Chapter Fourteen
"books"

❣︎

At this point, we've been keeping watch at night to make sure Thomas isn't the one who causing danger.

We're completely silent as we eat a quick breakfast. After one bite, I shove my plate away. It hurts too much. Swallowing, feeling the food slide down my throat as if it's a burning hot stone, my lungs automatically asking for oxygen after it—I can't do it just yet.

Aris looks concerned for a moment, then hands me a juice box with a softer look in his eyes. I smile but shake my head. Everything feels too tender to even drink. Maybe later.

The dark blonde eyes Thomas. "Have you thought about how ridiculous you're being?"

"I have thought about we're going to find something today," he replies before glancing at me. "Have you thought the places Newt could be through?"

I nod, but make a hand movement that I still need to write it down.

Last night, as I was thinking about it, I already knew logic wouldn't be enough, yet continued.

Newt died in the Last City. That place was hell—a mass of Cranks, ash, and chaos. If he somehow survived, if he's somehow alive, he wouldn't stay there. No one would.

So if he escaped the Last City, where would he go next? Somewhere safe, but not too far. Somewhere abandoned, hidden, away from Cranks but not impossible to survive in. He wouldn't risk the coast for long—the beaches here are too exposed and we would've found him had he been here.

My mind drifts to the Safe Haven, the westward island that's supposed to be home. But no, if Newt knew about it, if he wanted to get there, he would've tried already. It's not just distance—getting there would mean crossing water, and even with a boat, he must be too weak to do that.

Newt wouldn't wander aimlessly around the Scorch either. He'd find a place with shelter, water, food. Somewhere close to a city but not within it. A place with supplies.

I pull out my notebook and sketch a rough map in the corner of the page. The Last City. The coast. The Scorch. The Safe Haven.

The Scorch is massive, but we've already covered the area closest to the city. A mile isn't far, though—not for someone like Newt, I guess. If he knew Cranks were closing in, he wouldn't stop at the edge of safety. He'd keep going until he found something solid. Somewhere he was sure of safety.

I close my eyes, focusing. Not on what's logical, but on Newt himself. The way he thought. The way he moved.

Which is pretty difficult considering I've never met him.

The coast to the west, the Safe Haven south west, and the Last City in the north. The Scorch is everywhere but mostly spreads south. East goes deeper into the land.

North. The air is colder in that direction. The Cranks might avoid it, but so would Newt if he's hurt.

There's nothing in the south. Just the Scorch. We'll take ages looking for a place if we go south.

West. The coast. We've already looked there, too. And if he's in danger, the danger would wait for him at the coast, because it wouldn't want him to get away.

East.

I stop sketching for a moment, staring at the map. East leans back toward the Last City, but also beyond it. If he survived and fled, it's possible he didn't stop at the edge of the city. He might've pushed through, into the outskirts where the Cranks thinned out.

I tap the east side of the map, narrowing my eyes. If Newt had a choice, he would've chosen somewhere that made sense—somewhere logical. Heading east is risky as it's further into the land, but it's the only direction that offers any real chance of shelter or civilization. And if he kept going, far enough...

I circle the eastern edge of the map. He could've found a spot to rest. Somewhere we haven't looked yet.

"East," Thomas says. "Okay. We go east."

"We will look through the first abandoned spot we see, then leave," Aris tells him, focusing on the last word.

"I decide which spot we're going to search. We won't search the first spot we find. If it's full of Cranks, Newt won't be there. Let me decide which one is tempting."

Aris throws his head back. "As long as the journey isn't too long."

Thomas stands up. "Let's go."

❣︎

Every step feels heavier, my backpack weighing me down. Thomas leads, his map in one hand, his other clenched into a fist at his side.

Aris walks close to me, his steps slower than usual. I can feel his frustration radiating, but he keeps it in check, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Thomas stops suddenly. "Look," he says, pointing toward crumbled buildings in the distance. "That could be it. Newt could be there."

Aris groans. "Here we go again."

He spins around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Aris says sharply, "that you're dragging us in circles. This is the millionth 'could be' spot, and we've found nothing but ruins and danger."

"I'm focused. There's a difference. If we don't keep checking—"

"And what if we keep checking until we get ourselves killed?" Aris snaps back.

"Every place we skip could be the place he is. Or was. We can't miss it."

Their argument grates on my nerves. I grab my notepad from my pocket, and scribble a single word in bold, jagged letters: STOP.

Thomas looks at me, startled, as I jab my finger at his chest.

