CHAPTER 27 The Glade

Darkness and more darkness. That was all he had been staring at for twenty long minutes.

The cold engulfed his entire being. Even as he blinked his poor sleep away, nothing else came to mind. There was something familiar about the rocky metal surface and the mechanic sounds, like gears spinning to bring a machine to life. It was distant, yet very much present. Nobody could ever ignore the shaky surface pressed against their cheek, or the water dripping from their hair. And what he certainly couldn't ignore was the weapon laying in his trembling hand. A gun, for sure. The touch and form were just like one.

He remembered having learned about how to use them a long time ago, though not where, or who had taught him. In that aspect, his memories were oddly blank. Just a white page with spaces left to fill in. Although one spot had been scrawled, providing such a basic piece of information that it almost offended him that it wasn't even real.

William was his name, or the one intended for him to accept as such.

Despite how perfectly it had been implanted in his head, he couldn't accept it as his name. It wasn't. He couldn't really tell how he knew. It was almost like he could feel it. As if the real one was on the tip of his tongue, but could never get to decipher it. A riddle that he had mulled over for so long that it no longer made any sense.

Questions swarmed his mind. Many of which he knew that he would never receive an answer for. They were chaotic, occupying a space in his mind that he could not spare. He was in the dark, at the mercy of unknown individuals, and shaking like a leaf. Any credibility or fierce facade had long ago been washed away. With the gun in a trembling grip, he could look no better than a frightened child.

As the machine came to a halt, he opted to accept William as his name for the time being. Fake or not, knowing something was better than nothing at all. Although, it didn't quite make sense. Why did the unknown individuals bother in taking all his memories away, just to provide him with a fake name? Would it be important? Or did they just see it as a form of entertainment?

He waited, curled up in the corner of the cage. His hands were rigid, pointing at the darkness in front of him with the gun. A useless thing to do. He wouldn't see the danger coming his way and, even if he pulled the trigger in a moment of desperation, there was no guarantee that he would hit the target. It would be better to steady his breathing or stop the continuous trembling that was giving away his position. If danger couldn't find him, it couldn't kill him.

A minute passed. Then two. Yet nothing happened.

No doors opened. No threats appeared. Five minutes had passed since the machine stopped, and the thought of being attacked became harder to believe. He pressed his back against the cage's wall just in case, pushing himself up to his feet. His confusion took a significant part of his focus; the questions appeared in his mind faster than he could process them.

Up on the cage's ceiling, the tiniest of cracks let a ray of light shine through. It was a warning easy to overlook. The next second, the doors flew at the sides, stunning him just as the sudden bath of light blinded him. His hand rose to protect his eyes, but nothing changed. The cage was just that, a cage, and whatever lay over it was out of sight.

Between steadier breaths, William pulled himself together and patted his clothes. Somehow, it didn't surprise him to find a holster strapped to his right leg. In the long minutes that he had been in the dark, not once had he realised that he carried it. And, even at that moment, the slight pressure or the weight of the gun being guarded in it made no difference to him. He was used to having it. Perhaps as much as he was used to holding a gun.

Not allowing more time to pass in vain, he gripped onto the ground level and propelled himself up. His arms hardly maintained his weight before he plumped on the higher ground, landing on oddly soft grass. The sun wasn't blazing or burning his skin, yet it was warm. Another strange feeling. He liked it — the warmness, the soft grass —, but something was missing. Perhaps it was just simple confusion. With no memories, it was obvious that the simplest things would become weird to him. However, the uneasiness never left.

Something was missing. Something warmer than the sunlight, and softer than the grass. What could it be? Not many objects could abide by those standards, and the few that could were not within his reach anymore. Although, as he lay under the bright sky, that 'something' became more noticeable. Every time his eyes fell on his side, he expected to see something there. No clue of what, or even if it was a who, but he did it time and time again until he got up.

The place was unsettlingly quiet. It was a sort of farm surrounded by concrete walls taller than any building or tree. In the middle of one of the walls, there was a huge opening, which, from where he stood, almost seemed to have something similar to spikes in the inner walls.

What is this place? He thought to himself, trying to find any signs of recent activity.

Many objects were scattered around the farm: machetes, hoes, rakes, and simple wooden poles. Some were burnt. Others were better kept. Most were abandoned carelessly, as if whoever had been there before him was in a hurry to leave. There was no factual proof, but he was convinced it could be related to whatever had caused the burn down of half the farm and the destruction of most buildings.

