CH. FOURTEEN
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"Grief Serum!" Both Ben and Minho come storming into the Med-Hut, their faces sweaty and pale and everything at once.
The Med-Jacks look up. No doubt they've heard the screams, but their faces pale even more at the sight of Joan in Minho's arms, and the Greenie in Ben's.
Joan's trashing around. She cries out, then a scream slips, and she's back to trying to escape Minho's grip, all while she's unconscious.
The Greenie is almost in a bloodbath. It took long enough for the Runners to arrive. In the meanwhile, the Griever had all the time to do whatever he wanted with the Greenie, and there's not much signs of life now.
"What happened?" Clint rushes forward after Jeff's order to put both of them down. "We heard screams but—"
"Grief Serum!" Minho yells again, almost slamming bottles onto the ground because of his rough movements. "Hurry the shuck up!"
Joan's back arches again. She chokes on blood, struggling to inhale air instead of the thick liquid until she vomits it all out. Her fingers clench around the bed, eyes squeezed shut, and she screams again.
The pain will continue until they give her the Grief Serum. Then, the Changing will start and the pain will likely turn into mental pain, unless her past was full of flowers and butterflies.
Minho finally stabs the syringe just below her collarbone, and it seems to calm the girl down immediately.
The Grief Serum is one of the supplies the Med-Jacks get. It's as much of a cure as there can be for the sting of a Griever. Just makes them get their memories back.
"Clint, not good," Ben panics. He is standing at the head of the Greenie's bed, holding the boy's face between his bloody hands. "I don't think... not sure—"
Jeff rushes toward them. Checks for injuries and the boy's breathing. Once he has found the cause of all the blood, they all realize there's not much saving to do here.
There's a big hole in his chest. High chance the Griever took an organ. Blood's streaming and streaming, painting the white sheets red.
"This Griever was wild," is all Minho can manage to say, barely any humor in his voice although the tried to lighten the mood up. The Runner wipes sweat off his forehead.
"I'll go tell Alby," he then says, blinking and sniffing. "Try to keep Greenette alive."
It's silent for a while. "...Greenette," Clint eventually repeats.
"Female for—"
"Yea, I go that," he snaps at Ben. Almost immediately, regret washes over his face. "Sorry."
"Don't be." He walks over to Joan. "This will be a tough thing."
"Not tougher than what we've had before," Jeff replies. "We'll handle it."
Ben moves his fingers over his lips. "No. She already had some crazy shit going on. If it doubles..." He ends his sentence with a hum.
Another silence until Jeff steps forward. "Her wrist is bleeding horribly. I'll treat it."
She wasn't wrong when she thought she saw the leg go halfway through her arm. There's a big gash with so much blood you can't tell the difference between skin and flesh. "She'll heal," Clint assures once he sees Ben paling even more. "I hope."
"Reassuring, m—"
"HOLY SHIT!" Camil comes wheeling into the hut on full pace, a panting Newt and shocked Alby behind him. Camil doesn't hesitate to wheel all the way over to Joan, his face full of concern. "Oh, god, man!"
Alby makes his way to the Greenie. He shares a glance with Jeff, whose sad eyes say enough. Swallowing, Alby moves a sheet over the boy. "Get the Baggers, Ben."
"But—"
"Now."
He quickly obeys and vanishes out of the door, on his way to get the boys who bury the bodies and hold guard. 'Creepy fellas', according to Zart.
"Camil, take dista—"
Too late. His chair almost falls backward when he flinches: Joan's rolling around and crying and then she lets out a scream before her eyes start to water.
For the first time, they watch hot, thick tears spill down her face. It for sure isn't the first time she has cried in the Glade, but if she did, it was at night, in secret, where she wouldn't seem weak because the only thing keeping her company were her thoughts.
"Hold her arms and legs," Jeff commands. Newt's shaking as he does it, and Clint doesn't seem the most comfortable either, but it helps Jeff tie her wrists to the bed, then her legs.
"This feels wrong," Camil says, lowering his voice. "Tying her up. Tying shuckin' anyone up only because those stupid Creators—"
"So they won't hurt anyone," Newt says. Although his voice is unsteady, it's definitely steadier than Camil's. "What happened?"
"Greenie was curious about the Maze since the second he arrived. Asked us about it the whole time," Clint explains. "I think he went for the run and she followed. We heard her yells first, then his, so I guess she got wounded first, then him."
Newt buries his head in his hands, sighing. "How long is it gonna take 'till she wakes up?"
"Took Gally three days. George two." Jeff shrugs. "We'll have to wait. Just gotta feed her, try to note down anything she says, and make sure those ropes don't let go."
"Well, we've got to move her," Newt decides.
Clint nods in agreement. "The Builders finished the extra part. It's attached to this—"
"I mean up the Homestead," the blonde snaps. "Can't keep her unconscious and tied up in sight of all those bloody idiotic—"
"We understand," Camil says weekly. "Up the Homestead it is."
