What If | tmr, newt ✓

Chapter 18

Minho quickly jogs over to where I've slumped against the wall, and starts shaking my trembling shoulders. At first I don't respond. But when he stands me upright and slams his hands either side of my head, I am snapped back to reality.

"Adalyn, listen to me. It's still the daytime, and the Grievers might still not come out. Don't give up on me yet," he pleads, staring into my eyes.

It's like some fiery determination in my brain clicks into place. Don't give up on me yet. He's right. I can't.

"We need to get to the other Doors," I say, already on the move.

"What? Why?" He says, catching up to me.

"We only heard these Doors closing, right? The others might not have closed, they could be trying to trick us. And if they are closed, we should find the other Runners."

"Shuck, I forgot," he breathes, trying to regulate his breathing as I sprint faster. He's now leading the way, having known the Maze for years in advance.

After endless twists and turns, we are nearing another set of Doors when the familiar sound of them closing shudders around us. Minho shoots me a worried glance, and then I realise why; as we round the final corner, I see someone slip through the walls back into the Glade at the last second.

"Ben!" I shout desperately. He turns, but the Walls close off just as he opens his mouth to speak.

The same sound repeats once more straight after, and just moments later the final set of Doors close. The final Runner must have made it back into the Glade, leaving just the two of us stranded amongst the endless corridors. And that's when it hits me, out of nowhere, clear as day.

The creators want me back. I made my decision: but now they've made theirs.

"Minho," I whisper to the boy standing metres away from me, pacing up and down. "Minho!" I repeat, much louder. "We have to keep moving."

Our eyes lock, but he makes no reaction. For the first time ever, I notice his hands shaking by his sides and a glint of fear in his eyes. All traces of confidence and assurance are gone.

"Minho," I say, walking over to him. "Come on. Let's-"

But my sentence is cut off by a metallic screeching, and series of resonant clicks and whirrs. Without any more words I grab his hand, heart rising in my shaking chest, and we sprint away from the piercing screams. We only get so far before realising that the same sounds are echoing down the very corridor we just entered. It's hard to retrace your footsteps when you can't even hear yourself think, and before we know it, there's no alternate route than past a Griever.

I scream, taking in its half-metallic, half-flesh-like body and spider-like legs. There are spikes and needles protruding from its disgusting body, and scorpion-like pincers raised above it. The Griever was something straight from a nightmare; and was sure to cause many in the unforeseeable future.

It makes a grab for me with one of its claws, without any effort to extend one of its lethal spikes and finish the job. As I roll out of the way, screaming, into Minho's arms, and we sprint back the way we came, the words of the creators ring in my head.

We assume that your intentions are the same as ours in removing you from the maze and ensuring your safety.

The Griever makes a jab at Minho with a deadly-looking spike, but I jump in front of him at the last second, shielding him with my back and wrapping my arms around him. Just as I expected, the monster retracted the weapon and brought the claw out instead, but we were already running, choosing the most complicated path with the most narrow walkways to try and lose it.

When we finally stop for just a moment, Minho starts talking before I can get my words out. "We have to split up. You have more chance of surviving without me to protect."

I cut him off immediately and attempt to explain. "No, Minho, listen. We have to stay together. Those things want to take me with them, but they don't want to hurt me." The sound of the Griever's wails come around the corner, and we keep running as I continue. "For you it's the opposite. As long as we are with each other, they can't take me back and it'll be harder to hurt you. They can't keep us in here forever. Do you understand?"

He hesitates, then nods in agreement, and - finally - I see a glimpse of the boy he normally is. Determined, strong-willed, and ready to fight.

Caught off-guard, we run around a corner and straight into another Griever. More prepared than us, it attempts to grab me with its claw, but Minho shoves me out of the way. Almost too late, we are running again, and a needle descends from one of the hideous monster's legs, trying to strike Minho. I tackle him at the side, screaming his name and pulling us both to the ground, feeling a sudden, sharp pain in my ankle as I land on it. Shuck. This was far from good.

He scrambles up and screams at the Griever, pulling a knife from his pack with one hand and helping me back up with the other. The creature stabs another spike out, but Minho just slashes at its arm, ripping the lethal weapon in two. We use the limited time to run back, and I try to ignore the searing pain in my left ankle every time it pounds the stone. I am also conscious of the sun dipping further down. They wouldn't lock us in here all night as well... would they?

***

It must have been nearly two hours of running away from those hideous beasts and trying to fend them off, all the while trying to stop them harming my best friend or taking me from him. The more I run, the more painful it becomes to do so. On top of the physical and mental exhaustion, I might have rolled my ankle. Or possibly sprained it.

Another Griever manages to track us down, springing around a corner and swiping at us viciously with one metal leg in an attempt to separate us. It strikes us off our feet, slinging us forcefully into the solid wall. I scream, trying to protect my head with my hand, and manage to do so - but with the consequence of a couple of loud snaps in my fingers and more searing pain raging from my right forearm. And there I was, complacent, thinking the bastards didn't want to hurt me.

Minho wasn't so lucky. I look across to see blood dripping from the point on his forehead where it bashed against the stone, knocking him to the floor unconscious. I curse. The Griever pulls out a needle, aiming for his torso, but I roll over his limp body in one last effort to protect him.

This time, the griever isn't quick enough to pull back, and the needle plunges into my side, forcing me to scream in agony.

As if realising what it had done, the monster recoils, scurrying away. If I had realised that was all it took to stop them, I would have saved us the pain and let it sting me earlier. At once, the familiar shuddering of the Walls reopening sounds. Looking down at Minho as the last echoes of grievers disappear, I can't help but let out a few tears of pure hatred for these people. I needed to get him back to the Glade, no matter what.

After running for hours from the Grievers, I was disorientated, with shoots of pain raging from several parts of my body. At first, I tried lifting Minho over my shoulder, but only managed a few metres before collapsing from the weight. So I drag him backwards, my arms looped under his, trying to keep him off the ground as much as possible and silently apologising for all the bruises this would cause.

I have to stop and think about the quickest way, which frustrates me, winding my brain up to a state of complete exhaustion. Whatever tiredness was, I had exceeded that point.

Finally, attempting to hoist Minho up, I turn one more corner and just collapse, with him falling on my legs. But it doesn't matter; the last thing I see before blacking out is the safe familiarity of the Glade at the end of the corridor.