Thomas couldn't have moved faster if someone had a gun to his head and told him to run.
He took off into the surf, kicking his knees up high as he tore through the water. Soon it became too deep, and he swam, fighting against the current that was growing stronger by the minute. Every time he put his head above water he could hear Minho shouting at him from the beach, urging him to come back.
But there was only one thing – one person – on his mind, and he continued his path toward the boat. With a few final, exhausted strokes he reached it, clinging onto the anchor chain as his shoulders ached from the exertion. He looked up into the sky, panting, his darkened expression mirroring the clouds rolling in above.
"Newt!" He called, spitting salt water out of his mouth. "Newt!"
A blonde head appeared over the edge of the boat, but it was not who he was expecting.
"Thomas!"
"Antoinette?" His face contorted in confusion and he almost dropped the chain. "What the fu -,"
"Help me!" She pleaded, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared.
He looked from where her face had been, then back toward his friends congregating on the shore.
"Thomas!" She shouted impatiently from somewhere on board. "Newt – he's here! I need your help – hurry!"
His mind began to race as the waves broke over his shoulders, but still, he hesitated.
Antoinette Paige. Her face had popped into his mind after he purposefully stung himself in the Glade, but he never thought he would actually see her again. He was one of the few who knew who she really was, who her parents had been. He remembered her. He remembered everything.
This had to be some sort of a trap, a ruse to use Newt's name to get Thomas aboard the boat. He knew WICKED would never let them go, not truly. And with Ava gone, they hadn't had to look far for a replacement.
"Damn it, Thomas, what are you doing down there?"
With a slight heaviness in his stomach, he began to pull himself up the chain, until he was within reach to grasp onto the boat railing. He had always known that curiosity would be the thing to kill him; he could never just let things go. And when he felt the slim hands grab under his arms and help him over the side, he wondered if this was finally his time.
He fell onto the ground in a wet heap; eyes squeezed shut as he took in deep breaths. A clap of thunder sounded overhead and he pushed himself up, glancing around the small trawler.
"Where -," he asked between breaths, "Where is he?"
"Wheelhouse," she said.
Thomas pushed himself to his knees and then stood up, staggering toward the door.
Annie rushed after him, trying to grab his arm.
"Wait, Thomas – I have to warn you -."
He ignored her and pushed open the door of the tiny room. Everything slowed down around him at once, and he clutched a shaking hand to his chest as his legs threatened to give out beneath him.
"Newt …" His voice was strangled, and he raised a fist to his mouth as tears pooled in his eyes.
He looked from the body of his friend back to Antoinette, heart pounding as his forehead creased in disbelief. Was this the test then, to see how he would react to seeing his dead friend one final time? His vision tunneled, and he suddenly wanted to accuse her, expend all his anger at WICKED against her. But then he noticed she was crying too.
He looked back at Newt.
"Is he …?"
"Alive," she said. "Just."
"… How?" He asked, dumbfounded.
"I'll explain everything later. But first - was Teresa telling the truth? Do you have a serum that will cure him?"
"Yeah ..." He said slowly, coming out of his stupor. "Yes," he said more firmly. "Back in my tent."
"We have to get it for him - now Thomas. We don't have much time. He's been like this since last night."
"Last night? Antoinette ... how is this possible?"
"No time. Just trust me, Thomas - like you used to. Before everything changed."
He looked at her. She had changed since he last saw her, had grown up. Then again, so had he. It was a necessary evil in this world of theirs, kids becoming adults before their appointed time. But he saw it in her eyes, the same kindness that he had known in a world that felt like another lifetime.
He jumped as the sound of an engine sputtering came from outside the room. Without a word, he went past Annie and back out onto the deck.
"Thomas?" A boy called out from below.
He went to the railing. "I'm here, Minho," he said as the wind whipped at his shirt.
He looked down at his friend, sitting in a metal dinghy. Gally was there too, clutching the tiller as he tried to keep the smaller boat steady in the rough waves.
"What the hell's going on?" Minho asked. "I thought you were a goner. Fish food."
"Just ... give me a minute."
He turned around and went back to the wheelhouse, wiping droplets of rain off his forehead with the back of his hand. He headed right for Newt and crouched down next to him. He looked so fragile Thomas worried he might tear in half if he touched him.
"Get his feet, will you?" He asked.
Annie came over, wearing Newt's jacket and slinging his backpack over her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his boots while Thomas lifted under his shoulders. He was lighter than Thomas remembered, and with minimal effort, they were able to carry him out of the room and toward the railing of the boat. The rain was coming down harder now, and Thomas heard Minho and Gally bickering about it below.
"Make room," Thomas called out.
A moment later, a familiar face appeared over the side of the boat, and Gally gasped while Minho let out low curses.
