I ignored the sharp pain of splinters and tough nail jobs as my feet pounded down the stairs of Homestead. I watched as groups of Gladers poured into the Doors; loud voices filled with fear and confusion intoxicating the air. They were frantic, the Doors they've grown so used to protecting them, had finally failed them. The Gladers squeezed against each other, trying to stay in the middle of Homestead, where they believed would be the safest.
Coming down the stairs, I squeezed through the sweaty, mosh pit of scared boys, trying to find the exit.
I grunted as they tried to make way for me, some questioning me where I was going. Though my only quest was to make it to the doors, so I could see the damage myself.
I roughly pushed Jack to the side, finding the Homestead door with a stumble. I was prepared to expose the grassy plains and the concrete walls to match the concrete sky, but the door flew open before my fingertips could even graze the wood. A herd of ten Gladers frantically piled in, trying to escape whatever doom was ahead.
The terrified boys didn't even notice me as they tried to push through my form into safety. I felt one of the Gladers' shoulders dig into my chest as they attempted to dodge me. It shoved me back into someone else who stood behind me, my feet tripping over the oncoming Glader's steps.
I tumbled onto my right hip, the stitches in my thigh tugging at my skin. I let out a wince as I began to crawl towards the doors, trying to fully escape the panicked Gladers.
With the Homestead becoming full, many pushed outside to get in, disregarding my wincing and crawling form. As I tried to scurry across the floor and onto the grass, I briefly dodged kicking and moving boots.
Though, my hand was eventually caught under the rough rubber of a stomping boot.
"Shit! Get off me, shank!" I yelled as I pulled myself onto my knees to cradle my red hand. Yet, no one really noticed, their fear was blinding them from the present.
They couldn't worry about a girl in a time like this.
"Move, you ugly slintheads! Can't you see the lady shank is on the ground? I can't believe you consider yourselves gentlemen!" I heard a familiar snippy voice call from above me before I felt two rough hands yank me to my feet.
Disoriented for a moment, I shook my head. Though after my moment, my eyes immediately fell upon the fake smirk of Minho. Anxiety tickled my chest as I noted Minho's twitching smirk and his irregular blinking. It showed to me how he was also terrified, along with the rest of the Gladers.
"Thanks," I breathed with furrowed brows, glancing over his jittery body.
"Don't worry 'bout it! Now get inside," Minho grabbed my wrist and tried to hustle me back into the crowded Homestead, his face paling. His own facade fell, like it did in the Maze, his fear riding his expression like the incline of a rollercoaster.
"Wait! So, what's the plan? We're just gonna hide in Homestead and hope the grievers can't get through a whomping house made of wood?" I asked incredulously, pulling my wrist from his grip.
Minho gave me a look of bewilderment, about to explain but was interrupted by the deep, authoritative voice that I've grown so used to hearing, "We have to barricade the doors and windows, slinthead. We don't know how much time we have until the shuck grievers come."
I turned to Alby, my breathing becoming erratic as I looked at his own anxious face. Even our leader was scared. He too knew something bad was going to happen.
I bit my lip, looking away from Alby. I didn't want to gaze upon our scared leader. I know he's been through a lot since the time I got here, but he's never been this scared aside from the time he was going through the Changing. I don't want to see that hopelessness in his eyes.
I looked over his shoulders and towards the East Doors, studying the concrete. I hoped to see it move. To shut. I hoped to see it close and everyone remains safe.
The concrete sky casted a dark shadow amongst Glade, leaving everything more eerie for the terrifying situation that was coming towards us. Yet, I had a feeling this would happen. With the sky disappearing to concrete; something else definitely had to go wrong.
I have a gut feeling that all this was apart of the Creators' blueprint. This was supposed to happen.
I engraved the dark image of the large opening, knowing that this will be the start of our countdown to the end.
Just like Teresa said.
"Where's Teresa?" I snapped out unsuspectedly, my own panic arising.
Alby sent me an incredulous look before stating with furrowed brows, "In the Slammer."
"Why the hell is she still in there? She needs to be with the rest of the Gladers!" I raised my voice, finding it unbelievable how they just plan to leave one girl in the Slammer before the inevitable.
