The Transfer | Gally TMR

Chapter Twelve

"Guys...?" I asked cautiously. None of them answered me. I was silent for a moment, looming over them as I stood, waiting for someone to bless me with the information that was so obviously ruining their lives. Finally, Gally's eyes found mine, and he sighed.

"It's Alby. He got stung." His voice held no tone of rage, nor any trace of sadness. It was completely and utterly lifeless, down to his very bone. He was shutting down his emotions, in order to preserve the stability of the others. My hand came up towards my own mouth, trying to hold in a gasp of shock that had escaped my lips. Alby? But...how could that be?I had seen him with Chuck...he looked fine. Chuck had gasped too, crumpling to his knees when he heard the news.

"Alby..." He murmured, a tear falling from his eyes. Newt sighed, wrapping his arm around Chuck, as though any attempt at salvaging the boy's innocence was still worth while. I noticed Shai, near the back of the crowd, she had her hand rested gently on Minho's back, drawing small circles as an attempt at comfort. I felt defeated. I felt used, and manipulated, and more than anything else I felt nothing but despise for what I used to consider the most noble profession alive. I had nothing but despise- for WICKED.

Morning had broken now, although no one had moved from their positions near the box except for a few of the Medjacks who had gone to tend Alby. They knew there was nothing they could do, they had no serum, no anti-virus to stop it from spreading. I wished I could help, develop some sort of anti-virus, I'm sure it wouldn't be hard. But I had never worked with raw materials before, and they had no bottled chemicals for me to manipulate here in Maze A. Thankfully, the Medjack's make-shift hospital hadn't caught fire, and was still mostly in tact for medical purposes. A few people had fallen asleep, others were just now getting up, starting to clean up the remains of their precious Glade. I sighed, glancing over to see Shai asleep, her head resting against Minho's shoulder as a few stray tears rolled down the boy's ash and dirt covered face, creating a distinct trail down his cheek from where the tear had fallen, washing away a small patch of dirt from his face. I sighed, standing quietly as I began to walk, no where particularly in mind. How could this happen? Just when things got good, they get shut down. It was then I realized how incredibly daft the question was. Wasn't it obvious? We were delayed from leaving, because WICKED didn't want us to leave. And they would do everything in their power to make us stay. But why? Wasn't the whole point of this test to rule out the weak, and see who makes it out alive? Was this Griever invasion just another part of the test to rule out more people? That was sick, disgusting, how could they be so heartless. Then again, I was one of them, wasn't I? Lying to everyone's face, co-designing the things that had just sent Alby to his grave, that was who I was, wasn't it? A murderer, a liar, nothing more than an outcast who manipulated my friends for fun? I didn't want to be that person. I didn't want to be the girl who was killed, not because she didn't survive this God-forsaken trials, but because her friends found out the truth about her and she was stabbed to death. The reality was, that was most likely going to be my destiny, at least at this juncture in the story that was my life. I sighed, taking a seat near the edge of the Deadheads, most of which was now tarnished with ash and crisp, blackened, leafless branches. I stared off towards the corn field- gone. The homestead, half of which had collapsed, the other half mostly burned or trampled on by Grievers. The Bloodhouse was mostly in tact, although the back half had caught fire, most of the animals were now either running loose in the fields, or lying bloody and dead from where they Grievers had attacked them. I saw Gally walking towards me from a ways away, but I made no move to advance towards him, he would get here eventually, and I was in no hurry to talk about the happenings of last night. Finally, he was close enough that he could sit down beside me, and he did, groaning slightly as he crossed his legs underneath him, running his fingers absentmindedly through the short, blackened grass that had, among with most everything else, caught fire.