Murder In The Maze (Maze Runner Fanfiction)

Chapter 47: All or Nothing

   "Get away from him!" I shout firmly, my voice straining with each word. The gun shakes in my hand as I point it at Alby. A deep panic sets in, my heart flutters and my grip trembles. A million doubts flood my mind as the words leave my mouth, but I force them back.

     Then, something changes. My fear leaves me - the knot in my gut retreats, and the tension in my core dissipates. Something inside me switches off. An instinct takes over - the instinct to survive. My mind refuses to process any emotion, and my hands stop shaking.

     "I told you..." I pause, pulling back the gun's hammer, "...step back."

     Alby jerks to the side, his gaze meeting mine, then at the gun barrel pointing at his face. He stretches out his arms. "Don't--" his eyes dart to Gally, then back to me. "Don't shoot! He's not dead, not yet."

     The rain patters against Gally's face; crimson blood bleeds from his head, turning paler as the water streaks it down his face. The gritty sand on his skin turns scarlet as the blood oozes over it. Murky rain pools in his hand; suddenly, his finger twitches. His chest rises and falls in shallow beats.

     A pent-up breath escapes me; Gally's alive...for now. "What did you do to him?"

     "I guess you could say he's sleeping," Alby responds, his voice monotone. The knife from earlier slips behind his fingers, resting in his palm. Minho's blood drips from the blade, triggering the horror from earlier. I try to force my attention on Alby - or Gally, but images of Minho flood my mind. My eyes drop to my hands - to Minho's blood drenched over them.

     "What about Minho?" my voice cracks as a lump forms. "Why would you--" my throat tightens, constricting as I speak.

     "It was him or me," Alby states blankly.

     "Him or you," I whisper, half speaking to myself. "From all the people you've killed, framing Newt and Nick - trying to kill me - I want to know why!"

     Alby tenses his jaw, his face puckering in annoyance. In a husky growl, he continues, "They're better off dead. I did those Gladers a favour."

     "You're lying! You didn't kill them out of pity or to end their misery," steadying my aim at his face, I continue, "Newt told me you killed George first. I want to know why. I want the truth."

     Alby shrugs, avoiding the question.

     "Tell me!" I bellow, my voice piercing the air.

     "Because I liked it!" he snaps, his eyes crazed. In a softer voice, he continues, "Yeah, I killed George - didn't have a choice - he got stung.  I did what I had to. Thought I'd feel horrified, guilty or something, but I didn't," he spits, emphasizing each word. "When I saw his last moment of life and death - I got this rush - something I'd never felt before. For the first time since I came here - I felt something."

     Alby circles around me, keeping a distance of around ten feet. "It got easier after that. Would've gone for longer if you hadn't shown up - ruined everything," anger riddles his words as he speaks, "Knew it was only a matter of time 'til it caught up to me. I thought maybe with Nick banished, then Newt, people would forget about George. Would've worked, 'till you...tricked me. I thought I would be kicked out of the Glade, my Glade - banished or eaten by the Grievers - but that girl had other plans."

     "Teresa?"

     Alby nods, raising one brow. "Yeah, she told me how to leave the Maze - didn't tell me the rest of you were coming. Minho found me; 'course, I couldn't let him go after that."

     My muscles tense, pressing harder on the gun's grip. A sudden gust of wind whips my hair into my face. A crack of lightning shoots across the clouds, followed by a boom of thunder ripping around the desert.

     A flare of anger radiates from my core. My chest constricts, and my muscles freeze up. Blood rushes to my face, burning my skin. The pain I once felt hardens into something else, something darker. Staring at Alby enhances it, making my blood boil.

     "You've hurt so many people!" I steady the gun. Taking a deep inhale, I attempt to steady my nerves. "I won't let you hurt anyone else!"

     "You won't kill me," Alby scoffs, relaxing the knife in his hand. "You're not like me - you don't know how to kill."

     "You're right," I spit, venom laced in every word, "I'm not like you."

     Aiming the gun at his body, I pull the trigger. Everything slows. My breaths echo in my head, and my heartbeat pounds furiously. For a brief moment, nothing moves.

     Suddenly, the gun recoils, jolting upwards. A booming clap from the barrel shatters the silence, and a flash of white light blinds my vision.

     Alby stands still, unfazed. After a few seconds, blood splurts from his chest, pouring out of him. His eyes widen in horror as he peers down at the wound. Alby's hand clutches the raw flesh; blood streams through his fingers.

     His knees buckle as he falls to the ground. Through ragged breaths, he starts choking on blood; it covers his teeth, leaking out of his mouth. Blood bubbles form each time he tries to breathe, exploding into a spray of red.

     I stand over him, leering over his writhing body. His hand grapples my leg, smearing moist blood over my skin. He coughs violently; the warm blood covers my face in a pink mist.  Through gargled breaths, he gasps for air.

     Staring into his eyes, I watch as the life drains from them, gradually dulling with each passing moment. His expression fades, and the pain once etched onto his face dissipates. His pupils dilate as if fixed on something in the distance. The hand around my leg falls weakly to the ground.

     The gun slips out of my hand, hitting the wet sand with a soft squelch. The rain pelts over the body, pattering against Alby's skin.

     I wait for some pang of emotion to hit, some realization, but nothing does. No guilt, no anger, no fear, nothing.