27

I don't know what comes over me in that instant. Maybe I'm losing my mind, maybe I'm so scared I just don't feel anything, maybe I'm being brave. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter.


I run forwards, meeting the Grievers head on. Dimly, I'm aware of the others following me, backing up my crazed charge against the monsters guarding the cliff. I thrust my spear into the first Griever, a vile, yellowish oil spilling from the slit in its hide. A claw snaps at me, but I smash it away, stabbing at the foul mass of blubbery grey flesh before me.


"Make... a... gap!" I yell between slashes, the dagger on the end of my weapon clanging against the Grievers metal appendages. "Push them... towards... the walls!" I see a blur of movement to my right, Newt is hacking away at a Griever, unaware that one is coming up behind him.


"Newt!" I scream, and he turns, just in time to fend off the Griever's snapping metal claw.


I spin back to my own Griever, stabbing at it relentlessly. I advance forward, slashing and hacking with my blade. All around me, haunting moans mix with screams, penetrated by the whir of engines, clicking metal on stone and awful, squelchy sound of Griever flesh.


I have no idea how long I spend fighting off those Grievers. I ended up killing two, and I'm still attacking a third when I feel a hand on my shoulder.


"Woah," says Newt, eyeing the blade pointed at his throat, "calm down. Tommy and Teresa did it."


"What?" I look around, realizing that all the Grievers have stopped moving. Bodies litter the floor, I count seven un-moving Gladers, while the rest are covered in a mix of yellow oil and blood.


"You're a little scary, (Y/N)," Minho remarks as I approach, no doubt soaked in blood and grime, holding my filthy weapon in one hand and a saw I ripped from the Griever's body in the other.


I grin, "Two weapons are better than one." I wipe a trickle of blood from my eyes.


"Uh, yeah." He agrees, eyeing me.


"Guys?" the yell echoes from just beyond the cliff, and I recognize Chuck's voice. "You can come down now!"


"Great!" Newt yells back. "Ok," he says, gesturing to the cliff, "about four feet out and smack in the middle. Who's going first? Nobody?" Winston steps forward, measures the distance with his eyes and jumps. He sails through the air, then quite simply disappears. Everyone stares, then Frypan steps forward, copying Winston.


Soon, it's just me, Newt, and Minho left standing among the bodies of the Grievers and Gladers who didn't make it.


"Seeya on the other side, shanks." Minho jumps, vanishing from sight.


"You go," I wave a hand at Newt.


"You're sure?" I nod. He jumps, more like hops because of his leg and lands squarely in the hole, swallowed by thin air.


I turn around, gently arranging the bodies of my fellow Gladers in to a neat row, side by side across the cliff. I pick up any extra weapons lying on the floor and tuck them into my belt, surveying the line of boys sadly. If it weren't for the wounds that killed them, they could be sleeping. I look to the grey sky, raising my hand and giving a final one-finger salute before leaping through the Griever hole, down into darkness.


Ok, apologies for the short chapter, just kind of felt right to end it here :) 

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