𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦, thomas (tmr)

Chapter Twelve

She could feel her heart leap out of her chest; none of the other Runners had found this before, she was sure of it.

Stopping completely in the corridor for a moment, she glanced down to her watch to see that she still had about six hours until the doors were shutting. This meant that she had enough time to check out the new section and make it back with plenty of time to spare.

Jumping into action again, she jogged off towards the prospect of escape.

This was something different. Something that would bring a sense of hope to the Glade. And, if they were lucky, it was an escape route.

But then, before she could reach it, a shriek sounded from only a few feet behind her. Whirling around, she couldn't move in time to avoid the Griever slamming into her figure and chucking her against the stone wall. She crumpled onto the ground, rubble scratching and digging into her skin and ripping her clothes.

As every bone in her body was bruised from the hard impact, a groan fell from her lips. Her head was swirling too much to allow her to get up from the ground, but she just had enough will power to gain her bearings and flip herself over to catch a sight of the Griever.

This was the first time in her few weeks of running that she had seen a Griever.

The creature was a formless blob of green, attached to a number of metal spider legs. Attached to the end were a number of different weapons, including the infamous Stinger. 

The Griever was still snarling at her, making jerky movements that seemed too calculated to be a natural occurrence. And then, as if it was struggling against itself, it turned away and scuttled down the new section of the Maze that Clara desperately wanted to reach.

Why didn't it sting me?

All she felt before things turned black was the agonising pain shooting up through her left arm. Touching the back of her head with her other hand, the liquid that coated her fingers told her that it was bleeding. And in that moment, she was sure that was it for her.

She was going to die.

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Clara's eyes shot open. She rocketed up into a sitting position, a shooting pain stretching up her spine towards her neck. She thought she was going to find herself in the Maze, but instead, she was inside the Homestead.

In fact, she was in her bed.

"What the-"

"-Hey, hey! Hold your horses."

Clint scolded her gently, but the small smile on his lips told her that he was glad to see she was awake. He glanced wistfully to the door for a second, as if he wanted to go get someone, but then he turned back.

"What the shuck happened to me?" She demanded.

She let out a groan then, a throbbing pain becoming clearer in her arm as she woke up more. Looking down, she caught sight of a white cast on her left arm, restricting her from moving it erratically.

"Look, I'll get Alby, okay?"

Clint went to leave the room then, but before he could get to the door, she had called out to him. It was easy to capture his attention; her struggle instead coming from her desire to move despite the aching of her body.