❝The Maze Runner❞ || Thomas

Grievers

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         "You—" Minho motioned toward my figure, "—Alby, and I are going out for any remains of Ben."

         There was a sudden sinking notion that riled itself up within my midsection, like I had been at sea, the constant motion and pounding of waves. It had been a day or two since the Gladers exiled Ben to the maze.

        I looked over to my right to see a worried Chuck fidgeting with a small wooden human-like figure, a sentimental gift of some sort. He had mentioned to me, at some point in time, that it had been a gift from his parents, though he could never remember their faces.

         "Come on..." Minho called out, causing me to shift my gaze to the entrance of the maze. I gave a quick nod, turning to my left, just barely brushing my shoulder against Thomas. His hand was gently gripped around his wounded forearm.

        "I hope you find him," Thomas called out as my feet pressed against the grass beneath them, my pace quickening. I turned my head to look behind me for a split second, acknowledging his comment.

        Minho and I reached the Maze walls, greeting Alby before he handed me my running pack.

        "You ready?" Minho questioned, his eyes glued to the maze.

        "Be careful!" Newt called out, sending us a cheeky grin.

        I shifted in my stance, fidgeting with my running pack so that it would fit comfortably against my shoulders. "Let's go," I breathed out, the three of us now running through the entrance of the maze.

        We turned corner after corner, going through different routes, our eyes on high alert as we searched for the remains of Ben. It was the same old vines and concrete, the same walls, the same pathways I had searched through all these years.

        Minho and I had stopped a few times for Alby since he wasn't used to this, but he managed pretty well.

        We all came to a slow jog, letting our lungs fill up with fresh air. Then it became a relaxed walk, allowing the muscles in our legs to rest. I turned a corner, the boys following closely behind. My eyes slowly trailed up ahead of me before I came to an immediate halt, my arms pushed out to my sides.

        "What is it?" Alby asked.

        My breath caught, my eyes fixed on the creature before me. "Griever," I replied in a low whisper, watching as the creature just lay there; still and unbothered.

        "Dude, I think it's dead," Minho added to the conversation as we exchanged uneasy glances.

        Just then, I decided to do the dumbest thing any shank could possibly do--I started walking towards it. I was cautious, still, and quiet with every deliberate step.

         Alby and Minho followed closely behind.

         I was only a few feet away from the griever, its seemingly lifeless form making shivers crawl down my spine as my chest fluttered anxiously. I let out a heavy breath, softly and slowly. I was only a few inches from the beast before it jumped up from the ground with a bloodcurdling screech. I jumped back, letting out a groan of fear.

        "It's not dead!" I shouted, now shifting on the balls of my feet and making a run for it.

        It began turning around to face us, getting ready to pounce with its abnormally large stinger.