In which there is history and a Greenie
Chapter Warnings:References to previously attempted suicide and deaths that occured pre-narrative.
I don't think anything is severe enough to be a trigger, but if the topics of death and/or attempted suicide bother you, you have been warned. You should be able to see the conversation coming up so you can just scroll to the next scene, but you would be missing some of the backstory.
See the bottom for my notes on the chapter and the next teaser.
More days pass.
I overhear Frypan telling Newt off as I approach the Kitchen one day – something about being honest and being an idiot. Newt charges out, eyes low and doesn't stop even as he passes me on my way in.
In just a few more days, the Box will come up again.
Finally, I get annoyed.
I don't need him to talk about it, but I hate this.
It rains in the Glade.
Rain doesn't happen often. The rare times it does, everyone packs up for the day and hides out in the huts.
Standing in the Homestead as Fry hands out lunches, I realise Newt is nowhere to be seen.
"In the Council Hall."
I turn to face Alby. He spends so much time helping all over the Glade, mainly with the Baggers and Builders that it feels like I don't see him much. I may not know Alby very well, but it's easy to see that he and Newt are like brothers. When you build a society from nothing under dire circumstances like these, I figure it's impossible not to form lasting friendships.
"Newt," Alby clarifies. He hands me two lunch packs and a firm instruction. "Sort it out."
He walks away.
I'm not sure how exactly I'm meant to fix it; I don't know what went wrong, but trying is better than nothing.
I dart out into the rain and sprint across the field to the Council Hall.
"We're going to need to re-lay the roof," Newt says, as I move around the propped open door. "This one isn't holding too well."
Inside, while mostly dry, the rain drips through the tight web of twigs, leaves and straw in places, staining the ground and creating a trickling rivulet down the steps.
Newt looks up. His expression flickers and he goes back to positioning tin buckets under the drips.
He thought I was Alby.
"Awesome," I say. "So we're really not talking anymore?"
Newt halts. He straightens and then says, "No. Sorry. I just…don't know what to say."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "You…Shuck-head."
I clap my hand over my mouth.
I don't know where the insult comes from at all. It makes Newt stare at me in surprise. A smile tugs at his mouth.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have said that. And I'm sorry if talking about the Maze is a problem for you. I can't ask Minho; I just feel like I can't. And I don't have to ask you, either, but that's why - you've done it before; you've been there-"
"And I don't miss it," Newt says, eyes dimming. "Look, I'm sorry, too, okay? I didn't handle it well, but I just can't talk about this."
Something he said a week ago comes back to me.
Then maybe I was broken before the Maze.
"We're all broken here," I say quietly. "Dan has a scar he doesn't remember getting. Fry won't cook aubergines but he doesn't know why. I spent an afternoon in a tree and threw a spike at Alby. You're no more broken than we are. But-"
"It wasn't an accident," Newt says over the end of my sentence.
The words have more force than volume, and it seems like it's a confession that has fought its way out of him.
It's okay. Forget about it; I won't ask again.
These are the words that I have ready on my tongue, but they never make it.
"What?" I ask.
Newt sinks onto one of the steps, his eyes trained on the ground once more. "It wasn't an accident. My foot; the limp."
I sit next to him, just a few inches away, silent.
He lets out a breath, and the story pours out after it.
"I was the third person in the Glade. Alby was first. Nick was second. By the Time Gally got here, we'd already searched the whole glade twice over. The doors looked like the best bet.
"George was next. Five of us, doing what we could to hang on.
"We worked out that the doors closed at night; that walls moved and we could hear these awful sounds from something alive in the maze.
"Minho arrived, and he was the fastest of all of us. We decided we had to start going out. We always travel in pairs at least. At first George, Minho and I went together. It took us months to really map the Narrows – the Inner Circle. Meanwhile, more boys were coming up.
"Alby started putting together a structure for a community. He devised the jobs, tried fitting people to them. We started to make the Glade our own. Our numbers grew, and then Doug joined the Runners.
"We'd be out all day. Leave at sunrise, when they opened, and always be back before sundown.
