⁰⁰ ▇ ¨. ༢ ͎۪۫ 𝒔𝒊𝒙 ... ❜
━━ ❛ the 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓. ❜ ‧˖˚. ☄︎ ͎۪۫ ◞⁺.
❪ part 01. location: the glade.
©kiiizones, all rights reserved ❫.
𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑺 𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 slow, eyes like lead and with her back resting on something something stuffy, damp and cold. She felt a cold cloth press onto her clammy forehead. It took a moment for her eyes to open fully, gaze meeting the twigs and branches bound together as a ceiling, gold sunlight dripping in through the gaps like diluted paint. She tilted her head an inch to the side, and saw Jeff with his hands busy on the side cabinet, stirring broken ice into a glass of water.
The sight of it seemed to wake her up. The raw pain of her throat burned up through her lips and she choked on air, shoving her elbows into the mattress as she sat up. Jeff started, catching the tepid cloth as it slipped from her forehead.
"Woah, Emis. Hold on." He pushed the cloth into the glass, and she felt her heart sink. Though she knew she would've downed it even with the grubby towel hanging over the side, she was that thirsty. "You feeling better?"
In all honesty, she felt terrible. But to rid Jeff of his worry, she nodded. "You'll want something to drink. I'll go get Chuck. Wait here." He set the glass down, handed her the cloth, "Put that on your forehead," and left.
She breathed out, pushing the blanket off and swinging her legs round so that she sat facing the door. She shoved a hand through her hair and stuffed her feet into her boots, hands fumbling as she tied the laces into stiff knots. The cloth on her forehead was nice. The pound in her head wasn't.
She straightened up, wiping her hands on her trousers. Eyes skating dangerously over the fogged glass with water dripping down its sides and ice settling at the bottom. Don't be an idiot, Emis. You can't drink that — it's disgusting. She sighed, and tore her gaze away, tossing the cloth onto the table and tucking her hair behind her ears.
"Hey, Emis." It was Chuck, hesitant in the doorway. "You woke up."
She nodded, the ache in her throat too sore for her to speak. "Jeff said you wanted a drink, right? C'mon."
He led her out of the Infirmary, feet scuffing up the sand and kicking up the dried dirt as he wound through the Village. Unfamiliar, she knocked against hammocks and tripped over odd pairs of shoes.
The kitchen was deserted when they arrived. Chuck dug around for a tin, loosening the faucet with a scrape and letting water drain into the cup. He handed it to Emis, water spilling down the sides and splashing onto the floor. She ignored it, brought the cup to her lips without a second thought.
The water was heaven; it unblocked her throat and soothed the burn. She drank deeply — for a while there was nothing but the sound of her swallowing heavily. She drained it, asked for a refill; finished one, then two, then three cups.
As she drained the last cup, Chuck blew a low whistle. "Not trying to drown yourself, are you?"
She chuckled. "No." She answered, voice hoarse as she set the tin down in the bucket sink. "But that's an idea. I'll keep it in mind."
He grinned wide, "Any chance of a refill?"
"I don't really want to risk internal drowning, just yet." She said, smiling. "I think I'll pass this time."
"Good choice," he said, drying the rinsed cup and stashing it back haphazardly into its shelf. "C'mon," he wiped his hands on his shirt. "Let's go. Lights Up in a half hour."
"Lights Up?" She followed him to the edge of the Village. Sand was kicked around, logs flat on the grass and rolled over, spread out in a ring that circled a huge pile of dead wood, broken logs and snapped twigs scattered into a messy bonfire.
Chuck laughed. "Yeah. It's the best, it's like a party. We welcome the new Greenie, Fry cooks good food. Gally leads a couple fights," he sat down on a slump of mossy wood. "It's the most fun we have for a whole month."
She sat down next to him, dragging her hands over her trousers again. The heat from the scorching sunset was uncomfortable and stuffy. She rolled her sleeves up. "So," she said, "A new Greenie comes up every month?"
He nodded. "Yeah. You come up, Alby gives you the tour, and then you're assigned to a job."
"Right. Everyone does their part."
"Exactly. Like me, I'm a Slopper. Probably the worst job you can get," he laughed dryly. Emis nudged him, sympathetic. She had always felt bad for Chuck. He was just a kid — and a good portion of his childhood had been ripped away from him. From all of us, she thought, because who can remember their own childhood now? "I don't mind, though." He continued, "I get to do mostly kitchen work. It's Mitch who's the unlucky one — he has to clean the toilets." Chuck shuddered, and Emis smiled. He sighed. "I bet my ass you're going to be a Runner, though."
