Amnesia: A Maze Runner Fanfiction

c h a p t e r . f i f t e e n

The journey was something of a slide down, something of a fall. Everything was pitch black until I hit the bottom, light shining from the opening at the floor.

I crouched down - the movement striking a sharp sting in my side - and crawled through the gap, opening into a dim room, where the rest of the Gladers were stood. Teresa was right in front of me, grabbing my hands and leading me over to the group and then to the floor. I sat down, propped up against the wall, finally getting the rest I craved.

From my heavy, tired eyelids I watched Newt emerge from the chute, and immediately make his way over to me. Thomas followed, and Minho appeared last, eliciting a cheer from the rest of the Gladers. That was everyone - everyone who was left.

Newt crouched down beside me, laying his spear down and taking my hand in his own, moving his other towards my wounded side. He lifted my t-shirt up slightly so as best to see it, and grimaced. Glancing down myself, I found I could hardly see it beneath all the dried blood.

"We can get this fixed," he muttered. "Ain't no buggin' way you're dying on me after all that, Anna." I let out a weak laugh, as he squeezed my hand tight. He held his other hand on my waist, over the wound, as more of a comfort than to help any. It certainly was comforting.

"Is this it?" Minho said finally, stood at the head of the group, looking around the room. "Where the hell's everyone else?"

"Half of us," Newt said, his voice weak. "Dead."

I looked around the room myself, counting twenty-one Gladers total. This was all that was left of the Glade; it had never felt so sparse. I remember witnessing many of them, but our battle with the Grievers had racked up more deaths than I could almost comprehend. It was hard to call this a victory.

"What do we do now?" someone called out.

I almost didn't care what we did now. I was desperate to shut my eyes and drift away for a while, but every time they fluttered closed for a little too long, Newt reached a hand up to my chin, pulling my slumping head back upright. I guess he was rightly afraid; I didn't know myself when - or if - I'd wake up again. My whole right side was well and truly numb.

"Is that... a door?" Minho ventured, moving across to a spot on the wall at the far end of the room. The spot was slightly indented, ridges running down it like some kind of suburban garage. The uncertainty lay in the odd designs of every wall in the dim, grey room; odd pipes running at peculiar angles across, vents and large, holed grates that covered huge sections of the metal walls. There was no telling whether this could actually lead to escape. Minho ran his fingers down the ridges, creating a soft metallic clang with each one. It sounded arguably hollow.

"How do you open it?" he wondered. As he spun around to the rest of the group, the section of the wall slid up to reveal an even darker passageway. Everyone paused for a moment, peering down it. It was silent, save for the odd clang of metal, which I guessed could be from the pipes.

"C'mon then, shanks," Minho said, a hint of hope glimmering in his eye. I knew I had to stand up, but my bones felt heavy, a magnet securing me to the floor. It would be so much easier to just sit still here for a while...

"C'mon," Newt was pulling me up, Teresa on my other side. Together, they hoisted me off the ground, one arm around each of their shoulders. I once again resisted the urge to cry out, as my numb wound was yanked back into consciousness, back with a fresh new sting. It was a challenge to place one foot in front of the other.

Eyelids heavy and head spinning, I stumbled down through the dark passageway. I kept tripping over my feet, each lurch sending a new jolt of pain into my side and stomach. Sobbing under my breath, which did nothing to ease the fire, I craved an end to the nightmare.

Finally, the corridor opened up and we walked into a huge chamber - big enough to hold nine or ten Homesteads. This room was still lined with ducts and pipes and wires, but there was something very different about this room; I heard Newt's breath catching in his throat, and I felt goosebumps break out all over me as I noticed. The wall across from us was not quite a wall, but instead a row of darkly tinged windows stretched floor to ceiling, along the entire back wall.

Our group stumbled to a halt as everyone began to realise. Minho broke out in front, gingerly taking a few steps towards it to peer through the glass. After a moment, his spear slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a painfully loud, echoing crash. He stood, frozen.

"What is it?" A Glader called out, his shaking voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Come see," Minho instructed. Newt pulled me forward, Teresa on my other side just as eager. We approached the glass and peered through. Each window showed a separate room, all freakishly identical; behind each one sat a person - some men, some women - all pale and dead behind the eyes, ghosts - gazes fixed on computer screens.

"Look," Teresa whispered, horrified. "Look at the screens." I squinted to try and make out the image on the computer, and realised with equal horror that it was the Glade. Each person was observing a different Glader, watching intently, occasionally moving to take notes. I felt sweat trickle down my back like crawling spiders, and the overwhelming fear and panic in my chest almost masked the fire in my side.

"Are they...?" someone started. The same thought was on everyone's mind. They were the people who'd sent us all here. The people who'd taken our lives away from us. The people who I used to work with. Thomas took a shaky breath.

"The Creators."