1. FIGHTER - the maze runner, newt

Chapter 39

          I had my hands pressed firmly on my knees as I heaved out an unsteady breath. Sweat tangled my blonde curls, raining down my forehead like condensation. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to drain out the thumping of a sleep deprived headache. The sounds of wood against wood vibrated my skull as the grunts and groans of fighting Gladers stung my eardrums.

"Ame?" A voice emerged from in front of me.

Squinting up through my sweat, I made eye contact with a sixteen-year-old boy named, John. He nibbled on his lower lip as he awkwardly fumbled with the grey handle on his new dagger. His reddish-brown hair stuck to his forehead as his hazel eyes flickered from me and the ground. Seeing as he wished to ask me a question, I stood back up straight, providing him with my full attention.

"What's up, John?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowed as I swiped my sweat away with my thumb. John slowed his panting down as he glanced behind him at the field of Gladers. He faced me again before asking his question.

"Okay...so...if a griever grabs you, how do you escape if you can't reach the eyes?" John genuinely asked, recalling my escape the previous night.

A bubble of anxiety wrapped its way through my lungs once again as I tried to think of an answer. The Gladers still didn't understand that I wasn't an expert. I'm just lucky to still be alive. Whenever the Gladers asked questions on hypothetical events, uncomfortable tingles would tick my nerves. I didn't want to feed the Gladers false or unreliable information which could ultimately lead to their deaths. I was not a reliable source; I'm just lucky.

"Well...again, it all depends on the situation. Always try to find a vulnerable spot to strike. If you can't then... try 'nd squirm away." I stated honestly, slightly bobbing my head to seriousness of our situation.

John tensed at my words, not finding much comfort in the truth.

"What if it's chasing you? How do you get away?" John picked at his fingers, nervously glancing between them and me.

I stared at him for a second with pursed lips, leaning forward in hopes of engraving the words into his thoughts, "Don't stop running. No matter what sound it makes or no matter how tired you get - you never stop running until you're one hundred and ninety percent sure you're safe."

Memories of that night in the Maze fill my vision as I recalled the blood, the sweat, the terror, and the pain. I didn't want that happening to anyone else in Glade, I couldn't let it happen.

John visibly gulped with tense shoulders, his wide eyes flickering across the dull twilight of Glade. It seems like no truthful words I could provide would comfort his tense form and his scattered mind. He bobs his head in a nod, his sweaty, mahogany locks trembling with him.

I sigh as John starts to turn around and head back towards his training partner. I didn't want to scare the guy, I was just being honest. Before he left, I gently gripped his shoulder turning him around.

"Look, whatever training goddess you boys think I am, you're wrong. I'm just me, I'm not the answer to this...to this war. I barely know what I'm doing." I sputtered out, feeling my fingers pad my scalp and drag through my hair.

John pursed his lips and furrowed his brows at me, flickering his gaze between me and the group of Sloppers that recently learned how to defend their vital areas with a blade.

"You think you're not much but...you're the only thing we have." John shared a crooked smile with me before jogging back towards his partner who was practicing blocks by himself. I stared after John's scrawny form, rolling his words over my mind. They had Alby, Minho, and Newt. How am I the only thing they have?