"What? How can you tell that?" Emis shoved his shoulder with her own. "I bet my ass I'll be dumped into Mitch's job. He'll have a field day, I promise you."
"No, I'm serious." Chuck shook his head. "I'm not the only one who saw how fast you were running back there — pretty sure Alby clocked it too. I saw you. You weren't even out of breath."
She didn't answer. He laughed. "You're even faster that Minho. But don't tell him I said that." He added as a second thought. She laughed — at least tried to. She settled on a grin.
"There's that smile again," she glanced up, Newt hovering in front of her. He smiled back, coming to sit at her side. "How you feeling?" His voice was gentle. She glanced away.
"Fine." She lied. She tried to appear unbothered, afraid that he'd see through her. There was a pause.
"That's good." He said finally, eyes raking over her. She watched his gaze linger on her throat, drag up to hover on her lips. She swallowed, and he seemed to snap out of it, clearing his throat. "Uh, you're doing a lot better after the scream." He decided that was the safest option, "I don't know. Maybe it gets easier the more you do it?"
"Yeah, well." She laughed sarcastically, "I'd rather it didn't happen. Ever."
"No, I get it. Well I don't, but —" he cut himself off. "But I think you're bloody amazing. For not going out of your mind, that is." He chuckled dryly, "If I went past a third point, I'd struggle to see if there's an end to it all."
"Thanks. You're helping."
"I'm just saying," he shifted, "You're the strongest person I know. To get through it all without a shred of giving up." His voice sunk into a whisper, too low for Chuck to hear. "I don't think I've ever known anyone like you."
She felt her cheeks warm, tucked her hair behind her ears. "Thanks." She felt awkward, hot under the collar. A complete wuss for not staring him in the face and returning the compliment. Lost for words, she kicked his shin. He snorted, doing the same.
"Eugh, flirting." Chuck said again, breaking into cackles of laughter as Newt reached forwards to shove his head playfully. "Whatever." He said quietly, shooting Emis a sideways glance. She snapped her gaze onto her fraying shoelaces, afraid he'd catch her staring.
"See, Chuck, this is how babies are made." Emis felt a pair of large clammy hands thud onto her shoulders. She glanced up to see Ed grinning down at her. She swallowed, rolling her eyes.
"Look at you two," he quipped, "Already squabbling like a married couple." She rolled her eyes again, which brought about a laugh.
He shifted his gaze to Newt, "Alby says lights're up in five. Come on," he winked at Emis, "You'll like this party trick." He said. Newt stood, bidding farewell to both Chuck and Emis, before following after Ed.
She watched them leave. Newt's limp appeared more prominent than Ed's now, which had almost fully healed. Her eyes narrowed with skepticism, and the familiar longing for knowledge. For something to click in place, and everything to unfold afterwards.
"Hey, Greenbean!" Chuck called out, "Over here!"
Emis followed his gaze, shifting as Greenie looked over his shoulder, hesitant as he approached them. He came to sit next to Chuck, wiping his hands on his trousers and breathing out shakily.
"This is Emis," Chuck said, patting her on the back. Greenie lifted his fingertips in an awkward wave, and she smiled. "She's our only girl." The boy nodded.
"I figured." He said. "You're the one who screamed." He said bluntly. She blinked.
"Well... yeah." She retorted. His cheeks reddened.
"No! Wai — I — I didn't mean it like that." He spluttered, "I just —"
"It's fine." She said, feeling awkward. But there was something else there too. Faint recognition? Or just wishful thinking. He shook his head.
"No, I —" he cut himself off. "When I heard you scream," he began again, "It was like I'd heard it before. Like, I felt something, in, in the back of my head and I thought — well maybe it was a clue?" He trailed off, his brow furrowed. "I don't know, it just —" he hesitated, "I feel like I know you." He finished.
She raised an eyebrow, but before she could reply, Alby's loud voice cut her off.
"Alright everyone, let's slim it right down." He said.
He stood amongst other boys, each held a long stick of splintery wood, that held a spitting flame at the end. The dancing flicks and dips of the fire cast shadows onto their faces, dousing out the pale stars.
She watched as the shadows twisted across Newt's face, noticed how his grin was stark white as the light of the flame bounced off his teeth. She felt excitement drum at the bottom of her stomach — excitement that floated through her and lifted her lips up into a nervous grin.
