In which the night is full of horrors

Chapter Warnings: On screen deaths. Multiple. I wouldn't call them explicit, but you might. Some moreso than others. I certainly don't gloss over them.

AN: This picks up immediately following the previous chapter. Guest reply at the end.

The Doors have never not closed before.

"What do we do?" Stan asks.

"Is anyone left in the Gardens?" I ask Zart.

"No," he says. "We all packed up and walked down just now. The Slicers followed us. I think Winston was just washing up."

"We need Newt," Alex says.

I bite my lip because – yes – we do sort of need someone to rally everyone together – but can't Newt just have one second to see if his friend is okay?

Apparently not.

"Spread the word," I say. "Make sure everyone's accounted for. I need to go get something."

Zart pats my shoulder, nods and turns towards the Mess Hall without looking back again. Alex and the remaining Cooks scurry through Homestead after him, ducking into the Hammock huts and the shower block as they go.

I start running.

I think I hear Stan call after me, but I don't stop or look back.

I circle around the back of Homestead all the way to my own Hammock hut at the bottom near the tree line. Inside I pick up the silver birch bow and sling it over my back.

If there was ever a good time, this feels like it.

I open up the satchel hanging by my hammock and delve within that, too. Like Clint and Jeff, I usually keep a few bandages, salves and swabs in there to treat small wounds away from the Medi Tent. When I find a fresh bandage, I manage to wind it around my arm; the one I use to hold the bow. It wraps from my knuckles, around my thumb and up to nearly my elbow. It even covers the mostly healed cut on my palm, as a bonus.

And it's actually easier to move with than an arm guard would be, too.

And then I leave, darting across to one of the store huts a short distance off. There are assortments of leather scabbards, belts, satchels and so on tucked away in there to be used. An empty back harness made for a short sword makes a good enough quiver, so I stuff the arrows into it and buckle that over my shoulder, too.

Adrenaline courses through my bloodstream as I run back out, past the Mess hall and towards the empty fire pit.

I can see boys rushing around with torches. It looks like the alarm has been raised.

There's a gathering right at the base of the Doors, and at the distance it's hard to tell exactly who, but I can recognise Frypan's apron and Newt's white shirt with the dark shape diagonally across it that is his machete harness.

At least he's still armed.

And that probably means Minho and Thomas are with him.

So what about Alby?

I glance over to the Medi Tent, but before I can move, a noise blasts through the Glade that has me ducking instinctively, my ears ringing. It sounds like grinding rock and nails on a blackboard.

Something moves over by the Bloodhouse.

It takes me a second to realise that it's one of the other sets of doors. They're groaning open, creepers pinging loose after years of growing into the crevices. Birds scatter into the sky, having to abandon their nests and their frenzied calls fill the air.

Well. Shit.

One by one, the remaining two sets of doors crack open and my heart falters.

This is going to be a massacre.

I look back over to the group by the first set of Doors. It looks like they're breaking up into smaller parties. I see Minho, Newt and Frypan all run, heading towards Homestead while Chuck and Winston both start for the Council Hall.

And then there's a scream behind me.

A group of boys rush past, all throwing terrified looks over their shoulders. I think I recognise Joe, from the Bricknicks. But more screams and shouts echo from the dark shadow of the woods.

It's already begun.

I turn my back on the field and run into the trees.

It's a good thing I know the Deadheads so well. I'm able to keep up a good pace and not trip over any of the uneven ground as I try to follow the shouts.

They're shouts now – not screams. More like boys rallying together than reacting in terror.

I finally spot the blackness that is the stone wall, and I veer left, knowing if I follow it just a bit longer, I'll reach the set of doors hidden here.

I don't even reach the doors when I catch up to the sounds.

The scene is from a nightmare.

Dan, Frankie, Scott and Rob all rush through the trees in my direction, breathing hard from their failed attempt at running away from the hissing shadow behind them. They reach the corner and wheel around.

Trapped.

A boy lies, crumpled, at the base of a tree not far off; his eyes frozen open, skin already tinted grey. Dead. I swallow back the urge to be sick and turn my attention to the hulking creature that's chased my friends into this corner.

Biomechanical.

The word leaps to mind without conscious effort.

