The Huntress Descent

The Storm: Chapter Nine

Dawn broke on the horizon. Streaks of golden light shooting across the dark sky. Long shadows cast themselves on the ground covering the sleeping Gladers in darkness.

The more that I came to life, the more I remembered where I was and why.

I woke in a cocoon of Newt, his arms still perched on my stomach. In the few hours I had managed to catch some sleep, he hadn't moved an inch. Shame sunk in. He hadn't needed to stay still to let me sleep. He had all rights to leave me wallowing in my own pain. Yet, he decided not to. He did care.

My stirring must have awoken Newt. One moment he was asleep with his head resting on top of mine, the next he was removing his arms to slowly lift us until we were seated upright.

"How you feelin'?" he asked.

"Better," I lied. "I didn't keep you up all night with my cough, did I?"

"Don't worry about me." He peeled himself off me and strode towards where Frypan was resting. He walked past the sleeping figure and disappeared beyond the rocks.

I waited for his return. Stiffness had set itself deep in my bones and I feared without help I would break even more. I didn't have to wait for long. He returned shortly and saw the displeasure in my face. He helped me up from the ground, and guided me away from the other Gladers around a cluster of large rocks.

"Thank you. You can go, I'll get back." He avoided my eyeline and walked away.

I travelled a few metres further to a large mass of bushes. I spent some time there, then hobbled back to camp to find the rest of the Gladers waking up. The sun was now peaking at the horizon, daring itself to break.

I found Newt sat with the half-awake Frypan and Minho. Each had a can in their hand, polishing off the contents inside with record speed. Just like Jamie. My heart panged.

"Clarke, come sit and eat with us," Frypan said through mouthfuls. I nodded my head and joined them. Newt rose from his seat but I waved my hand to stop him. I had to do this by myself. After all, I was going to leave once I had eaten.

Newt passed me an open can with a small fork sticking out of it. I mumbled a thank you and started to eat. My stomach growled for the food. Yet every bite I took made me feel sick to the bone. There was no way I could not eat the food. Newt was eyeing me. So I forced each mouthful down, disregarding the feeling of nausea each time. He wouldn't let me leave if I hadn't eaten.

"So," Frypan started. "How'd you end up not dead?"

"Dunno," I uttered into my can. "Been trying to figure that one out."

Frypan shoved another spoonful into his mouth. "It's wild, I'll tell ya."

"How so?"

"Well, everyone else that was taken died. Yet WICKED kept you alive. Don't you think there must have been a reason for it. Why they're so adamant on lettin' your heart tick along?"

"I'm not sure if they really want me alive," I stated. "I've had my fair share of near-death experiences. That tells me more that they want me in a grave."

Newt slammed his can to the ground in frustration, scaring the life out of me, Frypan and Minho. He swept the hair from his face and looked me in the eye. "You ain't endin' in a grave. I'll make sure of that."

Minho and Frypan glanced at one another, worry written across both their faces. This didn't seem to be a normal occurrence from the way that they looked at one another. I had never seen him act with such intention before. I nodded at Newt, thanking him for the protection and bowed my head. The others carried on eating in silence avoiding any more topic about me and my entanglement with WICKED.