The Labyrinth: Chapter Fourteen
"This Gathering seems a waste of time," I grumbled into my food the next morning. There wasn't enough bacon and eggs that I could stuff in quick enough. "What is the point of it anyway?"
"You did break the number one rule," Jeff answered.
I placed the fork on the table at the comment. "Not intentionally."
"That's up to the Keepers to decide."
I huffed at the response. I cleared the rest of my plate. The adventures of the previous night had really made me think that I needed to be always prepared. I didn't know when my next meal would be. That was a situation I didn't want to be in again.
In the process of putting my utensils down, the biggest yawn ripped through. My whole body shuddering. I struggled to sleep that night. Along with Alby's screams piercing through the Glade, a part of my believed that if I closed my eyes for a second, then I would end up back in the Maze alone. I reckoned I only had at least two hours sleep.
"Done?" Jeff asked, snapping me out of my daze.
"Yeah."
He took the plate from me and stood up. "I'll put these back, you get ready to go."
Jeff was annoyed. That was very evident. I wasn't demanding in any way. It's just there was only so much I could do on my own. For instance, the showering had become far more complicated. I insisted, with great demand, that he kept his eyes clothes when he helped me change trousers. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he really didn't want to be there. I didn't want him to either, but it was the best we had since Newt apparently had to run the Gathering with the Council. If anything, I would say that Jeff and are we're closer than ever.
Jeff returned swiftly and helped me to me feet. He handed the crutches to me and both of us slowly made our way to the building.
"Why does it have to be so far?" I grumbled. Going slow was not my thing I discovered.
"Quit moaning, you have to get used to them." Jeff insisted that I get used to the crutches. You could imagine my response.
The minutes passed and soon we were in front of the building, the same two boys guarding the entrance again. Jeff walked up to them, opened the door and gestured for me to enter. I let in a deep breath, exhaled it and went in.
Once through the doorway, eleven boys stared at me. Even the thought of going any further almost made me back out. It was the sight of Newt that made me stay. Mainly because I was half certain that either he or Jeff would pick me up and put me on that chair themselves if I even attempted to run. Not like I could.
The room was shaped as an arena of some sort. The ceiling high and the walls low. It was a strange place to be in. I crossed the room, no one bothering to help until I came to Thomas, who clearly had better manners than some. He jumped from his chair, guided me to mine and assisted me in sitting down. He gently placed the crutches to one side and darted back to sit on his own chair. Newt glaring all the same.
The floor was dusty, covered in 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 too just as scared as I was.
After waiting for me to seat in my chair, Newt started the Gathering.
"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."
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 then continued. "Glad we got that out of the way." Another roll of his eyes. "Reason we are here 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 them."
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."
Silence fell over the Gathering as they waited to hear my story. I swallowed back the nerves. I talked to the boys. Just not too many. Certainly not to twelve in a room, where I barely spoke to four of them. I caught Newt's eye. He nodded his head in reassurance.
"I … I don't know how it happened," I started, my voice very quiet. The boys leaned in to hear. "But one minute I was by the Kitchens and the next I was in the Maze just before the Doors closed."
"Speak louder no one can hear," Gally boomed from his chair. I jumped, his voice echoing louder in the room.
"Gally, shut your hole and let her continue," Newt barked, with an irritated tone. Gally's face dropped to a scowl. "Carry on."
And I explained everything. The feeling of being by the Kitchens to the Maze. How I felt like a frozen statue and had to physically fight against a force to even gain control of my body again. The way the Beetle Blades descended on from nowhere and pinning me to the ground. The Doors closing. My run in with the Griever. How that ended up dead, but I had no idea how that happened. Swear.
"… it all blacked out. Then my ankle hurt and I had to get away. Ended up on the floor somehow with Tom waking me up. You know the rest." I sat back on my chair, sinking down into to it to try my best to hide away. The story was short, but the reaction was long.