"Listen, shank, she's safer in there than we are out here. So, slim it. Minho, is there anythin' we need from the Map Room? Any left over wood or metal poles we can use?" Alby brushed me off, turning and talking to Minho.
Minho shook his head, "Builders already cleaned me out, boss. Nothin' left-"
An idea struck my mind, my legs fidgeting to move, "Weapons. Did you think of that?"
Alby and Minho shared a look of question before Minho asked shamefully to Alby, "I thought you...were going to bring the Med-Jacks and get them...."
Alby's mouth bobbed for a moment before stuttering out with furrowed brows, "I thought you were going to-"
I let out a frustrated growl before turning to my right and sprinting towards the Map Room. I heard Minho yell my name as I continued to run.
Ugh, boys.
I glanced over my shoulder and also noticed Thomas running towards the Slammer - probably to go talk to Teresa. Though as I gazed over my shoulder, I noticed Newt take off after Thomas just as Minho took off after me, leaving Alby in the middle.
He looked like a lost puppy.
Minho easily caught up to my limping run, just as I made it to the Map Room. He pulled the keys out of his belt, fumbling the metal around his fingers, scrambling to find the right one.
Minho and I single-handedly dealt with weapons while the other Gladers were given specific orders to find any piece or plank of wood and start hammering it somewhere onto Homestead.
Somewhere during the chaos, I eventually found time to slip on an extra pair of running shoes from the Maps Room, rather than continuously and frenetically teetering across the Glade barefoot.
Minho and I took multiple trips back and forth between the Map Room and Homestead. Each time we entered Homestead, the walls grew thicker and less dull light filled the tight rooms. By the time Minho and I near the last couple of boxes, Newt began shooing everyone inside, getting ready to seal our new fortress up.
"Alright, Amesie, you wanna get the last box? I can handle these two. I figure you won't mind carrying your own box of goodies." Minho nodded towards the last box, gesturing to the bow and quiver that laid in waits for use.
I shook my head playfully, gazing down into the box, carefully deciphering every weapon it held: my bow and arrow, three large knives, two machetes, and one club entangled with barbed wire.
"No worries, I'll be right behind you." I mumbled, trying to push down my anxiety as I picked up the bow and quiver. I threw the weapon over my shoulder, hoping I wouldn't need to use it tonight.
I heard Minho jog away as I secured the quiver onto my back and the bow tucked snuggly over my shoulder. I bent over the box, lifting off the ground with a quiet grunt.
I began my tread outside the Map Room, stepping through the door way. Using my left foot, I closed the door behind me, recognizing the Glade more as a ghost town than it is a functioning society.
I grew gloom, nostalgic memories flew past my memories as I gazed across the flat green land. Memories of Chuck and I pranking, and Newt and I flirting; that was only a few weeks ago. I hated this place. Though now that this place is literally going to shit, I would consider those few weeks ago, the good ol' days.
They were good. Even though they were messed up the majority of the time, the stuff found in between were the best part.
A sigh escaped my lips before I could permit it to, and began my walk back towards the crowded Homestead.
I listened to the eerie silence. The Gladers had used every loose wood they could find. No more hammering, no more clashes of wood against wood or wood against metal. The only sign of life that was sensed, were my footsteps thumping across the grassy terrain and the shuffling of Gladers settling themselves inside. Everything was quietly peaceful in a sense. For a moment, everything was okay.
That's when everything changed.
From the silence of the grassy land and concrete jungle, came a haunting:
Whirl, tick, drag, click, moan, clank.
It was close, too.
Everything went silent. I felt the Gladers freeze at the foreign sound, as well as the skipping Beetle Blades and the rusting walls. My breath caught itself, daring me to let go. My eyes flickered over to the East Doors, intense anxiety puncturing my chest at the idea of a griever frolicking into Glade.
No movement came from the Door, but it's bodily sounds gave evidence that the griever was along the east side. Everything remained still as I tried to study the distance between the Map Room to the Homestead.
The Homestead door slowly opened, refraining its creaks with a steady and gentle push. I observed with wide eyes as Newt poked his blonde head out the thickly wooden door. His frantic brown eyes met mine, his face dropping when he noticed the distance. I immediately tried to ease his concern, giving him a nod and mouthing, "It's okay".
I began my soft tread, walking more on my toes than thumping my feet. My eyes never left Newt, as I eased my way towards Homestead.
