ᐤᐤᐤᐤᐤᐤᐤ
"This better be good," Minho said, threat filled his voice, but his eyes showed curiosity.
Newt leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. "Get on with it, Greenie."
"Okay." He handed a knife to Minho and Blake, then pointed at the wax paper. "Start cutting rectangles, about the size of the Maps. Newt and Teresa, you can help me grab the first ten or so Maps from each section box."
"What is this, kiddie craft time?" Minho held up the knife, and stared at it with disgust like a child would with a piece of broccoli. "Why don't you just tell us what the shuck we're doing this for?"
"I'm done explaining," Thomas said, annoyance filling his voice. "It'll be easier to show you. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong, and we can go back to running around the Maze like mice."
Blake turned towards Minho. "He's right, Minho. Let's just get'r done."
Minho signed, obviously frustrated. Blake just shrugged. "Sorry if the rectangles aren't perfect-my head is a bit wack at the moment."
Thomas nodded. "Just try your best."
The knife reminding her of that small memory of that guy. She wasn't sure if it was her father or brother. Both she couldn't remember very well but knew she had. She let the feeling pass focusing on the important task at hand.
"Teresa," Thomas said. "Can you help me a second?" He nodded toward the closet. The two of them disappeared into the dusty little room.
Blake had only cut about six sheets of paper out. She turned her head to see Minho had cut about twenty sheets of paper, making a very messy pile as he threw each new sheet on top.
"Minho!" Blake hissed, causing an oblivious Minho to turn his head toward her. "You're making a mess. At least try to be a bit more organized."
Minho rolled his eyes with a smirk, continuing to cut and make a mess. Teresa and Thomas came back with a handful of maps. Thomas came over and grabbed a few sheets, then he sat down and held one to the light.
Thomas grabbed a marker. "All right, everybody traces the last ten or so days onto a piece of this stuff. Make sure you write the info on top so we can keep track of what's what. When we're done, I think we might see something."
"What-" Minho began.
"Just bloody keep cutting," Newt ordered. "I think I know where he's going with this."
Blake thought she did too.
They got to work, tracing from original Maps to wax paper, one by one, trying to keep their lines as clean and correct as possible while hurrying. Blake was a bit behind but she blamed that on the effects from the Changing; her body still hadn't fully recovered after three days.
Box by box, map after map, they continued on.
"I've had enough," Newt finally said, breaking the worked silence. "My fingers are bloody burning like a mother. See if it's working."
Blake cracked her fingers, then laid her chin on her arms. "Okay, give me the last few days of each section-make piles along with the table, in order from Section One to Section Eight. One here"-Thomas pointed at an end-"to Eight here." He pointed at the other ends.
Silently, they did as he asked-sorted through what they'd traced until eight small stacks of wax paper lined the table.
Thomas picked up one page from each pile, making sure they were all from the same day. He then laid them one on top of the other so that each drawing of the Maze matched around it until he was looking at eight different sections of the Maze at once. Almost magically, like a picture developing, an image came into sight. Teresa let out a small gasp, while Blake covered her mouth to stop hers.
Lines crossed each other, up and down. But certain lines in the middle-lines that happened to appear more often and more visible than any other-made a slightly darker image than the rest. It was small, but it was, without a doubt, there.
Sitting in the very middle of the page was the letter F.
"Wow. Maybe you aren't hopeless, Thomas," Blake shook her head in disbelief.
Minho's mouth was slightly opened. "Man."
"Could be a coincidence," Teresa said. "Do more, quick."
Thomas did, quickly putting together the eight pages of each day. Each time, an obvious letter formed in the center of the checkered board-like lines. After the F was an L, then O, then an A, and T. Then C ... A ... T.
"Look," Thomas said, pointing down the line of stacks they'd formed. "It spells FLOAT and then it spells CAT."
"Float cat?" Newt asked. "Doesn't sound like a bloody rescue code to me."
"We just need to keep working," Thomas said.
A couple of combinations later they found out CAT was really CATCH. FLOAT then CATCH.
"Definitely not a coincidence," Minho said.
"Definitely not," Thomas agreed.
Teresa nodded towards the storage closet. "We need to go through all of them-all those boxes in there."
"Yeah," Thomas nodded in agreement. "Let's get on it."
"We can't help," Minho said.
