It was too hot to think. The world swirled around Newt in a blurry haze. Newt wasn't sure if he was just tired or if the clouds were about to break open into another lightning storm.
Huddled under the shadows of the looming buildings in the scorch, attempting to stay out of the brutal rays of the sun, Newt stuck close to Minho's side. Even as he looked ahead, he kept tabs on Minho's presence, not wanting to lose sight of him out here.
Newt had no idea if he would ever see Thomas again and the thought terrified him. He could be crushed or trapped or being eaten by Cranks and Newt would never know.
Jorge assured him that Brenda knew what she was doing but Newt didn't buy it.
"Let's stop here," he heard Jorge call, waving the group into an empty building. It was only one story, unlike most of the other buildings around them, and it looked empty. "We should try and get some sleep and travel at night. It's not safe to let our guard down when the lights go out."
As high strung as Newt was, he wasn't going to pass up the chance to get out of the blistering sun and sleep for a couple hours.
He curled himself up in the corner a couple feet away from where Minho sat against the wall. His eyes closed with a sudden weight. Maybe he was more tired than he'd thought. It only took a couple seconds before he was asleep.
The screaming breaks through Newt's subconscious. He can hear footsteps of people running around him, can no longer feel the warmth of the humid midday air.
He feels cold. Sticky with sweat or something else. He isn't sure. He forces his eyes open, forces himself to look around and see.
His heart stops in his chest. He chokes on his next breath, a half sob half scream. He looks at his hands and scrambles backwards, moving away as fast as possible.
It was blood. He's drenched in it.
His head whips from side to side as he looks around the small, crowded room. They were everywhere. The bodies of his dead friends. A scream rips from his throat as he stumbles to his feet, running to the small bathroom at the back of the building, the door hanging off it's hinges.
His bloody fingers slip as he tries to grab hold of the sink. He stares at himself in the cracked glass of the mirror, his eyes widening in horror.
His mouth is covered in blood. He can taste the copper of it. He brings a trembling hand to his face and touches the blood stains as they drip down his neck. His reflection stares back at himself and he swears it's not him. He doesn't look like that. His eyes don't look like that.
He retches into the sink, trying to push the image from his mind. He tries to forget the look of insanity in his eyes.
He's a Crank. He has the flare. He's gone insane.
He feels it inside him. The urge to kill. The urge that tries to consume him. He feels another scream bubble up in his throat, feels it claw it's way out until it's deafening him.
He claws at his ears. He hates the sound of his own scream but he can't stop. He hates the sound of his own name.
Newt.
"Newt!"
Newt's scream died as he jolted awake, the only thing leaving his mouth a small whimper. He looked around frantically for the source of the voice, choking on a sob when he sees Minho looking down at him with concern.
"You're alive…" he whispered as he reached up and balled his fists into Minho's shirt. He ignored the look of confusion on Minho's face as he pulled him close and buried his face in Minho's shoulder, breathing in long and slow as he calmed himself.
A dream. It had been a dream.
"We have to get out of here," he heard Jorge say. "Probably alerted every Crank in a mile radius with that screaming."
Minho's strong arms wrapped around Newt and helped him to his feet.
"Common, shuck-face, let's get out of here."
Newt just nodded and pushed Minho away from him. He ignored the fact that he was still shaking as he walked towards the entrance of the building and stepped out into the blistering heat once more. He felt Minho behind him and took silent comfort in his presence.
He swore to himself then. He would die before he let his friends see him become a Crank.