Though I didn't make it far from the Map Room when another, whirl, tick, drag, click, moan, clank, emitted from the Maze.
Just this time, it was just down the East Door's corridor. I froze in my spot, barely even fifteen feet away from the Map Room. I shared a terrified glance with Newt before both of our heads cautiously twisted toward the East Door.
There it was.
The first griever to ever explore the inside of Glade. The first one to come out of this horrible and tragic night.
The ugly looking creature slowly crawled into Glade, his head low as it observed the grass. It took cautious steps along the greenery as it observed the new surroundings. Its slime oozed onto the grass, leaving a trail from where it came from.
I didn't move. I was glued to the grass as I hoped the monster wouldn't notice my form. No muscle moved nor did I breathe, only blinking every ten seconds; keeping my focus trained on the beast's movements. Though my eyes slowly flickered over to Homestead, where the door was still propped open with a pale Newt. His wide, brown eyes stayed trained on me, contemplating on what he should do. Tell me to run? Or stay where I was?
Yet, my choices were now limited to one option as the griever pursues forward, becoming interested in the large, wooden home.
My eyes widened as I mouthed to Newt through clenched teeth, "Close the door,"
Newt's face crumpled, realizing there was no choice but to leave me out here. At least until the coast was clear. He hesitated, studying my face and body like it was the last time he'll ever see me. The griever continued to creep towards the wooden structure, its legs and spikes digging deep lines into the dirt. Newt heard the rings of metal grow closer to his location, ultimately deciding what was best for the greater good. Thus, he slowly pulled the door shut, making not a single sudden movement to catch the griever's eye. Though his own eyes never left me. We kept them attached until the very last moment, begging to the universe that this would not be the last moment for us.
As the griever stayed distracted with Homestead, I descended back towards the Map Room cautiously. I knew that would be my best bet of survival in case the griever did notice my presence. I could simply hide myself in the basement.
Yet, I stayed outside instead, keeping my following eyes on the beast and the Homestead fortress. The griever's slimy body approached the front door, where Newt stood only minutes before. I observed in awe as the griever sniffed the wood, looking for a scent.
The griever didn't seem bad at first. Only curious. Almost as curious as any animal on new territory.
Then, as the griever innocently inhaled the entrance, a deep, earthshaking growl emitted from the revving engine within the beast. It ignited my trembles and terror as I watched it push its mushy body against the Homestead fortress. The structure wavered slightly at the strong force, creating the Gladers' voices inside to erupt in volcanic panic. Shouts arose from the quiet as the griever backed away from the door then ran straight back into it - trying to break inside.
The Homestead's structure threatened to fall apart at impact, not used to this sort of compression. Though I was more worried about the boys inside.
Their screams and orders of defense and fear shook me to the core. Such raw and young voices should not be shouting battle cries. Yet, there they are screaming as they readied their knives.
Instinct strung through me like a guitar string; vibrating courage through my bloodstreams. I itched to move and do something, but what could one do with a beast that's nearly impossible to kill?
It proceeded to ram itself into the door, the Glader's could do nothing except wait on the inside for the attack. No knife or spear could reach the griever from the cracks in the windows. So, they had to wait. It wasn't going to be long from now. Yet, as the horrendous beast continued to hunt my friends, prying at their fortress of protection, the itch grew into a rash - I needed to do something.
I needed to be the distraction.
Unsure of a plan and no certainty of survival, I placed the box of weapons, I had been clutching, onto the ground. Every weapon the box held - I bounded half of the contents to myself, preparing to defend myself in every way possible.
I grasped the machetes firm, knowing these blades will do more damage than just my bow and arrows. I prepared myself for battle, leaving only the barbed-wire-club and the knives in the crate. I gave myself a small pep talk, trying to convince myself that I will survive.
Though, who was I kidding?
It would only be the griever and I. No doors to squish, or cliffs for them to fall off of. Just me, two machetes, and my bow. The only way this will go well, is if I actually kill it.
It's either it dies, or I die.
I realized that not only was this a distraction, but a sacrifice. I would be sacrificing myself for the Gladers. As I readied myself, collecting my thoughts, I allowed the griever's persistence to inspire my uncertain plan.
Once I heard the crunch of the wooden door bend and snap at the metal legs of the monster, I could no longer wait.