"Let's light 'em up!" Alby yelled, his voice one of triumphant glee. He flung the branch in his hand forwards into the bonfire, and everyone followed after.
There was an explosion of golden light, the sounds of wind wafting over flames that cracked and hissed over the mound of burning wood clouded her ears. It was almost too bright to look at. The harshness of it made her smile.
Chuck had stood up and disappeared, in search of food, Emis deduced. She soon found it, collecting a plate and piling onto it ribs and potatoes and salad. There was skewered meat, toasted over the fire on a spit. She felt her stomach coil, appetite barely there. Swallowing, she let Frypan dish up. She ignored the food, she'd give it to someone else.
She sat with her back to the log, her full plate next to her. Her head was resting against the rough wood, her gaze had drifted up to the stars. Newt was beside her, the sounds of him chewing his meat were drowned out by the large flames that licked up at the sky. Greenie sat on his other side, gaze fixed, still on the crack in the wall that had disappeared.
The three of them sat in silence. The only sound heard was Newt's consistent chewing. When he finished his last mouthful, he glanced at the other boy. "Hell of a first day, eh, Greenie?" He asked. He shifted, not replying. Newt smiled, then reached down and picked up a jar from the ground beside his leg. It was filled with an oily, bluish liquid that seemed to glance harshly off the dancing firelight. "Here," he said, swallowing again, "Put some hair on your chest." He swilled the jar around in his fingertips, grinning as he took it.
There was a pause, Emis's head rocked forwards, she waited for his response.
And then he sprayed it out with spit, the oily liquid dribbling across the grass and clinging to his lips. He wiped his mouth, gagging. Emis winced, grinning next to him. Newt laughed loudly, his voice slurred with joy.
"Oh my God," said Greenie, "What is that?" His tone was incredulous. Newt laughed again, taking the jar from his hands.
"I don't even know," he grinned, "It's Gally's recipe." He twisted his head, his gaze shifting onto the Builder. "It's a trade secret," he added. Greenie's eyes drifted to the ground.
"Yeah, well." He said, his voice low, "He's still an asshole."
Newt glanced across at him, swallowing. "He saved your life today," he said patiently, "The Maze is a dangerous place." Emis looked away, eyes on her scuffed shoes. Maze. It was a Maze, stretching on forever on the other side of the towering stone walls. That's why she wasn't allowed to leave. They were afraid she'd get lost.
"We're trapped here, aren't we?" Greenie said after a moment, furrowing his brow. Newt paused, exhaling. Then, "For the moment," he shot a look at the pair of them, "But," he shifted in his seat, swivelling to point at Minho, who was sat on a tree stump, his face sullen with stress and sweat. "You see those guys?" He asked, gesturing to the cluster of boys around Minho, "There? By the fire?" He nodded.
"Those are the Runners." He said, "That guy in the middle there, that's Minho. He's the Keeper of the Runners." He shifted back to face them both. "Every morning, when those doors open," said Newt, his eyes wavering across to the wall, "They run the maze, mapping it, memorising it," he put a finger to his temple, still cradling the jar, "Trying to find a way out."
"How long has it taken?" Greenie asked, sitting forwards. Newt glanced at Emis, before replying, "Three years."
Greenie was incredulous, "And they haven't found anything?"
"It's a lot easier said that done," said Newt dryly. He paused. "Listen," he held a finger up. Emis listened.
It scraped at her ears, the sound of stone dragging across stone, walls clicking into place. Her heartbeat jumped. "Hear that?" He looked back to her, "That's the Maze, changing." He sat back, "It changes every night," he said.
"How is that even possible?" The boy sat back too, his eyes wide with skepticism and incredulity. Newt scoffed.
"You can ask the people who put us in here, if you ever meet the bastards." His words were slurred, drink and fatigue gave him a lopsided grin.
Emis didn't laugh.
He cleared his throat. "Listen," he said, "The truth is, the Runners are the only ones who really know what's out there." He shifted, sitting up, his knees knocking forwards. "They are the strongest, and fastest of us all, and it's a good thing too." His gaze fell dark, "Because if they don't make it back before those doors close?" His voice didn't waver, "Then they are stuck out there for the night."
She raised her eyebrows at him, and he looked straight back at the pair of them, his tone foreboding. "And no one ever survives a night in the Maze." He finished. She felt something hollow and unsettling thud at the back of her head. Perhaps it was the realisation that they were trapped there, for as long as it could take. Or the idea of winding her way around the Maze in the blackness of the night. Whatever it was, it made her heart shudder. Her arms were suddenly cold.
