"What were you thinking?" Newt exclaims while poking his fingers through the slammer bars. The waning light of the sun reflects over his face, revealing a sour expression. His lower face turns to a frown.
"Newt," I pause momentarily, "this is our last chance - the only chance - to stop the killings before tomorrow."
He shakes his head. "It's dangerous."
"I know that, but there's no more time to get another plan before tomorrow. I have to do this. We both know what happens if I don't."
"You're sure?" he inquires, "running off in the middle of the night with a serial killer in a forest is the best way? Bit risky."
"This is the only way," I affirm, "and it's worth the risk."
Newt tilts his head, his eyes drifting to the side. "Is it?"
"The killings won't stop, Newt; it doesn't end with you. I won't let them banish you, I can't. We've already lost enough," a hint of sadness seeps through my words. Memories of the bodies – images of them hanging in the Deadheads - come back to me, twisting my gut into knots. Another flashback of Thomas, writhing in the med-bay, his veins gnarled and his face twisted, sends a chill up my spine.
Newt lets out a sigh, furrowing his brow. "Just...don't get yourself killed, all right?"
"I won't," I assure him, a sliver of doubt sneaking into my mind. "I won't," I repeat, this time to myself.
The creaking and groaning of the Maze doors begin. The sun sets behind the walls; a blanket of darkness begins to ripple through the Glade. The light fades almost immediately, making it difficult to see. The movement of the stone gates stops with a booming thud, echoing across the Glade.
"You should get back before bed-check," Newt comments, motioning around the slammer, "or we could be roommates."
"Yeah," I scoff dryly, "I'll, uh, see you tomorrow then?"
"Yeah," Newt responds, masking the worry in his voice.
After a brief moment of silence, neither of us speaking, I begin my journey back to the Homestead. Most of the others have retired for the night, leaving the Glade quiet and undisturbed. Flickering torches scattered around the Homestead illuminate the structure. On the inside dim light glows through the windows.
Slowly, I push open the door and make my way through the hall and up the stairs, arriving at my room. My bedroom door clicks shut behind me. I slouch down at the base of the wall, sitting in the dark. Heavy footsteps echo through the hallway. Gally knocks rhythmically from door to door, waiting for the responses. After each knock, the inhabitant of the room shouts their name for bed-check. The footsteps stop outside my door, then another knock.
"Tanya," I shout back through the door.
"Sweet dreams," Gally mumbles sarcastically, beginning to recede down the hallway.
I crawl over to my hammock, jumping into it. Resting my head back, I stare blankly up at the wall. The dull ticking of the clock drones on. My mind bustles, unable to rest despite my exhaustion. Seconds turn to minutes, then to hours. My eyes drift to the crack of light slipping under the gap at the door.
What if you fail? The question nags constantly. What if Nick was the killer, and this is all in vain, or if the killer never shows? You saved Newt once, but maybe it won't matter, not if this fails.
I toss and turn, attempting to distract myself. After another while, I roll out of the hammock and waltz over to the clock. Eleven-thirty it reads, sending a rush of adrenaline through me – it's time.
Taking a sturdy breath, I sneak out of my room. Delayed snores echo across the hallway. A flaming lantern brightens the ground as I manoeuvre across it and down the winding stairs. The floorboards squeak beneath me, but no snoring stops. Exiting the building, I start walking to my destination - the Deadheads to where they found the first body: where it all began.
My senses heighten, every noise attracting my attention, from a bird's song to the Grievers' haunting wails piercing my ears. The dwindled branches cluster together, blocking out the moonlight. Dead vegetation crunches beneath my feet. A trail of upturned leaves guides the way, barely visible in the dark. Someone has been back here recently.
A rugged elm tree stand, its branches curled and distorted. Remnants of rope and twine lay at the trunk, with dirt and mould creeping over it. A dark presence seems to linger over the area. Chills wriggle up my arms - this is the place.
The eerie gloom becomes more and more unsettling as time passes by. My faith in the plan diminishes. Worry and fear eat at my insides, clouding my judgment. My heartbeats quicken as my breaths become uneven. The instinct to run as fast as I can for as long as possible keeps persisting, but I refuse. I have to do this for Newt and all the others. Each time my legs beckon me to leave, I force my gaze at the tree as a reminder: someone else will die unless I do this. I have no choice.
A snapping twig echos around me; the sound ricochets across the trees. Leaves rustle in the distance. A dark figure approaches, shadowed by the trees. A glint of moonlight bounces off a blade in his hand. He stops a few steps away from me, unmoving. A familiar voice appears, breaking the silence, "How did you know?"
The light of the moon breaks through the trees, revealing his face. Everything falls into place, the Keeper's shoes, the rope, it all makes sense. My breathing stops. An old memory resurfaces - a clue - the real first victim. The old grave in the deadheads, George's grave, the killer was there. He visited the grave, but not out of grief, out of remorse. I saw him there, I talked to him. He killed his friend. That's why Nick wouldn't say who it was, no one would believe him.
His eyes stare blankly as if peering into me. My mouth gapes open, only a whisper leaves it, "Alby?"