It was either a colony of boys die, or just me.
And I chose me.
The griever dug it's claw into the fortress, searching for a victim to snack on. The shouts and screams of pain and terror emerged louder, exciting the beast's engine and needle. Suddenly, above the screams of the young, the snapping of wood, and the screech of the beast, came a loud, ringing clank.
It was farther from the chaos in the center of Glade. Just off to the side; completely separate. It was so random and unexpected. The griever became interested in the noise, curious to know who or where it was from. It froze its pursuit for the the Gladers, awaiting for another sign of the noise.
I gazed up through my lashes, studying my lifted arms. Further up and weaved between my dirty fingers were the two machetes. The blades were connected to each other before a forced them apart. I spared another glance to the paused griever, a flash of doubt drizzling through me. Should I go through with this? Is this how I want to die?
No. But I will if I have to.
With that thought, I clashed the blades together in a loud reunion, resulting in the beast to turn and confront the noise.
Its two tiny, beady eyes immediately trained to my small, trembling figure lowering the machetes to my sides. The griever's eyes followed my every move as I took a step to the right, away from the creature. I began sidestepping towards the East Doors, hoping to bring the monster away from Homestead. It slowly followed in pursuit. It kept its distance but with longer legs than mine, it's one step made up half the distance towards me. I stood in front of the Doors with no plan except to delay the inevitable.
I wanted to see how long I could stand here without attacking but the griever continued to creep. I glared at the beast, glueing my eyes to the griever that could take my life in a second. I planted my feet in the dirt, squeezing the machetes as the griever stilled in its spot ahead of me.
This is where it begun.
For the third time, I brought the machetes together, smashing the blades just below my torso. The griever reacted to the ring of the blades with a shriek, charging forwards and directly to me.
I heard the Gladers begin to scream for me to move and run but no voice registered through the adrenaline pumping in my ears and over the griever's charging steps. Everything slowed down as the man-made beast inched closer to me, reminding me that I needed to make a move.
I bounced on my toes, like I had done today when the walls opened for the final time, before pouncing forward charging right back at the beast. The beast had a look of hesitation, probably not used to a human chasing after it instead, but proceeded forward, ready to take my life.
The griever loomed atop of me, my sprints giving me the perfect momentum. As the griever's claw turned and clicked towards me, I fell to my knees, my momentum allowing me to slide along the beast's slime-trail. I flew underneath the monster on my shins, hearing the claw plant itself into the ground where I used to stand. As I passed the belly of the beast, I made a quick judgement to lift my right machete and slice a long, clean line through its flesh.
The incision slowed down my slimy momentum, having me frantically crawl out from underneath the griever's legs. The griever screamed in pain, green and black blood poured from the slit into slimy pile of unknown fluids. I laid awkwardly on my rear as I watched the mechanical creature fall onto its side, the fatal impact taking it by surprise. Though, that single incision would not be enough to murder the shuck thing.
"Ame, come back! Come back!" I heard Thomas' shouts the most. His cries were desperate as he plead for me to return to the Homestead. I scrambled onto my feet, removing my eyes from the wounded beast and gazing towards the Homestead.
I was close to the slightly damaged structure. With the griever distracted, I could easily make it back to the safety of Homestead. I looked to the boarded windows, spotting multiple fingers peek out from within the cracks. Glints of the Gladers' eyes flashed from the darkness within Homestead recognizing Thomas' first. His eyes disappeared for a moment before reappearing visually with the door opened. Thomas' frantic form stood in the chunky, door way, staring daggers into the slimy mess.
His eyes scanned over to me and we made eye contact for a moment. He checked me out for injuries before waving me in.
"Ame, c'mon!" He hollered, moving aside. Newt came into view, next to Thomas. His eyebrows were dipped in worry as his anxious eyes found the monster. They widened for a moment before finding me, wobbly standing only a few yards away.
"Darlin', you'll die if you stay out there!" Newt begged as his eyes proceeded to flicker between the griever and I.
They are right. I distracted the griever, now is my chance to defend from inside the Homestead. I'll only die out here. What use will I be if I'm dead? The griever will kill me and then will go after my friends. The best chance we have is behind the walls of our fortress.