"No way ..." Minho said. He stood up in the boat, causing it to rock back and forth precariously.
"Sit down!" Gally scolded, grabbing the hem of his friend's shirt and pulling him back into the boat.
Gally's face was stone-cold, unreadable. He stared in turn at Thomas, his prodigal friend, and the new girl who was clutching his feet in the pouring rain.
"Thomas?" He asked tentatively, his tone implying a thousand questions at once.
"Make some room Gally," Thomas repeated simply.
Thomas and Annie began to lift Newt up over the railing, while Minho stood below - more carefully this time - and took his friend into his arms. With a grunt, he sat back, and Newt half fell into the boat with a thud.
Gally stared at him fixedly, knuckles going white as he gripped the tiller. Even though he was Immune, there was something downright creepy about being close to someone almost past the gone. He shuddered and looked away.
"Keep it steady!" Thomas called out as he helped lower Annie over the railing.
Minho grabbed around her waist and helped her into the boat, saving his questions about who she was and what the hell she was doing there for later.
Thomas climbed over the railing last, and Minho guided him down until they all sat in the boat, huddling together in the cold, wet air. No one said anything as Gally steered back to the beach. Once they were close enough Minho hopped out, trudging through the water as he guided the boat onto the shore.
A large crowd was waiting for them, curious as to what was going on. Their whispers grew louder and louder until people were talking over each other at once.
"Everyone shut up!" Brenda yelled, walking toward the boat.
"Hey," she said to Thomas quietly. "What's going -,"
She froze once she saw who was sitting inside the boat and then took a step back, eyes bulging as her mouth fell open.
"Newt," she whispered.
She stared at Thomas. Questions tumbled through her mind, begging for an explanation, but she was smart enough to wait. Instead, she motioned for the crowd to move back, creating a berth around the boat.
Murmurs ran through the crowd like lightning as Thomas and Minho lifted Newt's limp body and carried him onto the sandy beach. Soon the news had reached everyone that their friend was back from the dead.
"Do you have a med tent?" Annie asked as she sidled up next to Thomas.
"This way," Brenda said, stepping forward. The initial shock was starting to wear off, and now she knew she must do whatever was needed to help. The blonde girl looked strangely familiar to her too, though she didn't know where from. Thomas seemed to trust her however and that was good enough for her for the time being.
"We'll go then," Annie said. "Get the serum, Thomas."
He looked down at Newt as he gripped his shoulders. He didn't want to leave him. He worried that if he took his eyes off him for even a second, he might disappear. That he would wake up and this would all be a dream.
"Thomas?" She repeated gently.
He looked up at her and nodded, and let Frypan take over his position, who had been standing near the front of the crowd with his mouth agape. Thomas turned around and jogged down the beach, toward his tent.
The rest hurried toward the med tent, which turned out to be a small shelter covered in tarps with a few cots underneath. Annie's eyes glanced over several first aid kits, stacks of rolled gauze, boxes of various sizes of gloves. A defibrillator sat on the ground under an IV stand with an empty saline bag hanging from it.
Minho and Frypan lowered Newt onto one of the narrow cots, and then Minho stared at Newt while Frypan stared at Annie, hoping someone would give him an explanation for what was going on. When none came, he backed up and sat down in a chair while Annie began peeling off Newt's wet shirt.
She clicked her tongue as she looked him over. Without any access to medicine or even a decent first aid kit on the trawler, the infection had spread faster than usual. His skin was clammy, and freezing to the touch. When she pulled his eyelids back she could only see the whites of his eyes.
Thomas appeared suddenly at her side, shaking from cold, or shock, or perhaps both. With a jittery hand, he passed the serum to Annie. She looked at the bottle, tilted the blue liquid back and forth with curious eyes before putting it into an injector. She held the metal tube against Newt's skin, in the same place she had that first night in the city.
"Just so you know, this might not work," she warned. With a slight wince she pushed, and the tube emptied.
She took a step back and watched.
Nothing happened. Five breathless minutes turned into twenty, and soon an hour had passed as they all stood around the cot, waiting for any sign of movement. Not dejected yet, Annie continued to monitor his pulse, take his temperature, and cover him with blankets as the rain came down harder outside.
Two hours now. The small crowd that had gathered outside the tent had now dispersed, content that they would hear about it if anything changed. Minho had stopped pacing around the tent and was now sitting with his back against a pole, staring down at his hands, lost in his own thoughts. Frypan laid in one of the other cots, eyes closed. Thomas and Annie stayed near Newt.
Something sounded at the entrance of the tent and soon Brenda walked in, carrying plates of food.
"You must be starving," she said, setting them down on a table.
