“That settles it,” Minho said.
Thomas stood next to him on the edge of the Cliff, staring at the gray nothingness beyond. There was no
sign of anything, to the left, right, down, up, or ahead, for as far as he could see. Nothing but a wall of
blankness.
“Settles what?” Thomas asked.
“We’ve seen it three times now. Something’s up.”
“Yeah.” Thomas knew what he meant, but waited for Minho’s explanation anyway.
“That dead Griever I found—it ran this way, and we never saw it come back or go deeper into the
Maze. Then those suckers we tricked into jumping past us.”
“Tricked?” Thomas said. “Maybe not such a trick.”
Minho looked over at him, contemplative. “Hmm. Anyway, then this.” He pointed out at the abyss. “Not
much doubt anymore—somehow the Grievers can leave the Maze this way. Looks like magic, but so does
the sun disappearing.”
“If they can leave this way,” Thomas added, continuing Minho’s line of reasoning, “so could we.” A
thrill of excitement shot through him.
Minho laughed. “There’s your death wish again. Wanna hang out with the Grievers, have a sandwich,
maybe?”
Thomas felt his hopes drop. “Got any better ideas?”
“One thing at a time, Greenie. Let’s get some rocks and test this place out. There has to be some kind of
hidden exit.”
Thomas helped Minho as they scrabbled around the corners and crannies of the Maze, picking up as
many loose stones as possible. They got more by thumbing cracks in the wall, spilling broken chunks onto
the ground. When they finally had a sizable pile, they hauled it over right next to the edge and took a seat,
feet dangling over the side. Thomas looked down and saw nothing but a gray descent.
Minho pulled out his pad and pencil, placed them on the ground next to him. “All right, we gotta take
good notes. And memorize it in that shuck head of yours, too. If there’s some kind of optical illusion
hiding an exit from this place, I don’t wanna be the one who screws up when the first shank tries to jump
into it.”
“That shank oughtta be the Keeper of the Runners,” Thomas said, trying to make a joke to hide his fear.
Being this close to a place where Grievers might come out at any second was making him sweat. “You’d
wanna hold on to one beauty of a rope.”
Minho picked up a rock from their pile. “Yeah. Okay, let’s take turns tossing them, zigzagging back and
forth out there. If there’s some kind of magical exit, hopefully it’ll work with rocks, too—make them
disappear.”
Thomas took a rock and carefully threw it to their left, just in front of where the left wall of the corridor
leading to the Cliff met the edge. The jagged piece of stone fell. And fell. Then disappeared into the gray
emptiness.
Minho went next. He tossed his rock just a foot or so farther out than Thomas had. It also fell far below.
Thomas threw another one, another foot out. Then Minho. Each rock fell to the depths. Thomas kept
following Minho’s orders—they continued until they’d marked a line reaching at least a dozen feet from
the Cliff, then moved their target pattern a foot to the right and started coming back toward the Maze.
All the rocks fell. Another line out, another line back. All the rocks fell. They threw enough rocks to
cover the entire left half of the area in front of them, covering the distance anyone—or anything—could
possibly jump. Thomas’s discouragement grew with every toss, until it turned into a heavy mass of blah.
He couldn’t help chiding himself—it’d been a stupid idea.
Then Minho’s next rock disappeared.
It was the strangest, most hard-to-believe thing Thomas had ever seen.
Minho had thrown a large chunk, a piece that had fallen from one of the cracks in the wall. Thomas had
watched, deeply concentrating on each and every rock. This one left Minho’s hand, sailed forward,
almost in the exact center of the Cliff line, started its descent to the unseen ground far below. Then it
vanished, as if it had fallen through a plane of water or mist.
One second there, falling. Next second gone.
Thomas couldn’t speak.
“We’ve thrown stuff off the Cliff before,” Minho said. “How could we have ever missed that? I never
saw anything disappear. Never.”
Thomas coughed; his throat felt raw. “Do it again—maybe we blinked weird or something.”
Minho did, throwing it at the same spot. And once again, it winked out of existence.