I inhaled deeply before taking a step to sprint towards my friends. Though, as I began my journey, Thomas and Newt's eyes transitioned from worry to terror.
Confusion only flashed for a second before the air was taken out of me. A hard hit came from my left hip before my feet picked up off the air and I few off to the right side. I was in the air for only a second before I crashed to the ground, the momentum causing me to roll amongst the dirt. My head caught the ground three times, feeling dirty and rocks jab into my skin. My face made rough contact with the ground lastly before my body skid to a stop.
I was gasping roughly, my head spun as I laid limp. Everything was disoriented, nothing in my mind made sense as I laid on my face, staring at the green grass. I heard a thumping in my ears as I slowly gazed up. My visions were wobbly as if being demonstrated on water. My blinks were making it better though. The more a blinked, the clearer I could see.
I heard muffled screams in the background as well as the clicking of the griever's metallic legs. I achingly pushed myself up, feeling an odd, iron substance ooze out of my mouth. I brought a shaky hand to my quivering bottom lip, wiping the substance off before looking at it.
Blood.
I pushed my panic back, filling my shaken brain with emotions of anger. I pushed myself into a seated position, wincing and cringing at the ache in my side. I smoothed a hand over the skin on my left side, feeling only a few scrapes from the fall, but nothing from the griever claw. Hopefully, it'll only be a bruise.
I looked around carefully, tendering my swirling eyes. I was thrown underneath one of the trees that lined the DeadHeads. I was thankful that I didn't smash into the tree, though it was a close call.
I began to register the screams, recognizing the signs of distress. My droopy eyes, lifted towards the centre of Glade, spotting the source of distress.
The griever was no longer pawning for me but was, once again, ramming itself into the wooden structure of Glade. I heard screams come from the Gladers as the griever once again dug its claw into the window. Screams came from fear while there were few that screamed my name.
Thomas. I thought as I heard his shouts and cries.
"Ame! Ame!" His cries were followed by a few others, unsure whether or not I was alive. Newt, Minho, Alby, Chuck. They were all screaming for me.
Barely within the second, the screams transitioned to someone else's name.
"Chuck! Chuck, no! Chuck!"
My fuzzy eyes focused on the griever as its claw began to retract from the damaged Homestead, dragging a plump little body with it. The plump, little boy held onto the hands of those inside the Homestead, shouting at them to not let him go. Though, I knew the griever was stronger and will overall win eventually.
That's when it registered.
The plump little boy was Chuck.
Adrenaline filed into my veins once again, claiming my body as my eyes narrowed onto my friend. I had lost my machetes after the griever had thrown me, leaving me with my trusty bow and arrows.
There was no way I was going to let Chuck die.
Pushing myself onto my wobbly feet, I took quick and unsteady steps towards the beast. My feet hit heavy against the bumpy terrain as I shimmed off my bow. Then once I had unbuckled the quiver with my newly sharpened arrows, I tugged out the first arrow my fingers touched and readied it in my bow. I faced the tip to the ground, standing a few yards away from the morbid tug-of-war match.
Anxiety rippled through me as the shriek of the griever pierced my eardrums. My cowardly side wished to backdown and leave. Pretend I was dead. Yet, the longer I stared at my chunky friend and allowed the screams of the Gladers to resonate, the anger returned. Blinding my wiser judgement with my red.
The anger proceeded to build and build until I was shaking. I knew I had lost control of myself when I opened my bleeding mouth and filled the anxious air with a wild and ferocious battle cry.
My scream zipped through the air like an arrow, quieting the Gladers and, once again, catching the attention of the bleeding monster. My throat became raw and jagged the longer I held my scream. I ran out of breath quickly, and silenced my voice once the griever turned its body to face me. I caught full sight of the ugly monster's fast, giving me a mental cue to lift the loaded bow up. Measure the feathers to my eye. Aim the arrow at the griever's scowl. Then, release.
The arrow defied gravity, its flight representing the calm before the storm.
The calm ended as quickly as it started, the arrow finding a gruesome home in the griever's right eye socket. The griever roared in agony, releasing the plump boy from its clutches before tumbling away in attempts to pull out the arrow. I took this opportunity to glance at the terrified Chuck being yanked back into Homestead.
One weight was lifted off my shoulder, but the stubborn anger still resided inside my chest, urging me to end this fight.
