CHAPTER 22:

"He's dead."

Gally bent forward, hiding his face as he reached underneath the piles of logs to retrieve something she couldn't make out clearly. "He's what?"

"Dead."

The boy stood up, his close cropped hair appearing to stand on end as he glared down at her. She didn't see anything in them, no anger, sadness, grief. They were oddly numb. She raised herself from the bench-like log, squinting against the beam of sunlight that conveniently fell in her face as she watched his reaction.

"What, Mike?" Gally asked, planting his hands on his hips, carelessly dropping his axe onto the floor. He'd been chopping the logs near the back of the Deadheads and the buzz of the insects started to ring in her ears as the silence expanded between them.

"Yes. Died only ten minutes ago. Clint did everything he could."

Gally looked at her harshly for a second more, before he averted his eyes and bent down to pick up his axe, rubbing his hand along the handle. Tossing it around to find the perfect grip, he turned back around, rearing his arm back and splintering wood.

"He was dead the minute he fell." Gally said, his voice cold as usual, "We all knew the day was coming."

"Thought you'd want to know. He was an Original, Gally, with you." Adira said, trying to restrain her shock at his lack of care.

"And he's dead now." He sighed, wedging the axe into the trunk of the tree with force, spitting into the dry soil, "What am I meant to do, cry?"

Adira shrugged, "Come remember him, I guess. What's else to do?"

Gally rolled his shoulders back, turning sideways so she could just about make the side of his face, "You know I ain't going to a shuck funeral. He's off somewhere good, Ad. We're the ones who'll suffer."

"Gally-"

"I know you've told Newt." Gally said, and his voice wasn't malicious, just tired with a hint of annoyance. "And Minho."

She didn't defend herself, thinking back to the night where he'd boldly claimed that the Maze was better than the outside world, "Until you speak about your ludicrous conclusions, we're not believing anything you say. How do you know and what do you know?"

Gally faced her, now suddenly, very, very angry.

"I told you what I know and you're asking more? For what? You know what I've been saying is true, why are you trying to defend something that doesn't exist?" He shook his head rapidly, "I'm telling you Adira, you don't want to get out of here. I promise."

She repeated the motion of his head, her heart sinking with the weight of his words, "Getting out of the Glade has never been a shuck negotiation, Gally! Why start disrupting everything now, for what? Dreams and conclusions based on what? The memories given to you by the Creators who, by the way, invented the thing that nearly killed you!"

She didn't realise she'd been shouting until Gally reciprocated.

"That's rich, Adira! You act like you haven't based everything off your own stupid memories that the shuck Creators gave you! What about Newt, huh? Minho? You recognised them, I know you did! And the Grievers? You're completely wrong-"

He choked over his words suddenly , his face reddening as words struggled to come out. She reached forward to help him, but he swerved backwards, spitting copious amounts of saliva away. He struggled for a minute or more and it suddenly hit her.

"They're not letting you tell me."

At once the choking subsided and Gally's red, teary eyes glared at her own shocked ones, "Now you see. Nothing here is real. It's controlled."

Silence descended again and she breathed irritably out of her nose.

"Come to the funeral."

Gally scoffed, turning back around to his work, admitting defeat against the authority of her voice, "Whatever makes you happy, dear Leader."

She turned and walked away, her steps loud but quiet in comparison to the tremendous ringing in her ears and the heaviness of realisation that Gally was irrevocably right. She hated not having reason to back her up though.


Minho played with his food, looking highly dissatisfied with the cold chilli Fry had made, the sloppy red mess carelessly piled on top of half cooked rice. No one criticised the food, too caught up with the burying that had just taken place. The newer boys were shivering together on their own table, hunched over their bowls exchanging whispers of fear. The older boys looked defeated, even Minho.

"Eat, Min." she sighed, knowing it was pointless to coerce the man to eat.

He snorted into his bowl, "You do the same too, Ad, how about?"

