Prologue
The doors were sliding shut inch by inch as they always did, but someone had been left behind.
Someone was still out there.
No one believed he would return, yet they stood waiting at the entrance, hoping he would make it.
He was a good kid.
He was important to their cause.
Without him, things would only get more difficult in this hellish life of uncertainty.
There was no sign of him.
He was going to be trapped in the maze that night, left to be torn limb from limb by the horrible creatures.
Greviers.
They would get him for sure.
"Come on," Alby whispered, stared into the maze.
Although he would not admit it, he was afraid the kid would not make it back as well.
The boy was only fifteen, and rather intelligent for his age, but being a runner was by far the most dangerous job out there in the Glade.
He could have done any of the other ones and he would have been safe at that moment.
A small figure rounded the corner, limping, his ankle and arms all bloody, his face pale. His blond curls were damp with sweat and he let his right hand lean against the wall to support him self.
He was too slow.
The doors were going to shut.
He was so close, yet so far away from being safe.
He was as good as dead.
"Come on, Newt! You're almost there, you Shank!" Alby yelled with his dark, cupped hands over his mouth.
Newt gave a blood-curdling scream that sent a chill down the Gladers' spines…and fell limply on his stomach.
His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped his useless weapon.
He was only ten feet away.
"Come on!" several of the watching Gladers screamed at him.
A dark-haired teenager pushed past the large group of boys and bolted past the shutting doors.
He reached Newt, and pulled the kid's arm, shook him.
There was no response.