I had an idea.
My gaze stayed attached to the flailing slime-ball as I strolled along its blind side. The Gladers stayed quiet during my hunt, unsure if I had completely lost it.
The griever quickly bounced back, his one good eye darting to the spot I once stood. It couldn't see me standing just off to the right of it. His right eye could have easily spotted my strolls if it weren't for the arrow lodged into it.
I analyzed the griever's situation easily, making me believe that my idea could possibly work.
Raising my newly loaded bow, I began to rapidly fire at it's droopy neck hitting flesh every time. It took six arrows for the bleeding beast to finally find me with it's left eye. It roared at my ignorant hiding spot, launching its claw at me for the second time.
This time, I allowed it to grab me.
I felt the cool metal aggressively clutch onto my waist, sending evil memories back to the night in the Maze. I heard the Gladers scream in horror as they believe these were my final moments. If the plan goes to shit, then maybe it will.
"No!" Newt's scream hit me first, the pang bringing me back to reality for a moment before the adrenaline dragged me back in.
I had to get this done.
My feet lifted off the ground, sensations of an unsafe carnival ride dancing across my cranium. Fortunately, the griever held tight along my hips, allowing me to move my arms and legs.
Keep your arms and legs outside the ride at all times.
The griever flailed me vigorously, as if flashing me around like a captured frog. Though once the celebration ended, a low growl rubbled my bones. The claw slowly twisted around the griever's body like a closing ride before you're allowed to get off. But I'm afraid this conductor won't let me off this ride.
This is where I'll either be Stung or eaten. It was easy to hear it's panting mouth with thirsting drool dripping off its jowls, producing a sick plop whenever they fell to the grass. I can only assume that it wants me to be its desired, vengeful meal. I gingerly reached to my back and wrapped my rough fingers around my last arrow. This arrow was my lifeline; I will need it.
I casted an eye towards the damaged front of Homestead, observing the terror-stricken expressions demonstrated along my friend's' faces. They filed around the hole in the door, watching with heavy hearts as the griever threw me around like a rag doll.
They thought I was going to die.
In those quick few second, my eyes skimmed past Alby, Minho, Chuck, Thomas, and Newt. They were the most important to me. They were who I was doing this for. Chuck cling on to Thomas' sleeve as Minho and Alby held Newt back.
He looked like he was on the verge of tears.
My heart sunk at his fallen face. All of their faces were grim and full of terror. Who would have thought that the people you met only a few weeks ago, could worry so much about you. Or you to them. They warmed my heart in those meek moments, encouraging me to go through with my stupid, stupid plan.
Even though I was terrified and every nerve begged for me to cry, a knowing smirk pulled onto my face. The smirk sent waves of comfort in their direction, hoping it could settle their own nerves.
I only caught their newly shocked expression briefly before a menacing snark caught my attention instead. I cocked my head slowly, my heart quivering at the sight of the griever's dagger-like teeth and bleeding, slimy head. I gazed into its left eye, seeing the revenge it craved.
Though, it would never come.
I clicked the arrow into place as quick as I could, watching the griever bring me closer to its mouth. Almost taunting my death. My fingers trembled as I struggled to line the final arrow up to the griever's good eye. My oxygen was erratic as cold panic settled into my bones. I inhaled deeply, trying to advert my eyes from the reflection of myself in the glimmer of its long, sharp teeth.
Neither the griever, nor I, had time to react before I let go of the string. The arrow only flew seven-feet before finding its final resting spot in the good eyeball of the, now blind, griever.
Releasing its hold on my hips, I fell to the ground with an aching squeal; impact hitting my right hip first. I didn't have time to look at the wailing creature or the bruises forming along my sides as I crawled away from the scene, needing to get as far away as possible from the blind and flailing machine. I grabbed my fallen bow along the way as I crawled closer to the East Doors, hoping that my plan would actually work.
The griever has found a way to settle it's screeching, making every living thing go silent. The griever didn't move an inch as it waited for a noise to follow.
I laid on my hands and knees staring at the ground as I carefully thought through the next part in my plan. Every muscle in my body clenched as I tried to soften my hungry pants. My fingers dug into the dirt underneath me, as I tried to find stability in the situation. Cocking my head over my shoulder, I detected the frozen griever.