She pursed her lips, sealing them tightly so as to not say anything rude. He was (understandably) in one of his worse moods, though in all honesty, the entire Glade was roughened by Mike's death. Clint wasn't even present for dinner and she was sure he was holed away in the Med hut, numb to the loss of another friend. He'd always do this, inciting extreme worry in her. It had been two years and some things never changed. The way she worried, the way Clint ignored everyone when in pain, the way Newt could lie better than a professional, the way Minho growled at Greenies.

"Hello chaps." Newt said, but the words weren't alive, hollow and unsure.

"Hey Newt." she replied, smiling a little at the blonde boy, who leaned down to observe Minho's face questioningly.

"Well, it's been a rough day." Newt sighed, lowering himself next to Minho, "Leg's been givin' a bit more trouble than usual."

Minho turned slightly to Newt, concern palpable in his tone, though his face remained impassive, "You okay or you need Clint?"

Newt shook his head, "Nothing I can't handle but I thought it was getting better. I'd think that means there shouldn't be any pain."

"I'll put you on bed rest if you aren't careful Newton." Adira warned, "You know Clint will only back me up."

Newt physically shivered in his chair, "No thanks. I won't complain about the shucking leg, how about that?"

"He's slept enough." Minho said, cracking a miniscule smirk, "Three months did it for the man."

"You act as if it's easy!" Newt admonished, "It's not!"

"Running over sleeping for sure." Minho said approvingly, his fingers jumping up and down on the table, a sure sign that he was restless.

"It's the other way round." Adira corrected and Newt shrugged.

"Not like I can do either happily."

Adira rolled her eyes, and Minho sighed sharply, "I'll go to the Map room guys, see you tomorrow."

He nodded in farewell and Adira shared a look with Newt who only seemed disappointed. It wasn't everyday Minho closed off from them anymore- they were past those stupid barriers. But both tended to forget that he was still the same person they'd met two years ago, the same one who didn't trust dear Fry and his food, the same obstinate man who gave up three days' worth of meals in fear of being poisoned. He was stubborn, he was more than independent.

"He'll be fine." Adira sighed, pushing aside her chilli, "You know how he is. He'll come round."

Newt shrugged, obviously less cheery than he had previously been, with the slant of his shoulders decidedly drooping. She tended to forget but Newt was an Original too. He'd been with Mike just the same as Gally or Calvin or Kasper. They'd all come up together and even if Newt tended to spend more time with her, Minho, Calvin or Kasper, she knew he'd been fond of Mike, often helping him understand things at Gatherings when things went too fast for him. Mike was clever, sure, but had a very short attention span. Newt had been a hand on the shoulder and now, the blonde was falling because he had nowhere to lean on- Mike's shoulder was gone.

"It's the Glade." she said sharply, "We can't mope. Everyone's sitting around doing nothing…we need to work. It'll help us all out."

Newt looked slightly put out, before lapsing into a thoughtful silence, his smooth skin drawn in with a frown. He knew she was right, but he didn't particularly like the idea of forcing them to work when one of their brothers had fallen.

"Fine. You tell them yourself though, I'd rather not be shucking mauled." Newt muttered, finally giving up on the chilli, "It seems a bit harsh is all."

Adira nodded, breathing out unsteadily, "We can't sit around, Newt. This is the Glade, not shucking Paradise. People will die."

Newt nodded morosely, "Gotta keep working hard."

"So we can find a way out."

Newt looked away, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

"We can."

Even she sounded hopeless.


"We're stuck in here for the rest of our lives." Minho said, his hands pointed at the spread of maps, all with the same periodic change drawn on them. "They're all the same, I've been shucking everywhere and nothing's shown up, shanks."

Her fingers trembled minutely as she reached for the last drawn map, not truly being able to comprehend what the Keeper of the Runners was saying. There had to be a way out, there just had to be. It wasn't possible that the maze was constructed for the sole purpose of looking scary.

"Run round the place again." she concluded, "You said it took you a year to map the whole of the outer sections."

Minho laughed cynically under his breath, "I ran it in six months. Less than, even."

She leaned backwards onto the wall in shock, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling slightly sick. "You've run it twice?"

