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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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021.
NORTH, WEST, EAST, SOUTH.
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━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━
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The doors weren't closing.
Why the hell weren't the doors closing?
In the years she had been in the glade, Kennedy had never seen — nor, had she heard of — the doors not closing. That was what happened every night; they closed for a long twelve hours, and then they reopened every morning. It was like clockwork.
Those doors were the only thing that stopped the grievers from getting to them. With those doors shut, nothing had the ability to hurt them from within the maze. The gladers were safest with the doors shut but now they weren't shutting. In fact, they weren't doing anything at all; nothing was happening. While the sun had already set beyond the walls, the doors were still wide open and completely unmoving. Never had this happened before, and as their group of teenagers rushed towards the doors and stared into the maze, they had no idea what to do about it. Alby would have known what the best thing to do was, the best course of action. He would have told them, lead them, saved them. But, Kennedy wasn't Alby. The boys were his boys, even if they were technically now hers. He had been their leader — Alby was Alby. He had been Kennedy's leader, too.
Kennedy wasn't Alby.
She gnawed at her bottom lip. She was hoping the doors would suddenly defy all odds and close.
They weren't so lucky. It actually appeared the harder Kennedy stared, the longer that they stood by the doors, the wider they got. That wasn't possible, of course, although she hadn't thought them staying open was possible, either. Lately, the impossible had been a quickly shortening list of potential outcomes.
As they stood, Kennedy could feel Gally's stare boring into the side of her head. His eyes were intense and dark, and she knew he wanted to say a word or two. She knew what the words were, too.
It was as though they were her own thoughts. Kennedy heard as each idea sprang to his mind, racing around like motorcars, and if it hadn't been such a serious moment, she knew Gally would have jumped at the chance to blame Thomas — and likely Teresa, now she had arrived — for everything that was happening. Or, more so, everything going wrong. As far as he was concerned, Thomas had been the root of all problems. He was the pits of hell, the almighty demon himself, and things simply kept getting worse. Every day he was around, it was always seeming to get worse. And, maybe it was. Maybe he was right.
Perhaps Gally was right and Kennedy was naive. Maybe she had been kidding herself this entire time. Maybe this was down to him; maybe it was down to Thomas, and maybe Kennedy had just been choosing not to see it that way, because it did look like Thomas' fault.
Right now, it seemed too convenient not to have been.
But Kennedy couldn't see how one teenage boy could have been the cause of all this hysteria. He had done nothing differently to the rest of them, had he? Thomas came up in that box just as the rest of them had, and yes— he had broken his fair share of rules, but it shouldn't have had any effect on the maze; many of their past boys had broken rules before but the maze had still closed. The doors to the maze had always shut. It wasn't as though Thomas was holding them open.
How could one boy be the reason for all of this? All of this mess? All of the chaos that had occurred since his arrival, how could that have all been because of him?
It didn't make sense.
Then again, what did make sense?
Nothing. Nothing, at all.
Nothing made sense, anymore. Nothing about the maze, or their safe haven of the glade, or their darkest nightmares. Nothing made sense; rules, order, unity, trust. All of that? It was long gone. And all it left behind was a terrified group of kids with no idea where to go from there, no idea how they could possible carry on. Could they?
Kennedy wasn't sure what to do. Not yet, at least. The skies were getting darker and the sun had long since set, and gladers around them were panicking. She was beginning to panic too, but she was trying her best to hide it. If she let herself show fear, then the rest of the glade would spiral. That didn't mean she wasn't afraid. She was damn terrified! Kennedy wanted to run back, and get Alby; tell him to pull himself together, and play the leader. She wanted him; she wanted him to tell her what to do, how to fix this. Those doors had been a safety net, they were the reason she slept at night. That was what she had been told — the doors kept them safe enough to sleep, because nothing could get them. She was safe in the glade. Alby had told her that on her first day and right now, she wanted him to eat his words. What shuckin' good were they, now?
It wasn't his fault.
