He was gone. 

The small wooden tray that Clara had been carrying clattered to the ground. A rich thin broth that the kitchen had made mixed with water thickened with cornstarch and splattered over her shoes and ankles. She barely noticed the heat on her skin, the panic overwhelming any pain she felt. 

Clara turned and ran. 

Artie was gone. 

Less than ten minutes ago he had been strapped to the bed, blue veins criss-crossing his body and muttering in his unconscious state. She could've sworn she had heard some names coming out of his mouth but didn't think anything of it. Now she was wondering if she should.

She took the stairs two at a time until she was on the ground level. She burst through the wide open door. Where was he? There was no sign of him. 

With the way the house had been built, Clara could see almost the entire Glade from the door, and she spun around now, scanning. There was no sign that someone had caused a disturbance; everyone was heads down at work. If Artie had run through here, in the state he was in, everyone would've noticed.

There was only one spot she couldn't see from the door, and that was the interior of the forest. 

Clara paused and scooped up a shovel that had been discarded near the door. If Artie was strong enough to break through the leather straps, she didn't want to be near him without some sort of defence. She couldn't let any panic show in her eyes; the boys would notice. The last thing she wanted was for them to think Artie was running wild through the Glade. Or that she was heading to dig a grave. Clara began to jog towards the forest.

Clara made it to the edge of the woods and paused. She gripped the shovel tightly in one hand, her knuckles turning white. The builders had been clearing this area to use the wood and logs littered the ground. Artie was half insane from the sting and the serum. If she had to pick her way through the logs, he would never make it.

Clara twisted the shovel once. Artie couldn't have gotten into the woods. Not in his state.

Slowly, she turned to look for Michael and report the situation. Maybe Artie got back into the maze-- probably for the best. They would tell Tris and Leo, to let them handle it. 

She took one step when the scream for help reached her ears. It came from deep within the forest, bouncing off the thick oak trunks and chartreuse leaves. Clara knew the voice. That was the Greenie. Ezra. 

Clara turned back to the woods and ran, jumping over the logs that were strewn across the ground. The grass was soft underneath her shoes as she raced through the trees, where more shouts were following the cry for help. Her heart was pushing against her throat. She kept the shovel gripped tight as she dodged trees. She could hear more crashing behind her-- more boys coming to help.

Clara entered a small gap in the forest. Artie had Ezra pinned to the ground, hands choking him with an ungodly amount of strength for someone who hadn't eaten anything but dribbles of broth for a week. Ezra was scratching at Artie's arms-- drawing blood.

Clara stepped forward and put as much force into the shovel as she could. It hit the target. The shovel slammed into Artie's head. She could see blood splatter from where she hit him. Artie hit the ground, his body slumping. Immediate fear welled up. Did she kill him?

Clara moved over Ezra and crouched, pressing her fingers to Artie's throat. Unconscious, but alive. She exhaled, trying to calm her beating heart. She didn't kill him. Clara left him lying there unconscious and turned to Ezra as the others came crashing into the space.

She scanned him. "Are you okay?"

Ezra was panting as he pushed himself up to sit. He ghosted a hand over his red throat; there would be bruises later. His hand went through his brown hair-- an unattractive shade-- pushing out grass that had accumulated there. 

"Thanks, I'm fine, I think," Ezra looked at her, and she was surprised by the fear in his eyes. "He knocked me to the ground. Kept saying that he had seen me before and that I was responsible for this all. Do you know what that means?"

Clara blinked slowly, keeping her face still. She glanced behind her at Artie, whose chest was slowly rising and falling. He had said Ezra's name yesterday. Was that related? 

Clara looked back at Ezra and then at Michael, who had appeared along with a small audience. He was frowning and quirked an eyebrow. Did she know something?

Clara gave him a tiny nod-- enough of a signal for him to know they needed to speak. Finally, she focused on Ezra. "I don't. Artie was stung by a Griever and is sick from it. He wasn't supposed to get out. He definitely won't now."

Ezra nodded as Clara straightened and offered a hand. He took it and stood. 

