Count On Me ➵ Newt [1]

EIGHTEEN | into the maze

▬The next morning, I sat with Newt, Thomas and Chuck at breakfast. Alby and Minho would've joined us but the two were going into the Maze on a special mission: Alby wanted to retrace Ben's footsteps from yesterday to find out how he got Stung in broad daylight and Minho would be helping him as he was the most experienced Runner in the Glade. Thomas, however, didn't seemed to have caught up to that fact yet.

"What's going on?" he asked, staring at Alby and Minho at the Maze doors. They stretched for a while, their backs arcing and muscled limbs taut with tension, then disappeared into the Maze.

Newt shrugged as he dug into his eggs. "Just seein' off Minho and Alby - Alby wants to retrace Ben's footsteps. And uh, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but apparently Minho found a dead buggin' Griever yesterday. They're going to have a look at that too."

"A dead Griever?" I echoed. "Wait - how come I don't know about this?"

Newt shrugged. "Alby didn't want to make a big deal about it. He didn't want to get everyone's hopes up too early. The only reason why I'm even telling you lot this at all is because I trust you."

"Hey," Chuck said. A small piece of bacon flew out of his mouth when he spoke. "I've got a question about that."

"Yeah, Chuckie?" Newt asked, somewhat sarcastically. "And what's your bloody question?"

Chuck seemed deep in thought. "Well, they found a dead Griever, right?"

"Yeah," Newt replied. "Thanks for that bit of news."

Chuck absently tapped his fork against the table for a few seconds. "Well, then who killed the stupid thing?"

I furrowed my eyebrows in uneasiness - it was an excellent question, but none of us had an answer to that. Though I had never actually seen one, I had heard countless stories and rumours about the monsters that roamed the Maze, about how spikes as sharp as knives protruded from the Griever's bulbous slimy bodies. They sounded terrifying enough to picture using my imagination alone; I couldn't imagine just how dangerous and deadly they were in real life. Whoever or whatever had managed to kill one of them must have been really powerful to do so.

After breakfast, Chuck trailed away to clean up the showers. I followed Newt in escorting Thomas to the Bloodhouse, where Winston was waiting, his skin already coated with sweat from the heat of the Glade. When we were sure he was in good hands, Newt and I turned away and walked elsewhere.

"Ya seem a lil' down in the dumps there," Newt observed as we walked to nowhere in particular.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "It's just... I can't help but think about yesterday's Banishment. I really don't like them. And it's... it's not just because of Kris - the idea of forcing someone out there in the Maze with the shucking Grievers - it's just sick."

Newt hung his head, staying quiet. We walked to nowhere in particular, watching and observing the other Gladers at work. The Builders were yet again engaged in arguments with each other as they tried to come to a conclusion to their discussion. The Slicers were dragging the animals in the farm to the Bloodhouse, their shirts and shoes stained crimson, Thomas right behind them as he tried to copy their actions. 

After a while, Newt said, "Thomas over there wants to be a Runner. Told him there's no chance of it - the council will have his head. I made him a deal though: I told him if he keeps his buggin' mouth shut I might add him to the list of potential trainees. He goes yappin' about it to everyone and he can kiss the job goodbye."

"Why does he want to be a Runner so bad?" I asked.

Newt shrugged. "Shuck if I know. The poor kid's been through a couple of wack days - I figured I'd cut him some slack."