Kennedy wished it was, though. She wanted to blame him. That it was his fault these kids waited on her.
The reason they were staring was his fault.
They were staring, waiting for instruction, for solace, for anything she could give them, and that was Alby's fault. Because he was the one who went into maze and got stung, and now they were waiting for Kennedy to be the leader that he believed she could be.
She knew she couldn't put that on him; Alby hadn't asked to get get stung, but she wished she could blame him. Because, as they all stared at her, Kennedy suddenly wished it was her who had gone in the maze with Minho, and been stung by a griever. Because, while she knew that was a foul thing to wish for, Kennedy was positive she would have preferred the pain. Anything had to be better than this.
"Ken."
"Hm—?" Kennedy flinched.
"We need a plan," Newt said, a hand on her elbow. He looked sympathetic, understanding for the pressure she felt. "A good one.
And fast."
"I'm free to suggestions, Newt!" Her words were snippy, but he seemed not to find force within them. He knew she was panicked; it didn't mean she didn't feel bad, however. "Sorry..." she breathed out, glancing at Chuck as she rubbed her brow. The kid looked the spit of how she imagined she did, too: scared.
"Don't crack on us now, lil' she-bean." Minho said.
"I'm just... I'm trying to think," she croaked out. "I'm trying."
"Hey, hey—" Thomas stepped closer, placing a palm against her lower back. "We know you are, okay? And, we know you got this."
She glanced up at him with pursed lips, wide eyes, and for a split second, Thomas could hear her begging for help. For something to give, for someone to lend her a hand, but her eyes swiftly moved to Chuck. Kennedy seemed to click, and her trembling chin steadied; she stepped away from Thomas and grabbed Chuck's hand, giving it a squeeze, her demeanour much braver than it had been, before. Thomas knew she was doing it to make the kid feel better, and that was all a facade. But, he deemed it fit to do the same. Chuck was a kid — if they looked scared, then he was bound to feel the same, he probably felt worse. How was that fair?
"It's gonna be fine, Chuckie. Ya hear?" Kennedy gave him what she hoped was a stern expression, though she was sure she had lost control of her face, at this point. He nodded.
Must've been convincing.
Didn't feel it.
"Good that," she sighed.
"We still have time," Newt added. He looked at Kennedy and at Minho, then to Gally, who had been there, the longest. The doors had yet to shut, but that didn't mean the grievers would be here, for a short while at least. "Let's get sorted. We need to find the boys as many safe spots as we can. We should start with the homestead and the deadheads. We—"
Before he could finish, a loud screeching sound echoed through the glade. It was a low grumble, one that shook the ground, and it was louder than any griever. Kennedy stumbled into Thomas with her hand covering her ears, although she quickly tugged Chuck to her chest and covered his, instead. She looked up and paled.
Kennedy could feel the warmth leave her skin.
The west doors were open.
She didn't even know that the west doors could open; they hadn't opened before. Her gaze met Newt's, both staring in horror, but he had no time to say what was going to pass his lips when another low grinding sound caused them to flinch, and fling themselves around to watch as the east doors slowly trudged apart and shook the trees in the deadheads. Kids came running by, yelling that they opened, and then the cycle repeated once more as the south doors pulled at each other in a game of tug of war, before finally splitting apart in the very middle. Kennedy slowly spun in a circle, unable to believe her eyes. What the hell? She could hardly gather her thoughts— that had never happened, and she couldn't help but wonder what would come of it. Although, she didn't really have to think. Not when that familiar click, click, whir! sounded from deep within the walls. Really, she knew what was coming. And, by the looks on everyone's face, she wasn't the only one.
They all knew.
"Kennedy?" Thomas asked, "What do we do?"
"I—" she stumbled on her words.
She couldn't think. What did they do? This hadn't happened, so they had no procedure for it. Kennedy was clueless. But, when she turned to look at the growing group around her, she realised that it didn't matter. Procedure or not, they had to do something.
They were waiting on her to come up with a plan, because they were her boys.
