𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 {𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫}

sixty one: the boy who should have died back in the maze

Parking the truck in an alcove allowed us to have a getaway car hiding in plain sight if necessary, and once we began moving further onto the land that separated Wicked and the rest of the population, I was very grateful for that.

People were crammed into close corners, fighting with each other and yelling at the grand walls Wicked had put up to keep them out. It was strange, really. Even though Wicked are technically the ones who had isolated themselves, it still feels as if they are the ones with the most amount of freedom.

All of the people out here cry to be let in, beg for just one soldier with a kind soul to open a back door and go, "Here, we'll help you out."

I wonder how long it will take them to realise that's never going to happen.

Our group weaved its way through the crowd, desperate to get to the barricades. We knew it would be packed with people, but I don't think anyone anticipated the great mass of items that would also take up space. Masked rebels carrying guns would do laps of the area, most of whom sat on the roof of the vehicle, almost as a warning.

I scoffed, thinking their efforts futile.

Newt had laced our fingers together even before we had left the truck – worried he would lose me in the heaps of people and that Wicked would figure out I was there.

I figure his anxieties to be rather unrealistic, however, justified.

"If anyone remotely looks like they recognise you, tell me, yeah?"

I rolled my eyes and pulled him along with me, following Brenda to make sure we don't lose the others. "Yes, I know, you've said." I laughed, "No one is going to recognise me, we're fine."

The blonde still looked hesitant. "But what if a Wicked soldier notices you in the crowd, and then alerts the others?"

We had almost reached the front now, painfully trying not to lose each other as we reach the barricades.

"Well, if that happens, you will be the first to know."

The boy frowned, but did not respond.

In the distance, people continued to yell. They were angry, rightfully so. They were angry that Wicked had built this divide, and instead of deciding to share it with others, kept it to themselves.

We're all angry – even if it's for different reasons.

Thomas turned around to the group, yelling over the crowd. "That's it. That's our way in."

Jorge looked at the boy like he had gone insane. "Thomas, this is not what we're looking for. All these people here have been trying to get in for longer than we have, you think you're going to find something they can't?"

Tom sighed and turned to look back at the quarters. "We came this far. I'm not giving up now."

The boy made a beeline to the right, heading towards who knows what. Newt huffed and pulled me along with him, "This doesn't feel right anymore."

My brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Newt opened his mouth slightly to answer, but then a small noise appeared. It was like a reflex, and immediately I knew what he was talking about.

The sound, it was high pitched and painfully drawn out, and even though I couldn't for the life of me put into words what the noise was; I know it means something bad is about to happen.

I yelled over to the others. "We need to get out of here! Now!"

They look stunned for a second, but once the noise began to get louder, the crowd went mental. People started screaming, crying, begging for their lives.