Author's note: First off, a special welcome to quite some new followers I gained after uploading the previous chapter. I hope you'll like this chapter as well. In chapter 14, there are two lines that come directly from the book (chapter 40), spoken respectively by Jorge and Minho. Also, on another note, one of the readers suggested more interaction between Jorge and Newt. Well, Embers to Ashes, you'll be pleased to know that I've incorporated that in this chapter. To another faithful reader, BookWorm237, Jorge might subtly hint about his connection to WICKED. Over time maybe even more than once...

Chapter 14: Open wounds

"Is he unconscious?" Jorge asked after he had stumbled this way towards the other side of the campfire. He was followed by Dmitri, who probably thought that the Hispanic man had a high probability of falling flat on his face, considering the amount of his injuries.

Minho, Newt and two more Gladers looked up startled at the sound of his voice, as if they hadn't heard him coming over the spitting of the fire – and perhaps over the worried thoughts in their heads that kept nagging. The first two moved away from Thomas's body and stepped closer to Jorge, during which he could catch a glimpse of the wounded boy. Thomas was lying very silently on the ground, yet Jorge saw his chest rising and falling.

"Think so," Newt whispered.

"Eric and Brandon are the closest thing we've got to a Med-Jack, nowadays," Minho continued quietly and pointed at the other boys who had stayed with Thomas, "but they aren't sure about how to, you know, get that shuckin' bullet outta him."

Med-Jack. That term again. It was pretty obvious that Minho was referring to someone with medical knowledge. Jorge still found it astonishing that the Gladers had created their own slang. "Like I said before, I can get that sucker out of him."

"You know how to do that?" Minho asked as he raised his eyebrows.

"Yep," Jorge simply said, not particularly interested in explaining why he knew that. "Best not to wait until Thomas regains consciousness, then. I'm going to need a knife, some water, bandages and a needle and tread. Some of these things are in my pack, but I cannot seem to remember where I left it..."

"I think you dropped it when Brenda and you made it to the camp," Dmitri interfered, about to turn back and run in a certain direction. "I'll go get it."

Good. It took some effort, for Jorge still felt physically exhausted, but he managed to lift his feet, one after the other, and bridged the distance between Thomas and himself. The faces of the two other Gladers, Eric and Brandon, expressed initial shock upon seeing Jorge's battered chest.

"It's only blood, muchachos." Jorge rolled his eyes at this, but it did made him realize that the only reason they were staring at his bare chest was because he had forgotten to put on his shirt. Well, that was a bit awkward.

Newt tapped on his shoulder. "Are you sure you are up to it?" he whispered.

A bit surprised, Jorge looked at the boy with the ash-blond hair and nodded then. "I'll be fine. Let's get it over with."

"Good that. What can we do?"

As soon as Jorge had the stuff he requested, he washed his hands in water and held the knife into the flames. "You better hold him down. Legs and arms."

The cutting surface was glowing red, flickering even more in the fading sun's reflection, when Jorge knelt before Thomas.

"This is gonna hurt somethin' awful," Minho said, while he pressed Thomas's right shoulder down. His eyes darted from the knife to meet up with Jorge's pair of eyes. The Asian boy slightly nodded his head as if to give Jorge permission to do what needed to be done.

Jorge gave a short nod as well, then brought his knife to the meaty part above Thomas's armpit and made two small cuts that crossed the wound, which was called a X-incision, so he could reach the bullet more easily. As soon as the hot blade touched his skin, it made a hissing sound. Thomas's body started to twitch convulsively, while his mouth opened as if to let out a painful scream, but the boy lost consciousness before he could voice it.

With the point of the knife, Jorge entered the wound to search for the bullet. The constant gushing of blood, however, blocked his view. He mumbled something uncivil. "Newt, could you...?"

The boy next to him already got the hint and wiped the wound with a wet clot. For just a second, Jorge saw a shimmering of rusty lead in the wound, knowing now in which direction he had to carefully twist the knife. He heard one of the other Gladers suppress a gagging sound as he tried to whisk the bullet out. Oh really, he thought to himself. Those guys were the closest thing they had to a doctor?

Slowly, the slippery bullet went upwards and eventually left the opening. Jorge took the bloody thing and planted it in Minho's hand. "Here, take it. Newt, clean the wound. And, erhm, Eric? That flask from my pack?"

He wasn't really sure who Eric was, but hey, as long as he got the flask. What was the other guy's name again? Oh yeah. "Brandon, prepare the needle and tread."

Someone pressed the flask in his hand. Jorge opened it and took a big gulp from it, letting it burn his throat as it made its way to his stomach. Aah, that felt good.

Minho frowned. "What's in there?"

"Tequila," Jorge said with a grin. "I definitely needed some of that."

He was not the only one who needed it, though, for he had seen the rustiness on the bullet and worried that it might have done more damage to the Thomas's immune system than it had done to his bodily tissue. So, before closing the lid of the flask, Jorge poured some of the content in the boy's wound. After that, the stitches. And finally, a bandage.

"It's done."

After stating the obvious, he stood up and started to wobbly walk away. Woah, it felt as if he was drunk. He had only had one sip of the tequila! But, of course, he knew that it wasn't actually caused by the alcoholic beverage. The physical suffering had taken its toll, up to the point that he didn't think he could walk anymore. Jorge hated to feel dependent of others, so he just flopped down on the ground and waited for the dizziness to disappear.

Someone sat down next to him. "Hey. You okay?"

"Hm," Jorge produced an ambiguous sound as some kind of answer, while he kept staring at the same spot on the ground, willing the spinning images he saw to get back to the one that was real.

"You did great work there," the boy continued, pausing for just a second. "With fixing up Tommy. And with distracting the Cranks in the city. What I mean to say is... thanks, man."

Jorge blinked and slowly turned his head, not wanting the dizziness to return. He saw a very serious looking Newt. "You're welcome."

Somewhere deep inside him, he felt an emotion he recognized as guilt trying to come to the surface. Yeah sure, one of WICKED's main objectives was to keep Thomas alive, but that wasn't why he had done it. Or was it?

"Why did you help us?" Newt asked suddenly.

Quickly hiding that this alarmed him, he answered, "Thomas promised us the cure. We need you guys alive for that. Well, most of you, at least." The last thing he added with a wry smile. Something in Newt's bright eyes caught his attention, though.

"Were... were you always like this?" the blond boy hesitantly started, but then stopped as if he did not seem to know how to proceed.

Jorge focused his gaze a bit sharper on the limping Glader. "What do you mean, hermano?"

"Well, you seem nice, is all. I was just wondering if you were only bloody acting to get what you need," Newt continued, but his voice was in overdrive, while his eyes avoided contact.

"That might be so, but that's not what you want to ask me." He waited until Newt looked in his direction and nodded. "I won't bite, I promise."

"You have the Flare, right? H-how long do you have it? And do you already feel its effects? Do you act differently than, well, before?"

He thought he understood Newt's curiosity, remembering that the Gladers were told they all had the Flare and should travel through this scorched land to get the cure. "I'm still in a pretty early phase," Jorge lied convincingly. Although he himself was immune, he did have firsthand experiences watching people suffering from it. "So far, I've been in control, well, for the most time, although I do feel something changing in me. Just like you, I think?"

Newt was silent for a while. "Yeah... Just like me."