Thomas walked a few feet along the wall until he found a thick growth of ivy covering most of the stone. He reached down and grabbed one of the vines that went all the way to the ground and wrapped his hand around it. It felt thicker and more solid than he would’ve imagined, maybe a half-inch in diameter. He pulled on it, and with the sound of thick paper ripping apart, the vine came unattached from the wall—more and more as Thomas stepped away from it. When he’d moved back ten feet, he could no longer see the end of the vine way above; it disappeared in the darkness. But the trailing plant had yet to fall free, so Thomas knew it was still attached up there somewhere.
Hesitant to try, Thomas steeled himself and pulled on the vine of ivy with all his strength.
It held.
He yanked on it again. Then again, pulling and relaxing with both hands over and over. Then he lifted his feet and hung onto the vine; his body swung forward.
The vine held.
Quickly, Thomas grabbed other vines, ripping them away from the wall, creating a series of climbing ropes. He tested each one, and they all proved to be as strong as the first. Encouraged, he went back to Alby and dragged him over to the vines.
A sharp crack echoed from within the Maze, followed by the horrible sound of crumpling metal. Thomas, startled, swung around to look, his mind so concentrated on the vines that he’d momentarily shut out the Grievers; he searched all three directions of the Maze. He couldn’t see anything coming, but the sounds were louder—the whirring, the groaning, the clanging. And the air had brightened ever so slightly; he could make out more of the details of the Maze than he’d been able to just minutes before.
He remembered the odd lights he’d observed through the Glade window with Newt. The Grievers were close. They had to be.
Thomas pushed aside the swelling panic and set himself to work.
He grabbed one of the vines and wrapped it around Alby’s right arm. The plant would only reach so far, so he had to prop Alby up as much as he could to make it work. After several wraps, he tied the vine off. Then he took another vine and put it around Alby’s left arm, then both of his legs, tying each one tightly. He worried about the Glader’s circulation getting cut off, but decided it was worth the risk.
Trying to ignore the doubt that was seeping into his mind about the plan, Thomas continued on. Now it was his turn.
He snatched a vine with both hands and started to climb, directly over the spot where he’d just tied up Alby. The thick leaves of the ivy served well as handholds, and Thomas was elated to find that the many cracks in the stone wall were perfect supports for his feet as he climbed. He began to think how easy it would be without …
He refused to finish the thought. He couldn’t leave Alby behind.
Once he reached a point a couple of feet above his friend, Thomas wrapped one of the vines around his own chest, around and around several times, snug against his armpits for support. Slowly, he let himself sag, letting go with his hands but keeping his feet planted firmly in a large crack. Relief filled him when the vine held.
Now came the really hard part.
The four vines tied to Alby below hung tautly around him. Thomas took hold of the one attached to Alby’s left leg, and pulled. He was only able to get it up a few inches before letting go—the weight was too much. He couldn’t do it.
He climbed back down to the Maze floor, decided to try pushing from below instead of pulling from above. To test it, he tried raising Alby only a couple of feet, limb by limb. First, he pushed the left leg up, then tied a new vine around it. Then the right leg. When both were secure, Thomas did the same to Alby’s arms—right, then left.
He stepped back, panting, to take a look.
Alby hung there, seemingly lifeless, now three feet higher than he’d been five minutes earlier.
Clangs from the Maze. Whirrs. Buzzes. Moans. Thomas thought he saw a couple of red flashes to his left. The Grievers were getting closer, and it was now obvious that there were more than one.
He got back to work.
Using the same method of pushing each of Alby’s arms and legs up two or three feet at a time, Thomas slowly made his way up the stone wall. He climbed until he was right below the body, wrapped a vine around his own chest for support, then pushed Alby up as far as he could, limb by limb, and tied them off with ivy. Then he repeated the whole process.
Climb, wrap, push up, tie off.
Climb, wrap, push up, tie off. The Grievers at least seemed to be moving slowly through the Maze, giving him time.
Over and over, little by little, up they went. The effort was exhausting; Thomas heaved in every breath, felt sweat cover every inch of his skin. His hands began to slip and slide on the vines. His feet ached from pressing into the stone cracks. The sounds grew louder—the awful, awful sounds. Still Thomas worked.
When they’d reached a spot about thirty feet off the ground, Thomas stopped, swaying on the vine he’d tied around his chest. Using his drained, rubbery arms, he turned himself around to face the Maze. An exhaustion he’d not known possible filled every tiny particle of his body. He ached with weariness; his muscles screamed. He couldn’t push Alby up another inch. He was done.
This was where they’d hide. Or make their stand.
He’d known they couldn’t reach the top—he only hoped the Grievers couldn’t or wouldn’t look above them. Or, at the very least, Thomas hoped he could fight them off from high up, one by one, instead of being overwhelmed on the ground.
He had no idea what to expect; he didn’t know if he’d see tomorrow. But here, hanging in the ivy, Thomas and Alby would meet their fate.