monachopsis - maze runner

chapter 7

Chapter 7
Uncharted Territory

The morning sun had hardly breached the Maze walls by the time a small crowd of boys was forming near the doors. Florence sat a few feet away from the quietly chattering group, head bowed as she picked at the grass. A half-empty mug of coffee, far from warm, sat by her knee, placed there by Frypan. The Keeper of the Cooks sat on her other side, leaning back on his hands as they waited for the doors to open.

Quite honestly, Florence still wasn't too optimistic about the boys' chances, but she hid her nerves behind tight smiles and encouraging words. Whatever the outcome, the Gladers would need a strong leader to hold them steady. She and Newt had already discussed the possibility of his promotion to co-leader, and Gally had expressed considerable interest in taking over as second in command. Now the new dynamic of the Glade would depend entirely upon the next few minutes.

With a creak and a crash, the doors began to open. Florence released a heavy sigh and accepted Frypan's help standing up, groggily shuffling to the front of the crowd. Newt was at her side in a second, as was Chuck. The gap between the doors widened, but the dim sunlight only uncovered ivy and stone. The tiny flicker of hope at the back of Florence's mind sputtered out.

"I told you, Chuck," Newt quietly addressed the young boy. "They're not coming back." One by one, the boys turned away from the doors to return to their work, heeding Florence's words from the night before. But Florence stayed, with her nose scrunched up to try and fight the tears welling in her eyes. Chuck hadn't moved, and she didn't want him to see her like this; he'd already noticed, but continued to stare at the corridor as if he hadn't.

As they had last night, the seconds seemed to stretch on forever. Staring down the dark, empty corridor, Florence felt like the gloom was a metaphor for their future. They'd lost a leader and the best Runner they had, and in doing so lost what might have been their best chance at escape. Florence had never truly faced the possibility of spending her entire life in the Glade before, but now it was becoming a frightening reality.

I'm so sorry. She kept her final goodbyes to herself, then turned away from the doors. She could feel Chuck's eyes on her as she walked away, her head held high in false courage. He thought at least she would've waited with him, but apparently she'd given up too.

Chuck turned back to the Maze, his face breaking out in a smile when he saw the end of the corridor. The volume at which he screamed Florence's name - and the string of curse words that left her mouth - regained everyone's attention.

Emerging from the shadows, struggling to stay upright, were all three of the boys they'd lost to the Maze. Thomas and Minho were visibly straining from the effort of hauling Alby along, as he was still unconscious.

As they neared the entrance to the Glade, Florence ran forward and gently lifted Alby's head. His eyes were closed, but she could see them rapidly darting around behind the lids. He was sweating profusely, and faint gray veins were creeping up his neck. "He got stung," she muttered, looking to Minho for confirmation.

"Yeah," he grunted, readjusting Alby's arm on his shoulder. "Help us set him down and we'll explain." Florence waved behind her and the Med-Jacks entered the corridor, taking Alby off his saviors' hands and laying him gently in the grass. Florence kneeled by his side, flanked by Minho and Thomas.

While Minho just seemed absolutely exhausted, Thomas looked to be in a state of shock. He stared down at Alby, unable to comprehend the fact that all three of them managed to survive the night. He only looked up for a second when Florence nudged his shoulder and mouthed 'thank you.'

Then came the onslaught of questions, with everyone shouting over each other to get a word in:

"What happened out there?"