Hello there my fellow Gladers, how are we all doing? It is currently 1am in the morning and I finished this chapter for you all. How nice am I?

Hope you enjoy it, bit of a boring one (I know, I wrote it!)

Enjoy the end of the week, Friday is fun day!

Comments greatly appreciated (I love the emails when it pops up!)

See ya next time,

queenofthetear x

P.S. Before I leave you to read this chapter, I am officially announcing the name of the sequel to this book! That's right folks, we are going to see more of wonderful Clarke. I have yet to write a summary for this book, but it will be set within The Scorch Trials (with my own little twist). Once the summary has been written I will publish it. And now the name of the next sequel ...The Assassins of the Sand. It doesn't give too much away, but there is a major reason behind the name. I will leave now!


Chapter Twenty-Five


Nothing is impossible, the word itself says 'I'm possible'! ~ Audrey Hepburn


"This Gathering seems like a waste of time in my eyes," I grumbled to Jeff, as I ate as much as may mouth would hold.

"You'll be fine, Clarke. Just use that charm that seems to work on everyone." Jeff answered as he cleaned the mess that I had created last night with the bowl. I had completely forgotten about that event when morning came, and Jeff demanded why I made such a mess. "Your story still doesn't make sense, though."

"I told you, I thought I saw a bug." I innocently answered, batting my eyelashes to add some extra charm.

"Bug or no bug, there wasn't a need to throw the bowl."

"It was big!" I squealed, causing some bacon to fly off my plate and onto the floor. "Ah, look what you've made me done, perfectly good food wasted."

Jeff rolled his eyes at me, his body vibrating softly as he laughed. It hadn't been like this previous. When he first entered the room, there had been a very intense interrogation conducted by him asking about what on earth had gone on in the middle of the night – I simply answered yes, no or small grunts. After he plopped a plate of food that seemed to tower over me. Frypan must have gone all out on me to give me this much. There was bacon, scrambled eggs (lots of that), as well as toast and an apple. My stomach went mental. It did a backflip and a half when all that food flooded my nose receptors.

"Right," Jeff heaved, as he rolled back onto his heels. "All that cleared up."

He brushed the dirt of his trouser legs and picked up the tray that held all the broken bits of the bowl. Then, he placed the tray on the opposite bed carefully, making sure that none of it fell off.

"Did Gally bring these up?" he pointed at the pair of crutches that were leaned on the side of the bed.

"Yeah. Came in before you did with the food." I responded with a white lie. I stuffed more of the food into my mouth, making sure that it was full to the brim so I wouldn't have to answer any more questions.

"Strange," Jeff pondered, "I didn't see him enter the Homestead. You finished with that?"

I nodded, my mouth so full it would have burst like a volcano if I wasn't careful. Without disturbing the magma below my lips, I wiped away the crumbs that littered my face and lifted the plate towards Jeff.

"Am I your slave now?"

"Pretty much," I chirped, swallowing the last bits of food. He grabbed the plate from my grasp, and went to place it on top of the pile of broken mess.

"Whatever," he muttered, taking the tray with him as he left the room. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Listening to his footsteps drift from the hallway, I sat up from the bed and dangled my feet over the side. I leant back on my arms, thinking about what I would have to go through in the Gathering. With the quietness of the room, I heard Jeff struggle down the stairwell, a few grunts could be heard.

"You had to break, didn't you?" I sigh as I shifted my weight across the bed towards where the crutches had been propped up. I grabbed the nearest one, leaning it forward so that I could place it under my arm. Securely in place, I lifted myself up from the bed and leant on the crutch, testing to see that it could take my weight. Satisfied, I stretched my arm to grasp the other one and placed that under my other arm. I shifted my weight once again to cater for both supports. Now came the tricky part, trying to move with these things without falling over. With my left leg in the air, my right firmly planted on the ground, I moved the support forward so far, then swung my body to stand in a new position. That wasn't so bad, I thought as I slowly moved around the room to get used to this new method of transport.

