"Nice to see you too, Tom." I dust off my top, then eye Thomas. A shaky feeling comes over me, like my body was still in disbelief. Running the closing doors of the Maze had been an impulse. Not at all something I thought I'd be doing ten minutes ago. But I did it, and all because of the boy that stood in front of me.
"I told you about the grievers. The chances are slim that anyone lasts a night out here. You should've stayed in the Glade." Thomas let his worried eyes settle on my figure. I notice his hand clenching his leg.
"You said yourself that you'd survived a night in the Maze. And shuck the grievers, you weren't going to make it through. Besides, you said you'd protect me, so I figured I can do the same." Even as the words slipped out my mouth, I was terrified. I prayed no griever would find us tonight, that we'd make it out alright tomorrow morning. But it sounded that the odds of that happening were low. Thomas slides down the wall, then sat there in the dirt, his back against the stony surface. I did the same.
Thomas reaches out his hand, touching my arm gently, fidgeting with the bandage. "With what? Any of the weapons are back in the Glade. You've basically killed yourself coming in here with me."
I pull a blade from my belt. It was one of the one's from the Blood House. I had tucked it away after I failed my attempt of becoming a Slicer. I guess I'd forgotten to give it back, or maybe I just thought I'd borrow it. Just in case. I glance back at Thomas' leg, pointing to his injury with my knife. "What happened? Why didn't Minho slow down to help you?"
"I cut my leg while looking at something. Minho was already too far ahead to know. I'd lagged behind after he'd told me to leave it alone, that we were killing time. He said we had to keep moving." Thomas peers at his wound, then back at me.
"What was it? The thing you stopped to look at?" I question as he let me tend to his leg.
"A griever. The one I'd killed when I was with Minho and Alby weeks back."
I tear off a piece of my shirt for a bandage, a bit of my stomach now exposed. Thomas and I share a silence as I do my best to wrap his wound. I felt his eyes trail on my face, and look up, catching his stare.
"Sorry," he says, his eyes still studying me. Thomas had a dazed expression, as if he were blown away, or in a trance. Though, I wasn't sure what for. I wasn't anything special. The moon beamed on his face, illuminating the sweat and grime that covered his brow from the hard work of the day. His brown eyes seemed to glow. I felt like I was lead in some sort of fantasy-romance, sitting here in the Maze with Thomas. I probably sound insane, absolutely cringe-worthy. But I'm being honest. So of course, I had to ruin it.
"We should probably look around, get moving. I don't want to just sit and wait for a griever to find us." As soon as I finished with Thomas' "bandage", I stood up.
Thomas nods, his hand awkwardly going to his neck. "Probably best."
We walk for a couple hours, hearing grievers's shrieks every once and awhile. We make small talk, but I resist telling him about Gally. I still didn't understand what was going on with that boy: him bullying me, basically offering me a job as a builder, apologizing to Hank, and then whatever he was trying to say to me just moments ago. Whatever his issue, I knew he'd probably never let it step into the light. Being vulnerable wasn't exactly Gally's strong suit.
After awhile, Thomas suggests we go check out his trophy, the dead griever. But just as we neared the corner, us nearly there, I hear the hellish sound. Grievers. They were close. Thomas and I look at each other for a moment before another shriek fills the dank passages. "Run," Thomas mouths. The griever steps into the passage as soon as we begin to pick up speed. I look behind me only a second, seeing the huge mech-spider beast. Its appearance only drives me to run faster. I don't wish to die today, it just my second day in the Glade. "Here! Quick!" Thomas makes a sharp turn, causing the unprepared griever to slam against the stone wall behind us, giving us just enough time. Thomas boosts me up, me then clenching the vines of ivy, as if they were woven ropes. Thomas is right behind me as we cling to vines, climbing up the wall as fast as we can force ourselves to. My arm starts to throb, the stamina I'm forcing onto it almost too much for it to handle as I pull myself higher up the vine. I wonder how Thomas' leg is doing. I push myself on, as I can't risk plummeting to the concrete at the height we now hung from. Especially with a griever not far behind, waiting to kill us. I was scared out of my mind.
