Lottie
Surprisingly, a few weeks passed by quickly in the Glade.
Today was just the same as every other day. I woke up early and strode across the Glade to Frypan's kitchen to snag some breakfast before getting to work. He saw me approaching, smiled, and dumped a large pile of scrambled eggs on my plate, like he did every morning.
"You expect me to eat all of this?" I looked at the eggs, eyebrows raised. He chuckled.
"Don't kid yourself, you know you can eat twice that amount." I rolled my eyes, but begin shoveling the food into my mouth. The whole plate was soon empty.
"Told ya." Frypan teased.
"Shut up," I joked back, and left the kitchen to start my day in the Gardens.
Newt and Zart were already there, a tinge of sweat already on their foreheads. I tried to start my work without being noticed, but I failed.
"Lottie, you're late." Newt said, looking up at me. "You know what that means." He smirked. I sighed, and picked up the fertilizer bucket. That was one of the rules for the Track-hoes; if you were the last to arrive, you had to go into the woods and get the fertilizer for the day.
"Fine. Joke's on you guys – Frypan gave me a great breakfast. I'll be full for hours."
Zart sighed. "So that's why you have so much energy. I'll have to ask Frypan to give me more for my breakfasts. Maybe that'll make me less tired."
I waved to the others, and marched into the forest. I jumped over logs and bushes, avoiding slipping on leaves. I breathed in happily. I loved the smell of the forest. Sometimes, if I was feeling upset, I would go into the forest for a little while and come out much happier.
The fertilizer pile was very deep into the forest; nearly as deep in the Deadheads. It got darker and colder as I journeyed deeper. I shivered, wishing in that moment that I had one of the boys' sweaters to keep me warm. That was yet another reason for me to hate the Creators – they simply refused to send me any warm clothes. Even the boys were trying to help me; they'd stick notes into the Box before it was sent back down, asking for sweaters and things, but to no response.
Fuming at the Creators had given me something to do while I walked, so I found that I had arrived quicker than I would have thought. I scooped some fertilizer into the bucket – the only sound in the silence of the forest. Normally, I wouldn't like silence, but this kind, I loved. It wasn't pure, eerie silence. It was the kind that had leaves rustling gently in the treetops above and the soft crunch of earth with every step. I closed my eyes in enjoyment, pausing for just a second to appreciate my surroundings.
A loud sound split the pleasant silence suddenly, making me drop the bucket and shovel in shock. I stood up straight, my head whipping around in search for the source of the sound. There the sound was again; it was a high-pitched, demonic screech. It was coming from the direction I came. The sound continued, and following, were different screams – human ones. The screams of my friends.
In an instant, I was bolting back through the forest, darting through the trees as quickly as I could. I burst through the trees and skidded to a stop, looking around in shock.
The Glade was in ruins. The Gardens were trampled – all of Newt's perfectly pruned cucumbers pressed into the mud. Animals who had escaped from the pens by the Bloodhouse were stampeding in random directions. I saw Bark rocket past, letting out a howl, which I'd never heard before. I smelled smoke, and in an instant I saw why. The Homestead was on fire. As I watched, one of the walls crashed away from the rest of the building and splintered into pieces. Gladers were sprinting everywhere. Some in fear, and some in determination. Some carried sharp weapons, and some held things that were dear to them close to their chest, hurrying to take cover in the forest.
And there, in the center of it all, was the reason for the chaos. A monster – a big, slimy monster, with metal arms jutting out of its skin – stood thrashing about in the center of the Glade. Instantly, I knew that this must be a Griever.
My legs seemed to move of their own accord, twirling me around and sprinting back the way I came, doing anything and everything to get away from the monster. I was halfway through the forest before I even realized that I was running away instead of fighting, and immediately cursed myself. How could I just run while the others fought that thing by themselves?
It was easy, the other half of my mind seemed to reply.
We have to go back, I argued.
No, the other half said pleasantly. That Griever could rip us apart in a second.
Just then, I found that it wasn't just me who had ran. Crashing through the trees and skidding to a stop in front of me was Alex, and following him was Mitch and the boy called Billy who had insulted me in the lunch line back when I first arrived.
"You," growled Billy. "What is this? What did you do?"
My face went red with rage instantly. "Me? You think it was me who did this? You listen here, slinthead-" I mocked the boy by saying the insult in the same way he spoke, which was in a scratchy, whiny voice.
"Lottie," Mitch squeaked suddenly, and the fear in his voice was so imminent that I stopped talking to Billy and turned to face him. He had his arms wrapped so tightly around Bark, that I was afraid that the dog would suffocate.
"Losen up a bit," I said gently. Mitch let go ever so slightly, so Bark would stop squirming as much.
"What are we going to do?" He asked, and I assumed he was asking me because the other two had stayed silent – Billy in anger and Alex in fear.
"I'm going to get closer, just to see what's happening," I said after taking a deep breath. "Then I'll come up with a plan."
"I'm coming with you," Alex said, standing with surprising confidence. Mitch looked ready to reluctantly follow, but before he could volunteer, I ordered him to stay hidden. He looked relieved. Billy was the one who scoffed and said,
"Well, have fun on your suicide mission," and sat on a log. Alex and I bade them goodbye with a wave and made our way back through the forest cautiously, in case a loud sound would alert the Griever of our whereabouts. As we got closer to the main part of the Glade, the sounds of the fight became clearer. There were shouts from the boys who had stayed to fight, and outraged screeches from the Griever.
