This is going to be depressing, it's about Brenda's brother George, who was the first Glader to die, and his partner Mary. These names are a reference to the films but The Fever Code did make Brenda having a brother a canon thing.
Mary
The two of them were among the first Gladers, the group of twenty eight who found themselves lying on the grass of what they came to call the Glade, remembering nothing except their own names and an odd feeling of connection to the person of the opposite gender lying next to them. Not a romantic feeling, just a vagueness in the back of your mind: They are your friend, you can trust them, an unknown voice seemed to say.
They were there from the start, figuring out what was going on, giving names to the strange things around them. Exploring the Maze when the Doors first opened, creating jobs, a system, a sort of society. There weren't any real rules at the start, in fact what happened to George created the rules.
He had gone to explore the Maze with Nick, Minho had mentioned creatures he had seen there, horrifying things. No one had yet got close enough to really describe one, or know what they did.
Nick dragged George back to the Glade, into a corner where he wouldn't be seen by anyone. Everyone else there was relatively high in their odd hierarchy of command: Ximena, Alby, Harriet, Newt. No one told Mary to leave, and she wasn't going anywhere, not until she got answers about why her best friend was writhing on the ground, and Alby had just been punching him in the face.
Ximena got to the second question before Mary could.
"What are you hitting him for, c'mon, he's our friend, he needs help."
"He was trying to freaking bite me! Back off!" Alby was yelling, Harriet put a hand on his arm, giving him a don't you dare look. The boy relented, Harriet was thirteen and not quite five foot tall, but was quite the force of nature. Everyone knew Alby had started to see her as a sister from early on.
"Boys, slim it," Newt said, stepping in between them. "Let's figure this out. What do we do?"
They stood over George, who'd gotten worse. His head actually looked like it might explode from the swelling. He was beet-red and puffy. Veins bulged along his forehead and temples. And his eyes…they were enormous.
"Did you see what attacked him?" Alby asked Nick, seeming to have forgotten that a few seconds ago they were on the verge of a fight.
Nick shook his head. "Saw nothing."
"Did George say anything?" Newt asked.
Nick nodded. "Well, yeah, I think so. Not sure, but…I think he kept whispering, 'It stung me, it stung me, it stung me….' It was weird, man. He sounded like he was possessed or something. What're we gonna do!"
Mary knelt down, put her hand on George's forehead, it felt feverishly hot.
What had happened? Stung. What did it all mean?
"Come on," Alby said, leaning down to grab George's legs. "No use trying to hide this anymore. Let's get him out to the middle of the Glade and gather everybody. See if anyone knows what to do."
Newt cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, staring right at the camera on the beetle blade that had crept close to them. "Hey! Whoever sent us here! Send us some medicine. How 'bout a bloody doctor? Better yet, why don't you take us out of this hellhole!"
It took all of them to carry George, he was thrashing hard, screaming. Mary was silently begging the Creators not to let her friend die. The relationships existing between 'partners' were one of the most important things in the Glade. To have another person who understood you so completely, thought the same way, it was as if half of your soul existed in another body.
They stopped at the Homestead, dropping George to the ground. Mary remained knelt next to him, her best friend wouldn't hurt her, would he?
They were surrounded by beetle blades, Mary wanted to smash the nearest one, show the Creators her anger, but the creatures were always too fast for that.
"Listen up!" Nick yelled. Thomas was a little surprised that Alby hadn't taken charge. "Georgie and I were out in the maze, running the corridors, and he got up ahead of me. Something attacked him. He keeps saying he got stung. Anybody know anything about this?"
"Minho's seen some kind of creature out there," Alby said. "Where's Minho?"
"Still running," someone answered. "Probably taking a nap in one of the Deadends."
"It was one of those creatures he talked about, though," Alby said. "Had to be."
"It doesn't really matter what it was." Nick pointed down at George, who was curled into a tight ball, rocking back and forth on his side. "What are we going to do with him? All we have is a bunch of aspirin and bandages."
"There was something weird in the cooking supplies they sent up last week." Frypan spoke up.
"What are you talking about, Siggy?" the leader asked him.
"His name's Frypan!" someone called out. "You're the only one who doesn't call him that."
A few snickers broke out, which couldn't have been more incongruous to the situation, given the boy writhing in agony at their feet. Mary wanted to scream at them all to shut up.
"It was in the bottom of a cardboard box. Some kind of syringe, had the word serum printed on it. I figured it was a mistake—somebody had accidentally dropped it in there, whatever. Threw it out with the sausage leftovers this morning."
Alby stepped up to the boy and grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him close. "You threw it out? Didn't bother telling anybody? No wonder you wanna cook—ain't got brains for nothin' else."
Siggy smiled. "If that makes you feel smarter. Anyway, I'm telling you now, aren't I? Slim it."
"Where'd you throw it away?" Nick asked. "Maybe it's not broken. Let's at least take a look at it."
"Be right back." Siggy jogged off toward the Homestead.
It only took three or four minutes, but by the time Frypan returned with a slender metallic cylinder gripped in his hand, George had plummeted from bad to worse. More like from worse to worst. Mary had taken hold of one of his hands in both of hers, even though everyone else had recoiled from him. Please don't let him die, she begged, don't make me be alone.
He'd gone still except for his chest, which moved rapidly as he gasped for air. His jaw had gone slack, his limbs loose, his muscles relaxed from their clenched-state form earlier. The boy wasn't long for this world.
Siggy had given the syringe to Nick, who now knelt by George's side. He hardly moved at all now, barely breathing. His eyes looked empty of life.
"Anyone know how to do this?" Nick called out. "Where to stick it?"
"Anywhere!" Alby yelled. "Just hurry and do it! Look at him!"
No one else even bothered replying, so Nick took the syringe, braced his thumb against it, then stabbed it into George's arm. The boy didn't even flinch. Nick pressed the plunger down until all the fluid was gone; then he dropped it on the ground, stood up, and took a couple of steps back. Everyone except Mary backed away, watching what would happen with morbid curiosity.
"Come on, Georgie," Nick said, barely loud enough to hear. That and the rustling of a soft breeze were the only sounds in the Glade.
Suddenly George got to his feet with a scream, Mary scrambled backwards a few feet.
"Griever! It was a damn Griever! They'll kill us all!" He was shouting, for a split second all was quiet. Mary met her friends eyes, saw a spark of sanity in him before it disappeared entirely, never to reappear.
George screamed again, flew at the nearest boy, pounding on him, clawing at his eyes. His victim cried out in agony as several Gladers tried to pull them apart.
Alby came running towards them, holding something, a long stick with a sharp point.
"Get out of the way!" He was commanding. Mary knew what he was going to do, wanted so badly to stop him, but there were no words in her mouth.
Alby thrust the makeshift spear into the back of George's neck with enough force that it burst through to the other side. George's cries turned into choking gargles as his body fell to the side. The kid scrambled out from under him, his hands covering his injured face.
George twitched, moaned, then went still.
Blood darkened the dirt and stone below him.
Then Mary began to scream, her best friend was dead, she was alone.
A/N: I am writing another chapter about the early Glade from Minho's POV right now and it should be up by Tuesday. I'm going to put more about Mary in the story when Brenda appears in The Scorch Trials.
