BEN AND FRANKIE were met with the same devastating fact the next day: there was nothing new in the Maze.

So they did what they usually did (Ben came out victorious as he touched the last dead-end wall first), enjoyed Frypan's lamb hamburg, had a nice friendly talk, and made their way back towards the Glade with the expectation of having thirty spare minutes. Just as Minho instructed.

Frankie just stepped into the border between the constantly unmoving Maze and the everchanging Section when she saw a Griever just sitting silently a few intersections away.

It was her second time meeting a real life Griever. Those creatures usually didn't roam the Maze unless it was nighttime, with very few exceptions during which a Glader got stung.

She remembered running with George. The Griever's deadly appendages. The syringe. George, nearly killing his best friend under the serum's effect. One of her friends, one of the first Gladers, banished after one encounter with that creature.

Frankie stopped dead on her track and outstretched her left hand, halting Ben and keeping him safely tucked behind her.

"Frank?"

Then, as if triggered by the boy's harmless question, the Griever came to life with a very loud shriek as multiple appendages sprout out of its bulbous body.

"RUN!" Frankie instructed and sprinted left, hoping Ben would follow her footsteps and save himself. The sounds of mechanical whirring told her that the Griever was hot on their tail and she thought hard, trying to detour with as much turns and to reach the Glade as fast as possible.

"Frankie!" She heard Ben shouted, and she looked over her shoulder. He was running like his life depended on it (and it was), not too far behind. A glimpse of something green and big made her look forward again. She slowed down her pace so she was running right beside Ben and hooked her arm with his.

Left, right, left, right, straight ahead, left, left, right, right.

There were no words exchanged. They just needed each other's haggard breaths to push themselves forward.

When a spike came between the two, Ben screamed as they sprung apart.

"Should we split up?"

"No!" Frankie yelled over their loud stomps.

She reached out to him once more —that was when red droplets of blood began to drip down onto the Maze's floor. A huge gash ran down her arm, but she felt nothing.

Unfortunately, cutting someone wasn't enough for the monster. It was still on pursuit.

They continued their journey as her mind kept telling herself that they were getting closer to the Glade. A mile. Less than a mile.

This is not the time to panic or to be afraid, Frank, she reminded herself, we can make it. We're shucking gonna make it.

Ben screamed.

The sound of whirring and click-click-click suddenly stopped.

Ben stumbled for a few steps, still being dragged by Frankie's bloodied arm, and he fell limply onto her. Unable to support both of their weight, Frankie fell onto her knees.

She was afraid of what might be waiting over her shoulder but her limbs were screaming in protest of exhaustion and pain, her quickening heartbeats were filling her ears mercilessly. She was afraid for her life and Ben's but she knew right then and there that there was nothing she could do.

So she whipped her head back with mouth agape, bracing herself to accept whatever the Creators wished to do to both of them.

...only to find the Griever rolling away. It felt like the thing just chased after them like it was its job. And now that the job was done, it left.

"Ben?"

Seeing a tear on his shirt, Frankie lifted his cloth up to his torso. Veins of blue, green, purple, and yellow began to sprout from one holey focal point.

He was stung, shuck, shuck.

His groan only added to the anxiety.

She set her jaw, threw his right arm over her shoulder and began to support him up.

"Ben, I can't do this alone. You have to walk with me, okay," she took a deep breath and then a step, "Walk with me."

He grunted.

Ben didn't have a diminutive figure. He was actually tall and lean compared to Frankie's five feet four. So, with his dragged feet and unusable mind, the half mile felt like infinity.

Frankie kept on checking her watch. Twenty-five minutes.

Twenty minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

Ten.

They turned right and the door to the Glade came into view. They had enough time.

"HELP!" She shouted random names, anyone who could be standing close to her door, "Nick! Minho! Zart! Newt!"

Nine.

A Track-hoe appeared. He saw their condition and his eyes widened. Frankie could hear him yelling for Runners between her and Ben's heartbeat and heavy breaths concerto.

Seven.

Six.

Marc appeared. He sprinted towards them and took Ben's dangled arm.

"Is he stung?"

Frankie gulped, "Yes. Marc—"

"We're close Frank, keep on going. Come on."

Frankie felt better immediately and their pace quickened.

Four.

Three.

Two.

They made it.

One.

Was this what Minho felt whenever she came back just before the Doors closed? Challenging time wasn't as exciting as it usually did.

Her knees buckled, sending the other two stumbling due to sudden imbalance. The blood loss and fatigue finally caught up to her, now that her adrenaline had flowed down the drain.

"Frankie? Ben?"

Nick came running and assessed the situation.

"Somebody call the Med-Jacks! Clint!"

She felt like drowning. But, this time, drowning didn't feel so bad.

"Marc, go tell Minho and Alby about this."

She knew her friends would be there to catch her and keep her safe if she let her guard down for a bit or let her eyes closed for a while.

At least, Minho would.

—
A/N: expect double updates daily since I just finished this muahahaha