Marooned | Maze Runner | Minho

30. 𝒮𝒾𝒸𝓀𝓁𝓎 𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒦𝒶𝓇𝓂𝒶.

Viya laid huddled up in her bed, she had her black blanket draped around her tightly. She had gotten back early, so early that she didn't know what to do with herself. She had ended up chatting with Watcher, eating, and adding a little bit more to her mural. She had crawled into bed, yet sleep would not come for her.

It was partly her fault, she was waiting to hear the doors grind shut, because she knew that there was no point in falling asleep because she'd inevitably wake up from the noise anyways.

Viya couldn't help but wonder if her sense of time was that bad, because she could've sworn that the doors would've shut by now.

Viya adjusted in her bed, she moved into a fetal position and draped the blanket over her head. She held the edges of the blanket together in front of her chest. She had an odd sense of fear inside of her, a sense that had no reason to be there, yet she could not ignore it.

She tossed and turned in her bed, desperately trying to get the fear to leave her system and let her sleep peacefully, but after another thirty minutes passed, Viya had no choice but to acknowledge it.

She sat up in her bed, throwing her blanket off of her. She didn't bother changing out of her night clothes—an old t-shirt and baggy shorts—she instead stalked towards the door.

She exited her room carefully, she made sure to listen to any sounds that the maze could produce.

She reached the end of her spirally hallways and she was back to the main path. At first, nothing was there, and she was about to turn around and call herself crazy, but then she saw it. A hoard of grievers charging into battle, their clicks even more ferocious than usual. Viya didn't want to investigate, she wanted to turn back to her room and go back to her bed. But Viya could never ignore the burning curiosity in her chest—she had never been able to.

Viya crept forwards, staying a safe enough distance from the griever as to not be noticed.

She stayed close to the stone walls, using the darkness to her advantage as she stalked through the night. As she followed the grievers path, she noticed how they seemed to be moving towards the glade. The closer Viya got, the more sounds she could hear. She could hear the grievers getting more aggressive, not only their growls but their footsteps too. Their metal legs would hit the ground in a way that almost created a beat, the more Viya thought about it, the more it seemed the grievers were getting ready for battle.

It wasn't until she saw the grievers turn the final corner towards the glade, that she knew she had been right. They were going towards the glade.

Viya peered around the corner, at first she was careful to only peek the top half of her head out, but when she saw the chaos inside of the glade, she knew that no one would notice her.

Inside the once protective walls of the glade were dozens of grievers. Even from where she was, she could hear the terrified screams of innocent boys as they tried to avoid the death machines—but most of them were no match for the robots. She could see multiple small fires inside, but the flames seemed to be the least of the gladers worries.

A part of Viya enjoyed seeing the glade in flames—hell, she had wanted to set the place on fire herself—but the other part of her—the part that was still kind—felt horrified at what she was witnessing.

The glade was in shambles.

Yet somehow, a small smile found its way onto Viya's face.

Oh the sweet taste of karma.

—---

Minho stared in a stunned silence at the state of the Glade. The sun had finally come up, the grievers might've gone away, but the sun also shed light on the disastrous state of the glade. Small fires were spread throughout the open field, hot coals at the base of the flames.
Red stains were scattered around the glade, a reminder of the horrors that had occurred the night before

The doors had always closed, they were the one thing that stayed the same. Minho had never imagined or prepared for a time that they wouldn't close, so instead of being prepared and calm like he usually was, he was just as frantic as the other boys—maybe even more frantic. The other gladers had only heard stories of the grievers, Minho was one of the select few who had seen grievers, not just once or twice, but almost weekly. He knew what they could do, he had seen first hand the damage they could do. He had hoped that he would be able to protect the rest of the gladers from the grievers—so they'd never have to have nightmares like he did. But there was nothing Minho could do to stop it. He was powerless.

Minho had seen so much death, Gally had counted fifteen that were missing, and even more were injured. The med-hut was overflowing with injured boy's, the med-jacks couldn't keep up. Minho had thought he knew death, clearly, he did not.

They had even lost Alby.

After their night in the maze, Minho thought that Alby would be safe. But the grievers had pulled him through the roof of Homestead, they had dragged him into the maze to do whatever the griever's did after they killed a boy.

Minho knew he had to stay strong—it was his only choice. He couldn't let the other boy's see him down, they had always flocked to him for reassurance, and he knew that they'd never keep going if he stopped.

Minho also knew that he should try and do more. Try to lead the Glade and help out, but he couldn't find it inside of him.

Most of his runners had tried to protect the gladers with their experience of dealing with the grievers, and some of them lost their lives because of it.

Gally had taken the reins of the Glade's dealings, he had a more aggressive approach than Alby had, but it was what the Glade needed. Newt was trying to do as much as he could, it was expected that Newt would take over—but Gally seemed to be fighting for that spot.

Gally wasn't all good though, he wholeheartedly believed that everything was Thomas' fault, and somehow, he had managed to convince other Gladers too.

Minho stared at the glade, trying to process everything, but admittedly, he wasn't having the easiest time.

He looked out at the east wall, and as he stared, he realized something. They could play pretend all they wanted—they could say that they were fine in the glade—but they weren't. A maze was not a natural place for them to be. It was a dangerous, unforgiving, ruthless place, and if they stayed it would only get worse.

Minho tightened his fists into tight balls.

He couldn't stay here. None of them could. It they stayed they would all become griever dinner, and Minho would not allow that. He had to protect these kids, and if he had to die doing it, oh well.

He would get them out.

He would not let anything stop him.