On about my eight round of the room, I heard the door creak open and someone slip in. I snapped my head to the door to find Newt standing there with a huge smile on his face.

"How are we today. my darlin'?" he asked as he took small steps towards me. I smiled at him, ducking my head from blushing to hard.

"No longer hungry," I laughed, trying (and failing) to hide my nervousness. "But still very much in pain."

"I can't do much about that. But, just take one look at this body and you'll be feelin' better in no time." My laughter intensified to the point that my sides started to hurt. While I had my laughing fit, Newt had crept up on me. He now stood at least twelve inches away, the warmth that radiated from his body brushing my chills. In a blink of an eye, Newt had hooked his arm around my waist and drawn me closer to his chest, making sure to take all the weight for me; I would have fallen from weak knees if he hadn't. He laid a small kiss onto my lips, the feeling buzzing through my veins. I smiled at the gesture, allowing the buzzing to reach down to the pain that swelled down below.

I lifted my hand to his face, brushing the strands of his hair away so that I could see his better. He took my hand and placed a kiss on the palm. I was enjoying whatever this was.

"Ready to go?" he finally spoke, still a hold of my hand and waist.

"No, it's a stupid idea." I muttered, resting my arms on his shoulders as I intertwined my fingers through his golden hair.

"Stupid! I called it."

"And? Do I still 'ave to go?"

"Yes!"

I huffed in response, shifting my weight around on the crutches to disperse the unpleasant feeling that ignited. The quick movements happening around me started to build up the pain even more, resulting in my face to cringle up when the sharp lightning rods returned. The effect of the painkillers were starting to wear off, the pain appearing for more trouble. I just couldn't put it to the back of my mind, there was no way I could ignore this.

"You're uncomfortable. 'ere let me help you." With a swoosh motion, I was hoisted up from the ground and landed straight into Newt's strong arms. I shrieked in amazement with being swept from my feet.

A wicked smile crept onto his face as I started to realise what was about to happen. I opened my mouth to protest, but was unable to get any words out when he spun on his heel and walked out of the room – me still in his arms.

Once sense flooded back into me, I complained the whole way down the staircase, through the Homestead and outside into the Glade. Nevertheless, I knew that it was no good. Even if I somehow managed to convince him to put me down, I couldn't get very far without my crutches. I lie, I could go somewhere, but that involves a very sore bum.

Outside, we passed a surprised Chuck, whose eyes were wide with confusion and fear. I called for him to find someone to help me, but Newt only laughed my pleas off, saying that I had a Gathering to get to.

"Chuckie, get the crutches instead," I shouted over Newt's shoulder as we closed in on the large wooden shack.

"I'm really not allowed up there," little Chuck called back, his scared face blooming from my outrageous comment.

"I say you can."

"You can't!" Newt yelled back, countering my argument.

"He can."

"Can't."

"Can!"

"It's against Greenie rules."

"He isn't one. So I abolish those rules."

"You can't."

"Just have. Chuck," I called, "Newt allows it."

Chuck gave a loud squeak, then ran towards the Homestead without even glancing once behind home it see if the he was told the truth. Newt looked down at me with a slight annoyance in his eyes. His lips curled into a tight scowl, detailing the harsh features into his soft face. He kept quiet for the remainder of the journey, not uttering one word to me as we entered the wooden shack that was guarded by the same boys as last time.

Once through the doorway, Newt crossed the room in double time and I found myself sitting in a chair, worried and anxious, facing the eleven boys that I had faced in my first Gathering. They were seated in chairs arranged in a semicircle around me and Thomas, who was another honouree guest at this meeting.

The room that we sat in was shaped like an arena of some sort. My first time here, I didn't quite take in the vastness of the place. That was because I was too whacked in the head from my problems and for only just waking up in a strange place. The floor was dusty, covered in ting grains of sand; the type that always finds a way into shoes. The ceiling was held up by various long, wooden poles that twisted in odd shapes. Leaves and vines made up the roof of the shack, allowing cascades of little sunshine to fall through the room, lighten up the dusty air that we all breathed in.

