Everywhere, Everything ◆ Thomas ◆ TMR

014 - Funeral Bells

"Is Alby going into the maze?"

The said boy was standing with Minho, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to show off his biceps. He was wearing a backpack and a Runner's vest, shifting his weight from foot to foot on the ground, like he was preparing himself for the run ahead of him.

Thomas nodded absently, not taking his eyes off the two boys by the entrance and the crowd that was gathering. She spotted Newt's figure up there, saying goodbye to his friends.

"Minho found a dead griever yesterday."

"He did what now?" The information sent an unexpected spark of electricity down her spine, her interest piqued. "That's not normal," she said, then paused and turned to Chuck. "Is it?"

The curly headed brunette shrugged.

Right. She really didn't miss being the Greenie and trying to get answers out of that boy. It reminded her strongly of why she'd stuck so close to Newt.

She pictured the ugly slug she'd only ever seen through the grimy old window, laying on the ground in a pool of its own slime. Did those things bleed? They looked man-made, with their metallic limbs and whirring mechanics, so could they really die? Were they actual living creatures? But how would that work?

She wondered if they could die of old age, or if it had gotten into a fight with another griever. Or maybe its machinery had simply broken. Her mind buzzed, and as much as she'd promised herself to never enter the death trap that was the maze, she found herself getting restless.

She wanted to see that griever.

Thomas was practically vibrating next to her, but she couldn't figure out if it was nervousness for Minho and Alby, or if it was residue nerves from the day prior.

"Hey." Ari nudged him gently, but not even that could take his attention as Minho and Alby disappeared through the gap in the walls. "Like Newt always says to me – all we can do is wait for them to come back. No use sittin' 'round and worryin' abou' it."

Thomas turned to face her finally, looking somewhere between amused and disgusted. "Was that supposed to be a British accent?"

"Perhaps," Ari pursed her lips. "That bad?"

He chuckled, the tension in his face disappearing. Mission succeeded. "That bad."

◇◇◇

Ari took her own advice that she'd stolen from Newt.

She spent the entire day in the Med-hut, passing the time taking properly care of the new girl. There was a lot that Jeff and Clint hadn't been thinking about, she'd learnt. Like the fact that her lips were drying quickly and would need moisture.

She used her finger to spread a thin layer of balm over the soft skin of her mouth, wondering how somebody could look that perfect. She was lying still, her face completely slack in her sleep. Ari often drooled when she was sleeping, and she was sure the hammock gave her one hell of a double chin with the positions she sometimes woke up in. But the girl in front of her was simply breathing steadily, her hands folded over her chest like Snow White in her clear coffin. So that was what she'd dubbed her in her mind.

Ari checked Snow White's pulse more than was probably necessary, but with the lack of color in her cheeks and the cold skin, sometimes she drove herself to thinking that her chest wasn't moving, and she felt the need to check she was even alive.

Every time, she felt a steady, strong drum against her finger. Snow White was getting stronger, and Ari wondered how long it would be before she woke. A part of her was excited for there to be another girl, the other was dreading the moment she would open her eyes, and she didn't know why. There was a feeling in her chest every time she looked at her that she couldn't put a finger on, but she knew it wasn't good.