Pasty's story [The Maze Runner]

13

The Gathering couldn't have lasted more than twenty minutes. It became obvious that talking about it was getting them nowhere. It didn't help that Alby's mental health seemed to be declining even further. Pasty hung back at the end of the meeting, whilst Alby made himself busy making notes about the Gathering.

"Come on Alby, you need to relax," she said, her hands on his shoulders comfortingly. His back was tense with stress.

"I need to keep working. Leave me alone."

"It can wait. Shuck it, I'll do it for you later. But now, you need to get your ass downstairs. We're going on a walk."

As if on cue, a situation arose. A wild cry was heard from behind the Homestead building. Alby thundered out the room and down the stairs, Pasty in tow. He was fumbling behind an old battered wardrobe, and he eventually pulled out a recurve bow and a deadly broadhead arrow. He put the arrow in place and set off to find the source of the trouble. Pasty, being the runner she was, kept pace with him, ready with a knife in her belt should she need it. She sincerely hoped that a Griever hadn't got in the Glade. But when she discovered what was going on, she couldn't decide whether a Griever was a better option.

The sick boy, Ben, was confronting Thomas. He wore nothing but a pair of white shorts, his feet bare and no shirt covering his veined back. He crouched in an animalistic position, preparing to pounce like a cat onto a clearly terrified Thomas.

"Ben!"

Ben turned to see Alby, his arrow pointed right at his head. His eyes were bloodshot and wide, to the point where they seemed as though they might burst from their sockets. A wiry green vein on his forehead pulsed sickeningly, and Ben licked his lips.

"Ben, stop right now, or you ain't gonna see tomorrow," Alby warned. Pasty caught Thomas' eye and motioned for him to retreat. But Thomas stayed where he was, frozen to the spot.

"If you kill me, you'll get the wrong guy. He's the shank you wanna kill!" Ben shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger at Thomas' head, his hand quivering and his face sweating.

"Ben please," Pasty pleaded "Don't be stupid. Thomas only just got here. He ain't a threat to you or anyone else, I swear it."

"You're still buggin' from the changing. You should've never left your bed," Alby growled, clearly annoyed that he'd managed to escape the confinement of his room.

"He's not one of us! I saw him- he's...he's bad. We have to kill him! Let me gut him!"

Thomas was clearly horrified, finally having the sense to move away slightly.

"You leave that to me and the Keepers to figure out, shuck face. Right now, back your scrawny butt down and get back to the Homestead."

"What about you, Pasty? Huh? You gonna tell me I'm a liar? I heard you saw him. You saw him too. Tell them he's evil! Tell them all!" Ben wailed "He'll wanna take us home, he'll wanna get us out the Maze. Better we all jumped off the Cliff! Better we tore each other's guts out!"

Thomas spoke, his voice quivering "What are you talking-"

"Shut your face! Shut your damn hole, you traitor!"

"Ben, I'm gonna count to three," Alby said coolly.

"He's bad, he's bad, he's bad," Ben sobbed. He rocked from foot to foot unsteadily, never taking his eyes off Thomas.

"One."

"Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad..." Ben grinned, a smile that sent a shiver down Pasty's back. Slowly, she removed her knife from her belt, no longer sympathetic.

"Two."

"Ben, please...I don't even know what..." Thomas began. Ben shrieked horrifically and lunged at Thomas. The sound of Alby announcing "three" mingled with the sound of his bow releasing the arrow with a twang. The arrow hit Ben's cheek, lodging there as blood began to trickle. He collapsed on the floor and ceased to move. Pasty swallowed, feeling a little nauseous. Before she knew what was happening, Alby was dragging her away, his grip tight on her wrist. As they reached the Homestead, he slammed her against the wall.

"And you're telling me I need to relax. Well, I'll go shucking relax while the rest of this goddam place ruins itself ten times over. You think you can do better? Be my guest, Pasty. Be my bloody guest."

He released her and stormed off in the opposite direction. Pasty sighed, her back aching from the impact of Alby throwing her against the wall. She watched him leave and wondered how they would ever get their leader back to normal.

***

Pasty didn't sleep well that night. Minho had returned irritable and tired, and she wasn't in the mood for his snappiness. They had an argument and went to bed separately, putting as much distance between them as was possible. In the morning, when Pasty was ready to talk things over, he'd already gone.

She decided that if she couldn't run, she could work on the maps. She went to the Map Room, studying the hundreds of papers that had been drawn on over the few years the Gladers had spent in the Maze, but as usual, found no correlation. She let out a scream of frustration. She was sick of the Maze. She was sick of the tests. She was sick of never quite grasping what was going on, only knowing slightly more than everyone else knew from her time in the Changing.

Storming out the Map Room, heading towards the East Door. She needed to run. She couldn't stay still any longer. She broke into a sprint, her legs and arms pumping. All of a sudden, she collided with someone. Someone had just left the Maze, though the sun was still high in the sky. Confused and dazed from the impact, she sat up to see who it was. It was Minho. He looked at Pasty with regret in his eyes as way of apology, but it seemed there were more important things on his mind. He reached out and touched her cheek.

"Oh, Pasty. I got a lot to tell ya."