"George got trapped. None of us saw what got him when night came, but when we went out the next day, we brought back what we could. He's been buried in the Deadheads for three years.
"Nick got stuck out not long after. He wasn't quite right after George. We never found him but we kept running out there – even more careful than before.
"It just got repetitive. Every day we'd keep looking. We worked our way out into the Middle Ring but it was like everything had been forgotten, and us along with it.
"About eighteen months after I got here, I decided I wasn't going to come back. I couldn't handle the same thing, day after day, knowing nothing but my name. I climbed one of the walls in the Narrows and I jumped."
I flinch.
I'm surprised to see Newt's eyes looking glassy. I've never seen him cry. His hands shake as he flexes his fingers in agitation.
"My foot caught in one of the creepers. Threw me against the wall. Broke it. Minho cut me down, and he and Ben dragged me back before nightfall.
"Jeff had to reset the bone. I had a splint on it for a couple of months. Had the limp ever since."
I realise I'm shaking too, as he finally looks up.
His dark eyes swim with trepidation; as if I'll turn away from him for this weakness.
I swallow back my own tears. I can't imagine a world where Newt fell from that wall as he'd planned. "Do you still…want that?"
I'm afraid of the answer.
He shakes his head. "I still feel hopeless some days," he says. "And I never stop hating this place. But I realised in the days after I tried that it was a selfish thing; that it wouldn't help or solve anything. And not being a Runner helps. I can feel like I'm doing something, actually helping by being here. The routine of the Maze was what nearly destroyed me."
Relief rushes through my bloodstream; quick and blazing hot. I don't want to have to wake up each day and rush to check that Newt hasn't tried again. I see how everyone here looks to him – even Gally, who often wants to over-look everyone – and I know it wouldn't be an easy thing to work past, if Newt took his own life.
No wonder no one talks about it.
"That's partly why Minho got so serious," Newt says. "It's his way of blocking out that pressing feeling of never finding an answer. He saw what it did to me."
And with the context behind it, this makes more sense.
My head drops onto his shoulder, as it has many times before. This is the first time that I remember his shirt hasn't been heated by the fire. I can just feel the warmth of his skin seeping through.
The rain sounds louder than before, splattering into the tin buckets around us.
"I won't run unless I have to," I say.
I don't know if this will help at all but Newt's shoulder falls softly as he exhales; tension slipping away. I feel him nod.
The silence settles for a beat, and I'm relieved that we might be okay again, when Newt says, with an odd tone in his voice, "How do you know Dan has a scar?"
Huffing out a laugh, I sit up and hand over one of the lunch packs.
"Here, eat something," I say, instead of answering.
…
Life goes back to the only normal I know.
Three days later, the alarms go off as I'm stacking the food dishes in the kitchens. No one's had a bizarre need to injure themselves today, so I stopped by the Kitchen while Clint and Jeff busied themselves helping out with the laundry.
Stan, Fry and I all run for the Box. Fry wields his spoon again, and this time, when I'm reminded of my arrival, I think of it with a smile.
The boy in the box this time has a wild look in his eyes, and he clambers out of the cage as soon as Gally and Alby open the top.
Frypan gently pushes me back, fingers tight on his spoon, as the boy stands on the grass. Opposite us, Newt's fingers curl around the handle of the machete over his shoulder.
"Day one, Greenie," Gally seems to take great joy in saying, as he pushes the boy towards Billy and Jackson – who Frog march him off to the Slammer.
Alby shows him around hours later and I only see him again as we set up the bonfire.
He looks less panicked, and something more like abrasiveness seems to have taken hold as he's introduced to the others.
"Everyone deals in their own way," Dan says to me, handing me a jar of Gally's Brew. "He's probably not normally a Shank like this."
The Box Feast – with spit roasted chicken this time – is in full swing, and I'm sitting with my back to the fire, watching Frypan and Stan goof around when the boy walks around the log.
"You're a girl," he says.
"Well spotted," I reply, dryly.
Stan laughs. Frypan turns to the feast table and fusses with the dishes, but I know it's for show, and he's watching me.