An ugly, slimy mass of muscle and organs with a mouth on one end – a mouth lined with teeth like shards of glass. Its somehow been surgically attached to a set of six mechanical legs with folding back joints like a spiders' and a flexible, spine-like tail held in an arc like a scorpion with some kind of grasping claw at the end.

The mouth drools with sickly glue-like saliva and the metal legs shine in the faint moonlight. Whirring pistons and wires can just be seen where the joints shift and move – alarmingly fast.

It's a hideous scorpion-slug cross bred monster.

And it's lashing around, sizing up the boys in front of it, as though its only concern is who to snack on first.

The boys must have stopped on the way through to pick up some weapons, because there's a machete at Frankie's waist and both he and Dan carry two long wooden spears each. Scott's holding one of the Kitchen knives in his hand; a massive triangular blade and Rob is armed with a rusty axe.

The Griever's tail swings wide, and both Dan and Frankie have to throw themselves out of its path. It smashes into the side of a tree, bringing down a rain of leaves and twigs.

It leaves a deep scrape into the soft inner wood as it lashes again.

The monster lets out a noise that's somewhere between a hiss and mechanical clicks. Its legs sound like the slice of knives as it shuffles forwards.

"Go!" Dan shouts. He runs forwards, around the Griever's left, ducking the tail and just managing to dodge a spiked foot that comes down behind him. None of the others turn to run. Scott dives in to back him up, but the knife just glances off of the metal legs with loud clanging sounds.

Dan jabs the spear into the creature's soft belly and it makes an enraged shriek before its tail claw pulls the spear away. It snaps it in two and throws the splintered pieces into the trees.

I notch an arrow and raise the bow. My fingers tense on the string and my nerves buzz.

But it's not the best bow, and the last thing I want to do is hit Dan or Scott.

Dan throws himself to the side and scrambles across the earth.

Frankie runs in on the right just as the Griever seems about to zero in on him. "Oi you ugly shank – over here!"

He throws his spear and the Griever visibly recoils as it embeds into the flesh high up, near the mouth end.

Guess there's some kind of brain there.

But all too soon, it shakes angrily, using the tail to dislodge the spear and then turns on Frankie.

"No!" Dan shouts, and he runs for the creature's turned back, hoisting up the second spear. Without turning, the Griever's tail flicks out, catching him across the middle and flinging him backwards. "Frankie!" Dan half-yells in despair, now too winded to help. Scott and Rob exchange looks of horror.

I raise the bow, trying to aim for the head end, and let the string snap through my fingers.

The arrow streaks through the darkness, white feathers on the end spinning, and stabs into the fleshy mass.

The Griever shrieks and wheels around, legs all shuffling rapidly beneath it.

Dan gazes around in astonishment for a drawn out second, Rob throws himself backwards, pulling Scott, and Frankie's eyes are large and round in the gloom.

"Run!" I yell, racing through the trees until I leap over a root and stop in front of them.

Dan looks at me like I'm not even real.

Honestly, one arrow won't stop the thing.

It takes Dan a second to shake himself, and then he's picking up the spear next to him and using it to whack the Griever, rather than spike it.

Frankie lets out a war cry and charges in, drawing his machete, which he uses to hack blindly at the creature's side.

Now leaking some nasty dark liquid that could be blood or oil, The Griever loses its footing, and with a solid whack from the spear in Dan's hands, it topples into a tree.

"Go. Run. Now," he shouts.

The Griever is already getting to its feet; the wound already starting to seal over.

I throw the bow over my back and race with them.

We're smaller than the Grievers, and we can more easily rush through the roots and low branches, which helps a lot in putting some space between us and the monster we left behind.

We can still hear it in pursuit, though, crashing through the woods as we blaze out right behind the Mess hall.

Screams echo all around the Glade. I think I spot Jeff and Clint carrying Alby between them, leaving the Medi Tent. Jack rushes up to us carrying a spade and a flaming torch with a graze down his arm.

"Rob! Where were you guys?"

Rob looks behind us. "One in the woods," he says, clearly still reeling from the encounter.

"Not just one," I say.

My hands are shaking; my heart is beating so hard that I can feel my pulse on the roof of my mouth and in my head. The blank eyes of the dead boy in the woods sits in my mind. He was already dead when I got there.

