“I know who you are,” Alby said finally, breaking the silence.
Thomas couldn’t find words to reply. He tried; nothing came out but an incoherent mumble. He was utterly confused. And scared.
“I know who you are,” Alby repeated slowly. “Seen it. Seen everything. Where we came from, who you are. Who the girl is. I remember the Flare.”
The Flare? Thomas forced himself to talk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What did you see? I’d love to know who I am.”
“It ain’t pretty,” Alby answered, and for the first time since Newt had left, Alby looked up, straight at Thomas. His eyes were deep pockets of sorrow, sunken, dark. “It’s horrible, ya know. Why would those shucks want us to remember? Why can’t we just live here and be happy?”
“Alby …” Thomas wished he could take a peek in the boy’s mind, see what he’d seen. “The Changing,” he pressed, “what happened? What came back? You’re not making sense.”
“You—” Alby started, then suddenly grabbed his own throat, making gurgly choking sounds. His legs kicked out and he rolled onto his side, thrashing back and forth as if someone else were trying to strangle him. His tongue stuck out of his mouth; he bit it over and over.
Thomas stood up quickly, stumbled backward, horrified—Alby struggled as if he was having a seizure, his legs kicking in every direction. The dark skin of his face, which had been oddly pale just a minute earlier, had turned purple, his eyes rolled up so far in their sockets they looked like glowing white marbles.
“Alby!” Thomas yelled, not daring to reach down and grab him. “Newt!” he screamed, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Newt, get in here!”
The door was flung open before he’d finished his last sentence.
Newt ran to Alby and grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing with his whole body to pin the convulsing boy to the bed. “Grab his legs!”
Thomas moved forward, but Alby’s legs kicked and flailed out, making it impossible to get any closer. His foot hit Thomas in the jaw; a lance of pain shot through his whole skull. He stumbled backward again, rubbing the sore spot.
“Just bloody do it!” Newt yelled.
Thomas steeled himself, then jumped on top of Alby’s body, grabbing both legs and pinning them to the bed. He wrapped his arms around the boy’s thighs and squeezed while Newt put a knee on one of Alby’s shoulders, then grabbed at Alby’s hands, still clasped around his own neck in a chokehold.
“Let go!” Newt yelled as he tugged. “You’re bloody killin’ yourself !”
Thomas could see the muscles in Newt’s arms flexing, veins popping out as he pulled at Alby’s hands, until finally, inch by inch, he was able to pry them away. He pushed them tightly against the struggling boy’s chest. Alby’s whole body jerked a couple of times, his midsection thrusting up and away from the bed. Then, slowly, he calmed, and a few seconds later he lay still, his breath evening; his eyes glazed over.
Thomas held firm to Alby’s legs, afraid to move and set the boy off again. Newt waited a full minute before he slowly let go of Alby’s hands. Then another minute before he pulled his knee back and stood up. Thomas took that as his cue to do the same, hoping the ordeal had truly ended.
Alby looked up, eyes droopy, as if he was on the edge of slipping into a deep sleep. “I’m sorry, Newt,” he whispered. “Don’t know what happened. It was like … something was controlling my body. I’m sorry….”
Thomas took a deep breath, sure he’d never experience something so disturbing and uncomfortable again. He hoped.
“Sorries, nothin’,” Newt replied. “You were trying to bloody kill yourself.”
“Wasn’t me, I swear,” Alby murmured.
Newt threw his hands up. “What do you mean it wasn’t you?” he asked.
“I don’t know…. It … it wasn’t me.” Alby looked just as confused as Thomas felt.
But Newt seemed to think it wasn’t worth trying to figure out. At least at the moment. He grabbed the blankets that had fallen off the bed in Alby’s struggle and pulled them atop the sick boy. “Get your butt to sleep and we’ll talk about it later.” He patted him on the head, then added, “You’re messed up, shank.”
But Alby was already drifting off, nodding slightly as his eyes closed.
Newt caught Thomas’s gaze and gestured for the door. Thomas had no problem leaving that crazy house—he followed Newt out and into the hall. Then, just as they stepped through the doorway, Alby mumbled something from his bed.
Both boys stopped in their tracks. “What?” Newt asked.
Alby opened his eyes for a brief moment, then repeated what he’d said, a little more loudly. “Be careful with the girl.” Then his eyes slid shut.
There it was again—the girl. Somehow things always led back to the girl. Newt gave Thomas a questioning look, but Thomas could only return it with a shrug. He had no idea what was going on.
“Let’s go,” Newt whispered.
“And Newt?” Alby called again from the bed, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Protect the Maps.” Alby rolled over, his back telling them he’d finally finished speaking.
Thomas didn’t think that sounded very good. Not good at all. He and Newt left the room and softly closed the door.
CHAPTER 28
Thomas followed Newt as he hurried down the stairs and out of the Homestead into the bright light of midafternoon. Neither boy said a word for a while. For Thomas, things just seemed to be getting worse and worse.