Stealers (Newt x Reader)

Chapter 28: Sacrifice

The mood hanging over everyone as we ran through the maze couldn't have been any more sodden or sombre with fear, time slipping away as we made our way through corridor after corridor. Any courage that had trickled in and been forced to grow from the battle cries and pep talks had been whisked away, hiding in the shadows that surrounded us. All we could do was run and move forward, even if every muscle and smart part of my brain was telling me to stop, to not risk my life fighting the grievers. But I had to. For my future. For Thomas. For Newt. I don't know how long we had been running when Minho shouted back to everyone for the first time.

"Everyone good?" As he turned to look, so did I and the sight struck me with a small quiver of panic. These boys were red and huffing with breath, sweat matting their hair like some strange invisible hat. The majority of them tried to hide the strain of running that made them that way but some didn't care, keeling over slightly with their hands on their knees, sucking in air as if that would save them from everything to come. I looked back to Minho, a mixture of worry and amusement on his face; he had barely broke a sweat. 

"What do we do? Do we stop?" I breathed out, tired myself but still able to go on another hour or so. Newt shook his head.

"No, these guys won't have any bloody energy by the time we get to that hole if we carry on. Let them have a little while, get some water down themselves," Newt said, leaning against the wall next to us, almost disappearing in a thick patch of vines. Minho just shrugged, making me pass down the line that we're going to rest for a bit. I heard it being whispered from person to person, some strange game of chinese whispers. Hopefully, it hadn't changed into something completely different. I saw Thomas give us a thumbs up and sit down when it got to him, letting us know it had reached the end. I sat next to Newt, sipping at the bottle of water in my hand. 

"How's your leg?" I didn't want to remind him of that day but I had noticed him hobbling more the further we got into the maze. He needed this rest as much as some of the other boys. He grimaced slightly before replying.

"Fine. Just gets a little difficult sometimes," he always brushed it off in some form of words that sounded like that and every time it made me feel worse than if he was honest about it. Only because I hate the thought of him feeling the pain alone. I felt a deep sadness rock my body as I sat there, my throat suddenly parch despite the water. I brought my knees to my chest and leaned against him, linking one of my arms with his to hold his hand. I could see him looking down at me, his face unreadable. 

"I just worry about you. You never deserved that and I wish I could have helped," my voice was barely a whisper that was carried away by the wind but somehow he heard, always managing to somehow hear. 

"Don't. Because you did help, you got me out of the hole I had dug for myself, you... made life worth living after that," his voice had got quiet, probably overwhelming when thinking about a past suicide attempt and past relationship at the same time. It made my heart hurt for him even more. 

"I'm glad, I just wish I had made it more worthwhile recently," another wave of pain crashed into me at the thought of him locking himself away for days while I tried to figure out my feelings for Minho and Thomas, while all along I knew deep down it was him. I could have saved us both so much trouble and I felt so stupid for it. Out of nowhere, Newt laughed, the last sound I expected to hear from him.

"You make it worthwhile everyday," he said. I finally looked at him, his eyes brimming with tears as he unlatched his arm from mine and put it round me, pulling me closer into him. I buried my head in his chest and let myself melt into his embrace. We stayed like that until Minho said we had to get moving again, the rest of the boys looking once again fresh and rearing to go, despite the cold fear in their eyes that was impossible to hide. I tried to ignore it. 

We ran again for a little while, I didn't count the minutes, just let the time slip by, trying not to remember where I was and what each step meant I was closer to. All I did was occasionally look at Newt, his jaw clenched as he ran, a perfect look of concentration glued to his face, the muscles in his arm rippling with each step he took and his hair flopping up and down slightly, some parts underneath glued down with sweat. Every now and then I would turn to check on everyone else, catching a glimpse of Thomas and a flash of his smile. Suddenly, Minho stopped, holding a hand out behind him as he backed into the wall. The corridor ended and turned into a T shape, a path leading left and another leading right. 

"To the right is the tunnel," Minho turned to me and Newt, his breathing heavy, something that I wasn't sure was caused by running or fear. "I don't know why we haven't come across any grievers up until this point but I'm guessing they're around this corner." 

"Well, they want a good show don't they?" I said, rolling my eyes. It made sense. Put all the grievers there to really test our limits, see how many will survive. A thought sprung into my mind but I let it linger without saying anything about it to Minho and Newt. More whispers echoed down the line of boys, bouncing off the walls even though the words were quiet. With each realisation that we were a corner away from death, the sense of anticipation and distress heightened in the atmosphere, the group of us subconsciously huddling tighter together. After readying ourselves another time, gripping our weapons tighter in our hands and wiping the sweat from out brows, we charged round the corner but stopped at the sight in front of us. 

"What are they doing?" I said to no one in particular. 

"No idea," Newt replied, his voice low and incapable of hiding his anxiety. The grievers were lined from wall to wall, just a single row of them, four in total. It wasn't the fact that there weren't that many but the stillness of them, that unnerved me so much. They lay side by side, a ball of green mush covered in small patches of hair. I could come face to face with one of these everyday and the nauseating feeling I get when near them would never go away. I could never get used to these abominations. I was lost in staring at them, waiting for them to move but nothing happened. They just sat there, as if they were dead. But they weren't, I could sense it and the creators wouldn't let us out that easy. I jumped when someones hand dropped down on my shoulder, quickly turning to hold my knife up. I relaxed when I saw it was Thomas, his face pale in the growing darkness, a look of terror on his face.

"They're behind us as well," his voice dripped with fear, low and quiet, as if the slightest sound would wake the grievers into a frenzy of murder. I took a few steps out of the group, seeing a mirror image of what was in front of the tunnel. "They might come from the way we came as well," he added. I internally groaned, I should have known there wouldn't just be the four in front of us. The thought I had earlier slipped back into my mind, like a leaf would fall from the sky, slow and gentle. A strange way for the thought the present itself at this moment. 

"Maybe they're waiting for us," I started, Newt, Thomas and Minho looking to me for more of an explanation, "They've been taking one a night, right? So maybe they're waiting for one of us to.. go to them." It was a rash idea, that could definitely be wrong but I couldn't think of anything else. And if it did work, then it could save so many.

"Right and who's gonna do that?" Minho folded his arms, his voice hush but full of attitude. 

"Me," I said. Before I could say anything else, Newt objected.

"Definitely not. Never. You are not sacrificing yourself for us. Forget it," every time I tried to say something else, he cut me off and I could see why. If he had said that to me, there would be no chance I would let him go. We began to argue until Thomas silently handed me the piece of paper with the code on it and walked forward, straight for the grievers. I grabbed his hand in a sudden burst of panic. I had followed him this far and I couldn't lose him. 

"What are you doing?" My voice shook slightly, my grip on his hand tightening with each word. He twisted and pulled, every time his hand slipping a little from mine, the build up of sweat from both of us not helping. Each time he pulled away from me, I felt a jolt of hot panic rush through my veins, I couldn't let him go.

"Do the code, I have to do this, I have to be the one," Thomas looked me in the eyes and I knew he was sincere, he really felt like he had to do this. For everything he did before the maze, for all the things he caused. I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, he didn't have to but I just stared at him, hoping my eyes spoke for me. "And take Chuck. Look after him," with a final pull, he yanked away from me, letting my hand fall to my side. I felt a deep emptiness open up within me but as Thomas ran a few metres towards the grievers, he stopped, shocked into immobile fear as all sides of the grievers charged towards him. Towards all of us.