They called you the Glue"
"The Glue?"
"Yeah. Probably because you're kind of the glue that holds us all together

Newt was sitting on the ground with Frypan and Minho, all three looking as if they were waiting for the end of the world.

The betrayal meant he couldn't trust her anymore, and his heart told him he couldn't forgive her.

A small hole in his shirt revealed a gooey red blob right in the meaty part above his armpit, blood pouring from the wound. It hurt. It hurt bad. If he’d thought his headache downstairs had been tough, this was like three or four of those, all smashed into a coil of pain right there in his shoulder. And spreading through the rest of his body.
Newt was at his side, looking down with worried eyes.
“He shot me.” It just came out, a new number one on the list of the dumbest things he’d ever said. The pain, like living metal staples running through his insides, pricking and scratching with their little sharp points. He felt his mind going dark for the second time that day.

Thomas remembered the image of the Cranks at the windows back at the dorm. Like living nightmares, missing only a death certificate to make them official zombies.

Thomas felt his spirits lift, but immediately squashed them back down. Getting his hopes up was something he’d sworn never to do again. Not until all this was over.