The Maze Runner - Chapter 22

A half hour passed.
Neither Thomas nor Minho had moved an inch.
Thomas had finally stopped crying; he couldn’t help wondering what Minho would think of him, or if
he’d tell others, calling him a sissy. But there wasn’t a shred of self-control left in him; he couldn’t have
prevented the tears, he knew that. Despite his lack of memory, he was sure he’d just been through the most
traumatic night of his life. And his sore hands and utter exhaustion didn’t help.
He crawled to the edge of the Cliff once more, stuck his head over again to get a better look now that
dawn was in full force. The open sky in front of him was a deep purple, slowly fading into the bright blue
of day, with tinges of orange from the sun on a distant, flat horizon.
He stared straight down, saw that the stone wall of the Maze went toward the ground in a sheer cliff
until it disappeared into whatever lay far, far below. But even with the ever-increasing light, he still
couldn’t tell what was down there. It seemed as if the Maze was perched on a structure several miles
above the ground.
But that was impossible, he thought. It can’t be. Has to be an illusion.
He rolled over onto his back, groaning at the movement. Things seemed to hurt on him and inside him
that he’d never known existed before. At least the Doors would be opening soon, and they could return to
the Glade. He looked over at Minho, huddled against the hall of the corridor. “I can’t believe we’re still
alive,” he said.
Minho said nothing, just nodded, his face devoid of expression.
“Are there more of them? Did we just kill them all?”
Minho snorted. “Somehow we made it to sunrise, or we would’ve had ten more on our butts before
long.” He shifted his body, wincing and groaning. “I can’t believe it. Seriously. We made it through the
whole night—never been done before.”
Thomas knew he should feel proud, brave, something. But all he felt was tired and relieved. “What did
we do differently?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to ask a dead guy what he did wrong.”
Thomas couldn’t stop wondering about how the Grievers’ enraged cries had ended as they fell from the
Cliff, and how he hadn’t been able to see them plummeting to their deaths. There was something very
strange and unsettling about it. “Seems like they disappeared or something after they went over the edge.”
“Yeah, that was kinda psycho. Couple of Gladers had a theory that other things had disappeared, but
we proved ’em wrong. Look.”
Thomas watched as Minho tossed a rock over the Cliff, then followed its path with his eyes. Down and
down it went, not leaving his sight until it grew too small to see. He turned back toward Minho. “How
does that prove them wrong?”
Minho shrugged. “Well, the rock didn’t disappear, now, did it?”
“Then what do you think happened?” There was something significant here, Thomas could feel it.
Minho shrugged again. “Maybe they’re magic. My head hurts too much to think about it.”
With a jolt, all thoughts of the Cliff were forgotten. Thomas remembered Alby. “We have to get back.”
Straining, he forced himself to get to his feet. “Gotta get Alby off the wall.” Seeing the look of confusion
on Minho’s face, he quickly explained what he’d done with the ropes of ivy.
Minho looked down, his eyes dejected. “No way he’s still alive.”
Thomas refused to believe it. “How do you know? Come on.” He started limping back along the
corridor.
“Because no one’s ever made it …”
He trailed off, and Thomas knew what he was thinking. “That’s because they’ve always been killed by
the Grievers by the time you found them. Alby was only stuck with one of those needles, right?”
Minho stood up and joined Thomas in his slow walk back toward the Glade. “I don’t know, I guess this
has never happened before. A few guys have been stung by the needles during the day. And those are the
ones who got the Serum and went through the Changing. The poor shanks who got stuck out in the Maze all
night weren’t found until later—days later, sometimes, if at all. And all of them were killed in ways you
don’t wanna hear about.”
Thomas shuddered at the thought. “After what we just went through, I think I can imagine.”
Minho looked up, surprise transforming his face. “I think you just figured it out. We’ve been wrong—
well, hopefully we’ve been wrong. Because no one who’d been stung and didn’t make it back by sunset
has ever survived, we just assumed that was the point of no return—when it’s too late to get the Serum.”
He seemed excited by his line of thinking.
They turned yet another corner, Minho suddenly taking the lead. The boy’s pace was picking up, but
Thomas stayed on his heels, surprised at how familiar he felt with the directions, usually even leaning into
turns before Minho showed the way.
“Okay—this Serum,” Thomas said. “I’ve heard that a couple of times now. What is that? And where
does it come from?”
“Just what it sounds like, shank. It’s a serum. The Grief Serum.”
Thomas forced out a pathetic laugh. “Just when I think I’ve learned everything about this stupid place.
Why is it called that? And why are Grievers called Grievers?”
