Lizard's Running

The Grievers

"The what?" Newt asked, incredulous.

"The grievers," Minho looked up at Newt and crossed his arms. "They're monsters, in the maze."

"Monsters? You can't be serious."

"Well, okay," Minho shrugged, "not exactly monsters. More like," his hands waved in the air as he searched for the words, "like giant slugs that are also half machine. That can also sting you, driving you insane."

Newt stared at the boy in front of him in disbelief but, searching his eyes, he found no sign of trickery.
Still, he just couldn't believe it. "You're joking."

"Look," Minho said sternly, placing his hands firmly on the table, leaning forward, "I'm not joking around. I'm incredibly serious. Now you're either going to run in there and deal with it, or say no." There was a fire in his eyes that Newt hadn't experienced before. It made him uneasy. "Which will it be?"

Newt's brows furrowed as he weighed his odds. "Monsters, you say?"

"Yes."

"Alright," Newt sighed deeply. "Nothing to lose right?" He smiled.

Minho grinned and shook his head. "Alright, Greenie. Let's get you suited up." He laughed and clasped Newt on the shoulder, leading him back towards the door and out into the Glade.
---
The next day, Minho woke Newt and gave him his gear. One pack, filled with food they'd need throughout the day and, strapped to the side, a single knife. Minho also handed Newt a pair of running shoes.
"These look about right," he'd said.

After heading to Frypan's space and catching a quick breakfast, the pair headed to the Eastern wall. No Gladers stirred from their sleep when the other runners also awoke to begin their journeys.

"Alright, Greenie," Minho said, a look of determination slapped on his face along with the usual smirk. "Stay hot on my heels, you hear me?"

Newt nodded. The realization that he'd be going into this death trap hadn't struck him until this moment. He didn't meet Minho's gaze, only stared into the vast hallway that led out of the safety of the Glade and into the terrifying maze. His stomach churned and he could feel the shaking of his hands. "Ready."

Minho eyed him but didn't say a word. He could tell the newcomer was nervous, but he held himself together alright and he knew the Greenie could run. Minho still didn't know if he could trust Newt, in general or with his life, but he had a feeling the boy wouldn't let him down. Minho decided that this endeavor was just a trial run.

Newt tilted his head towards Minho but didn't look away from the tall stone cage they were about to enter. "Whenever you're ready."

Minho sighed and looked down the corridor. "Alright, come on."

And in they went.
---
Newt was amazed at Minho's ability to know where he was going. Sometimes he imagined him having no idea where he was going and they were going in circles. However, with Minho navigating confidently, that couldn't be the case. He could tell that, after a while, Minho stopped focusing on the slower boy. His pace steadily increased. Eventually, he was a good ways ahead of Newt, who struggled to keep up.
Right. Left. Left. Right. Left. Left. Right. Right.
Minho had told him to try to remember the pattern to analyze later, but Newt had given that up after the first six turns when he'd begun to lose track.
He was confident in Minho's ability to remember it all so he didn't worry.
Is that selfish, he asked himself. Even so, he didn't let it bother him. He had all the time in the world to learn the trade.

Minho made a sharp left and disappeared around the corner.

Newt's gaze remained locked on the rough stone floor. His thoughts flowed to the brick wall in his mind again. He tried to think of who he was; what kind of things he did before waking up in the Box. He knew there must be something.

He took two more turns before snapping out of his haze. When was the last time he'd seen Minho?

He looked to his left and then his right. He was at a crossroads; literally. Cursing to himself for being a fool, he walked to his right; following his gut.

This could be so wrong, he thought.

He stopped again and looked behind him, unsure. Frustrated, he leaned his head against cool stone wall and groaned.

After a short while of self loathing, he began to walk again.

Well, this is just bloody fantastic, he thought.

His hands cupped around his mouth as he yelled out. "Minho!" He stopped and listened closely to be sure not to miss anything.

It was dead silent.

Again, he called out. "Min-" Newt was stopped short by a sound like the twisting of metal, "-ho," he whispered. Newt stopped walking; his mind wandering to what Minho had said earlier. To the Grievers.
---
Newt's heat hammered in his chest as he cursed himself for being such a fool. He crouched slightly and tried to will his feet to step more softly.

Coming up to the corner, he turned so that his back was against the wall, carefully sliding alongside it. A flashing red light shone on the stone adjacent to him, coming from the opening. He scooted to a stop, his heart hammering roughly in his chest. He hoped it made no noise like the thudding it sounded in his ears.

Metallic whirs sounded near him. It was too close for his liking. He knew that nothing good made noise in the maze, he realized missed its eerie silence.

Sweat dripped from the side of his brow down his pale cheek. He'd never experienced a tightness in his chest like this before, none that he could remember anyway. Slower than he'd ever done anything before, he peaked around the corner.

Sitting in front of him, a gelatinous mass squatted on four metal legs, facing away from him. Dim lights flashed on the creature and Newt could hear it's deep, wet-sounding heaves.

Newt snapped his body back around the corner, his heart jumped into his throat at the sight of it. He breathed heavily, not sure which course of action to take. He knew which one is wasn't though. Not towards that... that thing. It must be what Minho had spoken of.

As quickly and quietly he retraced his steps back to the last turn he'd taken, never taking his eyes off of the wall behind which a monster hid.