I don't think it's going to move anytime soon. I thought bitterly, as I quietly leaned back onto my knees.
Though as I leaned back onto my knees, a twig, that went unnoticed, snapped from underneath me. It's quiet echo bounced of the stone walls, signaling my location. I held my breath as my eyes snapped over to the griever.
It creeped to life, slowly cocking it's head towards the source of the noise. I gulped my air, feeling a horrid tickle crawl up my throat as I watched the griever slowly step towards me. I pushed myself to continue with my plan, trying to ignore my shaking arms as I lifted my bow off the ground.
I glanced over my shoulder, pieces of my blonde hair glued to the sweat pouring from my forehead. I observed the griever's slow trek towards me, noting how soft it's steps were in case anymore noise arose.
I dropped my left hand to the ground, grazing it frantically along the dirt. I continued to glance towards the nearing monster, trying to hold in my arrhythmic pants in as my hands continued to beat through the grass. Eventually, my finger pads bumped into a rough stone, lifting it out of the earth. The width was three fingers, a perfect size to fit my plan.
I tried to ignore the ground vibrating from beneath me, hearing the eerie clicks and whirls of the mechanics working inside the griever only a few metres away. I puffed my cheeks with air in attempt to hold back my panic attack.
Focusing on the plan, my fingers fumbled with the stone as I planted it against the bowstring. My dry eyes flickered up to the East Corridor, contemplating the distance. I rested about six metres away from the stone East Doors, hoping this plan would be enough for the griever to frolic away.
A hiss left the griever, it's hot breath fanning my sweaty body. I could see the griever creeping from the corner of my eye. It's throaty tick and growl sent chills up my neck, even though I wasn't cold. The beast was nearly thirsty feet away from me. If it got any closer it could either pick up on my scent, or hear my hammering heart beat. My muscles trembled as I pushed the sounds of the oncoming griever away from my mind, focusing on my aim.
I tilted the bow sideways, turning the weapons into a slingshot. I could take a deep breath to calm my nervous so I flexed every muscle, stilling my trembled for moments at a time.
The griever's moan sounded so close to my ear as I pulled the string back, aiming the stone to shoot down the corridor.
I blinked once, twice. Narrowing my eyes, my fingers itches to let go. I felt the humidity of the griever's oxygen, dampen my skin at the same time I let go of the string and the stone. It soared through the dim corridor, smashing into multiple spots around the corridor. It's echo radiated off of the stone walls, immediately grabbing the attention of the griever.
The griever hesitated for a moment, unsure whether or not this was a trick. I remained silent, trying my absolute best not to give away my position. The echoes continued to bounce and sing off the walls, convincing the griever enough to believe that I had taken off down the corridor.
The griever sneered ferociously, leaning forward and towards the back of my head. I pressed myself forward, squeezing my eyes shut. Though, just as I thought my plan didn't succeed, the griever pounced from its spit and pounded down the corridor, blindly chasing after a pebble. At the rumble of its quick and frantic steps, I stood slowly but frantically.
The weight of the situation I just dealt with, danced on a cloud above my head.
I just did that.
The echoes of the griever's own steps dragged the blind bastard further and further into the Maze. Hopefully, never to be seen again.
I stumbled back and away from the Doors, exhaustion causing my feet to trip over each other. As I jogged across the field that was only a battle field moments ago, a grateful smile shadowed onto my sweaty face. I allowed my heavy pants and gasps to loosely fall from my lips as I eternally praised myself.
I saved everyone...or delayed everyone's death....
Give me a break, existential crisis.
I prepared to give every single person in that horrible wooden fortress, a big hug. Or an ass whooping because no one helped me.
Before I could approach the damaged fortress, I watched Chuck stumble out of the hole and run right into me. At first, I thought he ran into me by accident. Yet, once I experienced the sensation of his chunky arms wrap around my sensitive waist with care and concern; I realized this was a hug full of meaning.
"You're stupid! You're so stupid! I've never met anyone more stupid in my entire life! You're so dumb but I love you! Thank you. Thank you so much, Ame. Thank you." Chuck chastised, squeezing me tighter with gratitude. He rambled into my damp shirt, trying to physically show me how appreciative he was.
