Knacker's Yard
series masterlist // ao3 // previous chapter // next chapter
pairing: newt x fm glader!reader
chapter seven: into the box hole
word count: 1.9k // read time: 10-20 minutes cw: gore, death a/n: this is just the beginning...
The booming ring of the greenie alarm cut through the drafty windows of the homestead. Another month had passed with no change, even her memories stayed dormant in that time, which was a relief. Y/n stopped counting medical supplies—Jeff always had them do inventory on greenie day—and moved to the window. Like swarming ants, the gladers knocked off work and made their way towards the box.
“Finish what you’re doing first, then you can head over,” Jeff said.
“Not sure I want to. What’s the point if it happens every month?” y/n said, shooting down Jeff’s offer much more politely than she would any other glader. They had to work together everyday and Jeff and Clint rarely bothered her, so she was not opposed to being around the other med-jacks. It was easier to get things done when everyone was civil with each other.
Jeff raised his eyebrows. “You don’t suppose another a girl greenie will make the journey?”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she answered flatly.
“Well, at least you’ll be interested to know all the supplies you wanted should be coming up today…like those textbooks and vaccines and such.”
“Hmm, so how does this work exactly? We write an order and leave it in the box?” she asked, still standing at the window.
“Yep. Greenie comes up. We empty all the supplies that came with him, then put a list of requested supplies in the box. The list disappears down to wherever we come from. Then, next month we get everything we asked for.”
“So, the box is just gone for an entire month?”
“Yep.”
“Can we open the doors?”
“Sure can, but it’s not worth it. Just empty space. Too dark to see the bottom. We tried dropping some heavy objects down there and never heard them land.”
“Plus, someone got too close to the edge and fell in a couple months ago. We aren’t supposed to go near the box when it’s not greenie day,” Peter added. Peter gave up on being a slicer after his arm healed. He’d been working with the med-jacks since then. Jeff shot Peter a disapproving look.
“Enough chat. Keep counting,” Jeff enforced.
Peter rolled his eyes and got back to counting. Y/n remained at the window and pursed her lips, lost in thought.
----
Another unremarkable delivery. A boy greenie, about fifteen or so, with soft brown hair and even softer brown eyes wide with terror. Just like Clint said, everything she asked for came. The afternoon was occupied with unloading and putting all the supplies where it belonged. Alby showed the greenie around. Once all was done, a list was left in the box, the doors were shut, and the box returned to wherever it came from.
The evening transitioned into night like it always did, and greenie day concluded as it always did—with hot flames of the bonfire blazing in the courtyard, homemade drinks passed amongst the callused hands of the gladers, and the unspoken relief of another month of survival. She spent bonfire night in the med-jack room, squinting at the small print of medical textbooks under a dim lamp, dirt on the bulb speckled like snow amongst its cast. She had too much thinking to do to join in the festivities.
She woke early the next day with a purpose. Despite Peter’s warning and Jeff’s obvious disapproval, she crept her way towards the box hole. She propped the right door open a foot with a large rock. She stuck her head in and peered down. She could see nothing. The flashlight’s button clicked when turned on. The walls of the elevator shaft were concrete with steel beams interspersed at regular intervals. A steel beam in the center of each wall also had tracks with taut steel cables that the elevator used to lift itself up. The elevator shaft sunk deeper than the flashlight beam could reach.
She dropped brick-sized rock, which disappeared from her sight within seconds. She waited several minutes but heard no crash. She couldn’t wait any longer as the other gladers would be waking soon. She shoved the rock propping the door open into the box hole and let the door close as slowly as possible. She crept back to her sleeping bag and feigned sleep, a plan forming behind her closed eyes.
----
“You want to what?” Newt asked incredulously. He almost stood from his council seat.
“I want to go down the box hole.” She announced it calmly like she was asking for Newt to pass her mashed potatoes at the dinner table. But she was not at a dinner table anymore because she disrupted dinner, well specifically Alby’s dinner by demanding a gathering. Now that she had her audience, she explained her plan to make a rope from the wall vines and lower herself down the box hole. Newt and Gally vehemently disagreed. Newt objected to the danger. Gally argued that no one had been stung or died in the last three months so why rock the boat.
“No one’s had any ideas in a while, and she came to us instead of breaking any rules. Why not try it?” Winston said.
“Seconded,” Frypan added.
“Sorry Newt…and Gally…we have to put in to a vote,” Alby said.
Newt shook his head, prepping to argue his case again but Gally’s anger got there first. “You’re all crazy for this. We’ve been fine. The grievers have left us alone these past three months. The crops been good. Deliveries have been on time. My answer is no.” Gally got up and left.
“That shank is unstable. We’ve gotta kick him out,” Minho whispered in Newt’s ear.
