get my bee-hind back here.”
“Why?” Thomas desperately wanted to hear about what happened out in the Maze.
Minho threw his hands up. “Dude. I told you. Patience. Wait for General Alby.”
Something in his voice lessened the blow, and Thomas made his decision. He liked Minho. “Okay, I’ll shut up. Just make sure Alby lets me hear the news, too.”
Minho studied him for a second. “Okay, Greenie. You da boss.”
Alby walked up a moment later with a big plastic cup full of water and handed it to Minho, who gulped down the whole thing without stopping once for breath.
“Okay,” Alby said, “out with it. What happened?”
Minho raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Thomas.
“He’s fine,” Alby replied. “I don’t care what this shank hears. Just talk!”
Thomas sat quietly in anticipation as Minho struggled to stand up, wincing with every move, his whole demeanor just
screaming
exhaustion. The Runner balanced himself against the wall, gave both of them a cold look. “I found a dead one.”
“Huh?” Alby asked. “A dead what?”
Minho smiled. “A dead Griever.”
CHAPTER 13
Thomas was fascinated at the mention of a Griever. The nasty creature was terrifying to think about, but he wondered why finding a dead one was such a big deal. Had it never happened before?
Alby looked like someone had just told him he could grow wings and fly. “Ain’t a good time for jokes,” he said.
“Look,” Minho answered, “I wouldn’t believe me if I were you, either. But trust me, I did. Big fat nasty one.”
It’s definitely never happened before
, Thomas thought.
“You found a
dead
Griever,” Alby repeated.
“Yes
, Alby,” Minho said, his words laced with annoyance. “A couple of miles from here, out near the Cliff.”
Alby looked out at the Maze, then back at Minho. “Well … why didn’t you bring it back with you?”
Minho laughed again, a half-grunt, half-giggle. “You been drinkin’ Frypan’s saucy-sauce? Those things must weigh half a ton, dude. Plus, I wouldn’t touch one if you gave me a free trip out of this place.”
Alby persisted with the questions. “What did it look like? Were the metal spikes in or out of its body? Did it move at all—was its skin still moist?”
Thomas was bursting with questions—
Metal spikes? Moist skin? What in the world?
—but held his tongue, not wanting to remind them he was there. And that maybe they should talk in private.
“Slim it, man,” Minho said. “You gotta see it for yourself. It’s … weird.”
“Weird?” Alby looked confused.
“Dude, I’m exhausted, starving, and sun-sick. But if you wanna haul it right now, we could probably make it there and back before the walls shut.”
Alby looked at his watch. “Better wait till the wake-up tomorrow.”
“Smartest thing you’ve said in a week.” Minho righted himself from leaning on the wall, hit Alby on the arm, then started walking toward the Homestead with a slight limp. He spoke over his shoulder as he shuffled away—it looked like his whole body was in pain. “I should go back out there, but screw it. I’m gonna go eat some of Frypan’s nasty casserole.”
Thomas felt a wash of disappointment. He had to admit Minho did look like he deserved a rest and a bite to eat, but he wanted to learn more.
Then Alby turned to Thomas, surprising him. “If you know something and ain’t tellin’ me …”
Thomas was sick of being accused of knowing things. Wasn’t that the problem in the first place? He
didn’t
know anything. He looked at the boy square in the face and asked, simply, “Why do you hate me so much?”
The look that came over Alby’s face was indescribable—part confusion, part anger, part shock.
“Hate
you? Boy, you ain’t learned nothin’ since showing up in that Box. This ain’t got nothin’ to do with no hate or like or love or friends or anything. All we care about is surviving. Drop your sissy side and start using that shuck brain if you got
“Why?” Thomas desperately wanted to hear about what happened out in the Maze.
Minho threw his hands up. “Dude. I told you. Patience. Wait for General Alby.”
Something in his voice lessened the blow, and Thomas made his decision. He liked Minho. “Okay, I’ll shut up. Just make sure Alby lets me hear the news, too.”
Minho studied him for a second. “Okay, Greenie. You da boss.”
Alby walked up a moment later with a big plastic cup full of water and handed it to Minho, who gulped down the whole thing without stopping once for breath.
“Okay,” Alby said, “out with it. What happened?”
Minho raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Thomas.
“He’s fine,” Alby replied. “I don’t care what this shank hears. Just talk!”
Thomas sat quietly in anticipation as Minho struggled to stand up, wincing with every move, his whole demeanor just
screaming
exhaustion. The Runner balanced himself against the wall, gave both of them a cold look. “I found a dead one.”
“Huh?” Alby asked. “A dead what?”
Minho smiled. “A dead Griever.”
CHAPTER 13
Thomas was fascinated at the mention of a Griever. The nasty creature was terrifying to think about, but he wondered why finding a dead one was such a big deal. Had it never happened before?
Alby looked like someone had just told him he could grow wings and fly. “Ain’t a good time for jokes,” he said.
“Look,” Minho answered, “I wouldn’t believe me if I were you, either. But trust me, I did. Big fat nasty one.”
It’s definitely never happened before
, Thomas thought.
“You found a
dead
Griever,” Alby repeated.
“Yes
, Alby,” Minho said, his words laced with annoyance. “A couple of miles from here, out near the Cliff.”
Alby looked out at the Maze, then back at Minho. “Well … why didn’t you bring it back with you?”
Minho laughed again, a half-grunt, half-giggle. “You been drinkin’ Frypan’s saucy-sauce? Those things must weigh half a ton, dude. Plus, I wouldn’t touch one if you gave me a free trip out of this place.”
Alby persisted with the questions. “What did it look like? Were the metal spikes in or out of its body? Did it move at all—was its skin still moist?”
Thomas was bursting with questions—
Metal spikes? Moist skin? What in the world?
—but held his tongue, not wanting to remind them he was there. And that maybe they should talk in private.
“Slim it, man,” Minho said. “You gotta see it for yourself. It’s … weird.”
“Weird?” Alby looked confused.
“Dude, I’m exhausted, starving, and sun-sick. But if you wanna haul it right now, we could probably make it there and back before the walls shut.”
Alby looked at his watch. “Better wait till the wake-up tomorrow.”
“Smartest thing you’ve said in a week.” Minho righted himself from leaning on the wall, hit Alby on the arm, then started walking toward the Homestead with a slight limp. He spoke over his shoulder as he shuffled away—it looked like his whole body was in pain. “I should go back out there, but screw it. I’m gonna go eat some of Frypan’s nasty casserole.”
Thomas felt a wash of disappointment. He had to admit Minho did look like he deserved a rest and a bite to eat, but he wanted to learn more.
Then Alby turned to Thomas, surprising him. “If you know something and ain’t tellin’ me …”
Thomas was sick of being accused of knowing things. Wasn’t that the problem in the first place? He
didn’t
know anything. He looked at the boy square in the face and asked, simply, “Why do you hate me so much?”
The look that came over Alby’s face was indescribable—part confusion, part anger, part shock.
“Hate
you? Boy, you ain’t learned nothin’ since showing up in that Box. This ain’t got nothin’ to do with no hate or like or love or friends or anything. All we care about is surviving. Drop your sissy side and start using that shuck brain if you got
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