One chair directly in front of me stood empty – I knew all too well who sat there in these Gatherings. Beside the chairs sat no furniture, except for a small table situated in the corner. There were no windows; the room smelling of mould and old books. I wasn't cold, but I shivered all the same. I gave a nervous glance to Thomas, who seemed to just as scared as I was.

After placing me on my chair, Newt had taken his seat beside the vacant one and waited formerly for the Gathering to start.

"In place of our leader, sick in bed, I declare this Gatherin' begin," he said, with a subtle roll of his eyes as if he hated anything approaching formality. "As you all know, the last week and a bit 'ave been bloody crazy, and quite a bit of seems centred round our Greenbeans, Clarke and Tommy, seated before us."

I shifted nervously on my seat when all eyes fell upon us, no doubt Thomas was feeling the same way.

"There not Greenie's anymore," Gally said, his scratchy voice so low and cruel it was almost comical. "There just rule breakers now."

I almost lurched from my seat, ready to claw out Gally's eyes. Rule breaker my arse. I didn't choose to go into the Maze, they choose for me. Thomas grabbed a hold of my arm and squeezed it until the skin turned a deathly pale, silently (and painfully) reassuring me that it probably wasn't the best idea if I tried to go all attack mode on him. Instead, I shot icy glares towards Gally – it would have to do.

A rumble of murmurs and whispers circulated the room, but Newt shushed them all. A small lump formed in the back of my throat. I no longer wanted to be in this room.

"Gally," Newt said, "tryin' to keep some buggin' order here. If you gonna blabber with you're shuckin' mouth every time I say somethin', you can go ahead and bloody well leave."

Gally folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, the scowl on his face so forced it would have stuck like that if the wind changed direction.

Newt gave him a shard stare (one that did not beat mine), then continued. "Glad we got that out of the way." Another roll of his eyes. "Reason we are 'ere is because almost every lovin' kid in the Glade has come up to me in the last day or two either boohooing about Thomas or beggin' to take his hand in marriage. We're not gonna talk about what they had to say about Clarke. We need to decide what we gonna do with him. As a matter of fact, we need to decide what to do with both of them. Seeing as Clarke survived, somehow."

Gally leaned forward, but Newt cut him off before he could say anything.

"You'll have your chance, Gally. First we have Clarke's story on how she survived, seein' as you weren't with Minho or Thomas in the Maze. Am I right?"

"Yep," Minho replied.

"Good that. Proceed." Newt motioned for me to explain my story of how miraculously survived a night in the Maze when no one else was able.

I paused for a moment, delegating which truths I should emphasis and which lies I should create towards them. This story would have to make sense, but not sound so unrealistic that they would catch on to my lies. I knew instantly that the screwdriver would not be mentioned, neither the conversations that I had with the Creators. The story that I would create would have to sound so real that I ended up believing it myself by the end of it.

"So … erm … I was dragged into the Maze by some weird metal chain, that pulled me back so far that I would never have made it back in tim–"

"Why were you by the Maze?" Gally interrupted me, a sly grin across his face, his arms crossed.

"Gally, shut your hole and let her continue." Newt barked, with an irritated tone.

I took this as my cue and continued with my elaborate story of how I survive the Maze for the night. I described, to the Keepers in front of me, how I scaled a wall to hide from the approaching Griever that started to chase me through the corridors after I found myself in a dead end. I explained to them how, when the Griever started to climb the wall, it knew exactly where I was placed and that it shredded its way up the side towards my entangled body.

I mentioned my elaborate escape plan, where I swung like a monkey through the vines. To make it more believable, I twisted the events of what actually happened only a few hours ago. Instead of slipping and falling from the vine immediately, I told them I had lead the Griever into it entangling itself with the vines.

"That was the plan," I said. I went on to mention how I judged the fall of the Griever accurately, but managed to overdo mine. When the creature jumped from the wall, it caught itself within a viney-web. I, on the other hand, had fallen straight through it and was unable to grab the vine intended to stop me from falling to the ground. Thus, broken ankle.

