CH. THREE
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The Bonfire sets quite a vibe.
There's boys making music with instruments that look handmade but sound good. Other guys are doing flips or follow some kind of movements to the music.
Then there's a circle where she first thought they got into a fight, but it's probably some boyish game with wrestling.
Boys stand and sit around the giant fire Newt, Alby, and a few others lit up a while ago, all as they drink from jars that contain Gally's drink.
"It's looks like piss," she says. "Is that it? Add some sugar, and boom, moonshine?"
Newt chuckles under his breath. "We've had those theories before, but no. It's not his piss."
"Then what is it?"
"Secret recipe he won't tell anyone."
"It's definitely his piss."
She inhales the smell of the jar Newt just gave her, scrunches her nose up in disgust, and hands it back to him. "No, thank you."
"But it'll grow some hair o— never mind." He coughs, his whole face growing red as he puts the Mason jar down. "I'll introduce you to some people. I guarantee you can trust all of them."
"...alright."
"Well, Minho said he saw you. So you've him." Newt points at a group of boys, who sit away from all the business. "Those are The Runners."
"I thought Minho would be... I don't know, wrestling or something?"
"Nah. He likes being dramatic, but he's really just an observer. Things he can't deny." Newt shrugs. "Then here The Med-Jacks, who you've also already met. Jeff and Clint."
"Yo, Newt."
Newt gives them a smile. "Track-Hoes, with Zart. I usually help in the gardens too. I like it there. And then Winston with The Slicers."
He's pointing at a boy with dark, messy hair. He's nice eyes but somehow looks a bit stern at once, while he's speaking to who are likely his coworkers.
"And you? Some kind of lead?" She asks after the whole tour. There's also The Builders, of which Gally is The Keeper, but those boys don't really get her attention. As Newt said, not a lot going on upstairs. Good with their hands, though.
"Second-In-Command," Newt answers. "Alby is first. Camil's third, but it's really just because he has no choice. And that's noticeable, 'cause that boy doesn't do anything all day."
"Why thank you, Newt."
Immediately, she turns around at the voice. Then has to look down because this Camil is sitting. In a wheelchair, in fact.
He smiles. "Hi, there. Nice to meet ya." And holds out his hand.
With some hesitation because she's still unsure about somewhat everything, she shakes his hand. "Hi. Can't introduce myself because I don't even know who I am."
As Camil laughs, he runs a hand through his dark blonde hair, which is just as messy as most boy's hair. A long face, bright eyes, kind features. "Well, I'm Camil, as this Shuckface said. And I do do my job, Newton."
The Brit grunts. "It's Newt. And no you don't. You hang out with The Med-Jacks and bully The Builders. One day, you're gonna get killed."
"Every time they touch me, I start yelling so Alby will show up, and I tell him they're bullying me because of my legs and trying to steel my wheelchair."
She can't help but smile. "Smart thinking."
He nods in approval. "Yup. And all the other people I talk with? Business talks."
"Sure, sure." Newt waves Camil away with his hand, but he doesn't leave.
"You must be extremely curious about what happened to my legs." He cracks a grin at the girl. "Story time!"
Newt palms his face.
"Alright. So. I was in The Maze, fighting creatures, until suddenly—"
"You came up in The Box with paralyzed legs," Newt corrects, emotionless. "Stop with all the lies."
"You've always got to ruin it, man!" Camil throws his hands in the air. "But yeah, I came up like this. They got me this chair after a month. A damn month of sitting down."
Her eyebrows fly up. "And you're still sitting now."
"Yes, but at least I can move myself." He nods. "I mean, Minho could've showed some respect with those arms of his and lifted me wherever I wanted to go, if it weren't for him being in The Maze all day."
She crosses her arms, pulling a face. "I think all of you have a little thing for each other, don't you?"
"Well, one and a half year of not seeing anyone but boys." Newt shrugs. "I'm surprised no one's gotten together yet."
Another small smile manages to form on her face. Then she turns around, because Camil has pointed at something, his eyes twinkling. "See what I mean?"
It's the place where Minho is still sitting. His arms are crossed just like hers, but they're for sure bigger than hers. Buff. With veins here and there, along with the tense pulsing of his muscles.