The room remained silent for a few moments as they all took in what happened. A few faces of disbelief swept across the group. In truth, I wouldn't believe me too if I heard the same story.
"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 the pair of you, 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.
"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 washed over me. There was at least one person that believed the story. Well parts of it assume. Maybe not my part. Definitely not my part.
Shut up and listen.
"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 doesn't even make sense."
"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."
"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. I slunk further down the chair. Anymore and I would slide right off it.
"All right, writin' her down," Newt said. He flicked to the next page and scribbled down the recommendations given. At least they weren't that uncivilised here and actually relied on written notes. "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.
Next was 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."
I sunken feeling filled my stomach. There was a good run for a few of the Keepers, but I knew that only luck would go so far and that ran out with the three that I had only met. Newt flicked his eyes to me, seeing the distress I was getting in. His muscles in arms tensed and he fiddled with the pen further.
"Recommendations?" he directed at Winston.
"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.
Two more Keepers spoke, one for Frypan's idea, one for Winston's. Then it was Newt's turn. The moment of anticipation. Whatever he would say would only anger one side more than the other. I kept a level head when I waited for his verdict, reminding myself that he was acting in accordance to his role, not for any favours on me. By the way that Gally acted, it wouldn't end well for anyone.
"I'm saving my recommendation until the end. Next." Newt didn't look up from his notebook, only scribbled some more. Not the response that I had hoped, but one I hadn't expected him to make. Of course, he had to be impartial otherwise the word bias would become the very common phrase of the Glade.
Down the line of chairs they went. Some thought that we should have been praised. Others conflicted on that idea, expressing their concern on what we have done for order in the Glade. Or both. I lost the ability to distinguish between which arguments were being made by each of the Keepers. The final two Keepers were the easiest to figure out. Gally sat gleefully awaiting his turn, ready to unleash to the Gathering exactly what he thought of this whole diabolical. Whilst Minho took the very opposite approach.
Gally went first. "I think I've made my opinions pretty clear already."
"Oh brother," I heard Thomas sigh beside me. I swear I felt my shoulders shake. A silent laugh erupting from me. I hurried my fingers of my mouth and stifled the laugh as best I could. Along with covering the smile. Luckily for me, no one noticed my first sense of madness.
"Good that," Newt informed in with a roll of the eyes. "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 sharply added after him. Patience for this boy had truly worn thin with everyone. I swear I heard someone 'tsk' at the outburst. Maybe it took more energy to like him then it did to dislike him.
"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 doesn't talk. Doesn't go near anyone. But somehow seems to be good at things we tell her to do. No Greenie is like that. Then … then he turns up, with the coma-boy, doin' the same shuckface stuff. Askin' so many goddamn questions. A few days later, they're both runnin' around the Maze with Grievers, actin' like they own the place."
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? Well him no experience. 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."
Through the chaos of uproar that exploded through the room, the only thing that I focused on was how Minho perked up at Gally's final words. Not too long ago, he was accusing me of the same exact thing in the Maze. Whatever the Runner had to say, that comment clearly would fuel it.
Newt finally calmed the boys down again, but apparently Gally was yet finished.
"There's no way we can trust them," he continued. "The coma-boy that turned up with the Greenie. Was he really in a coma? Why is he here? And that freaky note that came with him. Don't forget about the dead Griever. They both conveniently find themselves in the Maze for the night, then they both come back, and the Greenie 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. Panic rose in my chest and left a hard lump in my throat. There was a small chance that the rest of the Keepers would believe him. He sounded so believable that even for a half second, I considered what he said as reasonable.
He's an idiot. Don't forget that.
"There're 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, and then have another review to get the real truth out."
Newt's face was the epitome of boredom. His pencil hung lazily between his fingertips. His eyes partly open to show that he was somewhat listening. "Now, you done, Captain Gally?"
Gally saw red. The comment dismissed him. And he did not like it. "Quit being such a smart aleck Newt," he spat, his face a deep shade of red with every word. "I'm dead serious. Stop voting me down before you even think about what I'm saying."
