⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆
Blake stumbled backward as the world slapped her in the face once again. Every Gladers' eyes were glued on a pair of Creators' eyes. The air stilled with silence, it felt like a vacuum sucked the life out of it. Blake watched wordlessly, her face deadpan, fist tightened, nails digging her palm like a shovel in the dirt. She felt like an animal being watched by children. Sad children.
Each of the people behind the glass wore black coats over white shirts. Their faces carried an expression so lifeless it ran goosebumps down her scratch arms. Blake wondered if the Creators were disappointed by them. It was stupid of Blake to care, but all the less, she did. What would they do to them then? Kill them? Torture them? Make them forget everything and start over?
"Who are those people?" Chuck whispered, but his voice echoed, causing everyone to hear.
"The Creators," Minho said; then he spat on the floor. "I'm gonna break your faces!" he screamed, his voice increased by the echo caused Blake jump.
"What do we do?" Thomas asked, looking around. "What are they waiting on?"
"They've probably revved the Grievers back up," Newt said. "They're probably coming right—"
A loud, ear ringing beeping sound cut him off. Despite the night Blake had been through, she stood taller, pushing loose pieces of hair behind her ears. This echoing noise was better than the screams and cries of the lost Gladers...
"What now?" Chuck asked, a slight quiver in his voice.
Everyone looked at Thomas; he only shrugged in answer. Blake turned her attention back to the door, noticing one of the doors was swinging open toward them. Chuck's question then echoed around her head as she asked the same thing to herself.
What now?
The beeping stopped, a deadly silence filled the chamber. Blake's breathing stilled, no one moved.
Instead, two people walked into the room. One was a woman. Her hair thin and straight fell to her shoulders in a sweep of brown. Her dark eyes narrow in precision. Her plain outfit was pressed and suited for her, a combination of black pants and a white button-up shirt with the word wicked spelled across the breast pocket. She was stiff. No smile nor frown.
The women were very familiar. Blake knew her, but she was unsure of how. She couldn't recall her name or what she did to contribute to the Maze. Frustration crept in as she tried to piece together who the women were.
Another person stood next to her, a boy in an oversized baggy black sweatshirt, its large hood pulled up over his head, shadowing over his face making it impossible to tell who he is.
"Welcome back," the woman finally said. "Over two years, and so few dead. Amazing."
Blake was distraught by the sentence, her face twisting with anger.
"Excuse me?" Newt asked.
Her eyes scanned the crowd before falling on Newt. "Everything has gone according to plan, Mr. Newton. Although we expected a few more of you to give up along the way."
The women glanced over at the boy, then reached out and pulled the hood off the boy. The boy looked up, his eyes glassily with tears. Blake released a loud gasp as she realized the face that was beneath the darkened hood.
It was Gally.
Blake shook her head and blinked a few times making sure it wasn't her imagination.
He was there. It was Gally.
"What's he doing here!" Minho shouted.
"He...I saw the Griever's take him. He should...he just couldn't be alive!" Blake mumbled loudly, shaking her head a few more times.
"You're safe now," the woman responded as if she hadn't heard them. "Please, be at ease."
"At ease?" Minho laughed humorously. "Who are you, telling us to be at ease? We wanna see the police, the mayor, the president—somebody!"
Her eyes narrowed coldly as she looked at Minho straight in the eye. "You have no idea what you're talking about, boy. I'd expect more maturity from someone who's passed the Maze Trials."
Minho started to fire back, but Newt elbowed him in the gut.
So Blake spoke instead. "We don't care what you expect from us!" She said with as much venom she could muster. The woman looked at Blake like she was a gross insect she wanted to stump on.
"Gally," Newt said. "What's going on?"
The dark-haired boy looked at him with puffy eyes, his head shaking slightly. Gally then looked down his eyes focusing on the floor. He didn't respond, but his lips trembled as he pushed them against each other tightly.
Something was wrong.
The woman nodded as if proud of him. "One day you'll all be grateful for what we've done for you. I can only promise this, and trust your minds to accept it. If you don't, then the whole thing was a mistake. Dark times, Mr. Newton. Dark times."
She paused. "There is, of course, one final Variable." She stepped back.
Blake looked around her, most Gladers were staring at the women, but some had their eyes glued on Gally. Blake too turned her focus on Gally. The boy's whole body trembled in slight twitches like an itch had consumed him. His face was pasty white like the color had been sucked from his face. His wet, puffy red eyes stood out like red marker splotches on pure white paper.
"Gally?" Thomas asked, his voice deep.
Words burst from Gally's mouth. "They ... can control me ... I don't—" His eyes bulging, a hand went to his throat as if he were choking. "I ... have ... to ..." Each word was a croaking cough. Then he stilled, his face calming, his body releasing tension.
It was just like Alby after he went through the Changing. When they controlled him. Blake put a hand to her mouth. They could make him harm himself. Or even worst; they could make him harm other people.
Blake didn't have time to tell others her thoughts. Just then, Gally reached behind himself, pulled something long and shiny from his back pocket. His hand clenched tightly to a black handle to a long knife, its bloodthirsty sharp edge pointed towards the group of Gladers as if to deliver judgment. A tiny sliver of light pierced the metal and it was as if the blood-thirsty metal wink at Blake.
Then, with unexpected speed, Gally reared back the knife in an unnatural motion and threw the knife straight at Thomas. Blake cried Thomas's name as she took a huge step towards him. The blade windmilled in a slow-motion blur. Turning and turning, straight for the boy who had got them this far.
Thomas stood there like a deer in headlights.
But Chuck was there, throwing his body in front of Thomas. At first, Blake didn't sense the utter madness that was about to unfold, still in an ice block of shock. Thomas was spared, he was okay. But...
With a sickening, wet slurping thump, the dagger slammed into Chuck's stomach, burying itself deep into the boy's skin. Chuck let out an agonizing scream, falling to the floor, body already convulsing. Blood poured from the wound, dark crimson spotting the boy's dirty shirt. His legs slapped against the floor, feet kicking aimlessly with onrushing death. Red spit trickled down his lips.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sorry for the long wait. It's been like two weeks since I updated which is a long time, but this chapter was very difficult to write because I didn't have much inspiration. All the less, I hoped you enjoyed it. I'll try my best to get the next update quicker.
It's almost Halloween and I'm super excited. If you are dressing up, what are you going to be?
Anyway, thank you for reading.
Marie.