In The Maze

Chapter twenty-five (Newt)

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. The boys might have had an odd way of conveying sympathy and love, but the sentiment was there if you knew where to look.

"Good that. Now go to bed."

Sighing, I granted myself a minute to catch my breath. Everyone is alive. Everyone is okay. We're fine. Everybody is fine. I glanced at Alby then at (Y/N). Well, most of us.

"She'll be all right, Newt," Clint assured me. "(Y/N)'s tough as nails. I know she'll pull through in no time." He patted my uninjured shoulder, flashing me a knowing look. "Besides, we've got you as our guardian. Go take care of whatever leader stuff you gotta do."

I couldn't drag my eyes off her comatose form. If it wasn't for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, I'd think she was dead. Seeing her like this disturbed me in ways I couldn't articulate. It felt like someone had their fist around my heart; squeezing it. Using my love for (Y/N) as a form of torture to gradually drain the life out of me.

Little by little I was losing myself to the despair and anguish that haunted me like a second shadow. Without (Y/N), I didn't think I could fight them much longer. I didn't want to.

Grudgingly, I conceded. Jeff and Clint knew what they were doing and with Teresa monitoring Alby's health, they could focus solely on (Y/N). Being the leader, I needed to attend to other pressing matters. The boys were shaken and uncertain. Everything we've ever known was being turned upside down and not everyone was equipped to handle that. If I could lessen their burdens, I would. It was my duty and I owed it to Alby.

"What happened out there?" I asked them once we were outside the Med Hut. We stood along the side of a nearby building, close enough to be within earshot of the med-jaks but not close enough to disrupt (Y/N)'s and Alby's sleep. Torches had been lit throughout the Glade, illuminating the village. A few gladers milled about but most remained indoors despite the doors being closed.

"We found something, a new passage." Tommy pulled the canister from Minho's running pack and shook it. "We think it could be a way out."

"It's true. We opened a door with that as the key, something I'd never seen before. (Y/N) said she had, though."

"So, you found a potential exit in section seven, and (Y/N) seemed to remember the place." I crossed my arms. Things just kept getting more and more bizarre. What game were the creators playin' at?

"I think it must be where the grievers go during the day."

"Wait! Whoa, whoa, whoa... You're saying you found the grievers' home?" Chuck shuffled out from wherever he'd been hiding to eavesdrop. The puny shank got his nosiness from Minho, I swear. "And you want us to go in?"

"Their way in could be our way out, Chuck."

"Yeah, or there could be a dozen grievers on the other side." Gally jogged over to us. The griever's corpse had been reduced to nothing more than metal and charred flesh. It even stopped smoking, though the stench of melted wiring lingered. "How's (Y/N)?" The question was directed at me.

"She's all right at the moment. Sleepin'."

"And you?"

His concern threw me for a loop. Before anyone noticed I schooled my face into a blank expression and shrugged the question off. Very few people knew how kindhearted the builder could be and even fewer were on the receiving end. (Y/N) was usually his prerogative.

"I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle." Which was true. I'd experienced worse injuries and I doubted it'd be the last.

Gally rounded on Tommy, his personality shifting a complete three-sixty. "You did this. Because of you, (Y/N) and Minho almost died. Who knows who else could have been killed!"

"In case you didn't notice, I tried to help. I didn't know what was gonna happen when we went to investigate."

"The truth is,Thomas doesn't know what he's done, as usual."

"Yeah, at least I did something, Gally." The two stood nose to nose with each other. "I mean, what have you done? Aside from hide behind these walls all the time?"

"Let me tell you something, greenie. You've been here a week, all right? I've been here three years and-"

"Yeah, you've been here three years and you're still here, Gally! What does that tell you? Maybe you should start doing things a little differently."

While Tommy was right and I agreed, the point was moot. Gally resisted change, resented it, even. Most of the gladers did. People fear what they don't understand or what threatens their long-held beliefs. Add that to the unabating presence of the creators which was like foreboding storm clouds threatening to rain down on us at any time without warning, and you had a recipe for catastrophe.

This was only the beginning of what would undoubtedly be a long series of disasters.

"Hey, it's Alby!" Teresa couldn't have interrupted at a better time. The last thing I wanted was to throw 'em into the Slammer. "He's awake."

"Has he said anything?" I asked the med-jaks. I had no qualms with Teresa. She'd been compliant up to this point and Tommy trusted her. But I was hesitant to invest my faith in her. Something told me she knew more than she let on.

Clint shook his head. "No."

"Alby? Alby, mate, are you all right?" He sat upright with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. There was no draft, yet he shivered, his fever dangerously high despite our best efforts. His glassy eyes shone with unshed tears.

"Hey, Alby." Tommy knelt in front of him. "We might have just found a way out of the maze." When the older glader made no sound in acknowledgment he persisted. "Did you hear me? We could be getting out of here."

Hardly louder than a whisper, Alby murmured, "We can't. We can't leave. They won't let us."

"What are you talking about?"

"I remember."

"What do you remember?"

"You." He turned to face us. "You were always their favorite, Thomas. Always. Why did you do this? Why did you come here?" That must have been all the energy Alby had because he slumped back onto the cot the second he'd finished and lost consciousness again.

Wordlessly, I sat on the edge of (Y/N)'s bed and placed my hand on her smaller one, replaying Alby's words in my head. The skin of her palm was rough but soft and smooth on top. I traced the blue veins that criss crossed their way under her skin. There were no signs of illness - to my bloody relief - and her wound stopped bleeding. If no symptoms arose within three days, she'd be in the clear.

She's the strongest person I know. If anyone can overcome this, it's her.

I'm sorry I couldn't defend you, Love. But I'm here now. I'll do anything I can to protect you. No matter what.

******
Motor oil, also called engine oil, is combustible at a flash point above 200 Fahrenheit. Let's assume the torches the gladers have burn up to that temperature. Especially since they light one up in the movie. I'm an animal health & behavior major, not a physics major. lol

A strong hit to the solar plexus, either a punch or a kick, can knock the wind out of someone and the jaw is in many ways the "knockout" button. It also only takes two pounds of pressure to send the nose cartilage into a person's brain, effectively killing them. That would likely be done with the heel or side of your hand.