“Maybe you weren’t looking carefully other times you threw stuff over,” Thomas said. “I mean, it
should be impossible—sometimes you don’t look very hard for things you don’t believe will or can
happen.”
They threw the rest of the rocks, aiming at the original spot and every inch around it. To Thomas’s
surprise, the spot in which the rocks disappeared proved only to be a few feet square.
“No wonder we missed it,” Minho said, furiously writing down notes and dimensions, his best attempt
at a diagram. “It’s kind of small.”
“The Grievers must barely fit through that thing.” Thomas kept his eyes riveted to the area of the
invisible floating square, trying to burn the distance and location in his mind, remember exactly where it
was. “And when they come out, they must balance on the rim of the hole and jump over the empty space to
the Cliff edge—it’s not that far. If I could jump it, I’m sure it’s easy for them.”
Minho finished drawing, then looked up at the special spot. “How’s this possible, dude? What’re we
looking at?”
“Like you said, it’s not magic. Must be something like our sky turning gray. Some kind of optical
illusion or hologram, hiding a doorway. This place is all jacked up.” And, Thomas admitted to himself,
kind of cool. His mind craved to know what kind of technology could be behind it all.
“Yeah, jacked up is right. Come on.” Minho got up with a grunt and put on his backpack. “Better get as
much of the Maze run as we can. With our new decorated sky, maybe other weird things have happened
out there. We’ll tell Newt and Alby about this tonight. Don’t know how it helps, but at least we know now
where the shuck Grievers go.”
“And probably where they come from,” Thomas said as he took one last look at the hidden doorway.
“The Griever Hole.”
“Yeah, good a name as any. Let’s go.”
Thomas sat and stared, waiting for Minho to make a move. Several minutes passed in silence and
Thomas realized his friend must be as fascinated as he was. Finally, without saying a word, Minho turned
to leave. Thomas reluctantly followed and they ran into the gray-dark Maze.
* * *
Thomas and Minho found nothing but stone walls and ivy.
Thomas did the vine cutting and all the note-taking. It was hard for him to notice any changes from the
day before, but Minho pointed out without thinking about it where the walls had moved. When they
reached the final dead end and it was time to head back home, Thomas felt an almost uncontrollable urge
to bag everything and stay there overnight, see what happened.
Minho seemed to sense it and grabbed his shoulder. “Not yet, dude. Not yet.”
And so they’d gone back.
A somber mood rested over the Glade, an easy thing to happen when all is gray. The dim light hadn’t
changed a bit since they’d woken up that morning, and Thomas wondered if anything would change at
“sunset” either.
Minho headed straight for the Map Room as they came through the West Door.
Thomas was surprised. He thought it was the last thing they should do. “Aren’t you dying to tell Newt
and Alby about the Griever Hole?”
“Hey, we’re still Runners,” Minho said, “and we still have a job.” Thomas followed him to the steel
door of the big concrete block and Minho turned to give him a wan smile. “But yeah, we’ll do it quick so
we can talk to them.”
There were already other Runners milling about the room, drawing up their Maps when they entered.
No one said a word, as if all speculation on the new sky had been exhausted. The hopelessness in the
room made Thomas feel as if he were walking through mud-thick water. He knew he should also be
exhausted, but he was too excited to feel it—he couldn’t wait to see Newt’s and Alby’s reactions to the
news about the Cliff.
He sat down at the table and drew up the day’s Map based on his memory and notes, Minho looking
over his shoulder the whole time, giving pointers. “I think that hall was actually cut off here, not there,”
and “Watch your proportions,” and “Draw straighter, you shank.” He was annoying but helpful, and
fifteen minutes after entering the room, Thomas examined his finished product. Pride washed through him
—it was just as good as any other Map he’d seen.
“Not bad,” Minho said. “For a Greenie, anyway.”
Minho got up and walked over to the Section One trunk and opened it. Thomas knelt down in front of it
and took out the Map from the day before and held it up side by side with the one he’d just drawn.
“What am I looking for?” he asked.
“Patterns. But looking at two days’ worth isn’t gonna tell you jack. You really need to study several
weeks, look for patterns, anything. I know there’s something there, something that’ll help us. Just can’t
find it yet. Like I said, it sucks.”
