The Girl

Chapter Twenty Seven

  "Run!" Minho shouts to me as he drives his knife straight into the grievers chest. The metallic monster lets out a high pitch shrill. I cover my ears and dart past it. Minho draws the blade out of the grievers flesh and begins slicing at the pointy contraptions sprouting off the body. I run behind the griever and draw my bow. I release the first arrow and the griever whines. Minho continues to jab at the griever with his knife, keeping it distracted so I can attack with arrows. While I've got it off guard, I fire four more arrows into it. One hits its leg, its stomach, its shoulder, and the last one hits it square in the chest. The griever lets out a shriek that turns into a moan before it collapses into a pile of metal and flesh, occasional whirs escaping it. Minho rushes out from the alcove and grabs me. He starts running towards the exit with a strong grip on my bicep. I manage to quickly pull one of my arrows from the griever. Once we're far enough away and running at a normal pace, he speaks up.

"Shuck, Beth. We just defeated a griever!" He says, excitedly.

"Minho... I don't think it's dead," I tell him uneasily. It just seemed too easy.

"You hit it dead in the chest... how... how could it not be dead?" He slowly comes to the realization that the odds are against us. "We need to get back to the Glade. Quickly."

We don't take any more breaks. We run for two hours straight to make it back to the Glade without any more surprise attacks. As we approach the doors, exhaustion begins to overcome my body. We make it through before Minho collapses, sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall, and I lean my butt against the wall with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Someone approaches us.

"What happened to you two?" Alby asks. "You're an hour late! And you look awful."

I guess I hadn't noticed our injuries. Minho had cuts all over his arms and face and I was covered in dirt, sweat, and my hands were blistered from gripping my bow.

"We ran into a little... detour," Minho tells him, still trying to catch his breath.

"What do you mean detour?" Alby demands.

"We kind of... ran into a griever... it wasn't a simple pest to get rid of..." I explain, still attempting to catch my own breath.

"A griever? Someone get Newt out here!" The older boy shouts. The gladers begin to gather around us. Seconds later, Newt runs through the crowd.

"Beth!" He says and runs to me. He pulls me into a hug. "Minho! What happened?"

This time Minho tells the story.

"You guys saw a griever?" Newt asks, inspecting my arms for minor injuries.

"Not only did we see it, we made it collapse. It looked dead," Minho tells him, smirking. I grin myself.

"And guess what," I say as a rhetorical question. I pull the arrow out of my quiver from the grievers stomach. "We got it to bleed. And if we can get 'em to bleed, we can get 'em killed." I hand Newt the black tipped arrow with crimson blood dripping off of it. He looks it over before smiling.

"Maybe we have some bloody hope after all."