"Fine." Newt sat up straight and gave an air of interest. "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 in the room, his I was most intrigued to hear. His accusations and damn right rudeness had me reeling in my seat. This was possibly the moment that Thomas would fly high and I would sink very low. No one witnessed what happened in the Maze. Not even him. The only reason he knew that I was there was because he found me. Minho had no loyalties to me. He owed me nothing. The very last thing I expected from him was anything good. A sentence, similar to Winston's, sounded appropriate to what Minho may suggest in my mind. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Thomas sit up straighter. He too seemed to be just as interested as I was.
Minho chose to stand, taking in the other Keepers in his grandeur (much to the annoyance of Gally). "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 and probably faced Grievers as well, there's no denying that, she held up well. You say she went through the East Doors and yet we brought her back through the West. Even the best of us would have to think about that type of navigation. Somehow, though, she did it without having even stepped into the place before. And do you know what. She wasn't even that far from the entrance. So how she managed to travel is beyond me. We'd be fools not to use her. Even if it's a blur. I'm sure it would come back to her. She can do everything else in the Glade, why can't she do that too?" He paused for a breath. "But 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."
Silence engulfed the room, only the breathing from the Keepers could be heard and the noises from the working Gladers outside. Every member of the council stared at Minho, completely and utterly stunned. Had I heard him correctly? Did he suggest the most insane thing ever? We all there sat there, not really sure if the Runner would suddenly say that he had been joking.
Gally finally broke the silence, standing up. "This is rubbish!" He faced Newt and pointed back at Minho, who had taken his seat again. "He should be kicked off the Council for sayin' somethin' so stupid."
A few Keepers nodded their heads in agreement, whispering remarks between themselves – like Frypan, who clapped loudly to drown out Gally, who clamoured to take a vote. Winston shook his head adamantly, muttering words under his breath. Then, everyone started to talk all at once, each getting louder and louder with every passing moment.
Thomas pursed his lips. He shook his head and stared down at his lap.
This was very unexpected. I was glad it wasn't me.
We waited for a moment, but the noise only grew louder and louder as each Council member's argument intensified to the point where it seemed almost frightening. Anyone one of them could snap and the whole thing end up in disaster.
Finally, Newt put his notepad down and stepped out from the semicircle, screaming at people to shut up. His yells didn't seem to be working. Everyone talked to loud to even recognise his attempts. Poor thing. Newt's face reddened with trying to keep order.
Without even thinking about it, I put my fingers to my lips and gave a high-pitched whistle that sliced the air. Everyone fell silent and turned to face me.
Jeez. No. Hide.
I hide my face behind my hand and with the other pointed at Newt. I very swiftly retracted it and bent over on too my lap to hide the shame. Where had that come from?
"Thank you for that," Newt said uncertainty in his voice. "Right. Now that we are all quiet, we can carry on." Newt waited for everyone to retake their seats. "I have never seen so many shanks actin' like teat-suckin' babies. We may not look it, but around these parts, we're the adults. Now act like it, or this Council gets disbanded and we start from scratch."
He walked from end to end of the curved row of sitting Keepers, looking each of them in the eye as he spoke. "Are we clear?"
A silence haunted the air around us. For a moment, I expected an outburst, but was surprised when everyone nodded with consent, even Gally.
"Good that." Newt ran a hand through his hair, gave a long sigh and walked back to his chair, placing his pad back onto his lap. He scribbled out the last part that been written, he looked back at Minho. "That's some serious klunk, man. Sorry, but ya need to made a good cause before you put somethin' like that forward."
All eyes fixated on Minho. He looked exhausted, but started to defend his proposal about Thomas. "It's easy for you shanks to sit here and talk about somethin' you think you know. I'm the only Runner in the group, and the only other person that has been in the Maze is Newt."
"Not if you count the time–" Gally interjected.
