Injured Feet & Rickety Hearts {Book 1 Completed}

//Chapter 75//

No one said a word, everyone too scared to speak. The group sort of moved backwards as one as the twenty or so people observed us like we were fish in a tank. But in ways I guess we were.

They looked half dead, skinny and pale, cheek bones pressing too skin and women with their hair pulled back so tight that I wondered if their eyelids could move on their own. They all wore white, my mind screaming with the images of medical tables. I remembered those white cloaks.

Chuck panted loudly before his voice broke the silence.

"Who are those people?"

He only whispered but the sheer size and emptiness of the room caused his voice to echo. I looked over to him, his body hidden within the crowd of terrified Gladers, all trying to back away, though we had nowhere to go.

"The creators"

Minho growled, anger laced in his tone. He pushed out of the crowd in an attempt to storm over to the glass, his fists clenched as if he was ready to break them down with his bare hands.

I darted after him, knowing that his violence would get him nowhere good. I grabbed a hold of his arm and stopped him from getting far from the group, but that didn't stop him from opening his big mouth. No one could do that.

"I'm gonna break your faces!"

I winced, his voice bouncing off the walls and hurting all of our ears. The sounds of growls of irritation coming from the gladers said that I wasn't the only one who wanted to hit Minho. I scolded him under my breath before ripping him backwards by his shirt.

Him attacking the creators could get us all killed, they might only attack if we engage first. Minho complied with me, but with a very angry look on his face. I knew it wasn't directed at me, he wasn't as dumb as he acted. I know he knew I was right.

I breathed sharply, starting to get more and more nervous with the creators just watching us. It made me feel sick. I turned and looked back at the group, speaking quietly, like somehow, I could hide my voice from the monsters that were loitering behind the glass.

"What do we do?"

Newt had pushed through the crowd to get to my side, his hand touching my face, as I'm sure it held all the fear in the world. Grievers were one thing, but from all the visions that had come to me, all the people that had remembered, all the things I have heard. The creators scared me more than anything.

"They've probably revved the grievers back up, They're probably coming right-"

Newt's voice was cut off before he could finish his sentence, the sound of beeping, like a truck backing up. I glanced at the walls to see if they were somehow closing in on us, but they weren't, the sound just blared and echoed off the walls, hurting my ears.

My hand tightened around Newts, as if on instinct he pulled me into a protective hug, my hands trapped between our chests as I looked around desperately for an answer to our problems.

"What now?"

Chuck asked, a shaky edge to his tone. Everyone looked at Minho, but Minho was looking at Thomas, then everyone had turned to look at him too. As if the boy knew all the answers. He didn't. He looked clueless, looking around the room rapidly.

But he didn't have too. I saw what was happening, the glass doors that stretch across a lot of one of the walls was slowly starting to swing open. I trembled, expecting some other sick creature to come crawling through to kill us all, even after our efforts.

I could feel Newt's heart rate pick up and his arms tighten around me even more.

When the beeping finally stopped, so did my heart. The door was completely opened, and I buried my face into Newt's chest. None of us had our weapons still. I had dropped the bow back in the griever hole and all I had now was a rusty knife. I didn't expect very many others to still be holding their horrible weapons.