Frypan opened one of his eyes and sat up in bed, while Minho licked his lips and came over.
"How's he doing?" She asked as she stood next to Thomas, hands on her hips.
"His pulse is stronger than before, and his temperature has gone up some. But he still hasn't moved." Annie answered.
"I'll leave you to it then," Brenda said.
"Thank you," Thomas said, catching her hand before she walked away and squeezing it. He appreciated that she always seemed to know just what he needed - when to stay by his side and when he just wanted to be alone. She smiled at him and then bent down and kissed the top of his head.
Annie smiled to herself. The gesture warmed her, seeing people have the freedom to truly love and take care of each other here. There was hope on this island, and maybe some for her too after all.
With Brenda gone, the small team ate their sandwiches in silence, washing them down with glasses of reconstituted milk.
Three hours. Frypan had left to help prepare dinner, and Minho had gone to help Vince and Gally with more plans for the island. Anything to keep their minds preoccupied.
A little color had started to come back into Newt's skin, as the dark lines faded to a pale grey. His pulse was steadier now, a comforting sound to Annie as she listened through a stethoscope. But still, he did not move or show any other sign that he was coming back to them any time soon.
"Come on, Newt ..." Annie muttered as she tucked him in for the third time.
The light inside the tent was beginning to fade, and she clicked on a lantern just as Thomas lifted his head, sniffing as the scent of smoke wafted past his face.
"Hey," Brenda said, popping her head in the tent again. "Do you guys want a break? Some of us are going to the fire, but I can stay here and watch."
Thomas and Annie both shook their heads at the same time. There was no way they were leaving Newt, not now. Not after everything.
"Raincheck?" Thomas offered, giving Brenda a conciliatory look.
She nodded without another word and ducked back out of the tent.
Thomas stood up and stretched his arms in the air, trying to hide a yawn.
"How long do you think until he wakes up?" He asked.
"The same amount of time as when you asked me twenty minutes ago - I don't know."
She stood up, needing something to do besides sitting and staring and answering the same questions over and over again. She began to clean up around the tent, throwing away food that the other's had left, and sorting through the first aid kits, tossing bottles of expired medicine in the trash.
"Maybe ..." Thomas began tentatively as he watched. "Now's a good time to talk?"
Annie bit her lip. She knew they'd have to talk about it eventually, and out of all people, Thomas deserved some answers. But she also knew that look he wore on his face. The distrust. It was the same way Newt had looked at her in the beginning. How she had looked at her mom near the end.
"Okay," she said. She turned to him and folded her arms. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions."
"Yeah. I do." He turned the chair around and sat back down on it, arms resting on the top rail. "I guess, uh, start from the beginning."
She leaned back against one of the tables, lips pursed as she tried to think about how to explain it all.
"Well, I suppose it started the night of the riots," she said. "I found him in the street - he had a knife sticking out of him. I thought he was dead."
Thomas felt a wave of guilt go through him, but he nodded, urging her to go on.
"Maybe you can tell me more about that later," she said, eyeing him. "Anyway, I gave him some prototype serum and brought him back to my mom's apartment. Stitched him up and let him rest. We left a couple days later to find this island. We've been through a lot, met lots of different people. Some good, some ... bad. But the important thing is, we're here now. That's all he wanted, really, was to get to you."
"Why are you here though?" He asked. "I mean, why did you help him?"
"I didn't ... know that I knew who he was. Until later. He was alive, and he needed help, and ..." She sighed. "I don't know."
She pushed away from the table.
"He asked me the same thing when we left the city. I told him I just wanted to help him. I can't explain it."
"The Glue," Thomas said, laughing to himself.
"What?" That word triggered something in her memory, a file she had seen in her office once upon a time.
"Nothing," he said, laughing again. "I just know exactly what you're talking about. That feeling. Does he know though, who you are?"
She nodded. "He does. We got into a big fight about it, but ... I think he came around."
"That's good. I can't promise that everyone here will do the same though Antoinette."
She shrugged. "Honestly, it doesn't matter anymore. Besides, there was a time you and I were friends Thomas. Or something like it, anyway. You trusted me once. Maybe we can get back there again."
"A lot's changed since then Antoinette."
"For all of us." She said pointedly.
"Honestly," he said after a moment. "I'm surprised they didn't force you to stay, you know? Put you in charge of all of WICKED."
"How do you mean?"
"I just figured you'd be a shoo-in. I'm sorry, by the way. I haven't said that yet, but I am. Really."
"Sorry for what?" She asked.
He looked up at her, and his heart froze in his chest as he saw her blank expression and immediately realized his mistake.
"Forget about it," he said, shaking his head. "Later."
"No, I want to know what you meant. Sorry for what?"
"For ... your mom."
Her head flinched back slightly. "What about her?"