"How can running do th—"
"Don't know. But don't make his ego go up even more." Camil wheels himself in front of her, so she's forced to take her eyes off Minho. "So, what're your thoughts on this place yet?"
"It stinks."
"And...?"
"It's weird."
He gives her a glare.
"What do you expect me to say? That it's lovely and all? 'Cause it ain't, man." She shrugs. "I hate all these staring boys. The tree might've been even better. Listening to the gossip."
"Gossip? I'm in. Tell me." Camil points at the tree trunk that's lied down on its side. Newt sits down next to her, and she starts talking.
"So there were these two boys, talking about the leadership. Winston and Nick, were their names. Winston's The Keeper of The Slicers, right? And Nick was the previous leader until it got too much. Is that true?"
They stare at her as if she's said something crazy. Newt's face pales, and Camil's mouth opens, yet nothing but a small peep comes out.
"...what?"
Newt runs a hand through his hair, but with the slight shake, it doesn't fix much of the strands. "How do you know about Nick?"
"Winston called him that," she explains. "So I assume it was Nick. Is he here?"
Camil sniffs, rubbing his chin. "Yeah, I guess he is."
"Could I meet him? He seemed nice enough."
Newt and Camil share a glance, which makes the confusion multiply.
"With close by, I mean that he's in The Deadheads..." Camil starts.
"And if you want to meet him, go talk to his corpse," Newt continues.
"Which is cut in half," Camil finishes.
What.
"Did he die in the meanwhile?" Is the only thing she manages to bring out. No answer will satisfy her for sure.
"He died a year ago," Newt says. "Tried to go down The Box hole, but he came back up sliced in half."
The image is too horrible to get removed off her retina. She blinks a few times, very confused now. "Then I think it was just a dream. Some glitch about my memories."
Hopefully. Otherwise, she might me a psychopath after all. Gosh.
"Hey, Greenie!"
She looks up. After being called this name a few times, she damn well knows they mean her.
"You in for a round?" An unknown boy shouts, pointing at the circle where they'd been wrestling before. "You against Gally. See what you're made of."
Ha!
No.
"No, thanks," she shouts back.
There's some comments that make her regret her answer, yet she knows she won't be able to win from Gally. Their height difference, his strong built, his experience with this game... and her what? Perhaps some fast movements, but that won't be enough.
And it'll cause a lifetime of embarrassment if she loses. Unless she loses after a good fight, but she doubts it.
"Come on! It's a tradition. And as Alby said, we ain't gonna treat ya differently!" They protest. "Maybe he'll make you remember your name!"
Unsure, she stares at the ring. Gally stands there, unbothered. It's probably the only emotion except anger she's seen him wear so far.
"Fine," she mumbles, getting up with a bad feeling in her stomach.
"Rules are simple." Gally slides his sleeves up. "Try to push each other out of the circle. Whoever gets out first, loses. Loser has to chug a jar down."
Damn, she really doesn't like it. Yet she nods and takes off her jacket so that won't be ruined even more, throwing it to Newt. The Brit gives her a nod of encouragement.
"One, two, three."
Oh, cute he doesn't even let her stand strongly on her feet before they start!
Gally rushes forward. Without mercy, she's on the ground and the pain of that fall makes her groan. "When I first saw you," he says quietly so only she can hear, "you were fighting and all. Not seein' much of that now."
"I've never fought," she says. "Not that I remember."
"Well, I do remember."
"How?"
But he's got her lifted off the ground and takes his place again. "Come on, Greenie."
She attempts to attack him, but only wrapping her arms around his torso to get him down doesn't help much. "How do you know?" She asks again.
"That's none of your business," he snaps. "None of this is your business. You're untrustworthy."
"Man, I don't even remember anything." She pushes harder against him, but it doesn't faze him. "What do you want me to do about it?"
There the anger is again. Could she take control over it, get some strength, and fight better? She tries, but it doesn't work. It's still not her anger after all.
He manages to get her rolling over the sand. Right before she crosses the line, she stands up. Tries to give him a punch, but he catches her fist. Her other hand is in bandages, so she doesn't exactly have a benefit with that.
Then she twists her arm in a way it forces him to let go. A kick on his tibia, and he's weakened. A hard push, and he's also forced to take a step back. With that, she sticks her leg out and he trips, hissing as he hits the ground.
