"Float. What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Newt asked as Minho wrote the rest of the word.
"Maybe it's a sentence." Thomas suggested.
We continued working, getting other letters. C. A. T. C. H. CATCH.
Beeping filled the room and I realized it was my watch. The keepers were told to set an alarm for the walls closing time, to give us a head start on getting into the homestead. Mine had already been set.
We left the papers as they were and walked up the steps, leaving the new and improved map room. Everyone was already filing into the homestead, the keepers trying their best to keep the peace. Trying being the main word. Boys were complaining, voicing their concern. It's been almost half a week since the grieving started, people were tired of it. We didn't know when it was going to end or if it was going to end at all. Maybe they would continue to come until every single one of us was gone. We just had to do what is needed to survive right now.
I wondered if it would be safer to be underneath the supply closet right now. If the grievers did decide to bust it down, they would not be able to open the trap door. Anyone who fit down there would be safer than the homestead. I wanted to suggest it to Minho and Newt but it was already too late.
We have found that we have a twenty minute window to get everyone settled until the grievers come. But five minutes before that, I heard the click and whir. They were getting here earlier, probably to catch us off guard. Luckily, everyone was already settled.
I sat in a room with my friends and a couple other boys. Newt and Alby sat on the bed, while the rest of us took to the floor. Our leader looked somewhat better, his bandage that Clint put on him had kept the blood minimal. All of it looked dried and old. He looked at the wall without any emotion, his eyes a dark dull color.
I had so many questions for Alby. Why burn the maps? What did he see in the changing? I knew the answers would never come. Newt said he started choking himself the minute he spewed some information to Thomas. That had seemed like so long ago.
Newt stood up and walked to the window. It was boarded up, but had little slits.
"How far are they?" I whispered.
"By the deadheads." He answered just as quietly. The clicking got louder and Newt backed up from the window. "It's coming this way." He sat back down, keeping his legs to himself. I heard as the griever rolled through dirt and grass and then a hollow sound as it rolled up the side of the homestead. There were muffled screams as the homestead shuddered. The wood was getting destroyed. Soon, there would be no homestead left.
The griever stopped and it grew silent. A light filled the room and with fear so heavy I could fall through the floor, I realized it had stopped right outside our room. Everyone quietly moved towards the door, holding their breath. A chill ran down my spine and I couldn't stop the tremors that ruled over my body.
We waited, the tension rising and suffocating me. But the griever didn't move, just the light as it casted odd shadows around the room. The seconds seemed to tick by slowly, mocking us. But still the griever didn't move.
Chuck hadn't made it into the room with us and I was glad. If the griever decided to enter this room, he would not be in danger. I tried to picture him, in his room, huddled and crying. It was still better than being in here.
The door from the hallway slammed open, scaring all of us to our feet. I turned to see who would come barging in, expecting Chuck, but it was Gally. He was a mess, his hair scraggly and clothes torn. Almost every inch of him was dirty. Like he was hiding out somewhere. Maybe he was and that was why we hadn't seen him.
