Murder In The Maze (Maze Runner Fanfiction)

Chapter 44: Blood

     Without a second thought, I scramble to the body.  My breathing stops - a pit of dread entombs my innards.  Minho writhes on the ground, choking on blood.

     "Minho?" Newt questions with a trembling voice.  Tears prick his eyes.

     A growing knot rises in my throat, but I bite it back.  Snapping myself from my shock, I kneel beside Minho.  My fingers fumble around my bag, shaking as I reach for a bandage.

     Bursts of blood spray from a cavity in his chest - spewing uncontrollably.  A splash of it shoots over my face, clouding my vision with the crimson liquid; sheer panic pulses through me, chilling my bones.

     Newt dives forward, leaning beside his friend.

     "Newt?" Minho spits, gargling on his blood.  His hand trembles, wrapping tightly around Newt's.  Colour drains from his face; his expression begins to drop.  "D--don't...leave," he begs, blood dripping from his mouth.

     "I won't!"  Newt cups his other hand around Minho's hand.  "I'm not gonna leave you!"

     "Hang on!" I press my bandage against the wound; the bleeding doesn't ease.  More and more it soaks through the bandage.  Warm, thick blood flows through my fingers, streaming down my arms.

     Newt's watered eyes turn to me, tears flooding his red face.  A glimmer of hope rests behind them as if somehow asking if Minho will be okay.

     Heavily, I shake my head.  The bleeding spreads rapidly, oozing through Minho's clothes and over the floor.  I shove another bandage on the wound, then another; the blood encapsulates them almost immediately.

     Minho coughs, followed by another spray of blood.

     "Newt?" he gasps weakly, "Are you s-still t-there?"

     "I'm here."  Newt grips Minho's hand tighter, his knuckles turning white.  "Don't worry, Minho," his voice cracks, "I'm right here, okay?"

     "It's so...cold," the last word falls from his mouth as the breath leaves his body.  The splurts of blood ease, fading into a gradual stream.  Minho's hand relaxes, falling limp.  His eyes turn cold, staring blankly at the ceiling.  Minho's once expressive face morphs into a pale reflection of himself.  The life drains from his body as the dark grip of death take hold of him.

     "Minho?" Newt repeats softly, his voice quaking.

     Collapsing from the body, I slump against the wall.  My eyes glare intensely at my blood-stained hands.  "He's gone."

     "Minho!" he cries, his voice raw with emotion. Newt shakes Minho's shoulders firmly.

     "No, no, no, no," he stutters, cradling Minho's body.  "Just--hang on."

     Newt turns to me, his expression pained.  Streaks of Minho's blood roll down his face.  Tears stream freely down his cheeks, and his eyes glow red.

     My stomach twists - a pang of sadness overpowers me.  Newt's pain soon becomes my own.  I crawl closer to the body, fighting back tears.

     "He's not dead!" Newt blurts out, his lip quivering.  "He's not," he repeats firmly, but sadness breaks his voice, "h--he can't be!"

     A stray tear drips down my face.  My jaw drops open; I go to say something, some words of comfort, but nothing comes out.  I reach my hand over to his shoulder, squeezing firmly.

     Blood cakes Newt's fingers, dribbling down his arms in streaks.  His hands cling to the corpse, not ready to let go.  

     We sit together in silence - neither of us utter a word.  Seconds turn into minutes; time slows down.  Newt's stifled sobs fill the air: his hand still clutches Minho's.  Minho's corpse bleeds into Newt's clothes, pooling over the floor.  The harsh smell of iron emulates from the body, filling the room.  

     I try to pry my focus away from Minho, but every time I catch a glimpse of him, lying lifeless on the ground, or Newt - broken and in tears - another well of sadness wrenches my gut.  I hold back a sob; shallow, uneven breaths are all I can do to stop floodgates pouring from my eyes.  Even so, tears wet my cheeks.  The water clings to my eyelids, blotching my vision.

     Approaching footsteps echo from the hall - heavy, with a quick pace.  Gally stands in the doorway; his gaze shifts to Minho, lying helplessly on the ground.  "What's happed?" he questions, his voice gruffer than usual.  "Is he..."

     "He's dead."  Tears well from my tear ducts as the words fall from my mouth.  Saying it out loud somehow makes it worse.  A lump forms in the back of my throat, making it difficult to speak.

     His eyebrows furrow as he turns away.  Gally rubs his head with his hand and then leans back through the doorway.  His voice cracks as he speaks, "Newt, I--"

     Before I can react, an arm reaches around him from behind, wrapping around his neck.  The bloodied blade of a knife presses against his skin.  Gally freezes in place.

     "Don't move!" a voice demands from behind him - Alby's voice.  "You flinch, you die."

     "What are you doing?"  I shout, rising from the ground.  "Let him go!"

     "Stop!" he bellows, his voice booming around the room.  In a quiet tone, he continues, "Stop moving."

     Adrenaline pumps furiously through me, pulsing in my veins.  My heart hammers in my chest. Fear pulls me in, gnawing at my being.  A part of me begs to run at Alby, to do something, but I can't.  It takes everything in me, but I resist.

     Alby's head hides behind Gally, but his face is still visible.  A trace of some emotion - sadness or guilt - flashes across his face for a split moment before being replaced with something else: fear.

     Something inside me clicks.  Alby is human; he's afraid.  He knows the same fear I felt when he tried to kill me - the same fear Minho felt in his last moments.  A part of me had always seen the killer as something else, some other-worldly creature.  Now he was here, in front of me - scared, confused.  For a split second, a glimmer of happiness rises in me - to see him suffer, but the horror of Minho's death and the fear for Gally's life quells it almost instantly.

     "Alby?" Newt's soft voice fills the air, strained between ragged breaths.  His bloodshot eyes turn to Alby in pain and confusion.

     Alby stares back at Newt.  He purses his lower lip as if sad.  Almost instantly, his expression hardens, and anger takes over him.  "Shut up - both of you!" He pants eagerly; beads of sweat slick his face.  "Now, slowly, open the door."

     "The door?" I question.

     Alby cocks his head to the left, motioning at the locked door at the end of the hallway.  "I'm leaving this place."  He shoves the blade harder against Gally's neck, drawing a drop of blood.  "With, or without Gally."