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Newt stood, leaning against a tree, watching as Minho and Alby, his two closest friends, stepped out of the Glade, into the Maze. Newt would have gone with them, of course he would, regardless of the terror he felt just looking out into the Maze, here, from the safety of the Glade. It was just that he couldn’t. He’d slow them down. Even now, though his wound had healed, he still had a limp that prevented him from running the way the others could. If the time arose that he had to run from the Grievers, he wouldn’t be able to do it. Newt also knew, deep down, that if that happened, his friends wouldn’t abandon him, wouldn’t leave him for dead. They’d try to help him go faster, of course. But it wouldn’t happen. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t go any faster than a quick walk, his bad leg dragging slightly behind him. His friends wouldn’t give up, though, and that would be condemning them to death, just as much as him. He couldn’t do that to them.
He tried to focus on other things, like showing Tommy around the Glade. He smiled to himself, knowing that Alby probably hadn’t done a very good job on the Tour. Somehow, even though he tried, Alby just wasn’t very good with those things. He and Minho had taken a liking to this Greenie, but Alby took a liking to practically nobody. All he cared about was surviving, and that left very little time for friends. Pity, though, because Tommy really was an all right sort of guy, once you got to know him. He had adapted pretty quickly to his new life, a lot quicker than anyone else, even the original Gladers.
Newt scowled, thinking back on when he had first been sent to the Maze. He had spent days, weeks, even, trying to go back, refusing to accept his new life. Even now, years later, he still felt almost as if he was in a dream, a terrible nightmare, stuck inside this fantasy world where up was down and right was wrong and sideways was who knows what. He still hoped that one day he would wake up from this nightmare, and be able to rejoin his family and his friends out in the real world. Did he even have a family? Newt wasn’t sure. Almost out of habit, he pinched himself, as if it would change anything. Newt forced himself back into the present. Wishing and hoping for someone to give him an escape hadn’t worked for the last two years and there was no reason why it should now. He needed to focus. Only the Gladers would be able to help him now. They were all in this together. When Minho and Alby got back, he would go with them to the Map Room, and see if there was a new pattern that they hadn’t noticed before.
But as time wore on, he grew worried. Minho practically knew the Maze inside out, whether or not the walls moved each night. Tommy seemed to pick up on his worry, and asked if they shouldn’t go out and try to find them. Newt literally felt the color drain from his face. He couldn’t do it! He just couldn’t go out there, back into the Maze. Not again. Deep down, Newt knew that Alby didn’t really need a second-in-command. He knew that that job was mostly out of friendship, or pity. Newt knew that if he really tried, he could go back to being a Runner. But Newt also knew one more thing that put all those other things into non-existence. Newt was terrified of the Maze. He was more terrified of it then dying, more terrified, than the idea that he would never get out of here, would spend his life in the Glade. He didn’t know why, but the Maze scared him more than all of those things put together.
He suddenly realized that all, or at least, some, of that must have shown on his face, because Tommy was looking at him strangely. He quickly made up an excuse that he and everyone else had taken an oath, and that one day, Tommy would, too, when he was chosen by his first Keeper, to never, ever, go out in the Maze. He knew, though, that it hadn’t fooled Tommy for a second. He knew that, for that instance, at least, Tommy had seen him for what he really was: a coward.
Out of politeness, disgust, or perhaps just out of pity, Tommy left, leaving Newt to stare desperately into the walls of the Maze. Where were they? Sometime later, Tommy came back, with Chuck trailing behind him. Newt immediately felt better. Most days, the Gladers found Chuck’s hopeless optimism a bit, well, annoying, to say the least, but today, hopeless optimism was just what Newt needed. False hope was better than no hope at all. Again, Tommy suggested sending out a search party to find them, and Newt cracked. He couldn’t take it anymore. He started screaming at Tommy, saying all sorts of nasty things like how he had been here for barely a few days and didn’t yet understand anything, and perhaps, never would. Tommy looked as though he’d been slapped. Newt immediately felt remorseful. But, he couldn’t take back those words, no matter how much he wanted to. He tried to soften the blow, but he could tell his words hadn’t helped.
Even worse, Tommy looked about to try again. Perhaps sensing another argument, Chuck stepped in. But what he said only plunged Newt into deeper despair. “Newt won’t say it,” he had said, all traces of cheerfulness gone, “so I will. If they’re not back by now, they’re dead. Minho’s too smart to get lost.” Newt wanted to scream at Chuck, to yell at him that this wasn’t true. How could his friends be dead? Then, he realized that this was what he’d been feeling earlier, but refused to acknowledge. Chuck was right. They were gone.
Dejectedly, he trudged back to the Homestead. He had just reached the door, when behind him, he heard Tommy scream that he could see them. Newt spun around and hurried over to him as fast as he could, but he couldn’t see them. Why hadn’t they come back hours ago? As if he could read his mind, Minho yelled something about Alby getting stung. Newt’s heart sank. What else could go wrong today? As if in answer, the Doors began to close. No! Newt tried to hurry, but his leg kept him from advancing any faster. He could see Tommy calculating the speed of the Doors, compared to how fast Newt was going. He glanced at Minho and Alby, then at Newt, then back at the two struggling to get through the doors. Newt felt his blood run cold. Anticipating Tommy’s next move, he yelled, “Don’t do it, Tommy! Don’t you bloody do it!” Too late. Tommy had already slipped through the doors, milliseconds before they closed.
Newt sank to the ground, his head in his hands. Why? Why had Tommy done such a stupid, idiotic thing? Had he driven him to it? Newt felt another wave of despair roll over him, but this time it was tainted with guilt. Had he scared Tommy with his outburst so much that he had gone into the Maze just to get away from him? Is that what Tommy had really wanted? To die so soon after coming seemed rash, but maybe Newt had forced him to, unintentionally. He headed to the Homestead with a heavy heart, tears of sorrow and guilt running down his face. Three of his friends, almost certainly dead, one of whose deaths might have been his fault. Tonight, of all nights, he knew he would not be able to sleep.