The Glader

Smoke

I opened my eyes to see general mayhem. I grinned slightly. General mayhem was never good, except when it meant we were alive.

My head throbbed, and my forehead was sticky with dried blood. I reached over to the side of the bed for a rag, and when I pressed it against my skull, it came away red.

Shaking my head to try to stave off the effects of my concussion, I nearly fell over when movement caught my attention. Tommy was running.

Oh, no. What happened?

I followed him, as quickly as I could with a bleeding head and a limp. As I got outside, I smelled smoke.

Oh, no.

I knew immediately what had happened from the acrid smell of burnt paper. The map trunks had been burned. But Thomas hadn't stopped at the Maprooms. He was running into the Maze?

"Tommy!" I screamed.

He paused, giving me enough time to catch up with him. He was out of breath. "Minho followed it out there!"

I pulled away the towel against my head, wincing as I saw how much crimson covered its threads. "Shuck it, that hurts like a mother." I bit my lip, blinking hard as I tried to focus on Tommy's worried face. The headache was terrible. "Minho must've finally fried the his bit of brain cells- not to mention Gally. Always knew he was crazy." I wasn't worried about Minho. He knew not to do anything stupid- I hoped. He'd be back.

"I'm going after him," Thomas said stubbornly.

I rolled my eyes, coming yet again to the conclusion that Thomas was the type of person to act first and think later. "Time to be the bloody hero again?"

Tommy looked at me, his expression hurt. "You think I do things to impress you shanks? Please. All I care about is getting out of here."

So he hadn't seen the Map room yet. If he had, he would probably be freaking out by now. "Yeah, well, you're a regular toughie. but right now we've got worse problems."

"What?"

"Somebody-" I was cut off by the Greenie shouting.

"There he is!" he yelled, pointing at Minho. "What were you doing, idiot?"

Minho ran into the Glade and skidded to a stop next to us, out of breath. I just... wanted... to make sure."

"Make sure of what?" I asked. What was so important that he had gone and risked his life for it? "Lotta good you'd be, taken with Gally."

Minho, suddenly all sass, put his hands on his hips, raising his eyebrows. "Slim it, boys! I just wanted to see if they went toward the Cliff. Towards the Griever Hole."

"And?"

"Bingo."

"I just can't believe it. What a night," I said. My forehead throbbed as if my pain was agreeing with me.

Thomas suddenly whirled around to look at me, looking slightly panicked. My words had just now sunk into his healthy yet still incredibly thick skull. "You said we had worse-"

"Yeah," I jerked my thumb in the maproom's general direction, "You can still see the buggin' smoke."

Tommy looked. Surprisingly, he didn't look as terrified. Did he not get that there was no way to check patterns without maps? Man, I was glad Minho had done what I had told him to do.

The Maps were safe.

But... then a thought hit me like an anvil.

Where was Alby? I had assumed he'd be out and comforting the Gladers by now, trying to help. But he wasn't.

"Minho!" I grabbed his arm.

His eyes widened, reading what I meant without words. "We have to find him!"

While Minho and I ran to the maproom, the Greenie left for the Slammer.

Predictable.

The door was open, swinging listlessly on it's hinges. Inside, ash, smoke and cinders clogged the air.

Oh, no. Please no...

A still body laid with his head on the table, fingers dug into the remnants of charred maps. His face, still and melancholy, was smeared grey with soot.

Alby had been attacked.