A/N: Thank you so, so, so much NewtnTMR, Whiteness (Guest), Embers to Ashes, 013 (Guest), and Soggy-Ninjago679G for your reveiws!
Finally! Here's the chapter I was supposed to update how many weeks ago? ;)
Enjoy!
Casey
Chapter 6
Holing Up
Newt's head snaps to the right. He finds himself sprawled sideways on the ground watching the Crank lunge for Blaze. Pain stabs his shoulder. Something is drilling a hole in his bones and slowly stripping his flesh off with a knife. The world turns a shade darker but he can make out a struggle.
Blaze is kicking the Crank. It only enrages the Gone as it slams its fist into his stomach. The gun is only several feet between Newt and the assailant. He pushes his body up on an anemic elbow, extending the length of his arm.
Grabs it.
Pulls the slide back.
Squeezes the trigger.
Bang! A deafening shot cuts through the air. Miss. Splinters scatter across the cement from the door. Newt takes aim again, keeping the muzzle pointed at the Crank's back. Before he can react a fist connects with his jaw.
Crunch. Newt shoots a second time and then a third as the Crank repeatedly hammers its knuckles against his bones. Blood oozes out from his attacker's stomach and broken limbs. The bullets don't faze it. Blaze materializes behind the Crank, sweaty hands out. "Gun!" Newt tosses it to him as an elbow slams into his chest, knocking the wind out of him.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Crank crumples on the ground in a heaping mess next to him. He holds in the strong urge to throw up. Blaze holsters his gun and helps him to his battered, abused feet; then heads for the entrance. Newt realizes he'd just made a nice bullet hole in the bottom somewhere during the attack.
He growls through the ever-present pain. As the adrenaline ebbs away he feels every place the Crank hit him—too many to count. But none match his shoulder. Blaze loosens the knife in his sheath clipped to his belt. He pushes the door open with a light shove. It swings inward, creaking on rusty hinges and producing a faint echo inside. The place is dimly light by one bulb that dangles from a chain.
Blaze scans the interior for any intruders or changes. All clear. He locks the door, shifting Newt uncomfortably before continuing down the narrow hallway. Debris, crates, and empty cans litter the floor. Glass crunches beneath his boots and his brother's thinner shoes.
Newt groans. His brown eyes show a lot of pain mixed with extreme fatigue. Every time he take a stuttering step Blaze wonders if he'll suddenly hit the floor and pass out.
"We'll be there soon. We're going a couple floors up in case any more Cranks get in." Newt nods weakly. At least he understands what's going on enough to respond.
Ten Minutes Later…
"Tssssssss! Get your bloody hands—"
"Just hold still," Blaze commands, firmly gripping Newt's arm.
He cuts the rest of the boy's shirt off using a knife with a twelve-inch blade. Grabbing a plastic bucket of water, he dips the material in and wrings it out. He presses it against Newt's mangled shoulder. The boy's pallid face contorts and he latches onto Blaze's leg with surprising strength.
"Talk to me," Newt whispers.
"What?"
"Just bloody talk, Shuckface. It hurts."
Blaze digs into one of the bags he had brought from floor two and produces a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. This is gonna really sting, he thinks as he pours some onto the shirt. "What's Shuckface?"
"Something my friends and I made up." Newt averts his gaze. He misses the Gladers: Alby, Minho, Chuck, Frypan, Zart, Ted, Sam, Jack, and—heck—even Gally.
Why did they have to die? Only two of them might've even made it. But to where? The whole world is infested with the Flare and WICKED doesn't have a cure. He tries to think of something good as the image of Tommy pointing the gun at him flashes in front of his eyes. Then fire assaults his shoulder—a burning, stinging, shucking pain that comes out of nowhere.
"Shucks!" Blaze is pouring something on the wound.
"Sorry. This is supposed to clean it. Anyway, keep talking. What can you remember?"
Newt hesitates. Should he tell this man—allegedly his older brother—about the last two years? Or maybe… "I can't remember a lot. You're saying I'm Brodie. What was my life like back then? Did I have other family members?"
"WICKED took you when you were five. The Sun Flares struck the year before but you did have a happy life. Yeah, we had Mom and Dad. Also two other siblings. Our sister was a baby when you left but she caught the Flare soon after." Blaze pauses, pulling a metal box out of the bag and rummaging through its contents.
"We have an older brother—Jax. He's twenty-eight and lives at an abandoned warehouse. I'm living with him and a group of Munies. I'll take you there when you can get up on your own." Blaze shows Newt a set of tweezers. "I'm gonna get the bullet out, okay?" The blond nods.
"How'd you get your limp?"
Newt grimaces. Might as well tell him, since it doesn't matter anymore. "I climbed a wall and jumped off. But I hadn't gone up high enough so I woke up alive."
Blaze's eyes widen in alarm as he digs the metal into the boy's flesh. Newt tightens his grip on him, fingers digging into his leg. After a while, he ventures to ask the question: "Why'd you do it."
Newt takes a deep breath and then tells him everything.
A/N: Here we go! No heart attacks and no cliffhanger for once! :) But we'll see about the next one...
