𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Be glad I'm not holding
Alby's bow right now.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

The cool air brushes against my face as I step out of the kitchens, scanning the Glade for dark brown hair and a deep blue shirt. Our home is bustling with life; shouts and laughs of the boys dancing loftily through the air, twirling around the smoke rising from the various fires — even though it is only lunch time. My eyes fall upon a group of boys including Frankie, Jack and Tim, and I crane my neck. I almost give up, before I catch a glimpse of Thomas's figure slipping through the thicket of evergreens, disappearing out of my sight. Why's he going into deadheads?

"For shucks sake, Greenie," I mumble under my breath as I jog after him. "The things I bloody have to do for you."

"Where is he?" Alby snaps, walking swiftly towards me from the Gardens.

"In there somewhere." I search the trees for the brunet boy, my eyes clinging to a flash of blue before it vanishes. It's not the best idea for him to see Deadheads... I can still remember the first time I saw their graves. Minho and Clint thought my reaction was hilarious, and I acted as though I was amused too, but the truth is, that night I couldn't even get a wink of sleep.

An ear-piercing scream rips through the trees, shaking the leaves and startling the Gladers. My ears perk up as dread fills the bottomless pit of my stomach. My eyes widen.

The scream belongs to Thomas.

Without so much of a look at each other, Alby and I race through the trees, the only thing audible being our staggered breathing and muffled voices echoing from afar. The world seems to morph into one, the bright green of the trees blending together to create a curtain of leaves that I could never begin to pull aside.

"Thom!" I call, desperately searching the woodland for the sight of him.

There.

He's stood, his figure trembling slightly, chest heaving, staring in blind horror at a sickly boy wrapped in bandages. Thick, green and black veins run in ropes across the boy's skin, pulsing dangerously like a warning sign. The boy stares at Thomas through blood red eyes — once a bright blue. Bile rises in my gut.

That boy is Ben.

"Ben!" Alby snaps before his voice drops into as much of a reasoning tone as he could muster. "Ben, stop right now, or you ain't gonna see tomorrow."

In one swift motion, Alby whips an arrow from the holder slung carelessly across his back and loads his bow, the tip of the arrow set straight for Ben's heart. I stare at the weapon, my eyes wide.

My old friend leers at me, as though he didn't even recognise me... as if I was unknown to him.

"If you kill me," Ben shouts dangerously, "you'll get the wrong guy. He's the shank you wanna kill." Ben's hungry gaze snaps to Thomas, spit spewing from his mouth as his eyes harden. Thomas merely stares at him in confusion, yet the fear in his eyes is unmistakable.

Why is Thomas the one Alby should kill? What did Thomas do wrong? The shank's only been here a couple of days... what on earth could he do in that space of time?

"Ben, you're still jacked from the Changing," I say, outstretching a hand stepping closer to the crazed Glader. "You're not thinkin' straight."

"Don't be stupid, Ben. Thomas has only just got here — there is nothing to worry about. You're still buggin'. You should have never even left your bed," Alby says calmly, the arrow still aimed for the kill.