Run.

 Pasty was going to be sick. Her chest heaved, her face was purple. She couldn’t breathe. But the clicks and whirring in the darkness kept her moving. They’d been moving for so long. Never stopping. They’d stumbled on together, Minho and her. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going.

 Run. Damn it, shuck-face, run.

 But Minho was stopping. Why is he stopping? Knowing if she stopped she wouldn’t be able to start again, she kept her feet moving as she stared at Minho.

 “What’re you doing? We gotta move, klunk head!”

 “I’m trying to figure out where we are. We’re goin’ back.”

 “Back?”

 “For Tommy. I can’t leave that shank there. We got as much chance there than here. Besides. Three’s better than one, right?”

 “Right,” Pasty panted breathlessly.

 “But we’re stopping first. I want you fit for this fight. I ain’t planning on you dying now.”

 They stopped and took long gulps of water from their back packs. They drained the bottles, before Minho dumped his back pack. At Pasty’s questioning look, he shrugged “It’ll slow us down. Ain’t likely we’ll need it after tonight, anyway.”

 Pasty nodded. Minho sighed and touched Pasty’s face lightly, before kissing her lips softly. Her hands rested on his back, and she couldn’t find it in her to care that he was drenched with sweat. This could be her last moment with him.

 “Let’s go get ‘em,” she whispered. Minho kissed her forehead.

 “Damn right, girl. Let’s dash.”

 They made a strong team. Side by side, they ran, keeping pace with each other, never leaving the other behind or racing ahead. It wasn’t like when they first met, where they raced to impress one another. They were running for their lives. For each other’s lives. In some ways, that meant so much more than their own. The sounds of the night didn’t deter them any longer: it kept them going. Pasty knew that Minho had learnt his lesson. He’d rather die now than leave his new friend to the Grievers. She just hoped they’d make it on time.

 They made a right turn. They were nearly back where they started. Suddenly, Minho stopped, Pasty slamming into his back.

 “There. I see him,” Minho said, his head whipping around the corner. Pasty looked out. She could see him, around three corridors down from them. Surrounded by Grievers. Pasty made to shout his name but Minho clamped his hand over her mouth.

 “No. We don’t want them to see us. And look. He’s doin’ fine.”

 He was right. Thomas had managed to get past and he was running, running hard towards them. As he passed them, panting, Minho grabbed him and pulled him over. Thomas yelped and struggled, before realising who it was. He breathed his name uncertainly, blinking.

 “What-”

 “Shut up and follow us!” Minho cried. The three of them began to run again. Minho led the way, twisting and turning eagerly, seemingly knowing where he was going. As he ran, he tried to speak.

 “I just saw…the dive move you did…back there…gave me an idea…we only have to last…a little while longer.”

 Pasty didn’t know what he meant, but trusted him to keep them safe. He always had before.  She could hear the Grievers behind them, gaining on them, their mechanic whirring and clicking making her heart thud wildly. Her legs burned and her body was drenched in sweat, but all she could think of was getting to wherever Minho was taking them. He’ll keep us safe, I know it. He has to.

 And then she saw it. Turning the corner, she saw the world’s end. It took her a moment to realise what it was.

 The Cliff.

 She could see Thomas’ face lighting up in elation, and Minho stopped, shaking his head sadly “Don’t get excited,” he warned. He thinks it’s our escape route Pasty thought sympathetically if only.

 They headed further down the corridor. Minho stopped Thomas a metre or so before the edge, but Pasty stood right by the edge, peering over curiously. Empty air and faded stars stretched endlessly, an abyss of nothing outside of the Maze.

 “Did you forget something?” Minho said, raising his eyebrow. Pasty turned back. For a moment, the endlessness of beyond the Cliff had made her forget the horrors in the Maze. Might be we’d be better chucking ourselves off the Cliff Pasty thought. She could see the Grievers advancing, quicker now than she’d ever seen them move.

 “These things might be vicious, but they’re dumb as dirt. Stand here, close to me, facing-”

 “I know. I’m ready,” Thomas said determinedly. Thomas pulled Pasty to his side.

 “We have to dive. They should tumble off the Cliff,” Thomas explained.

 “We need to be in sync!” Minho cried “On my mark!”

 The Grievers were rolling down the corridor, single file. They clicked and moaned ominously as they tucked in their spikes and rolled forwards. They were almost upon them.

 “Ready,” Minho whispered “Not yet…not yet…”

 Pasty’s knees shook. She could see both boys trembling as much as her. But she stayed steadily focused. I’m not ready to die tonight.

 “Now!” Minho shouted. Simultaneously, Pasty and Thomas dived to their left, colliding with one another and the stone wall. But the horrific screech that followed made Pasty’s aching body seem worth it. The Griever tumbled off the Cliff, a second one following after a valiant attempt to stay in the Maze. The third, too late, extended an arm to grip the stone floor, but fell too. Oddly, their descent was silent, as though the darkness had swallowed their cries and their bodies whole. But the fourth creature was still clinging to the ground. Sharing a tired grin with Minho, Pasty knew what to do. The three Gladers surged forwards, kicking out at the Griever and sending it flying over the edge, to a silent and fatal destiny. They all peered after the Grievers, but they were gone. Pasty sighed, stumbling back and hitting the ground with a thud. She closed her eyes, lying back, letting out an internal sigh of relief. We’re safe she thought.

