Chapter 1
"Pssst."
Moist breath penetrates my personal bubble
I choose to ignore it
"Heeeyyyyy."
The warmth shoots in to my ear
A shiver shakes my existence
I slide my arm underneath the pillow and roll over on to my stomach
"PSSST."
Now my shoulder pulls back unexpectedly
I bury my face further in to the borrowed softness
Nobody is home!
Maybe It will go away
"THHHOOMMMAA-"
Or not.
"-AAAAASSSS"
It obnoxiously whispers my name
I clamp my hands on to the edges of the pillow
Hoping this inhumane creature will let me sleep
"Wake up WakeupWakeup!"
But I can't manage to block out the high-pitched whines
Five more minutes, I beg inwardly, hoping, if it is Teresa, that she will get the message
"TTTOMMMBBUSSSS."
I guess it's not her.
"TTTHHO-"
I shoot up in my bed. "Slim it!" I bark, as I almost slam my head against a shadowy figure. The figure retreats just a smidge, and I hope that my sleep-heavy eyes and thin-lipped grimace portray the idea that I want it further away than just a smidge.
"Seriously?" I continue groggily. Though, noticing the occupied beds around me shifting in agitation, I lower my voice. That doesn't stop the dark glare I am giving that I hope the shadow sees.
The smidge becomes a midget as the shadow dares to inch back towards me. It looks like it is dancing some tribal tribute, readying itself to sacrifice me or something.
To my dismay, It completely ignores the idea of personal space and leans against my bed. The bed shakes. I can feel the shadows breath creepily warming my neck. I am too annoyed to be wary of its mysterious identity.
"Thomas," it says again, this time quieter and more urgent. How does it know my name?
I see a glint of blue staring intense daggers at me. My fingers stealthily claw beneath the covers, searching for the sharpened piece of wood I had managed to cultivate being ushered to bed with the others Gladers- er, ex-gladers now?
My eyes are finally beginning to adjust.
Without much warning, just as my fingers clasp around my make shift stake, the shadow melts in to a young blue-eyed boy. A boy who is dancing in the middle of the night, in front of my bed, with his hands in front of his pants.
My grip on the stake loosens, but remains steady beneath the blanket that is draped over me.
I realize dimly that he must be one of the younger boys who were forced to participate in The Maze; one I didn't much interact with. I can't think of a name to match his fair skin and dark hair. Jefferson? Chardonnay? Elvis? I dunno know. Huh, I remember Elvis but I can't remember my own parents?!
"Dude," the kid before me drawls.
Can't a kid get a full night sleep? I wonder.
But I know the answer to that. No Thomas, it is impossible. Sucks for youuuuu! I loathe that little voice in the back of my mind right now.
"What's wrong with you Shuck?" I ask aloud, thinking he has lost his mind due to the past couple days. I mean he probably lost a lot of friends to get here. And he found out his name is a fake one given to him by some group of psychotic petifiles seeking to "help" the world.
Everyone is somewhat messed up now a day.
"Dude, Thomas," the kid says seriously, making me wonder if he really has an emergency to tell me.
For dramatic effect or petrification or what I have no idea, the kid pauses before speaking again. Every second feels like a second of me not getting rest. I glance around us skeptically. Nope, no boogie men or petifiles; no bombs exploding or Greivers; Just piles of blankets gently rising and falling as the exhausted bodies beneath sleep. Desire jeers at my eyelids.
"Come on Shuck," I say, "Spit it out." I catch myself off guard for a moment. When did I become a Newt?
Another moment passes. I make like I am going to cuddle back in to bed, because I am.
"I really gotta pee," the kid confesses quickly to stop me. His wiggles turn in to uncontrollable jiggling as he speaks.
My eyes grow wide and I have to force my chuckle in to a throat-scratching cough to save him further embarrassment. I'm sure if the lights were on, I would see his cheeks as red as the inside of the Blood house. Although, if the lights were on (Or the candles, or the sun, whatever it is they use here) he would have already been to the bathroom and I would be asleep. I shrug the thought away.
"Aren't you a little big to ask for-" I begin.
"I tried man, I swears. I searched all over for a bathroom but-" his legs shake beneath him as if he might give way. "-I can't find nothin'. "
"Alright," I reply gruffly, feeling worse for the kid than myself. Though I do pity myself quite a lot. Couldn't I have been woken up for a reason more important, like a hoard of Grievers was barging in or something?
I rub irritably at my eyes, sigh, and hoist myself up and off of my nice, cozy, though over-used and seeming-to-never-have-been-washed, sweet, sweet bed with an achy groan.
My muscles still ache. You know, half a nights of sleep can't cure everything. But a guy can dream.
