In which there is rain and an arrival
AN: sorry its a bit late. I'd hoped to post earlier today, but life interferred, and then I ended up adding an entire scene, which argued with me about how it was going to be written. But here we go!
-notes and teaser at the end-
I'm stuck with sit-down jobs for the next two days.
I spend an entire day sat in a wheelbarrow with the Track-Hoes, having Rob push me around the gardens as I'm needed for things like holding twine, shelling peas or cleaning carrots. The odd jobs keep my hands busy and I'm able to entertain myself watching the boys fight through the still growing corn as they water it.
The following day – still banned from Medic duty and caring for the animals – Frypan and Stan keep a watchful eye on me as I sit by the hearth in the Kitchen, stirring broths, skinning potatoes and dicing up peppers. They keep me occupied with the usual chatter.
I borrowed a couple more of the oversized hoodies from the Medi Tent and hacked up a pair of old jeans I found in a store hut, making a set of shorts. I've been watching the bruise on my leg fly through a rainbow of colours.
It's a pretty horrific purple-green combination as the Cooks start to lay out supper.
"You didn't think to yell at him?" Frypan asks, chuckling away to himself as he cuts up a beautifully spit-roasted chicken. He's asked for the full story again – third time in one day – and is still asking questions about it.
I stab a piece of pepper particularly violently.
"By the time I yelled and he looked up and I pointed and he turned around – he'd have been comatose," I say. "I just…"
"-Shoved him out of the way," Frypan says, when my voice tails off.
"He was really angry," I remember.
Frypan shakes his head, the spoon going still in his pot of broth. "Nah," he says. "He was really worried. You scared him, Evie."
I give him a dubious look. "Really? How is that possible? Don't you remember Justin? He scratched me, chased me through the wood and actually wanted to kill me before Newt took him out. He just made sure I got bandaged up and we all moved on."
Newt told me he'd mentioned to Alby about our theory of there being a switch; that I replaced someone called Adam. But they decided to keep it quiet so no one worried. That conversation was just between us.
Frypan chuckles again, but I don't fully get what's so funny this time.
"Evie," he says, patiently like talking to a ten year old. "You just said it. When Justin tried to attack you, Newt smashed him with a shovel. He was protecting you. He did what he did to keep you safe.
"But this time…you did this to keep him safe. There's nothing he could have done to stop you getting hurt, because you did it for him, and that's what scared him."
"What an idiot," I mutter, though that does explain a few things.
Frypan chuckles again.
I still don't get the joke.
Stan pulls another chicken out of the fire next to us. He holds out the spit as he crosses the room. "Last one."
I carefully stand up. My leg is strong enough for me to stumble about on my own, and I'm working on using it properly each time.
"I'm going to head over to the Infirmary," I say. "Catch up with Clint and Jeff. See you guys soon."
They both nod, allowing me to hobble out of the hut without interference.
I work my way into the late afternoon sun and I hear Stan's voice inside.
"They still in denial?"
I hear Frypan's laugh again.
"Stanny boy, I don't think they even realise. Grab the herb bowl, would you?"
I shake my head and let it go. I'm not sure what they're on about, and I'm not sure I want to know.
…
Two days later, it rains.
I hobble in from the animal pens as fast as I can – my leg still relearning to take my weight – and join the Slicers in the Butchery. It quickly becomes packed as half the Track-Hoes file under the roof with us, as we're closer than running for Homestead.
Its early afternoon, and the rest of the day's work is quickly called off.
It's heavy.
The Butchery roof holds, but puddles form in the two doorways and the sun is lost in a grey sky. The field looks sad and hazy through the slanting downpour.
I only have one other memory of rain; soft light and water drops pinging into tin buckets. The world didn't seem quite as forlorn, then.
Zart and half his team empty their pockets of pea pods, shelling them on the table and starting to divide them amongst themselves. Within minutes, having borrowed wishbones that the boys keep when they prepare the birds, they're involved in what looks like another Glader-invented game.