"How long have you been here, then?"
I remind myself that everyone has to deal with this as best they can. He has no memories, no name and has been thrown into a tight knit group of boys.
"Two months," I say.
I've surprised myself. It feels like longer.
It feels like forever, given there's nothing before.
"Was there a mix up?" the boy asks.
"I don't know, Greenie – do you want to ask them?" As soon as it's out, I wish I hadn't said it quite like that. It's the first time I've used this word – Greenie – to someone's face. And despite my light tone, it feels harsh.
"Sorry," I say, almost immediately. "But no one really knows. I showed up, same as you did."
"Well." Zart appears, dropping onto the grass and leaning back against the log on the boy's other side. His smile is bright in the dim light. "Not exactly the same. Evie here bolted; climbed a tree, had us all searching for a good while."
I shoot him a look that I hope says 'shut your Shuck face' but it probably comes across as 'must you?'
Deciding I don't need to be a part of this conversation, I spot Jeff and Clint about to have a go in the Ring, so I get up and excuse myself to watch.
I spot Newt with Gally, Minho and Dan across the Fire pit and get the strangest feeling he was looking my way just moments before.
With one eye on the wrestling match, I see Frypan and Zart lean in to the Greenie. A moment passes, their words too low to hear or discern at all. The boy nods once. Zart claps him on the back and Fry hands him a piece of chicken.
Fry gives me a solid nod as he turns back to Stan, and I realise they just had words.
I can't help smiling, even as Clint slides along in front of me, collecting a mouthful of sand.
I feel like I've got about twenty brothers and this prison feels a little more like home.
…
This boy is called Henry.
He finds out almost two days later, after he's worked with Fry in the kitchens for a full day and with Tim clearing out Homestead first.
He was walking back from the showers when his name just came to him, and surprised him so much he walked right into a hammock and got flipped upside down. At least, that is the way Lee tells it.
One week in and he's placed in with the Builders. He has a knack for knots.
He also says sorry for the odd questions on his first night.
I wonder if someone pushed him to apologise, but I forgive him anyway. He's younger by a couple of years, I think, and he has mellowed out a bit since remembering his name.
None of us have the easiest new start.
The morning after the Box Feast is also the first time someone asks me if I really threw a spike at Alby.
I say yes, all the while wondering how it took this long to come out.
…
My doctoring skills are put to the test one morning after Henry finds his new job. Jeff and Clint are both in the Kitchens when three people stumble around the entrance to the Medi Tent.
Dan and Newt are supporting Frankie between them and his light shirt has a neat slice in it down his side, the edges stained with blood.
"What happened?" I ask in shock.
"Bloody Shank's only gone and stabbed himself," Newt says, not unkindly.
"He lost his grip on the rabbit," Dan clarifies, as they set him on the table. "It scrabbled around and knocked the cleaver-"
"If you want me to fix this, shut up about rabbits," I tell him in no uncertain terms.
Dan smirks, "Its okay, Eva. It wasn't White-Foot."
I throw a bandage at him, and it bounces off his forehead. "Shut. Up. Unravel that."
"Hey, Evie," Frankie says tightly. "Nice place."
I shake my head, smiling. Their humour is what I've always liked about the Slicers. "Can you lift your arms?"
He does as I ask, and I'm quick about pulling off his shirt, seeing the pain he's in. I reach for a jar of Clint's concoction and hand it to him.
"Drink this. All of it. I know it tastes terrible. And stay still."
Frankie grimaces, but downs the gloopy mixture then braces his arms against the edge of the table as I wash out the knife wound in his side. I apply a poultice and take the bandages off of Dan. Frankie stands up and slowly turns so I can bind the dressing on tightly.
"Leave it alone for the day," I tell him. "No moving. Sit in your hammock or see if Zart needs help shelling peas. You'll need to come back tomorrow to get it off; might need a fresh one for a couple of days until it scabs. At least it isn't deep. Clint should look at it, too."
Frankie pats my shoulder and gingerly replaces his ruined shirt. The bandage looks stark white through the tear.
"Thanks, Evie," he says. "I'll head to the Gardens."
