The Maze Runner

Thomas felt his face heat up—he’d expected at least a little gratitude. “I couldn’t just sit there and leave you guys out here.”

“And what good are you with us?” Minho rolled his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Break the Number One Rule, kill yourself, whatever.”

“You’re welcome. I was just trying to help.” Thomas felt like kicking him in the face.

Minho forced a bitter laugh, then knelt back on the ground beside Alby. Thomas took a closer look at the collapsed boy and realized just how bad things were. Alby looked on the edge of death. His usually dark skin was losing color fast and his breaths were quick and shallow.

Hopelessness rained down on Thomas. “What happened?” he asked, trying to put aside his anger.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Minho said as he checked Alby’s pulse and bent over to listen to his chest. “Let’s just say the Grievers can play dead really well.”

This statement took Thomas by surprise. “So he was … bitten? Stung, whatever? Is he going through the Changing?”

“You’ve got a lot to learn” was all Minho would say.

Thomas wanted to scream. He knew he had a lot to learn—that was why he was asking questions. “Is he going to die?” he forced himself to say, cringing at how shallow and empty it sounded.

“Since we didn’t make it back before sunset, probably. Could be dead in an hour—I don’t know how long it takes if you don’t get the Serum. Course, we’ll be dead, too, so don’t get all weepy for him. Yep, we’ll all be nice and dead soon.” He said it so matter-of-factly, Thomas could hardly process the meaning of the words.

But fast enough, the dire reality of the situation began to hit Thomas, and his insides turned to rot. “We’re really going to die?” he asked, unable to accept it. “You’re telling me we have no chance?”

“None.”

Thomas was annoyed at Minho’s constant negativity. “Oh, come on—there has to be something we can do. How many Grievers’ll come at us?” He peered down the corridor that led deeper into the Maze, as if expecting the creatures to arrive then, summoned by the sound of their name.

“I don’t know.”

A thought sprang into Thomas’s mind, giving him hope. “But … what about Ben? And Gally, and others who’ve been stung and survived?”

Minho glanced up at him with a look that said he was dumber than cow klunk. “Didn’t you hear me? They made it back before sunset, you dong. Made it back and got the Serum. All of them.”

Thomas wondered about the mention of a serum, but had too many other questions to get out first. “But I thought the Grievers only came out at night.”

“Then you were wrong, shank. They always come out at night. That doesn’t mean they never show up during the day.”

Thomas wouldn’t allow himself to give in to Minho’s hopelessness—he didn’t want to give up and die just yet. “Has anyone ever been caught outside the walls at night and lived through it?”

“Never.”

Thomas scowled, wishing he could find one little spark of hope. “How many have died, then?”

Minho stared at the ground, crouched with one forearm on a knee. He was clearly exhausted, almost in a daze. “At least twelve. Haven’t you been to the graveyard?”

“Yeah.” So that’s how they died, he thought.

“Well, those are just the ones we found. There are more whose bodies never showed up.” Minho pointed absently back toward the sealed-off Glade. “That freaking graveyard’s back in the woods for a reason. Nothing kills happy time more than being reminded of your slaughtered friends every day.”

Minho stood and grabbed Alby’s arms, then nodded toward his feet. “Grab those smelly suckers. We gotta carry him over to the Door. Give ’em one body that’s easy to find in the morning.”

Thomas couldn’t believe how morbid a statement that was. “How can this be happening!” he screamed to the walls, turning in a circle. He felt close to losing it once and for all.

“Quit your crying. You should’ve followed the rules and stayed inside. Now come on, grab his legs.”

Wincing at the growing cramps in his gut, Thomas walked over and lifted Alby’s feet as he was told. They half carried, half dragged the almost-lifeless body a hundred feet or so to the vertical crack of the Door, where Minho propped Alby up against the wall in a semi-sitting position. Alby’s chest rose and fell with struggled breaths, but his skin was drenched in sweat; he looked like he wouldn’t last much longer.

“Where was he bitten?” Thomas asked. “Can you see it?”

“They don’t freaking bite you. They prick you. And no, you can’t see it. There could be dozens all over his body.” Minho folded his arms and leaned against the wall.

For some reason, Thomas thought the word prick sounded a lot worse than bite. “Prick you? What does that mean?”

“Dude, you just have to see them to know what I’m talking about.”

Thomas pointed at Minho’s arms, then his legs. “Well, why didn’t the thing prick you?”

Minho held his hands out. “Maybe it did—maybe I’ll collapse any second.”

“They …,” Thomas began, but didn’t know how to finish. He couldn’t tell if Minho had been serious.

“There was no they, just the one we thought was dead. It went nuts and stung Alby, but then ran away.” Minho looked back into the Maze, which was now almost completely dark with nighttime. “But I’m sure it and a whole bunch of them suckers’ll be here soon to finish us off with their needles.”