I motioned suddenly for Alex to duck behind a thick-trunked tree with me, and we peered around it. The Glade was in our view, but I doubted that anyone in it would be able to see us. From what I could see, there were eight Gladers fighting the Griever; the Keepers, plus Alby and Newt. The Glade was empty besides them, since the rest had taken cover in the forest.
I could see Alby stabbing rhythmically with a spear at the Griever's flesh, the muscles in his arms rippling with every jolt. Gally was on the ground, crawling forward towards a machete that had been flung out of his hand. To my horror, the Griever drove an arm towards him. He rolled to the side just in time, and the arm struck the ground beside him. I let out a relieved breath. That was close, I thought. Too close.
I had to do something.
"Okay, Alex," I hissed, looking back at him. He didn't return my gaze, as he was too busy staring, horrified, at the place where Gally had nearly died. "Alex," I said again, and this time he looked at me. "Are you too frightened to help me?"
"I... I..." His eyed flickered fearfully from me to the battle, before straightening his shoulders. "No."
"Good. This is what I need you to do," I repeated my plan to him slowly but firmly, and he nodded his head in understanding. "Break," I said, and without looking back, I sprinted into the open.
"Wh-what does 'break' mean?" He called after me. I rolled my eyes.
"Just do what I told you to do!" I yelled back over my shoulder, and hoped that he listened.
I was not sprinting towards the Griever. I was heading for the burning Homestead. I picked up a long stick on the ground, and tapped it onto one of the enflamed windowsills so that the end of the stick sparked and caught fire. I held up my arm against my eyes to shield them from the smoke.
I dashed back towards the Griever and the Gladers. I could feel the rush of adrenaline causing goosebumps on my skin – or was that my own body telling me to turn back, to run? I didn't know, but I was not going to listen to it. My friends needed me.
From the other side of the battle, I saw Alex rolling a barrel of oil from Frypan's kitchen closer to the Griever. I smiled proudly. Somehow, he had managed to go unnoticed by the Griever. As I watched, Alex shouted to the closest Keeper, who turned out to be Gally. I saw Alex spit out the plan to him, and the two of them lifted the barrel. When they had a clear shot, they heaved – the oil sloshed from the barrel and splattered onto the Grievers body. That was my sign to go.
With one last inhale of bravery, I threw the flaming stick in my hand like a javelin, and it struck the Griever. Its body was engulfed with flames, and it was momentarily distracted. The Griever began rolling around on the ground like a dog, trying to extinguish the flames. The Keepers looked stunned at our defeat, dropping their weapons when they thought the battle was over. It wasn't. Grievers were apparently fireproof, and unfortunately, now was the time we discovered it.
All I did was make it angry. It turned in the direction the fire was thrown from, and spotted me. Immediately, it sped forwards at me, swinging its metal arms menacingly. I stood frozen for a moment. This was not part of the plan. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered that the Keepers were calling for me to run, so I did. I turned away from the monster chasing me and ran like my life depended on it, because it did.
But where to go? The Maze was out of the question, since Alby had forbidden anyone who wasn't a Runner to enter it. Besides, there were even more Grievers in there. I couldn't lose it in the forest and risk putting everyone who had taken shelter there in danger. I couldn't make the Griever run through the Homestead, since the flames didn't seem to do any damage. I realized that there was only one way to go. Up.
I reached one of the ivy-covered walls. I leaped, grabbed hold of a sturdy looking vine, and pulled myself up the wall. I climbed faster than I would have ever thought I could. I heard a loud crack, and I knew that the Griever had caught up, and had thrown itself against the wall.
As I climbed, the vines grew thinner – thinner, so that they wouldn't hold my weight. Shuck, I thought. How was I supposed to get out of this one?
I looked down. I was many feet in the air. The Griever was gaining ground, crawling up the wall behind me. I closed my eyes for a moment, gaining the courage for what I was about to do. Then I opened my eyes, and let go.
I fell away from the wall. I twisted my body so that I was looking down at the Griever. Then, my feet collided with its face. With a screech, it too fell away from the wall, and together, we plummeted to the ground. The Griever's metal arms flailed, getting them stuck in the ivy and tearing it away from the wall.
I hit the ground. I heard a crack, and then intense pain in my side. I cried out, and my hands flew to my injury. The Griever had fallen a few feet away, and was nearly untangled from the ivy that had fallen with it. I shakily got to my feet, hunched over from the pain. I tried to stumble towards the Keepers, who were rushing forward with their spears again.
I gasped, and fell to my knees, unable to continue. The pain was too much. I couldn't breathe. I lay myself down on the ground, staring up at the sky. I saw a metal arm above me. This is it, I thought.
Attached the arm was a long needle, and I briefly wondered what it was for. Poison? Then I realized that it didn't matter; I was going to die anyway. I closed my eyes as it was brought down. Perhaps it would be painless – plenty of poisons were. I waited for the blow, but it never came. Instead, I felt something heavy – it felt like a body – fall on top of me. I was too weak to move it off. I welcomed unconsciousness.
A/N
Chapter Seven! This was an exciting one. What would you have done if you were in Lottie's shoes? Vote if you liked it (or not, that's okay too)
- 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