Liar [Maze Runner Fanfiction]

nineteen

"Kill me. If you've ever been my friend, kill me." - James Dashner, the Death Cure

Newt

It was unsettling, to say the least.

The bonfire crackled and spit it's flames high into the air, washing the Gladers in a sickly yellow glow. Alby stood in front of it, facing the crowd of boys. He was silhouetted against the flames, which erased most of his features with darkness save his eyes, which were an almost fluorescent white.

It was still. Too still. It was as if a thick blanket had descended upon the Glade, muffling any sound or feeling. The smoke and fog combined rolled over the landscape, escaping into the opening of the Maze and covering the vines in a grey film.

Newt shivered, glancing briefly at his right where Minho stood. His face was a thunderstorm. Usually warm coffee eyes were replaced with a raging darkness, which churned like dark angry clouds. Newt noticed that the Runner's knuckles were white, fingers wrapped firmly around his pole, small tremors moving though his arm.

Newt adjusted his grip on his pole, feeling it slip slightly from the clamminess that seemed to crawl over his entire body.

Then he heard it. Involuntarily tilting his head a fraction of an inch towards the source of the sound, he heard the distinctive metallic grinding of the Maze's inner clockwork. The inner sections were starting to close.

Any moment now.

Alby shifted his grip on his pole from his left hand to his right hand in an almost nervous manner. He cast a glance at at the assembled Gladers, making sure everyone was in their place, and shouted, "Keepers, positions!"

"-let me go, you fuckers!"

A faint voice, getting stronger by the minute, sounded from the far side of the Glade. Elizabeth was being led out of the Slammer.

"Get your hands off me, you shank!"

There were sounds of struggling, and a muffled groan coming from one of the guards.

Out of the corner of his eye, Newt could see three forms in the dark. Two tall, distinctly male-figured, and a small, thin silhouette sandwiched between them. As they came closer, he could see that the two guards were having a major difficulty keeping their prisoner in place. She was writhing and struggling, twisting herself left and right, trying to escape their grasp.

"Bring the collar," Alby commanded, stony-faced.

A skinny boy, one of the younger ones, jogged up to him, passing him the band of cracked leather, with the heavy silver fastening.

"Get off, you klunkhead!"

Elizabeth elbowed a guard on the stomach, with no major effect except for succeeding in angering him. They marched her to Alby, pushing her down onto the ground and sending her sprawling in the dirt. They forced her in a kneeling position and pulled back her hair, exposing her neck.

Alby stepped forwards, reaching out and fastening the heavy collar onto her thin neck. Newt could see the muscles in her throat objecting to the rough texture as she twisted involuntarily as if to shake it off.

The leader stepped back, and Elizabeth let her head drop. She looked pitiful; like a scared little girl.

Innocent.

She was innocent.

Newt shook his head violently, feeling rivulets of sweat run down his neck, their speed spurred by the motion.

She wasn't innocent.

She put them all in this Maze.

She deserved it.