Tired of Running

36|| map of codes

// eight days straight,
eight hours each and
not one line \\

•
    Harper's knees were pulled against her chest as she flipped through more papers of scribbled maps.  Newt glanced over at her, clearly in the same boat of frustration and tiredness.  Harper shrugged, giving him a sad smile. 

"THERE!"
Teresa stood up, the paper held out in front of her, "I got it."  Chuck set his marker and papers down, looking relieved.  Minho just shook his head, looking doubtful.  Thomas leaned on the table, hands out in front of him, studying the papers in front of them.  There were six words clearly written. 

Float.
Catch.
Bleed.
Death.
Stiff.
Push.

Harper gathered behind the group, followed by Newt and Minho.  She squinted her eyes, trying to decipher what lay in front of her. 
"That's shucking fantastic."  Minho crossed his arms, "How the freak does that help us?"
Harper's heart sank, though she couldn't agree more.  "Now we have words!!  That mean no shucking thing."  Minho banged his fist on the table, angrily shoving papers to the ground.  Harper frantically grabbed for the papers as they fell.  She gathered them up, holding them in her arms.  Chuck spoke, his voice quiet, a squeak of nervousness, "Maybe it's a code..." Minho walked out; his temper once again winning out.  Teresa frowned, watching him leave.  Thomas shook his head, walking out the door, defeated and angry.  Teresa followed on his heels, calling his name, ready to calm him down. 

    Harper stayed put, ignoring her surroundings.  She stared at the words until her head spun.  The words blurred and her head ached as the words rolled around in her mind, trying to make any sense of them.
Newt put an arm around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, his eyes also reading the words.  "What do you think it means?"
Harper just shook her head, "I don't know..."
She sighed, not feeling any better than she had when they started.  Chuck spoke up, breaking the silence, "What about the griever hole?"
Newt looked at him, eyebrows raised.
Chuck continued, sighing, "Could that have something to do with it?"  Harper just stared at the words, thinking maybe Chuck was right...

~~~

    Thomas sat by Teresa, the two of them discussing the maps.  "Do you think the griever hole really is the way out?"  Teresa looked up from the fire, her eyes meeting Thomas'.
Thomas sat up, "Well Minho's never found it...
After three years, what other options are there?"  Teresa just nodded, eyes falling back to the ground. Thomas squeezed her hand.
Teresa smiled, squeezing his hand back.
Hand squeezes had become their own silent language.

Tom?
It still surprised Thomas every time she spoke in his head. He looked at her in response.
I'm scared.
Thomas met her eyes with his.
So am I...
But I think we're supposed to be.
Teresa shifted, sitting up straighter.
"What if we never did find the way out?"
Thomas squeezed his hand into a fist,
"After al the death. All my friends— my sister—have been through... To never get out..."
He shook his head, refusing to even give it anymore thought.
"We're all going to be alright, okay?"

As if summoned by a great lie, Harper was running towards them. "Get everyone together and find shelter, now!" She didn't stop to further explain, she just continued running toward the woods. Thomas looked at Teresa, eyes knit with confusion and worry.
Teresa, clarity settling in her face, grabbed Thomas's hand and ran. She pulled him into the box, slamming the lid shut behind them. Frypan, Alby, Winston and a few other kids Thomas didn't know the names of were there too.
What—
Teresa cut him off with a simple word.
Griever.

~~~

Harper collided with Minho, the boy stumbling backwards before catching himself.
Minho held a stock of weapons in his arms, his eyes wild. "Harper!" He tossed her two spears, "We gotta go, come on!" Dragged, before her feet were moving, she ran after Minho.
"Where's Newt?" She now had to yell over the sound of boys' screams and grievers shrieks and moans. "I don't know!" Minho turned, pulling her into the tall corn field. Harper gripped her spear tightly, trying to keep her breathing silent. A hand reached over her mouth, making her nearly strike out. Newt appeared in front of her, his finger over his lips. Harper nodded, handing him one of the two spears.

The voices grew silent. The clicking of metal sticking into the ground, with every griever movement. Harper's knuckles whitened as she gripped her weapon, her shoulder pressed tightly against Minho. The boy's muscles bulged, a slight quiver of his arms- either from fear or adrenaline. Harper guessed the latter. Newt stood behind her, looking around slowly, in every direction. The clicking continued, sounding right in front of them. Stopped.
Harper held her breath. The griever was just outside the corn. A silence as cold as death passed through the gladers. Collectively, they held their breath. A shiver of fear crawled up Harper's spine. Minho wrapped his arm around her tightly, eyes remaining watchful directly in front of him.
A low purr, and the griever was active again.
It clicked and rolled away, slowly getting quieter. Harper let out a breath of relief, her grip softening. Newt exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Harper moved forward, eyes peering through gaps between corn husks. "Well?" Minho stood behind her, looking at her eagerly. "I can't see it... Maybe it left."

She turned back to look at the group just as a scream rattled through their brains.
"CHUCK!"
Everyone jumped into action at the same time.
Harper was running towards the griever, Minho and Newt right behind her. Chuck was being grasped by the griever, it's long claw like spike pulling at his midsection. Thomas and Teresa both held his hands, pulling against the griever. Alby beat at the metal leg viscously, not ceasing until the leg tore right from the slimy body. The griever screamed, lashing out madly in it's agony.

The other boys in the box jumped out, bolting away. Chuck stumbled away, directing himself towards the cornfield. Alby screamed as managing another metallic limb fell to the ground, painting the boy with blue and black thick liquid. A leg with blades at the end of it clattered across the grass, landing near the edge of the box.

Harper charged it, while Minho and Newt stabbed at the griever with their spears. Thomas dove, avoiding a painful sting, sliding underneath the griever. He grasped the mangled leg, jumping to his feet once again. Harper, Newt, Alby and Minho were all on the same side of the monster, it's full attention drawn in front of it.

Thomas reacted before he could stop himself;
with one powerful jump, he landed on the griever's back, his knees sinking into the thick, liquidy flesh. He drove the monster's own leg hard and deep, into it's squishy form. The creature let out a scream, spinning quickly and thrashing around. The griever's tale hit one of the boys, sending him flying backwards, landing spread eagle on his back. With a final shudder and moan, the griever collapsed, never to move again. Thomas groaned, sitting up, recovering after being thrown off the distressed beast. Harper reached him first, laughing despite the tears in her eyes.

"You complete slinthead..."
Minho stood above him, hand reaching to him, ready to help him up. He was smiling, shaking his head. "That was bloody stupid."
Newt smiled too, slapping Thomas on the back.
Alby just looked around, eyes still wild, nostrils flared. "It's over..." He nodded, turning away to collect the gladers and calculate the damage.