2 | The Survivor | The Maze Runner

five

When Rachel told Alby to step up and take charge, he really did. He was more harsh, rash, and definitely careful. Everyone knew that whatever he decided shouldn't be held against him, he's a Glader, too.

    The Glade was up and running again by the beginning of the next week. But some things wouldn't change and Rachel knew that-- meaning Mason and Justin were still giving her deadly looks.

    Alby refused for Rachel to back in the Maze, but she didn't know what else to do. That was her job, now it wasn't. So she starting doing everything. Gally needed help fixing the pig pen and nobody else was there? Call for Rachel. Slaughter a cow because the Box just brought you up a new, clean shirt? Call Rachel. Frypan needed someone to look after his soup while he went to the bathroom? See if Rachel was near. She didn't mind at all. The only thing that bothered her was that no Runner was getting hurt (which is a good thing) so no running for Rachel. If Alby would let her, anyways.

    But because she wasn't needed all the time due to not having a specific job, Rachel had a lot of time to think. She didn't want to think. Something was nagging at her, like she was missing something big. And every time she looked at Minho, she got that feeling. She remembered remembering her and her brother, someone she didn't remember, talking about her and Minho... In way a little more intense than friendship. What was she even supposed to do with that information? It's not like she could just go up to him and say, "Yeah, I guess I used to be in love with you? I don't know, but that's what I remembered when I got stung by the shucking Griever." No. Besides, she'd probably involuntarily try to kill herself again. So Rachel opted with not telling anyone.

Minho was one of her best friends. She spent a lot of time with him when he wasn't in the Maze. And every time they were together Rachel found herself either staring or stealing glances at him, trying to figure out what made her love him. Minho was a good guy, but the thought of loving him puzzled Rachel. She didn't even know what love was, and she didn't have time to think about it.

    "Thinking 'bout 'ole Minho again, are ya?"

    Rachel whipped around, knife held up in defense. She had been cutting up an animal, so the coat of blood on the blade made her look even scarier.

    The blonde boys' eyes widened as he took a step back. "Almost forgot how buggin crazy you get when someone sneaks up on ya."

    Rachel sighed and turned to set the knife on the table. "Hello to you, too, Newt."

    He smiled at her. "So, Minho again?"

    Rachel crossed her hands over her chest, not caring about smearing blood on her shirt. "What are you talking about, British?"

    "Ya don't think I notice the sly looks ya give him? Or when ya just stare? Yer not as subtle as ya think, shank," he pointed out.

    Rachel narrowed her eyes. "I still don't know--"

    Newt rolled his eyes and repositioned his cane. "What I'm goin' on about. Yeah I heard you the first time."

    "Then why are you still asking?" Rachel asked, turning back around to the slab table. She picked up her knife and started to cut more skin off the dead animal.

    "Because I think you know something. Well, remember... What do you remember about him Rachel?"

    Rachel blinked quickly a few times. Her movements halted momentarily. "Nothing."

    She heard Newt's cane clank against the ground as he took a step forward. "If ya remember something about him Rachel, don't ya think he deserves to know?"

    In a moment of frustration, Rachel brought the knife down swiftly on the table, nicking her finger in the process. She sucked in a sharp breath as the blood started to drip out of it. Rachel dropped the knife and curled her bloody hand into a fist. She needed to get to the Med-Jacks.

    "Bloody hell, Rachel, are ya-"

    She didn't even send him a glance before she ran to the Homestead.

...

Clint had tended to her wound, but Rachel didn't want to leave the room. Her head was in her hands, elbows rest on her knees. She never looses control like that, ever. So why now? Did what she remembered really mean that much?

Rachel shook her head. It couldn't. She couldn't let it. She needed to be worried about the Maze and the Glade. Not some stupid memory that could very well be fake anyways.

Rachel sighed. Stupid Grievers, she thought, Just have to make everything so difficult.

"Jeff said you'd be in here," a voice came from the doorway.

Rachel quickly removed her hands from her face and plastered on a smile. "Hey."

Minho leaned up against the wall, his arms over his chest. His face was blank, no emotion—not even a sarcastic smirk. Rachel's facade didn't falter. "Whats going on, Rachel?"

"What are you talking about, Minho?"

He clenched his jaw. "You're not you. You've been acting different since you got back... I just wanna know what's wrong, Rachel. I've shucking asked a million times and you won't talk to me. Or Alby. You could've cut you're shuck finger off today, Rachel."

Rachels' smile faded sometime during his speech. Her face turned to stone, so cold and emotionless it put Minhos' to shame. She stood up without a word and headed for the door. Minho slammed his hand on the wall, blocking her in before she could walk by him.

He looked at her, a sorrow look in his eyes. "Why won't you talk to me?"

Rachel turned her head to the side and looked up at her taller friend. She paused, not sure what to say. "Tell your friends to stop acting like I didn't kill someone. Because I did. And I don't regret it at all."

She pushed past him and walked down the hallway to her room.