girl in the maze // {the maze runner, thomas}

chapter 9

 I have this sickening feeling that I am running straight into the belly of some sick, twisted beast.

The Maze is suffocating, winding this way and that, swallowing me and trapping me the deeper I go.

Minho and I have been running for what feels like hours to my out-of-shape lungs. They are begging for me to stop, to lay down on the dirty floor and just stay there, forever. I can't give in to them though, as much as I want to. Alby is in here, somewhere, and he needs my help.

And I hope I can help him.

Even though there is a part of me that knows I must have experience with medical work, in whatever past life I lived before I was chucked down here with the others, I can't help but fear that I've forgotten things, lost my abilities to some extent. And here, without proper supplies or equipment, I'm helpless if something comes up that can't be fixed with some stitches.

I have no clue what state Alby is in right now, but whatever it is, it's bad enough that he can't get back to the Glade.

"How much further?" I breathe out, rasping the words as my heart pounds against my rib cage as if it wants to break free.

"It's only a bit more," he replies, trying to hide the smile forming on his lips. He thinks it's amusing, my lack of endurance. Well, I'd like to see him cauterize a wound.

We round a corner, and Minho skids to a stop, me running into his back at the abrupt change of pace.

I peek around his shoulders, and my pounding heart begins to race even more than I thought possible.

Alby is on the ground, propped up against one of the walls. He's unconscious and breathing heavily, sweating quite a bit.

"Where was he stung?" I ask, jumping into action to hide my panic.

"I dunno," Minho replies, rubbing his hand over his face. "It all happened so fast."

I place the back of my hand on Alby's forehead and purse my lips at how warm he already is.

"Wait a minute," I start, something clicking in my brain that I hadn't thought about until just this moment. "The dead Griever. Where is it?"

I scan the area, looking for the creature in question. I see scuffle marks around the dirt, but no Griever.

"Well...That's the thing," Minho responds, his eyes shifting nervously. "It wasn't actually, you know...dead." He grimaces at the last word and his face crumbles slightly. A small quiver of his lips that I only catch because I've grown to know him so well, and my heart sinks with understanding.

Yes, Minho was frantic because his friend was in trouble. But he was also frantic because he felt like it was all his fault.

"Minho," I firmly state, bringing his attention away from Alby and back towards me, "there's nothing you could have done. Dead Griever or not, he's First in Command. He knows what he signed up for, and he knows the dangers that come along with the title."

"Yeah, I know," he nods, his voice weak. I can tell he still doesn't believe me, but at least he knows I don't blame him.

I bring my fingers to Alby's neck, checking for a pulse. It's rapid—and faint. He needs the serum, fast.

He also has a wound on his arm. From the looks of it, it's from him falling after the sting and not from the Griever itself. I quickly disinfect the area, and hastily but thoroughly stitch it up. Once I'm done, I pack my medical bag back up and put it on, ready to head back to the Glade.

"Minho, will you grab his other arm?" I ask, bringing Alby's left arm around my neck, and then watch Minho do the same thing. I count to three, and we hoist him up, his weight balanced between the two of us.