The First Glader

21

They carried George back to the Glade as carefully as they could, but even with three boys supporting him, every step seemed to jostle something wrong inside him. His head kept rolling, breath catching in short, sharp gasps, and Ada never once let go of his hand. She walked backward the entire way, eyes locked on him as if watching him hard enough could keep him alive.

By the time they reached camp, the sun was high overhead, shadows short and sharp against the grass. Nick cleared a space in the shade, pulling one of the cots into the open and shaking out the stiff blankets.

"Lay him here," Nick said, voice tight.

Alby and Gally lowered George slowly. George groaned, his face contorting, and that single sound cut into Ada like a blade. She knelt at the side of the cot immediately, brushing hair off his forehead, whispering his name over and over.

Newt hovered close by but looked terrified to get too near. He'd never seen a person in pain like this — none of them had, not since Stephen died, and that had been sudden, brutal, unrecoverable. This was different. This was something living twisting into something else.

Nick checked George's pulse. "Fast," he muttered. "Really fast."

Gally crossed his arms, pacing short, tight lines. "So what do we do? Get water? Make him drink? Get—something?"

"We're doing what we can," Nick snapped, not at him, but because he didn't know any more than the rest of them.

Ada dipped a cloth in water and pressed it to George's forehead again. His skin felt like it was burning from the inside out. He twitched under her touch, muscles jumping.

"Come on, George," she whispered. "Just wake up normally. Just look at me like you always do."

For a moment, it looked like he would.

His eyelids fluttered.

His fingers curled around her wrist.

Ada leaned in.

"George?"

His eyes snapped open.

At first, she felt relief—
until she saw the pupils.

Wide. Dark. Unfocused.
Not seeing her—
seeing through her.

"George?" she repeated, softer.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he jerked upward with brutal force.

"Whoa—!" Newt fell back.

Nick grabbed George's shoulders, pushing him down. "Stay still—George—calm down—"

George thrashed violently, the cot legs scraping against the ground. His limbs twisted with unnatural strength; his veins stood out along his neck and temple.

"Hold him!" Alby shouted, rushing forward.

Gally grabbed George's legs, pinning them down. "What's wrong with him?!"

"I said I don't know!" Nick barked, sweat dripping down his face as he fought to restrain George's arms.

Ada reached for George's cheek, trying to steady him. "George—look at me. Please. It's Ada."

His head snapped toward her so fast she felt the air shift.

For a split second—
he stilled.

His breathing slowed.
His eyes focused.
His shoulders relaxed.

"Ada..." he whispered, voice faint, broken, familiar.

Ada's heart lurched with relief. "Yeah. I'm here."