I can't believe this, this teenager in front of me doing the potty dance in the near pitch black. But I can't just leave this kid wandering around on his own until he eventually klunk's himself. Though the rest of the boys would find that funny, I just couldn't think to do that.
"Come on." I beckon the kid with one hand, unsure if he can see it, while the other hand, with my stake in my grip, guides me forward bedside to bedside like a blind person utilizing their walking stick. I can hear the kid's heavy breathing behind me, and the sound of his wiggling as his feet are forced to shuffle across the harsh concrete ground. I sigh again.
"I think we're almost there," I try to say encouragingly, though I have no idea where the bathroom is. I don't even know where my bed is now as we trek down the hall of black and blue beds and towards a doorway. I think I counted six beds while on our journey, but I can't quite remember because my mind is still trapped in a daze. The stake clanks against wood. A shadow nearby stirs irritably. Make it past seven beds? I shake my head in disbelief.
"Ohhhhh man," the kid whispers, his voice is like a gunshot in the middle of silence. "I am ready to burst! Buggin' bladder, I don't think I can hold it!" His hips begin to sway more aggressively than before.
"You have to," I say nervously. Ah man, I do not want to have to help this kid find a new pair of pants. "It's okay. Just- uh," I mutter, unable to conjure up something to say. I start to tap my weapon more quickly in front of me, as if that will help rather than wake everyone up and cause an uprising.
"Just, uh,-" I start doing a little dance myself as I continue forward at a quicker pace. I don't have to pee though. I just don't want this kid to.
Uhhhhh, come on say something I chide myself.
Eventually, as the bare feet behind me start to slow, I spit out, "Pretend some Greivers are chasing ya and you have no time to stop and if you even hesitate to let your bowels loose you are a dead Glader." I'm not sure if he heard that or not it rushed out so fast.
I guess so because the shuffling became quicker and more defined. He stopped talking as he concentrated on the invisible Griever chasing us.
A bump in to three different beds, two groans of sleepy annoyance, and a curse later I see a light glowing like heaven before us.
I stop in my tracks just before the grimy curtain that is keeping the room behind it a secret. "All yours buddy," I tell the boy as I place my hand in the middle of his back and shove him through the curtain.
His head peeks out though before I can lean against the nearest wall and close my eyes. A visible blush rises to his face as he speaks. "You wouldn't mind waitin' would ya?" He asks softly.
I stare at him for a moment. His brows are furrowed in worry and he is gnawing on his lip. His fingers are tying themselves in the curtain and then untying themselves again and again as he allows his body to lean against the cloth. I forget these kids are just that, kids.
"Ah, Shuck." I let loose a smile and ruffle his bed ridden, stressed out hair- if hair could look stressed. "Of course."
He gives me a mucky, but toothy, grin of relief and then disappears once more behind the curtain.
Finally, I can lean against the cool, brick wall wit hout . . .any . . disturb . . ance .
Thomas? Teresa's voice explodes in my mind without warning. I nearly topple over to the ground, but find my stake to be handy in balancing me back against the wall.
Instinctly I let out a verbal "gosh!" but, realizing that no one around me is awake (Considering Teresa was put in a different room because she was female), I close my eyes and focus on speaking inwardly.
You scared me to death, I scold, though a smile plays at the edges of my lips.
Sorry, she says, though I can almost hear her smirk. I just woke up and got this weird feeling that you were up too. Everything okay?
Ya. Just uh-
I pause mid mind-meld and glance at the dim bathroom light. The curtain billows ever so slightly.
-Just helping a scared kid, I decide to finish.
Oh. Okay. A quiet moment passes. I don't know, something feels weird still.
Well, I begin, we just found out our names aren't really ours; we watched a bunch of people die- I stop. My throat threatens to constrict but I shake my head, hoping to rid myself of just a few hours ago. I try to continue, pretending nothing has happened, though somehow I know Teresa has already caught me- we are now sleeping with all that is left of us, in a place that is definitely not ours and definitely different than what we have lived through the past couple of . . . periods of time.
Teresa's laugh chimes in my head. I can't help but think of how nice a sound it is.
Ya, I guess your right. Feeling weird is probably normal right now, she says.
I let my head fall limp against the wall. Apparently this kid is constipated, or he just can't figure out how the toilet works. Either way, I have the inkling that I will be standing here for a little while.
Do you think these people will help us? Teresa asks quietly, as the silence of the boys room tries to lull me to sleep.
I open my eyes to survey the room of Gladers. This is all that is left of us; a room full of overly exhausted children. I rub at my face like a small kid.
