Lizard's Running

Watch Your Feet

Sun had begun to set over the tall stone walls that made up the maze. The remaining Gladers cleaned up around the homestead where a feast had been messily eaten. The Glade's newest arrival had yet to touch his food. He sat alone in the dry grass next to an old, hard, fallen tree, used primarily for sitting. In his mind he preferred it much more as a back rest for his increasingly sore muscles. It'd been a hard first day. The Glader's and their leader, a boy named Alby, didn't waste any time putting him to work; finding where he fit best.

His plate sat to his left, untouched. He couldn't focus on eating now. Greenie, as the Glader's had dubbed him, could only focus on trying to tear down the brick wall that held his memory at bay. Frustrated, the Glade's new arrival pushed himself to his feet, checked to see if anyone was watching him, and, satisfied that no one was looking, set off into the forest that lines one of the Glade's four towering walls.

It was not as peaceful as he had hoped. Stumbling over bushes and branches in the dark was much less glamorous than taking a calming stroll to clear his head. Even still, the cool air and quiet did him well. Soon, in the midst of his walking, he was stopped by a looming stone wall. He'd reached the end of this path. He followed the wall to the right, keeping his left hand gently on the cool stone while he walked along. He let his fingertips drag over its smooth surface.

Suddenly, a noise startled the traveler out of his doldrums; a twig broke behind him. Frozen, his senses were on high alert as he tried to calm his hammering heart.

Only a bird, perhaps. He'd tell himself anything to put his mind at ease. Without turning, he continued his stroll. He pushed the thoughts of a pursuer out of his mind. Or nothing, he thought.

Crack. The sound was closer this time and seemly coming from his right side; from the forest. He risked a glance behind him, trying to make it seem nonchalant. If there was no one there then he would have no reason to be embarrassed by his fear and suspicions. If there was... then there was someone following him and that would be a cause for greater alarm than being sheepish; joke or no joke.

Focusing his hearing, he picked up a rustle of a bush and shuffling of feet, still to his right but more behind him rather than adjacent. That settled it. Without a pause the new boy bolted forward. There was no worry in him that he may seem ridiculous, only fear.

Tripping seemed to not be a problem any longer, the boy ran amongst the trees freely, adrenaline racing through his veins. He could only assume his clothing was being torn apart by countless bushes, but he ran on, never thinking of where he might be going. It was a forest placed in the corner of a square. Where was there to go?

Pursuit was obvious. With the unexpected surge of adrenaline that shot the new boy forward had certainly taken the stalker by surprise. It seemed as if he were struggling with the underbrush as the boy had done earlier but advancement was inevitable. The newcomer decided quickly that he needed to go back to where he'd come from. What did those boys call it? He needed to go from this place to that place. To safety. To people. He didn't care what its name was.

The stalker's pursuit became more and more apparent. He was gaining. The boys legs had began to burn and he was sure he was running in circles. He dared a glance back, to see the face of the boy following him; he couldn't take it any longer. On a particularly flat area, he whipped his head around for a second, only a second. That was enough. With the quick, uncalculated turn of his head, the boy's body was thrown out of balance. Thrown out of balance and into the side of a tree. Everything went black.

Newt.

He remembered his name. Newt. Newt didn't particularly like his name, but maybe it suited him. Regardless, he dreamed of the day he'd hear of a lizard running head-on into a tree. It was very un-newt like. Still, he lay on the ground. His consciousness came back some time ago but he kept still and quiet. His pursuer had caught up to him and swore.

"Damn, Greenie, you can run," he said, breathing heavily. A hard boot nudged him in the ribs. He heard the boy kneel down next to him and poke his side. It took a heap of self control to remain still. "It's not safe walkin' in these woods alone. You could, err... did, get hurt." Newt heard signs of the boy's movements to stand up. He seized his opportunity.

Screaming, Newt flailed his arms out wildly, striking nothing.

"Whoa!" the boy exclaimed and jumped back. Still screaming, Newt threw his body in the boy's direction, sending shocks through his body and blackening his vision. He had a concussion.

Suddenly, more voices came through the shadows of the forest. From where, Newt couldn't tell. His head hurt something awful.

"What the hell is going on here?" Newt recognized this stern tone as Alby's voice. The dazed boy fell silent and landed hard on his back as the older boy, who had followed him, pushed him down.

"This Shank got it in his head that it'd be a good idea to run off in the forest. Alone," said the boy, looking harshly at Newt. "Then, when he heard me comin' after his stupid shuck-face, he bolted."

Their words confused Newt. His head was pounding but he knew he must be in some kind of trouble judging by their tone and the sarcastic boy's words.

"Enough, Minho," said Alby. "Hey Shank," he continued, kneeling down and grabbing Newts chin in one hand and pushing his forehead back with the other. "Why are you looking all dreamy?"

"Probably knocked some screws loose. He ran head first into a tree," Minho laughed as he stood up but a serious look from Alby quieted him once again.

"Concussion most likely," Alby mused. "Alright," he continued abruptly, letting out an exasperated sigh, "let's get the MedJacks out here."