Chapter 4

The monsters in the Maze, which Anna and the others called Grievers (for no reason that Anna was sure of), turned out to be a much bigger deal than Anna had suspected. The Runners practically sprinted out of the Maze at the end of the day, not wanting to be left out at night. The Gladers lived in fear of the Maze, of the darkness that waited to swallow them up if they took a wrong step. As for George, he wasn't getting much better. He hadn't moved from his bed in the Homestead for three days, and Anna spent most of her time worrying about him. Clint had been trying everything that he knew of to cure what the Griever had done to him, but his efforts were fruitless. Anna was more stressed than she had been in her entire salvageable memory. To top it off, they had received a new Greenie the day after George had been attacked, and the Gladers were trying to figure out what to do with him. He'd said his name was Ben, and he looked to be about fifteen years old. Anna had given the job of training the Greenie to the others, however, as she had bigger problems.

The thing that was bothering Anna the most, however, was something that Clint had showed her earlier. He had told her that he had found something weird in the supplies that came with Ben, and that she should come and look. Upon reaching the Homestead, Clint had procured a medical syringe filled with blue liquid, and told Anna that it hadn't been labeled. She had been thinking about this for days, and was still not sure what to do with it. Should they take their chances with it and possibly poison George, or worse? Or should they let nature take its course and leave him on the bed in the Homestead? Both options were horrible to think about. After a while, though, Anna decided to take their chances. From what she figured, George was going to die if they left him alone, but there was only a chance he would if they tried this new stuff they'd found.

"Clint," she said, seeing him standing near George's room. "I think we should go ahead and do it. He'll die anyway. We might as well give it our best shot."

Clint gave a stiff nod and went to go get the mysterious unlabeled medicine. Uncapping it, he injected George with its contents, his hands shaking slightly. When he'd finished, he sat back down in a chair and rested his head in his hands, his face hidden from view. Anna understood what he was feeling. Now, if George were to die, they'd both feel solely responsible. All they could do was hope.

Anna found it strangely therapeutic to kneel on the ground digging up carrots for hours on end, so that's what she decided to do with the next few days. The Track-Hoe job also appealed to her because the Fields were the farthest place in the Glade from the Homestead. Ever since she and Clint had given George the unidentified medicine they'd found, his agonized wails had been periodically cutting through the air, piercing the somewhat quiet atmosphere of the Glade.

Anna, along with Zart and the other Track-hoes, managed to unearth all of the carrots, potatoes, and turnips previously residing in the dark topsoil of the Fields. Dave wasn't sure of what to do with these newfound assets, so he did what Dave did best: throw everything in a pot and call it dinner. The Gladers did their best to choke it down, as they did with everything Dave made.

Anna found it hard to focus on the toxic sludge that she was intended to shove down her throat, though, because her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of George, and his shuck screaming didn't do much to take her mind off of it. She could tell that the other Runners were worried about him, too, by the way that their demeanor was even more quiet and isolated than it usually was. She decided not to interrupt them, as they were liable to react badly. The Runners were being overworked in the absence of George, and they were all on edge and likely to snap at anyone who interrupted them. There had been a few incidents like this, and after a couple hours nobody was getting within ten feet of the huddle of Runners that were always skirting the outside of the crowd.

Anna blinked, jolting herself out of her thoughts. She stared at her plate of sticky, unrecognizable goop, wondering sullenly if she could just push it around with a fork to make it look like she'd eaten it, and then throw the rest away. She was still on the fence when a voice rang out through the mass of Gladers.

"Anna!" Her head snapped towards the general direction of the voice. Clint was hurtling towards her, his expression urgent. Anna felt dread boil up inside of her, like she had swallowed a heavy rock. She managed to maintain an expression that seemed in control, however, because she felt that she couldn't freak out in front of the group that she led.

"Clint," she said, standing up and intercepting him. "What's wrong?"

"Anna," he repeated, catching his breath. "You've got to come quick." Anna knit her eyebrows.

"Slow down," she told him. "What happened?"

"There's no time," Clint insisted. "George went nuts; he escaped the Homestead and ran off and now I can't find him and I think he's gonna head for the Maze." Anna took a moment to comprehend the situation. Then suddenly it clicked and she grabbed Clint by the arm, tugging him along as quickly as she could. He made a noise that was somewhere between surprised and indignant, trying to regain his footing. Anna let go of his arm and came to a stop in front of the Homestead.

"Where did you see him last?" she asked.

"I told you," said Clint. "I turned my back for one second and when I looked again, he was running out the door. I looked for him everywhere, but I can't find him. He's completely gone."

Anna glanced around the Glade, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly a figure flashed by in the corner of her vision. She turned to look, and what she saw was an unhealthily thin boy standing about twenty feet away, his back facing them.

"Clint," she whispered. "Turn around." Clint did so, making a small gasp when he saw what Anna was seeing. She placed a finger on her lips, treading softly forward. Anna was frightened, to put it mildly, of approaching a possibly mentally unstable person who has just been through a traumatic experience. She forged on, however, and she and Clint were about three feet away when George turned his head. He was haggard and pale, a stark contrast to the burly, fit figure he had possessed just a week earlier.

"George," Anna murmured, keeping her voice soft and soothing. "George, you're going to be okay, alright? You're gonna come back with Clint and me." He shook his head, his eyes filled with pure terror.

"No," he rasped. "I can't come with you. I'm never going to be the same as before. I've…" he paused, his eyes welling up with tears. "I've seen stuff that I'll never forget. The shuck pictures that went through my head…" He trailed off. "I'm sorry, guys," he whispered finally. Before Anna or Clint had a chance to say anything, or stop him, he had already turned around and began to sprint towards the gaping mouth of the East Door. Once Anna had gotten a hold of herself and started running after him, Clint running beside her, it was too late. George had hurled himself through the Door and turned the corner. By the position of the sun it was almost sunset, and Anna, numb with shock, whispered,

"Clint, stop. He's gone." Clint halted, his eyes round with the enormity of the events that had just unfolded.

"Anna," he said. "We have to go get him. We can't just leave him behind. We just can't." Before Anna could say anything, a rumbling filled the air as if in response to his words. The Doors were closing. And George wasn't coming back.