In my Blood

CHAPTER 19 - The Scorch

I awake to the sunlight beating against my eyelids and an aching knee.

I'm the first one awake; whoever was on watch for the hour must've fallen asleep. I roll my eyes in slight annoyance, however as long as we're all safe, that's the only thing that matters. I look around, and find myself lying down with my head on Newt's stomach, his hand resting on my shoulder as he sleeps. He looks so peaceful when he's asleep, his eyelids flutter every few seconds and his mouth hangs slightly open and pouted, like a sleeping child. His messy hair falls into his eyes in blonde waves, tousled from the constant fidgeting last night as we all struggled to fall asleep.

I see Thomas shift a little to my left, his eyes opening slowly, adjusting to the light filling the cave. He lifts his head, looking around, and smirks once he sees me. I shoot him a questioning look, before realising that he's got his eyes locked on me and Newt. I hastily sit up, a blush rising to my cheeks.

We hear a rustling noise coming from the mouth of the cave. A crow pecks at Thomas' bag, searching for a morsel of food. Thomas abruptly stands up, flapping his arms at the bird and yelling. The commotion causes everyone else to wake up, blinking confusedly as they take in their surroundings and remember what happened last night. Minho moans and closes his eyes again, putting his head back against the wall.

"You had to wake us, didn't you?" Minho complains.

"Sorry, guys," Thomas sighs. "It's the bag with all of our food in..."

At hearing the word food, I perk up a little, and notice the emptiness I feel burning inside my stomach. Newt rubs his eyes sleepily, and sits up beside me.

"(y/n) should have some," he suggests. The rest of the group nods in agreement.

"I'm not having all the food..." I mutter. "We don't know when we'll find some more. It could be days, weeks..."

"(y/n), you're practically starving," Fry argues with a light-hearted tone. "Eat."

Thomas rummages around in the pack, and brings out a flask of water and some bread, passing it all to me. I feel guilty, but I must admit, I can't remember the last time I had some proper food. It's only then when I feel an itch on my ankle, a gnawing sting. I bite my lip as I curiously pull my trouser leg back. I inhale a sharp breath. A bite mark. 

Minho catches my eye.

"What's that, (y/n)?"

I shake my head, mouth falling open. "I-I don't know... I mean... I got tackled by a Crank, but I never thought that it..." My breath shakes. "That's a bite mark..."

Newt and Thomas crowd around, inspecting my ankle. They call for Winston to come over. He looks at the bite, and then lifts his shirt up. We all gasp. His stomach also has bite marks, and scratches, and it's... grey. Torn apart. Veins crawling from the bites with an angry infestation. I look between his stomach, to my ankle. My ankle is swollen, but not grey or black. But it's not pretty. Deep teeth marks hole into my skin, dried blood plastered to my trousers. 

We all sit in silence for a minute. Aris is the first to break the silence. "So, let's just... keep going. And we'll see... we'll see how we get on."

***

We're walking on top of the mountain of litter in pained silence. We find ourselves facing an enormous, crumbling city before our eyes. Decaying skyscrapers line every street, rubble scatters the ground in chunks. Overturned lampposts lie amongst the destruction, and every few steps we see a pair of legs or an arm sticking out from under the rubble. I shiver as we walk through the demolished ghost city. Winston doesn't look any better; the skin around his stomach has turned a faded shade of black, the blood seeping through the bandaging. He groans with every step, yet continues to walk as though he has more strength than any of us. I, on the other hand, am dragging my feet behind me. I can't believe this has happened. 

"What the shuck happened to this place?" Fry asks quietly, taking in his surroundings.

"I don't know," Newt replies, "it doesn't look like anyone's been here in a long time."

"Well, I hope the whole world's not like this," Teresa chimes in quietly from the back. Thomas stops walking, a concentrated expression painted on his face.

"What is it?" I ask worriedly.

"Do you – do you hear that?" His face is fixated on the sky, and we all look up, listening intently. Sure enough, the sound of distant rumbling in the sky causes me to widen my eyes in realisation. It sounds like helicopters.

"Get down, everyone hide!" Thomas shouts, running over to a small opening at the edge of the road, like the one in the litter wasteland. Everyone crams in after him, bodies pressed closely together.

The noises grow louder as the helicopters fly overhead – but it's not just helicopters. The one in the middle has a larger body and two different propellers at either side, and two engines at the back. It looks like some sort of hovercraft. On the bottom of its body is the word 'WICKED' printed on it in ominous red lettering. My heart pounds against my chest as we all wait for them to pass.

"Shuck..." Newt breathes. "They're looking for us."

Once they fly past the buildings, and the noises grow distant once more, we all crawl out from underneath the opening, still warily looking around.

"They're not – not gonna stop looking for us," Winston chokes out. We all grow quiet as we realise that he's right. I grit my teeth together.

"We know that," I state, "but we're not gonna stop running from them. It'll be a constant game of cat-and-mouse, but we're going to be the ones to win. I'm not going back there. I won't."

***

A few hours pass, and we finally get out of the dark city and into the desert again, though it isn't much better. The mountains look vague in the distance, like a line of shadows. Hundreds of miles away. Winston is now being carried on a stretcher we made of some old wooden poles and torn material we found on the outskirts of the city. He gasps every few seconds, making strangled noises as he clutches his stomach. This can't be good.

Selfishly, I feel a wave of relief pass through my body. Surely, if I were infected... I'd be reacting the same? 

Another hour of intense heat passes, when we climb over a sand dune and lay our eyes on a rotting bridge, snapped in two. We all sigh in relief, glad to see shade, and walk with more purpose over to the foot of the bridge. Winston's stretcher is placed gently on the sandy ground, and everyone collapses onto the warm sand, emptying their boots or finger-brushing their hair. Though the mountains are closer, it's still a long way to go. I look to Winston, who begins to splutter with a coughing fit. Though the thought fills me with guilt and dread, I don't think he will make it. I look to my feet and blink away the sadness from my eyes.

Thomas stands at the edge of a sand dune in the distance. I turn to Newt, who's taking a nap, and shake him gently. He opens his eyes a bit, smiling when he sees me.

"I'm just going over to see if Thomas is okay..." I say to Newt, glancing back to Thomas worriedly. Newt nods, looking over to Thomas with a concentrated expression.

"Good that," he replies, running his fingers through his hair. He glimpses to my ankle anxiously. I put my boots on after emptying the sand out of them, trying not to look at the bite mark, and trudge over the sandy terrain where Thomas stands.

"Hey," I try to say in an upbeat tone.

"We're so far away, (y/n)..." he murmurs. The mountains are still just hazy shapes on the horizon, they almost look like clouds. My face falls in disappointment, but I try to hide it hastily by smiling back at him.

"We're getting there," I reply, putting my hand on his shoulder.

"How's it looking?" Newt calls from the bridge. Me and Thomas share an uneasy glance.

"Just... a little further!" Thomas lies.

I feel a sharp pain in the back of my neck, grimacing as my hand flies to the spot that stings. I try to rub it, to ease it a little, but the pain lingers. Thomas looks over to me in concern.

"Hey, what's going on with you?" he asks worriedly. "Are you feeling okay, after... y'know, the Cranks?"

I hesitate a minute before pulling my (y/h/c)hair back from my neck. "It's not that. WICKED did something to me, Thomas..."