"I don't!" Minho shouted. "And believe me, no one else does. You or nobody else has the slightest clue what it is actually like to be out there. The only reason that you were stung was because you broke the same rule that you blame Clarke and Thomas for. That is hypocrisy shuck–"
"Enough," Newt interrupted. "Defend your purpose and be finished."
The tension spliced the air, it morphing into glass that had the possibility of shattering at any moment within the room. Both Gally and Minho's red skins of their faces looked like they were about to burst, but they broke their stare after a second.
"Anyway, listen," Minho continued, sitting back into his seat heavily. "I've never seen anythin' like it before. He didn't panic. Didn't even whine, never seemed scared at all. Dude, he'd been here for what? A few days. Think about what we were all like in the beginnin'. Huddlin' in corners, disoriented, cryin' every hour, not trusitn' anybody, refusing to do anythin'. We were all like that, for weeks or months, till we had no choice but to shuck it and live. Shuck it, they're both like it."
Minho stood back up and pointed his fingers in our direction. "Few days ago this shank had just stepped into the Glade, probably scared senseless from everythin' around. Then he steps out in the Maze, after he has only just shown up, to save two shanks that he barely even knows. All this klunk about him breakin' a rule is beyond stupid. Heck, I doubt he even understands the rules yet. But I bet plenty of people have told him what it's like in the Maze, especially when the Doors close. And yet he still stepped other there to help one of our won, the only person to care about aid of two people." He took a deep breath, gaining more strength each time that he spoke.
"But, that's not even the beginnin'. After he saw me give up on Alby, leave him for the dead, he took the matter into his own hands. I was the veteran – the one with all the experience and the knowledge. So, when Tommy here saw me do that, he was the last likely person to question my judgement. But, he did. And by questionin' it, he was able to save Alby from a horrible death. Think about all that willpower and strength that it must have taken to push Alby up that wall. It's freakin' crazy.
"That isn't even the end of it. The Grievers came, as they do, and I told Thomas to split up. I used the practised evasive manoeuvres, running in patterns, while Thomas instead took control and defied the laws of physics to get Alby up that wall. He then, somehow, managed to divert the Grievers away from him, beat one off, found–"
"We get the point," Gally snapped. "Tommy here is a lucky shank."
Minho rounded on him. "No, you worthless shuck, you don't get it! I've been here two years and have never seen anythin' like it before. For you to say anythin' …" Minho paused, rubbing his eyes, letting out a groan in frustration.
Everyone had been stunned silent. A few of the Keepers mouths had dropped wide open in their surprise, there emotions about this ordeal scattered. All were taking sides, and all were trying to understand who had the upper hand. It was all like one big betting game.
"Gally," Minho continued in a calmer voice, "your points are only valid when you have experienced the Maze. You've never, not once, asked to be a Runner or tried out, so how do you know what you're talkin' about. You're nothin' but a sissy, so shut your mouth."
Gally stood up again, fuming. "Say one more thing like that and I'll personally break your neck, right here in front of everybody." Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke his threat.
Minho only returned a laugh, his head knocking back in a wild frenzy. Then, he raised the palm of his hand and shoved Gally in the face. I watched in horror as the Glader crashed down onto his chair, tipping it over backward, cracking it in two pieces. Gally sprawled across the floor, before he scrambled to stand back up on two feet, struggling to get his hands and feet under him. Minho stepped closer and grabbed a fistful of Gally's shirt, pulling him up until their noses almost touched. His free hand crumpled into a fist and raised in the air, ready to strike.
No one was going to stop this.
"No."
The word was loud, clear and cut through the room like a knife.
The boys halted, hands still tightly gripping each other in a struggle. All eyes fixated on me. Mine widened. Had that come from me? I swallowed the lump as best I could. It wouldn't go down, the word caught in my throat.
Stand up.
I stood up for effect, gripping the back of the chair with all my life as I did this. One finger lifted and pointed straight their way as a warning.
"Put him down." The phrase clear and impactful. Apparently, I mean every word. I glared hard, letting whatever this was take over me. This wasn't me. The courage wouldn't last long.