I don't know, I begin. I hope so. But I think we shouldn't depend too much on others. Just stick as a team right now. We don't know what is out there. We only knwe each other.
Good that, She agrees.
I smile and let my eyes droop closed again. When did you start speaking Glader?
It just kind of attaches itself to you, she justifies defensively.
Ya, ya whatever you say. I think that you secretly like it, and want to be a part of-
CRASH!
My body jolts aggressively away from the wall. My eyes shoot open. "What're you doing Shuck?" I yelp in to the curtain.
"That wasn't me!" Terror leaks from his voice and sinks in to my bones.
Wide-awake, I stand inside the doorframe of the bathroom in order to get a panoramic view of my surroundings. A memory from my past stirs in the back of my mind: something about being safe underneath doorways.
CRASH!
THOMAS? Teresa shouts in my mind, just as 25 (ish) shadowy heads spring to life from the beds at the same time. 25 voices shout.
"What the hell?"
"Stupid Shuck, I was sleeping!"
"GRIEVERS?!"
"HEY what's the big-"
"I was dreaming so nice, about a girl and-"
One voice though catches my full attention through all the commotion.
"THOMAS."
I start to think in my mind to Teresa, but after a second I realize that a boy in the flesh has called my name. My gaze easily finds Newt as he jogs up to me, already armed with a post from under his bed.
"What the-" He starts.
I shrug helplessly. "No idea."
"Maybe-"
Hands clasp my waist from behind and immediately I twist around. Without thinking, my hands are up and I am readying to slam my fists into the face of the enemy.
Just before fists fly though I look down to find the kid's face gaping up at me in fright.
"Sorry," he mumbles in to my shirt. "I just-" but the rest was garbled.
"Come on-" I try to say soothingly, but Newt cuts me off.
"No time for babies Henry, get up and grab hold of something to arm yourself!"
Henry stumbles away into the crowd of riled up Used-to-be-Gladers, his pants still untied and dangling too low on his hips.
Another crash, this one vibrating the mattresses in their frames.
The boys begin to scramble. Chaos rings in the tightly packed room. My eyebrows rise in bewilderment.
"Grievers?" I ask Newt.
The "leader" shrugs non-chalantly, but by the way his eyes dart around the room, never lingering on one thing for longer than half a second, I know he is just as wary as I am.
I try to mull over what the threat could be, but a voice in my head drowns out all sound.
Thomas! Thomas where are you? Boys are everywhere, I-
"Thomas!" Teresa's body flings towards me, and she nearly leaps in to my chest with the force of her running. But just before reaching Newt she pauses, adapts a professional face, and clutches her right hand tighter around a Glader knife she had somehow come by.
"Here," she says confidently, though I can see that her shoulders are hunched with tiredness like the rest of us.
Another quake rocks the room, causing us to wobble on our feet. I grab hold of the wall with one hand to steady myself, and instinctly my other hand drops the stake to grab hold of Teresa's arm. Newt gives us a subtle eyebrow raise as he grabs a nearby bedpost. I chose to ignore it, at least for the moment.
"Alright, well we can't just sit here like shucks and get killed," Newt states as the shaking stops and he releases his tight grip. I nod and gently let go of Teresa's arm. She thanks me, and then watches Newt and I, waiting for orders.
Newt spins around to face the clamor that has transformed the sleepy hollow in to a frantic battlefield.
"Alright!" Newt yells hoarsely over the crowd of darkness. "ALRIGHT!"
The boys pause in the middle of whatever it is they are doing- crafting weapons, armor, buddying up, hiding under beds or covers, tripping, scavenging for weapons they had brought with them from the Glade . . .
"Calm down ya shucks," Newt continues. "We have been through a pile of Greivers haven't we? What can't we face?" With that, he raises both his hands as if he is about to let lose a battle cry, his bedpost clutched between both hands like a trophy. A few Gladers nod uncertainty. Some cheer in confirmation.
I don't notice that Teresa is beside me until she whispers, "a false sense of invincibility? Bad idea I think."
I continue looking forward, but whisper back in her direction. "They're boys. They need a false sense of invincibility."
She grunts and bites at her lip. "Maybe."
"Besides," I add. "They know they aren't really invincible, it's just nice to hear it."
"We humans do enjoy the simplicity and idealism of a lie every once in a while don't we?"
I dare to look at her. She dares me a glance in return and shrugs.
I open my mouth to ask her where such a thought comes from, but before any words can come out a grown up rushes in to the room.
All eyes turn to the frazzled looking woman who remains beneath the doorway with wild eyes. She has faded brown curls and wide, green eyes.
"Children," she nearly whispers. No one makes a sound. "Hide."