Thomas struggles to support Newt, his arms hooked beneath his weakening friend's shoulders, staggering under the weight of both his burden and the hopelessness that's quickly creeping in with every aggonizing moment Newt goes without the Serum. The silence around us is suffocating, thick with tension-like the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for something to give.
I stubbornly try to regain my footing, my palms scraping against the cracked pavement. But the moment I put pressure on my leg, a blinding pain shoots through me, sharp and consuming. A scream of pain unlike any other bursts from my throat before I can stop it.
The wound stabs through my entire thigh like fire laced with ice, and I collapse again, my body trembling violently. My vision swims, shapes and shadows warping at the edges, the world fading in and out like a broken film reel. Everything feels wrong. Too quiet. Too heavy.
Through the blur, I watch Thomas continue to struggle forward, grunting through gritted teeth, sweat pouring down his face as he tries to carry Newt on his own. Newt's weight is deadened, limp in his arms, and Thomas is barely keeping it together. Every step is a battle-his legs quivering, his body too spent, too broken. And still, he doesn't stop. Not even as he begins to drag Newt ny the arms.
That's when I hear it.
At first, it's faint-just a low crackling hum. But then it sharpens.
"Thomas?"
The voice slices through the silence like a blade. Distorted, but unmistakable. Teresa.
I freeze. My muscles lock instinctively, heart skipping as I whip my head around, searching for speakers or a source. It feels like her voice is coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
"Can you hear me?" she asks, gentler now, allowing a beat of silence, like she's waiting for him to answer. "I need you to listen to me".
Thomas falters. His knees buckle slightly as he glances around, caught in a daze, in a trance. Slowly, he lowers Newt to the ground, laying him down with shaking hands.
I shift my gaze to Thomas, and my stomach sinks. His face is taut with confusion, with longing-an aching part of him hoping for a way out. Desperation flickers behind his eyes, something that makes my chest twist in a way that feels as if someone is squeezing my heart.
"Thomas, you can save Newt" Teresa says, the urgency in her voice growing. "There's still time for him".
Thomas's head snaps toward Newt, who now lies with his chest rising and falling rapidly, erratically. Every breath sounds like a struggle. Wheezing with something sickeningly close to someone taking their last breaths.
"There's a reason Brenda isn't sick anymore" Teresa presses. "It's your blood, Thomas. She's immune because of you. You cured her".
The words drop like a bomb between us. For a moment, neither of us can breathe.
I look at Thomas again, his posture frozen, his eyes scanning pained Newt's face, his mind reeling. I can practically feel the thoughts racing through his head.
My heart pounds in protest. "Thomas" I whisper, voice catching in my throat. "You can't".
He doesn't turn.
"You can't go back to them" I croak louder, the pain in my leg forgotten now. "They won't save him. They'll use him... they'll use us".
Still nothing. His eyes are glued to the space where her voice is coming from, like she's standing right there, just beyond reach, whispering dreams of false salvation into his ear.
"She doesn't have to be the only one", Teresa's voice sings, soft and promising, like a siren luring him toward the rocks. "All you have to do is come back. And it'll all be over".
A part of me wants to scream-wants to tear the words from the air and crush them before they reach him. My pulse quickens with the dread that he's listening to her. Really listening.
"Please, Thomas", I sob, forcing myself upright, dragging my useless leg beneath me. I stumble forward and collapse into him, hands planting shakily on his shoulders-not just to steady myself, but to ground him. To remind him I'm still here.
He tenses under my touch, caught in the war between the past and the present, between logic and faith, between her and me.
"Please", I repeat, my voice cracking.
But Teresa doesn't stop. "Just come back to me", she whispers.
Thomas's breath hitches. I see something shift in his eyes-something terrifying. For the first time, doubt hardens into temptation.
My expression falters. She struck something inside him.
"I know you'll do the right thing" she finishes, her words as soft as a lover's promise.
Then-
The soft hum cuts off with a sudden snap.
Silence returns. But it's heavier now. Dreadful. Like something has been set in motion.
Thomas doesn't move. His chest rises and falls in sharp, shallow breaths. My hands are still on his shoulders, trembling, but I can't let go.
"Thomas" I whisper, voice barely audible, filled with everything I'm too afraid to say. "Please look at me".
But before he can-before I can draw another breath-my eyes are pulled to movement ahead of me.
Behind Thomas's back is somethimg that turns the entire area into an eery silence.
A lone figure.
Upright.
Staggering.
My blood turns to ice.
Newt.
My heart stutters in my chest, but not for the joyful release of hope. "Newt?" I rasp, dragging my broken body toward him, leg screaming in protest.
He doesn't answer.
He turns slowly. His shoulders rise and fall in uneven, gasping pants. As he faces us, I choke on my breath.
His pupils are dilated, swallowed by sickness. His mouth curls in a feral sneer. His limbs twitch like a marionette with frayed strings. He heaves another breath-and then snarls.
Standing before me is not Newt.
It's the Flare.
He lunges before either of us is prepared for the attack.
YOU ARE READING
The Extirpated
FanfictionWICKED promised it was the end. No more tests. No more lies. But SHE knows well the statement could never be true. The Scorch was only the beginning. The group will witness horrors that will dominate over the towering Maze Walls. They will endure so...