Apart from the handmade objects and buildings, no other signs of any human activity were left. Not recent at least. There were no clear footsteps on the ground, smoke coming from inside any buildings, or the smell of food.

They were long gone, and perhaps they were dead too.

At the opening's wall, there were names carved right next to what looked like a tiny window that spied on the outside of the caged farm. William marched there, reading the few names that hadn't been crossed on the way. Out of the sixty or sixty-five names, only ten had been left untouched. None of them which he recognised.

"Newt," William read one of the crossed-out names, feeling the earlier odd sensation extending from the tip of his fingers to the rest of his hand. "Thomas… Minho… Chuck… Siggy… Winston… Jack…"

Who are they? Why are there only boy names? He asked himself, receiving a headache instead of the answer he was looking for.

The concrete felt no different under his fingertips than what would be expected. He traced the names, trying to carve them in his mind, but the more he concentrated on them, the more his mind begged him to leave. There was something in the back of his head trying to surface; warn him. But he wouldn't know what. It didn't dare to show.

His fingers reached Newt's name, placed just over Thomas's. The name was short and surprisingly well-carved. The mild headache that had been accompanying him since he had read the names was the only thing that had bothered him so far. However, as a tear escaped his eye without him realising, a striking pain ran across the back of his head and all the way to his temples.

Instinct took over in a second, pressing his hands against his temples. It was a desperate way of trying to control something he couldn't, but nothing else came to mind. And certainly wouldn't anytime soon. The pricking sensation remained past the first wave of pain, dancing from his temples to his forehead. It wasn't intense, yet its presence couldn't be avoided or forgotten.

With teary eyes, he stepped back, hoping that being away from the names would appease his mind. It did, in a way. The pricking became fainter, letting his hands rest at his sides, but his rationality had come back, and it wasn't pleased. Neither did it come alone. Questions drowned out his prior worries as he walked past the window, not daring to spare a single glance back at the carved wall.

The opening was as menacing as it could get. It apparently led to at least three different diversions at the back end of the principal corridor. Was he supposed to pick one and see where he went? Or did he have to try and try again until he picked the right one?

'Give up'. The thought infiltrated his mind before he could actually process it.

If there was a time to be swept by intrusive thoughts, that surely wasn't it. His life could already be at stake. He didn't need to add to it. His body didn't listen, though. A flashing red light distracted him for a second, enough time to let his hand take the gun from his holster. The touch felt strangely familiar. He knew he had learned about guns, and there was no doubt he had been taught how to manage them at a young age, but neither had been simply for self-defence. There was something more. A recent lurking memory trying to surface between the sea of indecision.

Had he pointed a gun at himself before? William had no idea, but it sure felt like he had.

A warning siren played in his mind. It was loud, not letting him breathe until he checked the bullets. The idea was to reassure himself. Only a quick check to make sure everything was in place. Unfortunately, there was no positive news. The gun's magazine was clear, allowing him to see inside and count the bullets.

One bullet.

He needed no memories to know what it meant. It was an option; a moment to choose. Either he delayed the inevitable by trying to find a way out through the maze-like outside, or he ended it all in that instant without trying his luck.

Let's not think rashly. He thought, putting the magazine back in its place and securing the gun in his holster. I'll check the buildings. There has to be ammo somewhere, or maybe a way-out plan that they were working on.

Not many buildings stood in one piece. Out of the few, the one near the cage was the better kept. It had countless broken windows, and its door was destroyed. But, apart from that, there was nothing else that could tell him what could have happened to the large group of boys. At least those who hadn't died before 'it' happened. The crossed-out had likely died before the ten remaining faced the burn down of the farm.

Newt's dead. The thought made his stomach drop for an unknown reason. He didn't know who Newt was, or even if he had known him before, but the thought of the boy being dead didn't sit right with him. And Thomas… Minho… Chuck… Siggy… All the others, too. Am I supposed to be next?

His hands traced the walls, hammocks, and remains of sleeping bags left behind, alongside some clothes and rotten food. He went up the stairs to the first floor, where a sort of medical room had been left better off than the rest of the building. The few beds in it were undone and had marks of nails at the side, as if something or someone had dragged away somebody despite their hopeless attempt to resist. The window had been previously nailed shut, but the wood was torn to pieces. Some of it rested on the floor in front of it. Dried blood splashed on it.

"What happened here?" He mumbled to himself.

No one was there to hear his question. Except for the things with tiny red lights that had been following him for a while. They slithered their way up and down trees, trying to keep him in sight at all times. That answered one of his many questions. Whoever had left him there was watching him.

