"NEWT!"
Time seemed to stop as Thomas tunnel-visioned on Newt, collapsed on the ground, spilling blood over the sand. Blood flowed from the wound on his stomach, a look of shock etched onto his features as he gasped for air.
"NO!" Minho roared, stumbling forward and dropping to the ground, scrambling to try and stop the flow of blood staining the sand crimson. Thomas hadn't even realized he was screaming as he scrambled to close the distance between him and his writhing friend.
"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay…" Thomas sank to his knees beside Newt, panickedly checking the growing stain on Newt's shirt, not knowing what to do to help.
"Shit, shit, shit. The shucking...god damnit." Minho knelt by Newt's head, trying to staunch the bleeding. Newt's eyes were half open, a glazed sheen covering them. He breathed in short gasps, his hands shaking as they groped towards the wound, though Thomas fought to stop him touching it. A gust of wind behind them signaled that the Berg had landed, and with a hiss, the doors opened.
Brenda wasted no time in scrambling across the sand, Jorge at her heels, alarm written all over their features. Brenda pushed past Minho to kneel beside Newt, and her eyes widened as she noticed all the blood.
"Shit. This looks bad. We need to staunch this bleeding, or he'll die right here. Jorge, c'mere!"
The bullet had entered Newt's middle abdomen, almost directly in the center of his torso. He struggled to breath, and with a cough, blood spurted out of his lips.
"It might have got the diaphragm. We need to get him back to the Safe Haven pronto." Jorge assessed, his voice low and quick. "You'll be alright, son." he tried to speak words of encouragement, but Thomas could tell by the tone that Jorge was uncertain as well. Minho stayed dutifully by Newt's side as Brenda and Jorge wrapped Newt's abdomen in whatever fabric they could scour. Thomas stood helplessly to the side, tears a constant river down his cheeks as he couldn't draw his eyes away from the scene.
We just saved him, goddamnit! Why? Why did this have to happen?
A horrible retching sound startled him from his reverie, and drew his attention back to the lurching Crank behind them.
Thomas drew his gun and stalked over.
There was hardly any trace of Janson left, and Thomas felt an urge of disappointment. He wanted to kill Janson, not the Crank that overtook him. Suddenly, a shadow crossed the Crank's face, and a smirk stretched out against angrily rotten teeth.
Janson was fighting, and was back for a second.
Thomas drew his gun and clicked the safety off. "You son of a bitch," he said, voice quavering. Tears dripped off his cheeks and on to Janson's face.
"You're crying." he laughed throatily, a nasty croaking sound at the edges. "You're weak. I always knew you couldn't take it. But go ahead. Kill me. I know you can't."
Thomas trembled with anger as he clenched his face and bit his lip, trying to control his rage. But he wasn't weak.
He cried tears of titanium.
And he was strong.
And he would take this chance.
But Janson left the moment his finger tightened around the trigger, leaving an unpredictable Crank, who rolled out of the way of the shot Thomas fired. He swore and tried again, but only met an empty barrel. The Crank screeched horribly, and rose from the sand, swinging at Thomas with unpredictable hands. Thomas backed away, trying to escape the scratches and bites the Crank was trying to give him, but he was unbelievably quick, and Thomas stumbled backwards and hit the ground, Janson almost on top of him…
But with a bang, he fell backwards, twitched once, and was still.
Thomas whirled his head around, only to see Jorge standing with his gun outstretched, a look of cool contempt and blind fury on his face.
Thomas looked back at the unmoving body of Janson, and with the coldest fury you could imagine, he drove Newt's dagger into Janson's heart.
"Thomas." Gally waved him over to the Berg's open door, where everyone else was already loaded, where everyone else was struggling to keep Newt alive. With a heavy nod, he cast one look at the burning building, then boarded the ship. They rose steadily in the air, Jorge keeping one eye on the sky, and one on the activities in the back of the ship.
"How's he doing?" Thomas asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"Not good. I need more bandages." Brenda's voice was distracted as she, Minho and Gally fretted over Newt, his pain filled gasps for breath filling the empty silence around the aircraft.
Thomas slumped down against the wall, the flames still rising in his peripheral vision, blood stains over his hands and the floor, agony clear over Newt's breathing. Thomas's breathing increased, and his vision swayed, and reality overwhelmed him as he fell into a deep abyss of blackness and knew no more.