Minho explained as they continued through the endless turns of the Maze, neither one of them leading
now. “I don’t know where we got the names, but the Serum comes from the Creators—or that’s what we
call them, at least. It’s with the supplies in the Box every week, always has been. It’s a medicine or
antidote or something, already inside a medical syringe, ready to use.” He made a show of sticking a
needle in his arm. “Stick that sucker in someone who’s been stung and it saves ’em. They go through the
Changing—which sucks—but after that, they’re healed.”
A minute or two passed in silence as Thomas processed the information; they made a couple more
turns. He wondered about the Changing, and what it meant. And for some reason, he kept thinking of the
girl.
“Weird, though,” Minho finally continued. “We’ve never talked about this before. If he’s still alive,
there’s really no reason to think Alby can’t be saved by the Serum. We somehow got it into our klunk
heads that once the Doors closed, you were done—end of story. I gotta see this hanging-on-the-wall thing
myself—I think you’re shuckin’ me.”
The boys kept walking, Minho almost looking happy, but something was nagging at Thomas. He’d been
avoiding it, denying it to himself. “What if another Griever got Alby after I diverted the one chasing me?”
Minho looked over at him, a blank expression on his face.
“Let’s just hurry, is all I’m saying,” Thomas said, hoping all that effort to save Alby hadn’t been
wasted.
They tried to pick up the pace, but their bodies hurt too much and they settled back into a slow walk
despite the urgency. The next time they rounded a corner, Thomas faltered, his heart skipping a beat when
he saw movement up ahead. Relief washed through him an instant later when he realized it was Newt and
a group of Gladers. The West Door to the Glade towered over them and it was open. They’d made it
back.
At the boys’ appearance, Newt limped over to them. “What happened?” he asked; he sounded almost
angry. “How in the bloody—”
“We’ll tell you later,” Thomas interrupted. “We have to save Alby.”
Newt’s face went white. “What do you mean? He’s alive?”
“Just come here.” Thomas headed to the right, craning his neck to look high up at the wall, searching
along the thick vines until he found the spot where Alby hung by his arms and legs far above them.
Without saying anything, Thomas pointed up, not daring to be relieved yet. He was still there, and in one
piece, but there was no sign of movement.
Newt finally saw his friend hanging in the ivy, and looked back at Thomas. If he’d seemed shocked
before, now he looked completely bewildered. “Is he … alive?”
Please let him be, Thomas thought. “I don’t know. Was when I left him up there.”
“When you left him …” Newt shook his head. “You and Minho get your butts inside, get yourselves
checked by the Med-jacks. You look bloody awful. I want the whole story when they’re done and you’re
rested up.”
Thomas wanted to wait and see if Alby was okay. He started to speak but Minho grabbed him by the
arm and forced him to walk toward the Glade. “We need sleep. And bandages. Now.”
And Thomas knew he was right. He relented, glancing back up at Alby, then followed Minho out and
away from the Maze.
The walk back into the Glade and then to the Homestead seemed endless, a row of Gladers on both sides
gawking at them. Their faces showed complete awe, as if they were watching two ghosts strolling through
a graveyard. Thomas knew it was because they’d accomplished something never done before, but he was
embarrassed by the attention.
He almost stopped walking altogether when he spotted Gally up ahead, arms folded and glaring, but he
kept moving. It took every ounce of his willpower, but he looked directly into Gally’s eyes, never
breaking contact. When he got to within five feet, the other boy’s stare fell to the ground.
It almost disturbed Thomas how good that felt. Almost.
The next few minutes were a blur. Escorted into the Homestead by a couple of Med-jacks, up the stairs,
a glimpse through a barely ajar door of someone feeding the comatose girl in her bed—he felt an
incredibly strong urge to go see her, to check on her—into their own rooms, into bed, food, water,
bandages. Pain. Finally, he was left alone, his head resting on the softest pillow his limited memory could
recall.
But as he fell asleep, two things wouldn’t leave his mind. First, the word he’d seen scrawled across the
torso of both beetle blades—WICKED—ran through his thoughts again and again.
The second thing was the girl.
Hours later—days for all he knew—Chuck was there, shaking him awake. It took several seconds for
Thomas to get his bearings and see straight. He focused in on Chuck, groaned. “Let me sleep, you shank.”
“I thought you’d want to know.”
Thomas rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Know what?” He looked at Chuck again, confused by his big
smile.
“He’s alive,” he said. “Alby’s okay—the Serum worked.”
Thomas’s grogginess instantly washed away, replaced with relief—it surprised him how much joy the
information brought. But then Chuck’s next words made him reconsider.
“He just started the Changing.”
As if brought on by the words, a blood-chilling scream erupted from a room down the hall.

Categories: The Maze Runner