The truck bumped along the dry and rocky ground for a long time. They stopped a few times to pick up more infected people and it seemed to Newt that they were making a round along the city's periphery. Everyone seemed to accept their fate, except for a middle-aged man in a dark grey tattered suit, who kept screaming there had been a mistake and that they couldn't do this to him, struggling against the men in protective suits for so long that he was shot with the Launcher and after the electricity died down, his limp body has been unceremoniously thrown into the back of the truck. Newt caught a glimpse of his glazed expression and quickly turned away, his stomach turning at the sight. The vehicle resumed movement and after a couple of minutes, Newt went back to his daydreaming.

He was back in the Glade, leaning his back against a tree at the edge of the small clearing where they buried their dead. Newt used to know each one of the boys and sometimes he felt oddly responsible for their deaths. Not that any of them was his fault but still he felt a little better, coming here and simply remembering his friends. It was the least he could do for them. He craned his head back and let it rest against the tree behind him. The daylight was fading slowly and the small clearing grew darker. Somehow Newt felt comforted by the darkness and the peacefulness of the moment. He didn't come here often, simply because he didn't have the time. He had his duties in the Glade, same as others and his days usually left him tired and ready for bed. But in the past few days, sleep hadn't come easily. Ever since the newest Greanbean - Tommy.
Newt inexplicably felt close to Thomas ever since the boy entered the Glade. If somebody had asked him, Newt wouldn't have been able to explain it. Not only did he feel at ease around Tommy and becoming friends with him had been as natural as breathing, the thing that puzzled Newt was how aware he was of the way the younger boy moved, the outline of his shoulders underneath his shirt, his smell when he leaned in closer. When Newt looked in those brown eyes, he could feel the slightest hint of butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't figure out why he felt that way because in his eyes Tommy was as straight as they come. It didn't make sense that Newt should be attracted to him. There had been something different about Tommy, and Newt had a hard time putting his finger on what it was. He caught himself one time during dinner thinking about reaching out and touching his hair and not only that, expecting what it would feel like too. As if somehow he had known already.
He felt like it was his personal puzzle which didn't have a solution. There was no point in fighting it - how could you even fight a feeling like that? Newt just went about his life and tried to act normal, or at least, as normal as he could under the circumstances. When the Greenbean ran out into the Maze and let himself get shut there for a night, Newt went almost crazy at the sudden surge of responsibility he didn't know was there up to that point. Like he failed at taking care of the Newbie.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The air was humid and thick, making his skin sweat. Comforting too, like he wasn't in a graveyard but his personal sanctuary. When all went bonkers, the thick air of the forest made him relaxed, as if it pushed down all the unpleasant thoughts and worries, scurrying around his skull like restless bugs with sharp pincers, sedating them for a while and allowing for the light thoughts, like the ones a person would ponder when sipping a morning coffee on a lazy Sunday morning. Not that Newt would remember ever doing that particular thing.
He heard a twig snap to his side. He looked over in the direction of the sound and saw Tommy approach him, looking tired but satisfied with himself. The look of surprise on his face matched Newt's; obviously, neither of them expected to encounter anybody at the graveyard.
"Hey, Greenie. Had a good first day running?" Newt smiled at the newcomer and shifted a bit to the right, motioning to the other boy to take a seat. Tommy did so with a loud thump as he plopped down on his butt, letting out a big exhale.
"I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow, let alone, run again," he replied with an exaggerated look of desperation.
Newt had to smile. "I also had a feeling that it has been a bad decision to make you a Runner after all. Plucking weeds in the bloody garden was way closer to your range of competence," he teased and they both chuckled.
"So... Did you know all of them?" asked Tommy after a short pause, nodding towards the graves in front of them. Newt wasn't surprised by the question. Ever since he showed up in the Box, the Greenie seemed to generate thousands of them.
"Yeah, I did," he said and hoped Tommy would leave it at that.
"What happened to them?" the younger boy inquired and pushed himself off the ground as if the possibility of new information filled him with new energy. "I mean, I know about the shank who got sliced in half when you tried to let him down through the box hole," - he nodded toward the open grave - "but what about the others?" He started to move around, bending down to read the names on the crosses. "What about -" he stopped by the grave to Newt's far left and squinted, trying to make out the name. From where Newt sat, it was impossible to see the name engraved on the cross, but he knew all too well what it said. "- James?"