*Burning Night*

The fires erupted all around like volcanoes spewing lava. The vivid flames coiled about the night sky like a living creature, flitting one way, and then the other in some irrational dance. Wisps of pale smoke crept along the sky like some ghostly apparition, blending with the foggy night.

"Where'd you keep the weapons?" I asked, glancing quickly around the glade. The griever had just broke through the trees, and it's mechanical arms clanked noisily behind us.

"The map room!"

We both sprinted towards the singular shack, still standing in one piece, and unfazed by the seething fires about it.

"I'll distract it, you get the weapons!" I gasped, squinting through the thick blanket of smoke.

He nodded and disappeared into the shack, whilst I spun round to face my pursuer. The eyes of the creature, almost obscured by folds of metal, darted viciously about the glade, gradually coming to rest on me in an icy glare. My heart sunk in my chest, but I managed to hold myself upright as I again focused my energy on the griever's alien thoughts, forcing my way through it's weak barrier. In a few seconds, it's legs had buckled and it fell forward, slamming it's face against the ground.

But then I lost my grasp and I faltered, staggering back as the griever retaliated, leaping back onto its feet and throwing out an extended limb. The sharp edges caught me in the stomach, and I gasped as a searing pain spread through my abdomen. I was forced to my knees, my clammy palms clutching the fresh wound as a thin trickle of blood began to seep through my clothing.

The griever loomed above me, poising it's jagged limb above my head, when something dull and sharp penetrated it's armour, and it recoiled with a bone-chilling cry. Two strong hands gripped my shoulders and yanked me to my feet, and I was struggling to support myself as led me back across the glade, in the direction of the Slammer.

"Keep going, Rowan!" And I was surprised to learn that the voice didn't belong to Minho, but actually Alby. His face was bruised and cut, I saw as I threw my head over my shoulder to glance my rescuer.

"Alby!" I gasped, wincing as the pain in my stomach deepened. It was getting almost unbearable now, and I was struggling to remain conscious.

Either side of me, gladers were fleeing from the flames and the creatures of the maze, all heading toward the Slammer. Through the haze, I also caught sight of Minho struggling under the weight of numerous weapons; spears, dagger and machetes, all glinting wickedly in the burning night.

Then I was in the Slammer, in Newt's arms as he fussed about putting pressure on my stomach and yelling orders at Jeff. Luckily he'd managed to bring along his first aid kit, and I soon felt a rough material being wrapped around my abdomen.

I managed to remain conscious until the bleeding began to slow and clot. Newt cradled me in his arms whilst the others took the collected weapons and fought back against the grievers.

"Newt," I murmured, feeling strength tingle through my limbs. I shuffled and propped myself up, with the help of Newt.

"It's alright; you're going to be alright. The wound wasn't too deep," he soothed, stroking my hair.

A surge of fatigue sent me plummeting back into a numb state, and I felt my eyes flutter closed, and then back open, and then closed again as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

Then the gladers returned, bloodied and exhausted, but bearing news that the grievers had retreated back into the maze. There were few of them left, and as we all stumbled back into the glade, we saw bodies scattered about the place. The gaping walls loomed about us like monstrous fangs, occasionally rumbling and groaning, but no more grievers returned.

I collapsed by Minho's side in the centre of the glade, my temples pounding with a headache. "Minho," I managed to croak in a dry whisper, and he offered me a weary smile, but it held no warmth nor meaning.

This had happened because of me. This was my fault. All my fault.

Minho left to assist the gladers in putting out the fires, and I remained where I was, welcoming the icy chill as it raked through the field.

I glared at the grass tickling my ankles, until a pair of legs halted directly in front of me and a horrified murmur rippled through the remaining Gladers. And then a voice spoke, and my heart stopped mid-beat, and the world started crumbling around me.

My head inched up slowly, and a strangled sob escaped my lips.

Glenn was smirking at me, clutching a bloodied dagger he had picked up from the grass. His eyes were burning with a fierce flame, and his fingers trembled in excitement.

"Hello, Rowan." The venom in his voice was enough to make me shudder repeatedly.

I suddenly scrambled away from him and jumped to my feet, ignoring the pain coursing through my stomach.

Newt and Minho skidded before me, holding a hand protectively over my trembling figure.

"Leave her alone, Glenn!" Newt hissed, his voice equally as venomous.

Glenn chuckled; a harsh sound that bore not a hint of warmth. He sounded psychotic, and I found myself paralysed with stark fear.

"Never."