"Others already came in before that one," Dan completes the thought. "Now what?"

A Griever bursts out of the trees behind us, head moving about wildly. It has no eyes, but there must be other senses there. Another one follows, but it launches straight past our group and pounces on a boy.

He's dead an instant later.

Frankie pushes both Dan and I over. "Kitchen!" he yells.

Jack and Rob run in our wake as we duck through the back door, past the line of jars, full of Gally's Brew that I helped Frypan with earlier.

It's strange to see the Kitchen so silent and empty; pans just sitting on the work tables, waiting to be served, as shouts and metallic hisses fill the world outside the walls. The gaps between the branches begin to glow gold as torches are dropped and the fire spills; smoke making everything blurred.

"We can't fight them off," Jack says. "They took Joe, too."

There is some space left in my chest that the fear hasn't taken up, and I feel it burst with a numb sadness.

That's three at least.

How many more are already dead?

And then my mind darts back to the jars. The hazy smoke and fire through the walls of the abandoned kitchen jogs a memory.

"Flammable," I mutter.

"What?" Frankie asks.

I don't answer. I run past him, back outside, despite the yells and tip over a few of the jars. The Brew soaks across the hard ground in a puddle around the remaining jars.

Over by the Hammock hut, a boy is stabbed into the grass and pulled away by a monster. The group he was hiding with all rush from the hut carrying torches and screaming in terror.

Another Griever swings around the back wall of the Mess hall and turns for me.

Before I can even think Crap, I'm tugged back into the Kitchen by Rob.

"Are you mad?!" Dan demands.

"It's flammable!" I shout back. The creature knows we're here; no need to be quiet. We just have to be fast.

Scott's eyes widen, and I know he's caught on. He reaches over and takes the torch from Jack's grip, then darts outside.

We all crowd around the door.

The Griever is making a beeline for the back of the Kitchen, tail raised in a lethal downward arc and mouth wide as it issues whirring and hissing noises.

Scott throws the torch forwards and it hits the soaked ground next to the jars.

Rob is just close enough to tug him back into the Kitchen by the back of his shirt.

For a moment, I think it's failed.

And then a line of fire spreads across the ground, flaring out around the jars and licking up the sides of the glass.

The Griever scurries over to the back entrance where we wait, oblivious.

There's that awful cracking sound that I remember from the day the Kitchen exploded, and we all dive away from the opening.

The Griever's scream of furious agony fills the air.

A wave of heat washes outwards.

Shattered fragments of glass blast through the doorway and make a delicate tinkling sound as they spray outside.

My heart aches with the force of its pounding under my ribs.

When we chance a glance around the door, the creature's squirming around, fires attacking the fleshy part of it and blackening its metallic legs; shards of glass are embedded in its body like they were in my hand. Small fires have caught in the grass and in the piles of matchsticks that were once stacks of crates and old barrels. The glass on the floor, and what's left of the amber liquid all shine like molten gold in the fire-light, shadows dancing in them.

It truly does look like a bomb site this time.

"Front door, front door," Dan says. He grabs my hand and tugs. I manage to grab Jack's collar, and we all race around the table and out the front of the Kitchen.

Out there, there's another fire going on a huge bonfire of splintered wood that wasn't there earlier. The storage hut next to the Kitchen that was there, no longer is. And by the scorch marks in whirling patterns on the ground, I figure someone else managed to at least light one of the creatures on fire.

"Oh my God, Guys!"

We all spin around. We're all breathing hard. Jack's arm is bleeding lightly, Scott's hand trembles around his Kitchen knife and I feel frazzled by the wave of heat we just ducked.

Stan and Billy race up to us; both scraped and horrified.

Stan claps Scott on the back; it's clear they're glad to see each other. Billy is armed with a mean looking short sword, the blade curved and coated with a very dark liquid that looks familiar.

"You got one?" Rob asks, breathless.

Billy shakes his head. "Not really. Lucky blow, but we're not really having much effect. It took Dave."

I didn't know Dave that well, but I still feel a pulse of grief.

That's five.

Stan looks over at me, "Where did you go?"

"To get this," Frankie answers for me.

He holds out an arrow.

I recognise it as one of mine the second I see it, never mind that no one's made any before me. The flint tip is blackened with Griever juice, but its otherwise fine. He must have picked it up when the creature shook it loose in the woods.

