The First Runner

One crazy son of a bitch

Jess was tough, no question about it. From the moment I met her, she exuded confidence, the kind that made people listen when she spoke. She had a way of taking control of a situation, and right now, that was exactly what she was doing—hauling Alby up the maze wall like it was routine. She'd been through this before, and it showed in the way she moved.

"A little further," I grunted, pulling Alby up as hard as I could, my arms burning with the effort.

Then I heard it—a slow, deliberate clicking sound, getting closer with every second.

"Minho, I don't like that look," Jess said, her voice tight, as she glanced at him. Minho looked like he was ready to bolt.

"Stay with me, Minho, just a little longer," I urged, pulling with all my strength.

"I'm sorry," Minho whispered, then let go of the vine and took off.

The force threw Jess and me against the ivy, and the clicking grew louder until it was nearly on top of us. Jess clamped her hand over my mouth, her other hand pulling out a knife. She didn't need it though—the griever passed us, oblivious.

Once we secured Alby, we took off running. But no sooner had we started when another griever was right behind us. We ran, the sound of Grievers echoing in the distance, but it felt like they were right on top of us. The walls seemed to close in around us, their jagged stone edges casting long, eerie shadows that flickered in the fading light. The Maze had a way of messing with your head, twisting and turning as if it had a mind of its own. And right now, it felt like it was trying to trap us.

Jess led the way with sharp, purposeful strides. There was a cold focus in her eyes, the kind that made me feel like I was dragging behind. Every corner she turned, she did so with precision, like she'd run this path a hundred times before. Minho was right on her heels, his breath even, his gaze locked forward. The guy didn't even look tired, which was more than I could say for myself.

"Stay with me, Greenie!" Jess called back, her voice steady despite the chaos around us.

"I'm trying!" I panted, my legs burning from the constant sprint.

The Maze stretched out endlessly ahead, its towering walls a constant reminder that we were trapped. The screeching of metal claws scraping against the stone sent a chill down my spine. I couldn't see them yet, but I could feel the Grievers closing in.

Jess skidded to a stop, her knife already in hand before I even noticed the thing creeping along the wall ahead of us. A Griever. Its body was a disgusting mashup of metal and flesh, each movement punctuated by a sickening click as its legs scraped the stone. Jess didn't hesitate.

"Get ready to run," she said flatly, her voice cutting through the panic swirling in my mind.

Before I could respond, she flung her knife. It spun through the air with terrifying precision, embedding itself right in the Griever's eye. The thing screeched, its mechanical body collapsing into a twitching heap of metal and gore.

"Nice shot," I muttered, still trying to catch my breath.

Jess flashed a quick, almost smug smile. "That's why I carry all the knives."

Minho caught up to us, barely breaking a sweat. "How many of these things are there?" he asked, his voice a mix of annoyance and exhaustion.

Jess wiped the blood from her face with the back of her hand. "Too many. Let's keep moving before more show up."

We bolted again, weaving through the twisting paths of the Maze. Every sound echoed, amplifying the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. And then, as if the Maze itself wanted to kill us, two more Grievers appeared—one on each side.

"Split up!" Jess shouted, her tone all business.

Minho didn't even try to argue this time. He grabbed my arm and pulled me in the opposite direction. Jess charged at the Griever on the left, a wild grin on her face as she disappeared into the shadows.

"She's insane," I muttered, following Minho down a narrow corridor.

"You have no idea," Minho replied, his eyes darting around for any sign of another trap.

We turned a corner, and there it was—one of the Maze's shifting walls was closing in on us fast, a Griever right behind. With no time to think, I grabbed a vine hanging from the wall and swung across the path. The Griever followed but didn't make it through before the walls slammed shut, crushing the creature with a sickening crunch.

Minho stared at the remains, his face a mix of awe and disbelief. "You really are one crazy son of a—"

"Runs in the group," I replied, breathing hard as the adrenaline pulsed through me.

We doubled back and found Jess, leaning against the wall, her face pale. Her left arm hung limp at her side, blood staining her sleeve. But that cocky grin was still plastered across her face.

"You two look like hell," she said, her voice strained but full of sarcasm. "I told you I had it."

Minho rushed to her side. "Jess, you're hurt."

"Yeah, no shit sherlock," she quipped, wincing as she shifted her arm. "I dislocated my shoulder. But, you know, still better off than the Grievers."

Minho shot her a look. "We need to reset it."

Jess gave him a tight smile. "Do it quick, Minho. And no speeches about how much it's gonna hurt. I already know."

Without wasting any more time, Minho grabbed her arm. "On three—"

"Just do it," Jess snapped.

With a loud pop, Minho forced her shoulder back into place. Jess let out a guttural scream, her eyes squeezed shut from the pain.

"You okay?" I asked, barely able to breathe.

Jess panted, her smile weak but still there. "I'll live. Now, let's get out of this damned Maze before more of those things show up."

Jess was tough, no doubt about it. Even now, her sarcasm came through, like a shield against everything closing in on us.

"That's one way to pop a shoulder," she muttered, her voice laced with forced nonchalance, though I could see the strain in her eyes. She rolled her shoulder a couple times, testing it.

"You sure you're good?" I asked, glancing at her arm. Her face was slightly paler than before, though that cocky grin remained.

She shot me a sideways look, raising an eyebrow. "Greenie, I've had worse than a dislocated shoulder. Let's keep moving before the next Griever decides to make us its dinner."

Minho gave her a wary glance, clearly not convinced. "Jess, you're pushing it. We should—"

"I said I'm fine," she cut him off, her tone sharp, though there was an underlying hint of exhaustion. She started walking before we could argue, her steps deliberate, her knife still gripped tightly in her good hand.

As we followed her deeper into the Maze, I couldn't shake the feeling that this bravado was more than just her usual confidence. Jess always had a smart remark ready, especially when things were bad. But now, it felt like she was using it to mask something—fear maybe, or the sheer pain she must have been in.

I leaned over to Minho. "You notice that too?"

He nodded, his eyes flicking toward Jess. "Yeah, she's putting up a front. She always does when things get rough. But right now, I think she's just trying to keep herself together."

"She acts like she's invincible," I said, more to myself than to him.

"That's her thing," Minho replied, keeping his voice low. "Sarcasm's her armor. It's how she deals with all this crap."

Jess suddenly glanced over her shoulder, catching us mid-conversation. "If you two girls are done gossiping, I'd like to make it out of here alive. Sound good?"

I chuckled despite myself, shaking my head. "Yeah, yeah, we're with you."