"Chuck, go to the hall — start barricading the doors." She was suddenly jumping into action and saying orders, giving him a light push as he nodded his head. "Winston, you go with him. Quickly."
"Got it!"
The two scurried off, wasting no time.
"Get the others," Gally grabbed one of his builders by the arm and pointed in his face. The boy listened carefully, "Tell em' to go to the deadheads. Go hide, now!"
"Okay," Kennedy breathed out, nodding at Gally. He returned it and went to gather as many kids as he could. She turned to look at those left by her side. "Minho— you're with me. We gotta go grab every weapon we can find, from the map room." Kennedy pointed to Newt, "Gonna need all the hands we can get, shank. Ya down?"
"'Course," he nodded.
"We'll go as fast as we can," Kennedy told Thomas. "Meet us at the hall, alright? You and Teresa find Jeff and Clint; you get Alby."
"On it," Thomas agreed with her.
Kennedy went to tell the rest of the boys where to head, but she was cut off by that click, click, whir! She froze, staring into the depth of darkness laying beyond the maze doors. It was closer, that time; an awful lot closer. It was so close that she was sure she could feel a metallic chill run down her spine, sending goosebumps across her skin, much like the first time she had ever heard the noise, and that moment solidified it, for Kennedy — that was a noise she was sure she would hear in every nightmare, for the rest of her life. Because up close, it was worse; so much worse. It was haunting when it was in reaching distance, so close she could almost grab it.
"Everybody hide!"
Thomas' yell almost went unheard, her eyes too focused on the maze as a griever rounded the corner. They were larger than they had recalled and she wondered whether Minho felt the same. She would have asked, had the boy not grabbed her shirt, and yanked her into a run.
"Move your ass, Ken!"
"C'mon!"
"Go, go, go!"
She nodded and tripped, finding her footing.
Kennedy bolted into action and raced alongside Minho, Newt in tow. Frypan was close behind, having followed after them hoping it would give them a hand.
They piled into the map room in a chorus of pants, all shooting into every corner and grabbing whatever weapons they could find.
She had never realised how many weapons they kept in there. It had been Alby's decision. No one was allowed in the map room if they weren't runners, and he had felt it right to keep most weapons in a safe spot that wasn't open for any glader to snatch.
Kennedy hadn't questioned it. And right now, she was glad. The amount knifes was astounding and she could feel Frypan's shock as he stared at all the weaponry, amazed at what he had never seen in his long time in the glade. Most kids hadn't seen the map room. As per the rules, Newt, Minho and Kennedy had seen it. They had all been runners together, once upon a time.
It wasn't time to reminisce.
"Concentrate, Fry!" She clicked her fingers as she passed him, her hands pulling drawers and rummaging boxes.
He nodded and picked up all the knifes he could, earning him a pat on the back from Newt. Kennedy grabbed a spear that Minho thrust towards her, tucking it under her arm as she threw a knife in the belt loop of her jeans. She pocketed three more, one in her left pocket and one in each boot, planning to grab another before they found themselves snapping their heads towards the door. Suddenly everything had gotten louder: screams, the sounds of grievers, yells for help and cries in the deep night.
They all shared looks, frozen still, then burst into action. Minho was the first to make a run for it, and Newt and Kennedy followed with Frypan close by. The four sprinted out of the map room, and towards homestead. They had said they would meet Thomas there as soon as they possibly could, and they were all thoroughly aware that soon only held meaning if you stuck by it. Soon couldn't come quick enough, either. Not when kids were being picked off left and right, right before their very eyes. Kennedy could hardly tell who the unlucky ones were through the darkness, but she felt the guilt build in her chest and ready itself to burst. She wanted to cry, scream. A voice in her head told her it wasn't her fault... but, why did she feel like it was?
"Get behind me!"
Thomas.
Kennedy ran faster as they neared the village, pumping her legs and arms at a speed she hadn't met since being a runner. Her hips would hurt tomorrow, when the adrenaline wore off.
