The Glader

Death Match

 Somewhere far away, Minho was talking. "Listen up! Number one priority is to protect Thomas and Teresa. Get them to the Cliff and the Hole so-"

Whiiirrrrr. Click.

My eyes flew open. That was the sound of Grievers starting up.

Click-Click.

No.

Alby had died for nothing.

Nothing.

My chest contracted, and the lump in my throat ached so badly that it was hard to breathe.

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

The Grievers were coming.

Click-click-whirr.

The Grievers rolled their way towards us, their sticky skin glistening with slime, their spikes shining dully in the watery grey light that the sky was creating.

"Somehow I have to get through that!" Thomas said, the panic in his voice shocking me back to life somewhat.

I couldn't let Minho and Tommy die.

I couldn't let the Gladers die.

That was what Alby would have wanted, and shuck it, that's what I was going to do.

For Alby.

"They're coming!" Teresa yelled, her blue eyes huge, "We have to do something!"

"You lead," I said to Minho. He knew more about the Maze and the Grievers than I did. "Make a bloody path for Tommy and the girl. Do it."

Minho nodded, looking determined. And I knew that as long as Minho had breath in his body, he wouldn't let me down.

"We head straight for the Cliff!" the Keeper of the Runners yelled, "Fight through the middle, push those shuckin' things toward the walls. What matters most is getting Thomas and Teresa to the Griever Hole!"

He started to usher the two towards the Cliff.

I raised my spear.

I wasn't going to let any more Gladers die if I could help it.

"Ready!" Minho yelled, raising his weapons into the air. He had two, a barbed wire wrapped branch that served as a club, and the typical runner knife. He was ready to fight.

"Now!"

He ran towards the Grievers like an angry bear. I ran next to him, ready to cut a path through them if necessary.

Then came the Gladers, yelling their challenges to the Creators and to the sky.

We crashed into the Grievers like a wave.

A small wave of poorly armed boys, yes, but a wave all the same.

And we weren't going to take failure as an option.

I stabbed my spear into the closest Griever, and it roared and turned to face me, it's spikes pulsing in and out of it's slimy body.

With a click, an appliance that looked vaguely reminiscent of a buzz saw slid out of what I was pretty certain was it's front.

I stabbed it again.

There was the whirring noise of machinery activating, and it's blades started to spin.

A jolt of fear momentarily shook me, but adrenaline forced it down.

I withdrew the spear and made to stab it again when someone else's Griever crashed into me, spikes sliding into my shoulder and side.

I winced, feeling blood trickle down my arm, and dodged a strike from my own.

Then there was a cry of pain to my right. I looked over to see Jeff the Med-jack stagger away from a Griever, his chest gushing blood.

"Jeff!" I called.

He turned to look at me and started to say something, but his voice was cut off as blood spurted out of his mouth.

Then the Med-jack collapsed onto the ground.

With a yell, I ran over to the Griever that had killed him, stabbing at it's red-smeared side with my spear.

"You. Don't. Touch. The. Gladers!" I yelled, punctuating each word with a blow.

It struck out at me with it's probes, the sharp metal slicing into my wrist. Grunting in pain, I slammed the spear as far as it could possibly go into it's blubbery side.

Snap!

It cracked in two.

Weaponless, I backed away from it until I slammed into something solid.

I whirled around, putting up my fists.

As if that would do something against a Griever.

It was Minho. He glanced down at my raised fists and smirked. "Need a weapon?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, "The bloody stupid other one cracked."

He wordlessly passed me his long-handled knife.

When the Grievers charged us, we fought back to back, slicing through blubber, our weapons clanging against steel, probes and spikes cutting through our skin.

Griever after Griever charged again.

Gladers fell around us.

So many died, but we couldn't stop to mourn.

I was numb, to tell you the truth, running on pure adrenaline. I knew I'd crash later. Hopefully after we had gotten out of the Maze.

If we got out.

Minho let out a gasp as a spike cut through his arm deep enough to come out the other side.

Sharp appendages clawed at me, leaving trails of scratches at blood in their wake.

The Grievers were pressing in.