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Chapter 17

           Thomastookacloserlookatthecollapsedboyandrealizedjusthowbadthingswere.Albylookedontheedgeofdeath.Hisusuallydarkskinwaslosingcolorfastandhisbreathswerequickandshallow.

           HopelessnessraineddownonThomas."Whathappened?"heasked,tryingtoputasidehisanger.

           "Don’twannatalkaboutit,"MinhosaidashecheckedAlby’spulseandbentovertolistentohischest."Let’sjustsaytheGrieverscanplaydeadreallywell."

           ThisstatementtookThomasbysurprise."Sohewas...bitten?Stung,whatever?IshegoingthroughtheChanging?"

           "You’vegotalottolearn"wasallMinhowouldsay.

           Thomaswantedtoscream.Heknewhehadalottolearnthatwaswhyhewasaskingquestions."Ishegoingtodie?"heforcedhimselftosay,cringingathowshallowandemptyitsounded.

           "Sincewedidn’tmakeitbackbeforesunset,probably.CouldbedeadinanhourIdon’tknowhowlongittakesifyoudon’tgettheSerum.Course,we’llbedead,too,sodon’tgetallweepyforhim.Yep,we’llallbeniceanddeadsoon."Hesaiditsomatter-of-factly,Thomascouldhardlyprocessthemeaningofthewords.

           Butfastenough,thedirerealityofthesituationbegantohitThomas,andhisinsidesturnedtorot."We’rereallygoingtodie?"heasked,unabletoacceptit."You’retellingmewehavenochance?"

           "None."

           ThomaswasannoyedatMinho’sconstantnegativity."Oh,comeontherehastobesomethingwecando.

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