He was a mere entertainment.

The tiny, yet quick, dot of red light shone through the broken window right next to him, diverting his attention to the outside. The unknown individuals, Watchers — as he had nicknamed them — were watching him. They were observing his every move. Were they pleased with his performance so far? What did they want out of him? Was he supposed to continue what the others had left behind? Or was he supposed to pick everything he could carry and try to find a way out?

Just what would be entertaining for you, bastards? William thought, turning to leave the room and walk to the outside walls.

He stood in front of the opening for a couple of minutes, watching the end of the corridor as if something was meant to pop out of nowhere. His mind was divided into two ideas; adventuring and accepting the consequences, or playing it safe and staying on the farm.

Not five minutes later, he was running through the outside walls. There was no mistake. It was a maze. And a large one at that. His head turned around in every direction, picking all the right turns he could. There was only one rule he knew about mazes, and that was that taking the same turns would eventually lead him to the exit.

It had to be an hour past noon when he thought he had found it. After taking many turns, William found himself walking in a corner that led to nowhere. He had to admit that an endless sky where walls should have been was as impressive as it was intimidating. But there was nothing more than a little drop past the border; probably a metre high.

A one-metre radius grey platform was there, floating in the nothingness of a grey drop to the abyss. Vines were tied to the ivy on the wall, letting him climb down without risking losing his footing or missing the platform completely.

He tapped it with his foot, but nothing happened. Holding onto the little patience left in his mind, he kicked it harshly, and yet he got the same results. Desperation became greater and, using one hand to keep himself glued to the vine, the other tried to find a sliding handle or something to pull. The platform was solid. Nothing happened. There was no way out. If it had ever been, it was covered up.

I'm trapped. William thought, having to regain his grip on the vine with both hands to not fall.

Mind and body begged him to get back up. The lack of escape was not something he could deal with while dangling in the middle of a drop longer than his eyes could perceive. Although, curled up against an ivy-covered wall wasn't much better. It didn't dissolve the imminent death threat, only reduced it.

His fingers scratched the vines to their cores, leaving them broken on the floor. Distractions were hard to come by in the middle of a concrete maze, and the vines were the closest thing to him. If only it could have appeased his thoughts, it would have been perfect. They didn't stop showing him all the alternatives that he could have taken, replaying each decision that had led him to that dead end.

Ultimately, there was no plan B.

With his mind overwhelmed by the absurdity, his body had no other alternative than to turn on autopilot. The sniffs didn't clear his nose, forcing him to breathe through his mouth, and his fingers scratched the vines furiously, breaking them earlier and with no mind of what happened to them after he dropped them over his lap.

I can't escape. The thought replayed in his mind like a broken record, drowning him further in misery.

For hours, wandering around the maze became William's distraction. It was somewhat better than the vines, though the problem with his unravelling thoughts didn't cease. They followed him, becoming louder as time went by.

He didn't know what to do from that point on. Nothing really made sense. There was not much he could use to delude himself. He was alone. Trapped in a maze with a way out that he had been forbidden to use. And observed by whoever had left him there.

The group of boys before him had likely been in the same situation. They were the entertainment prior to him and somehow had fallen off the Watcher's graces. That could explain why half the farm was burned down, yet still habitable. There was still room for games to be played, only not by the same boys.

They're dead… Sixty of them… All dead. He thought, the weight of the gun in his holster increasing.

He couldn't think clearly. His mind was being flooded by images and thoughts; all about finally using the gun. How easy would that be? How much confusion would he free himself from? Perhaps it was the right thing to do. The Watchers had left the farm, as it was for a reason. They wanted him to know what had happened before. They wanted to play with him. And he wouldn't let them.

'William, please, don't do it.' A girl's voice appeared out of nowhere, stopping all his intrusive thoughts.

His head snapped in all directions, but no one was anywhere in sight. It somehow felt obvious. The words hadn't been 'said'. There was nobody anywhere in the maze, much less any sign of speakers that could deliver audible messages. It was more like a thought, only it had an unfamiliar voice.

And now I hear voices in my head. William thought, his hand travelling from his hair to the bridge of his nose. I'm going crazy.

'William—'

Before the girl could end her sentence, he stumbled his way out of that section of the maze. He needed to get away. It didn't matter if he went deeper into the maze or back to the farm. He had to run away. Who the girl was or what she wanted wasn't relevant. He needed to feel that, in the worrying world he had been thrown in, some things still made sense. And receiving telepathic messages from a complete stranger wasn't one of them.

