Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I just watched TDC for the sixth time! The movie is never boring, with plenty of Newtmas scenes. Well, I heard that TDC is going to be released tomorrow in the US! After seeing the movie, hope you guys all scribble your broken feelings in the review section. My soul has been hurting for days now, but no one was there to nurse it with me. :'( Don't weep in the theatre - just scream, kick, crank-out. The Death CUre Page 250 :)
Well, here we begin :DChapter 4. The Beginning of the End
Dark, gloomy apartments. Glistening layers of stars.
Dead streets, placid atmosphere, booming roars of vans. They all seemed to come in harmony, creating a soothing rhythm like an orchestra. Wait, what did 'orchestra' even mean? Thomas slightly cocked his head, questioning himself. Did he just remember something he didn't remember?
On Gally's orders, they had hidden behind the cement safeguard, leaning against them while ducking their heads. A huge road was right ahead of them and they needed to think of a good, achievable plan, unless they wanted themselves to be squashed by the patrol vans. The sewage, the only passage to the 'outside world', was a few blocks away, but the WICKED had blocked every citizen from coming out of their houses so that the street could be completely empty. The four had to trick the WICKED's eyes, outrun them if only to figure out how. Gally, Minho and Thomas were faces to face, suggesting a plan, discussing it, then rejecting it continuously.
The three were having a whispery argue when they were cut off by harsh coughing, coming from their right. Their heads snapped to Newt's direction who was a few feet away from them, leaning heavily on another safeguard, his chest heaving up and down. Still coughing, he roughly pulled down the zip and threw his head back, panting. His lips were parted, seeming to be taking strained breaths. Minho nodded to Thomas as a silent demand for the break and hurried to his friend's side, kneeling in front of him.
"How you feelin', mate?" Minho asked the meaningless question, his eyes full of concern. His friend looked ghostly, eyes red and puffy, where his lips and skin were deadly pale. The veins that now spread to his lower chin stood out more, its purplish form looking like an enormous tarantula. Minho certainly knew it was slowly killing him. Since when Newt got into this much of a suffering?
Newt gave him a weak grin before croaking out. "Terrible." His voice was raspy and weak - it broke Minho's heart to see the former co-leader of the Gladers suffering this much. He put his fragile hand on Minho's well-defined shoulder and squeezed it tightly, barely managing another sentence. "But it's good to have you back." Newt smiled, even though it was replaced by a painful wince.
Seeing Newt's hurtful voice shattered Minho's heart. Newt was one of the bravest, even boldest of all of the Gladers. He had never been ill, as his role was far from being sick, after all - he was always there for the others. Minho, suddenly missing the Glade so much, opened his mouth. "Me-" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Me too. Rest a bit." He patted Newt before erecting himself, biting his lips as Newt's head dropped and groaned softly in reply.
"From when was he like that, exactly?" Minho demanded to Thomas, who reluctantly avoided his eyes. "Answer me, you shank. You ain't hiding anything from me."
Thomas inhaled, glancing at Newt in the corner of his eye. Newt was panting, a thin layer of sweat covering his face, eyelids barely open. "A few days ago. The infection started off with his arm."
That statement took both Gally and Minho aback.
"How the shuck did I not notice?" Gally wrapped his head, guilt flashing across his face. Minho, meanwhile, glared at the ground.
"He's been sick from days before, and he came here to rescue me? You let him do that?"
Minho spat the words angrily, now changing the target to Thomas. Thomas opened his mouth to defend himself, but Minho was right. He was the only one who knew that Newt had been infected and wasn't Immune, but he let his sick friend come along with him. He should have given Newt a proper care - just like Newt had always worried and cared for him. How could he be so selfish? Guilt swarmed in his body - it hurt his throat, stomach, and heart. He couldn't even say a word. Minho snorted in fury, eyes welling up with tears.