The makeshift cast was quickly made with the surrounding vines that covered the floor and me. It seemed impossible to do, but to them I had done exactly that.

I paused for a moment, trying to recollect the events that would have happened next. By this point in the real story, the Griever had already died and I was making a far better cast round my leg then what I had told them.

"The creature was thrashing round quite a bit, trying with everythin' it had to skewer me with one of its long arms. Thankfully, I was out of its reach. The arms were sharp, I mean, real sharp. Like they could just poke into your skin without any trouble. But, it seemed to be fragile if bent the wrong way. I grabbed one of them and held on with dear life (this is all before the cast). It gave quite a beating, but eventually I was able to somehow twist it and stick it within its belly. I used the legs as supports for my cast once I pryed them of it. After that everythin' gets a bit hazy, but I remember the pain."

The group of Keepers that surrounded me all stared back with faces of confusion. Either they did believe me or they didn't – it was hard to tell.

The room remained quiet for a few moments as they all digested the story within their minds. Some had a look of disbelief crinkling their faces, the story not quite sitting right within them. To tell the truth, I didn't believe the story myself. Not one tiny bit.

"That was … interesting," Newt finally muttered, speaking for all of us. He stared at me for a moment, trying to think of words to say next. "Well … erm … we've heard the story, now we start. One at a time. And Tommy, Clarke, not a buggin' word until we ask you. Good that?" He waited for a nod from both of us, then pointed to the Keeper of the Gardens on the far right. "Zart the Fart, you start."

There were a few snickers as Zart shifted in his seat. The last time I had seen him was when I apologised for my small outburst, which ended up him gaining a small broken nose. Oops.

"Well," Zart began, his eyes darting around the room as if he was expecting someone else to tell him what to say. "I don't know. They both broke one of our most important rules. People just can't go round doing that." He paused and rubbed his nose, wincing from the reaction. "But then again, things have changed. We know we can survive out there and that the Grievers can be beaten in some way."

Relief flooded over me. I was glad that Zart hadn't used the broken nose against me and at least supported mine and Thomas's side.

"Oh, give me a break," Gally spurted. "I bet Minho's the one who actually got rid of the stupid things. And Clarke's story, I bet she's lyin'!"

"Gally, shut your hole!" Newt yelled, standing effect this time. "I'm the bloody chair right now, and if I hear one more buggin' word out of turn from you, I'll be arranging a Banishing for your sorry arse."

"Please," Gally whispered sarcastically, the famous ridiculous scowl returning as he slouched back into his chair again.

Newt sat back down and motioned to Zart. "That's it? Official recommendations?"

Zart shook his head.

"Okay, You're next, Frypan."

The cook smiled through his beard and sat up straighter. "Got a pair of guts them two, more than all the pigs and cows I've fried up in the last year." He paused, as if he expected a few laughs, but nothing came. "Why are we doing this – he saves Alby's life, and she survived a night with a broken ankle, both killin' a couple of Grievers between them. And what are we doin', yappin' between us what to do with them. As Chuck would say, this is a pile of klunk."

More relief flooded my system with what the cook spoke. At least there was someone else on my side that seemed to at least understand the situation. I made a mental promise to myself to be an extra bit nicer to him.

"So what're ya recommendin'?" Newt asked.

Frypan folded his arms. "Put them on the freakin' Council and 'ave them train us on what they did out there to survive."

Voices erupted from every direction, and it took Newt half a minute to calm everyone down. I cringed slightly from Frypan's recommendation, he had gone too far and it wouldn't work.

"Shouldn't have said that," I whispered to myself and in earshot of Thomas. He arched his head slightly and nodded, he too agreed with my statement.

"All right, writin' her down," Newt said, pulling Thomas away from his confused state. I watched as Newt scribbled down on a small notepad what was said, possible for future reference. "Now everyone keep their bloody mouths shut, I mean shut it. You know the rules – no idea's unacceptable – and you'll all have your say when we vote on it." He finished writing and pointed to the third member of the Council, a boy I had seen around the Glade but hadn't had a chance to meet yet. He was a kid with black hair and a freckly face, strong build and broad shoulders. "Stan, speak."

