Thomas turned to see his original pursuer still coming, though it had slowed a bit, clasping and unclasping
a metal claw as if mocking him, laughing.
It knows I’m done, he thought. After all that effort, here he was, surrounded by Grievers. It was over.
Not even a week of salvageable memory, and his life was over.
Almost consumed by grief, he made a decision. He’d go down fighting.
Much preferring one over three, he ran straight toward the Griever that had chased him there. The ugly
thing retracted just an inch, stopped moving its claw, as if shocked at his boldness. Taking heart at the
slight falter, Thomas started screaming as he charged.
The Griever came to life, spikes popping out of its skin; it rolled forward, ready to collide head-on
with its foe. The sudden movement almost made Thomas stop, his brief moment of insane courage
washing away, but he kept running.
At the last second before collision, just as he got a close look at the metal and hair and slime, Thomas
planted his left foot and dove to the right. Unable to stop its momentum, the Griever zoomed straight past
him before it shuddered to a halt—Thomas noticed the thing was moving a lot faster now. With a metallic
howl, it swiveled and readied to pounce on its victim. But now, no longer surrounded, Thomas had a
clear shot away, back down the path.
He scrambled to his feet and sprinted forward. Sounds of pursuit, this time from all four Grievers,
followed close behind. Sure that he was pushing his body beyond its physical limits, he ran on, trying to
rid himself of the hopeless feeling that it was only a matter of time before they got him.
Then, three corridors down, two hands suddenly reached out and yanked him into the adjoining
hallway. Thomas’s heart leaped into his throat as he struggled to free himself. He stopped when he
realized it was Minho.
“What—”
“Shut up and follow me!” Minho yelled, already dragging Thomas away until he was able to get his feet
under him.
Without a moment to think, Thomas collected himself. Together, they ran through corridors, taking turn
after turn. Minho seemed to know exactly what he was doing, where he was going; he never paused to
think about which way they should run.
As they rounded the next corner, Minho attempted to speak. Between heaving breaths, he gasped, “I just
saw … the dive move you did … back there … gave me an idea … we only have to last … a little while
longer.”
Thomas didn’t bother wasting his own breath on questions; he just kept running, following Minho.
Without having to look behind him, he knew the Grievers were gaining ground at an alarming rate. Every
inch of his body hurt, inside and out; his limbs cried for him to quit running. But he ran on, hoped his heart
didn’t quit pumping.
A few turns later, Thomas saw something ahead of them that didn’t register with his brain. It seemed …
wrong. And the faint light emanating from their pursuers made the oddity up ahead all the more apparent.
The corridor didn’t end in another stone wall.
It ended in blackness.
Thomas narrowed his eyes as they ran toward the wall of darkness, trying to comprehend what they
were approaching. The two ivy-covered walls on either side of him seemed to intersect with nothing but
sky up ahead. He could see stars. As they got closer, he finally realized that it was an opening—the Maze
ended.
How? he wondered. After years of searching, how did Minho and I find it this easily?
Minho seemed to sense his thoughts. “Don’t get excited,” he said, barely able to get the words out.
A few feet before the end of the corridor, Minho pulled up, holding his hand out over Thomas’s chest to
make sure he stopped, too. Thomas slowed, then walked up to where the Maze opened out into open sky.
The sounds of the onrushing Grievers grew closer, but he had to see.
They had indeed reached a way out of the Maze, but like Minho had said, it was nothing to get excited
about. All Thomas could see in every direction, up and down, side to side, was empty air and fading
stars. It was a strange and unsettling sight, like he was standing at the edge of the universe, and for a brief
moment he was overcome by vertigo, his knees weakening before he steadied himself.
Dawn was beginning to make its mark, the sky seeming to have lightened considerably even in the last
minute or so. Thomas stared in complete disbelief, not understanding how it could all be possible. It was
like somebody had built the Maze and then set it afloat in the sky to hover there in the middle of nothing
for the rest of eternity.
“I don’t get it,” he whispered, not knowing if Minho could even hear him.
“Careful,” the Runner replied. “You wouldn’t be the first shank to fall off the Cliff.” He grabbed
Thomas’s shoulder. “Did you forget something?” He nodded back toward the inside of the Maze.
Thomas remembered hearing the word Cliff before, but couldn’t place it at the moment. Seeing the vast,
open sky in front of and below him had put him into some kind of hypnotized stupor. He shook himself
back to reality and turned to face the oncoming Grievers. They were now only dozens of yards away,
single file, charging in with a vengeance, moving surprisingly fast.
Everything clicked, then, even before Minho explained what they were going to do.
“These things may be vicious,” Minho said, “but they’re dumb as dirt. Stand here, close to me, facing
—”
Thomas cut him off. “I know. I’m ready.”
They shuffled their feet until they stood scrunched up together in front of the drop-off at the very middle
of the corridor, facing the Grievers. Their heels were only inches from the edge of the Cliff behind them,
nothing but air waiting after that.
The only thing left for them was courage.
“We need to be in sync!” Minho yelled, almost drowned out by the earsplitting sounds of the thundering
spikes rolling along the stone. “On my mark!”
Why the Grievers had lined up single file was a mystery. Maybe the Maze proved just narrow enough
to make it awkward for them to travel side by side. But one after the other, they rolled down the stone
hallway, clicking and moaning and ready to kill. Dozens of yards had become dozens of feet, and the
monsters were only seconds away from crashing into the waiting boys.
“Ready,” Minho said steadily. “Not yet … not yet …”
Thomas hated every millisecond of waiting. He just wanted to close his eyes and never see another
Griever again.
“Now!” screamed Minho.
Just as the first Griever’s arm extended out to nip at them, Minho and Thomas dove in opposite
directions, each toward one of the outer walls of the corridor. The tactic had worked for Thomas earlier,
and judging by the horrible screeching sound that escaped the first Griever, it had worked again. The
monster flew off the edge of the Cliff. Oddly, its battle cry cut off sharply instead of fading as it
plummeted to the depths beyond.
Thomas landed against the wall and spun just in time to see the second creature tumble over the edge,
not able to stop itself. The third one planted a heavily spiked arm into the stone, but its momentum was too
much. The nerve-grinding squeal of the spike cutting through the ground sent a shiver up Thomas’s spine,
though a second later the Griever tumbled into the abyss. Again, neither of them made a sound as they fell
—as if they’d disappeared instead of falling.
The fourth and final approaching creature was able to stop in time, teetering on the very edge of the
cliff, a spike and a claw holding it in place.
Instinctively Thomas knew what he had to do. Looking to Minho, he nodded, then turned. Both boys ran
in at the Griever and jumped feetfirst at the creature, kicking out at the last second with every waning bit
of strength. They both connected, sending the last monster plummeting to its death.
Thomas quickly scrambled to the edge of the abyss, poking his head over to see the falling Grievers.
But impossibly, they were gone—not even a sign of them in the emptiness that stretched below. Nothing.
His mind couldn’t process the thought of where the Cliff led or what had happened to the terrible
creatures. His last ounce of strength disappeared, and he curled into a ball on the ground.
Then, finally, came the tears.
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