Quiet is Violent {Newt | The Maze Runner}

14. Metal or Flesh

With Minho and Thomas leading the pack, the newly appointed runners made their way through the twisting corridors of the Maze. Tasha was a close third, the sight of the grey stone familiar, the path being one she had run a thousand times over. However, seeing as though she didn't know the exact location of the Griever, she thought it best to follow quietly behind the two boys who did.

"Come on!" Minho called, picking up his pace ahead of them. Thomas's footsteps remained constant and the distance between himself and Tasha didn't change, until Tasha sped up. She ran past, joining Minho as the others lagged behind, and Thomas seemed almost surprised that she had overtaken him. As long as she was with someone who knew the way, she didn't mind who. They ran in silence, making their way through the well worn paths of the Maze, vines covering every inch of the walls and floors, save for the faint sight of grey concrete and black lettering. W.C.K.D. It took time, navigating through to some mystery destination that was deep within the Maze, but Tasha didn't complain. She just kept running.

The group skidded to a stop as the Maze veered off to one side, and they stood, peering down the side path, the six of them lined up diligently waiting for their designated leader and the Greenie. Tasha could see the point of interest; a crack in the wall just ahead, the spindly legs of grievers sticking out at what had to be painful angles, almost like it had been... squished. Her eyes widened as Minho began making his way towards it, and followed him with quick footsteps and an even quicker heartbeat.

It was the mix of entrails and mechanics that made Tasha's stomach turn, the smell of something acidic and the delicate tang of metal. She could see in her mind's eye, the slimey, gooey creature chasing her with the clicking of it's many legs, it's slimy trail stretching out behind it with that same vaguely acidic smell clogging up her senses. The night spent running and jumping, hiding as best she could... It was nice to see it so still. She felt no sympathy for this creature, or it's demise, and couldn't help the grin that spread over her face, despite the nauseating smell and the fluids on the ground.

"That's disgusting." Zart muttered, speaking the words the whole group was thinking, eyeing the mess with distaste from his spot beside Winston.

"There's something in there." Thomas was the first it seemed, to get over the horrifying nature of the scene and edged closer.

"You mean besides a Griever pancake?" Frypan muttered skeptically, squinting at the ugly sight before them. Tasha frowned, disregarding the cook's snide comment and following Thomas's line of sight until she spotted a blinking red light in the chasam. She daren't edge forward, for all the stillness of the Griever, she was still wary of it. Minho made his way forward, slowly, approaching the dead creature, with more courage than Tasha seemed to have, or perhaps, just a high amount of faith in Thomas.

"Woah, woah, woah! What are you doing?" Concern was evident Zart's words as he stuttered forward, not daring to approach the Griever, but wanting to reach out and pull the Keeper back. Tasha almost laughed at the mere thought; Zart! Feeling concerned! Her amusement, however, turned to concern of her own as Minho gave Zart a poignant look and reached into the dark abyss.Tasha watched the scene before her with morbid curiosity, the squelching sounds echoing through the silence. Minho was elbow deep in the crevice, his expression a mix of confusion, before there was a flurry of whirs and clicks and the movement of the Griever's legs. Minho yanked his hands away as if he had been burned; Tasha shoved Thomas and the other non-Runners behind herself. Barely a moment passed and it was still again, and the group let out a collective sigh of relief when it groaned to a halt.

"I thought you said it was dead!" Frypan exclaimed, pushing one of Tasha's arms down from where she had flung them in the action. The rest of the gathered Gladers shuffled about behind Tasha and Minho, trying to get a better look.

"What, is it reflex?" Asked Zart, his voice wary, gaze flickering from Tasha to Minho to Thomas. Tasha had to take a moment to quiet her racing heart as she slowly dropped her defensive stance.

"You hope." Winston supplied, doubtfully, eyeing the Griever with mistrust. Thomas was the first one to break from the stupor, to move swiftly past Tasha and back towards the dead Griever, crossing the width of the corridor in a few steps.

"OK, come on," he tapped Minho on the shoulder, striding forward and grasping one of the thin, metal legs, "lets try and pull it out." Tasha lurched forward without thinking, grasping the leg beside Thomas. He shot her a grateful smile as he pulled roughly, exposing more of the it. "Let's all get in on it," he said, readying himself as the others all, as if automatically, gathered, finding their own grip along the shaft of the Griever's leg. "Ready?" He asked. There was no disagreements, so he proceeded. "On three; One, two, three!" He cried, the rest of them tugging at the leg with all their force. They struggled and grunted against the resistance; the sound of flesh tearing pierced the silence of the maze. With an almighty rip the leg was pulled free, along with the Gladers holding onto it, sending them all tumbling to the ground.

Tasha felt the moment her back hit the hard, stone wall behind herself, followed by all of the air being forced from her lungs, leaving her struggling for air. However, she managed to scramble to her feet beside Thomas as he helped Frypan up. Minho was the one who approached the detached limb, with the same reckless curiosity that had led him back here in the first place. In between the mess of mechanics and guts, the red blinking light kept it's steady pace. It was with a wet squelch that he pulled a metal tube from the piece of viscous flesh, letting the excess fall to the ground with a splat, to which Tasha and the other Gladers grimaced. The sight made Tasha's meagre breakfast flip in her stomach, a sentiment shared through the resulting groans of disgust. Hands covered in Griever slime, Minho clasped the silver cylinder tightly, analysing it.

"What the hell is that?" Thomas breathed, edging closer to the Runner, his eyes fixed on the forgien object in Minho's grip. Minho turned the device over in his hands, for all the slim obscuring it, the red light bleeping quietly and steadily in his grasp.

"Interesting..." Minho muttered, spotting something on there that none of the others could see. Tasha would ask what it was, but at the moment, it wasn't her place. She wasn't a Keeper, she was just a Runner. It was above her station to worry about it.

"Yeah well, whatever it is," Frypan huffed, "can we take it back to the Glade?" He paused for a moment, looking around, his fear of the maze finally eroding through his curiosity about the dead Griever, "Because I don't want to meet this guy's friends." He admitted, looking to the other Gladers. Tasha could feel herself wanting to stay in the Maze, to find out more, to examine the Griever's corpse, but Minho's voice was clear.

"He's right. It's getting late." He headed towards the huddled group, patting Thomas on the back, "Come on." He mumbled, taking off at a run. Tasha sprung to the balls of her feet, but waited until the last of them had began running before she took off after them, tailing them. Her speed at most was a light jog due to the speed of the others, but she would be damned if she didn't make sure everyone made it back alive.