"I don't really have an opinion," Stan said.

"What?" Newt asked, his voice full of anger. "Lot of good it did to choose you for the Council, then."

"Sorry, I honestly don't." He shrugged. "If anything, I agree with Frypan. There seems to be no fault. Why punish someone for saving someone's life? And what else, they both apparently killed Grievers, isn't that enough?"

"So, you do have an opinion – is that it?" 'Newt insisted, pencil in hand.

Stan nodded and Newt scribbled down a note, mumbling a few words to himself as he did this. I had a feeling of slight relieve, but not enough to be fully satisfied – it seemed like most of the Keepers were for Thomas and I, but there were still some Keepers to go through.

Still, I was having a hard time just sitting there; I wanted to speak on my own behalf, establish my white lie was the truth. Make the point that I hadn't just gone into the Maze on purpose, WICKED intended me too. But I forced myself to hold back my tongue and follow Newt's instructions.

Next was acne-covered Winston, the Keeper of the Blood House. "I think they should be punished. No offense, but Newt, you're the one harping on about order. If we don't punish, we'll set a bad example. They both broke Number One rule."

"Hey, hey, that's not fair. I didn't enter on my own terms!" I yelled, breaking Newt's rule of keeping quiet.

A deadly look was thrown my way be most of the Keepers, the dirtiest from Gally. Newt's face pinched together as if he was about to explode. "Clarke, no talkin'," he said gruffly, his temper seemingly rising. What is his problem?

Running his hand through his hair, Newt motioned for Winston to carry on. "Recommendations?"

"Fine, I believe you Clarke, I saw it. But, you broke a rule, so I think the Slammer for both of them. One week with only bread and water – and we need to make sure everyone knows about it so they don't get any ideas."

Gally clapped, earning a scowl from Newt. I felt my heart drop a bit.

Two more Keepers spoke, one for Frypan's idea, one for Winston's. Then it was Newt's turn. I eyed him carefully to see what he would say. By this point, I had figured out the source of the bad temper. He was trying to keep order within the Glade; overriding his command may have pissed him off only slightly.

"I'm saving my recommendation until the end. Next." Newt didn't look up from his notebook, only scribbled some more.

Down the line of chairs they went. Some thought that we should have been praised, others thought the complete opposite. Or both. I lost the ability to distinguish between which arguments were being made by each of the Keepers. But, I was able to anticipate the comments that would come from the last two Keepers, Gally and Minho. The latter hadn't spoken a word since the beginning of the Gathering; he just sat there, drooped in his chair, looking like he hadn't slept in a week.

Gally went first. "I think I've made my opinions pretty clear already."

Good, I thought. Now just keep that, what-you-call-a-mouth-shut, and all will be good.

"Good that," Newt said with a roll of his eyes. I couldn't help but smirk at this little gesture. "Go on, then, Minho."

"No!" Gally shrieked, making a couple of Keepers jump from their seats. "I still wanna say somethin'."

"Then bloody say it," Newt replied. It was quite clear at this moment that I wasn't alone in my dislike towards that guy, even Newt radiated with it.

"Just think about it," Gally begun. "She comes up the Box, a week before this slinthead, actin' all confused and scared, with blood everywhere. Let's not forget a week before normal Greenie time. She acts all crazy every time somethin' happens around her. Runnin' off into the trees, barricading doors, havin' screamin' fits when she sleeps. That ain't right. Then, he turns up, actin' the same as her and seemingly them two hang round each other, doin' everythin' together. A few days later, they're both runnin' around the Maze with Grievers, actin' like they own the place."

Thomas shrank in his chair next to me, while I squeezed my hands together until they turned white with rage. I was absolutely furious with that kid. Any more of that crap and I would hurt him, stuff my morals and the rules.

Gally continued with his rant. "I think it was all an act. How could it be done with only bein' 'ere for about two weeks and little experience with anything? I ain't buyin' it."