Thomas had an itch in the back of his mind, the same one he’d felt the very first time in this room. The
Maze walls, moving. Patterns. All those straight lines—were they suggesting an entirely different kind of
map? Pointing to something? He had such a heavy feeling that he was missing an obvious hint or clue.
Minho tapped him on the shoulder. “You can always come back and study your butt off after dinner,
after we talk to Newt and Alby. Come on.”
Thomas put the papers in the trunk and closed it, hating the twinge of unease he felt. It was like a prick
in his side. Walls moving, straight lines, patterns … There had to be an answer. “Okay, let’s go.”
They’d just stepped outside the Map Room, the heavy door clanging shut behind them, when Newt and
Alby walked up, neither one of them looking very happy. Thomas’s excitement immediately turned to
worry.
“Hey,” Minho said. “We were just—”
“Get on with it,” Alby interrupted. “Ain’t got time to waste. Find anything? Anything?”
Minho actually recoiled at the harsh rebuke, but his face seemed more confused to Thomas than hurt or
angry. “Nice to see you, too. Yeah, we did find something, actually.”
Oddly, Alby almost looked disappointed. “Cuz this whole shuck place is fallin’ to pieces.” He shot
Thomas a nasty glare as if it were all his fault.
What’s wrong with him? Thomas thought, feeling his own anger light up. They’d been working hard all
day and this was their thanks?
“What do you mean?” Minho asked. “What else happened?”
Newt answered, nodding toward the Box as he did so. “Bloody supplies didn’t come today. Come
every week for two years, same time, same day. But not today.”
All four of them looked over at the steel doors attached to the ground. To Thomas, there seemed to be a
shadow hovering over it darker than the gray air surrounding everything else.
“Oh, we’re shucked for good now,” Minho whispered, his reaction alerting Thomas to how grave the
situation really was.
“No sun for the plants,” Newt said, “no supplies from the bloody Box—yeah, I’d say we’re shucked,
all right.”
Alby had folded his arms, still glaring at the Box as if trying to open the doors with his mind. Thomas
hoped their leader didn’t bring up what he’d seen in the Changing—or anything related to Thomas, for that
matter. Especially now.
“Yeah, anyway,” Minho continued. “We found something weird.”
Thomas waited, hoping that Newt or Alby would have a positive reaction to the news, maybe even
have further information to shed light on the mystery.
Newt raised his eyebrows. “What?”
Minho took a full three minutes to explain, starting with the Griever they followed and ending with the
results of their rock-throwing experiment.
“Must lead to where the … ya know … Grievers live,” he said when finished.
“The Griever Hole,” Thomas added. All three of them looked at him, annoyed, as if he had no right to
speak. But for the first time, being treated like the Greenie didn’t bother him that much.
“Gotta bloody see that for myself,” Newt said. Then murmured, “Hard to believe.” Thomas couldn’t
have agreed more.
“I don’t know what we can do,” Minho said. “Maybe we could build something to block off that
corridor.”
“No way,” Newt said. “Shuck things can climb the bloody walls, remember? Nothing we could build
would keep them out.”
But a commotion outside the Homestead shifted their attention away from the conversation. A group of
Gladers stood at the front door of the house, shouting to be heard over each other. Chuck was in the group,
and when he saw Thomas and the others he ran over, a look of excitement spread across his face. Thomas
could only wonder what crazy thing had happened now.
“What’s going on?” Newt asked.
“She’s awake!” Chuck yelled. “The girl’s awake!”
Thomas’s insides twisted; he leaned against the concrete wall of the Map Room. The girl. The girl who
spoke in his head. He wanted to run before it happened again, before she spoke to him in his mind.
But it was too late.
Tom, I don’t know any of these people. Come get me! It’s all fading… . I’m forgetting everything but
you…. I have to tell you things! But it’s all fading….
He couldn’t understand how she did it, how she was inside his head.
Teresa paused, then said something that made no sense.
The Maze is a code, Tom. The Maze is a code.
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