The four of them stared at him, questionably. He just crossed his arms. "At least not me, Blake, and Thomas. We need to get the Runners out in the Maze."
"What?" Thomas asked. "This is way more important!"
Blake groaned unhappily. "Plus, I think I'll physically die if I do."
"Maybe," Minho answered calmly, "but we can't miss a day out there. Not now."
"Why, Minho? You said the pattern's basically been repeating itself for months-one more day won't mean a thing."
Minho slammed his hand against the table. "That's bullcrap, Thomas! Of all days, this might be the most important to get out there. Something might've changed, something might've opened up. In fact, with the freaking walls not closing anymore, I think we should try your idea-stay out there overnight and do some deeper exploring."
"But what about this code? What about-"
"Tommy," Newt said in a consoling voice. "Minho's right. You three go out and get Runnin'. I'll round up some Gladers we can trust and get workin' on this."
"Me too," Teresa agreed. "I'll stay and help Newt."
Thomas looked at her. "You sure?"
She smiled and folded her arms. "If you're going to decipher a hidden code from a complex set of different mazes, I'm pretty sure you need a girl's brain running the show."
Blake smiled too. "Sure I can't stay, too?"
Minho shook his head. "You wanted to be a Runner, this is your time to prove you're committed. Plus, we need you to be our Griever spray."
"I'm not much of a Griever spray anymore. Gally wouldn't have been dead if I could just keep them away," Blake looked down, grief prickling at her gut.
Newt put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We need you now to do your part. Bug spray or not. You're a Runner, no arguin' about it. Ya begged me long enough for the job—don't make that time wasted."
"Newt's right. Now come on," Minho said.
Blake smiled sadly. "Thanks guys."
"Anytime."
"Yep."
"Before we go. I need to talk to Teresa for a second," Thomas mumbled.
Minho rolled his eyes. "Make it fast."
She walked up the stairs with Minho following behind her. As she opened the closet door, letting the light soar in, Minho started to dig in his pocket for something. He pulled a small notepad out and handed it to her.
"They said you used to draw to escape. I just thought that it might help-"
"I used to draw. After they made me design the Grievers...I don't know if I want to draw again," Blake's eyes moved to something green in the distance. Minho placed his hands on either side of her shoulders.
"More of a reason to draw. Show those stupid Creators that they can't control you anymore," Minho said with confidence.
Blake blinked focusing on Minho's grin, the grin that made her smile. "Do you have a pencil?"
He handed her a small pencil from his pocket. Blake grabbed it quickly, opening the notepad and doodling something. Drawing came naturally as her hand swiftly moved against the page. After a few seconds she was finished and showing Minho the sketch.
His eyebrows lifted. "Is that a fist?"
Blake laughed and nodded as she acted like she was going to punch him. Minho didn't even flinch as her fist came close to his face, instead he laughed too. "You look shucking ridiculous!"
"Minho, half the stuff that come out of your mouth is shucking ridiculous."
+++
They gathered the Runners to organize them for the journey. Everyone seemed ready to go, ready to find a way out. Minho had Blake and Thomas go with him while the other Runners explored the other sections by themselves.
They packed their bags with more stuff than usual; there was no telling how long they would be out there for. It was her first time running as an official runner, and Blake just hoped she wouldn't slow down the boys.
She was stretching her legs with the two of them when a familiar curly haired boy came walking over.
"I'd go with you," Chuck said in a far too joyful voice, "but I don't wanna die a gruesome death."
Thomas laughed. "Thanks for the words of encouragement."
"Be careful," Chuck said, his tone melting into genuine concern. "I wish I could help you guys."
"Just yell at some people for me. I have been too tired to do that," Blake smiled at the boy, trying to take away his worry by joking.
Chuck looked at her and shook his head. "Can't believe your already running."
Blake looked down at the ground. "Me too. Kind of forced to by theses," she paused about to call them 'ding-dongs'. "Theses shanks."
The three boys smiled. "Better be going," Thomas concluded.
"Yeah," Minho responded, while Blake nodded. "Let's go."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh my gosh! Thank you all for the support. I'm trying to think about other fanfics as this one is close to a wrap. I have been making notes of different fanfics I can make, and I already have an idea of what is going to happen in the next book of this series. I have been working on the cover for the next book so that will be out once this is finished. Anyways, thank you so much for the support!
Write suggestions for future fanfics here.