Dan pats my shoulder, too, echoing the thanks as he heads back for the Bloodhouse.
I let my breath rush out and its then I realise that Newt is still standing there.
His arms are folded, and he's leaning into the corner of the room, staying out of the way. A smile plays on his lips.
"Feel okay?"
I half laugh. "No. Jeff showed me all this, but what if I've made it worse? Clint's all about amputating but you can't amputate your spleen! Or is it your kidney?"
Newt bursts into laughter.
He laughs much less than most of the other boys, but when he does, he lights up in some inexplicable way.
"You did fine, Evie," he says.
I can't remember him using that nickname before.
I smile, the knot of worry in my chest loosening a little. "Thanks; though I'd be much happier if you'd all stop trying to dice yourselves up."
Newt chuckles, "Noted." There's a pause, and then he asks, "White-Foot?"
I freeze in the process of putting away the rest of the jar of poultice. I give him what can only be a guilty look over my shoulder.
"The rabbit from my Trial week," I mutter, biting down on my lip.
Newt shakes his head. "Bloody insane," he says, half to himself, as he leans up off the wall. "See you at lunch."
And he lets himself out.
…
Sitting outside that evening as the sun goes down and we finish supper, Minho drops down next to Newt, who's sitting beside me.
Boys are still assembling bits of kindling to start the usual fire when it's darker.
"Duck or broth?" I ask to break the silence stretched between us.
It's comfortable, but Minho seems like he has something to say, and asking if he had a rough day is a little pointless.
"Duck," he says, giving me a faint smile. "Fry put a whole handful of potatoes in the broth."
I stab one of the potato lumps in my own dish. "I know," I say. "Starch is good for you."
Newt smirks.
Minho gives the pair of us a withering look, but all too soon, it melts into a serious expression.
"I think Ben's coming down with something," he says.
Newt and I look up, our spoons going still.
"He started coughing a bit as we ran back and I'm taking him supper in a second because he's in his hammock with a bit of a fever."
My mind rushes past everything I've learned about symptoms. "Do you need someone to look at him?"
Minho shakes his head. "Jeff already checked. Gave him Clint's mixture, told him to bundle up and drink lots. He has to go to the Medi Tent in the morning if he's still not right. We think it's just a bug."
"That's good, then," Newt says, but his eyes are dark.
"He can't run tomorrow, Newt," Minho says, quietly.
We all hear what he's really saying.
Minho looks at me.
Newt takes in a controlled breath, "You're ready, Eva." He looks up and nods once. "There's only so much you can do before you just have to try. You're fast. You'll be fine."
Knowing he doesn't want me to do this puts a dampener on it, but at the same time, the fact that it's him telling me I should gives me a certainty that no one else could have.
"I need to talk to you," Newt says to Minho.
Minho doesn't look surprised in the least. "I know," he says.
"I'll be back in a bit," Newt tells me. He puts his dish on the ground where he was sitting and he and Minho walk away, shoulder-to-shoulder.
I'm left alone to watch the sun go down, feeling conflicted.
INFO:
1. First, I know Running is made up to be this really heroic thing within the Maze Runner movie, and within what fanfiction I've seen, too. But I really wanted to explore the other side of it. Its not easy. Its physically and mentally draining. People don't always come back. So if it seems like the whole take on being a Runner is more 'oh crap' than 'yay; adventure!' - that's why. I want to explore the more gritty side of it.
2. With regard to Newt and Eva's conversation surrounding his jump and the first people in the Glade. This is an instance where I've used my own theories and creative licence to flesh out what I know. In the Movie, Alby was sent up first. I know Newt, Gally and Minho were early arrivals. I also know George died around the beginning, and that there was a Nick early on, too. But the order of their arrival, and the circumstances of their deaths as Newt tells it is a bit of inventiveness for the plot. Yes, they were both needed like that.
And that's all.
Chapter 6 - Teaser
I haven't recognised anything for a while. In the back of my mind, I'm conscious that it's gone past noon.
I glance sideways at Minho.
-To be posted at the end of the Week-