We reach a ledge, and I pull myself up. Thomas is just about to follow when the griever swings one of its legs, it now on the wall climbing after us. "Thomas!" I scream, thinking this is it, he's being knocked into oblivion. I pull out my blade, ready. But Thomas kicks with all his strength, deflecting the blow, no knife needed. With one swift motion, I pull him up next to me.
"Thanks. Now keep moving!" We race across the tops of the walls, twisting and turning, trying to lose the griever. But the ugly creature always seems to be at our heels, even when we think we've lost him. It's fast, not wanting to give up. "We're going to have to kill it if we plan on surviving the night! The shuckface doesn't give up!" Thomas yells.
He's right. We will eventually run out of energy. The griever though, will pursue us til its end. "What's the plan?"
Thomas took a bit to respond, him trying to not lose his pace. He looked ahead. Then his face lit up, an idea coming to him. "Trust me, ok?" I nod, us now sprinting as the griever neared. "We have to jump."
Jump? My stomach dropped. I focused on the path ahead. In a few meters, it would cut off. The wall beyond was several strides away. Like several meters. We wouldn't make it. There's no way. But I guess I trusted Thomas. Sure, I'd only known him a couple days, but he was amiable. And not to mention freaking hot. He was one of the first friends I'd made in the Glade. I trust him, right? Well one things for sure, I'd rather spend my last seconds trusting him than gasping for air as one of the griever's legs skewers my body.
Thomas and I begin nearing the end of the path. "Alright, on three!" We join hands. "One, two, three!" We jump. I brace myself for the impact, but it never comes. I hear the griever, giving one last wail as it falls. I open my eyes, feeling Thomas gripping my hand tighter. I watched as the griever plummeted a hundred feet off the ledge, its figure splatting against the concrete. Then I turn to see Thomas holding on to both of us for dear life, one hand on the ledge and the other in mine. He groans, feeling both of our weight. "I'm going to have to swing you. I can't pull us both up. And there's no ivy for another few yards." I nod, him then starting to swing my body back and forth. I grab onto the ledge as soon as I'm close enough to reach. I pull myself up, then help Thomas to his feet too.
He draws me into a hug once we both climb down the ivy, off the walls. "We did it."
I smile, enjoying our embrace. It reminded me of when he'd given me the tour. When he'd promised he would protect me. Tonight he'd proven he had meant that. The griever was gone now, and I was safe. I had Thomas to thank for that. "Thanks to you, Tom."
We make our way back to the first dead griever. It seemed to be half way outside and half way inside the walls, its legs still in view. Thomas and I decide to pull the corpse out, which took awhile because it was just the two of us and we'd nearly just used all our stamina for the day. But, we manage. As the carcass finally gave way, we stumble backward. After steadying ourselves, I walk over seeing some sort of organ detached from the remains. Thomas picks it up. I try not to cringe, then offering my knife. Denying it, he removes an outer layer, revealing a mechanism of some kind. "What the heck..."
"What is that?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowing.
"I'm not sure. But I'm sure Minho and Newt will know what to do with it." Thomas tucks the device under his arm.
We station ourselves for the rest of the night, alternating taking the watch as the other sleeps. I insist on taking the first watch, but it's cut short as I start dozing off. My dreams are filled with the sounds of grievers and the scent of charred wood from a bonfire: an echo of the last hours of my second day in this queer place.
Thomas shakes me awake, the doors clearly opening as the obnoxious noise reaches my ears. I get up sleepily, Thomas leading me through the passages before we reach the doors. As we step into the opening, I see the crowd of boys standing there, waiting for us. A roar of applause and shouts of relief encompass us as we join them. "I thought you were dead," Chuck welcomes me into a hug.
I laugh, "You thought wrong."
Newt claps me on the back, "You're in trouble ya know that, greenie?" The thought never even occurred to me, but he was right. I had broken a rule. Never go outside the Glade. Yeah, I'd definitely butchered that one. Much unlike my experience in the Blood House yesterday. I didn't have the excuse like Minho and Thomas did. I wasn't a runner. I wasn't anything. My job had yet to be selected. "Regardless, glad to see ya in one piece, Florrie. We were all bloody worried."
"Thank you, Newt. Thomas and I are alright. Had rough night, but we made it."
"Good thing Tommy had you with him," Newt winked. I blushed.
