If Gally’s aim had been off by a few inches, things would be different.
Thomas looked down the small hallway, at the large metal doors that stood before them.
He felt his chest swell, a sense of hope and relief filling him. They had made it. They’d made it out of the Maze.
Thomas drew in a deep breath. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No,” came a gruff reply.
The Gladers turned around to see Gally standing a few feet away, his face lit by the sparks of the broken consoles and the dull blue haze of the emergency lights. In one hand he held a Greiver’s receiver, the broken wires hanging limp and the screen still lit up by little red lights.
“Gally?” Thomas whispered, stepping out in front of the small crowd.
“Don’t,” Teresa muttered, grabbing Thomas’ arm and pulling him back. “He’s been stung.”
Gally’s face was red and blotchy, marred bruises and beads of sweat. Tears welled in his eyes as his body trembled. He held his hand out to the side and let the receiver drop from his hold, striking the floor with a thundering boom.
Gally sniffed back tears, his lips trembling as he said, “We can’t leave.”
Thomas’ eyes dropped to the boy’s hand, noticing the gleaming light that reflected off something metallic in his hand. Sparks rained around him, breaking the darkness and revealing what Gally held in his hand. A gun.
Thomas’s stomach dropped, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard.
“We did,” Thomas pointed out, his voice soft and cautious. “Gally, we’re out… We’re free.”
“Free?” Gally repeated, his voice void of any emotion.
He dropped his head and looked away. Slowly he shook his head, tears streaking down his face.
“You think we’re free out there?” he asked, gesturing at the large metal door behind them with his free hand.
Everyone looked at one another, eyes full of worry and fear as they looked at their friends. They couldn’t give up, not when they were this close.
Chuck looked up at Thomas, wanting to say something, but Thomas’ kept his eyes fixed on Gally, his gaze steady.
“No,” Gally said with finality. “No, there is no escape from this place.”
He lifted his arm, aiming the gun at Thomas.
Thomas raised his hands defensively, shifting from one foot to the other as he fought the urge to run, to fight. Thomas drew in deep breaths, trying to steady his breathing. The tension settled over him like a solid weight.
“Gally, listen to me,” Thomas said quietly, keeping his voice calm and level. “You’re not thinking straight… You’re not. And we can help you.”
In his peripheral vision he noticed Minho tighten his grip on his spear, rotating his wrist and readying himself for whatever came next. The leather grip creaked beneath the strain of the boy’s grip.
“Just put down the gun,” Thomas pleaded quietly.
“I belong to the Maze,” Gally argued, apparently not hearing Thomas.
“Put down the gun,” Thomas repeated, voice soft.
Chuck’s eyes darted frantically between Thomas and Gally, his lips trembling and his eyes wide with fear.
Gally’s face twisted in pain, tears falling down his cheeks. “We all do.”
Thomas feels his heart stop beating.
He didn’t have time to react.
“Gally!” he shouted, but it was drowned out in a rush of noise.
He heard Chuck shout, “No!” as he shoved Thomas aside. He heard the gut-wrenching thundering bang of the gun as Gally pulled back on the trigger.
Minho hurled the spear.
The metal pole tore through flesh and bone, impaling Gally. The boy staggered backwards, his body sagging weakly on the rod. He gasped for air, the sound breaking their hearts as the boy fell to his knees. The gun dropped from his hand and his body collapsed to the ground where he lay on his side. He stilled, his clouded eyes staring at them blankly as a stream of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
The others watched on in shock, their lips trembling wordlessly and their lungs burning for air as hot tears blurred their vision.
The silence was broken by a weak murmur.
“Thomas?”
Thomas’ heart skipped a beat.
Chuck.
Thomas spun around, his eyes wide with fear.
Chuck clutched his shoulder, streams of red blood spilling over his fingers. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at Thomas.
“It’s okay,” Thomas said, trying to keep is voice steady—struggling to stay calm as he stepped over to Chuck’s side. He pressed his hand over the bleeding wound, applying pressure as he gently guided the boy to sit down among the shattered glass and debris. “You’re going to be okay.”
Minho stepped forward, pulling his shirt off over his head and holding it out to Thomas.
Thomas froze, his eyes focused on Minho’s bare chest, his heartbeat racing as his eyes traced the the seams of the older boy’s muscles.
“Shank,” Minho said, startling Thomas back to reality. He pushed the shirt into Thomas’ hand.
“What’s this for?” Thomas asked dumbly.
“To bandage his arm, you idiot,” Minho answered.
Newt rolled his eyes, taking the shirt from Thomas and kneeling beside Chuck. He wrapped it tightly around the boy’s arm.
One of the Med-jacks shook themselves from their stupor, hurrying over to their side and helping Newt tie off the make-shift bandage.
Chuck winced, tears glistening as they rolled down his cheek. He looked even paler than usual, his rosy-pink cheeks flushed and his eyes unfocused. He wavered slightly, unsteady.
Thomas held him upright, his stomach tensing as he watched the streams of blood seep into the fabric of Minho’s shirt.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re out. It’s going to be okay.”
There was a thundering bang as one of the large steel doors opened. The blinding light of day flooded the room.
Minho squinted against the glare Dark silhouettes flooding the building. He held his hand up, shielding his eyes as he watched the figured draw nearer; dressed in mismatched dark clothes, ski mask and dusty goggles pulled down over their eyes, and guns in their hands.
“Let’s go!” One of them shouted as they began to herd the Gladers towards the door.
“Come on, Chuck,” Thomas said, trying to help the boy to his feet.
Chuck blinked heavily, struggling to keep his eyes open. His lips quivered around words that Thomas couldn’t hear.
“Come on, kid,” Minho said, grabbing one of Chuck’s arm. “We’re getting out of here.”
Thomas took the other arm, carefully lifting Chuck off the ground. He limped as he and Minho carried the boy towards the open door, towards the light, and to the helicopter that was waiting beyond the churning sand that lashed at them. They helped him into the helicopter, sitting beside him as the thumping blades grew louder and they took off.
“Thomas?” Chuck said quietly. “What happens now?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas admitted.
“It doesn’t matter, because whatever happens, we stay together,” Minho promised.
“Together,” Chuck repeated quietly, letting his body fall weak against Thomas’ shoulder.
Thomas wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulder, holding him close. He looked up at Minho, meeting the boy’s gaze as he said, “Together.”
