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Blake made her way to the Homestead, then up the stairs with some trouble. Soon she found herself in front of Minho's room. She knocked, preparing for the argument that was soon to come. Minho opens the door in a swing, his face plastered with exhaustion and annoyance.
"What do you want?"
"That's a nice way to greet a guest," Blake rolled her eyes. She pushed her way into the room sitting on the cot bed there. "We're going to figure this out. We have to."
Minho let out an angry noise. "Look I don't want to hear your shucking deceleration of hope."
Blake let her hair down, letting her fingers brush through the brown waves. She noted Minho's gaze following her fingers. "Who's the whiny baby now?"
"Still you. I just need some sleep. Lots of it."
"I need that, a long massage, hot shower, and a pat on the back," Blake yawned.
Minho gave her a stupid grin. "We'll make the Creators do all of that."
"They better." Blake slouched, her thoughts racing. "Thomas is right," she said. "The code. It's our only hope now. You see, Minho. We can't give up just yet."
Minho still wasn't fully convinced, but still nodded probably too tired to argue with her. He leaned back against the wall, his eyes glued to the floor. His lips twisted up slightly in a soft smile. "I like your hair."
Blake blinked, then tried to mimic his stupid grin. "You like it down?"
"I like it up and down," He said looking at her.
"It can be very inconvenient and frizzy on a bad day," Blake mumbled her cheeks heating a bit.
Minho gave her a dirty look. "You really don't know how to take a compliment. Now I need my sleep. Beat it."
She got up and walked up in front of Minho.
"Yeah, yeah. You need to work on your hospitality," Blake said then walked to the door frame. "Sweet dreams."
"Mhm."
+++
The other Runners returned within that hour, but none of them had found anything and they'd eventually given up. Hopeless faces were everywhere, and most of the workers had abandoned their daily jobs.
Blake didn't bother to go and check on the code, although she came to the realization it might be their only hope. She just wasn't in a very jolly mood to help. She slept for a few hours until someone knocked on her door.
There Newt stood. He walked over to her bed, sitting on it and exhaling a large breath. "Did you take a nap?"
"Yeah, any progress on the code?" She asked, sitting next to him.
He shrugged, eyes staring at his hands. "Float, Catch, Bleed, Death, Stiff, and Push. That's the words we found, in that order, but doesn't sound like a bloody rescue code if you ask me."
Blake tried to engrave the words into her head, repeating them like a little song. Float. Catch. Bleed. Death. Stiff. Push. The words didn't sound good, making pinches of hope spill from within her.
Would they be able to figure this code out before the Grievers kill them all?
"You're right. Doesn't sound anything like a rescue code," Blake shook her head. "Doesn't sound good at all."
It was quiet for a long moment. Both were tired and hopeless. "Wish my memories could help more, but they all are useless pieces of..."
"Klunk?"
"Yeah, useless pieces of...klunk."
Newt's eyebrows frowned as he turned his head towards Blake, questions playing across his face. "What do you remember?"
"Not much helpful stuff," Blake explained. "I remember a few people that you wouldn't know. Seen bad things. I know I had a little sister, and a brother named George. Both of my parents are dead. This boy, I was really close with. His name was Ryan, but he died. My life wasn't good, I guess."
"Yeah that doesn't sound buggin' good."
"Nothing sounds good anymore. Does it?"
Newt's lips twisted to what she thought to be a grin. "No, guess you're right there. Hopefully, we start getting some bloody good news any day now."
Blake hoped Newt was right, maybe the code would turn out good, or maybe the Grievers would stop attacking. All they could do was work their butts off and hope for the best.
"I never knew much about the Glade before all this stuff happened, but sometimes I wish it would go back to normal."
"It was repetitive. A stable system of work. But I guess everyone, including myself, was scared of change. We just need to figure this out."
Blake nodded. "You're right."
Suddenly Chuck barged through the door. "Learn to knock," Blake said trying to joke, but it ended up coming out depressing.
"Sorry, forgot," Chuck said, a cheeky grin playing across his pudgy face. His eyes had a tiny of mischief like he was telling a secret. Chuck, then, moved his knuckle to the door and knocked lightly on it. "Better?"
Blake shook her head, rolling her eyes. "What do you need, Chuck?"
"Well, I was going to see if you wanted to eat some of Frypan's gross grub."
Blake let out an exhale. "Why not. Might take my mind off things." She turned to look at Newt. "You wanna come?"
"Not hungry."
"Okay." She stood, following Chuck into the hallway. "Let's go eat."
+++
After Blake finished Frypan's tomato soup and biscuits, she was ready for another night of pure terror. The Builders had boarded up the huge holes left by the Grievers who'd carried off Gally and Adam. She could imagine Hawk making a remark about the job they did, it looked like a bunch of drunken sailors did the job, but Blake just hoped it was solid enough.
Alby, who finally felt good enough to walk around again, had his head heavily bandaged looking like some kind of mummy. He made a plan for everyone to rotate where they slept each night. Blake was in the living room of the Homestead next to Chuck and some other Glader.
She curled herself in layers of blankets, trying to feel a bit of safety. She noticed Chuck was trying to do the same. Blake couldn't force herself to sleep, knowing someone could die at any given moment. Guilt was a weight deep in her stomach that wouldn't go away.
Just as they'd all expected, the mechanical, haunted gurgling sounds of the Grievers outside. Someone was going to die, was all Blake could think about. Gally was right they wouldn't stop till they are all dead.
Everyone crowded together against the wall farthest from the windows, doing their best to be quiet but quick.
I can't let anyone else die, Blake thought.
Blake glued her eyes to the window, legs folded to her chest, chin rested on her bony knee. The tension in the room was obvious. The Gladers were quiet, not a single soul dared to move. A distant squeak of rusty metal against wood echoed through the Homestead; it sounded like a Griever was climbing on the backside of the house, opposite to where they were.
More noises joined in a few seconds later, coming from all directions, the closest right outside their own window. A boom like an explosion of shredding wood and broken glass thundered from somewhere upstairs, shaking the whole house. Blake turned to ice as several screams erupted, followed by the sounds of the pounding of fleeing footsteps of Gladers. Loud creaking and scared groans announced a whole stampede of Gladers running to the first floor.
"It's got, Dave!" Hawk yelled, his voice high-pitched with terror.
No one in the room moved a muscle; Blake was disgusted that each of them were probably feeling relief that at least it wasn't them. That maybe they were alive for another night.
Another terrible crash sounded right outside their door, screams and splinters of wood filled Blake's head. It was like the Grievers were eating the entire stairwell. A few seconds later came another explosion of crushing wood: the front door.
The Griever had come right through the house.
Suddenly, Thomas jumped up and ran to the door of the room, yanking it open. Although, Blake was stunned she followed, screaming Thomas's name at the top of her lungs. She followed him down the hall, jumping over hundreds of splintered pieces of wood, some scraping her arms. The front door was now a huge uneven hole leading out into the gray night sky.
Every air shot from her lungs as she realized that Thomas was heading right towards the Griever.