 She lay there for a long while. She could hear Thomas crying, sobs wracking his chest, and Minho’s shallow breathing as he tried to compose himself. She thought tears would come, but they stayed locked up inside her chest, weighing her down.

 This was all my fault. I saw this. In my dream. I could have stopped it.

 If she’d caught on sooner, Alby would never have been stung. Now he might die, or be dead already, because of her. Thomas risked his life for her. They’d spent the night terrified because of her. And the night wasn’t yet over. But what mattered was she’d put three people in danger. It’s my fault.

 She felt a hand touch her face. Her eyes opened slowly. Minho. He wiped away tears she hadn’t even realised were there.

 “This ain’t your fault,” he whispered, stroking the hair from her face “We’re all going to get back. Alby’s going to make it. We’ll all be fine. You saved my skin. You kept me together through this. There’s three of us now, and we’re going to be just fine. OK?”

 Pasty nodded. Minho smiled sadly.

 “And remember, shuck face. I’ve got ya back.”

 “And I’ve got yours, slint head.”

***

 The three of them were leant against the wall. Pasty’s head rested on Minho’s shoulder, her hand on Thomas’ shaking arms. He’d been crying for a long time. The sky was bruised with purple as the sun began to rise, washing away the horrors of the night with a clear, blue sky. After a long while, Thomas crawled to the edge, looking over at where the Griever’s had disappeared. Pasty watched him, calmed by Minho’s fingers tracing circles on her arm. Thomas stood up, and looked back at the pair.

“I can’t believe we’re still alive,” he whispered. Minho nodded tiredly. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.

 “Are there more of them? Did we just kill them all?”

 Pasty resisted the urge to roll her eyes Yeah. Like it would ever be that easy. Minho snorted, replicating her thoughts “Somehow we made it to sunrise, or we would’ve had ten more on our butts before long. I can’t believe it. Seriously. We made it through the whole night- never been done before. I mean, think of Ben.”

 Pasty didn’t want to think of Ben. She wondered how long he had lasted.

 “What did we do differently?” Thomas wanted to know.

 “I don’t know. It’s kind of had to ask a dead guy what he did wrong.”

 “Maybe it’s us. Maybe we’re different,” Pasty said quietly “Maybe we’re meant to survive. Maybe that’s why I saw it in my dream. To stop it happening in the first place. Or…to make sure we survived.”

 Minho shrugged, too tired to comment. Thomas sighed, looking out again “Seems like they disappeared or something after they went over the edge.”

 “Yeah, that was kinda psycho. Couple of Gladers had a theory had other thins had disappeared, but we proved ‘em wrong. Look.”

 Minho picked up a rock and Pasty and Thomas watched as he threw it over the edge. It didn’t disappear. They watched it tumble and tumble until they couldn’t see it anymore.

 “How does that prove them wrong?”

 “Well the rock didn’t disappear, now, did it?”

 Pasty rubbed her head. She had a certain ache there. The lack of sleep wasn’t good for her, and she wished she had some water. She snapped back into reality, realising Minho and Thomas were arguing.

 “No way he’s still alive.” Alby.

 “How do you know? Come on.” Thomas set off determinedly.

 “Because no one’s ever made it…”

 They continued to argue as they began to walk. After a while, they began a slow jog, but it hurt their bodies too much, so they had to slow to a walk again. The sun was rising higher and higher. Pasty began to entertain the idea of getting out alive. Having a hot meal, a long sleep in a bed in the Homestead. But when she saw the West door and the group of Gladers, she almost couldn’t believe it was true. Newt limped quickly towards them and she broke into a run, throwing her arms around his neck. He stumbled a little with his limp, but held her close. His breath was ragged, as though he’d ran as far as they had.

 “What happened?” he demanded to know as he broke away. He was glaring at Minho and Thomas. Pasty understood why. Minho had been the leader of the expedition that had taken Alby down. And Thomas had been dumb enough to throw himself into the Maze. Pasty shook her head to herself. That damn Newbie is something else.

 “We’ll tell you later. We have to save Alby,” Thomas said desperately.

 “What do you mean? He’s alive?”

 Thomas pointed up slowly. Amongst the vines, Alby’s body was just about visible. Pasty breathed out shakily. Damn. What happened here?

 “Is he…alive?” Newt asked tentatively.

 “I don’t know. He was when I left him up there,” Thomas said quietly.

 “When you left him…” Newt trailed off, bewildered. “You three, get your butts inside. Go see the Med-jacks. You look bloody awful. I want the whole story when they’ve finished and you’re rested up.”

 Thomas looked like he might protest, but Minho and Pasty grabbed an arm each and persuaded him to go inside. As they walked to the Homestead, the other Gladers stopped and stared. Pasty and Minho were used to it. They had a bit of a reputation in the Glade, but Thomas looked anxious as they stared him down. Another reason for them all to outcast me. I survived a night in the Maze Pasty thought.

 The Med-jacks looked over them quickly and patched them up, but all they saw fit to prescribe was food and rest. Pasty thought it was likely they were occupied with Alby and the comatose girl. They showed Pasty and Minho to a room where they settled straight into bed. Pasty turned to face the wall, back to Minho and trying not to shake in terror. Minho stroked her hair.

 “Are you afraid?” he whispered.

 “I’ve never stopped being afraid. Ever,” she replied. Then, from down the hall, came the first of many screams. Alby was going through the Changing. Minho shielded her ears for her as the screams lulled them slowly into a fitful sleep.