Minho shrugged, raking a hand through his normally untouched hair, "Twice and a bit."

Newt cursed lowly under his breath, using completely unfamiliar words that made even Minho look at him oddly. He didn't look happy with the news.

"You're shucking with me!" Newt cried, limping over to Minho, "There's no bloody way that we're here forever!"

"We're growing old together." Minho scoffed, but there was pure seething, rage hidden in his voice. "If I could tell ya there was hope I would, but I ain't one to lie and you know that. I've run through there with my shucking eyes peeled every second of the day, and I ain't seen klunk."

Newt groaned, "What about new sections opening up, like last time?"

"Yeah, no." Minho said, his voice drained, "I wish I didn't have to break it ya lot, but we're stuck in here."

"Oh come-"

"Newt." Adira cut in, her eyes warning her second in command to calm down. She turned to Minho, her lips pursed, "You're sure?"

"Over my shucking dead body, I swear on it, Ad." Minho said, glancing over at the Maps, eyes haunted, "We're in here forever."

She closed her eyes, breathing out slowly as the weight of the verdict washed over her. This was it. The Glade was all they had until they all died out in the same circle of grass, surrounded by monsters.

"Not a word to the rest of the Gladers." she said sharply, using her Leader voice. They knew it was serious then.

"I know we're meant to tell 'em everything but if we told them this…they'd break. We'd break. Everything we've worked will be for nothing."

Minho shrugged, "It is for nothing."

"Even if there isn't a way out, we still want to live, Minho." she corrected, "We've built a society here, I think that's commendable at least.

"Fine." Newt said and his face was dark, "Not knowing is better for them, trust me, I know."

Minho frowned, before slapping a hand on Newt's back to lighten the darkness on the planes of his face, saddened by the past trauma that they had all shared.

She blanked out, completely overwhelmed with anguish at the thought of watching everyone else die around her, being the last one standing, dying alone with the no food or water, the Grievers and the Creators laughing at her fragility. She'd never meet her brother, Thomas, and the idea thrummed painfully in her heart, nausea swelling in her stomach.

It hadn't fully hit her yet, but she was just starting to comprehend what Minho meant.

"Ad?"

Newt's hand was warm and steady on her shoulder and she looked up at his concerned face, paler than usual, sharper than necessary. They were doomed. And truly, as a Leader who was more compassionate than she appeared, she felt as cruel as and no more different than the white suited Creators watching them from safety, as they died, their lacerated bodies testimony to the danger and pain of the Glade.


Minho raised his eyebrows in greeting as he took the cold water from her hands, panting lightly. He never smiled anymore. Ever since the day he'd told them. The Maze was unsolvable.

"Thanks." he nodded, already heading to the Map Room. Never had been the type to stop working.

"Minho." she called out, cocking her head in a deploring way.

He stopped, turning back around to look at her, his face lit up by the setting sun. No smile. Nothing. At least before, he'd smiled with his eyes but with the Maze wearing away at him, there was nothing he could offer her anymore.

"Cut my hair?"

He paused for a moment and her heart dropped at the hesitation. He never hesitated.

"Yeah, fine." he said finally, "Bring me dinner?"

She nodded, watching as he jogged to the Mapping room, nodding at an exhausted Tristan who'd just come out from making his own map. She wondered how long it would take the rest of the Runners to figure out that they were trapped, with no chance of escape.

Heading to the Kitchens, she gave Frypan a weak wave, dodging groups of boys clamouring together over the food he had served, their high pitched shrieks combined with the low timbres of the older boys serving her a party of a headache up in her head.

"Hey Fry." she greeted, her eyes roving over the spread of food Frypan had conjured for them that night, "That lasagne looks fabulous. Salad too, if you could. Those tomatoes are calling for me."

"Evening, Ad." Frypan greeted, "Don't seem to talk to ya as much anymore. Come pop down to the Kitchen once in a while, you ain't gonna hurt anyone with a visit to good old Fry."

"Been working in the Gardens with Newt and the Track hoes. Where do you think those tomatoes came from?" she explained, leaning on the table as she put up two fingers to signify two plates of lasagne, "Harvest's coming up and you know how Cal is with harvest."

