Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 52

A line of icy cold shot across my skin as I entered the Griever Hole, starting from my toes and continuing up my whole body, as if I'd jumped through a flat plane of freezing water. The world went even darker around me as my feet thumped to a landing on a slippery surface, then shot out from under me; I fell backward into Thomas' arms. I was surprised he got down that quick. Him and Chuck helped him stand. It was a miracle I hadn't stabbed someone's eye out with my spear.

The Griever Hole would've been pitch-black if not for the beam of Teresa's flashlight cutting through the darkness. As I got my bearings, I realized we were standing in a ten-foot-high stone cylinder. It was damp, and covered in shiny, grimy oil, and it stretched out in front of us for dozens of yards before it faded into darkness. I peered up at the Hole through which we'd come—it looked like a square window into a deep, starless space.

"The computer's over there," Teresa said, grabbing my attention.

Several feet down the tunnel, she had aimed her light at a small square of grimy glass that shone a dull green color. Beneath it, a keyboard was set into the wall, angling out enough for someone to type on it with ease if standing. There it was, ready for the code. I couldn't help thinking it seemed too easy, too good to be true.

"Put the words in!" Chuck yelled, slapping me on the shoulder. "Hurry!"

I motioned for Teresa to do it. "Chuck, Thomas, and I'll keep watch, make sure a Griever doesn't come through the Hole." I just hoped the Gladers had turned their attention from making the aisle in the Maze to keeping the creatures away from the Cliff.

"Okay," Teresa said. She stepped up to the keyboard and screen, then started typing. Suddenly, ahe turned to Thomas and scowled. "I'm not an idiot, Tom. Yes, I'm perfectly capable of remembering—"

A loud bang from above and behind us cut her off, made me jump. I spun around to see a Griever plop through the Griever Hole, appearing as if by magic from the dark square of black. The thing had retracted its spikes and arms to enter—when it landed with a squishy thump, a dozen sharp and nasty objects popped back out, looking deadlier than ever.

Thomas pushed me behind him and I pushed Chuck behind me and faced the creature, Thomas held out his spear as if that would ward it off. "Just keep typing, Teresa!" he yelled.

A skinny metallic rod burst out of the Griever's moist skin, unfolding into a long appendage with three spinning blades, which moved directly toward Thomas' face.

He gripped the end of his spear with both hands, squeezing tightly as he lowered the knife-laced point to the ground in front of him. The bladed arm moved within two feet, ready to slice his skin to bits. When it was just a foot away, Thomas tensed his muscles and swung the spear up, around, and toward the ceiling as hard as he could. It smacked the metal arm and pivoted the thing skyward, revolving in an arc until it slammed back into the body of the Griever. The monster let out an angry shriek and pulled back several feet, its spikes retracting into its body. Thomas heaved breaths in and out.

The Griever's spikes appeared again; it surged ahead and another arm popped out of its skin and shot forward, this one with huge claws, snapping to grab the spear. Thomas swung, this time from above his head, throwing every bit of strength into the attack. The spear crashed into the base of the claws. With a loud clunk, and then a squishing sound, the entire arm ripped free of its socket, falling to the floor. Then, from some kind of mouth that I couldn't see, the Griever let out a long, piercing shriek and pulled back again; the spikes disappeared.

"These things are beatable!" Thomas shouted. Swinging his spear wildly, he jumped on top of the creature's bulbous body, whacking two metal arms away from him with a loud crack. He lifted the spear above his head, braced his feet—felt them sink into the disgusting blubber—then thrust the spear down and into the monster. A slimy yellow goo exploded from the flesh, splashing over Thomas's legs as he drove the spear as far as it would sink into the thing's body. Then he released the hilt of the weapon and jumped away, running back to me, Chuck, and Teresa.

I watched in sick fascination as the Griever twitched uncontrollably, spewing the yellow oil in every direction. Spikes popped in and out of the skin; its remaining arms swung around in mass confusion, at times impaling its own body. Soon it began to slow, losing energy with every ounce of blood—or fuel—it lost.

A few seconds later, it stopped moving altogether. I couldn't believe it. I absolutely couldn't believe it. My brother just defeated a Griever, one of the monsters that had terrorized the Gladers for more than two years.

I glanced behind me at Chuck, standing there with eyes wide.

"He killed it," the boy said. He laughed, as if that one act had solved all their problems.

"Wasn't so hard," Thomas muttered, then turned to see Teresa frantically typing away at the keyboard. I knew immediately that something was wrong.

"What's the problem?" I asked, almost shouting. I ran up to look over her shoulder and saw that she kept typing the word PUSH over and over, but nothing appeared on the screen.

She pointed at the dirty square of glass, empty but for its greenish glow of life. "I put in all the words and one by one they appeared on the screen; then something beeped and they'd disappear. But it won't let me type in the last word. Nothing's happening!"

Cold filled my veins as Teresa's words sank in. "Well ... why?"

"I don't know!" She tried again, then again. Nothing appeared.

"Thomas!" Chuck screamed from behind them. Thomas turned to see him pointing at the Griever Hole—another creature was making its way through. As he watched, it plopped down on top of its dead brother and another Griever started entering the Hole.

"What's taking so long!" Chuck cried frantically. "You said they'd turn off when you punched in the code!"

Both Grievers had righted themselves and extended their spikes, had started moving toward them.

"It won't let us enter the word PUSH," I said absently, not really speaking to Chuck but trying to think of a solution . . .

"I don't get it." Teresa said.

The Grievers were coming, only a few feet away. Feeling my will fade into blackness, I braced my feet and held up my fists halfheartedly. It was supposed to work. The code was supposed to—

"Maybe you should just push that button." Chuck said.

I was so surprised by the random statement that I turned away from the Grievers, looked at the boy. Chuck was pointing at a spot near the floor, right underneath the screen and keyboard.

Before I could move, Teresa was already down there, crouching on her knees. And consumed by curiosity, by a fleeting hope, Thomas joined her, collapsing to the ground to get a better look. I heard the Griever moan and roar behind me, felt a sharp claw grab my shirt, felt a prick of pain. But I could only stare.

A small red button was set into the wall only a few inches above the floor. Three black words were printed there, so obvious I couldn't believe I'd missed it earlier.

Kill the Maze.

More pain snapped me out of my stupor. The Griever had grabbed me with two instruments, had started dragging me backward. The other one had gone after Chuck and was just about to swipe at the kid with a long blade.

A button.

"Push!" I screamed, louder than I'd thought possible for a human being to scream.

And Teresa did.

She pushed the button and everything went perfectly silent. Then, from somewhere down the dark tunnel, came the sound of a door sliding open.