"Adelaide," he starts, but I cut him off with a harsh shake of my head.

'You're not the only one who cares about Newt. We all do. But you're leading us blind. Wasting time. Putting us in danger.'

Before he can respond, I thrust the notepad in his face. The fight drains out of him in an instant.

He reaches for his cheek, his words catching in his throat. I cross my arms.

"And now shut up," Aris adds.

I step back, my shoulders slumping, and let the notebook fall to my side.

Thomas hesitates, then nods, his shoulders sagging. "Fine," he mutters. "We'll do it your way." And he continues walking.

Tomorrow, he will have changed his mind, but I guess it's okay for now.

Aris glances at me. "You okay?"

I nod. We fall into step behind him. Aris stays close.

I don't know if we'll find Newt there, or if this is just another dead end.

"You have a great hand." He motions at the hand I slapped with, a tiny grin on his face. "Don't tell Thomas I said that."

The corners of my lips automatically curve up, and I nod once again.

❣︎

From close up, it looks like it was once a factory or some kind of warehouse—a hollow building with shattered windows and rusted metal doors.

Thomas is the first to step inside. His boots crunch over broken glass as he moves forward without hesitation, his hand gripping the handle of the knife. Aris lingers just behind him, his annoyance practically radiating off him in waves, though he stays silent for now. I follow after them, my steps cautious.

The air is heavy with the smell of dust and rust, but there's something else—something rotten. My eyes dart to the corners of the room, where the shadows overpower. Nothing moves, but the silence makes my skin crawl.

"Stay close," Thomas says over his shoulder, his eyes darting to every crack as though Newt might appear out of the walls. His obsession is suffocating, and the longer this search goes on, the harder it becomes to ignore.

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I want to scream at him, shake him, make him understand how irrational he's being—but I can't.

The room we're in is gigantic, the walls lined with rusted machinery and tools. Broken furniture is scattered across the floor, and every surface is coated in a thick layer of dust. It's clear no one's been here in years, but Thomas doesn't seem to care.

"Look for signs," he says abruptly. "Anything that shows he was here. A trail, a mark, something."

Thomas whirls around when Aris sighs once again. "If you're not going to help, then stay out of my way."

Aris throws his hands up in the air. "You've dragged us halfway across the Scorch chasing after someone who's probably—" He stops himself.

I glare at him, but it's Thomas I'm angrier with. I move past Aris, grabbing Thomas by the arm and yanking him back. He turns to me, but my expression says everything my voice cannot.

For a second, he looks like he's about to argue, but then he pulls away. "Go look."

Something catches my eye. In the corner of the room, tangled around a pipe, is a piece of fabric. It's small and fraying at the edges, but it's out of place in the abandoned building. I crouch down, picking it up carefully.

"What is it?" Thomas asks. He's beside me in an instant, snatching the fabric from my hands and turning it over as though it holds all the answers he's been searching for.

"It's his," he breathes. "It has to be."

Aris pulls it away from him and hands it back to me. "Or it's from whoever else wandered through here. You don't know for sure."

"I do know."

I pull out my notepad again and write quickly, holding the message up for both of them to see. 'This isn't enough. We need more.'

Thomas immediately turns and storms off deeper into the building, clutching the fabric tightly in his hand.

"Don't mind him," Aris murmurs to me. "At this point, I hope to find Newt for Thomas's sake only. You'll like him better when he's in a normal state."

I shoot him a look that says I agree, then gesture for him to follow, and we move deeper into the building together.

The second floor is worse than the first. The stairs creak under our weight, and the air grows colder the higher we climb. The walls are covered in graffiti but none of it looks recent. The windows are shattered, letting in pieces of harsh sunlight.

"Over here!" Thomas's voice echoes from somewhere ahead.

We pass a shattered door. There's something there—a faint shape, barely visible in the gloom.

I look at Aris to sense if he sees it too, but he's staring at the ground.

I turn to follow his gaze and freeze.

Lying on the floor is a series of strange markings, as if something—or someone—had dragged something heavy through the dust. The marks form a rough, almost chaotic circle.

"What is that?" Thomas whispers.

Before anyone can answer, the building groans, a sound like it's about to collapse.

I see a chair in the corner of the room, tipped over, with what looks like... clothes. I can barely make them out in the dim light, but there's no mistaking the faint scent of blood that lingers in the air. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

We approach cautiously, and as we get closer, the pile of clothes takes shape. A shirt, torn and bloodied, with what could be Newt's boots sticking out from underneath. My heart skips in my chest.

