The New Horizon ~ A Maze Runner Story

- 7 -

Thomas shivered as he took in the mammoth mountains in front of him. It would be an intimidating feat to climb, but even despite the fear, Thomas found hope. They would conquer the alps, without incidents--or casualties. 
"We all ready?" Minho said, zipping up his backpack full of their makeshift hiking equipment. "There's no turning back after we climb this shucking mountain."
Thomas traced the sloped incline of terrain with his eyes. If someone fell . . . Thomas refrained from thinking of the rest.  

"Yeah, we're ready." Brenda answered, meeting Minho at the front.
"Aris?" Minho questioned, looking behind him at the boy standing there timorously beside Thomas. He swallowed audibly. "I mean, yeah. I just hope those ropes we made are strong enough in case--"
"Incase what?" Minho interjected, "We're a tough group, we'll be okay. But if you aren't game for this kind of thing, then this is your last chance to back out. Last thing we need is a sissy slowing us down."
Aris swallowed again, "No, no--I'm game."

"Good that." Minho replied, glancing at Thomas. He nodded at him, "Let's get trekking. Thomas, you take the rear, I'll take the front. Brenda and Aris, fill in between us. Got it?"
A jittering, energetic buzz began to swarm inside Thomas. It was an odd, intertwining mixture of fear, excitement, anxiety, adventure--the dread of the unknown. But more than ever, he was prepared. He filed in just like Minho instructed, Aris in front of him, fidgeting.
The very top of the jagged mountain towered over them by hundreds of feet. Adventure had never been so intense, yet so hungered for. They took off. 

Not even fifteen minutes into the excursion and they were already faced with a strenuous challenge: getting out of the rocky divot. Several attempts went by. Several grunts. A few slips. Sweat had already soaked Thomas's torso, his gray shirt now a splotchy, dampened black. The worst of all were his clammy palms, inefficiently making for loose, slippery grips on the rocks as they climbed. But the ambition was ever fervent, pumping vigor through his body, prompting him to keep pursuing.

Traction began to diminish with every painstaking step Thomas took, and he wondered when the soles of his shoes would vanish for good. Loose, wobbly stones became his nightmare. He slipped numerous times, shrieking with absolute terror as he desperately fumbled to grab hold of something. The ropes helped, but they shredded his flesh, and the aftermath of rashes on his palms blistered.
By the second hour of trekking, sweat covered every inch of Thomas's body. Matting his hair to the sides of his face, stinging his eyes. His legs burned like an internal fire, swelling inside his calves, straining the discomforted muscles. The sun was at its full power, basking in its glory as it beat down viciously on the group. Thomas could feel his skin sizzling, unprotected from the sun's rays.

But no one complained. No one spoke, understanding that even the faintest small talk enervated them more than an hour's worth of hiking. The cardio was outrageous and Thomas just hoped his heart wouldn't leap out from his chest. 
On and on, gripping hold of jagged rocks, losing balance, slipping. More slipping. Groaning and grunting. Occasional, winded shouts of motivation from Minho. And swear words. Bodies internally screaming. Muscles strained, calves swelling to what felt like the size of boulders. Rebelling against the impulse to stop and quit for the day. Thomas would've given anything to rest, even the remainder of his sack of water. Anything. But he gave nothing because he knew they wouldn't rest--not until the day was over. And he prayed that the sun gods would grant him that. 

Within time, the glorious smoky yellow beginnings of sunset had arrived. Finally. They kept hiking, basking in the beautiful coolness of the oncoming night. 
An hour or so later, the burnt orange wisps of the clouds above became hidden by the dark blue of nightfall.
"There's a little crook coming up. . . that we can sleep in during. . . the night," Minho could hardly get the words out, "just. . . follow me."
Thomas wanted to cry with pure, unhindered joy--they would finally rest.
"About time," Brenda huffed, "all I wanna do is slee--" She let out a sudden shriek of panic, and before Thomas could see for himself, Brenda was down. 

 Aris jumped out of the way just in time to miss Brenda sliding down past him, aiming straight for Thomas. Before he could register, Brenda's body smacked into his shins, throwing him off balance. He felt himself fall onto the rugged slopes, shrieking with a flaring panic that threatened to consume him. Desperately flailing to latch onto anything at all. The darkness was no aid.
"Help!" Thomas screamed, descending the slopes with each passing second. Dark figures above him scrambled around. "This is what I was talking about!" Thomas heard Aris shout. 
"Shut up, slinthead." That was Minho, "Try to get a hold of something!"

Thomas desperately clawed at anything. A sharp stone lacerated his tailbone. He grimaced, imagining the blood seeping through his shirt.
"Dammit, I can't grab onto anything!" Brenda yelled from behind him, "Thomas help me out here!"
"You think I'm not trying? Minho--Aris--whoever--help us!"
In the faint light, Thomas could see the silhouette of Minho's body stomping down the craggy terrain. If Minho lost his balance, they were toast. He would wipe them out for sure. 

"Aris, grab my rope!" Minho called out. Thomas was blinded from the darkness, but the grunts and swearing of his friend up ahead answered any doubts. Minho was figuring something out. 
"I'm almost there--hold on!"
Thomas heard the scrapping of shoes against rock, saw the dark figure grow closer and closer.
"Thomas, reach out and grab my arm--now!" Minho yelled.
Clawing at darkness was beyond frustrating, and Thomas grunted with all the effort he could muster. Pure relief washed through him as he caught onto Minho's arm, squeezing it like his lifeline--because it was his lifeline. "Got it. Brenda, grab onto me!"

In response he felt the tug of weight on his left leg. Nails dug into his flesh through his pants, confirming his relief.
"Done!" Brenda yelled, panting excessively. "Sorry Thomas, didn't mean to scratch your leg off."
 "Okay, Aris," Minho spoke cautiously, grunting with strain of the weighty load he had to haul. "Hold my shucking rope. I'm going to break my back hauling these shanks up."