( A/N: I haven't written anything on this site for quite a long while, but I've been reading. A lot. And now I've got some ideas. I watched the film version of the Maze Runner for the first time a couple weeks back and that, combined with someone else's fanfic I read after that, has set off ideas within me, though this story will have more aspects of the book. So, thank you tincturedwords, your story inspired me... it's also the only reason I decided to watch the film in the first place! Not that I asked permission to use the idea first - I don't even like taking to people I know! Don't worry: I have changed this a lot, so I'm not completely plagiarising!)
Chapter 1
Thomas was just starting his second day in the Glade. Although, this was going to be his first full day here. He was still feeling the anxiety he had felt coming up in the Box yesterday. Everything was so strange here and nothing like anything he knew. Though he had no memories, he wasn't stupid. He knew normal people didn't live trapped in a massive field surrounded by four giant walls. He knew walls of that size and strength shouldn't have physically been able to move, opening and closing like actual doors. He knew that it was weird for the entirety of a community to just be teenage boys.
He had no memories, but that didn't mean he was naive enough to believe this was all meant to be normal and fine. He'd heard the Grievers shrieking and wailing and howling last night, knew that wasn't a sound any type of animal made. They had to be manmade, then. Just like the rest of this place. But who built it and why? And what was the point in putting them all in here? Why did their memories have to be erased and would they ever get them back? Who took them? How?
All these questions, but no answers! It was frustrating, to say the least. Apparently, none of the other Gladers had their memories, meaning they couldn't give him a lot of information about the outside world or the purpose of the Maze. But the stuff they could tell him, they seemed to want to keep to themselves.
Alby had said he was curious, that he was different. Was no one else wondering what this place was or how they'd gotten here? Was he the only one who wanted to know who the Creators were and what they wanted with him? Surely he couldn't be the only one! But it seemed that way so far. Why was it so wrong to be so curious?
Thomas was determined to figure it all out and find a way out of the stupid Maze.
But first, he had work. In the Glade, everyone pulled their weight and they all worked incredibly hard. "No freeloaders". That was what Alby had said just this morning, right before taking him to carve his name on one of the walls.
He understood the sense behind those words - if nobody did anything, everything about this place would just be so much worse. There'd be no food, no Runners trying to find a way out, no order. Every job was important and instrumental in keeping things running.
Sloppers kept everything clean and tidy, so the place was habitable and not disgusting to live in. Slicers and Track-hoes provided food, which Frypan and his chefs served up for everyone. The Bricknicks built everything. Without them, the Gladers would all have to sleep in the dirt. Alby had quickly gone through all the jobs that morning on the tour. Currently, Thomas was working with the Track-hoes, the gardeners of the Glade.
Zart seemed nice enough - just kept to himself mostly. But he was helpful and between them all, they were getting through the work quite quickly. Newt was there, too. As second-in-command, he helped out wherever he was needed in the Glade. It was also becoming quite obvious to Thomas that Newt was the one who helped out mostly with the new arrivals and that he was working with the Track-hoes that day to help Thomas - just until he could find his feet. He sensed that the first week or so was always quite difficult for everyone, so he appreciated having at least one familiar face around. Not that Newt seemed familiar to him - he had no memories after all - but they'd had several conversations yesterday and Newt was one of the very few that Thomas had met in this place so far.
He asked a lot of questions while working, so when he he was sent of to collect some fertiliser, Thomas decided it was their way of getting some quiet while they worked. It didn't stop him from grumbling the whole way, though.
Seriously, why all the way out in the middle of a big forest? It seemed a bit silly to him.
And then something caught his attention: as he approached, he saw it was a grave. The name 'George' was carved carefully into the wood and he traced his fingers gently over the letters. Then, to Thomas' absolute horror, he noticed a small pile of bones next to the grave, still with dried blood covering them. He backed up several paces, his face full of fear and revulsion.
It was then that Thomas became aware of the presence of another person behind him and he turned, starting a bit at the sight of one of the Runners he'd seen yesterday.
