𝑻𝑯𝑬𝒀 𝑯𝑨𝑫 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑵 walking for what felt like hours. Walking, Emis thought, was a light way to put it. By now, their feet were almost dragging to catch up, every step with Alby's weight on their shoulders slowing them down. Dawn had broken, the sky was no longer a cold, deep electric blue. Blotches of pink and gold and orange streamed across the skyline like watercolour paints. The air carried with it the faint stench of rot and gasoline and warm, damp concrete, like the workings of an old, abandoned factory. It was freezing, what heat that had been trapped between the walls had now dissipated, and Emis could feel the cold, despite her indifference to the temperature earlier.
Alby seemed to grow heavier as time went by. It appeared that everything artificial about her had switched off — there was no strength. No adrenaline rush. No block from the cold. Emis felt the most human she had felt since she woke up in the Box. It was refreshing, but in a way, exhausting. Every part of her hurt, her arms and legs had started to ache, her head felt like someone had wrung her brain out, and shoved it back inside her skull the wrong way round.
The Maze was still thick with the sounds of teeming life, the heavy vines crawling with termites and cicadas and crickets. Every so often there would be the huge echoing thud of a wall slotting into place, the Maze changing. There hadn't been anymore Grievers, which Emis was thankful for — if a Griever were to spring them now, she doubted they'd have a chance. Especially with Alby's deadweight on their shoulders.
She had tried to channel her exhaustion into power, inhale, brace, exhale, then lift an inch. It had been a successful technique so far, but she could only run on empty for so long.
She cast her mind back, grimacing as it replayed the image of her hands shooting out in front of her, the Griever clattering onto the floor, a long, sharp blade slicing a huge gash into the side of her arm. She swallowed thickly. It hurt to think about that.
"How far to go?" She managed, trying to change the subject, taking a huge gulp of sweaty, cool air, and resisting the urge to gag as the scent of burnt oil invaded her senses.
"Not far now." Minho said shortly, cutting himself off to take a breath. He walked just a little ways in front of them, Alby's ankles gripped either side of his waist. "We're almost there." His voice had a sharp edge to it. Like he was determined not to give up. Emis heard Thomas breathe a heavy sigh of relief.
