The Glue

Griever

I stayed between it and Minho. The thing was huge, and I doubted I could fend it off, but I stayed. 

Where was all this energy coming from? 

I didn't know, but the thought of losing Minho, one of the few people I had in the bloody Glade, sent a bolt of fear through me, far worse than my fear of being eaten or stung by a Griever.

"Run." I told him, not knowing where the calm I had was coming from, not knowing how I was being brave. From what I had heard of the Grievers, I should have been klunking my pants right now, but I was standing there, somehow steady, telling Minho to run. 

"Not without you, slinthead!" Minho snapped, "Don't go all hero on me now! Do you know what those things can do to you?" 

I thought of Stephan, and my resolve shuddered. I didn't want to have to go through the changing. I started backing away from the Griever, still leveling my spear at it. 

"That'll kill you!" Minho snapped from behind me, "I'm gonna run, and if you don't come with me, you're gonna be dead! It'll kill you and keep coming! You. Can't. Hold. It. Off." He yelled.  

I was past the point off fear now, just numb. 

I don't want to die. That thought again.

I don't want to die. Over and over, repeating in my brain. 

I wasn't a hero.

But I can't let it hurt Minho.

I don't want to die.

The sound of Minho's footsteps running away filled me with both relief and dread. 

I was alone with the monster.

The Griever charged.

My spear was caught in the middle, it bent it half until it snapped it two like a twig. 

That was the final straw. 

I threw the useless stick down and ran, following Minho. 

"Glad to see," he panted, "You're not dead, stay close!" 

He started down a passage, then up another. I hoped he knew which way to go, because my sense of direction was whacked after the first three turns. 

Our feet pounded the stone, wind flew past my face, and my legs burned. 

All the while, the rolling whir-click of the Griever was getting closer. 

"Come on!" Minho finally yelled between breaths, "The entrance is close! Stay with me, Newt!" 

I didn't know where we are, but I trusted Minho. He was a runner, probably the best. 

And my friend. 

Despite my aching muscles, the burning of my lungs as I gasped for breath, the fact that I was shaking and terrified, I smiled. 

We turned a corner, then I saw it. 

The entrance. 

Even with my limited memory, I was certain I never been so happy to see a place in my life. 

We ran through, and Minho stopped, grinning. 

"We're still alive." he said, sounding surprised. 

"Nasty buggers." I said, in comment to the Grievers, "Be right glad if I never see on of 'em again." I was trying to hide the fact that my wild courage from protecting Minho had evaporated, and I was ready to collapse onto the floor. I sank to my knees and tried not to puke.

"What happened?" Alby asked, jogging over from the Gardens, looking concerned, "You're back early!" 

"Grievers." Minho gasped out, still panting, "Not stung, we're alright, but we're klunkin' our pants here."

Then a sharp bolt of fear pinned me to the floor, "The doors!" I yelled, staggering to my feet. "We led the Griever to the bloody Glade!" 

Now it wasn't just Minho in danger. It was Alby and Nick, and all the other Gladers. 

"Calm down, Newt." Alby said, "They don't come through the doors durin' the day. Otherwise we would'a been Griever-chow by now. We've had a few wait outside the door before, and when night rolls around, a few have even charged the door as it's closing. They've never made it through, thank goodness, but it gives me the willies to know that their tryin' to get through to the Glade and kill us at night."

"You're a brave one, Newt." Minho said, watching me closely. I couldn't tell what he was thinking from his expression, but I grinned, and realized I was happy for the first time since the box. 

Actually happy.

And very much alive.

18 days Later

It was exactly a month since I had first come to the maze, and the Glade was already feeling like home. Well, as at home as you could be in the center of a maze filled with Cyborg monsters. 

The Maze, however, was another story entirely. The longer I stayed out in it, the more I loathed it. Huge walls, twisting turns, the possibility of Grievers around every corner, the constant pressure of knowing everything was weighing in on you, the strain of keeping a constant map inside your head, and the knowledge that you might not make it back.

I don't want to die. 

The thought was always in the back of my mind, as if I forgot to remind myself of it, I would drop dead of my body's own accord. 

Sometimes, whenever I thought about the maze, I was completely overwhelmed by the sheer size of it, the sheer impossibility of our situation. 

So I made myself take it one day at a time, trying only to think about my goal: to get the Gladers out. 

To get Minho out, to get Alby out, to get Nick out. 

But The Maze was just so huge. There was no other description for it. 

Big. Immense. Colossal. 

Some day I doubted that there even was a buggin' exit. 

Hopelessness would weigh in on me until I wanted to hit my head on the wall and scream. 

Even with the constant risks, the continual stress, the unrelenting despair, something kept me going out there. 

The other Gladers. 

They were depending on me.

Follow Minho.

Breathe in.

Moving my legs.

Breathe out.

Feet pounding on rock. 

Breathe in.

Burning lungs.

Breathe out

Burning muscles.

Breathe in.

I can't do this anymore. 

Breathe out.

I have to. 

Breathe in.

I don't want to die. 

Breathe out.

I can't do this anymore.

Breathe in.

Don't think.

Breathe out.

Don't feel.

Breathe in.

Just 

bloody 

run.