Slowly at first, then a jog, then a run. How does Newt run so fast with his limp? As we ran, I realized something, me and Newt had been friends since the beginning. I probably knew him better than anyone else, and he probably knew me better than anyone else. As we ran, I noticed some things. The city wasn't fully destroyed. Sure, the buildings could have looked better, and there were no plants or grass anywhere insite, but other than that, this city must've been pretty resistant to the sun flares!
Or, maybe it was just another WICKED trick. I wouldn't be surprised if those shuck faces came down here and built this town from bottom up! In fact if none of this was even real I wouldn't be surprised! If all the stuff I see was a hologram made by WICKED I wouldn't be surprised. I'm almost convinced WICKED owns the world. Even if they did build it, most of the buildings were fine. Some buildings had the windows nocked out of them, some did not have a roof anymore, but all of them were still liveable. We had been running for a while, and dusk was setting. I stopped running, panting, but when Newt backtracked a couple feet towards me, I instantly tried to stop panting, but ended up gasping for breath. Newt seemed fine. How does he do that? Run for miles with a limp, then not even be out of breath? Maybe he should take my place as a runner.
“ I don't know about you Minho, but I do not want to be out here at night. This bloody place gives me the creeps.”
“ I know what you mean,”
Dusk was starting to fall, and I felt like little beady yellow eyes were staring me down from a spot I couldn't see.
“ Maybe we should find a place to stop.”
Newt agreed, and we spent a while trying to find a building suitable for night.
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Some didn’t have doors. Those were out, because of the crank factor. Some were only had first floors. Out again, for the crank factor. If a crank comes in, we wanna be able to hear it stomp up the stairs.
One was fine, until we looked inside. That one was out for many reasons. Many, many reasons that I don't want to think about. But, one reason was somewhere along the lines of the fact that a dead body was there, and it didn't look like it had died from natural causes. We beat a hasty retreat out of that house. We finally found one that was suitable. Part of its ceiling and wall were missing, so it looked like a triangle cut out of the house. The reason this was fine, was because no crank was going to be able to grapple up, and climb through the second floor hole. A bonus was that there were no dead bodies! When we walked in, I instinctively locked the door.
“ Newt, do you want to check down here, and I’ll check upstairs?”
“ Yeah, and if you find anything good, tell me.”
Newt wandered off down the entryway, and I started up the stairs. The stairs were creaky, every step giving off a ‘nails on a chalkboard’ noise. Well, we would definitely know if a crank tried walking up these steps tonight. Upstairs wasn't as much as an upstairs, as an attic. It was just one room, with the ceiling having a triangular shape, like it would in a child's drawing. Like I said before, there was a medium sized triangular hole in it that took a bite out of the roof, and the dusk light was coming into the room. There was nothing in the room, other than a trunk in the corner, and in the trunk were a couple pairs of pants. I guess when all of the cranks raided the house, they didn't care about pants. Cranks. That was what Newt would become.
No, no, I won't let him. I’ll guard him from the cranks, and I will never let him get hurt again. Yeah, that's what I was going to do. I was so pumped up then, I walked over to the big hole, and yelled out into the cool night air,
“ Ya hear that you shuck cranks? I’m coming for ya!!”
Man that felt good. Maybe I should yell into emptiness more often. Easy therapy.