The anger almost hurts her head. Something's trying to break through her blurry vision before she's able to see clear again.
Gally stands back up. He gives her such a push that it causes her to stumble back.
That does open anger that belongs to her. He's saying all things she doesn't understand and tells her he's seen her as a fighter, then humiliates her by not even showing a mercy—
No, she doesn't want mercy. That's weak. She's gonna need to toughen up does she want to survive here.
A punch that finally hits. Right on the jaw. Taken aback, Gally moved a hand to it, mouth half open. Then he punches her back, just like that.
Not too hard, though. It's not good if anyone ends up unconscious, though she for sure feels a burning pain in her cheek. She ducks at another punch, kicks him in the crotch. As he bends down, she's free to hit him in the face with her knee.
Both her and the unfamiliar anger evolve. Could it be his angry he's feeling? No, don't be crazy. Not possible.
A few more punches follow, almost as if they're taking turns. As long as he keeps hitting her, she's gonna hit back. And he probably has the same rule, because he doesn't hold back.
The cheers and yells beside them get so loud that Alby's yells for them to stop before it gets too much only sound like he's also encouraging them.
"What do you mean you saw me?" She spits out some blood. "Are you a psychic or something?"
Then she remembers Nick's words. Well, dead Nick, so she's not sure if they're true, but...
"You got stung," she blurts out. "Whatever that means. Do you get hallucinat—"
Another punch. It's a bit harder. Causes the pain in her face to increase to a high enough level for her to wince. Then, even with her by now hurting knuckles, she punches back.
His breaths heave. "I know what you did. And I bet you know, too. Likely you've sent yourself up here just to ruin more."
"Ruin what?" She takes a fist in her stomach. In return, she kicks his legs again. "I don't remember anything!"
"Liar," he spits out.
Then, Alby gets between them and decides it's better if they stop before it really gets out of hand.
She spits more blood on the ground, wiping her mouth and asking Newt for her jacket.
"You know about the rules," he tells her. "Never harm another Glader."
"Well, this was just a stupid game."
"Everyone who's made the other bleed on purpose with this game before, spent a night in The Slammers."
Right. Their jails.
"It's my second day here," she defends fast. "Come on, Newt."
He places a hand on the small of her back and starts leading her away. "Rules are rules. Got to keep order. Gally's gonna spend a night in there, too. Don't worry."
"I'm sorry," a voice behind her says. It's not directed toward her. Once she turns her head, she sees Gally speaking to Alby. Newt's too busy grumbling about their childish behavior to notice.
"I... I got flashbacks," Gally says, his voice suddenly high-pitched. "I didn't realize what I was doing until you got there, Alby. I never meant to hurt her like that. Please don't put me in that thing. I swear— I didn't— please. My nights have existed out of nightmares anyways. It'll make things worse..."
Alby hesitates. Then, "Fine. Only for this once. But if this happens again, I will take it as a stupid excuse."
"It's not," Gally promises.
"Alright." The leader exhales. "Just don't tell anyone about this. It'll cause arguments. And I'm only doin' this because of the incident, ya?"
"Ya." Gally nods. Alby walks away with a nod, and Gally catches up with Newt and the girl. Newt's walking a few feet in front of her by now, still grumbling.
The sad expression Gally wore three seconds ago has changed into a grin. "Have a good night in there, Greenie." He holds out his hand. "Hope you enjoy it."
"You lied," she realizes. "What the hell! That's a very dirty move, Gally. Lying about trauma."
He smiles some kind of 'evil' smile. "Too bad, huh?"
Then she shakes his hand. "You're awful," she mutters.
He squeezes her hand so hard that it feels like he'll crack her bones open. Then, he leans closer and grin is suddenly gone. "I see one suspicious thing, and I'll damn well make sure the trip to The Slammer is longer."
"What did I even do?" She wants to add more than that, but he squeezes her hand so hard a small whimper rises up her throat.
"You come up here as the only girl, you appear in my dreams as a horrible person, and now you act all innocent. And—" he stops. Looks around. "Nothing. Sleep well, if you even manage to, Greenie. Good luck on the floor."
She scowls at him. There's another attempt to say something back, but he has already disappeared.