Every Heart a Maze | Newt & Thomas

Chapter 6

   At noon Thomas had started his first shift in the Gardens. Zart, Keeper of the Gardens, a tall kid with droopy eyes and a long face, had shown the Greenie the ropes until he were able to start working on his own. Shortly thereafter, Newt had joined them. Ever since he wasn't a Runner anymore, Newt filled in whenever and wherever an extra hand was needed in the Glade. Today, he'd found, was a particular good day to help out in the Gardens.

At first they weren't talking much, as they weeded, pruning an apricot tree, planting squash and courgette seeds and picked veggies. Thomas working hard and didn't seem to hate it as much as he'd claimed he would the night before. But he didn't look content either. And when the three of them were weeding a long row of young corn, Thomas decided it was a good time to start asking questions again. Newt had been expecting it, grinning at himself, as the interrogation of Zart began.

"So, Zart," Thomas began.

The Keeper glanced up at him, then resumed his work, already looking as bored as humanly possible. "Yeah, Greenie, what you want?"

"How many Keepers are there altogether?" Thomas asked, emphatically casual, but Newt had already seen through the act. If the boy dared to bring up the buggin' Runners once again, Newt couldn't guarantee to not slap that lovin' face of his right here and now. "And what are the job options?"

"Well, you get the Builders, the Sloppers, Baggers, Cooks, Med-jacks, Track-hoes, Blood Housers. The Runners, of course." Newt gave Zart a warning look, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know, a few more, maybe. Pretty much keep to myself and my own stuff," the boy finished with a shrug.

"What's a Slopper? That's what Chuck does, but he refuses to talk about it."

"That's what the shanks do that can't do nothing else. Clean toilets, clean the showers, clean the kitchen, clean up the Blood House after a slaughter, everything. Spend one day with them suckers – that'll cure any thoughts of goin' in that direction, I can tell ya that."

Newt saw the guilt Thomas felt over Chuck and a wave of sympathy overwhelmed him. The kid tried so hard to be everyone's friend, but so far he hadn't found a real connection with anyone. Possibly because he might be a little excitable and talked too much. A lot of the older Gladers couldn't handle that, but somehow they're all glad to have him around. Maybe he'd finally find a sidekick in Thomas.

"What about the Track-hoes?" Thomas changed the subject as he yanked out a huge weed, clumps of dirt swaying on the roots.

Zart cleared his throat and kept on working as he answered. "They're the ones that take care of all the heavy stuff for the Gardens. Trenching and whatnot. During off times they do other stuff round the Glade. Actually, a lot of Gladers have more than one job. Anyone tell you that?"

Thomas ignored the question and moved on. Newt was amused by his determination to get as many answers out of Zart as possible. "What about Baggers? Alby told me they're the ones taking care of dead people, but it can't happen that often, can it?"

Oh, Tommy dear, Newt thought, envious for the boy's naivety. Why can't you just remain so bloody clueless. I wish I could spare you everythin' that's awaiting. Truth was, life in the Glade was tough and if daily labors wouldn't corrupt the boy's mind, then the hopelessness of it all would ruin him eventually. Death presented itself as a pleasant variety within those walls, whether it be the ending of a fellow Glader's life, or one's own.

"Those are the creepy fellas," Zart sniggered, ignorant of Newt's dark thoughts. "They act as guards and police, too. Everyone just likes to call 'em Baggers."

"Guards for what? What exactly is there to guard when the gates close at night and the Grievers supposedly are no threat during daytime?"

"They guard the gates from cheeky shanks like you," Newt interjected while tying up the outgrowth of a grape plant. "No use for strays 'round here. Like I said, nobody leaves the Glade."

"No one but the Runners."

"Yeah, no one but the Runners, Tommy," Newt confirmed.

"Who came up with these shitty rules anyway?" said Thomas, showing his frustration by throwing his hands up. "Wouldn't it make a lot more sense if we all went out there together? Looking for a way out?"

"Listen, the Maze isn't for everyone. It's not that easy and I've already explained that to you."

Thomas stared at him, with an impossibly to read expression. Newt couldn't take his eyes off the boy's face though. Like the Greenie was silently challenging him, but Newt wasn't sure either of them could win at this. "Has anyone tried climbing to the top?" Thomas finally asked after a few long moments.

"Tried it." Unable to hold the Greenie's gaze any longer, Newt looked down. An unbidden memory forcing itself on him. "The ivy doesn't go all the way to the top," he lied. "And besides, where are ya gonna go from there?"

"What about the box?" Thomas urged. "You know, next time it comes up -"

"No, we tried that," Newt interrupted him. "Didn't ya listen to a thing Alby's told ya this morning? The Box won't go back down with someone in it."

"Okay, what if we -"

"No, we tried it, alright? Twice. Alright? Trust me, anythin' ya think of, we've already tried." Newt paused to intently glare at the boy. Now it being Thomas' who avoided to look at him directly, his gaze restlessly wandering over the Glade. Maybe Newt could get the upper hand after all. "The only way out of here is through the Maze."

He felt sorry for having to nip Thomas's energy in the bud, even though it was for his own good. Sooner or later he would have to face his fate, like they all had. And he would have to play whatever role the buggin' Creators had intended for him. Newt merely spared him the disappointment of having to find out for himself. "Now, look, ya wanna be helpful?" he teasingly asked as he picked up a basket containing a short shovel, and threw it at the Greenie. To his surprise the boy caught it. "Here. Go dig us some fertilizer."