"I will kill you if you let him die." Minho spat the words bitterly and grumpily walked away to grab his rifle. Thomas nodded silently and tiptoed over to Newt, who had lifted his head by the noise of the footsteps. His dark blonde bangs fell on his eyes, and he didn't even bother to remove them.
"Come on mate, we should get moving," Thomas called out, gently putting his hand on Newt's slumped shoulder. He, too, noticed the snaking veins - along with awful greenish bruises around them.
"Alright," Newt rasped, and Thomas put his arm around his shoulder and pulled him to stand up. Newt groaned softly and forced himself to stand, eventually failing to maintain balance and staggering forward. His form was limp in Thomas's arms, swaying dangerously. Minho took the other arm and help him take a step, and they saw Newt's jaw tighten in agony.
"Newt, give everything you got." Thomas tried to encourage him, locking his arm with Newt's.
"I'm not a bloody corpse, Tommy. I can walk." Newt snapped, not happy about the fact that most of his weight was being carried by his two caring friends. He attempted to move his legs to walk by himself but it was useless. Soon enough he had given up and was focusing on breathing steadily, even failing a couple of times. Thomas saw how much pain his friend was in - his breathes were ragged, body limp, and eyes dull. The most disturbing thing was the moan, the Crank's creepy inhumane moan that always sent chills down his back.
The next three minutes were repetitions of staggering, tugging, and stumbling. Minho and Thomas were doing their best not to drop their sick friend, but Newt kept slipping, nearly hitting the ground a few times. Thomas tightened his grip on his friend's arm, grunting in the effort. Gally was right in front of them, cautiously swivelling his gun. Patrol cars were zapping everywhere, along the streets, down the allies, even on the grass. The soldiers of WICKED were ordering furiously into the radio, searching for, of course, Thomas. They ducked as a lanky soldier, only a few feet away from them, jerked his head to their direction, his expression veiled by the ebony helmet. He whispered something into the walkie-talkie then marched to their way, electric shotgun in his hands. Right about the time Thomas heard the man's boots click right next to his ears, a boisterous bang echoed through the city. The four turned their heads in surprise.
Flame, they saw. Then smoke. Then people. Where? The walls.
One-third of the front gate had been exploded, debris were flying everywhere, launching on the Cranks pouring through the gate. Screaming and shouting were soon mixed together, just like the Cranks and soldiers battling on the ground like savages. The guards raised their transparent shields but it was no use against the soaring missiles of the Right-Arm.
Soon the street was filled with shouts of excitement, shrieks of agony, and shrills of horror. The four fixed their eyes on the savagery battlefield, completely frozen. They didn't know what to do. They simply had no idea. They were running away from the WICKED, heading for the Right-Arm, for the serum. But now the RIght-Arms had invaded the city, burning everything in sight. So the chief of the RIght-Arms had betrayed them. They never kept the promise of keeping them safe. They were firing rockets at no one. Cranks were shrilling madly, the soldiers were backing away in pure terror.
"They said they would just take down the WICKED, not the whole damn city!" Gally shouted in frustration, this deep voice nearly buried by the ear-piercing explosions.
"Those shucking Cranks," Thomas muttered, then immediately regretted it. He eyed at Newt, who sat silently, only his tired eyes darting here and there. His lips were covered with black, gooey blood oozing out of this mouth. His breathing hitched, sending small jerks throughout his fragile form.
"Hey, hey. Newt. We're almost there." Minho caressed Newt's damp hair, succeeding in earning Newt's attention. As if he had just snapped into reality, Newt's dull eyes darted to Minho, who frowned at the sight. The circles around Newt's half-closed eyes had darkened so fast. Thomas had the ungrateful feeling that Newt was not going to last any longer.
He knew, somehow, this was not going to end well.
Done! I guess my writing is not good enough to make you guys cry, but it's enough to make you freak-out. (evil smile) I'd appreciate every single review, even if it's just a one, meaningless word. I'd even appreciate " . ". Good luck at the cinema!