SIX
「recruitment」
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

FINALLY, THE DAY had come. A night of letting loose and living carefree. The Gladers gathered around the large pile of stacked wood. Kaylus had been let out of the Slammer, along with a stern warning. As it turned out, Nick's threat had just been to scare the Greenie. He told Sylvia that he had been so stressed out by everything that happened that day that the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. His explanation came as a relief to her.

A couple of the Keepers, including herself, had lit torches in their hands, waiting on Nick's count. Gally set up batches of his drink next to the stand Frypan stood at with the food he'd prepared.

"Everyone ready?" Nick shouted. The Gladers replied with an uproar of shouts. Satisfied, Nick began the ceremony, "Keepers, now!"

The Keepers threw the torches towards the bottom of the pit, the flames catching on the dried hay and kindling laid out along the bottom. The Gladers whooped and cheered, smiles becoming contagious among them. A couple of boys slapped at makeshift drums, creating a beat. The bonfire burned brightly, the heat licking at Sylvia's skin. The sky was clear and the quarter moon shone down on them. Joy simmered in the air, mixing with the humidity left over from the day. It was a good night.

Even Sylvia was grinning madly. The Gladers swore it was one of the only times they ever saw her smile so freely. Sylvia and Nick walked over to where Gally was situated, handing out drinks to every Glader. She motioned for him to hand some over and he glared at her.

"I'm not giving you any."

Sylvia's jaw dropped, "What!? You can't refuse me service! It's bonfire night!"

Gally shook his head, "Nope. You woke me from my beauty sleep the other day. You're not getting any."

"Oh, come on Gally! Please?"

Gally looked to Nick in shock, "Did Sylvia just use the word please?"

"She'd do anything for your moonshine." Nick shrugged, taking two glasses from the table.

Gally relented, "Well, I suppose I can let it slide, since you said please."

Sylvia gave him a sarcastic smile to which Gally rolled his eyes. She followed Nick as he began making his way towards one of the logs that had been randomly placed around to be used as seats.

She dropped her crutches in a pile next to the log and lowered herself to the ground, her spine pressing against the rough bark of the log. Nick handed her a glass of the amber liquid and took his spot next to her.

Sylvia didn't waste any time, taking a large gulp of the alcohol. Her goal for every bonfire was to get drunk enough so that she didn't remember anything the next day, so she wouldn't have to be embarrassed about anything she did. Of course, some of the Gladers would poke fun at her actions but she'd have no idea what they were talking about.

She watched as Troye, Keeper of the Slicers, played a slap game with one of the other Slicers, a boy named Winston. Troye lunged forwards and Winston dodged the slap before retaliating quickly. Troye cried out in mock defeat, drinking the moonshine as punishment. The boys around Winston hooted and patted his back.

Without any warning, Bark, the Glade dog, came bounding over. Yes, Bark. When they'd woken up in the Glade, there was a dog there with them. No one knew what to do with him, but the dog had quickly taken a liking to Nick. George and Minho debated on what to name him and they ultimately agreed on Bark, because of how loud the dog was.

Bark was the notorious Glade dog, sometimes called other names, such as 'little bastard' and 'smelly runt.' The dog was lively and vociferous. He'd bite on your pants and tug until given attention, sit at your side and beg for scraps of food, sprint across the expanse of the Glade and back. He was loved by many, but mostly Nick. If you were to ask the Gladers, they'd tell you Bark was Nick's dog, as if Nick had chosen this dog and brought him to the Glade with him voluntarily.

Bark jumped on Nick, causing his drink to slosh over the rim of his glass. He hurriedly set it down and wrapped his arms around Bark, laughing as he did. The dog licked at Nick's face and he tried to escape it without any luck. Sylvia watched in amusement. The dog had scruffy black fur and big brown eyes. He also had a case of bad breath. Nick loved that dog. He even let him sleep in his bed, which was beyond her.

"Bark, down!" Nick shouted between laughs. Bark made another attempt at licking his face before settling down, panting as he laid between Nick and Sylvia. She shuffled away from the smelly dog.

Oscar appeared through the thicket of Gladers and made his way over to the two of them, "Syl, they're starting the drinking games. You on?"

Oscar was one of the Builders, and had been from the very start. Gally and Oscar had practically rebuilt the Homestead into what it is today. They were an entertaining duo. Gally: mean, hot-tempered, perfectionist. Oscar: blunt, forward, humorous.

"Always." Sylvia pushed herself up from her spot on the ground, following Oscar as he led her over to where the drinking games were happening.

Before she was out of sight Nick shouted to them, "Not near the fire!"

She gave him a mischievous grin in response.