They're halfway through an intense betting round when Dan ducks inside, trying to stay some semblance of dry under a Hessian square of cloth.
He shakes his head and water flies everywhere, making Gladers dodge quickly away from him in complaint. He took the goat's milk down to the Kitchen for me, so I wouldn't have to go.
"Alby's in the Mess with Fry, Tim and Gally's lot," Dan reports. "Said to just wait it out."
Winston gives him a brotherly clap on the shoulder.
I let myself get dragged into a wishbone competition against Jack.
I don't know what you're meant to wish for, and all I can think about as we both pull is the poor bird it once belonged to.
It snaps cleanly.
Jack wins and I'm left turning the broken piece in my fingers, laughing as he collects his winnings – five peas - from everyone who bet on me.
It's a ridiculous game. But that seems fitting.
I give up my seat so Lee can lean in and have a go, and instead shuffle myself to the edge of the hut.
I've not seen much of it, and spent even less time in it, but I know I like the rain. Something about seeing the Glade so still and the way it falls in sheets feels soothing.
Something falls on my shoulders, and I jump.
Dan laughs, catching my wrist to tug me back under the roof and I realise he's thrown the Hessian fabric over me. He rubs his hands together, smiling, and nods to the scratchy cloth.
"It won't do much, but better than nothing."
I smile, "Thanks."
He nods and turns back to the others, and its only as he walks away that I realise he already has a winning piece of wishbone stuck behind his ear.
My smile grows.
Dork.
But I turn back to the doorway and in an instant I realise two things.
I want to be somewhere else.
Dan gave me the cloth so I could go.
I shoot a look back over my shoulder. I love these guys, but right now, a memory is calling me. Dan will tell them; no one will worry.
I jump over the puddle, feel irrationally light-hearted as I tug the sheet over my head, and make my way into the rain.
…
By the time I reach the Council Hall, I'm soaked.
And there are voices from inside, which I hadn't thought about. I figured everyone was in Homestead.
I duck around the door.
The Runners, Newt, Billy and Jackson are all there. The latter two are sprawled over the curved steps and carry on conversation whilst staring at the ceiling. All the Runners still look a little damp. Newt is sat on one of the steps, leant forward on his elbows looking more laid back than I'd have expected. Thanks to the roof being filled in, there's no dripping, no rivulets forming across the ground.
They look up in surprise as I file in.
"Hey," Newt greets, apparently on reflex. "What-…did you walk here?"
I can hear the faint note of exasperation in his voice, along with something else softer and indefinable. I hobble pointedly towards him.
"Well I didn't run," I say. "What are all you guys doing here?"
I see Newt's expression twist into confusion as Minho replies, "Nearest cover when we raced back through the Doors. It don't rain out there, but we saw the sky. Those two were here first." He nods to the Baggers, who throw me lazy waves.
"And you?" I ask, dropping down next to Newt.
"Came to find them. Brought supplies," he says succinctly, nodding towards a few slices of bread and a blanket set down in the middle.
He pulls the rough, itchy hessian from over my shoulders, and I let it go willingly, feeling my hair fall forwards; heavy with the rain. It drips languidly onto my sweater.
Dan was right; it really didn't do much, but I felt more protected.
Newt hesitates, then turns to the side and hands me over another dry blanket.
It's only then that I realise Ben's got a similar one around his neck, and there's a fourth one at Doug's feet.
So I sit quietly, in the dry blanket and try to wring my hair out as Doug and Ben return to an inane conversation about bears and Billy starts humming out of tune.
"You didn't think anyone would be here," Newt says, very quietly after long moments just listening to the easy chatter and the rain.
I glance at him. I shrug. "Didn't really think that far," I admit, voice just as low so we don't interrupt the others. "I just wanted to run into the rain and I came here."
He shakes his head, a smile pulling at his mouth, and I know he's a little amused and exasperated – mainly because he's still bothered about my leg.