And like little boys they chose to be, they soon listened. After an agonising piercing silence that engulfed the room, Gally shoved Minho off him and backed away, his face a mask of rage. He made no move towards Minho, just stood there with his chest out, heaving ragged breaths. Finally, Gally backed away, half stumbling towards the exit behind him. His eyes darted around the room, lit with burning hatred.
"I don't need anyone standin' up for me, especially you," Gally spat in my direction.
My face must have twisted into something as I swear, Gally flinched. The muscles in his face twitching the second the comment left him. That night clearly had more of an impact than I thought.
"Oh I forgot, you're Captain Gally. A captain never needs saving." Thomas choked beside me. I took that as my cue and sat down, ignoring the dangerous glare that Gally gave me.
"You're nothing here," Gally seethed, the spit flying from his mouth. His shoulders vibrated as he stepped ever closer to me. "Everything you do comes of dumb luck. You're just some crazy delusional chic that Newt would like too–"
"How dare you." I cut in, the anger seething in me. I had never felt anything like it before. The emotion overtaking, alluring and dangerous. The feeling something I so easily I could fall into making it harder to separate myself from it. It took no effort at all and felt almost a natural state to be in. I hadn't realised I had bent to grab one of the crutches until it had flown with deadly accuracy straight for Gally's chest. It didn't stop there. I threw myself off the chair, and as I fell forward to the stumbling Gally, I landed a very nice punch square on his nose. He collapsed backward with a yelp, clutching his now bleeding nose. I face-planted the floor as soon as I instantly drew out my injured foot.
From behind, Minho and Newt had reanimated themselves and dove for Gally. They grabbed his shoulders and drew him away, half-dragging him to the exit. They were halfway there when Gally planted his feet on the floor, stood to attention and shoved the pair from him. His eyes shone with anger. His chest heaving. "You shouldn't have done that," he growled, blood spitting out with every word. His eyes glared at me. Gally wiped away his face, smearing the blood across it.
"I think it's best you–" Newt started.
Gally twisted himself and squared up to Newt. Both boys similar in statue, just one a little more unhinged than the other. "I know you hate me, that you've always hated me. You should be Banished for your embarrassin' inability to lead this group. You're shameful, and any one of you who stays here is no better. Things are going to change. This, I promise." He stepped back from Newt toward the door, yanking it wide open.
"And you," he hissed, pointing straight to Thomas, "the Greenbean who thinks he's friggin' God. Don't forget I've seen you before – I've been through the Changin'. What these guys decide doesn't mean jack."
He paused, looking at each person in the room. When his malicious stare fell back onto Thomas, he had one last thing to say. "Whatever you came here for – I swear on my life I'm gonna stop it. Kill you if I have to."
Then he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
I gulped. That went better than expected.
Really?
I pushed the thought of pain aside. I really pushed … it aside.
"Gah," I let slip. "Bastard." Came out next.
Newt jumped from staring to being by my side in a flash. With all his weight he hoisted me up from the floor and guided me back to my seat. The other Council members remained silent. Too stunned to formulate words.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to Newt through gritted teeth. "I didn't mean to do it."
"Just stay seated, we'll talk after," was all that he replied. He safely got me to my seat then sullenly walked back to his own snatching the fallen notebook from the ground.
Thomas, beside me, sat frozen in his chair, not really moving, not really doing very much. Gally's words must have got to him far more than he was letting on.
"He's finally whacked for good," Minho said in almost a whisper.
"Well, you're not the bloody saint of the room," Newt said. "What were you thinkin'? That was a little overboard, don't ya think?"
Minho squinted his eyes and pulled his head back, as if he were baffled by Newt's question.
"Don't give me that garbage. Every one of you loved seein' that slinthead get his dues, and you know it. It's about time people started to challenge his klunk."
"He's on the Council for a reason," Newt said.