"What happens to them?" The other boy whispered, his tone fragile. Newt faced the wall again. He waited a moment.
"Well, we call them Grievers." He said slowly, and Emis sucked in her breath through her teeth, fists clenching.
Newt took another sip of his drink. "Of course," he swallowed, "No one's ever seen a Griever and lived to tell about it." His gaze settled on the crack, unfocused. "But they're out there."
There was an empty pause as she rolled the information over in her head. She could feel her pulse going wildly fast, heart slamming against her chest. Grievers. She thought. Plus that. No wonder people can't go into the Maze.
"Right," he slurred, "Well, that's enough questions for one night." He pushed back on the log, lumbering up, "Come on." Greenie shook his head, and Newt did the same.
"You're supposed to be the guest —" he cut himself off, "Guests of honour!" He stated proudly, tucking a hand under Greenie's elbow.
"Oh, no —" he cut in.
"No!" Newt was adamant. "No, come on. Let me show you around."
Greenie shook his head, letting out a yelp as Newt hoisted him up. He stepped over the bench, dragging Greenie with him. Emis hesitated, before getting up. She followed after them, tripping over a gnarled root. "Watch yourself," he said in a low voice. She snorted at his intoxication.
"Over there we've got the Builders," he said, gesturing to Gally and his friends, the jar still in his hand. He grinned, "They're very good with their hands, but not a lot going on upstairs." He chuckled, stepping backwards and turning to face another boy, who was waving his hands animatedly about something. "And then we've got Winston!" He said loudly, knocking his hands together in an awkward clap. "He's the Keeper of the Slicers. An excellent job if you're a fan o' blood." He grinned. "And then we've got the two Med-Jacks! Clint n' Jeff!" He pointed to the pair, who grinned, dropping a wave.
"Alright, Emis?" Jeff patted her on the shoulder, but Newt carted them off before she could reply. "They spend most of their time bandaging up the Slicers." He snorted.
"What if I want to be a Runner?" Greenie cut in. Newt stopped abruptly. He turned to face him, incredulous. "Have you listened to a word I've just said?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. "No. No one wants to be a Runner. And besides," he added. "You've gotta get chosen."
"Wha — chosen by who?" Greenie was knocked into Emis suddenly, shifting forwards. She stumbled out of the way, her eyebrows raised.
There was a sudden hush around them. He turned to look over his shoulder, swallowing.
"What do you say, eh Greenie?" It was Gally, rolling up his sleeves. "Want to see what you're made of?"
There was a pause, before a low, dull chant had begun to resound, echoing into the sky. "Greenie!" They hummed, beating their chests and stomping their feet. Once Newt and Emis had stepped backwards, the crowd erupted into a playful cheer, which rang through the Glade and bounced off the flames.
Gally held a hand up, and the commotion died down. He had a smile on his face — the wrong kind.
"'Kay, all right." He said, rolling his wrists over in his hands, "Rules are simple, Greenie." He scoffed, "I try to push you out of the circle? You try to last more than five seconds." There was a collected laugh, a few shouts.
"Ready?" He asked. Greenie didn't reply. Then Gally ran, shoving his hands into his shoulders. He stumbled backwards, and Gally reached around him, pressing his hands into his back and pummelling him forwards. Greenie tripped, crashing to ground. His mouth filled with sand and he whipped his head around, glaring.
Gally grinned, "Come on, Greenie," he said, taking a step back, "We're not done yet."
Greenie stood up, his eyes were dark with determination and anger. He hitched his shirt down, "Stop calling me Greenie." He said loudly.
There were a few laughs, and Gally raised his eyebrows. "Stop calling you that?" They'd begun to circle each other, skimming against the edges of the circle. "What d'you want to be called?" He joked, "Shank?"
There were bursts of frivolous agreement, Emis felt anticipation drag through her, and bit down on her lip, crossing her arms. She rolled her eyes, feeling a pang of annoyance. "What do you think boys? Does he look like a Shank?" More yells and laughs.
Greenie ran at him, his eyes blazing. Gally caught him by the arms and swung him around, flinging him back onto the ground again. He rolled across the sand, coming to rock at Emis's feet. She nudged him with her toe, pushing him to get up.
"You know what?" She heard Gally say, "I think I've settled on Shank." There was a cloud of laughter, fists thudding against chests, whoops and yells. Greenie scrambled up, his eyes still harsh, tailing the edge of the circle, before launching himself at Gally.
