," I say, anxious. "Looks like dozens of times." It's no wonder he lost energy so quickly; the rest of us who were stung were just once, and even that was draining.

"Someone get the Serum!" Newt shouts. Clint races next door and returns with the needle in hand, for some reason handing it to me. I hold it in my hand like someone would a dagger, bracing it against the poor kid's skin. Why me? As I stab it into his upper arm, I decide I officially hate needles.

There's a moment of silence in which it feels like the whole Glade is holding its breath. The room starts to clear out, leaving the other Med-jacks, Teresa, and I to monitor Thomas.

"Don't worry," a faint voice whispers, and I swivel around in surprise. "I did it on purpose..." Thomas finishes, finally blacking out for real.

"Yeah, you idiot," I say, though I'm smiling sadly and I know he can't hear me. "I know."

***

"I'll stay," I say, interrupting the argument and distant sounds of the maze. Three incredulous faces turn towards me. "What?" I shrug. "At least someone should."

Alby, Newt, and Minho all turn back to look at the unconscious Thomas. Though going through the Changing, he looks surprisingly peaceful, his breathing even; the only thing ruining his appearance is the veins bulging out of his neck and arms, thin lines of unnatural colour to contrast his tanned skin.

Newt looks at me, trying to contradict me with just his eyes.

Alby crosses his arms, his stare hard. "Fine."

"But-" Newt starts.

"She said it herself, Newt," Alby says. "We shouldn't leave the shank alone. Anyway, it's probably safer out there." He motions outside to the Slammer.

Newt scowls, folding his arms over his chest like a little child. The wails and screeches from the Maze just get closer by the second. "Alright, but we'll have to hurry."

"Alby, let's go get the Med-jacks," Minho says, dragging him out. It's amusing how he's the only one capable of ordering the leader around without getting his head bitten off.

Newt turns to me, worried sick.

"I'll be fine. If anything, it's safer out there." He fixes my hair as I try to reassure him.

He laughs bitterly, not believing a word of it. "Don't you remember what Minho and I told you? You made a promise."

"What?"

"To stop being selfless," he says, wrapping me into a hug.

Silence. Oops. Maybe I did make a promise that I forgot about.

"And now you're going back out there."

We wait in quiet again, me burying my face in his chest to avoid answering. Behind me, I can hear Thomas' faint breathing - at least it wasn't screaming, which was sure to come. And behind Newt, the Grievers come closer by the second. We'd have to hurry with taking Thomas outside if we wanted to avoid being stabbed or eaten on the journey.

Newt pulls out of our hug, taking my face in his hands. For some reason, I feel the need to reassure him. "We'll get through this."

As if the creators hear my little plea, all sounds of Grievers stop. I freeze in place, my ears tuned to any changes, and feel my pulse rise. What the hell? Something is wrong. I don't know how, but I can sense it.

I should have seen it.

In a flash, the wall behind Newt tears open with a horrific splitting sound and blur of needles and pincers. The Griever screeches, as its metallic body begins to emerge from behind the wood, reaching out its' claw to whatever is in closest proximity.

Which is Newt.

No.

I scream, pushing him out of the way at the last second. He falls to the floor in a mess, scrambling to get back up and at the same time holding one arm in his other. The Griever continues to wail, flailing its arm around in another attempt to latch on to something. Someone. It happens too quickly, and I'm too late to react.

"Addie!"

The Griever reaches out again, its' claw connecting with my side and forcing all the air from my lungs. An intense, searing pain ripples from my head as I'm knocked to the ground, my skull gaining most of the impact. The room spins in a haze of colours as I feel myself slipping from consciousness. Fight it, I tell myself. Wake up. Fight back. Four more people rush though the door, shouting.

But the Griever still grips on to my back as nausea takes over. I can hardly see, but sight isn't necessary to know that I'm flying back through the air, being bashed into the wall of the Homestead where the monster didn't calculate the size needed to wrench me from the room. I've gained my breath back by this time, and I scream on this second collision, my vision clouded and pain surging through the rest of my body.

"Adalyn!"

"Cassia!"

"Falcon!"

"Addie!"

I can't take it.

Too many words, not enough time to process.

People rush towards me, their faces indistinct.

My head spins.

And then the Griever takes one last tug, pulling me through the splintered wood and out into the Glade, pursued by four of its friends, with desperate shouts trailing behind us. I struggle against its grip, screaming in agony where the pain explodes in my side. Finally, unconsciousness creeps up on me from the shadows, overwhelming me with an evil grin on its face.

After that, there's just darkness.