Different | The Maze Runner / Newt ¹ ✓

{4.4}

Disclaimer:

11 times 4 equals 44 which is the number of this chapter there's your math for the day you're welcome stay in school

-✼-

My stomach was churning in the worst ways possible as Newt and I walked to the mouth of the West Door. Minho, Teresa, Thomas, and Chuck were already there. They conversed in hushed, anxious whispers that only amplified my nerves.

Thomas stepped back from the group and gave me as big of a smile as he could muster. "You okay?"

I scoffed halfheartedly. "Not at all. I'm terrified."

"Amen, sister," Minho said, though his expression contradicted his words. He appeared cool and collected even in the face of danger. I tried to mimic his confidence.

"Dude, she's my sister," Thomas joked with his face now completely serious. I managed a small grin.

But that smile soon faded and slipped off into lighter days, wafting up into the sky and replaced with a grim expression. As the crowd grew denser, my pulse quickened. I hadn't been lying when I said I was terrified. The fear was consuming me. Encasing me. Threatening to split me in two.

The anxiety was palpable, and the tension was so thick it could be sliced with one of Winston's butcher knives. The gloomy, blank sky above now seemed like a thoroughly appropriate backdrop. It almost was like it was sucking the happiness out of everyone and replacing it with fear.

Newt called for silence. In his hand was a backpack stuffed to the brim with supplies; he slung it onto his back. In the other hand was a pole wrapped in barbed wire at the top. "There're forty-two of us. Make sure you've got your weapons. Other than that, isn't a lot whole lot to buggin' say - you've all been told to plan. We're gonna fight our way through to the Griever Hole, and Tommy here's gonna punch in his little magic code and then we're gonna get payback on the Creators. Simple as that."

He sounded sure of himself, but there was a barely detectable waver near the end. His guarded brown eyes met mine. I gave him a steady nod of encouragement.

"Shouldn't someone give a pep talk or something?" Minho asked. He stood adjacent to Newt, hands clutching the straps of his own backpack as they always did.

"Thought that was our pep talk," Garret piped up with his eyebrows slightly pinched together.

Newt nodded to the Keeper of the Runners. "Go ahead."

Minho nodded as well and faced the crowd, face full of pride. "Be careful. Don't die."

I almost snorted. Those two sentences were the most Minho thing he had ever said.

"Great. We're all bloody inspired," Newt answered quizzically, clearly having expected more than that. He jabbed a thumb toward the Maze behind him. "You all know the plan. After two years of being treated like mice, tonight we're making a stand. Tonight we're taking the fight back to the Creators, no matter what we have to go through to get there. Tonight the Grievers better be scared."

That was when the smile gradually fought its way onto my lips. There's our pep talk.

A person cheered. Another followed. Eventually, the air filled with determined battle cries. They roared in my ears and grew even louder as I joined in on them. My body hummed with adrenaline. We'd end this once and for all.

Newt thrust his weapon into the air and shouted, "Hear that, Creators? We're coming!"

He turned and sprinted into the Maze, limp barely noticeable. All around me boys raised their own makeshift weapons and joined him. They darted into the corridors, voices echoing off the high stone walls.