He was nimble, while Gally was taut, and he used that to an advantage as he was pushed backwards. He flipped around the side of Gally nearest to his head, using the heel of his hand to push him down. He skidded into the sand, landing on his stomach. There were a few laughs, some hisses. It was a surprise, and Greenie seemed to grasp that.
"Not bad for a Greenie, huh —?" Gally cut him off, swinging his legs through his and watching as he fell to the sand. The sound his head made as it hit the ground was loud, painful. A few people, "Oohed," in mocking sympathy. Gally stood up, but Greenie stayed on the ground.
His fingertips twitched in the sand as he pressed his cheek into the rough. His mouth opened, and he was muttering something over and over. "Thomas," She heard him say.
He stood up, yelled the word. "I remember my name!" He said triumphantly, "It's — I'm Thomas!"
There was a registering pause, before Alby lifted his hand and grinned, "Thomas!" He yelled, releasing a bout of whoops and calls from the others, who pushed around him, making him laugh. Frypan pushed to the front, handing him another jar.
"Welcome home, Thomas." He grinned, watching as he took the jar. From her spot at the back, she saw the drink spray back into the air, mingling with the night sky.
The moment was cut off by a loud, empty shriek. Emis felt everything go silent, a ringing through her ears as she stumbled back, crashing into someone. She grit her teeth and groaned loudly, crouching down so that her knees tucked under her chest. She felt a hand on her back, heard someone asking her if she was alright. But they were far too distant for her to reply. She shook her head, tried to rattle the sound out. "Emis!" She heard, "Emis! It's okay, you're okay." The stuffy block in her hearing cleared, and she pried her eyes open. Newt's face swum into view, warm eyes calming as they dulled her panic. "It's okay."
"What the hell was that?" Thomas's voice cut through the silence. His fear was evident in his tone.
"That, my friend," Gally answered, "was a Griever." Emis hissed through her teeth, swatting Newt's hand away and pushing up to stand by herself.
"Don't worry," Gally said, "You're safe here with us." His gaze burned through him, she watched Thomas challenge it with his own. "Nothing gets through those walls." He finished.
"Alright, guys," Alby's voice swam through, "Let's tuck it in for the night."
"You okay?" Newt walked Emis to her hammock.
"I'm fine." Her voice was quiet. "Thanks."
"The Grievers can't get to you — they only stay in the Maze —."
"I said I'm fine, Newt!" She snapped, face burning as she pretended to fix the rope that was tied around the tree. She breathed out at his stiff silence. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He said, not meeting her gaze.
"I just hate this," she finally said. "Hate how sick I feel and how I scare everyone and how weak I seem —"
"You're not weak." He cut back. "I can promise you that." He took a step closer, and she flinched as he reached forwards, as if to tuck her hair behind her ear. But he stopped himself. She swallowed again.
"I'm sorry —."
"Don't be sorry." He silenced her with a whisper. "Never be sorry."
"Okay." She whispered back. There was a pause.
"You —"
"I —" Emis silenced herself, awkward as they cut each other off. Newt chuckled sheepishly.
"You first." She coughed out.
He smiled, "I wanted to say that I have to get going. Run the lights out checks with Alby." His voice was gentle. He didn't break eye contact.
"Okay," She said. "Goodnight, then."
"What were you going to say?" He chuckled.
She sucked in a breath. Damn, I got distracted. "You have dirt on your face, just here —"
"Oh —" he lifted a hand to his cheek, brushed nothing away. She shook her head.
"Here," She said, stepping forwards. She put her thumb in her mouth, wetting it, before stroking it down his nose, wiping the dirt off. His eyes watched her as she did it, and when she stepped back he cleared his throat.
"Thanks." He managed, voice stuck and gravelly. "Appreciate it."
"Anytime."
There was another pause. This time, he fully leaned in to tuck the strand of hair behind her ear.
"It was bothering me." He said, stiff. "Get some sleep." He turned and left without another word.
She released a breath that had stuck in her throat, embarrassed by the burn of her cheeks. As she lay, kicking her boots off, she wondered to herself. Wondered what it meant. What he meant. And why, when he'd come close, a gut feeling wanted him closer.
⁰⁰ ❛ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 . . .☄︎ ⋆࿐໋ ˖
sksjd i did NOT hate that chapter, im ngl. newtemis have my whole heart. hope u enjoyed it, lots of excitement to come!!! when i hit 100 followers (which is so crazy) i'll do a double update bc i love u all so much. ‧⁺◟( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ )
love, 𝒓𝒊𝒓𝒊. *♡・.