The Life Chaser

Chapter 1: I Got A Name

The Life Chaser
by Elise Bertrand-Hager

Chapter 1: I Got A Name
Summer
Gally

*Edited on January 15th, 2015*

When my eyes opened, the canopy above my hut was still dark. Only a grey sliver of light came through the entrance. I was a light sleeper so even the smallest fraction of light or almost any audible sound had me up.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up, stretching my long limbs. My tired legs took me to the washbasin on the other side of my one-room hut. The reflection I saw in the still water was my own: my face was freckled, like the rest of my body; my nose was flat and my lips were large. I wasn't overly fond of them, or my eyebrows. They were arched upwards and gave me a menacing look. If I was going to be honest with myself, I had a bit of a pig-like face. But the boys who called the Glade home—like me— knew better than to point it out.

The rest of me wasn't too bad, though. I was strong; looked it, too. My shoulders were broad, my arms and leg strong, my hands were big. Good for working with. But my legs carried me just fine. They had to—I was a Runner, and that meant a good heart and strong legs. My job was to run the Maze and map it.

I quickly splashed water on my face, pulled on my brown, long-sleeved shirt and set off to prepare myself for the day.

Keen eyes looked over the leather pack. All the essentials were they: A water bottle, the first aid pack hung off the back of the apparatus and my daggers were strapped securely in their holsters on the back. I strapped on the leather gear to my back, tightening the fastenings, and got myself ready for my rounds. I found comfort when I wrapped my hand around my machete's wooden hilt. It was strapped onto my left leg.

As my feet found the grass, my eyes quickly found the east wall and stared a moment at the sealed concrete doors. A screech echoed from the distance and I knew the danger of the Maze was retreating to where it hid in the day light. It didn't make me feel any less scared of what was out there.

The one noise that had almost every person up at night wasn't the changing of the Maze walls but the creatures that lurked within: The screeches of the Grievers. Not one of us who has encountered a Griever has made it out alive. Their sting sends their victims into a rage-like state. They become a threat to our camp and must be sent into the Maze-- that's only if they make it through the night, having been tied down in the infirmary. One of us has had to have been sent back into the Maze. They belonged to the Maze after that... but, really, I knew we all belonged to it.

Once you were sent up there was no getting out.

Minho—a largely build Asian guy, the Keeper (or leader) of the Runners— and I would run our rounds; always running, always mapping, always trying to find a way out. But the ever changing Maze made that near impossible. The only thing that was certain about the Maze were the patterns it stuck to. Every night a new section would open and the maze would change. There were 8 different patterns. Minho figured that one out pretty quickly.

As the sun rose a little higher over the horizon, I made my way to the cook fires. The first one up, which was usually me, had the task of lighting them. Minho and I would eat our fill and as soon as the sun was just above the walls of the maze we would be leaving for our rounds.

With flint and striker in hand, I created a few sparks before the dry grasses and bark caught fire. I was adding sticks and other logs to the pile and soon all the cook fires were blazing. The first fire was down to a reasonable size by the time I returned to the first. Minho was crouched in front of it and he had a few hunks of bacon and some eggs sizzling on a plank of metal.