Thomas gave Newt one last sullen look before stomping off, grumbling. His exit, however, was spoiled by him tripping over a branch. Newt just managed to hide his amusement at the Greenie's clumsiness, Zart, on the other hand, sniggered shamelessly.

"You like that shank," the Keeper stated when Thomas was out of earshot.

"He's quite alright, I guess," Newt evaded, bending down for some weeds he'd overlooked earlier.

"A bit pretentious if you ask me. Too curious for my taste. He'll cause some trouble, I predict." He said it in his typical Zart-way, matter-of-factly, no judgment. And although Newt would agree with him on all counts, he felt the need to defend Thomas.

"He'll settle," he said. "We all have."

"Yes're right. He did a good job today. I'll consider him for the Track-hoes." And with that, Zart ended the conversation by picking up his tools and disappearing to the back of the Gardens. Newt looked at the weed in his hands, then he tossed it in a bucket with the rest of the useless greens..


A sudden scream coming from the direction of the Deadheads made Newt look up.

"Help! Help!" Thomas came bursting out of the woods, followed closely by some other boy, whom Newt didn't immediately recognize as he couldn't see his face. "Help!" Thomas shouted again, waving his arms wildly as he charged towards the Gardens. The other boy - it was Ben, Newt now realized - tackled Thomas from behind, knocking him down to the ground. Newt instantly reacted, grabbing a shovel and rushing to the Greenie's aid.

When he reached the struggling pair, Ben just got on top of Thomas. "I'll kill you!" he yelled as he tried to grab the throat of the boy beneath him. That was enough for Newt to justify his next move. "Hey!" he said, drawing the sick boy's attention, before hitting him in the head with the shovel. The blow knocking him right off Thomas.

Ben wore nothing but shorts, his white skin stretched across his bones like sheet wrapped tightly around a bundle of sticks. Rope-like veins ran along his body, pulsing and green – but less pronounced than the day before. A nasty laceration adorned his forehead where it had connected with the shovel. His bloodshot eyes looked at Newt in disgust as more Gladers came running towards them.

Thomas got up while Gally, Frypan, and Zart tried to restrain Ben to the ground. The boy - obviously gone insane - tried to fight his friends off.

"Calm down, Ben!" Gally insistently talked to him as he pinned one of his arms down.

"Yo, what the hell happened?" Frypan wanted to know.

"He just attacked me!" said Thomas, stunned. He was still a little out of breath from his sprint previously.

"You okay?" Chuck asked, worriedly looking at Thomas.

"Ben!" Alby shouted from somewhere behind. "Ben," he repeated, as he approached the group. "Stop it right now, or you ain't gonna see tomorrow."

"No. No, no, no..." Ben stared viciously at Alby, his tongue darting between his lips to wet them. "You'll get the wrong guy," he shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth, snapping his gaze back to Thomas. "He*s the shank you wanna banish."

"Don't be stupid, Ben," Alby said, his voice calm. "Thomas has only just got here – there's nothing to worry about. You're still buggin' from the Changing. You should've never left your bed."

"He's not one of us!" Ben shouted. "I saw him – he's... he's bad. We have to kill him! Let me gut him!"

Newt was horrified by what he was hearing. It matched with what Gally had claimed would happen. Ben had seen Thomas during the Changing, and he thought he was bad. How could he think that Tommy was bad? What did all of this mean?

The thought of someone harming Tommy was unbearable to him. Not knowing, where that strong instinct to protect had come from, Newt growled at Ben. Involuntarily stepping closer to the Greenie, he shielded the boy from those who were unabashedly staring at him.

"It's your fault. I saw you. You did this. I saw you!" Ben shouted, then he turned to Gally, who was closest to him. "He'll wanna take us there again," he said to the boy who frowned down at him. Whatever was going through Gally's mind that moment, it couldn't be any good. When Ben stopped fighting them, the boys allowed him to sit up. "He'll wanna get us out of the Maze. Better we all jumped off the Cliff! Better we tore each other's guts out!"

"What are you talking -?" Thomas began.

"Shut your face!" Ben screamed, shaking off the hand Frypan had placed on his shoulder. "Shut your ugly, traitorous face!"

"Ben," Alby said steadily.

"He's bad, he's bad, he's bad..." Ben was whispering now, almost chanting. He swayed back an forth, eyes glued on Thomas. Newt didn't like that at all. He nervously switched the shovel from hand to hand, ready to use it again in a pinch.

"Leave it to me and the Keepers to figure this out, shuck-face," Alby warned once more.

"Bad..." Ben smiled, madness clearly taking over.

"Okay, that's 'nough. Billy, Jackson, lock him up in the Slammer."

"No! No! No!" Ben resisted and tried to wriggle out of the hands reaching for him. "You don't understand! Help me, please. Please. Please, just help."

"Come on, everyone help. Take him to the pit."

"Please don't do it!" Ben started crying and Newt felt sorry for the boy. But there was nothing more they could do for him. The Baggers - Billy and Jackson - heaved Ben up, taking him between them. "Please stop, please! He did this! Please stop! No! No Please! Help me!" he kept shouting as he was carried away.