'William, you have to go back to the Glade before sunset,' said the mysterious girl. 'The door closes at night.'

Shut up. Just shut up! He tried to tell her, but his message didn't get through.

At a fast pace, William took turns at random and did his best not to trip and fall. The voice never left. It didn't matter how far away he thought he was from the spot. She was still there, omnipresent, telling him all he needed to know about the 'Glade', or the monsters he would have to deal with if he got stuck out in the maze.

Five minutes of fleeing later, he could no longer stand it. In the middle of an intersection, he halted and shouted at the top of his lungs, "who are you?! What do you bloody want from me?!"

What seemed like an eternity passed with no replies. Instead, a more menacing sound appeared at the end of the corridor where he had come from. What looked like a monstrous goop with metallic spikes for legs peeked out of a corner, climbing up and down the side wall to him.

'William, get back to the Glade. Now!' The girl's voice was the detonator to make him run away from the 'Griever', as she had called those monsters before.

He ran for dear life, his senses kicking in like they hadn't before. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stop or turn around. His destination was set, and, though he couldn't place exactly where the farm was, the girl's instructions were spot on. She didn't miss a beat, telling him exactly which turn to take before he got to the intersections.

The Griever was close behind, its spikes harshly hitting the ground as it chased after him. William couldn't tell how far apart they were, though, judging by the loud noises, it couldn't be much. If he didn't get to safety in time, the thing would snatch him away, or whatever it did, apart from using its big mouth to eat its prey.

'Almost there,' promised the girl.

Luckily, she was right. The next turn took him straight to the entrance of the Glade. Its destroyed buildings and half-burnt objects became a pleasant sight compared to the monster that had been chasing him for half the maze.

However, it did not protect him yet.

The door didn't close. And, since the sun wouldn't set for a short while, it wouldn't before the Griever got to him. There was no way out from the Glade apart from the main entrance, leaving him with no other alternative than finding a place to hide. He ran to the main building, trying to find something that would work, while the Griever quickened its pace, stepping into the Glade without a moment of thought.

'Go behind!' shouted the girl, no longer controlling her fear from showing. 'There are cells there. Get inside and lock it!'

As if by instinct, or for the fact that she had done nothing but help for the last half an hour, William deposited his trust in the girl and followed orders. He ran behind the building, finding a few structures which had their own window-like doors and locks that kept anyone in the ditch from getting out. Although, in his case, it would prevent the Griever from attacking him.

He opened the door carelessly and jumped inside. The monstrous goop was closer than ever. William could see its wobbly body moving around as it ran, like gelatine. It was only seconds away from striking. A stinger appeared behind its wobbly body, rising menacingly as he could do nothing but struggle with the lock. It was difficult to lock himself inside, and his trembling hands weren't helping.

A click resounded in his ears just in time, and he fell back; his eyes locked on the creature's face. It was pressed against the bars as if wanting to tear them apart. But, if it could actually do it, someone wasn't letting it. The Griever simply pretended to munch on the door, as if trying to eat his way inside the cell, and failing at it.

'You're alive,' said the girl, more relief than surprise overtaking her voice.

Who are you? He asked, but no reply was offered. Am I not doing something right?

'William, I'm sorry. I have to go for now. I beg you, be careful while I'm gone.'

No, wait! He tried to call out to her, but it was of no use.

The girl wasn't there anymore. Just like his name, there was no telling how he knew, just that he did. Her presence had disappeared from one moment to another as if she had walked out of the cell and left him alone with the goop monster.

A sound between a sigh of relief and a huff left his lips, which almost threw the Griever off. Not many people before had disregarded the monster's presence while technically still being attacked, that was for sure. And it was for a good reason. One could never lower its guard when in front of danger. However, his mind was too immersed in discovering the girl's identity to care about a creature that couldn't reach him unless it broke the cell, which was clearly not allowed to do.

After an hour of an intense staring contest with the Griever, the creature turned around and left. Sunset was near, and a strong wind had appeared from the main door, providing him with all the information he needed. The Griever couldn't spend a night in the Glade while the doors closed. At least, it wasn't being allowed to for now.

Before leaving the cell, William checked his surroundings, just in case. No other threats or the Griever lurked apart from the tiny red lights, and they seemed harmless. On his way to the cage, he watched the door close before his eyes and behind the Griever, which growled as a warning.

For as long as that door stayed closed, he would be safe.

So there'll be a day that it won't close? He wondered. What am I supposed to do then?

His brow narrowed, and his eyes gave the door a sharp look.

What am I supposed to do now?