I take it back.

"Wh-" Stan leans over until he apparently spots the bow over my back. "Is that a bow?"

"Told you she was dangerous when she was scared," Dan mutters.

I ignore him. "Are you two okay? Who else have you seen?"

"I haven't seen Jackson since Thomas and Minho came back earlier today," Billy reports quickly.

"Frypan was with Minho and Newt," Stan follows up. "They grabbed weapons from the store hut and headed for Council Hall. Apparently everyone's meant to be barricading themselves in."

I try very hard not to focus on Newt's name in that sentence, but the relief that someone's seen him alive since I last did makes me nearly light-headed.

"They're okay?" I ask, before I can stop myself.

Stan looks at me and nods. I get the feeling that he knows that answer is more important to me than it probably should be.

"Too late for the Council Hall," Rob says. He points. There's blood on his sleeve.

It's a long way off across the open field, but I can see the dark shapes of at least three Grievers crawling around the walls, and one on the roof.

"We need to hide," Dan says. "Stick together. We're going into the woods."

"Back in there?" Jack asks, his voice raising.

"They can't move as fast in there," I say, knowing that is Dan's reasoning.

"Let's move," Stan says. He jerks his head and takes off at a run at the front of the group. We all follow behind him, sneaking around the worryingly quiet huts towards the woods.

"Something's wrong," Frankie says, as we get to the back of Homestead.

I have to agree.

Not just because Grievers are attacking on all sides, but because they're suddenly not.

"There was more than this," Scott says, and it's a whisper.

There's a strange ache in my chest, and I double back, moving quietly.

"Eva!" Dan whisper-yells after me.

Stan jogs to catch up and we peer around the Hammock hut.

Everything is wrecked. It'll take the Builders weeks to fix everything. The idea of it makes me feel ill in a way I can't name.

I can only just see the shape of Council Hall in the farthest corner of the Glade.

And then the shape on the roof drops as the whole ceiling caves in.

No.

I feel a half sob choke out of my throat, but the second I step to run for the Hall, Stan grabs my arm and yanks me backwards. He's younger than me, but strong enough to do it.

He points over towards the Medi Tent.

It's just a short trek from here, and a Griever shuffles around the front of it, the fleshy head part moving in an odd way as its legs whirr quietly.

I nod.

Panic has to take a backseat. There's still a threat. Stan lets me go.

"What's it doing?" I mutter. I grasp the situation with all of my focus, hoping it will calm the fear lodged inside of me from watching the cave in.

"Sniffing?" Stan whispers back. "I think it uses a sense of smell, maybe?"

"Well I don't think it can see," I say.

But it's clear that while the attack on the village has lulled, there's still Grievers lurking around, waiting to catch Gladers. It's not safe to sprint for the Council Hall right now.

"Woods," I whisper, turning back around.

Stan looks faintly relieved as he nods.

We hurry as quietly as we can back to the others, who all stand just inside the trees, eyes darting about nervously.

"Do we climb?" Rob asks as we start moving, keeping close together.

"No," Billy says, decisively. "If we climb and they find us, there's only one way down."

Kid's got a point.

"So just hide?" Rob tries instead. "And run if they're coming?"

"The doors," I say. And I turn, moving onto a new path. I know where the doors in the Deadheads are – running through them for the past five months has paid off.

"Definitely mad," Dan mutters to himself.

Stan elbows him.

"Why?" Jack asks.

"Because," I say. "If we stop somewhere we can see the doors, we can see if more arrive, or if any leave. We can't kill them, apparently, but I'd like to know exactly what I'm up against."

Scott and Stan share a look. Rob just nods once. I lead them towards the doors.

It doesn't take too long, moving at a jog, though we stop twice when we hear mechanical whirring between the trees. And finally, deaf to the rest of the Glade and what's happening, we sit, hidden by roots and moss, as first one, then two and then three Grievers all make their way out of the Glade.

The doors remain open.

"Is it over?" Jack asks when the third Griever leaves, its tail whipping back into the Maze last, metal scraping against stone.

Billy gives him a helpless shrug.

"Time to go back," Dan says.

I nod.

We all slowly stand; keeping our eyes peeled for movement, and then begin jogging back towards Homestead.

