First Moments

Newt woke up with the taste of blood and dust coating his mouth. His tounge was so swollen he could not even move it much. He sat quietly, trying to collect his thoughts and gain some information of his surroundings. He could see fire and smoke, smelled the death of people and and saw a massive wall that stretched as far as he could see, with the beginnings of dawn peaking over. He cautiously moved his head and felt an intest pain in his chest. He barely checked himself from screaming out in pain. Looking down at his chest he saw a knife, his own knife, protuding from his chest. Gingerly he touched it, asking "What the hell..." Then the memories came flooding back. Arriving at the glade, leaping from the top of a section of the maze, tangling his leg in a vine. Then Minho finding him and bringing him back to the glade, telling no one... Minho! Newt sat up despite the pain. Breaking out of the Glade, just to get captured by WCKD again. Then Thomas discovering the plot and breaking them free. "Oh hell." Newt remembered losing control of his mind and attacking Thomas, and alternately begging Thomas to kill him in the brief moments of self control he had as the flare took hold. He remembered purposely switching his knife around to stab himself when he rushed him. Then there was nothing. More and more memories came rushing in. Thomas, Gally and himself sneaking into the Last City to save Minho. Gally's new friends launching a full on assault agains WKCD. Thommy's crazy ass breaking a window to leap out with Minho and Newt to land several stories below into a pool or a fountain. "Bloody hell..." Obviously the others thought Newt was dead or they would not have left him, and clearly in a rush to leave his body behind like they had. Newt layed there and lisented. He could clearly hear the sound of some sort of liquid splashing, causing his tounge to become even more clearly swollen, as if the thought of water so close was dehydrating him more and more. Newt climbed to his feet, trying to keep his moans of pain to a minimum. On unsteady feet, he stumbeled and tripped over to the sound. Walking around a half collapsed wall, he saw the source. it was coming from a building about fifty yards away. A pipe was sticking out of a wall that had been hit with an explosive, leaving part of the building collapsed. Newt scanned the road as far as he could see. Some buildings lay in rubble, some had random fires still burning. Bodies, or what could be described as bodies, lay everywhere. The bodies where shredded. Pieces of meat and gore, blood pooling everywhere. Cranks. "Oh great, the bloody city has cranks swarming it, i've got a knife sticking out of my chest, and i have no clue where to go or what the hell to do now. Fabulous." Newt whispered to himself. Moving carefully, he tread carefully over the rough terrain, moring heel to toe with exageratted care, avoiding loose chunks of cement and remains of people. Finally reaching the water source, Newt saw that the water had been pooling on top of a dead crank. "Shit! Can't drink crank juice." Almost ready to cry, Newt realized how stupid he was being. The water was coming from a pipe, and cascading onto the crank remains. That meant that the water coming from the pipe itself was still fine to drink. Newt scanned the immediate surroundings one last time, listening and watching carefully for any signs of cranks or survivors. Seeing none, Newt began to drink, he wanted to just gulp away at the water, drinking as much as he could but Newt knew that would cause him to become violently ill, and he did not want to risk throwing up with the city possibly overrun, because after all, just because he could not hear them, did not mean they werent there. They usually were just beyond what one thought was safe. Besides all those nice threats roaming the city, there was still the problem of the knife in his chest, its presence making itself known to Newt every small movement he made. He did not want to even consider what throwing up would do to the wound. Sated, Newt began a new scan of his surroundings. This time, while still keeping watch for cranks and possible WCKD employees, he was looking for anything he could use. He spotted the upper half of a WCKD soldier. Newt quickly made his way over. "Sorry mate, but you kind of had this coming I suppose." Working quickly and quietly, Newt stripped the man of his rifle and magazines. Attached to the side of him Newt grabbed the canteen and the medkit that every standard WCKD soldier had. Newt picked his way back to the source of water and filled the canteen. With water, medicine and and means of defense, Newt prioritised his needs. Slinging the rifle carefully onto his shoulder, avoiding the knife still currently in his chest, he searched for the first on his list. Food, then shelter, then getting that knife out of his damn chest. Newt walked for a few blocks, the heat of the sun getting worse as the day grew older. Finally after an hour of searching, an hour of painstaking fear and moving quietly, checking his rear with an extreme sense of paranoia, he found what he was looking for. Clear as the knife in his chest he saw the store in front of him. It was barely touched, some glass on the windows broken and the walls scorched from the fires, but he could see what was inside. Shelves of food, coolers of water and ice cream. And to top all that off, the store had a floor above it, a floor he could barricade while he tended to his chest. Not letting his sense of paranoia diminish at all, he made his way into the store, grabbing food that would not need to be cooked or heated and grabbing some extra bottles of water, enough to last a few days. Treading up the stairs, keeping to the side of the stairwell to avoid any unecessary noises, Newt got to the door of the floor above. Opening the door quickly to give the hinges less of a chance to creak loudly. Once the door was open enought to squeeze through, Newt closed it quickly and quietly behind him. Rifle up, Newt began a search of the floor, the pain growing in his chest as the movements aggrevated his chest wound. Finally satisfied that the floor was clear, Newt sat against the wall, to tired and in to much pain to do much more. The door was locked, so that would have to do.