more than this | the maze runner, thomas

02 ; something

❝I have a splinter, please save me!❞ I hear a sarcastic voice come from behind me.

I turn around to see Minho with his dark eyes, tanned skin and perfect hair. He stands in the doorway, slightly panting, due to a full day spent running.

I raise my eyebrows at him and laugh as he walks in and sits down on one of the beds to catch his breath.

Minho would leave the Glade on a daily basis to run certain sections of the outside. Dark corridors going in different directions created a maze which we lived in the centre of. Minho maps it along with the rest of the chosen Gladers, called the Runners, trying to find new pathways that could lead to an end. As well as walls that change direction every night, metallic monsters terrorise the maze when the doors close; Grievers. Them being the reason no one survives a night in the maze.

Some Gladers said there isn't any point, that we'd never get out. But that never stopped Minho, which is one of the reasons he's the Keeper of the runners.

The sound of shouting followed by a loud crash echoed through the Glade, making me and Minho both turn to look at each other, then run out of the room.

Outside, Gladers are gathering around the Builders work area, packed into a tight semi-circle which prevented me from seeing anything.

❝Gally.❞ I hear Minho whisper from beside me.

We begin to run over, the shouts becoming clearer, filled with pure anger. Every step I took shot new words at me, but soon they just ended up overlapping each other, ruining any chance of me identifying who they came from.

Me and Minho reach the group that has now expanded to nearly everyone in the Glade.

I wiggle my way through as gently as I can without being elbowed or shoved. Minho, on the other hand, just walks in a straight line through the boys, sending them stumbling at his sides. Always the tactful one.

When we finally push our way through the boys, I stare at the scene in front of me.

One of the Builders is on the floor clutching his mouth and wincing in pain. Workbenches lie toppled over, pieces of wood and tools scattered all over the grass. Gally stands, fists clenched, breathing fast, his face red with rage. Hands push at his chest, grab his shoulders as he fights against their hold. The hands belong to Newt, Alby, Jeff, Frypan and soon Minho, with me left standing at the front of the group.

❝Gally, calm down!❞ Newt shouts, his voice barely a patch on whatever Gally was yelling.

I know I'll only be pushed away if I try to help them so I try my chances with the glader on the ground. Kneeling down beside him now, I see his nose is bleeding along with a split lip. Blood drops dot his shirt and the palm of his hand is red too. I do the Med-Jack thing and take a clean cloth out my pocket for the glader.

❝What the hell is wrong with you?❞ I hear Minho's voice slice through Gally's like a blade.

Still not able to catch a single word of Gally's, I turn to the glader on the floor. The cloth I gave him had already changed colour.

❝What happened?❞ I ask him. I hadn't seen Gally lose it like this before. Only when he got angry if he hit his finger with a hammer.