"Go get some water," Clara ordered, her voice calm. "If you're dizzy or start seeing spots, come find me or Freddy." 

She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. Never had someone who had been stung managed to get out of bed. Usually, after they recovered, they spent a while in bed, weak. Why Artie was running around attacking Gladers and winning? Tris was right, things were changing.

Clara stared at Ezra's back as he retreated out of the forest. Things were changing. And Ezra was the catalyst.

~~~ 

"We have to banish him,"

Michael's voice was calm but stern. He sat in the other chair in the med room, under the window. The sun was high in the sky, streaming in through the open air. Michael's long black hair gleamed in the light, but his face was covered in shadows.

Clara buried her head in her hands, digging her fingers through her hair. Normally, she had her hair back in long braids-- there was no one to cut hair properly in the Glade-- yet she had pulled it out to hang around her. It had been a dark red when she first arrived, but years of sunlight had bleached it to a coppery shade. 

"I know," She responded. Clara peeked through her fingers at Artie, who was once again on the bed. This time, however, he was strapped down with some chains they had found in the storage. A piece of cloth had been tied around his mouth to keep him from shouting. He had already frightened everyone enough with his attack on Ezra.  She didn't need him screaming out the window. His eyes were wide open, unblinking, focused entirely on the wooden roof. 

"He broke one of our rules. The punishment is banishment." 

Michael's voice was less sure this time. Clara furrowed her brows, keeping her face down towards her lap. Why would he be uncertain? Clara knew that Artie had broken the rules, and she didn't like banishment, but it was necessary for order. It wasn't like Artie was special. He had been around a while, sure, but he was just another Glader who got stung. Unless he had another reason to be uncertain.

Clara spoke slowly. "You don't like Ezra?"

Michael's heavy sigh made it clear she was correct. "It's not that. It's just weird. He shows up, alone, in an early box, and then the next day, someone who is stung and remembers what happened before the maze attacks him? Claiming he was a part of all this? I don't trust Artie, because he's obviously fucked in the head, but I don't trust Ezra either."

"But banishment is still the right thing to do," Clara responded. She looked up at Michael, only to find herself slightly surprised by the exhaustion in the lines of his face. "If we don't banish him, it'll make it clear to the rest of the Gladers that things are starting to change, and that could cause chaos."

Michael nodded, his face firming up. He gave her a weak smile of thanks-- for making the decision. "I'll speak to the others. We will banish him at sundown."

~~~ 

Clara gripped the long wooden pole, staring slightly to the left of Artie. There was a long groove in the wall that had been covered in vines. That's what she focused on. Not the man they were sentencing to death, and certainly not the anger on Ezra's face. Everyone else just looked melancholic, eyes downcast, faces flat.  

"Artie, you have broken one of our most important rules: you attacked another Glader," Michael's voice was loud and carried. Clara was on his right side, and she could see the way his hand was twisting on the pole; he was anxious. "For this crime, you are being sentenced to the Maze." 

Clara finally focused on Artie. They kept his hands tied together with leather-- they might need the chains-- but removed the gag. Still, he stayed silent. His face was steel, his eyes hard. Clara would've thought it was a weak attempt at bravery were it not for the way he was glaring at Ezra over her shoulder. 

There was an echoing boom and the walls started to move. Sparks sprayed upwards from the stone wall against the stone ground. 

"Ready," 

Michael's voice carried. Clara took her pole and lowered it to the horizontal position. The sharp end was pointed towards Artie. 

"Start," 

Together, ten Gladers began to push Artie backwards. He didn't struggle-- most did. He let the poles prod him until he was inside the maze, his eyes fixed on Ezra. He walked obediently backwards. For a man walking to his death, he was surprisingly calm. 

Slowly, Clara tugged her pole under it was vertical and watered as the maze closed with a resounding boom. The Glade seemed to shudder in response, sending the grass whispering about change.

~~~

Hello lovelies!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please feel free to vote and comment, I love hearing from you all!

Until next time,

Indigo