Fry scoffed inelegantly, passing her a plate, "He's obsessed with those plants. I guess you'll be a no show then?"

She shrugged, "We'll see. You'll have to convince Calvin if you want to see me."

Frypan snorted, handing her Minho's plate, "Won't be that hard. Man loves you."

She offered him a smile, "Then there's your answer, Fry."

She turned back to the outside of the Kitchens, walking out into the cooler air of the open Glade, already seeing Minho locking up the Map room for the night. Heading over to their customary patch of grass, she mulled over her conversation with Fry, not truly recognising the last time she'd had a full conversation with the man. It had been a while- too long- and she hated the distance that had grown between them. Still, Calvin needed all the extra hands he could get; harvest wasn't an easy task and the labour was huge.

"Lasagne!" was Minho's form of greeting as he jumped down next to her, reaching for his plate immediately.

"Hello to you too." she muttered in amusement, watching with slight astonishment as he devoured his dinner. She tucked in too, at a more reserved pace, chewing slowly and evenly as she was used to.

"Your hair's getting long." Minho commented, shoving aside his now empty plate. She was too used to his hunger to be surprised at his speed any longer. "About time we cut it."

"Haven't done one of these in a while, eh?" she said, recalling what Frypan had said to her only five minutes ago.

Minho shrugged, reaching up to the bottom strands of her hair and running his fingers through them, "Been busy. The both of us."

She sighed lightly, closing her eyes as he breathed regularly next to her, enjoying the perfect temperature of the Glade.

"How's the Maze?"

Minho's fingers stilled in her hair as he leaned back to his original position, "Still the same."

She turned to him, stilled by the look of sadness in his gaze. He's never been so devastated, so beaten down by something. Usually, she'd be confident he'd get back up, become normal old Minho, capable of anything- but this wasn't something that was easily recovered from. Accepting that one was condemned to a life of fear and pain and death was an impossibly difficult idea to grasp and she knew Minho out of everyone would struggle with acceptance of defeat the most. He'd always been so competitive, so ready to take action.

"We'll make it." she murmured, not offering her usual advice of making it out of the Maze.

Minho breathed out loudly, his pent up aggravation, defeat and anger released in a single sigh.

"Come here." she whispered, holding her arms out for the hurting man. He'd been through as much as she had been through. Their journeys together would always be just that. Together. They'd fought, cried, laughed together and their paths were forever intertwined. It was hope. Small hope, that even though they were stuck here, in the Glade, at least they were stuck together, not alone or without each other's steadying hands, careful gestures, and shy smiles.

Minho looked at her and she was surprised to see his eyes slightly damp. Not crying, but teary eyed. He came forward willingly, and she practically caught him as he buried his head in her shoulder, anguish pouring out his hug.

She didn't say anything; nothing she said would have been worth anything to heal the need to find a way out. He wasn't crying- she was wholly surprised- simply breathing steadily in the crook of her neck, seeking comfort and reassurance.

"I got you." she murmured softly.

Minho sighed in contentment.


"Hurry up Gally!" Adira yelled impatiently as Gally took his sweet time coming up to the Kitchens. He'd been grating on her nerves more than usual recently and it was taking a visible toll on her patience.

He quickened slightly, obviously not in the mood for her wrath, sighing heavily as he positioned himself in front of her.

"Fry needs you to fix up his cupboards." she commanded, surprised to see a momentary flash of grief pass Gally's face. She didn't understand why. If she had had any sympathy left, she would've slapped him comfortingly around the shoulders, but she hadn't and her anger was rising to the surface. She wasn't proud of the moments of rage that clouded her sometimes, but it was inevitable- everyone had their days and she was no exception. With all the added pressure of Minho's wellbeing and the ticking time bomb waiting to explode once all the Runners found out about the Maze, she was snappier and curter than she strictly should've been.