"Hey...um...Ben, wasn't it? I was just..." he trailed off, not knowing what to say. He wouldn't have had a chance to finish even if he did because Ben started advancing towards him quite quickly.
The guy didn't look well. At all. He was extremely pale, sweating a fair amount, and breathing very heavily. Thomas might have just passed this off as exhaustion from running if it hadn't been for the look in Ben's eyes. It was full of fury and hate and suddenly the older Glader didn't look all that sane.
"Ive...seen you!" he ground out through gritted teeth. "I... remember... you!"
Thomas opened his mouth to say something, but then Ben pounced on him. He cried out as he fell backwards onto poor George's grave. Part of the wood broke under the weight of the two of them and splintered up into Thomas' lower back, increasing the volume of his cries.
Ben started punching, then, holding Thomas down with a thick hand against his neck. Thomas started to fight back, but it was futile. Ben had a bigger, thicker, stronger build than him, he was clearly a fair bit older, and he'd been running through the Maze every day for who-knew-how-long.
But Thomas wouldn't just give up because of that.
His fingers grasped onto one of George's bones and he brought it round against the side of the Runners head. The grip lessened for a second. A second was all Thomas needed and he took off running.
Ben tackled him again from behind and they both came crashing to the ground once more. As Thomas tried to rise, Ben sat on top one of his legs, forcing it back to the dirt in an unnatural position. Thomas could feel it twisting and screamed, swinging his fist around in defence. Ben caught his arm and sunk his teeth into it. He drew blood almost instantly and Thomas howled. It was pure agony! It was also being twisted behind his back - he could feel bones snapping and he started to howl, hoping against hope that someone would hear and come to help.
But no one would come. He was alone.
He kicked out, hit Ben's abdomen.
He took off running once more and disaster! He tripped over his own feet, pulling several muscles as he tried to prevent the fall. Adrenaline prevented him from feeling any pain and he was up in an instant, running as fast as his body would physically let him, back towards the open fields of the Glade.
He never let up screaming and yelling the whole while; maybe somebody would hear and get to him before Ben did.
He definitely wasn't a Runner. Ben was closing the distance unbelievably quickly. He stood no chance! He was dead!
Finally, Thomas broke free of the trees of the Deadheads. But so did Ben!
"HEELLLLLLPPP!!!!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, "HELP ME!!"
Ben threw him to the ground, winding him. He fell hard on his right side and a burst of pain shot into his rib cage. He howled out in pain to be heard for miles around. Ben was punching again, the hand back against his windpipes, holding down tightly on Thomas' trachea. Everyone had started running towards them, but Thomas knew they wouldn't make it on time. Ben would kill him first.
He struggled violently and then, from out of nowhere, Ben pulled a knife!
Thomas twisted his body round to the side just as the knife plunged downwards. Thomas' twist meant that the knife had missed Ben's original target of the heart and gone through his left shoulder, instead. Somehow, his screams and cries and yells went up a few degrees in volume and pitch. He felt his head being slammed repeatedly down, hitting the hard dirt over and over.
Then Ben fell to the side and instantly, several people were on top of him, pinning him down. Thomas looked up: Newt had hit him against the head with a shovel. He lay on the ground while everyone else crowded around the crazed Runner. Shock was finally seeping into his bones, adrenaline finally wearing off, pain finally making itself heard. Voices were coming from a distance. He was seeing everything through a blurred filter.
"Pull his shirt up!" Alby ordered. Through the filter, Thomas recognised his voice.
He couldn't see Ben all that well from where he was, but he heard gasps coming from a long distance away and warped gurgles of, "He's been stung!" and, "In the daytime?!"
He was losing consciousness rapidly, he knew. It hurt to stay awake, but he knew that he couldn't let himself fall asleep when he was in a state like this. But he couldn't help it - pain was winning.
Before he closed his eyes, he heard Alby's order to take Ben to the Pits (wherever that was) and Ben's desperate, fearful screams and useless protests. Then it all went dark.