Sylvia went against Oscar first, their arms linked as they downed Gally's drink. The liquid burned her throat and she welcomed the feeling. The Gladers cheered them on in the background, placing bets and taking sides. Then she went against Troye, who was also known to let loose at bonfires. Sylvia won both, as always. She was their champion after all.

She continued playing drinking games until the edges of her vision turned fuzzy. She conversed with Gladers she didn't usually talk to, and probably made a fool of herself. She proceeded drinking until she could barely stand on her own. She had abandoned her crutches somewhere along the way and when Nick noticed, he dragged her to the Homestead. With her arm slung over his shoulder and stumbling into him, he led her to her room and made her get in bed. He took her shoes off for her and pulled the worn-out blanket over her body.

He mumbled something to her but she was too drunk to process what was going on. He left the room, shutting the door behind him and taking the light with him. He left her with the dancing shadows she had tried to drown out.

A COUPLE DAYS later, Nick and Minho approached Sylvia in the Map Room, suggesting that they have some of the Gladers try out to be Runners. Sylvia knew they needed more Runners, but she hated having to train and integrate new people into the job. She always felt like she was giving a death sentence.

Nick and Cole had once again found nothing in the Maze. She was starting to doubt herself. What if the whole thing had been imagined by her while she was in a coma? It was a worrying concept. Distressing her in her already stressed life.

Both Minho and Nick had just returned from the Maze when they came to her to suggest the idea.

"I can't keep running the Maze. There's too many things going on here." Nick had said.

Sylvia whole-heartedly agreed with him. She didn't want him out in the Maze. She wanted him in the Glade, where he'd be safe.

So, Nick went to round up a few Gladers that others suggested would be good for the job and the ones that just wanted to try out, which was few and far between. Minho and Sylvia stood in the large clearing between the Blood House and the Deadheads, discussing what they should do to test the Gladers.

She shoved her anger and annoyance at him deep within her so that they'd be able to get through this without a fight. Sylvia could see the tension in Minho's shoulders, which told her that he was having just as hard of a time as her.

They decided that they would test them based on speed, agility, and defense. The defense part was mainly to make sure they could wield certain weapons and defend themselves if necessary. They would test their skills in decision making as well, giving them scenarios and having them answer with what they would do.

Nick brought back four Gladers. There was Wyck, a Slicer boy of about fourteen years, who had been suggested by Troye. Apparently when one of the pigs got loose and Wyck had to chase it, he turned out to be a pretty fast runner, though he didn't look too happy to be here. There was a Builder, Eric, who had been suggested by Gally. And the other two boys, Logan and Devon, were there by volunteer.

The four boys were tested and tried by the two Keepers. Once their trials were finished, it was dark out and time for dinner. Sylvia and Minho agreed that Devon and Wyck would join the Runners, and the other two would continue on with their current jobs.

Sylvia and Minho joined the other Keepers for supper at the table used for Council members. The table resided in the kitchen of the Homestead. They were late, as everyone seemed to be almost finished with their meals. Sylvia took her place next to Nick, sitting across from Troye. Conversation flooded her ears as she dug into her meal.

Quinn initiated a game amongst the Keepers, "Would you rather...drink from Bark's water bowl or let Troye give you a haircut?"

"Troye's not going anywhere near my hair." Minho spoke immediately.

"'I'd let him." Aslan answered, wiggling his eyebrows at Troye who smirked in return.

"Drink from Bark's water bowl." Nick shrugged.

"Ew!" Sylvia exclaimed, "That's because you let him lick your face too!"

"Gross, Nick!"

"Alby don't got any hair to cut!" Frypan laughed from his place in the kitchen.

"Slim it, shuckface!" Alby ran his hands self-consciously over his bald head.

Nick posed the next question, "Would you rather be put in the Slammer for a week or wash Gally's dirty laundry?"

"Slammer for a week, for sure!"

Clint conceded, "Gally's laundry can't be that bad...can it?"

Gally raised a brow before shrugging, causing a ripple of laughter at the table.

"What's in your laundry, Gally?!" Quinn asked in mock concern.

"Do you guys think he has 'dirty socks'...?" Aslan trailed off mysteriously, letting the question hang in the air.

Sylvia almost choked on her food at the suggestion while every one of them reeled with laughter. Gally turned red in the face and started shouting, shutting down the thought immediately. Nick clutched his side as he doubled over in laughter and Sylvia started laughing as well. Once they all settled down again, Clint continued with a new question.

"Would you rather kiss a Griever or smell Alby's feet?" He asked the group of them.

An uproar of laughter rose among the table, and even Sylvia was bearing a grin at the question. Alby grumbled at the attention being drawn to him.

"The Griever, no hesitation!"

"Kiss a Griever!"

"A Griever over Alby's feet anyday!"

