A line of icy cold shot across Thomas’s skin as he entered the Griever Hole, starting from his
toes and continuing up his whole body, as if he’d jumped through a flat plane of freezing water.
The world went even darker around him as his feet thumped to a landing on a slippery surface,
then shot out from under him; he fell backward into Teresa’s arms. She and Chuck helped him
stand. It was a miracle Thomas hadn’t stabbed someone’s eye out with his spear.
The Griever Hole would’ve been pitch-black if not for the beam of Teresa’s flashlight cutting
through the darkness. As Thomas got his bearings, he realized they were standing in a ten-foothigh
stone cylinder. It was damp, and covered in shiny, grimy oil, and it stretched out in front of
them for dozens of yards before it faded into darkness. Thomas peered up at the Hole through
which they’d come—it looked like a square window into a deep, starless space.
“The computer’s over there,” Teresa said, grabbing his attention.
Several feet down the tunnel, she had aimed her light at a small square of grimy glass that
shone a dull green color. Beneath it, a keyboard was set into the wall, angling out enough for
someone to type on it with ease if standing. There it was, ready for the code. Thomas couldn’t
help thinking it seemed too easy, too good to be true.
“Put the words in!” Chuck yelled, slapping Thomas on the shoulder. “Hurry!”
Thomas motioned for Teresa to do it. “Chuck and I’ll keep watch, make sure a Griever doesn’t
come through the Hole.” He just hoped the Gladers had turned their attention from making the
aisle in the Maze to keeping the creatures away from the Cliff.
“Okay,” Teresa said—Thomas knew she was too smart to waste time arguing about it. She
stepped up to the keyboard and screen, then started typing.
Wait! Thomas called to her mind. Are you sure you know the words?
She turned to him and scowled. “I’m not an idiot, Tom. Yes, I’m perfectly capable of
remembering—”
A loud bang from above and behind them cut her off, made Thomas jump. He spun around to
see a Griever plop through the Griever Hole, appearing as if by magic from the dark square of
black. The thing had retracted its spikes and arms to enter—when it landed with a squishy
thump, a dozen sharp and nasty objects popped back out, looking deadlier than ever.
Thomas pushed Chuck behind him and faced the creature, holding out his spear as if that
would ward it off. “Just keep typing, Teresa!” he yelled.
A skinny metallic rod burst out of the Griever’s moist skin, unfolding into a long appendage
with three spinning blades, which moved directly toward Thomas’s face.
He gripped the end of his spear with both hands, squeezing tightly as he lowered the knifelaced
point to the ground in front of him. The bladed arm moved within two feet, ready to slice
his skin to bits. When it was just a foot away, Thomas tensed his muscles and swung the spear
up, around, and toward the ceiling as hard as he could. It smacked the metal arm and pivoted the
thing skyward, revolving in an arc until it slammed back into the body of the Griever. The
monster let out an angry shriek and pulled back several feet, its spikes retracting into its body.
Thomas heaved breaths in and out.
Maybe I can hold it off, he said quickly to Teresa. Just hurry!
I’m almost done, she replied.
The Griever’s spikes appeared again; it surged ahead and another arm popped out of its skin
and shot forward, this one with huge claws, snapping to grab the spear. Thomas swung, this time
from above his head, throwing every bit of strength into the attack. The spear crashed into the
base of the claws. With a loud clunk, and then a squishing sound, the entire arm ripped free of its
socket, falling to the floor. Then, from some kind of mouth that Thomas couldn’t see, the Griever
let out a long, piercing shriek and pulled back again; the spikes disappeared.
“These things are beatable!” Thomas shouted.
It won’t let me enter the last word! Teresa said in his mind.
Barely hearing her, not quite understanding, he yelled out a roar and charged ahead to take
advantage of the Griever’s moment of weakness. Swinging his spear wildly, he jumped on top of
the creature’s bulbous body, whacking two metal arms away from him with a loud crack. He
lifted the spear above his head, braced his feet—felt them sink into the disgusting blubber—then
thrust the spear down and into the monster. A slimy yellow goo exploded from the flesh,
splashing over Thomas’s legs as he drove the spear as far as it would sink into the thing’s body.
Then he released the hilt of the weapon and jumped away, running back to Chuck and Teresa.
Thomas watched in sick fascination as the Griever twitched uncontrollably, spewing the
yellow oil in every direction. Spikes popped in and out of the skin; its remaining arms swung
around in mass confusion, at times impaling its own body. Soon it began to slow, losing energy
with every ounce of blood—or fuel—it lost.
A few seconds later, it stopped moving altogether. Thomas couldn’t believe it. He absolutely
couldn’t believe it. He’d just defeated a Griever, one of the monsters that had terrorized the
Gladers for more than two years.
He glanced behind him at Chuck, standing there with eyes wide.
“You killed it,” the boy said. He laughed, as if that one act had solved all their problems.
“Wasn’t so hard,” Thomas muttered, then turned to see Teresa frantically typing away at the
keyboard. He knew immediately that something was wrong.
“What’s the problem?” he asked, almost shouting. He ran up to look over her shoulder and
saw that she kept typing the word PUSH over and over, but nothing appeared on the screen.
She pointed at the dirty square of glass, empty but for its greenish glow of life. “I put in all the
words and one by one they appeared on the screen; then something beeped and they’d disappear.
But it won’t let me type in the last word. Nothing’s happening!”
Cold filled Thomas’s veins as Teresa’s words sank in. “Well … why?”
“I don’t know!” She tried again, then again. Nothing appeared.
“Thomas!” Chuck screamed from behind them. Thomas turned to see him pointing at the
Griever Hole—another creature was making its way through. As he watched, it plopped down on
top of its dead brother and another Griever started entering the Hole.
“What’s taking so long!” Chuck cried frantically. “You said they’d turn off when you punched
in the code!”
Both Grievers had righted themselves and extended their spikes, had started moving toward
them.
“It won’t let us enter the word PUSH,” Thomas said absently, not really speaking to Chuck
but trying to think of a solution …
I don’t get it, Teresa said.
The Grievers were coming, only a few feet away. Feeling his will fade into blackness, Thomas
braced his feet and held up his fists halfheartedly. It was supposed to work. The code was
supposed to—
“Maybe you should just push that button,” Chuck said.
Thomas was so surprised by the random statement that he turned away from the Grievers,
looked at the boy. Chuck was pointing at a spot near the floor, right underneath the screen and
keyboard.
Before he could move, Teresa was already down there, crouching on her knees. And
consumed by curiosity, by a fleeting hope, Thomas joined her, collapsing to the ground to get a
better look. He heard the Griever moan and roar behind him, felt a sharp claw grab his shirt, felt
a prick of pain. But he could only stare.
A small red button was set into the wall only a few inches above the floor. Three black words
were printed there, so obvious he couldn’t believe he’d missed it earlier.
Kill the Maze
More pain snapped Thomas out of his stupor. The Griever had grabbed him with two
instruments, had started dragging him backward. The other one had gone after Chuck and was
just about to swipe at the kid with a long blade.
A button.
“Push!” Thomas screamed, louder than he’d thought possible for a human being to scream.
And Teresa did.
She pushed the button and everything went perfectly silent. Then, from somewhere down the
dark tunnel, came the sound of a door sliding open.
cookl
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