The Glader

Into the Maze

 I headed for the Maze, the Gladers a surging wave behind me. For once, I wasn't scared.

For once, my bad leg wasn't aching.

For once, I didn't feel anything.

I would fight to the death tonight, if need be.

As the Maze branched off, I fell into step beside Minho. "You lead the way, now," I told him.

He nodded and ran to the front.

Nobody said anything. We just ran.

Footsteps pounded on stone.

Breaths went in and out.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Then Minho stopped so suddenly I nearly ran into him.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, his eyes wide.

I stopped and listened, but I didn't hear anything. But the fear on Minho's face told me exactly what he heard.

Minho motioned for all of us to stop, then he peeked his head around the corner.

When his head jerked back, the expression of horror was clear on his face. "Oh, no," he moaned, shaking his head. "Oh, no. There's at least a dozen of them. Maybe fifteen," he rubbed his eyes as if his vision might be faulty. As if he hoped his vision was faulty. "They're just waiting for us!"

His revelation was met with complete silence, fear reflected in every face.

My foot throbbed painfully with my heartbeat.

I hoped that Tommy was right.

One a night.

Otherwise, there would be a massacre.

"Well, we knew we'd have to fight," I said, my voice cracking.

"Maybe they've already taken a kid back at the Glade," Tommy piped up, "Maybe we can get past them- why else would they just be sitting-"

Click-click-whirr. Click-click-whirr. Click-click-whirr. Click-click-whirr.

Or not.

They were coming

Click-click-whirr. Click-click-whirr. Click-click-whirr. Click-click-whirr.

I gripped my spear, turning to see Grievers coming at us from the other direction too. We were trapped.

Click-click-whirr. Click-click-whirr.

Oozing quickly, they circled us, closing in, their spikes popping grotesquely out of their blubbery grey bodies.

A lump grew in my throat as terror threatened to choke me.

The Gladers shrank back against each other, the fear in the air almost tangible.

Thomas and Minho ended up pressed against me, with Chuck and Teresa huddled against them.

The only one of us not standing together was Alby. He was frozen between Frypan and Winston, looking like a deer in the headlights.

"Got any ideas?" Tommy asked, looking up at me with terrified brown eyes.

"No," I said, my voice shaking, "I don't understand what they're bloody waitin' for."

If they were going to kill us- kill me, kill the Gladers I had sworn to protect- I wanted it to be over quickly.

If we tried to stand up to that many Grievers, we'd all die.

Jackson was right.

"We shouldn't have come," Alby said, his voice hollow and dull, like the tolling of a bell.

"Well, we'd be no better off in the Homestead," Thomas said, obviously clinging to the scrap of hope that only one of us would die, "Hate to say it, but if one of us dies, that's better than all of us."

A long moment passed.

Just our shaky breathing and the Grievers staring.

Then Alby said, "Maybe I should..." he stopped talking and started walking forwards slowly, as if in a dream.

"Alby!" I yelled a bolt of fear passing through me so strong that it nearly stopped my heart, "Get back here!"

I knew what he was doing.

Because I had just been considering the same thing.

No. No!

Alby ran.

Straight into the Grievers.