This time I whispered

“ Newt, what is it?”

Newt didn’t respond but stepped to the side and pointed. Now, before I looked, I was hoping it would be our friends, and we would sneak up and surprise them. But nope. Not at all. The first hint of that was there was only one figure. The second tip was he was covered in bruises and blood. The third tip off was he was just standing there staring off. It was a crank. A crank that had what looked like a knife in his hand.

“ What do we do?”

“ Okay Minho, um, maybe if we walk by really slowly and quietly nothing will happen?”

It was as good an idea as any, so I agreed. We started walking, not looking at the man, looking straight forward. At one point, our hands found each other and interlaced. That took my mind off the crazy person fifty feet away. Suddenly the crank ran at me ( I was closest ) and pushed me to the ground! My hand was ripped from Newts, before I hit the ground. I tried to ignore the pain of what must've been my third concussion in less than a week, and tried to get up, but fell back down. I tried again and was able to get up, and I saw the crank running away, and Newt standing there breathing heavily. I ran over to Newt, stumbling a little on the dusty, rocky, and sandy terrain

“ Oh god Newt, are you okay? You just saved my life!”

But when I saw Newt's pale face, I knew something was wrong. Newt stumbled, and slid into me, but did not pass out. I lay him on the dusty ground, and tried to find what was wrong.

“ Newt, what is it?”

I was frantic. Newt was grimacing, but managed to get out

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“ Leg . . .”

His leg. Okay, what's wrong with his leg? Then I saw it. Blood was seeping through Newt's pants. That crank must've stabbed him.

“ Hey Min . . .”

“ Yeah?”

“ I think I might need help.”

I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but it didn’t work. I felt like crying, but I knew I couldn’t. Newt needed me.

“ Newt, I’m going to pick you up okay? It might hurt.”

Newt nodded weakly, the blood had made it through his pants, and was starting to pool in the dirt, but the sand wasn’t absorbing it, just holding it.

The pool of Newts blood was mixing with strands of sand, making it murky. His face was getting more ashen by the minute. I gingerly picked up Newt, and made sure I didnt touch his leg. I lifted him up onto my back and hastily jogged back to our little shelter we used the night before. Jogging with someone on your back is hard, but trying to not hurt them more or bump them around too much is nearly impossible. The uneven terrain was already hard to run on, not accounting for someone on your back.

As I ran, I could smell dust and Newt’s blood. The only things I could hear were my pounding footsteps, my ragged breathing, and Newt’s shallow breathing. Everything else had been muted in my brain. By the time I got back to the shelter, I was sweating, out of breath, and sapped of energy, but didn’t feel any of it. I bolted into the house, not even bothering to close the door, and ran up the stairs, not caring about the squeaks. I layed Newt against the wall, his body resting on the carpet. His eyes were barely open. His breathing sounded shallow, his breaths small gasps.

“ Newt, you're going to be okay alright?”

Newt nodded, and looked like he was going to pass out. But, if he did, I worried he might never wake again. Apparently, even though he was in pain, Newt realized this too. His breaths had taken on a sound as though Newt was trying to breath through a tube. Like they were short bursts, and even those became labored, and small.

“ Minho, talk to me, and don't stop.”

Okay, easy enough. As I thought of a way to help Newt, I told him of my box trip, what I did when I came out, and how I became a runner. Then, I had an idea.