Beyond the Maze

Chapter 7: Pain

That man's hitmen came a little closer to mark territory and impose their authority on us, although that was not very complicated because their weapons commanded a lot of respect, it seemed as if their leader was worried about something.

Minho just turned around and gave me a murderous look, trying to impress upon me how much he resented the situation presented. I limited myself to ignoring him because I did not develop a full feeling of guilt, only a feeling of rage and contempt for the people who had found us.

The tension was growing little by little and more when the clique was murmuring something with their leader. I couldn't guess what they were saying to each other, and I didn't even care what they were planning.

The sun was beginning to wane and the faint rays were filtering through the ins and outs of the battered wall. It was probably six or six thirty in the afternoon and there was a cooler atmosphere. The powerful gusts of suffocating heat were beginning to calm down, as if the batteries had to be recharged to scorch the world again the next day.

Several gladers were talking among themselves, using muffled hidden whispers to try to avoid the attention of our captors. There was fear in the eyes of some of them, although Minho, Thomas and Newt seemed unaffected. They talked among themselves, also in low voices. Minho continued looking at me from the corner of his eye, just as his distrust towards Aris increased, probably the result of his approach and, to a certain extent, his attachment to me.

-Do you have any plans? —Aris murmured, heading towards me, but fixing his eye contact on Minho.

"I have several ideas in my head," I said convincingly while looking at him sincerely with my hands in my pockets, "but none of them would have Minho's approval," I continued in a worried tone.

Thomas took advantage of the fact that the hitmen weren't looking at him and approached, with Minho following closely behind. They would have been listening and I think they were curious that I could enlighten them with some idea. Their faces were a poem, but they also reflected the same concern that hovered over my being, as if the options were disappearing like when a drop of water evaporates.

—Minho, Thomas, what's wrong? —I asked with concern, seeing their faces.

"I don't see any more light at the end of the tunnel," Minho sighed, "but that doesn't mean I still distrust your ways, Elián."

"Minho, I am me and my circumstances and I have to save them in order to progress, and that means saving my life in this situation," I replied.

"And I want to do everything possible to save mine and my companions," he addressed me in a haughty tone. So, if you have a plan, start putting it out there.

"That would mean putting the lives of some of my colleagues at risk," I snapped, staring at him, "and I don't think you want to have to go through that."

—Don't you think so? —He frowned as he fixed his gaze on me.

"I don't think so, I know," I responded, returning the duel.

The tension between the two was noticeable and escalated. The atmosphere was more tense than ever and all calm was about to disappear. The situation was as if the two alpha males of a pack were clashing to see who would impose their power. Our personalities, so opposite, but at the same time so similar, were the ones that were overwhelmed by the bustle of adrenaline and only reduced our survival options.

"Listen to me carefully, you damned shuck-face," Minho snapped at me, raising the index finger of his right hand at me with great impetus, but with contained anger, "this group of slintheads and I have been surviving for many years, and we have seen many people die." Rest assured that here we all know how to protect ourselves, because the lacerators lurked in both the Maze of Aris and ours. There are eleven of us left alive, eleven! —he shouted—, of more than one hundred and twenty companions and friends, who gave their lives so that we could get here, and I do not intend to let those sacrifices fall on deaf ears or be in vain —he mentioned in an exalted way—. So yes, all of us are prepared to live in constant tension and, as a friend said long ago, "either we get out alive or we die trying." All of us present here are willing to risk our lives, and even give it, if in doing so we manage to live another day.