• Trial One: The Maze •
||𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑|| Blake was said to have tamed the vicious robotic creature, Seven. She was granted the nickname Griever Tamer. But was the creature ever really tamed? Or was it just a distraction, a way that WICK...
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Blake closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear. She bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling, feeling the moment go by in slow motion. She frantically wiped her hands against her pants, desperate to tame the rapid waters of nerves inside her. Everything around her grew silent and her heart pounded in her ear like a banging drum. Fear left her with a chilling edge, stone frozen.
Newt and Alby had moved up the line of waiting Gladers joining them in the front. Whispers of what Minho said moved among the Gladers like wildfire. Newt, who was right next to her, was the first to say something. "Well, we knew we'd have to fight." But Blake could tell he was just trying to say the right thing.
It felt like death was knocking at the door, it was literally around the corner. Blake tried to be brave, to have hope, but doubts and fears swirled around her head, poisoning her brain. The guilt was like a brick, so solid, so heavy, pushing her further down. Blake thought of her siblings how they were out there, beyond the walls somewhere. She thought of the Gladers.
Blake wasn't going to go down without a fight.
"Maybe they've already taken a kid back at the Glade. Maybe we can get past them—why else would they just be sitting—"
Thomas was interrupted by a loud chilling noise from behind—she spun around to see more Grievers moving down the corridor towards them, spikes pushing from their bodies, menacing metal arms, coming from the direction of the Glade. Tears of fear formed in her eyes as she saw more Grievers in the other end of the long alley.
They were everywhere.
A horrific, fearful scream-like noise escaped Blake's lips. The Gladers pushed backward, forming a tightly packed group. Blake let out an unsteady, pained breath as she saw the pack of Grievers between them and the Cliff. Spikes extended with a slurp. The Grievers waited, watching, sizing the Gladers up. The other two groups of Grievers had stopped just a few dozen feet from them, also waiting, watching, sizing them up.
The Gladers compressed into a tighter group, bodies pushing against body. Everyone faced outward, huddled together in the center of the T intersection. Blake was pressed between Newt and Minho—she could feel Newt trembling while Minho was like stone. No one said a word. The only sounds were the eerie clicks and haunting whirrs of machinery. She felt disgusted that she had created a creature so terribly scary.
Thomas looked over at Newt. "Got any ideas?"
"No," he replied, his voice had a hint of a shake. "I don't understand what they're bloody waitin' for."
"We shouldn't have come," Alby said, his voice sounding stony, hollow.
Thomas looked around. "Well, we'd be no better off in the Homestead. Hate to say it, but if one of us dies, that's better than all of us." Blake shook her head, staring around. She couldn't find words. A part of her hoped Thomas was right, but the other knew it wasn't true.