It didn't seem to matter, however, when she spotted Thomas; he was holding out a knife, threatening a griever to come at him, with a group that included Teresa, Alby and Jeff lingering behind. With wide eyes, Kennedy picked up her pace and darted towards them, just as the griever was ready to pounce at Thomas and take him in their grip. She screamed, launching her body foreword; "Tommy!"
She collided with him, hitting the ground.
They rolled, skidding across the dirt just as Minho threw his free spear and impaled the griever's side.
It shrieked, failing around, and Kennedy watched in horror. She was tugged off the ground by Thomas, whom had stumbled to his feet with the help of Teresa, and he grabbed Kennedy's hand with a very tight grasp.
"Thanks!" He yelled.
"I gotcha, greenie!" Kennedy replied.
"Let's go!"
"C'mon!"
"Chuck! Get the doors!"
Thomas pulled her to the council hall and soon Minho grabbed her other hand. The two boys hauled her with them, forcing her in the hall and into Newt's grasp as they turned back to help Jeff and Teresa with Alby. Kennedy held onto Newt tightly as the doors got slammed closed, just in time to shut the griever outside.
As soon as she saw Chuck, she grabbed him. They watched the barricades be put up against the door, blocking the griever so it got stuck on the opposing side. The air was tense while they waited, all fearing the worst. There was a few bangs and clatters as it tried it's best to get in, everyone flinching back, growing uneasy when whirs got quieter and quieter. So quiet, that they wondered if it had gone away and back into the night. But before anyone could so much as blink, the pincer crashed through the roof and grabbed the beams that supported it, swiping the wood and sending the building down on top of everyone inside.
Kennedy grunted and she was forced to the floor by a large part of roofing. Her head bounced against the dirt and she groaned out in pain, vision momentarily blurry. A dulcet tone rang through her ears, and she blinked and shook her head in attempts to rid herself of the noise. Slowly, the ringing began to fade and it was replaced; grumbles and groans of other gladers, all pushing themselves from the rubble and stacks of woods. She heard her name.
"Kennedy?"
"I— I'm here!" She called, coughing as dust filled her lungs.
She wiggled from beneath the wood, sliding out with shaky arms and sore knees, and the weight was lifted from away her legs. Newt and Thomas stood above her, pushing the debris out of her way. It didn't take long for them to move it all and haul her up. "Thanks."
"Is everyone alright?" Newt asked.
Feeling Thomas's gaze on her, Kennedy nodded and brushed off the dust from her clothing and out of her hair.
"Help!"
"Grab him!"
She shot around, screaming as she spotted Charlie being pulled from the debris. Kennedy flew forwards and tried to grab his hand alongside Thomas, Newt and Minho but they weren't fast enough.
"Get away from there!"
"Move!"
"It's coming, over north side!"
They spun, staring at the north wall as metal thumped against it with one clunk! then two clunks!
Soon, the pincers crashed through the wall and flailed around in hopes of grabbing whatever glader they could. Everyone dove out the way, moving rapidly to the other side of the hall and dodging a majority of the debris, but Kennedy's eyes fell upon the one glader who was too slow to move before the back of his shirt was grabbed by the griever.
"Chuck!"
Kennedy scrambled over the debris and grabbed his hand just as he screamed, his body flying through the air. Teresa grabbed ahold of his other hand, swiftly.
"Help!" He screamed, "Kennedy!"
Thomas grabbed his elbow and Minho looped his arms around her waist, Newt doing the same to Teresa. A chain soon formed in a line of gladers, all yelling profanities as they fought the griever in vicious hopes of getting Chuck away from it.
"Chuck, don't let go!" Thomas told the younger boy.
"No shit!" Chuck shrieked.
"I got you!" Kennedy promised over all the noise. She clung to his sweaty hand tighter, "I got you! I'm not letting you go, Chuck!"
"Don't let him go!"
"Pull!"
"Harder!"
Suddenly, Alby was screaming in a craze.
