Jealousy // Gally x reader

Chapter Thirty-Seven - The Maze

Running. A fuck ton of running. So much running that I feel like I might collapse.

That feeling seems to have been lingering, following me through my day. The conversation that I just had seems to have flown right over my head, as though I haven't even realised that it occurred. But it had. I'd left Gally, possibly forever, to fend for himself against the blood-thirsty grievers.

I look up towards the sky.

It's dark.

For the first time ever, the sky is dark. Clouds loom overhead, thundering and casting ghostly shadows onto us, sliding against the towering walls. The change in weather only reinforced my certainty of our doom.

I'm stuck in the back of the group, but I don't mind. It means no one can notice the perpetual blinking and pathetic sniffles that withdraw from my exhausted body. Small strings of tears glide carefully through the air behind me, trailing as I stumble across the pebble-scattered stone.

Thomas is leading the group, with Teresa and Minho close behind him. The rest of the boys are close on their heels. The closest one to me is Newt, who's obviously going to be slower due to his limp. If he was quicker, I probably would be too, but it gives me a chance to run at a normal person pace.

The plethora of hearty supplies that Chuck had been carrying have been divided equally between us, with everyone either carrying a backpack or one of the sharp wooden spears.

We sprint through the maze, almost as quick as we had been the day before. We pass section three, it's rustic red paint a salient feature against the bland terrain, and it causes Enzo to stray, marvelling at its precision.

"Enzo, come on. Gotta keep up." I say to him in between pants, pushing on his shoulder so that he'll move forward. I clutch the side of my ribs in agony, my stitch growing with each tender step. I probably would've stopped if our goal wasn't so important. The only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that, finally, we might be getting out of here.

As we run through the endless vestibules, I trip clumsily, grabbing onto the shoulder of Newt's shirt to stabilise myself. "Shuck, y/n. I swear, you could trip over your own bloody shadow." He remarks, shaking his head and chuckling as he limps alongside me. "Rude. My shadow's a tricky little fucker, it likes to see me fall to its level."  Like magic, I slip once again, and Newt ends up moving further up towards the front of the pack to save himself.

We slip through the blades, winding and contorting our bodies against their unfriendly stature. Thomas peers into the hallway that we had found yesterday, the one that resulted in us turning tail back to the Glade. He presses his body against the wall, signalling for the rest of us to do the same.

"What's in there?" Chuck asks, looking up at me, knowing that I would have the answer. "I think it's the way out." I reply, a small smile tipping upwards on my lips. I move closer, eager to be a part of the commotion. An empty corridor. It seemed almost too easy.

A loud chittering echoes through the passage, and Chuck moves toward us. "Is it a griever?" He queries, gulping fiercely with anxiety. "Yeah." Thomas replies bluntly, shielding his body with the wall and turning back towards us. "Shit," I mutter.

"You take this, Chuck. Stay behind us." Minho orders, passing the trembling boy the key. Personally, I would not have trusted that little menace with the solution to our safety. He's such a butter fingers; it'll probably end up in a griever's ass. Then again, it's safer with him than anyone who was trying to fight for their life.

"It's okay. Just stick with y/n and I." Teresa reassures him, and I rest my hand on his shoulder. Unfortunately, the boys didn't grace either of us women with a weapon. Sexist bastards. Instead, we get to stay behind and hope they do a good enough job of keeping us alive. I'm almost certain we could do a better job of fighting then half of them, but it's not the right time to go on a feminism rant.