Newt sighed. “My vote is also no. There are just too many unknowns. The last time someone went near the box hole not on greenie day, they fell to their death. Not worth repeating.”
“Well, I don’t plan on falling Newt. That’s what the ropes are for. Thought that was kinda obvious,” y/n shot back at him. Newt just closed his eyes.
“So, two votes for no. The rest of you shanks, it’s time to vote,” Alby said.
In the end, the vote was yes. They’d go ahead with the y/n’s plan. The gathering disbanded. Y/n dashed from the homestead getting prepped to start braiding the vines together, not even waiting for tomorrow. Newt and Alby pushed the chairs back towards the walls once everyone cleared from the room.
“I thought you’d be for it,” Alby said to Newt, “I know you want out more than any other shank in this place.”
“I do…I just…don’t want anyone to die in the process,” Newt answered, not looking at Alby.
“Newt…” Alby grabbed Newt by his shoulders and looked intensely into his eyes. “I have a feeling more than one shank will have to die when we finally break our way out of here. Shuck, if the poor shank has to be me, I’d die if it meant this was over.” Alby scowled. “Sometimes the ends justify the means…or maybe I mean at the expense of one for the greater good.” Alby let go of Newt and turned away. “Shuck it. Ya know what I’m tryna say. Let’s just go to bed. Tomorrow’s a new day.”
—
Her fingers were raw from all the braiding, but it was done. The vines were now a thick rope. The time to go into the box hole was be today. With help from a burly builder, she lifted the gates covering the box hole. The shaft was as dark as ever. For good measure, she tipped another rock into the hole and watched it disappear. Still no crash, but that did not bother her because today she would find out why.
The rope was fastened around the closest crop of strong trees and a group of ten volunteered to belay the glader going down. Of course, Peter volunteered to be dropped in the box hole. His gratitude towards his savior still had not run out. She secured him to the ropes twice—once around his hips, once around his shoulders. Then with the perimeter of the box lined with flashlights and a single flashlight in Peter’s hand, the ten boys supported Peter as he leaned backwards then pushed his feet against the shaft wall and descended into the box. At a distance, a group of onlookers watched in quiet anticipation, like the crowd watching a buzzer shot at a tied game.
“See anything interesting?” Y/n called out to Peter.
“Not yet,” his voice echoed up the shaft. “The walls look super dirty. It’s hard to keep my feet in place. I’m afraid I’m going to slip.”
“Don’t worry we’ll catch you.” The assurance came from Winston who was one of the volunteers to belay his friend down the box.
“Appreciate that. How far am I now?” Peter asked.
She looked at the rope as it passed the edge of the box hole. She had taped at regular intervals to keep track of the rope's length.
“About 20 feet!”
“Still not seeing anything. Below me is completely dark. Wait what—”
Peter did not even cry out. His death was that fast. The zing of metal sliding past metal, then a soft squelching noise followed by drips like a rag rung over the kitchen sink. The rope lost all tautness and the belayers slipped backwards before regaining their balance.
“Peter,” she called, “you good?”
No answer.
“Let’s pull him up!” Winston called.
First Peter’s head, then his shoulders, then his waist, then…nothing, that was it, unless you counted the ends of his shredded intestines hanging from the top half of his body. Screaming erupted from the crowd. Alby who had been watching the entire event, silent, arms crossed, and face in a scowl, now jumped into action trying to control the pandemonium.
She stayed still amongst the crazed crowd, planted like a tree amongst the stone slabs of the courtyard. Peter’s face was beyond pale. Slack lips blue. The space below his eyes—his open, lifeless eyes—was translucent. Beneath Peter a puddle of blood and waste seeped from his body and ran through the cracks in the courtyard stone, a river of red sludge. The last part of his body she focused on was the large scar, still shiny and new, down his left forearm.
He was dead. The baggers would deal with the body, and the box hole would become forbidden again. There was nothing else to do, except one thing. She cut through the crowd, determined on a single thing. She traveled east until she reached the wall just right of the door. She grabbed a sharp stone from the ground and dragged it many times across “Peter” until the name was crossed off the wall.
—
The remainder of the week did not improve. Two runners disappeared on back-to-back days, one of which was Newt’s good friend, a fellow original glader. The mood was dark. Meals were quieter. People were slower to rise in the morning. Gally used this as a rallying, got some of the gladers on his side. “Why fix what wasn’t broken?” he preached, “Maybe we are better in the glade. Safer. Be grateful to the creators. We’ve coexisted with the grievers for three months without issue until y/n had prodded them.” She was only saved from banishment by the fact that her plan was officially reviewed and approved by a gathering. There would be no escape plans anytime soon. They were stuck and Newt knew it.
----
next chapter
----
taglist: @bazingabazinga0904 @labyrinthkitty @sageeee04 @syndyj @liketheriverr @vanillabeanswirltwist
