Gladiolus ~ The Maze Runner

3~5: A LLAMA?! HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD

A/N: guys PLEASE tell you you've seen the emperor's new groove and know that's what the title is based off of

***

It got to a point where the streets were too crowded for driving that we were forced to walk. Around WICKED's looming walls were outskirts that the surviving human race had created. People swarmed the roads, forcing us to all crowd together and push on, heads down to avoid attention.

My hand was linked with Thomas's as he weaved our group through the busy street. I glance to my left, noticing the masked people loading stained body bags onto the back of a truck.

"This place has really gone to hell," Jorge comments.

"We just gotta stick together," Thomas replies, ever the positive spirit.

"WE ARE THE VOICE... OF THE VOICELESS!"

We all spin around to identify where the speaker was coming from.

"THEY HIDE BEHIND THEIR WALLS... TO KEEP THE CURE FOR THEMSELVES!"

A truck carrying armed guerrilla fighters slowly drives through the street. People part to make way for the vehicle, cheering on the man who sits at the front, shouting into a handheld radio that amplifies his voice.

The truck passes us slowly and the speaker continues to shout to the crowd. One soldier on the back stares us down, keeping their eyes on us even after the truck has passed.

"We need to stay alert," I mumble to Thomas, who nods, watching the truck as it continues into the crowd. His grip on my hand tightens.

"If something happens, you stay by me, okay?" he orders quietly. "This crowd could riot at any minute."

I'm about to agree, but the whirring of a Berg overhead cuts me off. "That's not good," I hissed through my teeth, getting more anxious by the minute.

We continue moving, trying to get closer to those walls.

"That's it!" Thomas suddenly nods. "That's our way in."

He's pulling me forward before I can protest, heading for the partial opening in the huge wall. The 500 feet of ground that separates the wall from the makeshift civilization is littered with barricades and debris. And probably landmines. I wouldn't put it past WICKED to not heavily arm every square inch of space they can.

People have gathered in the area, protesting.

"Thomas!" Jorge calls. "This is not the way you're looking for! All these people trying to find their way in and you think you're going to find something they haven't?!"

"We came this far, I'm not turning back now," Thomas replies, hand still tightly wrapped in mine.

"Thomas, I think Jorge might be right," I warn. "Besides, we might have some friends on our tail."

By friends, I mean guerilla fighters.

"Han, we gotta try."

Grumbling, I stick close to his side as we push to the front. We make it to the first set of barricades, still blending with the crowd of protestors.

"Thomas, this doesn't feel right!" Jorge shouts. I agree.

Newt appears behind us with Brenda and Fry, scaring the shit out of me.

"Guys, we gotta go now! Look," he nods over his shoulder.

I look behind me and groan. That soldier who was staring us down on the truck is forcing his way through the crowd to us. And he brought friends.