"Obviously I didn't run," I repeat, stretching out my limb and twisting it so I can see the fading bruise. All the days of wearing shorts while it heals have tanned my skin lightly, and it's harder to see the yellowing colour of the injury in the subdued light of the hut. "But its fine."
He huffs, but it's not quite the disagreeing noise that it would have been four days ago.
I just smile, burrowing into my borrowed blanket.
"Where you at the Bloodhouse?" he asks.
"Yes," I say. "Just finished with the pens."
"Is Zart up there?" he checks. "Only a couple of the Track-Hoes rushed into the Mess."
"Yep," I say. "They're betting peas on who can win a wishbone."
Newt turns his head to me, bewildered. "What?"
I snort, sharing a look with him. "Don't ask."
"You two," Ben's voice breaks our little bubble, and I look up. The you two sits in my stomach as a warm weight. "Weigh in on this, would you?"
Newt groans.
I can't help a laugh.
Sure, the atmosphere back in the Butchery is more wild and outrageous, but it's rare that I get to see these guys in such an easy mood.
I sit forward a little, trying to pull the damp threads of my hair back again. "Weigh in on what?"
Ben starts off on a tangent, Doug immediately begins protesting and Billy quits humming to insist they're both wrong. Dimitri lobs a bit of bread at him. Minho and Newt share one of their brotherly looks and apparently decide to just let the argument continue. Minho, smiling in a way I don't often see, lays his head back against the wall and his eyes fall closed.
The blanket is warm, my hair is drying out, the boys are fighting over something completely redundant and the rain can still be heard over them; relentless on the roof.
Maybe we needed a Rain Day.
…
Three days later, and another month is gone.
This one seemed to last forever, between finding a contraceptive device under my skin, having Winston voted a Keeper and then losing the ability to walk for days after a tree tried to kill me.
I find I'm oddly looking forward to the new arrival when the alarm blares across the Glade.
It's mid morning. I'm still wearing shorts and borrowed hoodies, but I can walk almost totally fine and the bruise has gone. The ligament down the side of my knee just twinges if I stand on it for too long.
Jeff assures me that will pass soon.
So I find I'm jogging up to the Box platform with Dan and Lee as the red doors open over the familiar grill cage.
Newt and Gally pull up the doors, and then Gally hesitates. Newt steps back.
I peer forwards.
The boy in the cage is young. Very young.
All the ones I've ever met in the Glade look to be between fourteen at the very youngest, and twenty at the oldest, and that's basically just Alby. Even Gally, Minho and Newt, who have been here the longest other than him, all seem to be around the eighteen mark – making them fifteen or fourteen when they were sent.
This boy is a preteen. Twelve, I'd guess.
He's still got baby fat on him and his skin is pale, with two bright marks of colour on his cheeks. His blue eyes swim with tears and terror under a mess of dark curly hair.
Gally shoots Newt a look.
Newt leaves. He's gone for Alby.
Gally drops into the cage, and I just silently pray he doesn't scare the boy more.
"Day one, Greenie," he says, the same as always, but his voice is softer. "No one here is going to hurt you. Come on, let's get you out."
It takes a minute for Gally to convince him to climb from the Box and another for him to actually manage it.
The boy is shaking when he stands on the grass.
"Alright," Newt says. He's striding towards us, his limp only slowing him a little. "Clear off everyone."
Alby walks along at his elbow. His expression is fixed into something troubled.
No one argues.
Everyone is too shocked by the boy's age.
I turn to follow Lee back to the Bloodhouse when I'm pulled back.
"She'll catch you up," Newt says. He lets my wrist go when I stop.
I nod at them and stay with Gally, Alby and Newt, who surround the boy.
"You hurt, Kid?" Alby asks, as gently as he can.
The boy trembles.
"Alby," Newt says quietly.
When the older boy looks up, Newt tilts his head at me.
Alby nods.
I decide to take this for what it seems like, and I approach the boy.
