Remember for the Both of Us [COMPLETED]

23: The Creators

By the time I reached the end of the slide, the Gladers had untangled themselves from the pile they doubtless had collapsed in. As I saw the bottom looming, I gathered my feet under me, stumbling to my feet and running down the last section of the slide. I jumped over the edge just as Newt hurtled past and sprawled on the floor. Minho chuckled in the huge space, but was quieted by the sheer magnitude of it.

I never could comprehend the total volume of the building. Supposedly it was underneath the entire Maze, but I'd stare at the huge space and my depth perception or whatever would totally disappear. I could tell the Gladers were just as baffled at the cavern-esque room, but their attention quickly was diverted by the panel of windows against the far wall. The cold faces of the Creators stared back at me. I was surprised they had lasted this long, still managing to look fairly human and not like the Flare-ridden scum they were. 

The woman entered, with the hooded figure. I was confused for a moment, but when I saw it was Gally, I knew what was happening. My heart skipped a beat. I saw Gally draw the knife from his belt in slow motion. Saw the stunned look in Thomas's eyes, and the tensing of Chuck's muscles, ready to jump.

I moved quicker, lunging towards the both of them. My left arm was outstretched, pushing Thomas aside, and my shoulder rammed into Chuck, knocking him down as the knife whizzed over his head. My right hand was outstretched to protect my face, and the knife skidded along my palm, slicing open the skin. Pain bloomed along with a red line of blood, but I just balled up my sleeve, squeezing my hand closed, the cloth stemming the blood. The cavern was echoing with cries. "Thomas--" "Are you okay?" "Hope!" "Chuck, Chuck, are you alright?"

Gunshots; the "rebels" entered the room. I closed my eyes as the woman was shot, as the guns were turned on the Creators. I heard Minho mutter "good riddance" as they yelled, "Come with us!"

"Take Gally!" I cried as the boys surged past. "Gally, come with us!"

I shoved him, blood smearing on his sweatshirt, and he looked at me with wide eyes. "Go!"

He ran.

Panting, we emerged into the open air. The first, real, open air many had tasted in years. 

"Get in!" the black-clad gunmen yelled, pointing their rifles threateningly at the few, shambling Cranks, warning them to stay back.

The school bus loomed ugly and yellow in front of us, but shell-shocked, we allowed ourselves to be herded onto it, doors hissing shut behind us.