Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

29

No. Whining was not the answer. Thomas wasn't in the mood for putting up with Alby's complaints. They had to do something.

"Well, we'd be no better off in the Homestead. Hate to say it, but if one of us dies, that's better than all of us." If only the one-person-a-night thing were true. He hoped it was.

A long moment passed before Alby replied. "Maybe I should..."

The sentence died midways as he walked forward—towards the Cliff—slowly, as if in trance. Thomas watched in shock, unable to believe his eyes.

"Alby?" Newt called. "Get back here!"

Instead of answering, Alby sprinted towards the pack of Grievers.

"ALBY!" Newt screamed.

Thomas started to say something himself, but Alby had already reached the monsters and jumped on top of one like a cowboy in a rodeo. Newt let go of Thomas' hand and moved towards Alby—but five or six Grievers were already all over him in a blur of metal and skin. Instinctively, Thomas jumped forwards and grabbed Newt in a bear hug before he could go any further, pulling him backwards.

"Let go!" Newt yelled, struggling to break loose. Thomas tightened his grip around him—there was nothing romantic in that gesture. Only the urgence of survival.

"Are you nuts!" Thomas shouted. "There's nothing you can do!"

Two more Grievers swarmed over Alby, piling on top of each other, snapping and cutting at the boy, as if they wanted to rub it in, displaying their vicious cruelty. Somehow, impossibly, Alby didn't scream. Thomas lost sight of him as he struggled with Newt, thankful for the distraction. Newt finally gave up, collapsing backwards in defeat. Thomas fell to his knees besides him.

"It's alright," he whispered in his ear. He let Newt lean on him, burying his face in his T-shirt, wettening it with tears. "It's alright, Newt. I'm here. It's alright."

No one spoke a word. Alby'd flipped once and for all, Thomas thought, stroking Newt's hair as he fighted the urge to throw up. Their leader had been so scared to return to whatever he'd seen, he'd chosen to sacrifice himself instead. He was gone. Forever.

Thomas helped Newt to his feet; he couldn't stop staring at the spot where his friend had disappeared.

"I can't believe it," he muttered in a husky whisper. "I can't believe he just... did that."

Thomas shook his head, unable to even swallow due to a knot in his throat, so tight it hurt. Seeing Alby go down like that... An unknown kind of pain flooded his insides—an ill, disturbed pain. It felt worse than the physical kind. And he didn't even know if it had to do with Alby. But the thought that what he'd just seen might happen to Chuck, or Teresa—or Newt...

Minho moved closer to them, and squeezed Newt's shoulder. "We can't waste what he did. We'll fight 'em if we have to, make a path to the Cliff for you and Teresa. Get in the Hole and do your thing—we'll keep them off until you scream for us to follow."

Thomas peeked at each of the three packs of Grievers—none had made a move towards them yet—and nodded. "Hopefully they'll go dormant for a while. We should only need a minute or so to punch in the code."

Newt just stared at the spot where the Grievers seemed to be feeding on Alby. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed along with his eyes. He looked fragile, like a thin crystal that's cracking.

"Alby didn't wanna go back to his old life," Minho spoke up, turning to look at the Gladers. "He freaking sacrificed himself for us. Let's not waste what he did! Number one priority is to protect Thomas and Teresa. Get them to the Cliff and the Hole so—"