How I survived in an all boys glade

Chapter Forty-four

- Found George... -

After hours of waiting, the anticipation weighs heavy on my chest as I finally spot Minho sprinting out of the maze, Ben close behind him. I quickly make my way over to them, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Hey!" I call out, trying to catch up with them. "Did you find anything?" My voice is laced with hope, but a gnawing fear settles in my stomach. I look at Minho, waiting for his response, but when he stops in front of me, his face is full of regret.

"I'm so sorry, She-bean..." Minho says, his hands gently resting on my shoulders. I freeze at his touch, looking up at him in confusion, but then he explains, his voice heavy, "We found his shirt... filled with blood..."

I feel a sharp pang in my chest, my throat tightening as tears start to well up in my eyes. I bite my lip, trying to hold them back, but the grief is overwhelming. "I-" I can't finish the sentence. My vision blurs as the tears threaten to spill. My heart aches for George, for everything we've lost.

"Hey, you okay?" Theo steps forward, his voice soft as he places a hand on my back. I turn to face him, forcing a shaky smile and a nod, trying to convince him—and myself—that I'm fine. "I'm fine," I lie, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll be fine," I say, my voice cracking, but I quickly turn away, not wanting anyone to see how much it's really affecting me. I walk off toward the Deadheads, hoping the solitude will give me a moment to collect myself.

As I wander through the Deadheads, my mind races, but it eventually settles on one thing—I want to give George a proper resting place. Even though they didn't find his body, I can at least do something for him. I start gathering sticks, my hands trembling slightly as I place them carefully on the ground. My movements are slow and deliberate as I make a simple gravestone with what I can find, marking the spot where I'll lay the shirt they found.

I'm lost in my thoughts when I hear someone behind me. I jump, startled, and turn around quickly, only to see Billy standing there, holding George's bloodstained shirt. "Jesus... Billy, you scared me there for a sec," I say, my heart still racing from the surprise.

Billy doesn't respond at first but simply kneels beside me, handing me a stick. Without a word, we both sit quietly, working together in companionable silence to build the grave. Once the sticks are arranged, we bury George's shirt in the center, the fabric stained with blood, a grim reminder of the horrors we've all faced. Together, we plant the makeshift gravestone above the shirt, marking the spot as a place to honor George.

"Feels like there's something missing," I say, my voice soft and distant, my gaze fixed on the grave. I tilt my head slightly, unsure what it is that feels incomplete.

"Maybe..." Billy murmurs, trailing off as he stands and walks off for a moment. I watch him curiously as he disappears into the trees. When he returns, he's holding a large, flat piece of wood. "We could carve his name into this," Billy suggests, holding out a knife.

"Good idea," I reply, offering him a small, appreciative smile. He begins carving George's name into the wood with careful, precise strokes, and I watch him work, the simplicity of the gesture oddly comforting.

As Billy finishes carving, I hear someone call my name. "She-bean?!" I turn to see Minho jogging toward us, a concerned look on his face. "There you guys are," he says, slowing to a stop beside us. His eyes fall on the gravestone, and then the piece of wood Billy's holding. "Hey, what's that?" he asks, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"It's George's grave," I explain softly, gesturing to the sticks we used to make the marker. "We just made it, and now we're putting his name on this piece of wood to put on top of the grave." I offer Minho a small, but sincere smile as I take the carved wood from Billy's hands. I gently place it on top of the grave, completing the simple tribute.

"That's nice of you two," Minho says quietly, smiling softly at us both. He stares at the grave for a moment, his face solemn. "I'm sure George would've appreciated it," he adds, his voice filled with sincerity. I nod, the lump in my throat growing as the reality of George's death sinks in.

"Yeah, he was a good guy," Billy says, his voice low, eyes clouded with sorrow. I can see the grief in his expression, and it mirrors my own. I place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

We all stand in silence for a moment, the weight of what we've lost hanging heavy in the air. Finally, I sigh, my heart feeling heavy with grief.

"Let's go back to the others now," I say, my voice thick with emotion. I turn away from the grave, feeling the loss of George and all the others we've lost more keenly than ever. Minho and Billy follow behind me, their footsteps light but steady, as we head back to the rest of the Gladers.