Gally nodded, lumbering into the Kitchens with a heavy thump in his steps. She could already hear Fry's rounded requests as he showed Gally the damage. Breathing out of her nose, she brushed her hair out of her face, running her fingers through the strands contemplatively. Newt.

Walking with more purpose in her step, she bounded up the stairs of the Homestead, jumping onto the landing while simultaneously calling out her best friend's name. He'd mentioned coming up to the Homestead before going down to Calvin for the day.

"Newt?" she called, padding along the corridor of the bedrooms for the Keepers.

She knocked on his door and opened it, immediately spotting his hunched over form sitting on the bed. Closing the door behind her, she kneeled down in front of the blonde, looking at his blank eyes.

"Newt." she said softly, cupping his face in her hands, "What's wrong big guy?"

He shrugged, before closing his eyes and humming in contentment. Her lips quirked up into a small smile at his antics, before she pulled him in for a soothing hug. It felt like forever since she'd hugged him.

"Ready?" she asked gently as she pulled back from him, her eyes understanding. If he wasn't up to working that day, then he could have a day off. Whether he admitted it or not, she knew well enough that some days were a struggle for him and his attempted suicide was testimony to that. The pain he had felt didn't go away overnight. She was glad he was opening up now, rather than bottling up his feelings. It was better to cry out loud than allow the emotions to languish inside, strengthening in their destructive capabilities.

"I'm ready, Ad." Newt assured, even offering a smile. It wasn't as wide and magnetic as usual, but it was better than a frown.

"You're the man." she said supportively, giving him a pat on the back as he stood up, "Any minute you want out, you say, okay?"

Newt gave her a thumbs up and her heart rested for a moment, peace enveloping her. Nodding encouragingly, she let herself out of the room, heading down to inform Calvin of Newt's lateness, before deciding to head over to Clint and help with the Med Hut.

"Morning Clint." she greeted, already busily buzzing around the slightly messy Med hut, her hands automatically sorting things out to their allocated positions. It was never messy, unless Clint was in bad shape. For all of his apologies and stammering, Jeff could never be as organised as his Keeper. Considering Mike's recent passing, she knew the Med Hut needed all the support it could gather.

"Morning." Clint replied in a reproachful manner where his words seemed to mean the complete opposite. One of his sourer moods, she perceived.

"Brand new day, Clint." She said, planting her hands on her hips as she turned to him abruptly, stopping in the middle of organising the "medicine plant" books, as Fry and Calvin often referred to them as. "Keep up the work."

Clint looked mildly irritated as if he could tell what she was trying to do. Despite her spiffy new attitude complete with cheeriness and cheesy motivation, she was hurting too. Only a minute ago she'd been about to throw hands at Gally and now she was all smiles. Clint may not have a therapist or phycologist, but he could tell when a person wasn't in the right mind.

"Well I'm not about to keel over anytime soon." he grumbled, pursing his lips at her bouncy demeanour. "And the Glade won't let me shucking retire till I'm in a grave."

She tried to smile, but there was genuine understanding in her voice when she replied, "It is the way it is Clint, but we do it for all our sakes."

Clint shrugged, but she sensed a little more determination in the set of his shoulders as he started to sterilise his equipment, ready for the first patient, Nico.

"Nico?" Adira asked, slightly surprised to see the boy. Over the year or more he had never gotten into much trouble. They were steady friends, though she liked to think of herself as a sibling figure to him. Ruffling his hair affectionately, she guided him over to Clint, who turned to face Nico with his usual grim, doctor face.

"Right, what's wrong with ya?"

"Fell." Nico supplied, pointing to the disproportionately sized gash on both of his knees.

"Bet that stings." Clint whistled, already reaching for the alcohol. Nico grimaced at the sight of the liquid, clenching his jaw in anticipation for the burn.

She stopped herself from wincing, opting instead to turn around and water the plants that Clint had been tending to recently, claiming their medicinal properties were exquisite. Watering them with delicate attention, she blocked out Nico's whines of pain. Clint, bless him, may have been an excellent Med Jack but he'd never been good at reassuring his patients.