"Hey," I say, very quietly. "I know you're scared. I know you can't remember anything, and I know that nothing I say is going to help."
In my peripheral vision, Alby starts forward and Newt presses on his shoulder.
I block them out.
The boy's eyes are riveted on me, wide and startled. Something in them settles.
"Your name will come back to you. Just give it a little while. The rest will come in time. You're safe as long as you're inside these walls."
Gally leans down next to me.
"Come with me, Kid. It's okay."
The boy's eyes fly from Gally's severe looking face to mine. I nod and try to smile.
Still shaking like a leaf, the boy follows Gally away, and I know they're going to the Pit. It always works that way; after some bad reactions to arriving – mine, for instance – Alby decided that shutting them in the Slammer to process the situation for themselves was safest.
"Good work," Alby says, when Gally and the kid have left earshot.
"What the hell is happening?" I ask. "He has to be too young to be here."
"I don't know," Alby mutters. "Try to get back to normal. I'll talk to him in a bit."
"Keep us posted," Newt says.
Alby claps him on the shoulder and heads off.
"Why me?" I ask, knowing Newt will understand.
"You make people feel better," Newt says, like it's that simple. "And he's too scared for Gally or Alby to be questioning him."
"You know, you're second in command around here," I say, though my tone is lighter now. "You could always take it upon yourself to do the tour and the introductions." I shrug, as I pick my way past him. "They look up to you; a newbie will too."
"Maybe the next one," Newt calls to me. I can hear the ghost of a smile in his voice.
I wave and make back for the Bloodhouse. Still have rabbits to feed and goose feathers to find. We'll unload the Box later.
…
The boy is called Chuck.
He didn't hit his head, so we wonder if his being younger has any affect on him remembering his name by nightfall.
He's still scared – ruined his pants more than once before he calmed down enough for Alby to take him around.
He isn't curious; he doesn't venture anywhere near the wall, and his eyes leap from Glader to Glader as though he's waiting for us to grow fangs.
He sticks fairly close to Alby all through the Box Feast, as the older makes sure he takes a helping of food, finds a seat by the fire and meets a handful of the boys.
He isn't given any of Gally's Brew.
…
"Pipsqueak looks terrified," Dan says as he drops down next to me that same night.
The fire is blazing in the pit, the sky a cloak of blackness above and my legs are stretched out in front of me as I grasp a jar of Brew in my hands.
I look across the camp at Chuck.
His eyes are still wide and round as he takes everything in, but at least his shaking has stopped. He's sitting on a log beside Rob, which is probably best, since Rob's a reserved guy and he's only just finished being a Greenie.
Chuck looks across and catches my eye. I see his cheeks darken and he quickly looks down.
"Didn't we all?" I ask, half rhetorically. I down a gulp of the Brew.
Dan snorts. "Not you," he says.
I turn my eyes to him instead.
"I was terrified."
He nods. "I know. And we could see you were scared when those doors opened, but after you got past Gally and then managed to knock Newt aside, everyone just kind of fell apart. I think Lee was more afraid of you than you were of us – the first girl, first one to surprise Gally like that. Not the first to make a break for it, but the first we couldn't catch. And then you hide for hours and nearly skewer Alby…And Lee wasn't alone; a few of the others were afraid, too."
Some of that is new to me. I can't fully process that these boys might have been afraid of me, so I turn to the other thing he said instead.
"Okay, this is really bugging me," I say. "How do you guys know I threw that spike at Alby? Only he and Newt were there and since Henry's first week, people keep mentioning it."
Dan gives me a very strange look but before he can answer – which I can see he's preparing to do – another voice joins the conversation.
"I told them."
Newt sinks down next to me.
"Why?" I ask. Newt takes the jar from my hands and tips it back, swallowing a good mouthful.
He hands it back.
"It was the night Henry got here," he says, nodding across to where the boy in question sits with Eric.
