The Cost of the Cure

Chapter Four

As you and Newt walk father away from the closest walls, you hear footsteps pounding the ground behind you. You whirl around, your heart jumping into you throat. Someone's chasing you. You don't know why they would, but-

A boy runs across the huge meadow of grass, not even glancing at you. His face is red and sweat slicks his skin. He seems to be running from one of the giant opening in the walls.

"Newt, who's that?" you ask, pointing to the exhausted runner.

"That's Minho. He's a Runner."

You look at him, raising a single eyebrow. How stupid does he think you are?

He sighs. "We all have jobs here. A Runner explores outside the Glade, which is where you are now. There's not enough time for a full tour tonight, but we'll start at the wake-up. You'll understand then."

"What's outside the Glade?" you ask anyways. It's not like he doesn't have the time to answer at least a few questions. "Why the walls?"

"You'll understand tomorrow."

You open your mouth to ask why, but shut it as he gives you a pointed look. You've only been in the... Glade for a few hours. He knows better than you do, and you can just wait till morning.

"Look," he starts. "I know it's stupid not to tell you anything, but Alby doesn't like Greenies knowing too much before they get their feet under them. The little you know is plenty for now."

"What's a Greenie?" Your eyes widen as you realize you just asked a question and you slap a hand over your mouth. "Sorry."

He laughs and a little smile touches your face. You might not know him, but whoever you really are, you apparently like to make others happy.

"Greenie's a newbie," he explains, finally smiling for real. "That means you until the next one arrives."

You nod, taking your hand away from your mouth. You still want to know more, but... "Newt? I know I'm not supposed to ask questions, but this one isn't about everything here, it's about me. Is it okay to ask?"

He nods, his brows furrowing, as if trying to calculate what you're about to say.

"How old do you think I am? What do I look like?"

He looks you up and down, sizing you up. "I'd say about sixteen. And..."

He tells you what you look like and you wonder if maybe he was right all along. If you don't even know who you are, down to your age and looks, why would you even try to find out about where you are? Or even about what's outside?