Demolished Love | Death Cure

Family

  "Newt! Olivia! It's time for–OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD MY EYES OH MY GOD!" Minho's voice shouts from across the room as I lazily open my eyes. He stands in the doorway, covering his face with his hands. I instantly pull the bed sheets up to my neck.

  "Minho! The door was locked how did you get in?!" Newt says from next to me.

  "Well you two slept really late and when the door was locked I got worried something bad had happened! I didn't figure you two would be shucking all night! Who does that! Ew!" He responds.

  "Get out!" I shriek, watching as he stumbles backwards.

  "I'm going, I'm going!" He says. "I swear Newt if you got her pregnant. Eww, oh my God!" He yells as he walks down the hallway. Great, the others probably know now.

  He didn't shut the door.

  I quickly stand up and wrap the covers around my body. dashing over and shutting the door...locking it again. I rest my head against the back of it, taking a deep breath and clearing my head.

  "Wow," I exhale, laughing a bit. "Great to know Minho has seen both of us naked now."

  "He'll never let me hear the end of this." Newt chuckles, slipping out of the bed and pulling some clothes on. I follow in suit, dressing in my tattered jean shorts and grey sweater. The same ones that Newt took off of me last night. I blush at the memory, watching as Newt's shirt falls over his body. I hope he enjoyed it just as much as I did.

  Its silent for a moment as I tie put my shoes on and tie my hair up. Newt sits on the edge of the bed next to me. He wraps his arms around my waist, resting his chin in the crook of my neck. "Are you okay?" He asks.

  I nod my head. "Yeah, I'm fine," Lie. My head feels foggy and I am cold as I sit in the hot room. I shrug my shoulders, "What about you? You feeling more relaxed?"

  He gives a weak smile that doesn't reassure me. "I'm good."

  "Come on love shanks, we don't have all day!" I hear Brenda shout.

  "Yes! That's my girl!" Minho yells.

  "Shut up!" Says Brenda.

  I laugh and stand up, slinging my backpack over my shoulder sand rubbing my sore neck. We walk out and join the others who are gathered in the lobby.

  "We've just got to make it through the town. Cross over the mountains and then we'll be in Denver. That's where the Right Arm is." Jorge explains, pointing out the broken window.

  "Why Denver? Why not farther up north, or in paradise?" I ask, thinking about the land that Wicked once told us about.

  "If they went straight to Paradise, Wicked would easily be able to pin point and destroy them. The Right Arm plans on taking down Wicked before moving to Paradise, which is located in Iceland. Most of their signals are blocked by the mountains. It's a perfect spot."

  I nod my head in understanding as everyone gathers their belongings and passes out weapons. I tuck a blade into my belt loop and slip a hoodie on. I flip the hood over my head and take one last look at Newt and the others, who are ready as well.

  Jorge leads us out of the doors, and the stench of rotting bodies immediately fills my nostrils. I cough a few times, waiting to get used to the smell. The town lies in front of us. What used to be a nice suburb on the outskirts of Denver is now a landfill. The small houses are torn apart and broken down, if not burned to the ground already. Trash litters the streets, old garbage bags sitting on curbs and tin cans smushed into the pavement. Sand has covered the ground, blocking the use of cars and an eerie feeling stretches through the air.

  Some people sit along the edges of the village, tents built and families cowering under them. Children run down the streets, playing in their ragged clothes. Men and women are washing, eating or cooking above a small fire. Their faces are dirty and have too many injuries to count, but they're surviving. Not crazy. They're a community of Cranks that haven't reached the gone yet.

  Small conversations silence as our feet pad through the sand dunes. Grunts and murmurs erupt every few seconds, but most mouths are closed and all eyes are on us, watching these strange foreigners make their way through a town no one else would dare to enter.

  I look around and see similar posters to the one Eugene had. They're stapled and taped onto the sides of still standing buildings and flutter through the air with the wind. I pull my hood up further at the sight of my face on one.

  "Olivia Coleman?" A raspy voices calls from behind me. I slowed my pace down, but kept my hood up, refusing to look back.

  "It's them." I hear another citizen whisper. Newt and I exchange a look of worry as people point at us and pass the Wanted posters from person to person. Chills run up and down my spine.

  A woman jumps in front of us, holding a little girl's hand, probably only seven or eight years old. Her gold hair is pulled into small braids and her delicate brown eyes are filled with sadness, innocence and worry.

  "We know you came from Wicked," The woman says, voice strained and cracked as if every word was difficult to push out of her throat. She has a strange accent that is hard to identify, but it sounds familiar. She takes a look at our straggling group. "I thought there were more of you."

  "There were. Wicked killed most of us." Newt replies as I am too nervous to speak.

  The woman raises her eyebrows. "They took her brother," She nods to the little girl hiding behind her leg. "My son. He couldn't have survived."

  "Are you going to let us go or what?" Minho blurts out. I shoot him a glare. Obviously the poor woman was emotional, fragile and unstable. But it didn't look like she wanted to hurt us.

  "There is no cure, isn't there?" She asks me directly. I don't know what to say.

  I swallow and decide not to lie to her. "No, there isn't."

  She nods her head as if she already knew this. She does know it. She is sane enough to realize the horrible things Wicked does. She knows what is to become of her. And it pains me that I can't do anything about it. I've tried.

  "Best of luck to you," She croaks out and turns to leave. "Come on, Lizzy." She ushers to the small girl. But she stays in place, staring up at Newt and that's when I realize how much they look alike.

  "Big bubby?" She asks, voice tiny and soft. I glance at Newt, his eyes full of confusion that soon turns into recognition, as if a memory has flooded his mind.

  "Newt?" The woman asks from a couple feet away. I put the pieces together. Newt's mother and sister, their brother and son.

  I expect Newt to start crying. To crouch down and take his little sister in his arms, to hug his mom and tell her he is okay. To say his final goodbye wishes, to let her know he will see her again one day.

  That's what I expected.

  But instead, a gun shot fills the air and a body collapses next to me.