"That she uh ..." He leaned back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He couldn't look at her.
"Thomas?"
"I'm sorry, I really thought you knew. Ava ... uh, your mom ... Chancellor Paige ... she uh ..."
Her heart began to thud in her ears. She knew something terrible was coming at the end of that sentence. And the more he stuttered, the more she wanted to shake it out of him.
"Spit it out, Thomas."
"It was the same night. On my way out of WICKED. Ava stopped and talked to me, tried to reason with me. But Janson, he ..." He couldn't seem to get the words out; he hoped she would be able to put it together so he wouldn't have to actually say it. When she said nothing, he looked down again.
"He shot her, Antoinette. She didn't make it."
Annie's face drained of color as the world around her swam in her vision. So much for this being an island of hope. This whole time, she had thought her mom was still alive. She had left her a note. And now, just like that, she was gone. She was an orphan on an island of strangers.
Thomas lowered his head. "I'm so sorry ... you shouldn't have had to find out this way ... if I'd known ..."
She swayed slightly and he reached out his hand toward her. She looked at it and then backed away as she shook her head.
"This is all your fault," she said slowly.
"I -,"
"No," she interrupted, voice growing louder. "It is. Of course she wasn't going to leave without you. You were her favorite Thomas."
He stood up and approached her slowly, wanting to comfort her and take some of his own guilt away in the process.
"Antoinette, I'm -,"
"Don't you dare say sorry." She said. "Don't you dare finish that sentence with sorry."
She suddenly remembered Tyler; how they had sat on the stump together and talked about their parents. How they knew what it was like, waiting for the inevitable - for the worst - to happen. But it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Thomas blurred in her vision, and she pushed past him, knocking him out of the way as she exited the tent into the cool night air.
"Antoinette!" Thomas called out, heading toward the makeshift door.
"Tommy?"
Many years later someone would ask Thomas what it was like. Having his best friend back from the dead, hearing him say his name again. Thomas had told them that it was like the way you felt at first dawn, after a sleepless night when even the tiniest shadow made you feel afraid. Something about the sun, the beacon of a new day, melted everything away, and in that moment you could finally, finally rest.
A new day had dawned for Thomas.
"Tommy?" The voice croaked again.
He turned around and rushed to the cot, everything else forgotten. He crouched down as the pale blonde boy turned his head, eyes slowly fixating on the familiar face in front of him.
"Newt?" Thomas choked out. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked at his friend, and clasped his hand firmly with both of his own.
"It's me," he said. "I'm here."
Newt's eyes trailed around the room under heavy eyelids.
"Am I dead?" He asked.
Thomas laughed and wiped away a tear.
"No man. You're really here."
Newt tried to sit up but groaned under the effort and laid back down. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple.
"What ... what happened?"
"You were saved by Paige," Thomas said, laughing at how bizarre it sounded.
Newt looked around the room again, suddenly realizing someone was missing.
"Where is she?" He asked, coughing. "Where's Annie?"
Thomas felt his face grow hot and he averted his eyes, swallowing down a lump in his throat.
"She uh -,"
"I'm here," a voice said behind him.
His shoulders tensed as Annie walked past him. She wiped at her eyes and sat down again, ignoring Thomas. Newt reached out his free arm and she took his hand in hers.
"Hey," she said. She smiled at him. "Welcome back."
"How long have I been out?" He asked.
"Since last night."
"You did it, Annie," he said, voice hoarse. "You got us here. You can finally read a bloody map."
She laughed and ruffled his hair. "We did it," she corrected. She looked away for a moment and cleared her throat.
His eyebrows drew together. "Are you okay?" He asked.
She laughed. "You just came back from the dead, and you're worried about me? I'm just ... happy you're back. We both are."
She looked at Thomas and gave him a tense smile. They would continue their conversation later.
"There are a lot of people who want to see you," Thomas said. "Minho, Frypan, Brenda - everyone's been in and out of here all day."
"I want to see them too," Newt said, voice thick. "But ... I'm bloody knackered. Maybe later?" He began to sink into the pillow, eyes fluttering as he fought the onslaught of sleep.
"Okay," Annie said. "You rest and we'll check in on you in a bit."
She stood up and began to pull the blanket back up over his chest, but he reached his hand out and grabbed onto hers, stopping her.
"No," he said. "Please - can you stay? Tommy - will you stay too?"
They looked at each other silently and then back at Newt.
"You got it," Thomas said.
"Of course," Annie said, at the same time.
Without another word they sat down again by Newt's side, bodies angled away from each other in their wooden chairs. Neither friends nor strangers, but the same thing held them together, kept their worlds from falling apart. And as he fell into a peaceful sleep, they watched, and waited.