Demolished Love | Death Cure

Sick

  "Olivia," My mother says, gently shaking me awake. "Olivia." She sings.

  I groggily open my eyes, dim light greeting me. The tent flap is open and I can see everyone working hard in the morning dawn.

  "We're leaving in thirty minutes," She says, handing me a granola bar. "I'm gonna go check on Brenda. Go ahead and get dressed sweetheart."

  I nod my head and rub my eyes, sliding the sheets off of me and slipping my boots back on. I tie my hair up and unwrap the bar, taking a bite and packing a backpack. As I am sorting through extra clothes, I find a folded piece of construction paper in a jeans pocket. I pull it out, it's edges ripped and thinned. I slowly unfold it.

  It's a drawing. Of a garden, some flowers and trees and a dog with a little boy. It's beautiful. I flip it over and a note is written in crayon.

  My backyard before sun flares. For Olivia. Love, Chuck.

  I smile at the memory of him drawing this. The same day we were taken by Wicked. The same people who took everything away from us.

  "Knock knock," A voice calls from behind me. I turn around and see Brenda standing at the entrance of the tent.

  I stand up. "Hey," I tuck the picture into my backpack. "How is your leg?" I ask.

  She sighs. "Painful. Stiff. Horrible." She chuckles.

  "Are you even supposed to be walking on it?"

  She shrugs. "Probably not. But I saw a wheelchair somewhere and I am not riding in one of those." She smiles.

  I laugh and shake my head. Leave it to Brenda to not let anything ruin her tough girl image.

  Suddenly, Minho appears behind Brenda, taking small breaths like he just ran over here. His eyes immediately fall on me, and his expression is filled with worry.

  "Minho? What's wrong?" I ask, a little nervously, as I stand up.

  "Follow me." He then turns around and begins to sprint off.

  "Minho!"

  "Hurry up!" He calls over his shoulder.

  "Minho!" I say again, louder this time, but he still doesn't stop. I look at Brenda and she shrugs.

  I run out of the tent after my friend. When I catch up to him, I put my hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

  "Tell me what this is all about." I say sternly.

  He takes a deep breath.

  "It's Newt. Something's wrong with him."

  And from the tone of his voice, I immediately realize how serious this is.