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(Foreshadowing?)
After the door closed behind him, his walk turned into a sprint. He burst out the door of the Homestead and let the chaos unfold before his eyes. He saw at least four Grievers tormenting the Gladers, their inhuman cries sent shivers down Newt's spine. Nonetheless, he grabbed a torch and ran. He herded some of the Gladers away from the oncoming Grievers.
"Get back!" He cried, waving his torch at the snapping jaws of one of the creatures. It shrieked and ripped the torch from his hand and spit it out into the nearby grass. Bare from the afternoons snow pull, it quickly caught fire and soon flames engulfed the field. He scrambled away from the griever and followed everyone else to the other side of the Glade.
"Get to the box!" He shrieked. One by one he watched multiple people jump inside the metal box in the ground but the Grievers were approaching quickly. Newt reached for the knife he kept stowed away in the back of his belt and turned to face the nearest one as the box filled up. He swiped at the snapping jaws, the knife only nicked the side of its face.
"Newt!" He turned quickly to see who's called his name, but the griever had seized its opportunity and knocked him to the ground it's jaws snapped at him as the grotesque drool fell onto his skin. He took his knife and buried it in the skin of its underbelly and he felt a rush of satisfaction as it shrieked in pain. He heard the familiar ticking sound of the stinger loading up its venom and prepared to feel the burst of pain that accompanied it.
But suddenly the griever wasn't on top of him anymore, it had scurried off shrieking in pain. It's skin was torched with the light of fire, someone had thrown one of the glass jars that held light at it.
"Newt get up!" He looked up and saw Teresa above him, she grasped him by his bicep and heaved him to his feet. He scrambled after her as the Griever shrieked and rolled around in the grass causing more flames to light the ground.
"Get to the slammer!" Newt called after them. He ran as fast as he could but his injured leg quickly slowed him down.
"Newt! Help me!!!" He stopped in his tracks and turned to see who had called for him. He spotted Minho wrestling a griever in much of the same position that he himself had been in before. Panting, he rushed to his aid and flung his knife at the Griever, landing it in the side of its soft green surface. The Griever screeched and reared back on its metal claws. At any other time, he would have flung himself at the Griever to save his friend but he had things to live for now. He looked around for something to use and spotted an abandoned torch among the large flames that engulfed the glade.