"We were stood the other side of the fire," Dan takes up the story. "Minho saw Henry come around to you and it looked like he was bothering you a bit. I suggested we should probably say something; tell him to just chill out when it came to you but Newt…" Dan chuckles, shaking his head. "Newt said you didn't need protecting. That if he got a little too much, you'd chuck a spoon at him or wave one of the spits in his face until he ran away."
I don't know whether to feel indignant that they think I'd poke a boy's eye out with a spit for asking awkward questions, or pleased that they know I can hold my own. I stay silent instead.
"That's when told them about Alby," Newt continues. "I said you grabbed one of the Builder's spikes before you climbed, and you threw it at him – close enough to make him stop – when he tried to get near you."
"You're pretty dangerous when you're afraid, Evie," Dan sniggers.
"Oh shut it," I tell him, laughing. "Well, at least that explains that. Is it ever going to get old?"
"Maybe," Newt smiles. "Maybe not."
"Probably should learn to actually defend yourself, though," Dan says, like he's still thinking it over.
Newt glances over at him, looking contemplative.
"You mean like the wrestling Ring?" I ask.
"No," Dan shakes his head. "Well, yeah – kind of. Not actually taking part, but if one of us could teach you some basics, at least that's something."
No one in the Glade hurts another.
That's one of the fundamental rules of our lives. But I know that we're still hoping to leave, and even knowing a couple of tricks about how to defend myself can only be a good thing when we do.
I nod. "Maybe that's a good idea."
"Ben," Newt says. "Or Billy. Both of them are pretty good. I'll talk to Alby tomorrow."
The conversation has just tied up when Frypan and Frankie cross over to us. Jeff and Winston are both in tow. Frypan hands down some extra jars of Gally's Brew to the others as they take seats and then holds out a long spit with part of a roasted fat goose on it.
"Well," he says. "Here's to the second most unusual Box Feast ever. Sorry, Evie. Not even a kid coming up tops the only girl."
"Thanks, Fry," I say sarcastically. A few of the group chuckle.
"Think he'll be alright?" Winston asks.
Eyes turn back to Chuck. He hasn't moved; still fixed to his log with his dish of food on his lap.
As though sensing being watched, his eyes jump up to us. He flushes again and snaps his head back down.
"He will be," Jeff says. "It takes time for all of us, but can you imagine being sent here if you were any younger? Give him a few days – he'll be everyone's little brother."
INFO
1. We're catching up to the movie, Guys! Okay, still a fair way off, honestly, but hey - Chuck's here. And on that note...I don't know if any of this is ever brought up in the books, but my thoughts were always that he really is at least a couple of years younger than any of the other Gladers. Someone that young being sent up isn't heard of (I figure even Alby would have been at least 14 or so before he was sent up), so it would be a bit of a shock for them. Personally, I think it was a carefully placed variable on WCKD's part. Just more stage-setting. So hopefully that explains the reactions to him here.
2. Another Rain Day. Originally not planned. There was just two in the entire story, and we know one takes place during the events of the film, but whereas I've deliberately invoked parallels in places, I'm also deliberately drawing contrasts, too. This is one of them. Hopefully it makes more sense when the story gets there.
3. That mad little thing with peas and wishbones is all my mania. I'd apologise but...
4. This chapter is not my favourite. I feel like it fluctuates a bit. The first scene with Fry and Stan I like; it has a bit of focus. The Rain scenes seem a bit aimless. Chuck's scenes move back to plot, rather than character oriented. I don't know - maybe it reads okay, but I feel like it's a bit all over the place. Adding in the rain scenes might have done that. To be fair, they're all relevant, but in different ways, and some of them relevant later on, rather than now, so that probably doesn't help. Or I'm paranoid and overthinking it. I'm not sure. Hope you enjoyed it anyway!
Chapter 14 - Teaser
"This is not funny."
"It is a little," Frypan puts in. He's setting down the pot of broth not far from us.
-To be posted at the end of the week-