Murder In The Maze (Maze Runner Fanfiction)

Chapter 46: Left Behind

     A barrel of emotion wells inside me: doubt, sadness, guilt and fear mix together.  War wages in my mind and questions barrage me, but one stands out among the rest - is this the last time I will see my friends? Something in me begs me to follow them - to leave this place once and for all. Selfishness gnaws at me, telling me to take the easy way out - forget about Gally - put myself first. I snap out of the thought, refusing to entertain that idea even for a moment. Gally needs my help: even if it means never seeing my friends - my family - again. I can't abandon him to be killed like so many others...like Minho.

     "Tammie." Newt's bloodshot eyes stare at me with a deep intensity. A pained expression hardens his face. His eyebrows furrow and his jaw tightens.  "Come on!" he shouts, his voice authoritative, more so than I've heard him be before.

     "Hurry!" the last man shouts, boarding the helicopter. The helicopter blades spin faster, blowing my hair over my face.  "We're leaving!"

     My hand instinctively reaches for the necklace wrapped around my neck - the one Gally made for me; my fingers brush against the chiselled wood. I meet Newt's fierce gaze.  "I'm going back for him," I pause before continuing, "I can't let Gally die, not like..."

     Newt opens his mouth to argue, but then his expression softens. His clenched fists relax, turning from white to red.  He purses his lips; no words come from his mouth.    

     "Don't worry about me," I blurt out, attempting to force myself to sound calm. "I'll find a way back to you, all of you."

     I peel my eyes off of Newt, unwilling to bear his reaction. My hands wrap tightly around Thomas'. "Look after Newt," I plead, forcing as much emphasis as possible, "promise me you'll look out for him, for all of them."

     Thomas nods in affirmation, creasing his brow. "You can count on me."

     A hand gently grips my shoulder. Jeff forces a smile on his face, but worry lurks behind his gaze. "Good luck!" he remarks.

     "You too." I take a step back from the helicopter. The rotor blades whip furiously, slicing through the air. The vehicle rocks as it lifts off of the ground. My brown cargo pants flap against me as the blades rotate, sending a strong wind in all directions. A spray of sand blinds me, smacking against my skin. The other chopper joins the first as they ascend. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground, unable to look at the Gladers.  The noise grows silent as they disappear over the horizon.

     An empty void fills my insides. For the first time I can remember, I am alone. Even with the horrors of the Maze, I always had someone beside me - to help me - but not now. The pit in my stomach grows, churning my gut.

     The wind carries a bitter chill. Grey clouds billow above me, darkening the sky. I wrap my linen shirt tighter around me for some shred of warmth, but the cold air washes through it, stabbing at my arms. I sprint back to the door of the WICKED facility, rubbing my hands together as I run. The drowned light makes it difficult to see, but faded footsteps rest in the sand - their indentation clear enough to recognize.

     A trail runs from the door to where I came from. Two sets of tracks lead off in different directions; one leads to the choppers, the other - further into the desert.

     "Alby," I whisper under my breath. With no time to waste, I follow the trail, trudging through the sand.

     The ground swallows my feet, sand leaking down into the leather; it invades my boots, irritating my feet with each step. The harsh wind brings me no comfort. My body heat seeps through my clothes. More sand whips across the trail, already beginning to fill the footsteps of Alby and Gally.

     A drop of water drops against my hair, then another. The spray of rain gradually increases. The shower falls, creating a grey mist over the ground. My ginger hair morphs into a deep maroon as the water soaks into it, dripping over my clothes. The moist sand is now a gloop, slopped over my lower legs and turning my black boots into a muddy brown.  Murky water fills the holes in the sand left by my footprints.

     Through the rainy haze, two shadowed figures wander in the distance, walking closely together. I attempt to quicken my pace, but the swampy sand pulls me down with each step. The two figures come closer and closer as I gradually gain on them.

     Suddenly, one of the figures disappears. I rub my eyes, squinting to get a better look, but still - only one person stands in the distance. The rain hinders me from getting a better view. I push further, using all my strength to wade through the desert.

     My heart flutters as I walk, fear gripping hold of it. What if Gally's...dead? The thought terrifies me, chilling me to my core.  A strange sensation weighs down my stomach - a hollowness. My mind races ahead of itself, jumping back and forth from theory to theory - none of them good.

     I shrug, forcing my mind to focus on each step to distract myself. My gaze stays glazed to the mushy sand as it squidges under my weight. My arms shiver and my jaw clatters against my chittering teeth; my body heat does little to protect me from the elements.

     The figure draws nearer - about forty feet away. I crouch down, being as small as possible so as not to draw attention. My hand cradles the gun in my belt; the wooden hilt fits nicely into my grip. The man comes into focus - Alby. He stands at the top of a dune, his back turned towards me.

     I pull out the gun, pointing it at him. The heavy rain clouds my vision. I shake my head, and the realization of how far he is away hits me. With my inexperience with a gun, shooting him from here will prove impossible.

     I cautiously approach, my fingers glued to the gun. Distant thunder booms further across the desert; a streak of lightning bolts across the billowing clouds.  Digging my heels into the sand, I press forwards.

     I climb further up the sand dune, now only ten feet or so from Alby. Something lies under him, resting at his feet - someone.

     Gally lies on the sand - unmoving.