"All done." Clint said, and she noticed with amusement that there was disappointment in his voice. She turned back around, smiling at Nico, crossing her arms across her chest, "Not so bad was it?"

Nico shook his head at her, getting up onto his feet stiffly, "Great. Thanks Clint."

Clint screwed the lid onto the bottle of alcohol, barking out a laugh, "You're really not grateful, shank, go on, get out."

Adira stifled a smile as Nico shrugged before taking leave with her younger friend.

"How's your job?" she asked conversationally, brushing off imaginary dirt on her hands.

"Fine." Nico said, "I mean, there isn't much to complain about. Being a Brick nick has its advantages. People don't bother you, for one."

She gave him a side glance before nodding, "I guess. You've never really liked socialising. You're like Minho in that way."

"Minho's running, right?" Nico asked, his eyes adopting a faraway look.

She frowned, "Yeah, why?"

Nico shook his head at her question, kicking the dust with his foot as he walked, "Nothing."

"Come on shank." she coaxed, bumping his shoulder with her own.

He stopped, sighing suddenly, "When are we getting out of here?"

She stilled momentarily, before her faade came straight back up, stronger and more fortified than ever. "I don't know Nico, but hopefully soon. He's working hard. All the Runners are, yeah?"

Nico looked at her, raising his eyebrows in indignation. She sighed. He wasn't the kid she'd pulled up from the box. Though still young now, he'd seen too much, been through too much to not have matured too fast.

"Fine." She conceded, "We're still stuck in here, but there's a way out there somewhere, Nico. We'll find out."

It was a lie, but she didn't feel guilty. It was for his sanity.

Nico looked hopeless, but she slapped him on the back in a friendly manner, pulling his shoulders up for him.

"Don't go mopey on me." she warned, "Stop thinking and stressing so much and go do your shucking job, yeah?"

Nico chuckled, his voice breaking slightly as puberty made its appearance, "Yeah, fine, Ad. See ya around."

She waved goodbye, trying not to drop her steady smile. She didn't like lying to him. But she had to. Otherwise, survival was out of the window.

It would break him, shatter his reality.

It was for the greater good. And what was that saying?

Being wicked, is good.


"How are they responding to the news, Dr Carl?"

Ava Paige's heels terminated their ongoing clicking noise as the woman stationed herself in front of the scientist in charge of present brain monitoring. He pushed his glasses up his nose- a nervous trait- as he smiled clinically at the Chancellor.

Thomas bowed his head over the computers as he stealthily eavesdropped on their conversation. Eavesdropping wasn't a permitted action in the WICKED facilities, but the Chancellor always had had a soft spot for him.

"Well enough, Chancellor." Dr Carl responded, turning in his chair to open up a file of brain scans, "They're obviously shaken and I believe they're retreating into Stage three of the Reaction."

"Impressive. Such a quick reaction time." Ava replied coolly, her face remaining impassive at the information. She knew they were all strong candidates. Subject A5, A7 and especially Subject X. Soon, A3 would be added to the list. Thomas.

"Yes, quite." Dr Carl added, as if to not let the conversation end too abruptly, "I've filed their brain scans away, but I must say, Subject X's readings are very stoic, very stoic indeed. Not at all what you'd expect."

Ava Paige nodded. "I though Subject X almost had a breakdown once she heard the news. "

"For exactly 4.73 seconds, her readings shot up, but since then she has remarkably taken comfort in Leadership. Her readings since then have been unbelievably low. Quite shocking, Chancellor. The stimulus simply has not been enough."

Ava Paige's eyebrows lifted off their usual resting position and Dr Carl's taut position deflated slightly with relief.

"Interesting. Send A7's, A5's and X's results to me and to the Psychanalytic department. Make it quick."

"Of course, Chancellor, of course. Anything for the Cure."

Thomas bowed his head down over the computer as the Chancellor walked past him, knowing better than to involve himself with her schemes. Closing his eyes, he halted his work, taking in the information he had overheard about his best friends and his sister. Stage three? Reaction? Stoic readings?

He didn't know much but with the little info he had stolen he could only determine one thing: time was running out.