As the griever was about to sting Chuck, Alby swung a piece of wood above his head and brought it down, striking the griever. His force knocked the sting off the griever completely, sending the can across the room. Alby kept striking the metal pincers while the rest of them heaved Chuck to and throw, screaming and shouting, grip tight. They then felt weightless, and their bodies were falling like it were a line of dominos, collapsing on top of each other as the boy came crashing down with a thump! Kennedy hardly caught him but she managed to grab him into her arms, ignoring the newest pains in her tailbone when she fell. She began to fuss, pushing back hairs from his face and checking him for injuries; he looked spooked but otherwise, he was fine.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Chuck nodded at her. "Thanks, Alby."
"Don't play with that," Kennedy scolded when he lifted up the griever sting.
"Alby!"
His name falling from Thomas' lips caught her attention, and it was soon the only thing she could hear as she watched Alby fly up into the air, holding onto Thomas' hand, then disappear for good.
"Alby!" Kennedy screamed, stumbling to her feet. She let out an anguished cry and pushed past Jeff and Winston, forcing her body to the closest form of exit. Ignoring their cries for her to go back if she wanted to live, the girl raced out of the council hall and out to the open plane of the glade. Kennedy fell to a stop; they were gone. It was empty, the grievers gone and with them half the kids. With the grievers had gone Alby. Alby. A sob ripped through her chest and it echoed through the night, "Alby! No—!"
Thomas grabbed her as she collapsed, lowering her to the floor, but she hardly registered him. All she could feel was the pain deep within her heart, the agony of losing so many kids, the grief when losing one of Alby; her leader; her friend. He was gone. Completely gone, forever. Kennedy gagged on her sobs and cries.
"Alby..." she whined, a numbness washing over her body.
No one responded.
He was gone.
Kennedy couldn't breathe.
"Gally," at some point, Thomas had gotten up. He watched the silhouette turn into a person, "Gally—"
Gally cut him off by throwing a fist into his face, sending him to the ground in a heap of limbs. Thomas groaned, the noise pulling Kennedy to reality. She panicked, "Gally, no!"
She tugged herself up on shaky legs as the boys pulled him back, away from Thomas as to prevent any further damage. Two sets of shoulders found themselves under her arms, and Kennedy gripped onto Jeff and Clint like a lifeline.
"He's one of them!" Gally insisted.
"One of who?"
"He's on of 'em! And they sent him here, to destroy everything! And, now he has!" Gally yelled, batting away all of the hands that tried to hold him a safe distance away. He carried on, "He has! He destroyed everything! Look around, Thomas! Look around! This is your fault— all of it! They sent him here, and now he's destroyed everything we built! He was sent here to ruin us! Alby saw! He saw him! They sent him here!"
"Back up!"
"This isn't Thomas' fault!"
"Thomas!"
Kennedy chilled at Teresa's voice, turning to see the boy plunge the griever sting into his thigh. She yelled out for him, and left Jeff and Clint's embrace, rushing over and falling to her knees a metre away. She crawled over to his writhing body and grabbed him, her hands shaky but gentle. "Thomas! Tom— d'ya hear me?"
He gurgled, and she cursed.
"Jeff, get the other syringe!" Kennedy instructed, trying to push her panic aside and be the medjack she had been allocated. Clint took her left as Jeff raced to the medjack hut, and he tried to steer everyone away as to give them space. She placed a hand on either of Thomas' cheeks, and carefully tried to hush and soothe him as he jolted and trembled. Kennedy gently pushed his hair back to no longer stick against his slick forehead, "Hey, Tommy— sh, hey— I got you. Okay?" Her thumb wiped the stray tears from his cheeks, her voice thick and cracking with concern. "You're gonna be okay, Tom. You're gonna be okay. I promise you."
"Hey— it's okay."
Hey— it's okay.
It's okay— we're fifteen.
Can you remember?
She gulped.
"It's gonna be okay, Thomas."
Can you remember?
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