Good Grief (TMR fic)

Chapter 69

(please please please listen to the song for this scene it fits the tone really well~) 

I had given a few of the Runners the likeliest locations of the Cliff earlier, and they had gone and marked the entrance into the Griever Hole with vines dangling down into it. They'd also stashed a ladder to the side, although if we have to fight we won't have time to climb down delicately.

Hopefully Thomas and Teresa will be able to get down there and type the code in. Thomas said it should be pretty clear what they'll need to do, so it's just a matter of if the Grievers will let us.

I don't believe for a moment that they will. The boys around me are clinging to the hope that only one person will die, and it probably won't be them, but I don't think the Creators would let us go that easily.

Not after everything they've done to keep us here.

Whatever monsters they're trying to create through this place, they're going to force us to be born soaked in blood.

We run. Like a pack of wolves scouting their territory, we lope on and on. Most of the boys are gasping for breath, but we Runners are casual about it. I'm too casual. There's no emotion, just movement and Maze.

The twisting path is natural to me, and only the Gladers around me and the thump of the sword against my hip remind me that this is not a normal run.

According to my watch it's evening, even though the sky - ceiling - doesn't show the change anymore.

We haven't heard anything from the Grievers. It makes me feel a prick of apprehension.

My worst theories are proven true when we reach the Cliff. It's guarded by a row of Grievers standing two abreast, unmoving.

"It's like they're waiting for us," Thomas mutters, disgust in his voice.

More ranks of Grievers approach from the passages to our side. We're locked in by the hideous creatures.

This is not going to end well.

"Newt?" Alby's voice makes me jump a little. I had forgotten the leader was here. He hadn't wanted to come, but had agreed eventually after Newt pushed him to.

"Yeah?" Newt glances at the leader with confusion. There's something about the way Alby is staring intensely at the Grievers, even though he's talking to Newt...

"I'm sorry I've been such a bad friend. But... after the Changing... I don't want to go back. You don't remember what it's like out there. Sickness, and death, and... I know you'll go anyway. I won't stop you. I hope it works out... the only good part about this place was the times you were there for me... I owe you guys..."

"Alby, what are you talking about?" Newt snaps, his face pale.

"I'm trying to say thank you, okay? Thank you, and... goodbye."

With a grim look in his eyes, Alby takes off running towards the Grievers.

"Alby!" Newt yells, jolting forward. Minho grabs his arm with a vice-like grip, barely reacting otherwise.

We all watch the boy reach them. The first two Grievers rear up and lash out at him. He doesn't look back as they strike him and bring him down. Judging by the metal arms stabbing into his chest, he's dead by the time he hits the ground. That doesn't stop the nearby Grievers all converging on him as if they're feeding, tearing him apart and leaving a bloody smear on the stone floor of the Maze.

Newt is crying. I am stone. Alby is dead.