But Clint finished his sentence. "It's attached to this hut but there's a door that aparts it. Along with a lock."
Newt stares at the door at the end of the hut, rubs his chin, and then looks out of the window. "Alright. We can't move the bed up the stairs anyways. Roll it to that room. Anything happens and I'll bloody make sure—"
"—we'll get punished. We know the drill," Jeff assures. He starts moving the bed toward the extra room they got. Luckily, the thing stands on wheels so it's not hard to transport.
"It still doesn't feel right. Get her cleaned up. Got dirt and blood all over her body."
The four boys all stare at each other.
"I'm not undressing her, Camil."
"Ask someone else to do that."
"You really feel the need to remove her clothes?"
"Just make her look half decent and maybe feel better!"
Then they stare at each other again.
"I say Newt does it."
"Ask someone we fully trust and who is okay with doing it."
"I'm out."
"Yes, Newt should do it."
After all, he was the one who suggested to ask someone they fully trust and who is okay with doing it.
He tilts his head to the side. "I'm not sure if I'm okay with doing—"
"Yeah, you are." Camil gives him a push. "If it weren't for my legs, I would've done it. Clean her body, put fresh clothes on, done."
"Oh, yeah? Your legs are shucked up, meaning you won't have to do it?" Newt crosses his arms in a slightly triumphant way. "Well, my leg is also shucked up, so why do I—"
"Newt. Please just do it. She'd be the most comfortable with that, too."
"Fine." He grunts. "I'll get some clothes."
He comes back after a few minutes, holding gray sweatpants that he explains are his, because he couldn't find much soft, easily slipping pants in her closet.
He also brought a white knitted sweater. Beside the v-neck, the material is thick enough to keep her warm but not extremely hot as she tosses around.
But before Newt even gets the chance to open the door to Joan, the other door slams open and Gally nearly knocks over a table when he walks in.
"How many times have I told y'all to not go through my clothes and clean them unless I ask you to?" He spits.
"Dude, ask the Sloppers. We're not the ones who wash the clothes here," Clint says. "Either help us out or get out."
"I've heard things and I don't even know what's true," he sneers. "Explain."
He trails his eyes over the boys, waiting for an answer and then—
He stops at Newt. Or well, the sweater. "Where'd you get that?"
"Laundry. We have to change her clothes because she got—"
"Laundry?" Gally takes a step closer. "Don't tell me someone washed it."
Newt looks at the thing. With a weird face, he sniffs at the material. "Smells clean to me. Is that... a problem?"
Seems like it, because Gally looks as if he's about to explode. "You washed it?"
"I didn't, man!" Newt throws his hands in the air. "You asked for an explanation and then you interrupt us!"
"Never mind," he bites out, pulling the sweater out of Newt's hands.
"Hey! That's not yours, man. We need to change her—"
"It is mine," he corrects. "So let me do my thing as I try not to kill the Sloppers for washing this thing."
"She got stung."
Gally stops grumbling. He freezes for a second, then slowly turns his head toward Clint. "What?"
"She got stung," he repeats. "Just now. And we need to change her clothes because she's all bloody and dirty. Which is why we need a sweater that belongs to her. And we figured that one was hers, so our apologies that it isn't."
He's speechless for a few seconds. Then, "Oh."
"Yeah. 'Oh'." Newt crosses his arms. "What now? You suddenly feel guilty or are you happy this happened to the one you despise so much?"
The Builder blinks a few times, frowning. "Just because I hate her doesn't immediately mean I want her dead."
"Dude," all four boys at once.
"Hello?" He throws his hands in the air. "Maybe when she first arrived, yes, but not anymore! As long as I'm not reminded that she might be a traitor, I don't think she deserves death! Sure, a punch in the face but—"
"Yeah, just get out already."
"Do you need the sweater?" He snaps. "Now that it's washed, it doesn't give me anything. Useless piece of crap anyways."
"They changed the soap a while ago. You that addicted to the old smell?" Clint manages a small chuckle.
"No, that's not it. What is is, is none of your business." Gally is still looking at Newt during his reply. "Well? I don't have all day."
"Fine. Give me that thing."
A few seconds later, Newt is standing in the small room. The bed with Joan in it stands in the corner. There's a nightstand next to it and a mini microwave he guesses is for warming soup up, which they can feed patients who are hurt so badly they can't eat by themselves.
"Hi," he murmurs, as if she can hear. All he's happy about is that she calmed down a bit. Just a few unsteady breaths and veins that are starting to turn darker. "Please don't kill me for this. All I'll do is change your clothes into more comfortable klunk, yeah? Yeah."
He slips her shoes off, then her pants. The whole job takes an endless amount of time because he refuses to look, meaning he had to clean her body up without seeing much. When he has finally reached her face, it's covered with greenish veins already.
"You better wake up soon," he says. "No one likes it when another gets stung."
She twists a bit, but there's no decent reply.