WICKED games 3 (Newt x female reader) [COMPLETED]

4

Heads up everyone! Kinda a long-ish chapter xo

We drive all night, swapping driver every two hours. The country is actually quite nice. It's nothing like the desert of the Scorch, nothing like the rocky Mountains, and nothing like the beach. In the morning light, the greens of the plants against the grey rocks are bright and vibrant, which is a contrast to everything we've seen so far.

At the moment, Newt is beside me in the back, with Thomas riding shotgun and Frypan at the wheel. Apart from the occasional "left," "right," or "straight" from Thomas as we come to an intersection, we don't talk.

I like the feeling of the wind on my face, the windows are rolled down for whatever reason. Sometimes, we pass a car on the side of the road. All of us say "car" out loud. I have no idea why. To our right, a rusted, white and red sign stands.

"Mandatory infection check. Two miles ahead." I read out.

"Sounds lovely," Newt mutters.

Thomas grunts, still looking at the map in his hands. "Well we're going to have to go through it, no other way to the city."

The infection checkpoint is abandoned. Cars are dumped everywhere, most rusted and broken. Old signs flap on fences, warnings about infection, how to spot the virus, penalties for refusal of examination.

"Damn," I say softly.

Beside an old stone building, the dark mouth of a tunnel yawns. Frypan stops the car, and we jump out, looking around.

Newt walks towards it, his hand on his hip. He looks back, raising an eyebrow at Thomas.

"You want us to go in there?" I ask, while Thomas continues to study the map.

"I don't want to come across as too negative," Newt says, "but if I was a Crank that's exactly where I'd be."

"I don't think we have much of a choice," Thomas looks from the map to the tunnel and back again.

Newt pokes his tongue between his lips, still surveying the tunnel. "Alright," he says, walking back to the car, "I get shotgun then."

Newt's perpetual love of riding shotgun will always be one of my favourite things.

"You good to drive?" I ask Frypan, and he nods.

"Yeah, I'm good."

The tunnel is disgusting. Every so often, a wheel hits a pothole, sending up a spray of foul dirty water and throwing us into the car doors. We don't have the headlights on at first, but as we go deeper Frypan switches them on, illuminating piles of junk and more dumped cars.

"Here we go," He says, and I switch on a flashlight, shining it out the open window. The others do the same.

"Just take it nice and slow," Newt says, leaning out of the car.

"Newt," I hiss, "get back in the damn car!"

"Calm down," he answers, but pulls his arm and head back in anyway.

"Woah, shit," says Frypan, stopping the car suddenly. I bang my head on Newt's headrest.

"Shuck," I say, gingerly feeling the cut already there, "what was that for Fry?"

"Shhh," he says, staring out the windscreen. I lean forward, Thomas doing the same. Up ahead, in the middle of the road, stands one Crank, jerking and twitching, making those awful gurgling noises. Frypan looks back at me, raising an eyebrow.

"It's ok," Thomas says, "it's just one. Take it slow, go around him. We'll be fine."

"Take it slow," Frypan whispers, turning back to face the front, "take it slow."