The Trials


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11. chapter eleven

DISCLAIMER JAMES DASHNER OWNS TMR NOT ME

Rosalind's POV

"Rosie, Rosie, love, wakeup," a hoarse voice mutters as I'm shaken awake. I groggily open my eyes and groan. My back aches from sleeping sitting against a stone wall all night. Newt and I must have dozed off at some point.

"I'm up," I murmur sleepily. Newts lips quirk up slightly before he remembers why we were sleeping against the wall. His face immediately is crest fallen as he remembers the fate of his friends. I feel tears begin to well up in my eyes before I force them down again. No, I will not cry. I won't. I need to be strong. Newt manoeuvres himself into a standing position, slightly awkward due to his limp before offering me a hand. A small grateful smile is thrown his way as I take his hand and stand up, stumbling slightly as my legs haven't quite gotten the memo that I'm awake and are still asleep. Newt places an arm around my waist to steady me. The feel of his thinly muscled arms on my torso sends shivers down my spine.

"Thanks," I whisper. He nods before leading me over to the doors, his arm never leaving my waist. A small group has already gathered there. It consists of Teresa, Chuck, Zart, Frypan and a few others who I don't know the name of. Chuck is staring at the door with a mixture of determination and hope painting his features. His brown eyes are trained expectantly on the place where the two doors meet, almost as though he is expecting Thomas, Alby, Minho and Elle to waltz through them unharmed and jubilant. With a jolt, I realize the poor kid probably is. Thomas was one his first friends here, and it's going to hurt him to lose him. Teresa looks like a time bomb about to go off. Her eyes are averted from the door, staring resolutely at the ground, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip. Her eyes are filled with sadness and hopeless. She knows that the chance of any of them surviving a night in the maze is improbable, next to impossible. Slowly, the other Gladers begin to trickle into our group as the gears of the door begin to spring to life. Every person in the Glade is gathered around the doors, silence settled over the group like a thick smog. Newts hand clenches and the muscles in his arms are taut as the doors begin to slide open. I steal a glance at Newts face. He is licking his lips ( a nervous habit probably that for some reason seems familiar) and his eyes are filled with hope. My heart breaks a little, knowing the burden that he's going to now have to carry.

The doors are open completely now.

Nobody is there.

A sadness that we all knew was coming settles over the group, ensnaring us in it's thick vines. Nobody truly let themselves believe that anyone would survive a night in the maze, but still the idea was entertained.

"Come on shanks. Get to work," Gally gruffly calls out. Everyone starts to disperse. Newt swallows, gives the maze one last glance and drops the arm that was around my waist. I can still almost feel the lingering warmth haunting my waist before it's gone. Newt limps towards the gardens, leaving Chuck and I behind. Chuck looks like a kicked puppy. I move towards him in an effort to comfort him before hearing some one shout.

"Wait! There's someone there!" Zart yells, pointing to the maze. Everyone's heads snap towards the entrance. Sure enough, two figures are carrying another as they hobble to the Glade. My heart drops to my stomach. There's no mistaking who each of them are. It's Minho and Thomas carrying Alby.

Elle is nowhere in sight.

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