Murder In The Maze (Maze Runner Fanfiction)

Chapter 34: Justice?

     Alby's eyes widen, his mouth hanging open.  Breathing heavily, he tightens his grip on the knife in his palm.  His chest rises and falls, becoming more and more rapid.  Through laboured breaths, he repeats the question, "How did you know?"

     "I--" the words refuse to leave my mouth.  A strange feeling of betrayal bombards my stomach like a thousand knives.  Shock overcomes me, halting my speech and dumbing my senses.  My mind beckons me to run, but my feet refuse, freezing in place.  I attempt to speak again, a few words escaping my mouth, "I...didn't."

     His jaw snaps shut, and his nostrils flare.  Almost immediately, he charges towards me.  The blade dives forwards.  My body ducks to the side as it slices through the air, landing in the trunk mere inches away from me.

     As he leans over to retract the knife, he leaves his body unguarded, prone to attack.  Without hesitation, I thrust my foot into his knee at full force, kicking it to the ground.  An unnatural crack ripples through the air.

     Driven to his knees, Alby cries out in pain, grabbing hold of his knee.  His face turns to me, filled with seething rage.  He growls in anguish as spit flies from his mouth.  His hand wraps firmly around my lower calf, tugging at my leg.  I struggle to break free but to no avail.  He wrenches harder, pulling me to the ground.

     A dull pain radiates through my body as I collide with the dirt.  A tight grip on my neck forces my mind to become alert.  The dark outline of Alby's figure looms over me.  His hands wrap firmer around my neck, constricting my airway.

     The blood in my veins pulsates rapidly.  My heartbeats echo through my head as pressure builds in my skull.  Blood rushes to my face.  A high-pitched whine penetrates my ears, blocking out all other noise.  My fingers desperately claw at his hands.  Time seems to slow as my vision blurs.  Speckles dot my vision as everything begins to fade.

     Suddenly, his hands loosen; air floods my lungs.  The influx of oxygen causes me to cough over the ground beside me.  My vision sharpens. Gally shoves Alby to the forest floor beside me.  He stands over Alby, smashing his fists repeatedly into his face.  A spray of warm blood coats my face.  Another blow collides, then another burst of blood.  Gally strikes him again, this time with an uppercut, louder than the rest.  Alby's head flies back, and he falls limp; his eyelids close over.

     Heaving for air, Gally steps back.  "You okay?"

     "Yeah," I answer, still catching my breath.  "Is he..."

     "...knocked out," Gally continues, "not dead."  He pauses again, shifting his gaze back to Alby.

     As the words leave his mouth, a handful of the builders appear, heading towards us.

     "You're late, take him to the slammer," Gally barks orders at them.

     Arguments and confusion erupt among them.  One of the Gladers steps forward.  "But--it's Alby!"

     "Just do it," Gally reaffirms, crossing his arms.

     Hesitantly, they grab Alby's arms and legs.  In an uncoordinated motion, the Gladers begin to lift, tugging at his limp body.  Through constant murmurings, they begin to drag him away from the forest.

     I fall back to the ground.  My thoughts muddle together; why Alby?  What reason would he have to kill anyone?  Why would he murder George: his best friend?  Did he have help?

     My mind spins with possibilities, none of them clear.  A mild headache interrupts my thoughts, clouding my thinking.  As the adrenaline exits my body, my senses return.  A throbbing pain burns through my neck, covering my throat.  White noise continues blaring through my ears.  My stomach churns, and nausea sets in.

     "You should get some sleep," Gally remarks.  "Tomorrow'll be a big day."

     "Sleep?" I question beneath my breath, almost laughing at the idea.

     I pull myself up from off the ground, rising to my feet.  My balance is unsteady, and my legs shake ever so slightly.  Gally and I make our way back to the Homestead, manoeuvring through the dark trees.  An awkward silence falls over us, neither knowing what to say.

     As we approach the edge of the forest, I begin to speak with voice cracks interrupting my words, "What happens now?"

     Gally rubs the back of his head.  "Slammer's the best bet, but I never thought about it.  We never planned for...this.  Who knows, maybe we'll have one of 'em Keeper meetings."

     "H-" I pause, attempting to blurt out the words through my hoarse voice, "-how much of a difference could it make?"

     "Dunno," he states plainly, "Alby's got a lot of friends: half the shanks worship the guy.  It could make a lot, or none, depends on--" he immediately halts his sentence.  His expression drops, and his jaw gapes open.  

     "What is it?"

     He points over towards the Homestead.  "Is that..."

     The outline of a person stumbling around the Homestead.  The burning torches outside the structure reveal his face.  It can't be.  I blink again in an attempt to clear my vision, but still, the same face.  "...Thomas?"

     I rub my eyes and squint again at the figure.  The Glader's features become clearer: confirming my suspicions.  I quicken my pace, turning my walk into a light jog.  As I near him, Thomas sits down on the grass.

     "Thomas?"

     Bruises cover his arms and face; shallow scratches run through his flesh.  His bloodshot eyes stare down at the ground.  He mutters something incoherent.  As I come closer, he cocks his head towards me, a crazed expression riddling his face.

     "You're alive!"  I sigh in disbelief.  "How?  You were stung!"

     He spins his head around as if checking something, then back to me.  "I remember."

     "What do you remember?  Do you remember the Griever or the Maze?" I inquire, "Is it something you remember before that?"

     "No, not that."  He shakes his head violently.  Thomas leans in closer to me, whispering hushed words beneath his breath, "I remember everthing."