"I'd smell Alby's feet." Minho voiced with a straight face. This caused a pause among the Keepers, all of them eyeing Minho with suspicion. Minho defended himself, raising his hands as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been, "I ain't kissing no shuck Griever!"

"You really wanna smell 'em?" Alby questioned with a smirk, reaching under the table.

Minho shot out of his chair, "No!"

Alby had taken his shoes off and started chasing Minho around, trying to pin him down and get him to smell his feet. He chased Minho out of the kitchens and into the falling darkness of the Glade, shouting unintelligibly.

All the other Keepers were in hysterics at the table, even Nick was having too much fun to stop them.

Everyone hopped up from the table to see the rest of the show.

ALL THE FUN Sylvia had that evening didn't chase away the restlessness the night brought out. She tossed and turned under her covers, becoming increasingly annoyed with this problem. She had never had trouble falling asleep before, so why was she now?

She huffed and sat up in bed. She knew it wasn't just the restlessness, it was the nightmares that plagued her once she'd fallen asleep as well. Nightmares of George and the Maze. She wasn't the wake-up-screaming type exactly, more like the wake-in-a-cold-sweat type.

She pushed the covers off herself and pulled on her shoes. She opened her door as quietly as she could, taking care to put as little weight on the floorboards as possible as she walked without her crutches.

Going down the stairs, she tried putting weight on her left foot and found that it wasn't too bad if she kept the majority on her right. Though it throbbed more than usual.

Sylvia limped out of the Homestead and past the sleeping Gladers in their hammocks. Oscar snored loudly among them. She entered the uneven territory of the Deadheads, the ground cascading into random bumps and divots.

Pockets of moonlight spilled between the trees, illuminating the fallen leaves that littered the ground. It smelled like leaves and warm blankets and herbal tea. The air was crisp and cool, washing the heat of the day off her skin. Sylvia walked until she reached the Graveyard. The eerie aura surrounding the place set her on edge, but she wanted to visit George — or more accurately, his grave.

She reached his grave, the wooden marking rotting and falling apart. His grave was the oldest, the first Glader to die.

She didn't really cry anymore. She tried not to think about it.

Sylvia had just returned from her run in the Maze with Minho, whom she had a hard time being around. He was so talkative and she simply preferred not speaking while out on runs. She also just didn't like him in general, as they had fought in the early days and the impression he made just teetered her off. She mostly tried to avoid him.They'd been on a rotation together that day. George had been paired with Nick and Stephen had been paired with Kit. Nick insisted they switch partners and sections every couple of days so that they could all get to know eachother better while exploring the depths of the Maze.

There seemed to be some sort of commotion going on in the middle of the Glade, as almost all the boys were gathered in a circle, looking at something. Sylvia furrowed her brows and quickly ran over. She pushed through the crowd until she reached the inside. Her heart dropped at what she saw.

It was George, black veins bulging underneath his sickly pale skin. He was writhing on the ground, chest rising and falling rapidly, small moans of pain escaping his mouth. She dropped to her knees next to him, her hands going to his face. There was a purple bruise on his cheekbone, as if someone had punched him. "George?!"

She looked up to the faces in the crowd desperately, terror present on her face. "What the hell happened to him?!" She shouted.

Nick, a boy with messy brown hair and a tall figure stepped forwards, "When we were running today, he said he was stung by something. I don't know what he was talking about. Then he started acting all weird and went slack like that."

"Stung? What does that mean?! He needs help!" Her voice shook as she spoke, "Someone help him!"

Nick knelt down on George's other side, "Siggy is getting a serum of sorts, said the Creators sent it up."

Sylvia sent him a puzzled glance, "Serum?"

Nick shrugged shakily and put a hand on George's arm. George was friends with Nick too, he had even encouraged Sylvia to talk to him and become friends with Nick, which she refused to do. Sylvia had only talked to the boy a few times and he seemed nice enough, but George was the only person that she talked to regularly. She looked at George anxiously, her gut churning as she did. She didn't know what was happening to him.

Siggy—or Frypan, as most of the boys started calling him – ran through the crowd with a small syringe in hand, blue liquid sloshing inside. Nick stood to meet him halfway and Siggy gave him the syringe before kneeling back down. George's breaths were so shallow it didn't even look like he was breathing.

"Anyone know how to do this?" Nick called out, "Where to put it?"

"Anywhere!" A dark skinned boy named Alby yelled from the crowd, "Just hurry and do it!"

Nick glanced at Sylvia nervously before positioning the syringe in his hand and stabbing it into George's arm. Nick pressed the plunger until all the liquid had been injected into George's system. He dropped the syringe and stood back up, backing away a few feet. Sylvia made no move to get out of the way, she would stay by George until he woke.

"Come on, Georgie," Nick said softly, his voice so low she could barely hear him.