Aris reaches down, lifting the shirt carefully.

It's not Newt.

There's no body underneath. Just an empty space. And yet, the blood... it's fresh. It smells like it happened just minutes ago.

"What the hell is this?"

Then the lights flicker. I think it's just my eyes adjusting to the dark, but no—it's the building itself.

Without warning, the floorboards groan louder.

I feel something brush against my leg.

I freeze. Thomas jerks back as if he's seen a shadow move, but there's nothing there.

Aris's eyes narrow. "Did you feel that?" he whispers.

I swallow hard, and the three of us slowly back toward the door. But as we turn to leave, I see something else—a small object on the ground, half-hidden in the shadows. I kneel to inspect it.

A piece of torn paper. My heart stutters in my chest as I unfold it. The writing is faint, but it's clear enough to make out: 'I'm here. Come find me.'

I gasp, showing the paper to the others. Thomas's face pales as he reads it, and Aris immediately looks around.

"This doesn't make sense."

The shadows seem to grow darker. The cold intensifies. I feel something in the corner of my vision—a movement. I spin around, but there's nothing there.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoes from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps. I stand rooted to the floor once again, instinctively grabbing Aris's arm.

Every nerve in my body screams at me to run, but my feet feel like they're cemented to the floor.

Footsteps. Closer.

And then—nothing.

A door slams open somewhere above us. We don't dare move. My heart races in my chest. Aris's hand tightens around mine.

A loud screech rips through the air—a horrible, guttural sound that sends a jolt of panic through me.

Something is here. It's close. And whatever it is, it's not Newt.

The air goes even colder. I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the temperature. The ground beneath us seems to shift, like the building is alive.

Something crashes to the ground above us.

We have to leave.

"Let's go." Aris pulls both Thomas and I along with him, down the creaking stairs, back into the Scorch. For once, the horrible heat of the sun feels welcoming.

Yet I'm still shaking, my breaths ragged. That might've been one of the scariest moments in my life.

"What was that?" Asks Thomas, looking up at the building.

"I have no idea, but it wasn't Newt," Aris responds. "We need to move."

As the three of us stumble away from the first building, the heat of the Scorch presses down more and more. My legs feel like jelly, but I force myself to move.

Thomas stops abruptly after a while, bending over on his knees right before his breakfast lands on the sand.

His breaths are ragged, his eyes locked on the ground. Aris and I stand in shock. Was that the fear leaving him? Or all the stress that has been building up? Or is he actually becoming unwell? Sick?

Slowly, he straightens back up like nothing ever happened. "Let's continue."

We trudge onward through the Scorch. I find myself glancing behind us every few seconds, half-expecting whatever was in that building to follow. But everything remains still

Another building appears in the distance, smaller than the last. The windows are shattered, the doors hanging ajar. Unlike the last place, there are no signs of abandonment. The door looks like it's been forced open recently, and faint tracks lead inside.

Thomas notices it too. His eyes light up, a spark of hope cutting through his exhaustion. "He was here."

"Or someone else," Aris mutters, but Thomas ignores him, already heading toward the entrance. I have no choice but to follow.

Light filters through the broken windows. It smells musty and damp, with a faint hint of something metallic. The second thing is the noise. It's quiet but it's there—a rhythmic tapping, like someone drumming their fingers against the wall.

The tapping grows louder as we move deeper into the building. The layout is strange, the rooms connected by narrow hallways that twist and turn. It's hard to tell where we are or how far we've gone.

We reach a room at the end of the hallway, and the tapping stops.

The three of us share a glance before we enter, the wood squeaking below our feet.

It looks just as strange as every other place in this building, yet... more alive. There's a bookcase in the corner, though it's clear no one ever touches those books, and a carpet on the floor. No pictures on the walls or anything—maybe it was an office before?

"Hm." Aris kicks against the carpet. "It's like it's glued to the ground."

I kneel down next to it, confirming his idea by trying to move it as well. Something must be below it, or maybe it's mold, or perhaps it was always like this.

I stand up to let them deal with it and walk over to the bookcase instead. From the front, they all look lonely, but there are prints in the dust on top of it. Someone touched them. Recently.

My fingers feel the texture of the books, testing if they're real. Of course they are. Why wouldn't they be—the hard cover of one of them makes me stop.

It's a red book, completely on the left side. The same size as every other book, but with a hard cover. I tap pages, and they're just as hard.

They're not glued together. No, it's a fake book.

The ground vanishes beneath me when I try to pull it out.