Clara woke up the next morning to a weak, lifeless light. She looked at her watch, it was just after ten a.m. Then she heard the shouts. She looked out the window and saw that the sky was a dull slab of gray, contrary to the natural pale light of the morning.
"What the..." she mumbled to herself. She attempted getting out of bed, slowly and painfully edging her legs off the side. She set her feet on the floor, sending a jolt of pain up her body. She grimaced, and used her right leg to hold her weight as she stood. Her whole body ached, being in bed for four days took a toll on her. She limped to the window, trying to use her right leg as much as possible. Clara peered out into the gray sky and realized the sun had disappeared. Gone. A crowd of Gladers were gathered near the Box, their heads craned towards the barren sky. Clara could see Newt talking in the group; the sight of him made her heart hurt. She shuffled back into bed and closed her eyes, falling asleep a moment later.
Clara's eyes fluttered open and she checked her watch again. It read 8:02 p.m. She rubbed eyes and stretched her arms, sitting up in bed; thankfully the medicine Clint had given her earlier had helped in numbing the pain in her side. Although she'd been unconscious for a few days, her body was still exhausted. She looked out the window, at the open doors- open doors? Clara sucked in a breath. The sky was still the same gray it was that morning, and now the Doors weren't closed even though it was well past the time they were supposed to be. Something was wrong, very wrong. She knew that open Doors could lead to invading Grievers, which meant the Gladers were caught in a death trap. It was then she heard the moans.
Clara knew instantly what made those sounds but she was terrified by the fact that they had come from inside the Glade. There had to be at least three or four of them, prowling, waiting. She put her hands up to her mouth hands as her heart ran a million miles. This is it, she thought. I'm going to die after all I did to get back here. Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of not seeing Newt again. She didn't want their last memories of each other to be angry ones. Suddenly, A crash sounded from below, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Clara squeezed her eyes shut, and tears escaped from them. She heard screams downstairs, and they continued outside as Gladers were running out of the Homestead. She could hear the clicks and whirrs of the Grievers, right below her.
She willed herself not to scream as the door flew open, but was surprised and relieved to see Newt stumbling inside, his hand pressing down on his head. He quickly limped over to the side of Clara's bed, ripped off the blankets, and picked her up in his arms. Pain erupted erupted in Clara's side, but she pushed it away, gritting her teeth.
Favoring his good leg, Newt bounded down the stairs two at a time; Clara held onto him tightly so she wouldn't slip. Newt skidded to a stop on the second floor as they saw Gally dive into a Griever. Clara screamed as the creatures arms snapped and clawed at the missing Glader. Thomas was there too, backing away from the window, mouth agape. The Griever, with Gally stuck to its blubbery skin, pushed itself out the window, descending to the ground below. Newt leapt down the rest of the stairs and went out the opposite side of where the Griever landed.
It was complete chaos outside. The Gladers were running around yelling, talking, crying. Clara searched the Glade for any sign of her friends and saw black smoke curling out of the Map Room. Her eyes widened at the sight of it.
"What-" before Clara could finish, Newt ran over to a nearby tree, set Clara down beside it and limped toward the West Door, where Thomas was standing.
"Newt, where are you going?" Clara shouted. Newt didn't listen, continuing to run away from her "Newt! Listen to me!" He still didn't acknowledge her. Clara yelled in frustration and punched the ground, burying her face in her hands. A moment passed and she felt someone shake her shoulder.
"Hey, Clara, are you alright?" It was Zart. She looked up, staring into her friend's blue, panic-filled eyes.
"I need to know what's going on. Please." Clara begged, grabbing Zart's arm.
"This morning the girl woke up, says she 'triggered' somethin'. Now the sky's gray and the Doors won't close. And then someone burned the Map Room. Seriously, are you okay?" Clara knew she must've looked like klunk, she sure did feel like it, but she only nodded.
"Where's Minho?" Clara asked.
"By the Map Room, want me to take you there?" Clara nodded again, and Zart helped her up, putting her arm around his shoulder. Clara hopped on one foot to help. They made it to the Map Room, where a crowd of Gladers surrounded an unconscious Alby; Newt was there, talking to Minho and Thomas. Clara thanked Zart and made her way over to Minho, trying not to use her bad side. The moment she got there she put a hand on Minho's shoulder to steady herself.
"Clara, what- how did you get out here?" Minho questioned, wrapping an arm around her waist to help her stand.
"Someone helped me." Clara replied, eyeing Newt. He seemed more focused on refolding a bloody rag and pressing it to his head than looking her in the eye. "Is there anything I can do?"
"We were just about to go into the weapons room. Thomas has an idea for the Maps." Minho said
"Aren't the Maps burned up?"
"No, Newt and I hid those suckers in the weapons room, replaced 'em with dummies."
"Okay, let's go then." Clara limped along with the boys as fast as she could into the Homestead. Minho helped her down the stairs and switched on the light. The floor was cluttered with blades, sticks and other devices; a musty smell hung over the room.
"There's a hidden storage closet back here." Minho explained, walking past some shelves toward a dark corner. "Only a couple of us know about it." Clara heard the creak of a wooden door and then Minho appeared, dragging a cardboard box along the floor. "I put each trunk's worth in its own box, eight boxes total. They're all in there."
Thomas knelt down beside a box. "Which one is this?"
"Just open it and see- each page is marked, remember?" Thomas pulled the flaps open, revealing the Maps for Section Two stacked in a messy pile.
"Okay." he began "The Runners have always compared these day to day, looking to see if there was a pattern that would somehow help figure out a way to an exit. You even said you didn't really know what you were looking for, but you kept studying them anyway. Right?" Minho nodded, arms folded "Well, what if all the wall movements had nothing to do with a map or a maze or anything like that? What if instead the pattern spelled words?"
Minho pointed at the maps and let out a frustrated sigh. "Dude, do you have any idea how much we've studied these things? Don't you think we would've noticed if it were spelling out freaking words?"
"Maybe it's too hard to see with the naked eye, just comparing one day to the next, but look at it one day at a time?"
Newt laughed "Tommy, I might not be the sharpest guy in the Glade, but it sounds like you're talkin' straight out your butt to me."
"Okay, okay," Thomas said "You've always had one Runner assigned to one section, right?"
"Right." Minho replied
"And that Runner makes a Map every day, and then compares it to Maps from previous days, for that section. What if, instead, you were supposed to compare the eight sections to each other, every day? Each day being a separate clue or code? Did you ever compare sections to other sections?"
"Yeah, kind of." Minho answered nodding "We tried to see if they made something when put together- of course we did that."
"We've tried everything." Clara said, exasperated. Thomas pulled his legs under him, studying the Maps in his lap. A few seconds of silence followed.
"Wax paper." he said.
"Huh?" Minho asked "What the-"
"Just trust me. We need wax paper and scissors. And every black marker and pencil you can find."