We should have known it couldn't just be over like that.

The scream comes from right behind me.

Right behind me.

I can just see the orange glow of still burning fires around the village when the horrible, tortured sound splits the air. It sends renewed fear lancing up my spine, despite thinking I couldn't take any more.

Who?

I wheel around, and Scott catches my arm to stop me falling over. His grip is stone cold.

A Griever is behind us, already wheeling around and scurrying away, and Billy is trapped between its teeth. His screams fill the air, making my ears ring and my body feels cold at the absolute terror in the awful sound.

Billy's face is white. His blood streams across the monster's flesh. The last thing I see as he's carried off are his hands reaching out for help that doesn't come.

I feel my stomach drop and my breathing stops. Jack's gone white and Dan's frozen.

"No!" Stan yells. "Billy!" But there's nothing any of us can do.

Six, I think in horror.

"Come on," Rob says, and it sounds like he's talking through a raging head cold. "We have to get back to Homestead. See…"

See who's left.

He doesn't have to finish.

I try to suck in a breath, and it hurts my chest to breathe it in. Dan's voice is ragged when he says, "Yeah, let's go."

We don't jog this time.

I'm bone tired, shaken and terrified of what we'll find when we arrive. We walk back through the trees, but there's no more screams, no more monsters in the shadows.

INFO

1. This chapter was a lot of fun to write (worrying, considering the nature of it, I know). But the logistics of it, as well as the constant pacing were what I liked, too. I never thought I was too good at action sequences, so I'm sorry if it did feel lacking anywhere. But on the logistic side, I knew a long time before reaching this point that I was going to write 'the other side' of that night. Obviously I'm not altering any movie scenes, and for me, that meant Eva wasn't in the Council Hall, since we never saw her on camera. So where was she instead? And that was the start up for how I saw this night playing out. Where other Gladers might have been and how they might have coped during the events we did see.

2. Which kind of leads into this. I told you I'd start bringing up the Kitchen Explosion incident when it was relevant later. More of it is still relevant in the future, but hopefully you can see how some of it showed up here. Eva and Scott - both of whom were in the Kitchen at the time of the Incident, remembered how unstable Gally's Brew is... So that was useful. And I felt it tied in nicely to the film, as Teresa uses a jar of it to light up another Griever.

3. I want to mention the deaths, because there's thought behind those, too, but that will wait until the next chapter, I think. You'll see why. For now, just know that Billy's was necessary and deliberate. More on that next time.

4. On that mention of the sickness Eva feels...Its a little complicated, its no wonder she can't explain it. She automatically thinks it will take the builders weeks to fix everything, so for starters, she's already subconsciously accepted the indefinite nature of her life in the Glade; she's thinking ahead by weeks, not hours or days. That alone is saddening, really, but on top of that, the Glade has at least always been safe, if not happy or ideal. But now, its not safe either. And a combination of those things - looking at an indefinite future somewhere you had to build a life but is no longer safe - I figure that could make anyone kind of ill.

5. And a quick mention on the lack of Newt in the last couple of chapters. Again, quite on purpose. Eva and Newt have different jobs, so on a normal day (though they're not common, lately) they wouldn't cross paths too often. In this instance, Newt just ends up with Thomas and other Gladers elsewhere. But as well as fitting to the movie's events, I wanted this to play out as it did for my own reasons. They're not going to spend the whole night running around holding hands and coddling each other or being a power couple. Newt is doing what he feels is best and Eva - while concerned for him - is getting on with what she feels is best. Each of them are independent people able to keep their minds on the immediate situation. In short, I wanted this scene to be about Eva, her own fears and ways of coping, the horror of what's happening, and about the boys she's with - not about her and Newt. I hope that makes sense. But don't worry; he'll be back really soon...

Yeah...no teasers here, either. I may have to officially stop with these to prevent spoiling too much stuff.

Guest Reply

Guest: Well, keep your fingers crossed there - I'm outlining a plot for an Internship fic. I just have to rewatch it a good dozen times to get a real feel for the characters, then start typing and see how things go :) But thank you; its great to hear you'd be interested if it works out! And thank you even more for such great feedback on this story and your praise on my writing, too! I'm really glad you're enjoying it and looking forward to more updates!