A long moment passed and Sylvia shook George lightly, "George?"

The wind rustled the leaves on the trees and a goat bleated in the background. No one moved or spoke, waiting in silent anticipation.

Sylvia was about to speak again when George shot up in place, scrambling to his feet. Sylvia pushed herself up so she was standing across from him. George's shouts filled the Glade, spittle flying from his mouth, "Griever! It was a damn Griever! They'll kill us all!"

Without any warning, George lunged at her, knocking them both to the ground. Wild growls filled her ears as he reeled his fist back and punched her. Her head flew to the side and she didn't have time to react before he was swinging at her again. Sylvia brought her arms up to shield her face and screamed, "George!"

"SHUT UP!" He yelled manically. His hands found her throat and squeezed, his teeth bared and blood smeared across them. She wheezed, the air leaving her lungs as her face turned red. She pawed at his arms, her legs kicking as he pinned her down.

"George, stop!" Nick yelled from behind the boy. Him and Alby were trying to pull him off of her. After a hard tug, they succeeded and fell back from the force. George pounced on another boy near him and started clawing at him, howling like a feral animal. Sylvia coughed as her hands rubbed at her throat, tears burning in the corners of her eyes.

One of the boys, Oscar his name was, knelt down next to her and helped her out. Nick and Alby had scrambled for George again. Oscar pulled Sylvia a couple feet away and she pulled air into her lungs rapidly. George was trying to claw at the boy's eyes, drawing blood on his face. Sylvia felt blood trickle down her cheek from where George had punched her.

Alby ran off somewhere and other boys stepped in, trying to help Nick pull George off the boy. It seemed as if George had grown ten times stronger than he really was. The boys struggled with George's thrashing body, his unintelligible screams ricocheting. Oscar helped Sylvia to her feet and she watched it play out in horror.

Sylvia spotted movement to her right and she whipped her head to see Alby charging forwards with a wooden shaft in hand, the end of it a splintery, sharp point. "Get out of the way!"

"No!" Sylvia was about to bolt towards him when arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her back. The kid beneath George was screaming in agony, George's fingers digging into his eye sockets. Sylvia thrashed in the arms of whoever was holding her, her voice raw as she yelled, "No! Stop!"

Alby reached George and thrust the shaft into his neck with so much force that it came out the other side. Blood spurted out of the wound and George's taut position above the boy relaxed.

"NO!" Sylvia wailed, her throat burned as she shouted and it felt as if her soul was being ripped in two. It felt as if her heart had flatlined and her lungs collapsed, her kidneys failing and her appendix bursting all at once. She could taste the saltiness of her tears on her tongue and she wanted to vomit.

George choked on blood and collapsed to the side of the boy. The kid scrambled away from him as fast as he could, hands covering his marred face.

Sylvia broke out of the boy's loosened hold and ran to George, her knees hitting the ground with a thump as she crawled to George's side. His blood was everywhere, his eyes still open and glossed over, staring straight through her. Her forehead fell to his chest as she bent over his body. No one dared to speak, her sobs the only sound across the entire Glade. Even the animals fell silent.

She clutched at the fabric of his shirt and her tears formed puddled dark spots on the green material. Her throat tightened and it felt so hard to breathe. It felt as if she needed to physically suck the air into her lungs. Agony swelled in her chest.

Sylvia stood suddenly, eyes red and puffy. Throat bruising and becoming swollen with hand marks imprinted on her skin. Blood smeared across her face, on her hands, on her clothes. She charged Alby, pushing him so hard he stumbled back a few feet. "What is wrong with you!?" Her scream was raspy and guttural, her voice breaking.

Alby had no words, simply looked at her with a sympathetic expression.

"How could you!?" Her voice rang out.

That was the most horrific day of her life. Seeing him like that, watching him die...anything that happened afterward ranked below George's death on the scale of "Most Horrible Things Sylvia Has Witnessed". She never forgave Alby for that and she never would.

A Beetleblade watched her from afar, its tiny metal legs perched on former Runner Ronan's grave. Angrily, she picked up a small rock and hurled it at the Beetleblade. She missed. She threw rocks at it until she hit her mark, knocking it off the wooden gravestone.

A branch snapped behind her and she quickly stood to her feet, not liking the prospect of a Glader finding her out here, in the middle of the night. She whipped around and saw a figure standing about fifty feet away from her. Her muscles tensed slightly. She blinked and it was gone, a small tree with a thick trunk in its place.

She shook her head, almost laughing aloud at her foolishness.

Who would be out in the Deadheads at this time of night?

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

yes, bark was described as being quiet in the book and actually not barking at all, BUT... i have a reason he is being described as very noisy which will present itself later in the story 🤫