"Dude, he threatened to break my neck, kill Thomas and went for Clarke! The guy is mentally whacked if you tell me. You better send someone right now to throw him in the Slammer, he's dangerous."
"Maybe he had a good point," Winston said, almost too quietly.
"What?" Minho asked, his voice raising into a shout.
Winston looked surprised at the acknowledgement that words had come from his mouth. His eyes darted around the room before he explained his point. "Well … he has been through the Changin' – one of those things stung him in the middle of the day just outside the West Door. Meanin' that he does have some memories, and he said the Greenie looked familiar. Why would he make that up?"
A shiver ran down my back at the mention of the word.
"Winston, did you see what just happened?" Frypan asked, looking sceptical. "Gally's psycho. You can't put too much stock in his ramblin' nonsense. What, you think Thomas here is a Griever in disguise?"
Thomas huffed beside me. It seemed that he had had enough of the talking and biting back his tongue.
"Can I say something now?" he finally blurted out, the frustration in his voice raising the volume of it. "I'm sick of you guys talking about me like I'm not here."
Newt glanced up at him and nodded. "Go ahead. This bloody meetin' can't be much more screwed up."
"I don't know why Gally hates me. I don't care. He seems psychotic to me. As for who I really am, you all know just as much as I do. But if I remember correctly, we're here because of what I did out in the Maze, not because some idiot thinks I'm evil."
Newt nodded, clearly satisfied by this speech. "Good that, let's get this meetin' wrapped up so that we can deal with Gally."
"We can't vote without all the members here," Winston insisted. "Unless they're really sick, like Alby."
"For the love, Winston," Newt replied. "I'd say Gally's a wee bit ill today, so we continue without him. Thomas, you go first and defend your case. Then Clarke. Once she's done, we'll take a vote on what situation we'll take."
Thomas released his hands that were squeezed up into fists on his lap. He relaxed them, wiping his palms over his trouser legs. Then he began to speak.
"I didn't do anything wrong. All I saw were two people struggling to get inside these walls and they couldn't make it. To ignore that because of some stupid rule seemed selfish, cowardly, and … well, stupid. If you want to throw me in jail for trying to save someone's life, then go ahead. Next time I promise I'll point at them and laugh, then go eat some of Frypan's dinner."
I doubt Thomas was trying to be funny with his case. His words sounded more like they were for hurt for being put on trial for saving life. Newt pursed his lips and scribbled down Thomas's words.
"Clarke, you're up," Newt flicked his pencil towards me without looking up.
"I'm not some elite person you keep talking about," I stated, wanting to clear the air. "You say I can do all this stuff. I don't know what you see, but to me its just something whilst I wait. Don't ask me what I'm waiting for, I don't know. Everything's confusing. It's all well and good saying we all went through the swipe, but that's just it. From what I've gathered, the only other person whose had the same experience as me coming here is the coma-boy. And he's still in one. Who knows what exactly went on before I came here? You're just putting your hopes on someone that I don't think you should." I paused. "Maybe Gally's right. Maybe I am a spy, I just don't know it."
No one said anything until Newt did. "Really?" he sighed. "You're believing him now?"
"Uh … no," I stumbled over my words. "It's just why am I here? The Creators sent up boys so what's my purpose on all of this."
"You're treadin' on a fine line, Clarke." Newt spoke, his words more haunting as he never raised a word. "If you ain't gonna cooperate, then we move onto the recommendations.
"Both broke the Number One Rule, so both get one day in the Slammer. That's the punishment. I also elect Thomas as a Runner, effective the second this meeting's over. You've proven more in one night than most trainees do in weeks. As for you being the buggin' Keeper, forget it." He looked over at Minho. "Gally was right on that count—stupid idea.
"With Clarke, seeing as she has been in the Maze, she can help with the maps, findin' a way out, best I can think of. If her ankle heals, and that's a big if, then we can also consider her for the position as a Runner. We can discuss that at a later date."
