Chaos erupted.
I stumbled after the other boys, wanting to get as far away from the Grievers as possible. Why hadn't the Doors closed? What were the Grievers after?
And where the bloody hell was Newt?
I ran for the Homestead as fast as I could, my breath catching in my throat. Oh, shuck. What if he didn't know about the Grievers? He hadn't been with the other boys. Where the klunk was he?
I nearly crashed into him as I made to enter the Homestead. For a moment, we just stared at each other. Then I let out a huge sigh and embraced him, nearly strangling him. "Thank goodness."
He tore away from me, eyes wide with terror. "What's happening?"
"The Doors didn't close," I explained. "And now... Oh, what does it look like? And where were you?"
"I was with Alby!" He looked around wildly. "All right. Where's Minho?"
He was gone as soon as I told him.
I watched him go, a slight weight in my chest. Then I shook myself. Of course. Right now, he was the leader. The one in charge. Not the boy who had--
Stop it, I told myself. I couldn't be distracted, not right now.
I ran with a few other boys towards the trees and crouched down in the tall grass, trying to stay out of sight of the Grievers. My heart thumped loudly in my chest. Crap. Crap. Someone was going to die. More than one person.
As the thought swirled around my brain, a Griever reached out with one of its metallic arms and snatched a boy from the grass. His screams drowned out the others shouts, the Griever's roar of triumph.
Crap.
The remaining boys and I ran for the Homestead.
"Helene!"
Thomas joined me about halfway there, eyes wild. "We need to stay in the Homestead! It's the safest place here!"
"Where are Minho and Newt?" I fought to keep my voice from shaking.
"They--"
A Griever rose out of the shadows in front of us with no warning. Its pincers clicked menacingly, and I wanted to melt into the ground and die, if only to get away from it. Thomas shoved a machete into my hands, pulling out his own. "Come on!" he roared at the creature.
The Griever, enraged, charged at us.
Only to be skewered through by two spears. Thomas and I spun around, and relief washed over me as I saw Newt and Minho running towards us with a few other boys. I met Newt's eyes as he pulled his own machete out of its sheath. Shuck, he was a good actor; no one would have been able to tell what had happened between us last night. I supposed that was a good thing, although the heavy feeling in my chest wouldn't go away.
We ran into the Homestead and started barricading the door so that the Grievers couldn't come in. The thing could probably smash through the flimsy wooden walls, but it was better than nothing. Especially now that they'd taken at least ten boys. Hopefully we wouldn't lose any more.
The remaining Gladers and I pressed against the back wall as smashing noises came from outside. A metal arm broke through the wall, making a huge hole. Crap. It reached in, grabbing for someone--
"Chuck!"
The boy screamed as the arm wrapped around his middle. Thomas and I grabbed each of his arms. "Don't let go!" Thomas roared at him.
Shuck. Shuck. The Griever's stinger shot toward him. I deflected it with my machete as best as I could, all the while doing anything to keep myself from letting go of Chuck's arm.
Then suddenly, with a cry, a dark figure lunged forward and started hacking at the Griever's arm with a knife. Alby? The Griever's arm toppled to the ground, along with its stinger, and Chuck fell to the ground, scared but unharmed. He looked at the older boy, panting. "Thanks, Alby."
Alby just stood there, breathing hard.
Then without warning, another arm shot in and grabbed him. Thomas shrieked and went after him.
But Alby didn't try to fight it.
"Thomas," he rasped. "Get them out of here."
Then he was yanked out, and Thomas let out a roar that shook the Homestead. "No!" He turned and grabbed a boy's spear, then ran through the hole after the Griever and Alby.
"Tommy!" Newt went after him, and I followed, clutching my machete tightly.
But the Grievers were gone. I frowned at the Doors. Had they killed enough boys to be satisfied, or had they only come for Alby?
Then a thought hit me. Where was Gally?
My question was answered a second later as Gally stormed over and shoved me.
I flew through the air and landed hard. A few boys gasped, and I stared at the guy. "What the hell?"
"This is all your fault!" he spat. Literally. Flecks of spit were flying from his mouth as he spoke. "Ever since you arrived, things started going wrong! Now look at our Glade! It's ruined!"
I stood up, snarling. "Gally, you idiot! You think I wanted this to happen?"
"They sent you to ruin everything!" Gally screamed. "And now you have!"
He started towards me, but was forced to back down as Newt's machete was now being pointed at his face. "Gally. Slim it."
"Look at the Glade, Newt!" Gally yelled. "Look at our shucking home! It's destroyed!"
The other boys and I watched in astonishment as Newt advanced toward the boy, machete still out. I didn't see how he could be so calm when all this klunk had happened. The look on his face could have rivaled Minho for sass. "It's not her fault, yeah?"
Gally glared at him for a second later, then turned his attention elsewhere. "You!" he shouted at Thomas. "It's your fault, too!"
Minho and Chuck were in front of him in a second. Thomas watched as Frypan and some other boys gathered around Gally, trying to calm him down. It didn't seem to be working. Gally was now screaming obscenities at the two of us. His face was redder than beets.
Then Thomas said something that made me jump. "Maybe he's right."
"What?" Minho glared at him. "You can't believe that shank--"
But Thomas wouldn't back down. "I need to remember."
No one noticed the Griever's stinger in his hand until he'd plunged it deep into his own leg.