I breathy chuckle left my lips as a soothing warmth swarmed my heart. A hug was definitely something I needed. I patted and caressed his arms gingerly, allowing myself to feel appreciated, "Don't worry about it, kid."
He released me moments later, giving me a chance to look over my young friend for injuries.
Though, after I escaped his grip, I was bombarded with yet another hug. This hug consisted of a lot of strength, nearly bulldozing me over of it wasn't for their arms. The person loomed overtop of me by an inch, squeezing me until my break cracked. They wrapped their firm arms around my neck and shoulders, pinning me into their chest. My eyes crossed as I focused on a strand of brown hair that tickled my nose.
Thomas.
"If I wasn't really happy that you're alive, I would be yelling at you so hard, right now." Thomas grumbled, placing his right hand on the back of my head as he buried his own face into the crook of my neck.
This was definitely a different feeling from ten minutes ago.
Hugs were very much needed.
"I know. I'm sorry." I huffed, relaxing into Thomas's comfortable arms. It felt homey and comforting. Giving me a wide relief from the panic attacks I just endured. Even though I was the one to save the Gladers, I felt safe and protected against Thomas. Like how I felt in the Maze. I knew he could protect me.
Then, from the warmth and comfort came an onslaught of appreciative speeches and compliments. I peeled myself away from Thomas's warmth to smile at the Gladers. Every single Glader came up to me and thanked me personally for my sacrifice. They either shook my hand or gave me a hug but every single Glader thanked me. Even Billy and Scott came and shook my hand. It was a moment of pride that filled me. Proud that I had finally made a name for myself aside from "rule breaker" or "girl".
They knew I wasn't weak.
Suddenly, a mop of blonde hair pushed their way through the appreciative crowd. He nudged passed two Sloppers, nearly knocking them over when we made eye contact.
His brown eyes poured pure relief into my soul as he reached out for me. I met him half way before he tugged me into him, his hands wrapping around my sweaty face. His blonde hair bounced across his forehead as his eyes scanned all over my face and form for injuries. His eyes pour empathy and despair at the sight of dry blood on my chin. He gazed down at me like I was a miracle. Like an angel sent from heaven. I thought he was going to chastise me like nearly everyone else did.
Yet, instead, he smashed his lips firmly onto mine.
My eyes gleefully screwed shut, finding peace in Newt's intimate comfort. I was grateful I could still do this. If I died I would've never been able to kiss Newt's lips again.
Two kisses in one day. Lucky bitch. I thought smugly to myself.
This kiss was more simple than the one we shared only an hour or so ago. We pressed our lips against each other's in pure appreciation to the universe which gave Newt and I another day to be together. My hands had gripped onto the sides of his shirt; holding tightly in reassurance that he won't disappear.
The Gladers around us commented proudly on Newt's manhood. Many whooped and hollered in celebration of their friend "getting-some". I think Chuck, Minho, and Frypan are our biggest fans. They cheered the loudest. Though, they were quickly quieted and shushed, reminding them that other grievers could be close.
Though, while some enjoyed our display of affection, some people were disturbed; chorusing a quiet "ew". I figured it must have been the younger Gladers to shield their eyes away from the intimacy.
And Thomas.
"Okay, that's enough PDA," Thomas muttered uncomfortably before lightly pushing on our shoulders in attempt to separate us. Newt and I equally blushed a crimson, turning away from each other to conceal our embarrassing, giddy grins.
As sweet and as memorable this moment was, the praising minute ended. It was interrupted by a distant but vicious shriek that echoed across the walls and corridors. It sent shivers down my spine to think I might need to fight another griever. Though, I did sound far.
So, I hope it took a very long time to find Glade.
The Gladers shared looks of diminishing fear and disappointed anxiety as the roar rung through the air and across our eardrums. I felt a hand slip into mine, comforting both my fears and their's. Newt squeezed my hand softly, trying to physically convince me that everything will be alright. Maybe it will?
Well, the night has just begun.
__________
I have no idea what I just wrote.
I think I just put down all my dreams to be that super-cool badass into a story. That's pretty much my story.
This is very long and it probably drags on a bit. But I hope you guys like it!
And this time it didn't take a year to update!
#lovemyself
Anyway,
vote, follow, comment!
Thank you, guys!
Love, xoAwkwardDiamond <3