Shocked was an understatement. Whatever they saw in me was news to me. I really had no aspirations. Half of me expected to end up in the Gardens, mainly because I just about tolerated it. Me as a Runner. That was new. Thomas was the one that wanted to be one, not me.
Somewhere deep inside. Something was thrilled about the situation.
The Keeper didn't seem surprised, but argued all the same. "Why? He's the best we have – I swear it. The best should be the Keeper."
"Fine," Newt responded. "If that's true, we'll make the change later. Give it a month and see if he proves himself."
Minho shrugged. "Good that."
I heard Thomas next to me sigh in relief. At times through this meeting, it felt like he wasn't there at all. He was so quiet throughout, not even peeping a word right until the end.
Newt glanced around the room. "Okay, we had several recommendations, so let's give it a go-round–"
"Oh, come on," Frypan interrupted. "Stop yappin' and just vote. I vote for yours."
"Me too," Minho chimed in.
Everyone else said their approval, filling me with relief that at least there were some people in this place that at least liked us. Winston was the only one that said no. I won't hold it against him, for the time being.
Newt glimpsed at him. "We don't need your vote, but tell us what is nibblin' away at your brain."
Winston looked uneasily towards us before he answered. "I'm all for your recommendation, but we shouldn't totally ignore what Gally said. Somethin' about it – I just don't think he would make it up. And it's true, ever since Clarke has turned up, everything's being goin' screwy."
"Fair enough." Newt nodded in agreement. "Everyone put some thought into it – we'll have another Gatherin' when Clarke is all better and talk about that then. Good that?"
Winston nodded.
"Right," Newt said. "Your punishment starts tomorrow. Wake-up till sunset. Clint, she alright bein' out of your hands for a day?"
"Yeah, she'll be fine." Clint responded. "It's not like she can do much anyway."
The meeting was dismissed quickly after that and everyone filed out of the room except for Minho, Newt, and of course Thomas and I. Newt hadn't moved from his chair, where he was jotting down the last bits of notes. "Well, that was good times," he murmured to himself.
Minho walked over to us and playfully punched Thomas on the arm. "It's all these shanks fault."
Thomas punched him back. "Keeper? You want me to be Keeper? You're nuttier than Gally by a long shot."
Minho faked an evil grin. "Worked, didn't it? Aim high, hit low. Thank me later."
Thomas rolled his eyes at the boy. "Wouldn't say it was the best tactic."
"It's done now," Newt said. He flipped the notebook shut and stood up. "Nothin' more can be done." He crossed the room, picking up the crutch from the floor. "And you? I said to stay quiet. What on earth came over you?"
"I–"
"Let me guess," Newt cut in. "You don't know."
"It felt right," I added. "I couldn't stop myself. He deserved it."
Minho nodded. "I agree with her," he said. "Someone needed to smack him. I wish it was actually me."
Minho winked at me and faked throwing punches in the air. "I would upper cut him, take him completely out."
A giggle escaped me at the dramatics. Minho raised an eyebrow, a fist hoovering in mid-air. He smiled and continued. Newt, however, was far from amused.
"I wouldn't joke about that," he chided. "We've got that to deal with now."
"Let him simmer," Minho said through punches. "He likes to cry wolf all the time. Anyway it's not like he'll openly admit that he was beaten up by a girl. No offence."
"Wouldn't be the first time," I mumbled.
"What was that?" Newt asked, his eyebrow raised.
"Nothing."
A knock on the opened door grabbed our attention and we all turned to see who it was. Chuck stood there looking like he'd been chased across the Glade by a Griever. The atmosphere in the room died immediately. Minho dropped his hands and stood straight.
"What's wrong?" Newt asked, the tone of his voice heightened my concern.
Chuck was wringing one of his hands. "Med-jacks sent me."
"Why?"
"I guess Alby's thrashing around and acting all crazy, telling them he needs to talk to somebody."
Newt made for the door, but Chuck held up his hand. "Um … he doesn't want you."
"What do you mean?"
Chuck pointed at Thomas. "He keeps asking for him."
