Rogue | Group B → The Maze Runner¹

i.two

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝♀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗
● [ ii . five hours later ]
The Maze Runner belongs to James Dashner

╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗♀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

THAT EVENING, Rosalind sat by the fire, too overwhelmed to move. For hours, she had slumped behind the rough face of a nearby trunk, watching the flames move in dances behind a closed eye. They had all joined to make it, a small fire just metres from the small shack in the corner of the Glen, where Beth was talking to Ximena in a low murmur. 

The taste of Lise's canned soup lingered in her mouth, claggy and thick. They had eaten together, huddled as the sun began to set and the cold enveloped them. And amidst their gathering, they talked. Some even found moments to laugh. The first five, in particular, were so unnervingly comfortable. Rosalind deemed it agitating. 

Florence had occasionally come by, offering to inspect the gash on her arm. Rosalind refused each time, though Florence remained close. She sat with Ada behind the flames, their presence potent as they spoke quietly. She could feel their eyes on her. 

She raised her head slightly, looking upon the Glen. In the mist of the evening, she couldn't even see where the courtyard ended. Everything was mellow. A light breeze whispered through the trees, rustling, and the sway of the long grass followed. Miyoko sat a few metres from camp, tearing up grass and watching the blades fall through her fingers. Though small, the light of the fire captured the sharp lines of her arms - physically, she was fit, with a sharp definition to her jaw and muscles. She hadn't spoken much since they'd arrived. Rosalind hadn't either.

She tilted her head towards the maze, curious. Stirring in her mind were a million possibilities of what it withheld, how far it went, why it was built. And her name - Rosalind. It didn't feel like hers. It felt invasive and enforced, a reminder that she hadn't existed six hours ago. But her body had creases and dents and marks and scars, all real. She had lived. She had existed. She remembered lots of little things about life - eating, clothes, playing. But any detail that would create a complete memory had been erased. She was completely lost.

'Rosalind, right?' The voice startled her. It was Ada, stood with a jar and a first-aid kit. 'Hi,' she said, stepping closer.
'Oh, hey,' Rosalind responded. Ada began to sit, cross-legged on the grass beside her.
'I was just wondering,' she paused, looking down at the jar in her hand. Inside it was a yellow-ish liquid, bubbling from the bottom. 'I thought you might want some of this.'
'What is it?' Rosalind asked.
'Malt and yeast, basically. It's disgusting, but everyone's having some.'

Rosalind took the jar and drank anyway, swallowing it immediately as to not let the taste linger. It almost came back up, but she held it down.
'God,' she said through a cough.
'Yeah...' Ada smiled. Her teeth were even, and her lips fit nicely around them. 'Sorry. I just thought it might make the stitches hurt a little less.'

Rosalind looked at her, hesitant. Ada moved the first-aid kit to her lap. 'Hey, I already told the other girl I'm fine,' she said.
'I know. But I saw it in the lift.' She took out a bottle and a cloth. 'You were bleeding everywhere.'
'Maybe,' Rosalind said. 'But I'm not anymore.'
'Just let me clean it, at least.'

Ada stared, her eyebrows scrunched, imploring. By the firelight, the edges of her dark hair appeared orange, and the warm hues cast gentle shadows upon her face, accentuating the delicate contours of her nose and the graceful curve of her cheekbones. Rosalind rolled up her sleeve.

Ada poured water onto the cloth, saturating it before dabbing it against Rosalind's cut. A sharp sting shot through her arm, causing her to wince involuntarily. She bore through it. With precision, Ada cleansed away the dirt and blood, her movements tender.
'Sorry,' she said, pulling back. 'It's a bit cold.'
'Oh.' Rosalind looked at her goosebumps, 'Yeah, I guess so.'
'I think I should stitch it,' said Ada. 'Before it gets infected, you know.' Rosalind nodded.
'Yeah, okay.'

With a steady hand, Ada carefully threaded the needle. Her movements were precise. She shuffled closer to Rosalind, and took her arm into her hands. 'Hold this a minute,' she said, handing her the needle. 'This is a nasty cut.'
'Yeah. I think it was the scythe,' said Rosalind. Ada lifted her arm gently, her touch light as she examined the cut. Her slender fingers traced along its edges, assessing the depth and severity. She remained composed.
'Does it feel okay?' she asked.
'No. It hurts,' Rosalind said, matter-of-factly. 'Not the biggest thing on my mind right now, though.' Ada offered a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
'I guess not.'

In a stretch of silence, Rosalind passed the threaded needle back to Ada as a bird flew overhead, interrupting the quiet lull. It sang, momentarily. It was the first one Rosalind had seen.
'It's a finch,' Ada said. Rosalind's brow knitted.
'How do you know that?'
'I don't know,' she replied. Ada sat for a moment, her eyes tracing its flight. 'Anyway,' she refocused. 'Your cut.'

Rosalind extended her arm to Ada, who positioned the needle towards the bottom of the gash. 'You ready?' she asked. Rosalind nodded. 'It's going to hurt,' she said. 'Try not to finch.'
Rosalind spluttered a laugh. Ada laughed too.
'Sorry, that was dumb,' she said.
'No, it was good.'
Ada's gaze lingered on her a moment longer than usual. It was subtle. 'You have a nice smile,' she said.

Rosalind couldn't respond; Ada's needle pierced her skin, a sharp, searing pain shooting through her arm. Her muscles tensed. Each stitch ignited her nerve endings and sent waves of discomfort through her body. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and her breaths became shallow.
'Are you okay?' asked Ada.
'Yeah,' Rosalind said. She dug her nails into her palm to disperse the pain. It hurt more when she watched.
'All done.' She tied the thread off with a knot, cutting off the excess. 'You were very brave. Gold star to you.'
'Thanks.'

Packing all the equipment back into the first-aid kit, Ada brushed her hair out of her face, tucking a stray strand behind her ear as Rosalind watched.
'Can I ask,' she hesitated, the words caught on her tongue, eager to escape. Ada looked towards her. 'Do you think the maze is the way out?' It was sudden, but gnawing. Ada opened her mouth to answer, but couldn't. A loud boom suddenly exploded through the air, making both girls jump. It was followed by a horrible crunching, grinding sound. Someone screamed.

'Don't panic!' Ximena shouted. 'This happens every night!'
It felt as if the whole earth shook; Rosalind stood, alarmed. 'What happens?' she shouted back. Ximena pointed towards one of the large openings. The walls were closing. The enormous stone wall to the right of them seemed to defy every known law of physics as it slid along the ground, throwing sparks and dust as it moved, rock against rock. The crunching sound rattled her bones.

An echoing boom rumbled across the Glen as all four doors sealed shut. 'It happens at the same time every evening,' Sonya said. 'They open again in the morning.' All girls had moved closer to the camp now. An onrushing sense of claustrophobia stifled Rosalind, compressing her lungs.
Miyoko spoke. 'Why?' Rosalind knew the answer.
'Something's in there. Right?'
Harriet shifted. 'We don't know that for sure,' she said, hesitantly. 'But we've heard things.'
'Like what?' Rosalind asked.
'I don't know. Like a whirring. Sometimes groans.'

Rosalind looked towards the closed doors. She felt one final moment of trepidation, a quick slice of fear through her body, and then it vanished. 'I'm going in tomorrow. Far.'
The others stared at her, unmoving.
'Rogue,' Ximena said. 'But I'm coming with you.'
'Fine.'
'I'll go too,' Sonya said.
'Me too.' Miyoko this time.
Ximena's gaze shifted between the girls. She nodded. 'Okay then. Let's do it.'

●⏤⏤⏤⏤╗♀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤●