There were Grievers inside the Glade. Nick felt and heard them before he saw them - their metallic limbs stomping heavily on the ground and their piercing screeches bouncing off the walls. He jumped up with the others, their drinks forgotten. Minho and Newt shared horrified looks with each other, and Alby's face was more stern than Nick had ever seen it. It was his time to step up and be the leader everyone expected him to be.
"Everybody needs to be armed, NOW!" Nick ran for the small wooded hovel where they kept all of their weapons, both handmade and those sent up with the Box. He grabbed a machete and turned towards Minho.
"I need the Runners up front and prepared to defend. A lot of these other shanks don't know what they're in for, especially the newer Greenies." As he spoke, Minho nodded his head in understanding. He snapped his fingers at the rest of the Runners and began, well, running. Before they followed their leader, Dalton and P.F. shook hands and Nick was worried about how close some of these kids were. It was fine when their world was at least semi-stable, but when things like this happened...friends were torn apart. That's why he never let himself get close to anyone here. He knew if he gave himself that kind of luxury it would be his downfall later on.
"HANK!" Nick shouted at the bigger boy. Hank stood to attention and Nick clapped him on the shoulder and looked him square in the eye.
"Choose who to take and find a way to get them things back to the Maze, or distracted long enough for one of us to kill 'em," he said. If there even was a way to kill the damn things. Hank took a spear and two back-up knives and turned around.
"GALLY, CHRIS, BEN, WITH ME!" he shouted.
One-by-one, the Gladers started breaking off into their own little groups, some under Nick's direction, some under the direction of their own. Nick made sure no one went alone and saw to it that Clint, Frypan, and Jeff were well-supervised. When he was left alone he ran to the slammer, trying to blot out the cries of terror and the mechanical humming sounds around him.
"It's about time!" Dave burst out of the Slammer and Nick handed him a meat cleaver.
"Don't even think about using this on one of us," he warned. Dave frowned and took the weapon.
"Come on!" Nick propelled Dave through the surrounding bushes and they went to find the Grievers. They weren't hard to find; they were still far enough away from the Homestead that Nick felt relieved. By some lucky chance they were sticking closer to the wall. There were only two of them, but they had already done some damage. Much of the sod beneath their feet had been ripped up and there were heavy scratches on the walls. The Runners seemed to be the experts on how to dodge their attacks, but even they were having trouble taking on two at once.
Dave let out a cry and ran headfirst into the battlefield. Nick followed suit and tackled Will to the ground just before one of the Griever's legs bore into his chest. He got up and the two of them rolled away when the Griever let out a scream and tried again, thrusting its face into the dirt where they had been lying.
Nick took a swing at one of its legs and managed to slice at it, but blast it all if they weren't all made of harder stuff than human skin. Whoever had made these things had done a good job with the armor. The slick bastards. Nick cursed under his breath and circled around, trying to find a weak point.
Not too far away, the Runners found themselves facing one of the Grievers alone. Dalton had managed to severely wound the beast's head, but it wasn't giving up. P.F. dodged an attack and the Griever lashed out with its mouth open and snapped at the Runner. With an inhuman yowl, Minho suddenly leapt up onto the Griever's back legs. The Griever reared back and twisted its body in an attempt to dislodge him, but Minho kept his grip. He worked his way up until he straddled its back. Newt took the creature's distraction to land some blows in its side, relieved when some of his blows hit their target. The Griever roared in frustration and slammed itself against the wall. Minho slid dangerously to the side and the Griever took another swat at him with its legs, but Minho managed to stay on its back.
"HEY!" Suddenly Hank came in from out of nowhere, holding a flaming torch. The Griever cocked its head and dove towards the flame, momentarily forgetting about the boy on his back. Minho started stabbing downwards wherever he could, trying to pierce into the flesh of its head or back. Hank started running towards the entrance of the Maze with the Griever close behind.
The second Griever was in altogether better shape than the first and was doing more permanent damage. Clint and Jeff threw rocks at it, and Zart did his best with his chosen weapon: the pitchfork. The Griever had already managed to sting Will, and the Glader was passed out near Alby, who was trying to keep the Griever from doing any more damage to him. Many of the Gladers had been wounded by the monster - cradling wounded arms or limping along from deep leg cuts.
Gally joined Hank, holding another torch. He waved his arms and the Grievers were drawn to the light, as if hypnotized. Minho finally stabbed his knife into the Griever's neck and it screamed. Minho leaped down and rolled across the grass, bruised, but whole. Gally's blood ran cold when Hank went in to ignite the Griever as it writhed in the air above him. Rather than setting the Griever aflame, Hank was suddenly thrown aside by a giant leg and his clothes caught on fire. Before he could process it, Gally watched as the second Griever came in from out of nowhere and chomped down on the bigger Glader, engulfing him whole.
---
Somebody screamed. Everybody was screaming. Newt wanted to cover his ears and drown out the sound. There was blood on the ground. It was so dark Newt couldn't tell if it came from a Griever or one of his friends. This was some sort of nightmare come to life. He watched as the second Griever, the one who had killed Hank, stabbed Doug. The poor shank had never even seen it coming; his back had been facing the wrong direction. I have to get out of here, he thought. When the same Griever started his way, Newt ran out of its way and nearly collided with Gally.
"WHERE THE HELL IS ELIZABETH?" Gally shouted, his veins practically popping out of his head. His eyes were red and his hands were shaking, but he looked ready to kill. Newt shook his head. He'd been keeping an eye out for her, but she didn't seem to be anywhere near the fight. He didn't know whether he should be panicking or relieved, so he was feeling a little bit of both. I can't...I can't do this.
"WATCH OUT!" Ben yelled.
Gally jumped out of the way just as a Griever swung out at them. Newt wasn't as lucky. The air was stolen from him as sharp metal connected with his abdomen and he landed on the ground painfully. The Griever loomed over him, and all at once Newt felt that he was staring death in the face. He gasped but didn't try to get up. He looked around and all around him were the walls of this prison. All around him were the dying breaths and tortured cries of his friends. He closed his eyes and prepared to -
"NO!" Newt opened his eyes and somebody dropped out of a tree. He hadn't realized how close to the Deadheads they'd gotten. It was Elizabeth. She landed in front of him before the Griever could kill him and stood there, just standing in front of his prone form.
"Elizabeth...what are you doing?" Newt choked on his own breath and coughed, trying to stand. Please, no. He willed her to just run and save herself. She did not move.
"I will not let you touch him," Elizabeth's voice was eerily calm. The Griever attacked and Newt felt something break inside him. He wasn't going to lie here and watch Elizabeth die!
A shrieking Gally flew in from the side with a spear and plunged it into the Griever's side. The Griever screeched and stumbled away. Gally grabbed Elizabeth's shoulder and shook her angrily.
"WHY'D YOU JUST STAND THERE YOU IDIOT!"
Elizabeth turned to look at Newt, who had gotten to his feet. He looked at her with eyes full of anguish, and then he ran into the woods.
"That slinthead, what does he think he's doing? We're in the middle of a battle!" Gally cried, tugging on Elizabeth's arm, and then thought better of it. "You should hide, too. You don't even have a weapon."
Elizabeth couldn't answer. She was staring at the place where Newt had ran. Why had he looked at her like that? Why had he stopped fighting? Seeing him there, just...preparing himself for death had made her so unbelievably angry. She broke out of Gally's grasp and ran in the direction Newt had gone. How dare he! she thought. How dare he lie there and do nothing!
"Newt!" she called his name, her voice raspy with unbridled rage. Why was she so furious?
"NEWT!" She tripped and broke her fall with her hands, then cursed at the ground. He's so stupid, I hate him!
"I'm sorry," Newt stepped out from behind a tree and helped her up. She brushed the dirt off her pants and meant to glare at him, but stopped when she saw his face. His cheeks were streaked with tears and his eyes...she had never seen him look so lost before.
"I'm sorry I ran. I'm sorry," his voice was breathless from running, and riddled with emotion. Her anger completely forgotten, Elizabeth hugged him. When he hugged her back, she turned her lips to his ear.
"It's okay," she said, fighting back her own tears. It hurt her so much to see him like this. So broken and sad. She held him as tightly as she could.
"It's okay," she said again, "everybody runs, sometimes."
---
When Minho thought he couldn't take it any longer, the Grievers suddenly stopped attacking. They froze up and made a hissing sort of noise, and then skittered back through the Maze's entrance. Just as they made it through, the doors started closing for the night. Minho took a deep breath and threw down his Griever-sword. All around him were the bodies of his friends. Some were merely exhausted from the fight, but others...others he feared would not wake up again.
Jeff and Clint launched into action, telling Nick and Alby what to do with the wounded, and like a somber parade, the group made their way back to the Homestead. While Clint and the Greenbean tended to the wounded, Nick did a headcount.
Doug was gone. Will was gone. Hank was gone. P.F. had been stabbed by the Grievers, and already they could see the effects it was taking on his body. Soon he would be completely taken over by the Griever sickness. Minho put his head in his hands and groaned. How much more of this destruction could they take?
Gally had turned into a zombie - probably from the sheer shock of it - and Newt had gone missing. Elizabeth had been lost from the beginning. Minho wondered if maybe she was dead, too. Dalton stayed with P.F., arguing with anybody who tried to help him. Frypan poured moonshine on his wounds and in his mouth. Some of the others were doing the same thing. Zart and Chris had been wounded badly, and even Clint, who was working so hard on binding their wounds, was suffering from injuries himself.
Minho cursed. Two Grievers. Two bloody, shucking Grievers was all it took to render them helpless.