"Newt, I think it's time we call a meeting." Gally boomed behind me, almost making me jump. He gazed at me for a quick second before storming off. "I'll be in the homestead." I watched as Gally left, him calling people to follow after him.
Newt shook his head. "We better go. He won't stop until he get's his way. Stubborn, that bloody shank."
***meanwhile, at the meeting***
"We found it inside a griever." Thomas motioned to the device that now lay in Minho's hands.
"That's the same label as our supplies," Newt points to the logo on the cylinder. Minho passes it over to him. Newt turned the gadget in his palms. I looked over his shoulder. The letters on the logo read: W. C. K. D.
"Yeah." Thomas spoke again, "Whatever shank put us here obviously made the grievers. It's a clue. The first real clue-- anything, you've found since you've been here, right Minho?" Minho nodded. "Newt, we have to go back out there, in the Maze. Who knows where this might lead us? This could be it."
Newt glanced at the cylinder and then at Thomas, his face indicating he was pondering the idea. My mind wandered to a similar place. Could this mean a way out? I hadn't been here long, and Thomas only a few weeks. But some of the gladers had been here for years. This device had to spark some sense of hope inside them.
"You see what he's trying to do right?" Gally stepped forward. "First the shank breaks our rules, then a month later he drags this shank to follow in his footsteps," Gally motions to me.
"He didn't drag me into anything I freely--," I try to call out, but my defense is drowned out in Gally's words.
"Then they try to convince us to abandon the rules. The rules are there for a reason. They're the only thing that have ever held us together. Why are we now questioning that? Alby would agree with me if he wasn't feeling hell right now because of the Maze and its jacked grievers." Gally paused. "I think it's obvious what we should do. We've been through this before. The greenie's broken the rules. Taking after her boyfriend Thomas here. These shanks need to be punished."
Newt looks at Thomas and at me. He hands Minho the device. "You're right. Florence broke the rules. One night in the pit and no food."
"What about Thomas? He did--," Gally started.
"He did nothing wrong this time, and he's already served his time last month. Thomas didn't drag Florence into anything. Florence acted on her on free will because Tommy was injured. Florrie, you're lucky its just one night. Consider that itself a thank you for helping another glader."
"Thank you?! She doesn't deserves shuck. She broke the rules!" Gally jumped up, furious.
"Gally, Thomas could've died. Besides, she's being punished." Newt tried to offer reason, but Gally wasn't taking it.
"One night in the pit, you think that's going to stop her?"
"I'm not sure," Newt admitted. "But we can't just have non runners going into the maze whenever they feel like it. So, Florence if you wish to be a runner, the job's yours. Otherwise, you're going to have to swear not to just go running for the doors on your own terms, no matter the circumstance."
I had never really thought about what job I'd take up, which group of gladers I'd call my comrades. Yesterday had been insightful, I'd learned what did and didn't work in my favor. For the ones that did, I then had three options: builder, med-jack, and I guess now, runner. I thought about it for a few seconds before I decided, "I think I'd like to be a med-jack. I mean, if they'll have me." I look to Clint and Jeff, remembering yesterday's performance.
Clint stepped in, "Never mind yesterdays demo. Maybe it was the just the distractions of the day. Everyone has things on their mind. You're welcome to the team, Florrie!"
"Okay then. Florence, starting tomorrow, as soon as you serve your time, you're a med-jack. Clint will be sure to keep an eye on you, so hopefully no more antics. Swear that you'll follow the rules from here on out?"
"I swear," I look to Newt, truly meaning it.
"Wow," Gally got up shaking his head. "Swearing doesn't do shuck." He stops at the door. "And someone get the girl a shucking shirt!" Gally glanced at me, seeing my ripped blouse. My cheeks flush a little, becoming embarrassed all of a sudden. I wrap one arm around my exposed stomach. Frypan tries to calm Gally down, but his efforts are pointless. "Nah, Fry." Gally slams the door behind him. I watched Minho lead Thomas out too, something about the map room and discussing the mech cylinder we'd found.
"Come on, greenie." Newt guided me out of the homestead, but before we even made it to the pit, the box alarm went off. Confused gladers rushed to the opening. "What in bloody--," Newt questioned. I then realized what all the commotion was for: The box wasn't supposed to be coming up. It wasn't due for another month. Something must be wrong.