"What you tryin' to say, Gally?" Newt asked. "How 'bout havin' a bloody point?"

"I think they're spies from the Creators."

Another uproar exploded within the room; there was nothing to be done – how on earth did Gall come up with such a ludicrous idea in the first place? Newt finally calmed everyone down again, but Gally was still not finished.

"There's no way we can trust them," he continued. "Day after he shows up, another shank turns up, sproutin' off that she's bad, clutching that freaky note–"

There was a sharp snap from behind me, where I had completely forgotten about my hand crushing the living daylights out of the chair support (my fingers had started to hurt, so I had moved onto breaking something else). I pulled my hand free from behind my back, clutching the weak wooden support in my grasp. All eyes were now on me.

"Carry on," I said with a smile, allowing Gally to return to his stupid rant. I placed the wood on top of my lap, ready to use if needed.

"We find a dead Griever. They both conveniently find themselves in the Maze for the night, then they both come back, and he tries to convince everyone that he is the hero of the day – saving everyone. Well, no one saw what he did in the Maze, and definitely no one saw what she did. How do we know she's even tellin' the truth?"

Gally paused; no one said a word for several seconds and panic rose up in my chest. Could they actually believe what Gally was saying? I was anxious to defend myself and was ready to break the rule again – but before I could get a word in, Gally was up and talking again.

"There's too many weird things goin' on, and it all started when she turned up. And it just so happens she is also one of the first people to survive a night in the Maze. Somethin' ain't right, and until we figure it out, I officially recommend that we lock them both in the Slammer for a month, confiscate her bag, and then have another review."

I have no idea what came over me, it seemed that I just reacted to what was said. I had grabbed the piece of wood that laid on my lap and flung it at Gally. It hit him square in the face, clattering to the ground. Everyone was too stunned to do anything about it, let alone allow a sound from their mouths. I shrunk back in my chair, wanting the earth to swallow me whole right there and then. Why in hell did I have to do that? One pair of eyes shown out the brightest in that room, and they were threatening to burn a whole in my chest.

Gally's face turned bright colour of red as his fists balled together in fury. He stood up from his chair so fast that he knocked it over and stormed over to me, ready to throw a punch my way. Before he could get any further, a few of the nearest Keepers had jumped from their spots, rushing towards Gally before he could start anything drastic. He screeched out in frustration as two of the Keepers hooked his arms behind his back, leading him back to his seat.

"I'll give ya one chance Gally. Don't do that again." Newt glared at him, pointing his pencil straight at him. "Now, you done, Captain Gally?"

Angrily placed back onto the chair. Gally shot a deadly look my way. "Quit being such a smart aleck, Newt," he spat, his face going redder then before. "I'm dead serious. Stop tryin' protect her, you saw what she did. That's bBanishment right there. Quit voting me down before you even think about what I'm saying."

"Fine, Gally," Newt said, still glaring at him. "I'm sorry. We heard you, and we'll all consider your bloody recommendation. Are you done?"

"Yes, I'm done. And I'm right."

With no more words for Gally. Newt pointed at Minho to speak.

Out of all the Keepers that had spoken, I was intrigue to hear what this one had to say. I had no witnesses to what occurred in the Maze, no one knew what really happened out there. All I was riding on was a sense of hopefulness that Minho would at least be kind in his words.

Beside me, Thomas perked up a bit at the mention of the Keeper that was now in turn to speak. Unlike me, Minho and Thomas were both together when they entered the Maze, giving his recommendation a larger stance then mine. But, who was to say what would come out of that mouth.

Minho stood up quickly, taking everyone off guard. "I'm gonna keep this short and snappy. No long winded rants, like Gally's 'ere. I was out there; I saw what this guy did – he stayed strong while I turned into a panty-wearin' chicken. As for Clarke, we only found her in the midst of her tryin' to make her way back. Believe me, for someone being entirely alone in the Maze, she held up well. My recommendation more for Tom 'ere."

"Good that," Newt said, "Tell us, then."

Minho looked at Thomas. "I nominate this shank to replace me as Keeper of the Runners."