Six Feet Under.

chapter four

CHAPTER FOUR: A NIGHT IN THE MAZE

The panic hit Layla fast—the complete and utter fear of hopelessness. They were dead. There was no way they were making it out of the Maze alive.

Layla had seen a Griever already, a memory she wanted to remove from her brain, but it stayed there, stuck. It was tattooed on her brain, impossible to get rid of. The ink bled into her mind, turning her final positive thoughts into a swirl of darkness and panic.

She felt numb, after running the entire day she just felt so numb. They hadn't stopped for a break once, because Alby was so persistent and kept pushing them to keep looking for any sign of what could've happened to Ben. Surely he knew it was a bad idea, right? But who was Layla to defy her First in Command?

     Minho exhaled heavily, before sucking in another deep breath. His eyes landed on Thomas, and he looked far too exhausted to shout or scream or tell Thomas how stupid what he just did was. All he could say was, "good job... you just killed yourself."

     Thomas sucked in rapid breaths, his wide eyes landing on Minho. "What?" The Greenie stuttered, a panicked look in his eyes as if he couldn't believe what he had done.

     Minho didn't say another word, he just adjusted from kneeling to sitting, his lungs still heaving. Layla leaned backwards until her back hit the Maze floor, her chest rising and falling at an alarmingly fast rate, her heart going even faster than her breaths.

     Thomas stumbled as he got to his feet, giving him and the Maze doors some distance as he walked closer to the trio. He crouched down next to Alby, inspecting his wounds. "What happened to him?" He asked.

     Minho had a deep tone to his voice as he spoke, his lack of hope for an escape or care for the Greenie seeping through. "What does it look like?" He grumbled. "He got stung."

     Thomas didn't take offence by Minho's tone, and looked up at the mark on Alby's forehead. "What happened to his head?" He frowned, glancing between Minho and Layla.

     Minho sucked in a tired breath, "we did what we had to do."

     Thomas could only look between the two, not quite sure what to say. Layla didn't blame him either. He had just thrown himself into the Maze without thinking it through, and now that he was there, he quickly realized he'd have to deal with an unconscious boy, two hopeless Runners, and a Griever. If Layla had the energy to speak, she would've scolded him for being so ridiculously stupid.

     Before another word could be spoken, the Griever let out a menacing screech in the distance. It was that familiar metallic, monstrous sound that Layla had grown to hate. Hearing it from within the safety of the Glade was one thing, but hearing it in the Maze as the sun was going down was worse.

     The booming sound of the Maze changing followed soon after, and Layla was immediately getting to her feet, pushing past the aches in her body, Minho following in suit.

     "Uh," Thomas muttered, pulling Alby closer to him, "okay, help me get him up."

     Minho held one of Layla's hands, attempting to pull her to her feet, but her legs wobbled dangerously. "We gotta go." Minho told Thomas. "The Maze is already changing."

     Thomas wasn't having it, and quickly called out, "hey, Minho!" Minho stopped in his tracks, a sigh escaping his lips before he turned to face Thomas. "We can't just leave him here." Thomas held onto Alby's arms, refusing to move forward until the other two helped him.

     Layla sighed, turning to face Minho. "We've helped him this far." She said, reminding Minho of the struggles they had gone through for half of the day. "We can't stop now."